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A little over a week ago, my roommates and I hit the road to Chicago. You see, we had never been and, well, there was a Vampire Diaries convention happening. Before you start judging, let me say this … You know what, nevermind. Judge away. I had a blast.
After our seven-hour drive, an entire box of Dunkaroos (Yes, they still exist!), a bag of Kit Kats and two liters of Diet Coke, we arrived at the Westin O’Hare. Before we even made it to our room, I spotted my first fellow convention attendee. She was about 40 years old, and she was wearing a “Gold Pass” around her neck, which meant she spent hundreds of dollars to get into every activity and meet every celebrity. I am happy to say that I’m not that crazy. But really, I’m too poor to afford that pass. So as I scowled at the woman who was simultaneously holding an open beer and the hand of her young child, my roommates and I got off the elevator at the ninth floor.
It was already about 11 p.m., so we decided to call it a night. My roommate and fellow attendee, Caitlin, and I put on our orange bracelets that would allow us our $50 worth of general admission for the weekend, and we went to bed.
The next morning, I discovered that I had forgotten my make-up. Because there is no better time to forget your make-up than when you’re going to take pictures with some of the hottest people in the world. So after a frantic run to Walgreens, my roommate and I went to see Matt Davis’ panel discussion.
Yes, he’s Warner from Legally Blonde. It was there, in my first panel, that I began to get a sense of the “convention crowd.”
First, I spotted the enthusiastic clapper. He was a middle-aged man who had on a Vampire Diaries T-shirt and fake bite marks on his neck. I immediately felt underdressed in my white T-shirt and blazer. But hey, I did have on a scarf. However, that fact did not keep the girls in stilettos from judging me. Whatever babe, have fun with those blisters. Plus, we all know actors are short.
Next I spotted blue hair, pink hair, furry purple ears and a father participating in a trivia game. And you know what? He knew his stuff. I began to feel incredibly … normal, which is odd for someone as television-obsessed as I am.
By the end of the first day of panels I learned that Matt Davis is scared of sharks, Michael Trevino loves whiskey and Daniel Gillies is not only smart, but he is quite possibly God’s masterpiece. To describe him as chiseled would not do him credit. Have a look:
And trust me, even though it doesn’t seem possible, the photo does not do him (or his New Zealand accent) justice. If I could sculpt a man and dress a man, this would be him. Can you not tell by my face? I’m the blonde.
That evening, my roommates and I hit an all-time low as we walked around the top floor of the hotel in hopes that one of the celebrities would pop out of his or her room and decide that we were meant to be friends … or more than friends. I even brought Dunkaroos with me as a potential conversation starter. Surprisingly, our plan failed. Also surprisingly, we did not get arrested.
Day two of the convention involved more panels, more gorgeous men and more overdressed women. Thanks to the costume contest, I got to see my fair share of corsets, masquerade masks and Ian Somerhalder wannabes.
I have to admit that I was a little scared of the people around me. If I said one wrong thing about this show, I was going to be in a fight. Luckily for me, I was confident that I could outrun anyone there. After all, I wasn’t in a corset or stilettos.
When it came time for me to get a photo with Paul Wesley, things got a little crazy. Girls came out of the room sobbing, others tried to kiss him and one 10-year-old girl was wearing a shirt that said, “Compel me.” Disturbing is the only way I can think to describe that. But as I rounded the corner to meet Paul, I understood some of the excitement. No, I did not cry or try to kiss him, but I was taken back by just how pretty he was. I mean that hair alone was impressive, but his dark Polish features had me at “Hello.” Well, they would’ve had he actually spoken to me. But everything went smoothly. He smiled in his leather, and I smiled in my pleather. It was bliss.
My plan to slip him my business card so that he could give his good friend Ben Mckenzie my number failed. I will never forgive the woman who rushed me through the line.
Next time, Ben. Next time.
And as far as my convention life goes, I have a gut feeling that Chicago will not be my last. But don’t worry about me — I will always prefer a scarf to a corset.
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