I came back from MFF a day earlier than I had planned. Real-life chores, exhaustion and a sudden bleak homesickness, the kind I used to get as a kid overtook me. Instead of longing to be back in the company of my mom, I yearned keenly for my boyfriend's embrace, but more on that later.

Furry conventions, unlike comics, geek culture and small press shows I attend almost exclusively to make money and grow my brand, are my vacation. Three weekends and change a year I carve out for connection, wonderment, and a kind of 24-h4 bacchanalian sensual escape I no longer allow myself in every day life. Every time I meet new people, bright, not-ordinary shining folk who populate my attention minutes at a time on the internet. The more I participate in conventions, the less angst I feel about being a part of this community and participating in the "fandom."
All the horrors and absurdities and stupidities and drama and selfishness and immaturity that gleams like a beacon in the fandom, in ANY fandom devoted to passionately caring about something first, with other life-skills somewhere else down the ladder, carries a human burden, one that in our case is easily picked apart, mocked, publicized and disregarded. With only a little perspective and some peace of mind in your own skin, this burden can be sloughed off as easily as an old smelly coat. I don't like to harp on the egregious, socially maladjusted dork behavior in our fandom because I barely even notice it anymore. I'm having too much goddamned fun with me and mine.
I occupy myself with laughter, with horrible puns, wordplay, & distortions of the wonderfully elastic English language into a semi-coded friendly inner-speech. With head-swimmingness, whiskey and gin, drank warm from the bottle. My ever-expanding emotional palate responding to all the fascinating, artfully crafted, unique fursuiters and whoever, whatever is inside them, driving them on with the spiritual force within or playing a character, the marionette with sweaty strings pulled from inside. Marveling at the chaotic mix of races, sexes, gender expressions, ability/disability, economic classes, education levels, the levels of commitment of the participants, as opposed to the %98 white, educated, semi-professional spread of my hip, self-publishing/small press comics peers. I revel in my friends, my darlings from all over the world, friends I don't intentionally curate to fill out a personal portfolio that validates my "approved coolness and good taste" or flatters my vanity. I hang with so many special people that every time I find it harder and harder to divide my time and attention between them. These people are my "furry fandom" and it's the most passionate, gentle-hearted, generous, insightful, creative fandom I can imagine.

***

Thursday. Drove down from Minneapolis after raking leaves early in anticipation of coming snow. As astonishing coincidence, the song from the "Room 366" video cued up as I was entering my hotel to meet my friends . Whiskey. Then took a big group, my gang, + some furs from Montreal, and some others into the city for Karaoke at Alice's lounge, one my favorite spots. The demented, deadpan MC with his masks and props, the bar staff and the enthusiastic crowd of nonfurry locals did not disappoint me! Lights and fog machines. "Stray cat strut." People sang who had never karaoke'd before. Glory. Train back. Sleep.

Friday. Nuts. Running around. Hushed, secret conversations in the whipping wind. Outrageous fursuit dance. Discovering that I find fursuiters sexy, to my boyfriend's muted dismay. Early bedtime (1:30 am).

Saturday. More running around. "Too much light makes the baby go blind," a theatre troupe from Chicago comes in every year to perform for the furries. Hilarity. Audience participation. A man mime-fucks a chair. The lights go up and someone has placed a rainbow lanyard over my neck with "furvert" printed in white. I keep it on. Group from Thursday plus and came with me back to Logan Square to play classic arcade console games. Chinese food. Train back. MY FIRST TIME IN A FURSUIT. let me borrow her sheepdog. WONDERFUL. After a little liquored up dancing, I contemplated going to bed, but my curiosity got the best of me when I heard the whereabouts of a friend who was participating in a private "gear" party. Thanks to the gracious host, I managed to get a pass. No specific details about what I saw there, but since I don't have "gear" I had to hang around in my undershorts. The whole event was personally about as erotically charged as a visit to the dentist's office, but I came away with a weird empty feeling in my belly anyhoo. Tossed and turned all night, feeling suddenly homesick (and too drunk, waaaay too drunk).

Sunday. Packed up and exchanged whistful goodbyes to my friends, who were suddenly, explicitly so dear to me. Hollow feeling in my gut all the way home. Relief at seeing my boyfriend, and sharing all of what transpired. He wasn't bothered about the gear party. He isn't the jealous type.

MISS YOU ALL ALREADY. WISH I COULD HAVE SNUGGED EVERYONE. TO BE CONTINUED.