The month of March
A single week is filled with ups and downs. However, the week of March 15th had been months in the making, as that was when Motorcycles, Mobsters, and Mayhem would be held. If you haven’t heard of it, it’s a popular romance book signing catered to indie authors and their fans. As the name suggests, MC and Mafia romances are the primary focus, though as long as mayhem is included, there’s a place for your story.
My mother, Kathryn C. Kelly, was an attending author, and I was going as her assistant. We first attended MMM in 2019, with plans to go the following year. Then, COVID happened. Our expectations for the first book signing since the pandemic were high, and much would be needed in our absence. Supplies for the animals, supplies for my grandma who’d be taking care of the animals, swag to hand out, books to sell, and so much more. My mother even designed special editions for the signing, which turned out to be a big hit. The entire convention was a hit, even if preparing for it was a headache.
This was exemplified on the morning my mother and I were due to depart. It was early, and we hadn’t gotten everything done the night before departure. We were running on little sleep and rushing to get things done, putting us both in a sour mood. To make things worse, Amazon decided to delay an order of books, and they only arrived an hour before we left.
Oh, and a fence slat fell on my head, which created a nasty headache, and a nastier knot that took literal months to go away.
If I were the superstitious type, I would’ve thought it was a sign not to go and remained home with my Granny and pets. When one of the models had to cancel at the last minute, I would’ve fallen to my knees and prayed to the divine for mercy. Luckily, I’m not the superstitious type, and I soldiered on. When we were finally packed up and ready to go, I threw on my Megan Thee Stallion playlist, threw a blanket over me, and slept. I missed the first two hours of the drive, only waking up when my mother stopped at a Buc-ee's. I traded my travel mug of coffee for a Celsius energy drink, which did its job and kept me awake well past midnight.
Now, you may ask why I stayed up until midnight after such a long day. That’s because of the meet-and-greet prom!
I graduated from high school in 2021, so COVID protocols were still in place. That meant I didn’t get to walk across the stage to get my diploma, nor did I get a prom. So, I was pretty hyped for this event, the first official event of the signing. It was a blast, and my mother and I met so many amazing people there.
Two of those amazing people were other attending authors, and when the prom ended, we weren’t ready to end the night.
Despite loving alcohol, I’d never been to a bar just to go. The only other time I was in a bar was for a concert, so heading to the bar across the street from the hotel marked another milestone crossed off. The queso and mac and cheese balls were bomb, and the Jalapeño Pineapple cocktail was delicious.
Shout out to the random dude who bought the food; the results of saying the right thing are truly amazing and worth some tasteless flirting.
We paid for our late-night drinking with a raging hangover the next day. The day was spent holed up in the hotel room, finishing the last bit of preparation, before we made our way downstairs to set up for the convention.
Now, from that paragraph alone, it probably sounds like I had an awful time, but the opposite is true. I had an amazing time, even if my role meant I had to interact with many, many strangers. Fortunately, everyone who graced the table with their presence was nice, as otherwise, I might’ve screamed and curled up under the table to hide.
The convention only fueled my desire to become an author and was a glaring reminder of my need to get my sleeping schedule together. Getting up early was awful, and I had to take a break midway through to get another Celsius. Being the best energy drink, it did its job swimmingly. By the time our family friend arrived, who’s also a fan of my mother’s books, sitting still was a challenge. When things started to lull, I took a lap around the convention, visiting tables that had caught my eye and stopping by to say hello to those I met during the prom.
Sooner than I realized, the convention came to an end. Just like that, the event that’d been planned for months was over. We spent the final night how we spent our first: drinking. A hangover was present on the day of our departure. The breakfast did help soak up some of the liquor, and I still think about that breakfast sandwich. Side note, but I highly recommend the Omni in Frisco.
After that delicious sandwich, we got dressed and loaded up the car. Another nap was had as my mother drove home, and another Celsius was drank to ensure I stayed up for the ride.
Fun fact, I can’t drive.
Now, the good is out of the way, onto the bad: Popeyes. When we returned home, we stopped there for food. That day, it was delicious, creating a craving that I indulged days later. This time, it wasn’t. You see, the chicken wasn’t fully cooked, but I doused it in sauce, preventing me from seeing or tasting anything amiss. But when I vomited up my meal, I was forced to confront that something was indeed off. I spent the next several hours in pain and close to the toilet. The pain was specifically in my right side, creating a fear of appendicitis.
To the E.R. I went, and I was there for hours getting an array of tests and receiving an IV drip for dehydration. Seeing as I thought a useless organ was trying to kill me, food poisoning was a relieving diagnosis. The worrying news was the grape-sized cyst on my left ovary. It might disappear on its own during menstruation or keep growing; the doctor didn’t know. My OBGYN needs to monitor it, but I can’t see them until November.
Between March 13th and March 20th, the days were hectic and filled with ups and downs, but ultimately, those days are remembered fondly, unlike the following week, which proved to be even more trying. Why, you ask? Well, a cat I’d had since I was eight passed away, which led to another cat getting sick with grief. But, that’s a story for another time.
Until next time, dear readers
