I guess I've got to throw some meat to the animals.
I'm really hoping the Cougar Convention coverage will converge in one magnificent day where I'll hook you up with a VidSF/SF Appeal video of the event, as well as parlay this into a Culture Blog on SFGate. There was simply SO MUCH fodder at the CougarCon, I'd hate to blow my wad, as it were, all in one place. So fingers crossed we can put this together by Wednesday.
In the meantime, I can report the following:
1. I had a stalker who then turned on me. I wouldn't dance with him, claiming I was "working." He returned with a friend for Beth H. to dance with. The friend actually had braces, he was so young. So we tried another excuse.
"We can't leave our equipment. Sorry."
They returned with a third friend to hold the camera equipment. When we declined to dance yet again, "Scott" got pissed. His suit eventually became his necktie worn over a t-shirt and every time I'd film an interview, he'd yell shit in the background or whisper shitty things in my ear during the actual interview. For example, as I was grilling young guy #427, Scott comes by, bends his mouth too close to my ear and says, "How many times I gotta fuckin' ask you to fuckin' dance with me till you stop being a little bitch?" 2. I have never been propositioned by so many men within a 3 hour period in my life. Some were charming and funny, some were horrible and scary, some were downright rude and pushy.
3. Even the charming and funny ones were...how shall I put this? Intense. Every 10-15 minutes, another one would approach with a pick-up line aimed at one of us. It became angry, desperate, exhausting.
4. At 1am, we retired to the Trader Vic's bar in the hopes that the "Big Kids Room" might provide a break. There, Melissa was accosted by "Gregory" who said he was an anthropologist working for the betterment of "brown people."
5. I had hoped that somehow, a wildly irreverent, gorgeous and successful gentlemen just there to mock the proceedings much like myself would somehow find me in the fracas and we'd go back to my hotel room to make fun of everyone and watch The Cosby Show, which is my new euphemism for "doing it." Alas, I practically needed security to get me out of there, Beth H. repeatedly saying, "Lock your door. Seriously. Use the chain. I'm not kidding..."