Aragón at Bronycon, Day Three -- But You Will Remember Me, Remember Me · 1:13am Aug 19th, 2018
Everything described in this blog is real, and happened as it’s portrayed, to the best of my memory.
Here’s the greatest tragedy of them all:
Everything, eventually, ends.
We all know the show is ending after Season Nine, unless a lot of things change, and many feel – it’s about time. Nine seasons is a lot, after all. As Majin Syeekoh loves to remind us all, My Little Dashie was set in the future when it came out, and the main character mentions “Season Eight” of the show being aired at the moment.
Back in 2012, you read that, and you laughed, because we were only starting Season Two and it felt like that was an exaggeration. Nowadays, it’s a reality. Which means that, yes, we’re currently in the My Little Dashie timeline, but it also means that, well. Nobody expected us to make it this far.
Not even ourselves.
These were the things crossing my mind as I waited for my plane at the airport, at the end of Bronycon. The flight got delayed – God bless Air Canada, I suppose – and Swan Song, darling neverending, kept sending me pictures of the now-empty convention center. You see the vendors picking up their wares, you see the empty corridors and Quills and Sofas, now without typewriters. You see the calm after the storm.
And you smile, and you reply to Swan:
“Haha. I wanna kill myself.”
“lol”
Swan has a gift with words.
Once the excitement fades, all your exhaustion catches up to you. And the adrenaline goes down, and you’ve already said your goodbyes, and you’re so, so tired. The story’s over. Everything, eventually, ends.
If you run a marathon, by the end of it you’re not even human. You’re a machine that puts one foot in front of the other. You don’t think, you don’t feel, you just move. You’re so tired you can’t even feel it, and you keep it up until you pass the goal.
Once you pass it, though, you crumble, and the machine dies, and the man comes back. You can’t move anymore. You lay down and feel the pain you were not feeling. Ten more feet, now, would be herculean.
But here’s the funny thing: if the goal had been ten feet away, you would’ve reached it without an issue. If it had been a hundred feet away, you would have made it. But the goal is now behind you, and there is no reason to keep moving, and so, you do not move.
I see a new message in the Discord chat. Bronycon is ending next year. BC 2019 will be the last stand of the Baltimore convention.
Post-con depression hits like a truck. In my case, the truck was on fire.
So I sat down at the airport, and I did what one does when one has the blues. One revels in the sadness. One makes it worse.
One remembers.
Second day.
“Regidar! Hey, Regidar!”
Right next to Vendor Hall. The corridor is full of people. Majin is by my side, waving his hands profusely, jumping up and down trying to get Regidar’s attention.
“REGIDAR!”
Regidar is far away, in the distance, and he is not seeing us. Majin is getting frustrated.
“REGIDAR! REGIDAR, OVER HERE! God dammit.”
I try to wave my arms too, but there’s no use. It’s not like there’s a lot of noise, it’s just that Regidar is obviously daydreaming, and good fucking luck reaching to him when he does that. I look at Majin, about to tell him that, look, let’s just go over there and then walk back, there’s no use—
But Majin is frowning. He’s made a decision. He will not walk the distance.
He brings his hands to his mouth and yells:
“OVER HERE, YOU FAGGOT!”
Regidar immediately snaps in our direction, eyes darting around to see who called him. He sees us, smiles, and runs towards us. “Hey!” he says, fist-bumping Majin nonchalantly. “Sorry guys, I was distracted. What’s going on?”
“Uh.” I’m there, puzzled, looking at the people around us – idly wondering how come no more folks turned around – and then I look at Regidar. “Why did you only react to ‘faggot’?”
And Redigar’s smile is sincere, and wholesome, and completely void of cynicism, when he replies: “It was my nickname in highschool!”
Third day.
Dubs Rewatcher gives me an appreciative nod after looking me up and down. “Hey, man. Even in your casual clothes, you’re pretty stylish.”
And I feel my jaw drop, and I press my hand against my chest. I am floored. I am delighted. I have legitimately never felt so flattered. I am not being sarcastic – this one has touched me.
So I speak, straight from the heart:
“Holy shit. Dude, thank you so much.”
And I mean every word. Because the man who had just flattered was Dubs Rewatcher. And if Dubs Rewatcher compliments your style, you know you’re doing something right. You know this, the moment you lay your eyes on him.
If Bad Horse and Bookplayer look exactly like you expect them to look, Dubs is the total opposite. In person, he’s bubbly. He moves his hands a lot. He has a voice that goes up and down with every word he says, and a wit quicker than a bullet. He smiles with his eyes as much as with his mouth, and he is deliciously camp, in that oddly elegant way only people with actual confidence can pull off.
If talking with Bad Horse makes you feel like sitting down to have a deep conversation, and talking with Majin Syeekoh makes you want to be a better person, talking with Dubs Rewatcher makes you want to go on an adventure. If possible, with him. Dude is so confident he inspires confidence. He is, in other words, the most stylish person I’ve met in Bronycon so far.
“That actually got to me,” I explain, as I twirl a little to show off my outfit. The last two days, I’ve been wearing formal clothes, because after working six days at the bank, it was the most comfortable thing I could wear. But today I need to catch a plane, so I got a checkered t-shirt, and kakhi pants, and a red long cardigan. Fucking love the thing.
You might not know this, but I am extermely self-conscious when it comes to my clothes. I’m not exactly a fashion expert, but I live with people who very much are, so I do tend to look very much into what I’m wearing. After Dubs tells me this, I think, hey. I wonder if people caught up how I was like, dressing up?
Yeah. Yeeeeeah. I’m a fashion icon.
Yeeeeeeah.
So I twirl around to show off my outfit to dubs, and I smile, and I explain what my philosophy is, when dressing up.
“It’s a mixture between Barcelona hipster and total fucking idiot.”
The people around us laugh, some of them smile or snort at my quip. But Dubs doesn’t. Dubs sees what my joke really means. Dubs gets that I’m speaking from the heart. He wore a purple cosplay with purple eyeshadow on Day Two, and pulled it off.
So he just nods, and gives me an approving look. And I nod back, and stealthily fist bump over the side. We fashionistas, we understand our own kin.
Back at the airport, I see that my flight has been delayed a second time. I need to catch a second plane in Toronto that will get me to Barcelona, so I ask the woman at the counter if she thinks I’ll make it in time, or if the airline will rebook me. She assures me I’ll have no issues; I have over three hours left of margin for this.
So I just sit down and blow raspberries to pass the time. Pbbftfbbbtf. Pbbbtfbfbtpptbpbff. I put on my headphones and listen to Les Mis for a bit. That’s always neat.
I look at the phone, at the Discord chat. Everybody’s leaving Baltimore, and everybody’s sad. Well, shit.
There’s a quote that I often think about. My father said it when I was nineteen, two years after I had left my hometown (and everybody I knew) behind to go to the sprawling city of Barcelona. I think he took it from a movie, or a book – it’s not his per se – but I never found the source, so I always think of it as a Dad Quote.
It goes like this:
“That’s the thing about sixteen year olds – no matter how old you get, they will always be sixteen.”
He said this with sort of a sad attitude, and I took it with a sad smile, because if I remember correctly, back then, we were both drunk, and also if you think I’m a pretentious lilttle numbfuck who loves to wax poetic for no reason, you really haven’t met my father.
But still, I understood what he meant, and I understand it even now. You might get old, and you might grow up, and become more mature, and sometimes even jaded – but kids won’t care.If you go back to your hometown after living in Barcelona, starry-eyed, realizing the world ain’t as you thought it was…
Well. Your hometown is still the same. The kids you grew up with are all gone, but new kids have taken their place – and honestly, they’re identical. Slightly better phones nowadays, sure. Fashion and trends change. But those kids still wear mostly heavy metal t-shirts and loose jeans, and that group over there still has sports clothes and long fake nails and listen to soft pop songs that talk about fucking, so. For real now. Has anything changed?
I mean, some things certainly evolve. Gotta give that to them. When listing all the urban tribes in his particular highschool, my little brother mentioned the goths – aight – the jocks and the popular ones – gotcha – the nerds – sure – the pansexuals – sure thwait what. What?
“The pansexuals.”
“The p—what the fuck?”
“What?” And then he looked at me, slightly puzzled. “Uh, do you not know what a pansexual is or…?”
So yes, things change in the end. Here’s this concept related to sexuality that I personally didn’t even know was a thing till I started college and I started hanging out with more progressive people, and I’m all floored thinking we’ve reinvented the wheel – and this kinda thing has entered my brother’s vernacular without anybody noticing.
But he’s still a teenager, and he still does teenager things. And you look around, and you realize: one day he’ll stop being a teen, too. But there’ll be more to take his place. And while some details do change, the general picture does not.
If anything feels different, it’s because you changed. Not the world around you.
And I think about Bronycon, and how it’s ending. And I think about the show, and how it’s ending. And I think – much as I hate it – about the fandom. And how it might end one day. How I haven’t watched the show since Season Six, simply because I stopped having the time and I kept putting it aside. How I don’t really read fanfiction anymore even though there used to be a time where it was the only thing I read. How I love writing for the website, sure… But do I like write fanfiction, or do I just like writing?
Post-con depression, as I said, hits like a fucking truck.
And yet.
And yet.
If you sit down, and you stop, and you remember…
“There’s a fucking wedding?”
“There is!” Sapphire says, pointing excitedly. “There is a wedding!”
And, what would you think. There is a fucking wedding happening at Bronycon.
It’s me, Octavia Harmony, Singularity Dream, Sapphire, and Iryerris. Day Two, hanging by one of the random halls with chairs that you can find in the Baltimore Convention Center. We’ve been walking around for a while and after finding this spot, we sat down to – quoting myself – “chill a bit.”
By our right, giant glass doors that lead to the outside, some kind of terrace within the Center. And there’s a crowd by it, dressed in the most absolutely peculiar attire I’ve ever seen. Mind you, as I’ve said before – I consider myself a fashion aficionado, but I have to admit it: I am not familiar with this particular style.
“Huh,” I say. I am genuinely impressed. “I mean, I guess that it’s a bit unlucky to go and have your wedding just as Bronycon is happening, but—”
“That is not the wedding,” Octavia Harmony says.
Pause.
“What?”
“That’s not the wedding. That,” and he points to my right, “is the wedding. That,” he points to my left, “is a fursuit parade.”
“Oh. Oooooooooh! Oooh shiiit that explains the Twilight Sparkles!”
“Yes, Aragón. That explains the Twilight Sparkles.”
Before you know it, multicolor gigantic furry heads start appearing in the horizon. From the escalator come a series of Twilight Sparkles and Starlight Glimmers, there’s one Rainbow Dash, no Spikes – all’s good in the world – and a Sonic cosplayer there too because why the fuck not?
Everything around us is people in furry suits (foreground, parading) or people in formal suits (background, walking up the aisle), mixing and matching and mingling and meddling. I see a man in a tuxedo talking with an animatronic Pinkie Pie. Sonic is over there chatting up with Deadpool, only Deadpool is apparently also a princess now, so he’s wearing a giant dress. An extremely gothic-looking Chrysalis is literally at the wedding, and I can’t tell if she got lost or if she’s just really in character.
I notice that, seeing how I am literally seeing the wedding, and I can notice the photographers from here, we are totally showing up in all the wedding photos. Which, okay, neat in my case – I’m well-dressed – but also Irye is here and he’s dressed in skin-tight leather.
And like. Hot. But also not formal attire either.
So I turn to look at my friends. “Uh,” I say. “I mean, nice of them to get married, but still a bit of bad luck to go and get married just as Bronycon happens, no?”
“This was on purpose!” Sapphire screeches. “They wanted to get married at Bronycon!”
“Wait, what?”
“Apparently they’re two women who met at the first Bronycon,” Singularity Dream explains, with a lazy smile, and a friend-from-a-friend-told-me-this kind of tone. “So they wanted to get married during Bronycon, too.”
“Oh.” I look around. There’s a man carrying live-sized Starlight Glimmer plushies. Like, four of them. Only Starlight Glimmer. “So all this shit showing up at their wedding is intentional?”
“It is!” Sapphire yells. Motherfuck. When is she not yelling. “Isn’t it pretty?! There’s a wedding at Bronycon!”
And, hey, she’s right. There’s a wedding at Bronycon. That’s kind of unbelievable.
So we sit down again, and we continue chilling, and there is no punchline to this story. It’s just a small moment for us, but a couple feet away – maybe the most important day in the lives of two women. They met in this place, six years ago, and now they’re starting a new life.
And call me a hopeless romantic, but that has a little bit of power. Because up until this moment, I thought that I was living Bronycon at its fullest, but I clearly wasn’t. In what is probably a worryingly accurate example of my inflated ego, I absent-mindedly assumed that nobody at Bronycon could possibly live three days crazier than mine, because how could they?
Yet here we are, witnessing the wedding. Background characters to the best day of someone else’s life. Footnotes at the end of their chapter.
It sounds oddly sad, doesn’t it?
But there’s happiness in the air. Everybody is having fun. It’s the weirdest fucking scene I’ve ever been a part of – formal lesbian wedding with fursuit parade in the background, ripped Chat Noir by my right, Princess Deadpool arguing with Sonic on who will get the bouquet over there by the corner. But everybody’s having fun. There’s magic all around us, of an odd kind.
And I think, I could really get used to this.
“There is a downside to getting married at Bronycon, though,” Singularity Dream says then.
I look at him. “Yeah?”
“Yeah. Someone went over there to the aisle and congratulated one of the women getting married. They told her she looked like the most beautiful bride.”
I nod. “Right.” I stop nodding. I frown. “Wait, why is that a problem?”
“Because it wasn’t one of the brides. It was a Celestia cosplayer.”
“Majin!”
“Hey, Sun.”
They fistbump, and I observe.
There’s a woman in front of me, chatting with Majin Syeekoh. It’s Day Three, and we’re outside, walking back to the Convention Center. A tall woman stopped us in the way to say a couple words.
Her name is Morning Sun, and I already know her.
Morning Sun is a woman with a serious face that tends to break into smiles with ease. She speaks with dry words, almost authoritatively. She can snap in a moment, to add a cutting comment if so she wants to, but she prefers to be kind. Her eyes move slowly, and her back is straight, but it’s an artificial sort of straightness. She looks happy, she’s content, but she’s so tired that she’s forcing herself not to hunch. I don’t think she’s aware of this herself.
Of course, this is perfectly normal. Morning Sun is, after all, the Vice-Chair of Bronycon. She’s the one who rules this place. And heavy is the head that wears the crown.
But not heavy enough, it seems, to make her hunch. There’s strength in Morning Sun, don’t forget that.
“Ah, Aragón.” Majin, ever the socialite, smoothly turns to the side to point at me and force a greeting. “This here is Morning Sun. Sun, this is—”
“I know. We met each other yesterday.” She shakes my hand. I make a point not to go all European on her this time, either, because damn it I’m a man who now and then learns from his mistakes. “We didn’t talk, though.”
“Yeah!” I say. “At the author dinner. You were dressed as Maid Celestia, right? It was a cool cosplay.”
“Uh-huh. But I wasn’t sure it was you.” She points at my badge, which proudly states my name. “You were wearing that backwards.”
“Yeah, and I couldn’t see the name in yours.” I look at Sun’s badge. It clearly says VICE-CHAIR. “I mean, I knew you were the Vice Chair, and I knew that the Maid Celestia was a Vice Chair, but like. What if this is a different Vice Chair? That could be awkward.”
Majin arches an eyebrow at me. “Bronycon only has one of those.”
“Yeah, but what if this is a different one?”
“No, no, I get you,” Morning Sun says. “I thought the same. This guy sounds like a Spaniard, but what if he’s a different Spaniard…?”
And now Majin looks at her, and arches an eyebrow at her. “…Bronycon only has one of those?”
“Yeah, but what if this is a different one?”
If you saw Majin at the moment, you would think he was trying to look at his own brain, seeing how hard he rolls his eyes. Something clicks, then—he sees the random throught crossing his mind, I suppose—and then he turns to Sun once again. “Also,” he says. “Sorry for not joining your shamanic quest yesterday.”
“Oh, don’t worry. It was nice.”
“How did the ritual go?”
“It was great! I felt like I could devour the energy in the room.”
“Hah, yeah. I know how that feels.”
This is a real conversation two real adults are having in front of me. I look at them with the puzzlest face I can make, which is exactly like my normal face, but with widest eyes. “You,” I say. “You what?”
And Majin looks at me. “She asked me to join her in a shamanic quest yesterday, but I had to refuse.”
Morning Sun specifies: “A shamanic ritual.”
“Right, yes.” Majin nods. “A mystical quest for a shamanic ritual. But I had to refuse, because I had a quest of my own.”
It slowly but surely dawns on me that neither of these people are fucking with me. This is, like, real. “A shamanic ritual?” I venture.
And Morning Sun replies, in the driest possible tone, no joke whatsoever: “Yes.”
“And a mystical quest. Gotcha.” I look at Majin. “And you, what. Fought a dragon? Rescued a fair maiden now that we’re at it?”
“I had to rescue Regidar,” Majin explains. “I got a call at like one in the morning saying I was the only one who could save him. That was my quest.”
Majin really likes the word quest.
What he said caught me by surprise, though, so I don’t point his verbal idiosyncrasies out. “What the hell,” I say. “Regidar? Is he okay?”
“Yeah.”
“What happened?”
“He got drunk, then trapped himself in the bathroom.” Pause. “And I was the only one who could save him.”
“Motherfucker.”
The chitchat continues for a bit, and then we part ways. I have to catch a plane soon enough, and Morning Sun has to continue running Bronycon and make sure it goes smoothly up till the end. But for as long as the chat carries on, it gets crazier by the minute, and once it’s over, I have to turn to Majin.
“Seems like I missed a lot yesterday?”
“Oh, yeah. Well, that’s the cool thing about Bronycon, though.” And Majin waves a hand in the air. “Lots of crazy stuff everywhere, all the time. You can never see everything.”
I nod. “No,” I say. “I guess you can’t.”
Back at the airport. Not looking at the phone. Flight got un-delayed, and I’m in line to board. R5h enters the airport and messages me asking to hang out just as I’m getting in, so I lose him this time. A last kick in the nut, one supposes.
But the post-con blues is recessing a bit. Just a bit, but – it’s a start.
Because Majin was right: you can never see everything at Bronycon. The wedding made me realize that no matter how crazy I think my day is, someone else’s day is probably going to be crazier, and weirder, and better.
And that’s great, because it means that crazy things always happen, everywhere around us. And it’s not the convention causing these things, even though it sure helps. It’s not the show that inspired us all to be the way we are, even if it influenced us.
It’s the people who made it.
Everything, eventually, ends. But the people stay. The show may end, and Bronycon might have its final round next year, but the people who made it happen – and the people who made it special – are going to be there still. They might move on, or they might disappear. But what they did will still be done.
There’s this thing about remembering – quoting a dead Spanish poet: we always think the past was better. And this causes us, fucking weird we are sometimes, a certain amount of pain. Melancholy, you can call it. Having the blues, I usually say. Being a little bitch, in the wise words of Swan Song.
So there’s a stigma about things ending. Because if they end, they’re not happening anymore, and that’s bad. And there’s a stigma about remembering, because we compare it to the present, and the present always loses. We always move downhill. Things end, and we get sad, and in the end what was it all for?
Only, y’know, that’s kind of bollocks.
So I have the blues myself, because Bronycon ended, and that was an adventure. But the blues was worth it, because I had so much fun in the end. And the blues was worth it, because as much as this ended, the rest of the day is just starting.
Now I can go back and remember Bronycon, and tell every funny thing that ever happen. I can ask around, and learn all the things I didn’t see, because I did not see everything. I could not see everything. You can never see everything, that’s the magic of Bronycon, only Bronycon is, what? An amalgamation of people? A microcosmos of the fandom itself?
Bronycon is just people, people getting together and trying to do cool things. I can meet these people again. I can make new memories.
Post-con depression hits like a truck, but you can sometimes punch it right back in the face.
So the show is ending, and that will be sad. It will be sad. Because we have been following this show for years, because we have been part of the fandom for a while, because – even if we think there are ups and lows, even if we have likes and dislikes – we have a fucking emotional connection to the show. So it’s a bit weird, who gives a shit. We care about the characters.
And then it all be over, and it’ll hit us hard. But that doesn’t mean that’s a bad thing.
Because you don’t know everything that the fandom has produced. You can’t see everything, no matter how hard you try. There’s always new things to discover. There’s always some crazy thing that once went on, and you weren’t there, and once you learn of it, even if it’s old news, for you it’s as if it had just happened.
Because no matter how much you think otherwise, if anything feels different, it’s because you changed. Not the world around you. Every day people leave the fandom, but new people join it, too. And the names change, and the trends change, and the things they like and dislike are not exactly the same.
But here’s the thing about sixteen year olds – no matter how old you get, they will always be sixteen.
Sure, some things might evolve. Now teenagers know what pansexuals are, and your ass-backwards little hometown doesn’t think THE GAYS are some kind of mystical mythological creature. The Conversion Bureau used to be big; now nobody gives a shit. University Days was once relevant, and the Featured Box was not as big as Equestria Daily when it came to getting views. You didn’t spend fucking hours reading some Spanish idiot’s blogs. Things have definitely evolved over here.
But in the broad sense, it’s not that different. It’s still going on. It will always go on. Take away the specifics, and the general picture stays the same.
So you sit at your sit in the plane, and you think, and you remember. And you know that you don’t want things to end. But even if everything, eventually, ends; even if that is the greatest tragedy – here’s a little truth, a little cheesy ray of hope:
Nothing, really, ever ends at all.
It just keeps starting all over.
So I sit, and I smile, and I feel a little bit better. I realize I’ll have to write about everything that happened at the Con, and that it will be the most expensive blog in the website. I take my phone out.
And I a message to my sister.
“Sis. I’m coming home.”
And then I post the dab pic.
This contact has blocked you
I want to go to the last one with all my heart, but.
Bumping into Sunny would get awkward in a hurry and I'd probably vacillate between schmoozing and sidelining in mortal terror of crowds.
Huh. There was a shamanic ritual? I wasn't sure if that would happen since horizon wasn't coming this year. (We still need to do a drunk Magic: the Gathering tarot reading, he and I...)
I heard about the wedding and saw the fursuit parade. Don't know why I didn't just get up and take a look. I'm going to blame the throes of inspiration.
And as I said in the blog you quoted, I do wish we hung out more over the course of the con. Thanks for capturing some of what I missed in the most hilarious way imaginable, and for the uplifting message tying it all together.
(But seriously, pansexuals are a clique? How does that even work?)
I'm reminded of the wedding that happened at the anime con I worked in back in Colorado. The two people running the con wanted to get married during the dead dog party after everything had wrapped up. Was pretty nice. The twist was that the groom's side of the family (I think?) was all straight laced military folks. So the sorta-reception after the actual ceremony was straight laced normal people and military types awkwardly socializing with all us zoned-out tired con staff trying to decompress after running the con all weekend. Was funny as heck.
Also, you should totally come to a US ponycon again sometime. I'd like to have a pony weekend that involves less driving through New York and more hanging out with you listening to you having clever conversations with other people.
"Remember Me!"
Not unless we're actually on the Five Score timeline! *checks for butt marks*
Aw...
I imagine this scene of Majin being Majin [1] whilst Aragon stands beside him/her just pretending to have an interest in waving. Also he's holding an icecream, because why the fuck not?
Pffft - Hahaha
That does sound pretty leet.
Fashion aficionado [2], everypony.
*shoves a bookmark in at the second Majin Meat then uncrosses eyes*
Time for a break I guess, and then back to reading the second half!
[1] We all know how Majin is
[2] Isn't that word, like, frot [3] with accents or something?
[3] Apparently 'frot' - rotten, filled with - isn't a word according to firefox. What the hell!?
Thanks man, this is an awesome blog
I love these, man. I should've followed you years ago.
Now come back to BC next year for the grand hurrah!
Even if bronycon ends, there will be another con, and more cons after that. As long as there are people who want to go, and that one dude who really fucking loves his Twilight Sparkle Plushy, there will always be weird things to see at a con. That said, I would still like to make the con next year. Hooves crossed I have the 10-15k [1] to get me there.
[1] I don't actually know the amount but it sounds right
Penis.
Majin Syeekoh is wrong. The joke was funny, but clearly incorrect.
The My Little Dashie timeline has FiM ending in season eight.
It’s really ending? This feels so surreal to me
4922161
Maybe you mean "fraught"?
All we can do now is enjoy what little time we have together. And we'll all party like it's 2012.
And who knows? Maybe somepony from this fandom might reboot the next MLP show in the future.
4922206
Ah. That explains it.
Now I need to check my fiction.
4922181
Boner.
Anyway, that was sweet!
Did I miss the Cat Noir cosplay picture?
That was amazing, dude. What a great way to wrap these up. Glad you had fun and met a ton of awesome people.
It's 15 minutes past my bedtime, but I had to sit down and read this when I saw it. It was worth it. :)
Okay, now I know you are very, very short.
4922223
He can fit in my pocket!
Lol I ended up on part of that shamanic quest.
We'll be back one day.
4922147
"Huh. There was a shamanic ritual? I wasn't sure if that would happen since horizon wasn't coming this year."
Are shamanic rituals at Bronycon a usual thing?
It's true, you DO rock a personal style. I noticed that immediately.
I'd like to hang out with you at some point in the future. Also, give you a hug for being such an evocative diarist: I think that's a more appropriate 'Applejinx' reaction than trying to be 'rude and sassy' just because all your friends seem to revel in being rude and sassy. Cool? I'm sorry for sassing you in one of the blogs: seems you didn't even notice, but it wasn't really like me to curse at you so I apologize.
STILL chuckling at 'gummi bear piss', too
Huh. Okay, so... huh. Bronycon next year or nothing?
What, you didn't post the picture of you groping Iryerris' ass.
I had half-considered writing my own entirely unfunny report from my own wargames convention that I went to today, as A Hilarious Contrast with the all the fun blog-posts that everyone's been writing about Bronycon, but, in the event, it seems like too much effort for an entirely pointless (and largely unseen) non-joke for myself. Especially considering the "highlight" is the entirely unfunny picture of Lyra standing on top of some starships[1] that even I couldn't think of a deliberately not-funny unjoke caption for...)
[1]A thing I torture my local ponythread with after a convention for my own amusement.
...
If the show does indeed end at season nine, my local ponythread will probably ebb away, and I will be struggling to find a crowd of idiots daft enough to put up with my shanigans that I can blither my meaningless crap at (since I don't - and WON'T...! - Social Media. And now I have The Sads.
All I'm getting from this is that you didn't actually go to Bronycon and found yourself at Furry Dick Convention.
4922223 Am I the only one who didn't think Aragon was short when I met him? Can we get an actual height and body weight? Posterity will want to know.
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4922223
I keep fucking saying I'm AVERAGE HEIGHT in Spain, yet people keep calling me tiny, so hell if I know -- at this point it's just a joke I've accepted as something I gotta live with ;_;
170cm tall, to keep the record straight.
Gah, I don't read your blog for the feels. Now I am feeling super wistful =/
~~♪~~
It's something unpredictable, but in the end it's right
I hope you had the time of your life
~~♪~~
4922718
Well, let's see what my computer says.
Sorry, Aragon. You can't argue with a computer.
Sorry I never managed to run into you during the convention, but it's good to know you had such a great time (even managing to punch post con depression in the nuts). If you ever write anything nonpony I'm sure anyone that knows will check it out. Good luck you European manlet
4922718
Yeah, like... Morning isn't tall, and I wouldn't even consider her tall enough to be "a tall woman", but I'm also 193 Brit inches tall, so what do I know. :B
4922778
Aw, yeah, look at this here, it's just science. :V
Dude. You really missed that party. Bloons got stuck in the closet, Badgerpony was passed out flat on his face in the corner, and I was just wondering how the hell someone young as me was managing to outdrink and out-alcoholize all these people.
That's a word, right?
4922147
It was, shall we say, impromptu, and 'eat the energy in the room' is, mm, putting a much nicer shine on how I put it, which was that night I learned what it's like to feel hunger like Changelings do. It was...exhilarating and terrifying at once. In the end, I blinked, and that was the key thing.
4922140
I have no idea why he says I am tall. I'm not!
4922223
I LOVE YOU FOR THIS
4922303
When horizon or now I get involved, it seems the answer is 'yes'
4922481
Yes, if you want to go to BronyCon, next year will be our last year.
4922718
...You're like < 5 CM shorter than me you nimby ponce
4922832
I double love you
4923622
less get murried, bb :V
4923621
Neat. :)
There's so much that goes on that isn't in the booklet...
"Trapped in the Bathroom" will be the title of my memoirs
4924084
Works rather well, seeing how you are a little shit.
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"Wisconsin Man sustains third-degree burns from Spanish Tourist"
4923696
but im gay bby and ur not a gril
4923757
It's strange and awesome all the little hidden treasures of cons
4925279
Aye, though so far I seem to have missed quite a few of them and only found out in retrospect. Well, there's next year and, um. Well, hopefully something appropriately conlike after that.
Dang, man. This is some pretty exquisite nonfiction. Thank you so much for writ—
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WHAT THE STARDUST, I MISSED THE SHAMANIC RITUAL?!
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Started going to Cons in the early 70s, stopped about 25 years later ($). The more things change, the more they stay the same