So, a month ago, I wrote a Sunday Salon post telling y’all that I was going to BEA and Book Blogger Con. Secured the mother-in-law as a multi-day babysitter. Confirmed plans with the roommate. Signed up for the official BEA/BBC feed. Debated which comfy shoes I’d be wearing.
And then 10 days later, on what would become a truly Terrible, No-Good, Horrible, Shit-tastic Day, I was informed that I was going to be “transitioned out” from my job in a month because we’re moving.
Like the Seinfeld episode, it was like, “NO BEA OR BOOK BLOGGER CON FOR YOU!” Nope. No trips to The Strand or Housing Works. No hangin’ with the roommate extraordinaire. None of that.
Bummed does not begin to describe my mood about this. I went last year and it was … amazing.
A!! Maze!!! Zing!!!
(You can read my recaps-in-four-installments of the 2010 event here:
But, reality bites, and beings that I’m a responsible adult (most of the time), cancelling was the right thing to do. I couldn’t justify – much less afford – the expense of the registration, the hotel room, the Amtrak tickets, New York food for three days, etc.
Fortunately, the roommate was incredibly understanding. I hadn’t bought the train tickets yet, so that wasn’t an issue.
But for some reason, I thought the registration fee was refundable … but when I looked into that today, that doesn’t seem to be the case.
What to do? Try to transfer it? Lose it altogether? Or … ?
Or perhaps I could make like the Sheena Easton song and take the morning train (the very, very, very early morning Amtrak train) to New York on Book Blogger Convention day and then a late, late train back that night. That’s what I did last year for the Book Blogger Convention and it worked out beautifully.
(Doing so saves over $100 on the train tix. A no brainer.)
What’s another $100 thrown on the credit card, right?
Yeah, that’s what I thought, too.
I’m going to the Book Blogger Convention.
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