The Best Writers' Slumber Party EVER

Any of you who follow my friend Natalie's blog know that she's been going on and on about this awesome writers' retreat she went on. And yes, I'm a bit envious. In fact, I was feeling kind of down, so I went ahead and invited three of my favorite writers to my house for a GIANT SLUMBER PARTY.

Much giggling and hugging ensued as Cindy Pon, Carrie Harris, and Stephanie Perkins arrived. "Don't we all live in different states?" Stephanie asked, mildly confused. We stopped admiring her blue hair to answer.

"Well, Kiersten and I live close to each other," Cindy said, swatting my hands away as I tried to steal one of her drop-dead gorgeous Chinese dresses out of her bag. "But this is the first time we've hung out."

"And aren't you supposed to live in a small apartment rather than this lush and fabulously furnished home?" Carrie asked, setting down her hand-knit zombie-themed travel bags and extra boxes of Squarts.

"Relax, guys, it's all imaginary, might as well make it better. Have I shown you my library? Or my theater room?" After the grand tour--and believe me, it was grand--we got down to business.

First up was eating. Tons, and tons, and tons of junk. Fortunately the lovely and talented Cindy is known for not only eating wonderful things, but documenting them in photographs. We chattered about how freaking awesome her book Silver Phoenix is while gorging on gourmet desserts.

You were expecting Junior Mints and M&Ms? Not at THIS slumber party!

Basing our ideas of slumber parties on what we remembered from junior high, we determined it was high time for some prank calls.

"Oh, I know!" Steph said, grinning in her patented adorable way. "I have Thom Yorke from Radiohead's number!"

We looked at each other nervously. "Umm, Steph?" We didn't want to hurt her feelings, but it had to be said. "Isn't he like notoriously grouchy?"

"I'm kind of scared of him," Cindy admitted.

"But he's cute grouchy!" Steph insisted.

"But swearing makes my ears bleed," I said, holding back tears. In the end we decided to scroll through her list of HBMs (Hot British Males) on speed-dial in her phone. Sadly, James McAvoy (who, if you'll notice, follows my blog and occasionally emails) was unreachable, seeing as how he's in New Zealand working on a little movie that he's not at liberty to talk about since his role hasn't been officially announced (but it rhymes with The Bobbit and Stephanie and I couldn't be more proud of him). But we got a hold of Chris Martin and not only did he put his concert on hold to answer our giggling questions (I won't even tell you what Steph was asking since it's wildly inappropriate), he even sang a song for us! What a sweetheart. He's so in love with Stephanie it's ridiculous.

After that we painted our nails. And you're probably thinking, nail polish, boring, move on, but what you don't know is that Cindy is an accomplished Chinese brush artist. So our nails were absolute works of art. I have the fluffy bunny on my thumbs, while Steph opted for a lotus, and Carrie requested a zombie kingfisher. Cindy is very talented.

Next up was the very special "Bring your male author crush to the party!" time. The doorbell rang and who came through but...

That's right! Steph brought Dora's big brother! (Have I mentioned lately that they have the same editor and I know her which by extension makes me practically famous?)

John is every bit as charming and clever in person as you'd expect him to be. And, as we found out, he gives a mean pedicure. He and I got into a limerick contest, and while he insists that rhyming "Nerdfighters" with "cheeky blighters" was the most brilliant line in history, I'm pretty sure I won. Good thing he has all of those Printzes for consolation.

Next up was Cindy's guest, who had us all hyperventilating with his first British-accented hello.

Yes, THE Neil Gaiman!

We played some writing games with him. Here he is finishing up our roundtable story, where everyone contributed a line. I still think he cheated with the very cliched "And then he woke up!" but you really can't complain to freaking Neil Gaiman, can you? Besides, he was utterly delightful and promised to bring Tori Amos with him next time.

Carrie's turn was next, and she apologized profusely for not being able to provide a male author crush, but figured her offering was so multi-talented we would forgive her. And forgive her we did the second this man walked through the door:

He's even sparklier and fro-ier in real life!

This part of the evening was so special it's hard to sum up in words. We laughed, we cried, we sweat to the oldies. I don't think any of our lives will ever be the same after seeing that orange, orange man.

But my stomach sank as he left and I realized that they were all watching me expectantly to see who I would provide. Scott Westerfield? Lemony Snicket? Markus Zusak? Alas--I had no one. In a desperate gamble to divert their attention, I screamed, "What's that?!" Taking advantage of their turned backs, I held this up in front of me:

Baby Dojo

And, since no one is immune to the charms of Baby Dojo pictures, they immediately melted and forgot all about how I failed to provide a yummy male author offering.

Finally, chattered and gossipped and laughed out, we got ready for bed. But there was one last surprise in store for us thanks to the ever-delightful Carrie Harris. She had actually gone to the trouble of making us matching pajamas!

A little on the toasty side, but so adorable!

Isn't she AMAZING?? She kept apologizing that she didn't have time to finish by adding little decay details so we'd be matching undead Teletubbies, but we were all so happy we didn't even mind.

We drifted off to sleep, each clutching our custom-knitted dolls (mine a ninja, Carrie's a zombie, Steph's a vampire, and Cindy's a miniature Neil Gaiman), once again courtesy of Carrie. Not surprising, given the nights events, I dreamt of John Green*. We were hanging out and he asked my opinion on a paragraph of his latest work in progress. I was impressed that he writes all of his first drafts on old magazines--so environmentally conscious--and equally impressed with his writing. Although, as I pointed out, one of the words would be better replaced, and there was a lot of internal rhyme. He agreed. It was awesome.

We awoke to the scent of fresh scones with raspberry butter. That's right--relenting from our jealous fit, we invited Natalie over for breakfast, provided a) she bring it, and b) she wear this outfit:

So hawt. We all agreed it was a good thing she wasn't there the night before, or Neil, John, and Richard would have ignored the rest of us.

Finally it was time to part, but not without a few tears. However, as Stephanie cleverly pointed out, since the whole thing was imaginary in the first place, we could do it every single night. Now if you'll excuse me, my doorbell just rang. Looks like Richard's here early!

*Scarily enough, I really had this dream last night. I blame it on planning this post. And vow not to mention John Green for at least three weeks, lest it begin to look like I've got an obsession.