I made my way to the yellow covered tents at the far end of the WeHo Book Fair fifteen minutes early, for the panel that had made me cream when I read about it. Moderated by Hilary Carlip, “Cracking Up: Women on the Verge of Laughter” was a discussion with five female writers whose work ostensibly falls under the heading “comedy”: Beth Lapides, Cathryn Michon, Meghan Daum, and Erika Schickel.

I’ll be frank – sitting in the audience for that panel made me feel like a complete stalker. When I’m trying to ignore my to-do list at work, I read the work of writers that I admire. They’re usually women, and since I live in L.A., I sometimes try to figure out the who’s who of people that I like to read locally. This habit meant that I was able to identify two of the five panelists on sight, well before they sat down in front of their paper nameplates.

As I slumped down in my chair, Carlip let us know that we were going to get a thank you for being there rather than at the neighboring panels with Pulitzer Prize-winning food critic Jonathan Gold or sex expert Midori -- we were going to play Bingo. Whoever won would get a prize, one of which each of the authors had brought.

After introductions and mentions of their published books both past and present, the panelists began discussing what it means to be labeled a comedic writer, what it means to be funny, and of course, what it means to be a funny woman versus a funny man.

Cathryn Michon and Beth Lapides stayed mostly in comedienne mode, breaking to make serious comments about performing comedy versus writing comedy. Meghan Daum looked a little dazed, or like a writer-deep-in-thought at the beginning, but wound up being possibly the funniest one there. Hilary Carlip stayed on track, maintaining her quirky persona. And Erika Schickel once or twice let on that she didn’t think she belonged on a panel with comedy writers, but backed up quickly each time by immediately self-deprecating.

Following the panel, all the authors were signing books at a nearby booth. It was also where Bingo winners selected their prizes. As I hovered there awkwardly, wondering if I should approach anyone or just go home, confusion about something ensued in front of me. I finally realized that I was standing behind two women who were arguing over who, as their prize, would get to take home Meghan Daum’s fan mail. Why I did not leave at that moment, I may never know.

It was scorching hot in West Hollywood on Sunday for the West Hollywood Book Fair, much too hot for the heavy, dirty jeans and tight, thick t-shirt I was wearing.

I don’t know if it was because of the hangover I was nursing, the fact that I arrived a little late, or just the heat, but at 12pm when I arrived at West Hollywood Park near the Pacific Design Center, I had some trouble getting into the swing of the fair.

The Robertson Street entrance to the fair was covered with an archway made of purple balloons. Immediately inside and to the right was a small stage lined with purple velvet curtains and about five rows of folding chairs set up, aptly titled the Robertson Theater. Actors from non-profit corporation Books with Feet were onstage performing “Miss Furr and Miss Skeene” by Gertrude Stein, to an audience of about ten. I sat down towards the back.

The two women on the small black stage repeated the phrases “Miss Furr” and “Miss Skeene” back and forth to each other, over and over. This was obviously not a scene that I should have walked into halfway through, and it didn’t help my growing sense of being thrown into Waiting for Godot or some sort of David Lynch movie. They continued their repetition as I slinked out of my seat and into a chair at the back of the next stage over, the Robertson Coffee House.