...Which of course she and Marc both agree she should be murdered before attending such a nightmare. Wili can't get it: Connor's shrewd, ambitious and hot just like Wili, so why on Earth is he with a coltish farm girl (in a Martha's Vineyard sort of way, I guess) like Molly? Marc's like, "Word, he's hot. He's the Male-amina!" They scheme for her to drag him to an investor's meeting in Florida and show him her underwear. "It's not about the sex, I can see a future with him," she says, and Marc's like, "Or just show him your boob." They agree she still has it, and then he fans her for awhile because the "it" she has is clearly "the hot flashes."
Betty goes galumphing into the YETI conference without doing a lick of research, wafted along on dreams and starlight and silly music. The friendly, gorgeous woman she meets with has the intense name of Pilar Mejia, and informs her that she's got a year to come up with a cover, TOC and letter from the editor for an original magazine concept that defines her. Kind of like Talk or Jane, but less up itself. Betty assures her that she can do the real deadline for this year, which is in 48 hours, because she does it all the time and besides, she can't wait for her actual life to start already. Pilar lets her go with it, because she's adorable, and wishes her a very sympathetic good luck.
If you had a YETI magazine, what would it be? Mine would be like ... a cross between O and Soldier Of Fortune, with fun recipes and party ideas, cool shopping spreads for trendy hipster shit like on Stylista, and ads in the back for scary Montana survivalist camps and articles like, "Go Fuck Your Breast Implants, Chief" and "How I Learned To Take Apart An AK-47 Blindfolded ... And Fell In Love!" and "Paying For Your MP3s is Letting The Terrorists Win." Plus things that could help you, like "Training Nerds To Do All Your Shit For You Using The Nebulous Promise Of Vaguely Sexual Interaction," a ten-part series covering everything from car detailing to cable installation to renting movies and bringing home Americone Dream without being asked. Also some shit about God, because sometimes I like to talk about that; a linguistic Believe It Or Not cartoon; six pages of Lynda Barry strips; a section about the Jungian themes and significance of a different television show each month; and a column about not fucking up your gay kid. It will be called Dear Hilda and it will be addressed to a hypothetical woman named Hilda who is fucking up her gay kid. Wouldn't that be a great magazine? I would read the shit out of that magazine.