*photo & quotes courtesy of imdb.com
“Dear Diary,”
As you can see from my pre-BlogHer post, I was kind of freaking out that my arm candy, Penny, had mistakenly thought that the SocialLuxe Lounge was on Friday and had gotten a sitter for THAT night, and thus was tragically unavailable to accompany me to not-win my BlogLuxe “Guilty Pleasure” award on Thursday.
“Hey, Martha Dumptruck. My date for the prom kinda flaked out on me. I was wondering, If you weren't doing anything that night, maybe we could rent some new releases and pop some popcorn.”
Having not been a girl on the town in quite some time, I was somewhat nervous (read: paralyzed) by the thought of having to socialize with a bunch of people I didn’t know, many of whom might be people I DID know, but I wouldn’t KNOW I knew, because they don’t look like their blog avatars. For instance, get this: Mom-101 is not a two dimensional 50’s lady, BlackHockeyJesus isn’t black (though there was a neverending supply of wine, so he might be Jesus), and Schmutzie’s face has a lower half. Who knew?
So I knew I could conceivably commit a ginormous faux pas (my life is comprised almost entirely of moments when I say something snarky and the person I am speaking to freezes and I say, “He’s standing RIGHT. BEHIND. ME. Isn’t he?”), and not even know it, because I don’t know what anyone really looks like. And they’ve all met before so they DO know. I could have been talking to the IRL equivalent of my entire Google Reader page.
It was like going to a huge masquerade ball where everyone but you has x-ray vision.
“You blow it tonight, girl, and it's keggers with kids all next year.”
So I go, and I wander around briefly. I get my hair ‘did’ by the straight-hair lady and it looks so good I wonder if I can get away without washing it for the whole weekend. And maybe the wedding I have to go to next weekend. Too much? Maybe. And there was good food.
“Grow up Heather, bulimia's so '87.”
But I’m scared to eat any appetizers because I have this one slightly crooked tooth that acts as a magnet for food, especially green food. You can SHOW ME a piece of broccoli from across the room and it will end up in my teeth. So, no food.
So I got a manicure. This kept me busy for awhile. Then I went and fetched my enormous “swag bag.” Which weighed as much as a human so it was almost like having arm candy, except for the lack of sparkling conversation.
I was then having a shitty, shitty, time, so I took matters into my own hands. I ripped off the bandaid. I went up to a four-top where two impeccably dressed women were seated. I said something witty. I (sincerely) complimented a dress. I introduced myself properly. Now look: I am reasonably good looking. I was dressed nicely. I am no Martha Dumptruck. And yet, I was dissed. Oh, sure, they ‘allowed’ me to sit at their table, but they turned away, in towards each other. As if my half of the table had just fallen off the face of the earth. (Except when it fell back onto the earth long enough for them to ask me to take their picture, and then they walked away). Whuh. Tha. Fuck.
Veronica: “I'm on my way to a party at Remington University... No, my life's not perfect. I don't really like my friends…It's just like - they're people I work with, and our job is being popular and shit.”
J.D.: “Maybe it's time to take a vacation.”
[Edit: In a huge lesson in the area of 'YOUR BLOG IS PUBLIC,' I have actually now been contacted by BOTH of the aforementioned "Heathers" and I have to say, they are LOVELY. They both have excellent blogs--you can find them in the comments below--and are great ladies. As it turns out, they were mortified by the situation of knowing almost no one at the party, and what came off as "Heatherishness" was actually shyness. They were not the "in crowd" I thought they were. Lesson learned. My perception has less to do with how they acted, probably, and more to do with my middle-school baggage. ANYWAY. They both live in the Chicago area, how great is that? So I get a second chance. I am having a playdate after work today with one of them! How insane is THAT? Her son is just one week older than my son. I'm not telling you where we're meeting, because we're all, so, like, famous 'n shit, we don't want to be worried about paparazzi. So anyway, I just want to publicly say, even though I did not identify them personally in the original post, that I'm sorry I took it personally and I really am happy that they walked away because that's how I met my Sex and the City gals. And now I'm getting to meet THEM, too, so it's all good. See how wonderful women can be? Anyway, back to your regularly scheduled programming.)
So, out on the market again, I nursed my emotional wounds and decided to do a better job next time of scouting out my prey. I was having horrible middle-school flashbacks of no one to sit with in the cafeteria, and I knew that if I was going to make the next two days WORK, I had to figure something out.
And there they were. Imagine them with me, in slow-motion, if you will: A lovely, bouncy-haired pair (you got caught up on the words “bouncy” and “Pair,” didn’t you? Well, they had those two, but let’s stay on track, shall we?) of slightly-younger-than-me, non-baby-toting ladies dressed in fabulous evening attire, standing up at a tall table and laughing their asses off. My new BFFs. I don’t quite remember what I said to them, but I walked right up and I am certain the phrase “YOU MUST HELP ME, I KNOW NO ONE” was used. They immediately accepted me, we chatted, and I felt within minutes as if I’d know them for years. These two glorious, beautiful, hilarious women, Kate and Monika, would become my BFFs for the next two days. They waited with me while I confirmed I was not, in fact, a winner of the BlogLuxe category. They told me I was robbed even though they’d never read my blog. We waited together for henna mehndi tattoos and then complimented each other’s hands for the next two days. They let me put my shit in their hotel room, for fuck’s sake. I had a whole corner of their room designated for my shit. I practically had my own key. They were JUST. LOVELY. And we had a blast together. I cannot remember the last time I was that drunk without getting laid. After SocialLuxe, we stood on the street corner at Lower Wacker together and cheered like lunatics when the President’s motorcade drove by (he left at the same time we did, only without a manicure).
“Our love is God, let's go get a Slushie.”
These amazing girls from Cincinnati rescued my sorry ass from what would certainly have been BlogHer hell. It was awesome that I was dissed the first time around (yeah, that’s right, BITCHES, take THAT!), or I would not have found them. Actually, it was awesome that Penny couldn’t make it, because I would have talked to her the whole time and then had to start over again on Friday morning. Which leads us to…
“Did you have a brain tumor for breakfast?’
I go about my morning on Friday, not realizing that I never ate dinner the night before. I am hungover so I also do not have breakfast. I stand in a ridiculously long line to pick up my badge, fretting the whole time that they won’t have it and I’ll have no proof of buying it (I was able to attend only out of the generosity of Genie, who had something come up and sold me her pass a few weeks before the conference). They do have it. Hallelujah. I miss the first session. I get there right as they are starting this speed-dating thing. It’s too much for first thing in the morning with the first hangover I’ve had in two years. I step back out. I ridicule myself silently for being like a little squirrel who tries to get close to the nuts but can’t really get up enough courage to just grab them out of the Big Scary Hand.
Inside the room, two enormous concentric circles of women are rotating in opposite directions at one-minute intervals, laughing and yelling, with the occasional baby hand stretching out of the perfect circle, like the errant limb of a confused dancer from a Busby Berkeley-choreographed 1930’s musical.
Okay, deep breath. My partners in crime were still sleeping off the previous night’s activities (“sleeping in” is still in their vocabulary, those sweet child-free princesses), so I figured, I’ll try out the first session on the “Mommyblogging” track, something about Finding Your Tribe. I am, in fact, a mom who blogs. Natch, right?
I walk in and my senses are immediately assaulted by eight shades of pink, fourteen crying infants, five ladies handing out bags of “Strawberry Shortcake” swag, and a parrrtriiiidge in a peeeaar treeeeee. Whatever my tribe is, this ain’t it. The woman next to me glances longingly at my apparently sought-after, endangered-species-list-enrolled bag of smelly pink dolls. “I don’t belong here,” I say, and I hand her the bag. I back slowly out of the room.
I had not, in fact, found my tribe.
“The only place different social types can genuinely get along with each other is in heaven.”
I am phoned by Dorothy Tucker from Channel 2 and asked to meet at 10:30am in the lobby so she can interview me about being at BlogHer. I assume this is related to a similar request from a Chicago print media person who wanted to interview me about the FTC thing, as I have a rather outspoken disclosure policy on my blog. I agree to meet her. She doesn’t show. Then she calls me from the exhibit hall. I go down there, but she talks for 30 minutes to some marketing person (while I look like an asshole media whore who is begging to be interviewed and want to make a sign to wear that says à THIS CHICK CALLED ME ON MY PHONE, I SWEAR). Then she tells me she wants to interview me at my house sometime in the coming week. Fine. (Later, she sets that up, then cancels it. Good lord. I feel like I need a personal assistant. It shouldn’t be so hard. I have a cell phone and e-mail and a Twitter account. Setting up an interview with me should not have me feeling like I am on Amazing Fucking Race).
Heather Duke: “Veronica, you look like hell.”
Veronica Sawyer: “Yeah? I just got back.”
I attend Blog to Book, an awesome session on getting published. I’m interested in that from both a non-fiction blog perspective and also from a fiction novel (that I’ve had in the works for a while) perspective, so it was fascinating to me. Good connections made. I find myself wishing that in addition to a “Mommy” Track and a “Business” track there would also be a “CRAFT” track. Very few of the sessions touched on the craft of writing. Almost none of the sessions had working wi-fi. AT A BLOGGING CONFERENCE. I get frustrated with the laptop and take notes on a little steno pad like I am Lois Lane.
“Chaos was what killed the dinosaurs, darling.”
That night, I change into fancy clothes in Kate & Monika’s room (see? They are so awesome) and we head out on the town. We get there early for one party in the lobby and sit quietly, drinking our wine, on the edge of the fountain. We are quickly overtaken by hordes of crazy women vying for free shit, because there is a rumor that THERE BE VIBRATORS IN THEM THAR SWAG BAGS. DUDE. You can buy your own vibrating vagina bunny for fucking $15. Batteries weren’t even included. Can I have that clump of my hair back now? STEP. OFF. BITCH.
“What is your damage, Heather?”
We go to the EA party at House of Blues and have a LOVELY time having REAL cocktails (like, not only beer and wine) and excellent food, trying to figure out if there’s anything we can safely all eat given Monika’s mushroom intolerance and my shellfish allergy. We decide it’s safer to just stick to booze.
“Great pate, mom, but I gotta motor if I wanna be ready for that party tonight.”
Monika and Kate go to the Lush Cosmetics party which is trés chic but I am not on the list, so I head over to the Mommy Needs a Cocktail party and engage in some semi-lame wandering around and the worst vodka-lemonade I’ve ever had in my life until I meet A REAL LIVE TABLE FULL OF BLOGGERS WHO ARE MOMS BUT DO NOT HAVE BABIES ACTUALLY ON THEIR PERSONS AND WHO ARE VERY VERY FUNNY AND WHAT’S MORE THEY LIKE ME THEY REALLY LIKE ME. I’m scared to name them here because I was very drunk by this point and I am sure I will leave someone out. But here goes: @alldressedup, @spuddybuddy, @shelly_overlook,, @omg_youguys. We bonded for REE-UL. And later, @bernthis. When they were headed out I reunited with Kate at the Sparklecorn party (to which I was also not invited, but they owed me because they stoled my bling. Just kidding.). We danced to eighties music and I was in LOVE.
I also got to meet Marinka, and on and on. People I read every week. And I got to attend an amazing storytelling session in which I talked shop with Schmutzie, and BHJ, and Neil Kramer, and Amy Turn Sharp, holy crap. Too awesome to explain.
Ooh, and the week wouldn’t be complete without getting to piss off the panelists in the Sponsored vs Unsponsored “Room of Your Own,” but come on, both panelists had the same opinion, so somebody had to speak up on the other side of the coin. I could have been nicer, but I told them their whining was annoying and misguided, and that it’s just false that it’s boys picking on us because we’re girls and they think we’re stupid (yes, that was what the panelist had said).
“The extreme always seems to make an impression.”
One woman who shall remain nameless BECAUSE I AM NICE practically yanked the mic out of my hand to complain that Obama was the cause of the FTC troubles, but was kindly informed by, like, everyone who knew how to read that it had actually started during the Bush administration. Good times.
“Some people need different kinds of convincing than others.”
I’m sure I made some enemies then, but I also made some friends as there were many, many people in that session who agreed with me, that blogging usually is (or usually should be) about writing, not about getting free shit.
Veronica Sawyer: “All we want is to be treated like human beings, not to be experimented on like guinea pigs or patronized like bunny rabbits.”
Veronica's Dad: “I don't patronize bunny rabbits.”
I also got to meet Tim Gunn, which was awesome, especially since I got to stand in line for a long time with @leeofmwob and @debwilliams, friends I made from the sponsorship session. And I got to meet Carson Kressley as well. But you know, neither of those lovely men is really, um, oozing with masculinity. After two and a half days of OD’ing on estrogen, I found myself wanting to have some masculine interaction.
Geek: Ah, oh, uh! I like to suck big dicks. Or, uh... Mmmm! Mmmm! I can't get enough of 'em!
No, not that kind, you slut: you know, like, a baseball game, or Home Depot.
“This isn't just a spoke in my menstrual cycle.”
There was so much estrogen, in fact, that my period started a whole week early. I shit you not. I texted my husband, “Thank you for holding down the fort this weekend. You are SO getting laid tomorrow.” Or at least that’s what I thought I texted him. He replied back, “WHAT IS LAIF?”
I guess I should just be thankful I didn’t send that message to my dad or something.
So let’s see, to recap:
· I met tons of people I admire.
· I smoked a pack of cigarettes in two days, even though I quit five years ago (don’t worry, I haven’t had one since Sunday and now I have a nice sore throat to pay for it).
Veronica's Dad: “Will someone tell me why I smoke these damn things?”
Veronica Sawyer: “Because you're an idiot.”
Veronica's Dad: “Oh yeah, that's it.”
· I pissed some people off.
· I drank a shit ass ton of alcohol.
· I lived on nothing but appetizers, booze, and bar mix for three days.
· I handed out cute business cards and people squeed about them.
· I made some amazing friends that are already keeping me from working with their insanely funny Tweets.
Maybe next year someone will be excited to meet ME “in real life.” At the very least, I will know people when I walk in the room. Which is good, because I have no arm candy in NYC. I spent a lot of time at BlogHer09 trying to figure out where I fit in, and that made it an awful lot like middle- and high-school. In the end, I found at least two crowds that I could bounce between, and that's great. I can be different things at different times. I don't always write about my kid. Sometimes I write about random crap that pisses me off, or advertising, or my extended family. As long as I am writing my own truth (or some version thereof), it doesn't really matter. It's my real life.
“Dear Diary: Heather told me she teaches people "real life." She said, real life sucks losers dry. You want to fuck with the eagles, you have to learn to fly. I said, so, you teach people how to spread their wings and fly? She said, yes. I said, You're beautiful.”
I have already registered for BlogHer10. And I’m making a pledge here and now: if I meet you the first night, and you are cool, I will TOTALLY LET YOU KEEP YOUR SHIT IN MY ROOM.
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