Random Tuesday Thoughts: BlogHer edition


Oh, hello, Random Tuesday Thoughts. It seems like a million things have happened since we last spoke. Apparently, someone tells me, Random Tuesday Thoughts are "huge in the UK".

(Did you hear that? I'm huge in the UK. That is totally going on my resume. Right after tends to believe even the drunkenest ramblings if it at all resembles flattery.)

Blush. Modest wave.

So, let's start with this:

In related news: I cannot, apparently, party for many hours 3 nights in a row anymore. I...feel like I've failed you all.

Inadvisable: eating nothing but organic fruits & veggies for months, and then switching to a diet of nothing but flour, sugar, and red wine; going anywhere near Chicago O'Hare airport; thinking that I actually believe I'm "huge in the UK".

Advisable: going to a blogging conference at least once in your blogging career; meeting some of the online people that you feel you really click with, because you probably will; booking extra time in the host city if you actually want to see any of it. Which I didn't.

Summary: BlogHer made me feel like a tiny fish in a Big Apple in an even bigger pool, if there were a thousand writers that are better than me and cliques and bewildering high school politics in that pool. But that's okay, because (much like high school), I had my peeps:

That's Becky, moi, Jenni, and Gretchen. Not pictured from our weekend posse: Casey, Mrsbear, and Andrea.

(Thank you Gretchen, for explaining that you almost never take a bad photo if it's from above. The double chin is still there, you just can't see it. Magic. Probably worth the price of admission.)

Oh, I forgot to mention that in the big pool with cliques and high school politics, there would also be a bunch of random people just GIVING you things. Here, have a necklace! Want some jeggings? Here's a whole box of Weebles!

But I knew I'd hit a low point with that when I had to answer not one, but THREE questions about tuna, and spin a wheel, all to receive...post-it notes. Post-its with the "Chicken of the Sea" logo on them.

I don't even LIKE tuna.

I obviously haven't absorbed my BlogHer experience very well yet, which is why I'm doing this on a Tuesday. You guys won't expect any kind of brilliant analysis out of me, right?

Also, I seem to have gone to NY with a horseshoe up my ass, because I won not only a pretty nice clutch purse, but a learning system from Fisher Price for my ingrate kid, and a $500 scholarship for another conference of my choice. Guess I've gotta do that again.

Blissdom, anyone?

Random observations on my descent down the sanity spiral: Random Tuesday Thoughts


Snippet of conversation overheard at the coffee shop that I am truly hoping I heard out of context:

"Yeah, so, my wife is really into reading books right now. THAT could be bad."

Next she'll want to VOTE, or something. Gawd.

At the community water park the other day I saw a 8-or-9 year old girl wearing a lime green string bikini with fringes on the boobs. The fringes flounced when she ran. She ran like she was auditioning for Baywatch, and she DID have the beginnings of boobs.

I am never having a girl. Unless I can somehow convince her to become a butch lesbian. But I think that's kind of frowned upon as a parenting technique.

Let's keep things in perspective, shall we? Hello Kitty luxury water, at $100 a bottle.

I've gotten it all up in my head that I'm going to start sewing eco-friendly clothing & diapers for kids. I have some organic cotton & bamboo fabric coming from Wazoodle.com. I considered hand-dyeing it, and found myself saving the little pollen-y things from my lilies in anticipation of using it to make a dye...and that's when I realized that I've gone completely off the rails. Even Elle, my frugalista eco-guru friend, backed away slowly when I told her that.

(You'll still love me, though, right?)

I'm purposely trying to keep this post relatively BlogHer-free because I remember how irritating it was last year when everybody kept yapping about it and I wasn't going. But...two more sleeps til BlogHer.

There is something sticky on my laptop. Ew.

Does your breakfast need a little life? Here's a toast defibrilator.

Every time I think I'm getting ahead financially, I realize that it's because I forgot to pay the bills.

Hubby just came home with bags of hotdogs and Kraft Dinner. He could have at least waited until I was GONE to NY to set the menu for him and my son.

Really? Really, really.

"Everybody is too busy focusing on their own perceived imperfections to notice yours."

That is my usual Tenet To Live By. I'm pretty good at following it, most of the time. However, when there is an impending event that will involve a lot of cameras, such as a wedding or a birthday or, say, BlogHer, I've been known to have the occasional panicky crisis of faith.

I had one today. Thanks to whacky hormones and lack of time to exercise and sheer laziness on my part, I'm officially the same weight that I was a couple of weeks after giving birth to my son. It's only twenty pounds more than I would like to weigh, and I think I look fine. I feel fine, which is equally important, but since all this extra blubber seems to have settled around my waist like a floatation device, I have this pesky little problem: nothing fits.

Mostly I just kind of muddle along in jeans and hope that some chemical rebalancing of my body will eventually win me my wardrobe back. But for something like the BlogHer parties, where I want to look NICE, and maybe wear something SPECIAL, it's problematic. Today, feeling slightly on edge, I thought I came up with the perfect solution: shapewear. Shapewear would shave off a few sizes. Shapewear would turn me into a svelte, confident, social conquerer who doesn't show quite so much gums when she smiles, right?

While that might be slightly true for higher-end products such as Yummie Tummie or Spanx, due to time and money constraints, what I had access to this afternoon was discount shapewear.

(These sudden fixations on specific items to assuage my fashion fears are...often somewhat deluded. I have some very creepy rubber boob-lifter 'cutlets' that will attest to this.)

I took the butt-and-tummy-firmer-and-smoother into the changeroom with a pair of jeans and a nice (if slightly clingy) top. I changed from my comfy 'weekend' jeans and loose tank into the Lycra armor.

...Huh. I don't think this stuff is supposed to CREATE lumps. Maybe they go away after you put the clothes on over top.

Um. Guess not. Isn't this supposed to make me look smaller?

I stood under the unflattering flourescent lights of the outlet mall for a bit, shoulders slumped, wondering if I really looked that paunchy. Then I decided that 'really' is whatever you make it. The people I meet at BlogHer will still be meeting ME.

I put everything back and vowed to only ever shop at places that are smart enough to provide natural lighting.

Then I went and spent that money on wine.

I've morphed back into a sulky teenage girl, except without the perky boobs.

What my boss says:
"Keely? Did you send that email to Jim? Did you make the revisions to the drawings for the hotel? Did you remember that they said blue, not beige? Can you forward me that email that I forwarded to you yesterday? I can't find it. Did you order that tempered glass for the hospital display? Are you sure that's the right size? Really, really sure? I don't remember you telling me you were gone next week, are you sure you told me?"

What I think:
I wonder if I should take my DSLR to BlogHer, or just my point & shoot? I wonder if that dress is still on sale? I hope hubby remembered to take out the recycling. I wonder of the Home Depot people will know if 3/4" plywood over the windows will be good enough to hold off zombies, or if I should spring for the 1"?

What I say:

What my boss says, 20 minutes later:
"Keely? Did I ask you to send that email to Jim? Did you make the revisions to the drawings for the hotel? They said blue, right, not beige? Did you forward me that email that I forwarded to you yesterday yet? I can't find it. Did you say you ordered that tempered glass for the hospital display? I'm sure that's the wrong size. When are you gone again, the 4th?"

What I think:
Should I go to the Mouthy Housewives Happy Hour, or will I be afraid to leave the hotel? I have to remember my damn phone charger. I wonder if FoN wants to go for sushi today? Where did I put that flask of scotch?

What I say:

What my boss says, another 20 minutes later:
"Keely? Did you send that email to Jim yet? Did you see this list of revisions to the drawings for the hotel? They say blue, not beige. I still can't find that email, did you forward it to me? Do you have the work order for that tempered glass for the hospital display? Are you sure that's the right size? Really, really sure? Wait, you're gone next week?"

What I think:
I should probably make a list so I don't forget my passport, or anything. I wonder what my kid is doing right now? Seriously, can NOT forget my passport. Heh, that post by Mrsbear is hilarious. I wonder if anybody would notice if I stabbed this stylus into my forearm?

What I say:
"I said yes! God!"

What I think, 10 minutes later:
Wait, was I supposed to email Jim or John?

Just a heads up

I am a nervous drinker. I'm a little socially awkward, as I'm sure a lot of bloggers feel they are, and that's what I do when confronted with actual human interaction. I mean, if booze is present, of course. I don't stash a flask in my purse or anything. But if the occasion warrants it, and I happen to be having a glass of wine, rather than open my mouth and say something weird, I open my mouth and put wine in it. And then maybe some more, because, well, that glass is right there in my hand. And the bottle is so close! Right there by my elbow. And then I've had 3 or 4 glasses and I'm saying weird and inappropriate things anyway, but oh well, what the hell do I care? I'm shmammered.

Years ago - like, 9 of them in fact - some wonderful friends of mine got married very close to Hallowe'en. They had the theme wedding but managed to make it nottacky, as they have a fantastic group of talented and creative family & friends. At some point, because the people surrounding them were so clever and articulate, they had an open microphone. Soooo many people got up and said such beautiful things about the newlyweds. I was twitching in my seat. I had been best friends with the bride for ages, surely I should say something too?

But I hadn't lived in the area in several years, and none of their friends were MY friends. So I was nervous. And drinking. And I'm pretty sure it was an open bar, or possibly I had just been helping myself.

I got up anyway and started a rambling speech about how in the beginning it had just been my friend and me, and we had been inseparable, and everyone had referred to us as "Keelyandfriend", or "FriendandKeely", but now it was "Husbandandfriend", and um, that was okay too. I guess. But back when we had met we had bonded instantly over chocolate-chocolate chip cookies, and been inseparable, and what the fuck was my point again?

I think my friend started to get that teeth-clenchy look so I abandoned the microphone to someone else and wandered off to tell the MC how I thought if he moved his plastic stick-on devil's horn from his forehead to his chin that he'd be really popular with the girls, heh heh. My friend expressed surprise when I apologized the next day - "you were drunk?" - but she was just being her very kind self. I still cringe when I think of that wedding.

So, yeah. What the fuck was my point again?

Oh, right. See you at BlogHer.

(Don't say I didn't warn you.)