I am not counting down to BlogHer 12. I’m not. Countdowns make me nervous and increase my anxiety and things usually explode at the end of them. Plus the week before I’m supposed to be schmoozing it up with people who usually are not aware that I am not wearing a bra while we discuss Life and Other Important Things and getting prettified to take part in the BlogHer fashion show as a model is not a good time to use my chin as a scratching board. I might like to pretend that I’m a cool customer this time around, but my anxiety levels and heightened ADHD/OCD scab picking habit are telling me otherwise.
(Note: If you found the proverbial Waldo hidden in the paragraph above, please help yourself to a virtual cookie from the tray. You’re welcome.)
No. I’m not counting down to BlogHer. But the rest of the internet is.
Don’t worry. I’ve already blamed all of you for the Enjoy Life pseudo-chocolate chips sitting atop a big ole’ spoon of raw almond butter because this is how I roll now when eating compulsively to deal with the fact that I’ll be leaving my kid with BFF Heather while I’m off living it up in NYC and probably hitting the American Girl store with BlogHer roomie Robin O’Bryant before returning so we can both soothe our raging cases of Mommy Guilt because we are leaving our babies, people. We are leaving our babies with their fathers and our best friends, who happen to be capable adults that are not us, and we only feel guiltier for knowing that we will be thrilled to be away from them and on our own, having adult conversations, and not having to remind anyone to stop telling perfect strangers that they are getting pretty good at cleaning their vaginas without Mama’s help because shit like that just gets awkward.
It’s too late to cancel my plane ticket or buy one for Buttercup to ride shotgun. And if I poke enough air holes in my suitcase for Buttercup to breathe en route to the Big Apple, people are bound to hear her singing show tunes to pass the time. My only option is to ease my guilt by bribing her love me upon my return. I’d better get cracking on a thank you gift to BFF Heather for taking on the ominous task of having Buttercup at her place (baths, books, bed, 5 a.m. wake-up calls to get herself ready for work before getting Buttercup up at 6 to get Buttercup ready for Kinder drop off before 8 in the godforsaken morning, and then school pick up, homework, dinner, and rinse and repeat) which I have assured her will be a breeze because it will totally not be a breeze but I’m trying to sell this thing, m’kay?
And yes, I did just say all of that in one breath in my head. Hence the lack of punctuation. Deal with it.
In all honesty, I’d rather stay home. While I know I’m going to have an incredible time and renew old connections while creating new ones and that my platform ain’t building itself, nor is my manuscript ever going to get picked up be a publisher if I don’t get my name out there (I’m thinking Bump-It and a fake tan, yes?) I also know that eating at BlogHer is going to be a giant bitch and that I’m going to two wine mixers and I’m allergic to yeast.
Que the Jeopardy theme-song:
Answer: See this wine I’m drinking right now? Sucks to be you.
I’ll take, “What is Hell for $5,000, Alex.”
It’s okay. Really. I will just focus on the fact that seeing my friends in person is more important than the alcohol I won’t be consuming which will be a total fucking lie. Maybe.
Oh now don’t get offended. You know I can’t wait to see you and share actual physical space with you and squeal like school girls for approximately 30 seconds before each of us reaches for our iPhones and spends the rest of the time we spend in each other’s presence conversing in tweets and hashtags because that’s how these things work. We will only stop tweeting long enough to air kiss and squeal again as we promise to not wait until the next conference to ignore each other in person when it’s time to say good-bye so I can get to the American Girl store and you can go drink more wine and then we won’t see each other again until that next conference that we weren’t going to wait for.
It’s gonna be great.
There are only a few days left before I board a plane and leave my only child with a woman who is on the fence about having her own children one day. Which means I should probably wait until I return to choose a thank you gift for the BFF. After all, it’s kind of hard to wrap up a tubal ligation.