My best friend thinks I need Xanax. Apparently the ridiculous amount of Adderall I am on for the ADHD is just enough to calm my own nerves enough to make me think I’m not pissing off the rest of the world. Turns out I’m now starring in my own fairy tale, that I’m still pissing off most people who meet me (or maybe it’s just those receiving 30 text messages every five minutes in which I freak the fuck out about leaving Buttercup for five days while I trot off to New York for that conference you may have heard about), my own perception of calm is not shared by most living people.
But since my anxiety peaks before a new event and then levels off, I looked pretty normal while in NYC. Total win.
I also got to meet my agent, which was a major bonus.
And while BlogHer was a whirlwind of crazy that was too long and yet not long enough, I survived. And so did my kid. Also? The Husband, it seems, managed to remain breathing and coherent with a steady diet of hot dogs, macaroni, and Doritos, so I’m hitting the Safeway tomorrow and taking the next week off in the kitchen.
Here are a few other gems I learned at BlogHer:
* I only seem to be able to find time to read my Nook above 10,000 feet when no one is referring to me as Mama or Honey. I’m also wondering why the hell airlines haven’t clued in yet and started renting out e-readers and passing them out with the peanuts no one actually eats.
* The Converse I wore to NYC? Not made of explosive materials. The Maxi dress I wore home? Not roomy enough to hide an army of terrorists. Live and learn, my friends.
* Anyone who ever fantasizes about time travel needs to first try jumping forward three hours when traveling from the west to the east coast and then willingly and, whilst whistling a happy fucking tune, rise from their beds at 5:30 a.m.Tucson time because it’s 8:30 a.m. where all the other women who are reveling in 48 child free hours are hanging out. I’d suggest coffee and no-dos, but for me, that’s like taking chasing a muscle relaxer with a bottle of wine. So we’re back to that time travel sucking thing.
* Speaking of no-do’s making me sleepy because ADHD is fun like that? Do you have any idea how many bloggers are certifiable and medicated like I am? And that every single one of them was duly impressed when we compared medication dosages prescribed by our doctors? That’s right, folks. Out of every ADHD blogger I compared notes with, I AM THE MOST FUCKED UP. Have I mentioned the 5,000 conferences attendees and how impressed I am with myself?
* Turns out that an influx of (mostly women) conference attendees ready & willing to plunk down some hard-earned cash for a buzz and some conversation at the hotel bar is the cue to kick customer service standards to the curb. Throw that previously mentioned 5k in one central location for two days and watch the waitstaff immediately forget what customer service means and totally disregard the fact that the majority of us attending paid our way to get there. Translation? If I just dropped a shit-ton of money to book a conference ticket, plane fare, and a hotel room, you can bet your sweet ass I came with enough cash to blow in back alley Chinatown closets on knock-off designer purses to make my trip worthwhile. Every time you ignore me, I get to take what I was going to tip you and add it to my Buy a More Convincing Knock-off Fund.
* I left with two purses, a wallet, and a pair of “designer” sunglasses. So thank you, waitstaff, for being assholes.
* Getting out of bed at 5:30 local time (2:30 a.m. back home time, y’all) to work out with the Rockettes at Radio City Music Hall was a once in a lifetime opportunity and I am so honored to have been invited.
* I slept through it. Which made me realize that I preferred the bed I was in to working out with outrageously long-legged women prized for their high kicks and beauty while short, fat-assed, and make-up-less. Considering that lipstick was only going to fix one of the three, I probably saved myself years of therapy.
* It is possible to survive on sesame seeds and hope while traveling with a mile-long list of impossible food allergies. If you think I’m kidding, pay $35 for two chicken breasts and some sliced tomato and avocado through room service just once, and then tell me how hope tastes again. Because free is delicious.
* Shopping in NYC is considered a contact sport, especially when trying to keep up with Robin O’Bryant and her BFF, known as Sister Wife.
* The American Girl Store exists not to fulfill a little girl’s every desire but to soothe whatever type of parental guilt plaguing the buyer of a Chinese-made plastic doll with pretty hefty price tag. Also? She loved it and I think she really missed me while I was gone.
* It is possible for my five-year-old co-sleeping daughter to fall asleep on her own when she is forced to by an Ambien-taking BFF who refuses to buckle to the whims of the child used to Mommy snuggling next to her at night because Ambien and co-sleeping are kind of a pretty bad idea. At least, that’s what the BFF tells me. All I know is that I’ve woken up three times this week with a little plastic doll hand trying to cop a feel and a sleepy kindergartner asking me when I’m planning on going back to Ewn Nyork.
I tell her that she is totally sleeping by herself the next night and she just smiles.