Blogher 13 & The Multi-Culti

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May 242013
 

It’s 2 a.m. and I just sat down.

I could be sleeping.

I should be sleeping.

But before I do, I’ll tell you about this little party I’ll be hosting. ‘Cuz you’re invited.

 

That’s right. It doesn’t seem real, but I’m all Giddy about the fact that I’ve been asked to co-host BlogHer’s Multi-Culti Extravaganza at this year’s event in Chicago with fellow hosts, Ananda Leeks and Dwana De La Cerna. Read Lori Luna’s post about the full lineup of events, including the #MultiCulti here.

No, this isn’t THE secret. That one is scheduled to be announced on June 1, so you still have to wait to hear that little bit of Happy. For now, consider this your official invitation to meet up with me, Ananada, & Dwana in Chicago. I’ll be the one with too many suitcases, not enough Xanax, trying to look badass while drinking water from my wine glass.

Cheers.

 

Ewn Nyork & Chinatown closets

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Aug 102012
 

Back Alley Chinatown shopping courtesy of a very unmotivated waitstaff.

 

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.

Mama’s home.

 

Insert Gratuitous #BlogHer12 Hashtag Here

 8 Responses »
Jul 132012
 

I should be asleep right now. Buttercup starts kindergarten next Friday since we live in a year-round district and me and my lazy ass haven’t had to put a bra on before noon since I was 6 months pregnant. Because I’m certain one of us is going to be the reason she is chronically late for her 7:40 a.m. start time, I set my iPhone alarm for 6 a.m. today and planned to get her up and out the door for a Target run and grocery shopping by 7:20. Call it a fire drill. Or a dress rehearsal. Just don’t remind me that we arrived at Tarbucks/Starget for my venti iced black coffee five minutes after the school bell would have reminded me that homeschooling is totally underrated.

I should also have booked that plane ticket on Wednesday like I said I was going to, but I’m still waiting to solidify meetup plans with my Agent of Awesome, who happens to be Jersey-based, before I drop credit card numbers on a airfare. Also? The thrill of saying my agent is still there and (follow me and make sure you keep up) I just realized I still need to figure out who in our family is flying in to stay with Buttercup while I’m in NYC and The Husband is working. After I figure that out, book the plane ticket, fly in, and hug my homegirl Robin O’Bryant if I can remember to ask her what hotel we are staying at, I can pay a cab driver Too Much Money to drive me to the nearest Whole Foods where I can spend even more Too Much Money on non-perishables to keep me going because I’m allergic to everything and that includes broccoli.

The blog posts just kind of write themselves at this point.

That brings me back to sharing what I know for those of you who happen to freak out, over pack, over think, and freak out some more at the thought of going to THE BIGGEST BLOGGING CONFERENCE OF THE YEAR AND OHMYGAWD WHAT IF I SAY SOMETHING STUPID AND OHMYFUCKINGGAWDTHE BLOGGESSLIKESMY’FRO????? Seriously, I have no idea why you’re making such a big deal about this whole thing. Because you obviously need another espresso to calm yourself down and a prescription for pharmaceutical grade speed, that’s why. Or wait…you’re just neurotic? Okay. I’m not judging.

I am, however, about to save you from yourself. Take a deep breath and count down from five with me:

5. Don’t buy a new wardrobe for a three day conference because WHO DOES THAT?

Refer to item #9 on Wednesday’s list again if you must. Bottom line? You are already adorable and we all love you for your quirky self and what is already in your closet is just fine. Also? Your credit card is the only thing that will remember what you do drop on new duds because interest is evil and the rest of us are too busy trying to talk ourselves down from financial ruin as we stare blankly into our own closets. The true lesson here is that no one cares what you are wearing because we are all too busy thinking that you care what we are wearing. See how this works?

4. Don’t leave home without business cards. Seriously.

This one is kind of a no-brainer. Go Vista Print if you must but be strong, hold your head high, and pat yourself on the back if you can make it to the Submit Order button with only your snazzy personalized cards in your online shopping cart. If not, I‘ve got a personalized blog T-shirt, baseball cap, and pens that no one else noticed for you to point and laugh at.

3. Are you a writer? With five copies of your manuscript in your briefcase? And your proposal? Because you never know who you may meet that will instantly fall over themselves when you nonchalantly drop your elevator pitch for your memoir and just beg to read your words right then and there and YOU JUST SCORED AN AGENT AT BLOGHER?

Okay, just stop that. Stop it right now. First of all, five copies of an entire manuscript plus your laptop are fucking heavy to carry around all weekend and you’re better off using that space for ballet flats or something else practical like a travel charger for your smart phone because — and let me break this gently to you — it’s a blogging conference with thousands of attendees and that chick who writes for that magazine who talks to you on Twitter kind of might think you’re a nut job if you tell her you were at Kinko’s until 2 a.m. before you hand her the book she forgot you told her about because you thought Hey, Let’s Meet for Coffee actually meant Let’s Get Married and Make a Beautiful Book Deal Together. Instead of looking like the writerly version of the crazy bitch in Single White Female let’s take a minute to make sure we packed our favorite lipstick and a book to read on the plane. Oh, and set a reminder in your iPhone to tweet that chick from that magazine that you’d love to meet up for coffee.

2. Love Notes To Myself

The laptop bag you currently own is just fine and there is absolutely no need to go crazy scouring the internet for the snazziest bag you can find to impress a bunch of women at a conference who aren’t going to give a shit what you have on your shoulder. Just go to Target, bring home something that you can live with, and buy yourself a mocha something or other on the way out because it’s easier than spending hours online reading up on what other bloggers are buying, bringing, or giving away to their readers and then buying and returning five bags before your husband tells you that you have a problem and drives y0u to Target anyway.

And by you, I totally mean me.

See what I did there? That’s transparency, people. Work it.

1. Don’t think people are going to know your name.

This isn’t Cheers, people. It is a blogging conference and the official language is Twitter. Every name starts with the silent @ and #hashtags are worth their weight in gold.

Let’s practice:

Hi! I’m Aspiring Mama. And you are?

Tweet immediately following the conversation I am imagining with that sweet girl with the southern accent in front of the hotel I’m staying at:

Just met Robin O’Bryant for the first time in person. Inexplicably craving #ketchup. Time to par-tay. #BlogHer12.

 

And a good time shall be had by all.

What Not to Do at BlogHer 12

 20 Responses »
Jul 112012
 

Coming home from a vacation is a lot like waking up with a hangover. You know you had a good time before the headache started, but you’re now wondering if the fun before the headache was worth the headache to begin with. For me, the proverbial pain in the ass would be the fact that I am now in the midst of unpacking three suitcases and three carry-ons between me, The Husband, and Buttercup and our two weeks worth of shit we mostly didn’t use because over-packing is, in fact, a highly undervalued gift in today’s society. When the husband starts bitching about running low on supplies in  our zombie apocalypse bunker after the Mayan deadline hits, that’s when I whip out the suitcase I packed when he wasn’t looking and voila! Look who brought the kitchen sink!

The kicker? I’ll be sorting the clean clothes from the dirty ones mostly by smelling them because it’s just easier that way while I comb the internet for rental homes in our area that don’t suck and that we can afford because our current landlord is an asshole  who doesn’t know that I blog while I also finalize plans for that conference in New York that everyone seems to be going to. And by that conference, I mean BlogHer. And by finalize plans, I mean look for a freaking plane ticket because I was too busy making sure both my mother and mother-in-law were equally pissed off at me for not spending every waking moment with them while we were in Detroit  to bother with booking a flight.

The plus side is that The Husband and I were actually on speaking terms when we boarded the plane back to Arizona because we stuck to our plan of making time for ourselves and friends no matter who got pissed off at us. The bad is that I’m pretty sure my credit card is going to cry when I finally get around to buying that ticket. It’s already inconsolable because what I just paid the dog sitter for Finnigan, Fezzik, and Lola for 14 days of Hilton-esque pampering could have funded an all inclusive trip to a secluded Tahitian island.

That last part is only funny because it’s true.

And while I should be doing plane ticket hunting right now, I decided to instead share my top six (because I thought I only listed five) list of things not to do while prepping for BlogHer 2012 based on my own experiences at BlogHer 2010. It’s okay, you can thank me later.

6. Don’t underestimate the power of a cheap pair of flip flops or a decent pair of ballet flats.

Unless you’re Beyonce and went straight from crawling to stilettos or my friend Heather who lives in hooker heels but breaks multiple toes only when walking barefoot in her own apartment, you’re going to need relief from that cute pair of heels you now hate because every step is the very definition of pain.

5. Don’t over think your wardrobe.

Or your shoes. Trust me on this. I spent way too much money on new clothes and pretty things for BlogHer 10 and not enough time with my daughter or The Husband or my dogs before I got on that plane. Also? It really doesn’t matter what parties you are invited to when deciding upon that to pack because the person who raises a brow and sticks their nose up in the air because you wore that to this event is an asshole and you didn’t need them to tell you how awesome you already are, anyway.

4. Speaking of parties, don’t stress about the parties you haven’t been invited to.

This is not high school, BlogHer is not the homecoming dance, and you don’t need to be measuring your self-worth by whether or not you are popular enough to have received invites to VIP parties. Because why? Because you’re awesome, remember? And also because there are three official BlogHer parties happening that don’t require popularity votes or sign ups or being present for twitter parties or sacrificing three chickens and a candy bar  to the Internet. Feel better now? Good. Cuz I haven’t signed up for shit, either.

3. Don’t expect time to stand still.

In other words, your List of People I Have to Meet may be three miles long and single-spaced, but BlogHer is a weekend in New York and chances are, you are going to miss meeting up with many of those you would have loved to meet up with in real life. Instead of stressing, focus on getting the most you can out of the conference, cherish the time you spend solidifying friendships forged in retweets and blog comments, and let the rest just go.

2. Don’t smoke. Seriously.

I quit a long time ago but maybe not before BlogHer 10 and a pack cost me about $15 back then. Now? You’ll probably have to provide a minimum of two references and trade your first born for a pack of cigarettes in The Big Apple because inflation sucks and smoking is bad for you anyway so you are so totally welcome for my consideration of your wallet and its feelings on being empty.

1. Don’t forget to bring an empty suitcase.

And yes, I’m totally serious. The swag is serious at BlogHer and two years ago I found myself standing in the hotel lobby handing out the water bottles and product samples that made my suitcase too heavy out to very confused and surprised strangers who probably thought I was the craziest Avon lady ever. Believe me when I say you don’t need to bring your entire wardrobe to New York City and 14 pairs of shoes are totally unnecessary for three days no matter what the voices in your head are trying to tell you. While you pack it’s probably best to follow this simple method for ensuring a hassle free airport experience on your way back home:

* Pack your suitcase as you would like and without censoring yourself.

* Tell your husband to remove 75% of what you shoved into the suitcase while muttering about the crazy that thinks three pairs of jeans are necessary because they are all different shades, asshole. You should now have plenty of room for all of your swag and still have more outfit options than you are actually going to go through in NYC. Your welcome.

* Make sure your husband locks your suitcase and keeps the combination on the padlock to himself until after your bags have been checked at the airport. Suggest he wear a cup to protect himself and his manhood from your wrath. It’s all for the best, really.

* Text husband while at airport waiting to come home. Suggest he put cup back on as it is inevitable he will say something kick-worthy at least once while you unpack eleventy billion product samples you will never use but will always cherish for the simple reason that you were smart enough to pack light and were able to get all this shit home to begin with.

* Celebrate. Because you just did the impossible.

I’m sure there’s plenty more to share on the what not to do front that I’ll remember as the conference draws closer. For now, I’ll let the conversation continue in the comments while I don’t procrastinate on buying that plane ticket to NYC. See ya in the Big Apple.

Super Starry Stars and Names in Hats

 2 Responses »
Mar 092012
 

 

A few years ago, a friend and I decided to nominate out own work for the BlogHer Voices of the Year competition. We thought long and hard about the blog posts we were selecting and critiqued each other’s choices to make sure we were entering the very best of ourselves into a sea of incredibly talented voices. And while it was nice to have my name in the proverbial hat, I was always very aware of the fact that I am the one who placed it there.

That’s not a bad thing, mind you. I know it’s allowed and encouraged to nominate yourself or else I wouldn’t have done it to begin with. All I’m saying is that, as the stereo-typical-unsure-but-over-confident-nuerotic-but-driven writer who is always looking for validation for the thoughts inside of my head, it means the world to me that this year, someone else put my name in that hat.

The lovely Alexandra from Good Day, Regular People believed my post entitled Self-Loathing and Chocolate to be worthy of a nomination in the Heart category for this year’s Voices of the Year. I’m honored. And thankful.

I’d love it if you would make the time to click this link to view and read my entry. I never made Homecoming court because I suck at rallying the troops for anything that requires Getting You to Vote for Me so I’m not going to hire a campaign manager or anything. Instead, I’ll just get back to chasing the puppy away from Buttercup’s tea party in her Magical Land and addressing her as Her Royal Highness Super Starry Star.

 

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