BlogHer » Aspiring Mama

Okay, so the title of this post was originally The Julian Project Part 4, but I figured the one I went with was way less likely to be ignored.

Let’s cut to the chase. I met Jenny at BlogHer10 in the bathroom where she was holding court during the party she was hosting without actually being there. Leah grabbed my hand, walked me right in there in front of Her Royal Majesty of all Blogdom and proceeded to gush about my mexifro. That’s when I may have done something stupid and promised to post a photo of my troll-doll awesomeness just for Jenny and Leah when I got back to my hotel room that night. In retrospect, I’m thinking I totally peer pressured myself into looking like a bigger schmo in a puppy dog effort to impress the seniors in high school, but whatever. Leah eventually asked me to be an editor on Bookieboo and Jenny remembered my name. So it’s a win all around.

Fast forward to today: I contacted Jenny about my pathetic to date efforts to raise some funds for The Julian Project. The thought of losing my child is not something I can even fathom, and I wanted to do my part, which brought be to asking all of you to help.

Five dollars. That’s all. In honor of Julian’s age when he died.

But so far, my efforts have…well...sucked.

So I scratched my head and thought, “What totally awesome Thing could I bug someone for that would attract flocks of people to my site just for a good cause?”

Naturally, my mind went straight to the metal chicken.

That’s when I reminded Jenny that she might possibly remember my name and she very kindly agreed to donate one of her Beyonce Photo Statue Desk Sculptures for the cause. I’ll be honest in saying that I don’t care if you got here just because you saw The Bloggess in the title and donated because you wanted the desk chicken and decide never to come back although you will certainly be missed but that’s not what this is about.

What this is about is trying to do our parts to lessen the financial burden incurred during a long fight with leukemia and making life just a tiny bit easier for little Julian’s parents. So donate $5 here and leave me a comment on this blog post letting me know you did so I can keep track. One commenter will be randomly selected to receive the prize after the deadline (midnight, EST, on Oct. 12), and we will all live happily ever after.

The End

This would be the third item in the Trifecta of Happiness. But that didn’t look nearly as impressive as BlogHer Syndicated Something I Said! So I went with that instead.

This blog replaced my diary years ago.

It’s where I do my writing for me everyday. Knowing that my words are for me first. The three people who read my blog second.

No pressure. Except for when I get bored and obsessively check my stats and realize I passed the three reader mark a while ago and freak myself out of blogging because OMG… PEOPLE SEE THIS THING?

Or like today. You know. When your wildest bloggy dreams come true and BlogHer says they’ll syndicate one of your posts?

Yeah, dude. Major performance anxiety.

If you are a regular reader here, please stop by say hello over there. If you came from there and landed here? Please don’t be alarmed if I start talking to myself or when The Husband decides to interview me or if I start calling for my finger monkey named Platform. Oh, and that murder rap is all talk. All talk, I tell you! I mean really, have you ever heard of a murderer who writes fairy tales?

*blinks innocently*

You’ve seen this photo on twitter. MommyLite likes to refer to it as my Droid Cleavage. I like to call it my Dear John to the Blackberry I dropped like a hot potato the minute The Husband was overcome to the fluttering of eyelashes and threats to go all iPhone on his ass if I couldn’t get what I wanted.

So I got. And he did, too. (A Droid of his own, you perverts.)

The taking of this photo occurred while we waited in the never-ending registration line at BlogHer. After a while, the strangers staring off into space started making eye contact. Some, like Julie Diaz-Asper, started interviewing those looking for their 15 minutes about their phones for her awesome tech blog. And because my Droid was new and shiny and pretty, I went for it.

Right after my uber-fantastic interview (and holy hell do I enunciate my “s’s” overly much?), MommyLite was up for her shot at telling the world why her Blackberry still rocked her world.

Which reminded me…

I may be in love with the Droid now and have blacked out all references to my Blackberry in my diary, but there is one thing I do miss and one major factor that makes the Droid not as much fun to own.

It doesn’t fit in my bra. My Blackberry? Yeah, that didn’t look like some weird rectangular tumor.

So I shared that tidbit (demonstration and all) with MommyLite (her name is actually Sarah Maizes. I just really like typing MommyLite for some reason) and Julie and that’s when this light bulb went off for MommyLite and suddenly I was having photos taken of my cleavage and being posed with my new phone cleavage to make sure everything was just so and voila…I had made two new friends and got a rockin’ twitter avatar out of the deal.

All because I stopped tweeting for a minute, looked up, and said hello (in person) to the real live people in my tweet stream.

I know I’m a bit behind the 8-ball here, but I just got home this past Friday and figured now was as good a time as any to get my BlogHer groove on.Call it my (Semi) Wordless (Day After) Wednesday photo tribute, because I sure as hell am going to.
Juliette and I actually ran head on into TheNextMartha while trying to exit the elevator to find her. Yay for having a clue!

There was that stop in the Smores suite where I pretty much embarrassed myself. Until that moment when the first bits of gooey melted chocolate and marshmallow smushed between crunchy graham cracker burst into my mouth, I’d pretty much denied myself all things not clean. Which means the Smore was dirty. But damn, dirty can be so good. And Theresa and Mary looked so much cuter than me and my Smored-out face, so we’re gonna post this one and call it pretty.

The revolving doors at the main entrance to The Hilton. Pretty snazzy, eh?

We missed breakfast every morning. Rooming off-site and staying up half the night will do that to you. So we got our MilkMustache and then got some breakfast (hello sausage pancake on a stick!)

If Mrs. Potato Head The Pillsbury Dough Boy…Elmo…and Dora were on my Must Meet and Be Seen With at BlogHer10 list…I rocked that goal. Hard.

There was more than a bit of sightseeing…

And then there was The Bloggess. Don’t worry. She’s only offensive to assholes. Which is funny because I fancy myself an asshole and yet…I wasn’t offended. Go figure.

There was also plenty of glow-in-the-dark party fever at the Sparklecorn shin-dig

And then there was this. My poem. By The Bloggess.I’d call that pretty much done, wouldn’t you?

We bought my sister Pati a refurbished iPod for her 20th birthday last August. And because she uses my Amazon account just because it’s easier and that whole she lives with me thing, I recently began to wonder if she had replaced the now trashed iPod with a new touch model.

To be clear, I wondered for about a half second while in the process of placing my order for my Nook decal sticker thingy that BFF Mel and I spent hours on Skype discussing. I saw the iPod touch accessory in my cart, raised an eyebrow, and saved it for later while finishing up my current order, all in the same breath. And by the time I took the next one, I had already forgotten to ask Pati when she was going to tell me she had decided to spoil herself for her birthday.

“Pati got herself an iPod touch,” The Husband told me today. We were (are) in After Vacation Hell with the unpacking and the cleaning and the signing for the five boxes I had to ship myself from Detroit after barely making it to Detroit from New York at one half pound under the suitcase limit because I had given most of what I scored at BlogHer to the hotel staff before hopping in a car to LaGuardia. Turns out adding a three-year-old, a husband, and my obsessive-compulsive need to over prepare for an airplane apocalypse meant there was no way on God’s green earth that my luck was going to stretch for the last leg of the trip. So I got to unpacking these boxes while The Husband took Buttercup to the bathroom for a potty break. I tried to ignore the fact that I probably paid more for the shipping than the swag was actually worth.

“Oh yeah!” I said, remembering the mystery item in my Amazon cart. “I was going to ask who was using my account to order accessories.”

“She had good reason,” he said as he walked out of the bathroom, leaving Buttercup to do her thing on her little Dora potty seat. “I checked hers out and it just stopped working. You should mess with her when she gets home, though. She got Buttercup a night light because she killed her fish while we were away and she eases her guilty conscious with a fucking iPod?”

I snorted while sifting through boxes and decided to take a peek and see if Buttercup was done. “Yeah, exactly. You’d think it would have been the other way arou…”

I cut myself off as I ran for my phone (because unlike the rest of blogdom, I do not possess a real camera or the skills to operate one) and ran back to take a photo before the moment passed me by.

“What were you saying?” The Husband looked up from the couch as I shushed him only to be given away by the tell-tale camera click.

“Mama?” Buttercup heard it, too.

“Shit, shit, shit…” What if I hadn’t moved fast enough to…never mind. I got it.

And The Husband couldn’t stop laughing when I showed him this photo of our little princess holding court on her throne.

“You posting that on Facebook?” He asked when he could talk.

“Already done.”

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