The token BlogHer post.

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I tried to think of, like, a super inspiring post to cover the details of my life over the course of the last week.

But I’m so tired.

When I open my mouth, nothing brilliant comes out.  Just…bllleeerrrrrggggg.

And what the fuck does that even mean?

So, I’m gonna go out on a limb here, and be somewhat incoherent and rambling-ish.  Things will be out of both context and chronological order.  Some of the shit I type may not even be real words.  I don’t know.  It’s gonna get straight freaky up in here.

Ok, so first.  I went to BlogHer in Chicago.  I know some/most of my readers do not have blogs of there own, so in short, BlogHer is this magical place bloggers like me go to remind us what we do matters, and that it totally counts as a real life job, dad!  There are oodles of panels and discussions and OHMYFUCKINGCHRIST parties and free booze and vibrators and giant unicorn cakes and Tim Gunn and sparkles and swag and, um, oh yeah…

This! I’m pretty sure we are best friends now.  I think it took everything in her being not to adopt me on the spot, take me back to Savannah, and feed me fried chicken and sticks of butter before tucking me into bed each night.

Secondly, Chicago?  A whole bunch of scary.  Big, crowded, totally expensive.  I went to an amazing breakfast with the extremely hot and large breasted ladies of Aiming Low, and the buffet was $21.  Which 1. seems like a lot of money for breakfast foods, and 2.  was totally a dare to see if I could consume $21 worth of bacon.  Which, in case you were wondering, I can.  And that worked out perfectly, because after breakfast, I had to run over to The GAP to buy a shirt to replace the one covered in breast milk after sitting to close to a woman and her nummy cooing baby during one of the panels, and as a general life rule, eating $21 worth of salted pork product?  Surprisingly not conducive to trying to suck in enough to look cute in, um, anything…unless what I am trying to slip into is sausage casing, in which case, I would have bought ten.

Thirdly, swoon, the people.  Everyone I met was amazing.  A giant, pulsing group of brilliance, barely containable within the walls of the Grand Ballroom.   Making the experience even more fucking awesome?  My roommates, Anissa, Tena and Heather.  You must have fabulous roommates, which I totally did.  We lived in a pit of bras, tummy girdles, chocolate, wine bottles and overpriced hotel bottled water.  Plus, they totally held conversations with me while I sat on the bed pumping breast milk, even though there is nothing in the world freakier than seeing my nipple rhythmically sucked through a plastic funnel when you are drunk.  Nothing.

The hallways of the Chicago Sheraton oozed wonderfulness, and I met tons of people, and yet no where near enough*.   Cocktails with my hair twin Jill, Loralee, Elisa, Karl (whose shirts were totally hilarious), Britt, Shash, Summer and her stunning blue eyes, Adam, Stephanie, Jennifer, Sue, Shawn, Mr. Lady (it took everything in my power NOT to make out with you on the spot!), Dan and his amazing wife, .  I ate totally healthy burgers and bacon cheese fries with Tania, rubbed up on the delicious baby bellies of Elaine and Heather, drank with my long lost BFFs Sarah and Jen…I wish I knew how to quit you…  I met the absolute hotness that is Room 704.  And, of course, the collective genius of Aiming Low: Janet, Maria, Angie, Amy, Meghan, Rachel, Laurin (shopping soulmate, btw), Michelle, and the others I have already mentioned.  The mind boggling hilarity that is Jenny.  Amy and her completely edible baby, Ezra.  Jessica, Kelcey, Marinka, Cynthia, could there be any more links in this post? Yes, but I’ll stop here, I mean, fuck, that’s a lot of people.

Fourth, the drama.  None for me, thanks, just pass the wine.  And the swag.

Fifth, the turnpike.  Ok so, I carpooled to Chicago with Pauline.  Who I adore, nay, love.  There is absolutely no one** in the world who I would rather be stranded on the side of the Indiana Turnpike with, waiting for someone, anyone, who has any knowledge at all in the area of changing flat tires to stop and help us.  It took a while.  And it was loud, and scary, and I am pretty sure I saw dead deer parts.  And, I had to walk along the super smelly/deadly Indiana Turnpike to find a mile marker so we could tell 911 where we even were!  It was like, um…a mile(?) away.  I don’t know, it was bananas, and people were totally honking at me, like I was some senseless asshole taking a joy walk along side trucks going 80mph.  So then, I had to get off the paved area and walk inside this super creepy ditch thing, which was probably riddled with ticks and dumped dead bodies. Thank God Neil, the turnpike worker who is in charge of driving around scraping dead animals off the road, showed up to rescue us.

Deep breath, soooo, that happened.

I didn’t take nearly enough pictures, probably due to my lack of free hand thanks to liquor and food, so, in typical fashion, I rocked at that.

Oh yeah, and I totally had a radio interview while I was there, so that was super fun, as long as I promised not to say the word fuck.

The end.

*Please note, this is the point in the post where I attempt to name people I had the extreme pleasure of meeting, and yet, I will totally forget about a bajillion people because motherhood has stolen from me both my skin elasticity and my short term memory.   Please feel free to mention that you met me in my comments section, and I will totally revise the aforementioned list to include you, because you are awesome.

**This is not entirely true, but if I mention anything Twilight related, my husband with punch me in the face and hide my wine opener***.

***Ok, he wouldn’t physically punch me in the face, but he would absolutely hide my wine opener, totally forgetting about the time he did that once before, and I just used a hammer to break the top of the wine bottle open, and I thought I was dying from glass shards stabbing my insides for about 4 days. It was totally annoying. For both of us.

Check out my latest post on Aiming Low!