BlogHer '10 or 20th high school class reunion? Decisions, decisions.

When BlogHer announced the date and location of next year's conference two things went through my head:

1. Yay! It's closer to home next year. A bunch of us New England bloggers can take the train together and bond over mimosas in the club car and get to know each other better by chatting in our large, comfortable, non-airplane seats. Probably via Twitter but you know, still chatting.

and

2. Hmm, that date sounds awfully familiar, like I've already planned something for that weekend. But that's silly, I never plan anything that far in advance. It's an entire year away, I don't even know what I'm doing next week. Pshaw. I'm sure it's nothing.

And I swatted that notion away like a pesky fly. Until last night when I was checking my Facebook page.

I don't know what made me check Facebook. I hardly ever check Facebook anymore. I mean occasionally when Twitter is down I'll run to Facebook like a fickle lover. I'll whisper a few sweet nothings and send them out into the ether, just to get my fix. But for the most part, the people I have friended on Facebook are either the people I already chat with in on Twitter, friends I see every week anyway, or high school friends I haven't spoken with in almost 20 years so...

Almost 20 years. Wow. That's a long time.

Twenty years. Twenty years?

Shit, my 20th class reunion is next year. I'm not looking forward to attending that reunion.

My reunion. My reunion? My reunion!

My 20th high school reunion is the same weekend as BlogHer '10.

Okay, that's funny.

It's like the universe is absolving me from having to go to my reunion and mingle with people I didn't really much for when I was a naive 17 year old and will probably really dislike when I'm a much more worldly 37 year old.

Hey, I've had my passport stamped at least twice. Maybe more. That totally counts as being "worldly".

But still, I weighed my options. My 20th reunion should be something I want to go to, right? I have this girlfriend who didn't go to hers, and every once in a while, she gets this really terrible feeling--you know, like something is missing. She checks her purse, and then she checks her keys. She counts her kids, she goes crazy, and then she realizes that nothing is missing. She decided it was side effects from skipping the reunion. No wait, that was prom. And if you get that reference we can friends.

On the one hand, I told myself, I could go for four days to New York City and hang out with people I genuinely want to spend time with. Okay, they're people I met in the computer but as far as I know they're not going to slip me a horse tranquilizer and harvest my vital organs. Although, I do have my doubts about a few...

But on the other hand, maybe I should put aside petty differences and hurt feelings and resentments and all that and bury the hatchet - so to speak because, you know, not literally bury the hatchet, even though I may want to take something sharp to a certain girl who used to be my friend before she stole my boyfriend, bitch - and maybe reconnect with the few people I actually liked in high school.

I gave it a lot of thought (five minutes) and actually came up with a pros and cons list. Ready?

"Should Tania go to the BlogHer '10 conference in NEW YORK FREAKING CITY or go to her 20th high school class reunion and stand in the corner and muse over what happened to that hot boy she had a crush on when she was 16 years old and he never gave her the time of day's hair and probably leave after an hour?"

Going to Blogher -

The Pros:

- It's in New York City and despite being just a few hours away I've never been. And yes, I've just admitted that I'm really that lame on the internet.

- Overwhelming, but in a good way.

- Late night parties, good conversation, and you never know where you're going to end up at 3am.

- SWAAAAAG: The steel cage match. Two people go in, one person comes out with a trial-sized bottle of laundry detergent.

- I like to squee.

- Where else can you gush over someone's business card and mean it?

- Seeing friends I only see once, maybe twice a year. Even the ones who live twenty miles away from me.

- *add something here about cultivating my craft and building business relationships and blah blah blahdee blah*

The Cons:

- The price. Wowza. I think I need my own street corner to pay for next year.

- Overwhelming, but I'm working on my social anxiety. One drink at a time.

- Exhaustion. Come to find out, I'm not twenty anymore. Who knew?

- Four days of squeeing when I'm generally done after two.

Going to my 20th reunion -

The Pros:

-

-

.....

-

- Um.

-

- I'm sure the food won't be too bad?

The Cons:

- Really? Do I need to write it all down? I have kids to take care of before they go off to college.

So after much soul searching and wringing of hands and rendering of garments, I've decided to go to BlogHer.

Who wants to hit the nightclubs at 3am? Because if I'm going, I'm pretending I'm seventeen years old again... And paying for the after affects for the next year. I'll need the company.

I'm too sleep deprived to come up with an interesting title. So: Post-BlogHer '09 recap post. Yawn.

Raise your hand if you've never said or done something you really wished you could take back.

The three of you who raised your hand, the ones who are either sainted, mute, or have lived alone in a cave all your life, you can put them down. Your prize is waiting for you over there - a lifetime supply of Turtle Wax and a map of the road to Righteousness. Sorry it's 2009, the GPS to the road to Righteousness.

As for the rest of us, we're human. We say dumb things. We DO dumb things. We have a finite amount of time on this earth to try and get things right but in the meantime we're stumbling around in the darkness, feeling our way along the path to being perfect, until St. Peter comes calling and we have to defend our lives in front of God and a choir of sparklingly clean angels with golden ringlets, floating on downy clouds. Or some shit like that. Feel free to insert your own dogma here.

This does not excuse us, however. It doesn't give us a free pass. When one has foot in mouth disease (as I do, and I was called on it this weekend and didn't do nearly enough bowing and scrapping) you learn to live with the nasty aftertaste. When we do something we dearly regret later, as we all have, we need to live with that memory forever.

Where it gets sticky is in the year 2009 we have this thing called The Internet. And The Internet never forgets.

As internet users and internet writers, we have the responsibility to use our words correctly, and in the presence of others we need to check ourselves because chances are there are people watching who aren't afraid to use their words. Words are mighty. Words are powerful. Things written or said - I'm not talking about specifics here - in jest or seriously can be judged and analyzed, blown out of proportion or taken in correct context. And those words that are said out loud or written will come back and hit you where [choose your deity] split you.

So whether your words are being directed toward a corporation or an individual person, keep in mind that you're not living in a bubble.

I don't judge. Like I said, I have occasional diarrhea-of-the-mouth attacks as well as someone-stop-me-from-being-a-dumbass syndrome. You did what you did because for the .02 seconds it took you to decide it seemed like a really good idea. We've all been there. You'll know better next time.

I guess what I'm trying to say, again without getting into specifics because chances are you know the specifics, is that from now on maybe we can start to remember that what we say, write or do is being watched by the world. And the world? It has access to The Internet and it's not afraid to use it.

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This was not the post-BlogHer recap that I set out to write.

What I set out to write was all about the positive aspects of this conference from my perspective because for me there were more positive than negative. But after three different revisions and too many rewrites to count, this is what you got. So if you came here for links to the more unpleasant happenings, sorry. You're not getting them here.

But I'll be happy to tell you about what was good about BlogHer '09, as seen by little ol' moi:

I decided to stay away from the panels this year, not because I wasn't interested in what was being said there - to the contrary, I was very interested and wish there was more time - but because I was set on attending the Room of Their Own breakout sessions. And for the most part I was very happy with my choice. Most were very informative and the ones that weren't, well, at least they were entertaining.

The best party had nothing to do with swag, it had to do with friends getting together and dancing like damned fools. To the ladies at MamaPop: Best. Party. EVER. To quote your honorary gay boyfriend, it was legen - wait for it - dary.

My bags made it to Chicago and back and didn't get lost once. Wheeee!

I had a gracious roommate who tolerated my late night tiptoeing (so as not to wake her delectable baby) and genuinely enjoyed her company, if for no other reason than because she's damn funny and she made me laugh and I'd like to think I did the same for her.

I had great non-conference-sponsored meal conversations with wonderful women that both set the tone for my positive weekend experience and nicely wrapped it up (and please let me know if I didn't link to you because I really want to! I just can't deal with sorting through these business cards yet.), and shared cheesy bacon fries and mutual admiration with someone I expected to like, just not as much as I did. I'm now planning on abducting her and moving her into my home.

I approached a writer, who has long been a favorite of mine, after his moving keynote reading and at the risk of being a fan girl told him how much his writing touched me. I may have freaked him out but he didn't run away immediately, so there's that.

I spent quality time with someone who is becoming a cherished friend and met another who, though tiny enough to fit in my pocket, is a powerful force to be reckoned with and as genuine a person as you'll ever meet. Just don't try to get past her at a party.

I met my twin (okay, not in an outwardly physical way but trust me, twins.) and though we didn't spend enough time talking, we finally were able to speak face to face. And discussed the skunking of her dog. If I could I would take the train to her, rescue her from the stench and bring her to live at my house. I'm thinking of starting a commune.

I introduced myself to others I knew only by blog or Twitter name or avatar; in elevators, in bathrooms, in the hallways, just because. Shook hands and shared hugs, just because. Danced wildly, even though it's not my nature, and laughed hysterically, which is in my nature, just because. Was even coerced into going out to a nightclub at 2am (fer chrissake) against my better judgement and I'm glad I did, just because. But most important I made personal connections, just because I wanted to.

I talked with old friends and made new ones. Yes, the people in the computer are my friends. The gin was only a partial help because a majority of this was done during daylight hours.

All in all, swag or no swag, an experience I'm happy to remember over and over.

And now I need a nap.

So, you're headed to Blogher without me.

No I'm not going to Blogher. Yes I'm very sad about this. I'm tired of receiving invitations to parties that I won't be attending. I'm missing the wonderful women I met last year who will either be attending the conference or the BFF get together. Instead I'll be packing up my house because we're moving at the end of August or I'll be sitting on my couch with a newborn attached to my breast. Or maybe I'll be trying my best not to scream at the three year old who pushes me to madness each and every day. Sounds like a good time, doesn't it?

But pouting does not become me. I genuinely want everyone who is going to have a great time, even if I won't be there to share it with you. For you newbies here's a few words of advice: Try not to drink too much because there will be cameras EVERYWHERE (in other words, do as I say not as I do) and drop your guard a little to let in a new friend or 30. Don't forget your swag and your business cards and feel free to pack that extra pair of hot shoes or cute skirt because you won't be alone in your over-packing. And remember that your self perceived awkwardness is just that. You'll be in very good company so smile and shake hands or hug or squeee or do whatever you told your new friends you would in their comments. And fer chrissake, have a good time and have a drink for me.

Me? I already told you what I'll be doing. I'll also be thinking about my Gram and mourning the loss of her. I'm not trying to be a downer. Instead I'd like you to really appreciate the opportunity you have before you. Enjoy every minute to the fullest even if you're completely overwhelmed because as soon as you get on that plane to go home you'll be missing the experience that is Blogher.

In the meantime I'll be sitting here patiently waiting to hear who drank too much, whose shoes were the cutest, who was nicer/nastier/goofier than expected, and all the other news you all will be sharing from San Francisco. And there's always next year. Oh yes, there is next year so drink your fill now because in '09 you'll be fighting me for it.

Love to you all.

*Smooches*

Blogher? I don't even know her.

I've bought cute new shoes. My clothes are ready to be packed.

(As a quick aside: is there an award for the largest bag or the most overpacked? I tend to try to pack for every situation, and since I've never been to the Blogher conference, and I have no idea what to expect, I'm packing everything in my closet. Including my pith helmet and ass-less chaps. You never know when you'll be called upon to do some naked Western spelunking.)

My potions and lotions will be squirreled away in their appropriate plastic bags - not that it matters since I'll probably have to check my bag. I've got my business cards ready to go (Moo cards. Love them. No swag this year, though. Ran out of money. Maybe next year.). My toes are shiny with new polish and my hair will be attended to this evening. I'm expecting miracles. I'm sure my stylist will do wonders with my Mom Bob.

I'll have all the necessary electronics with me: Laptop, camera, iPod, cell phone. Maybe I should pack my portable defibrillator. You just never know.

Mr. C is taking the next couple of days off to be with Chicky, so they'll each be in good hands. I'm sure the house will be a disaster upon my return, but I'm hopeful that I'll be wrong.

My reservations have been confirmed.

I think that's everything. So, what am I forgetting?

Hmmm...

Oh yeah, my mind.

My brain is hiding underneath the pillows, which are under the comforter, which is in my bedroom behind a closed door with all the shades pulled down. My brain has not yet accepted the fact that I am leaving tomorrow. My poor melon cannot wrap its head (har) around the idea that I'll be in the company of all these women whose lives I've been reading about. But mainly my gray matter is freaking out because 1) I have to get on a plane tomorrow - and I hate flying - by myself, something I haven't done in years (Flying by myself, that is. Awkward sentence. Sorry.) and 2) there will be crowds. Of people. Some of whom will know of me without ever having met me. It's enough to make me want to hide in the bathroom.

If I have a slightly glazed look on my face when you meet me, that'll be why. I'll be completely overwhelmed and unable to control my situation. And I hate that. I'll adapt, of course, but I do not relish that first feeling of uncertainty. I'm a control freak, I'll admit it. I like to be totally comfortable in my surroundings, which means I like to know where I'm going at what time and what I will expect to see/do/experience when I get there.

I'm a laugh riot, I tell ya. A blast to be with.

I wasn't always like this. I suppose I've always had the tendency to be a control freak, but my controlling tendencies have multiplied exponentially since I began working with dogs and then took on a life of its own once I became a mother. I'm surrounded by creatures that need to be on schedules, that thrive on consistency. There's got to be repercussions stemming from living like that, right?

Eh, like I said - I'll adapt. Hand me a glass of wine and all will be fine and dandy like cotton candy.

To all of you ladies (and men) who will be heading to Blogher in the next day or so - fare thee well. Safe travels and all that. I'll see you all soon, albeit with a slightly glazed but quite genuine smile on my face. I'm thrilled over the prospect of meeting you all in person.

To those of you who will not be attending, I'll try to write updates on the conference and festivities while I'm there. I'll try to post pictures and all that. I remember how I felt last year when I was scanning the internet, looking for posts from Blogher. I will take you with me in spirit. And there's always next year.

One more thing:
I'll be bringing the black nail polish and I wear a size 9 shoe.

We're all pretty bizarre. Some of us are just better at hiding it, that's all.

So the other day I was thinking that I really should post a few things about myself that someone meeting me in person for the first time - say, at Blogher for instance (9 days! 9 freaking days!! oh my christ, I don't have cute shoes yet.) - might need to know, lest they get the wrong idea from my blog that I'm actually fun in person and then be horribly disappointed when they find out the truth.

(That's me, the eternal optimist. Hasn't occurred to me that you all might actually like me. No. That would be silly.)

Then Deb, that damn women who for months taunted me with her "I'm going to Blogher", "Oops, no I'm not going", "Okay, maybe I will go", "No, I can't go", "Hooray! I'm going to Blogher!", kindly asked me and some other ladies to provide some insight into who the hell we thought we were. So I figured it was time to write it all down. You know, so everyone doesn't have to wait until I've had a few drinks in me to find out.

(And, no, this is not a meme. I refuse to call it that because there is a moratorium on memes on this here site until further notice. Unless I get tagged with a really good one - like "What five Hanna Barbera characters would you be" or "Name your four favorite pubic hair styles" - then I'll temporarily lift it.)

You're just breathless with anticipation, aren't you?

• First of all, I'm shy. Really shy and incredibly self conscious. If I'm out of my element -which is any situation that happens outside the four walls of my home or in my dog training classes - then I tend to be pretty quiet. I'm an observer, y'all. I like to people watch. And yes, I'll be watching you.

However...

• (I must preface this next tidbit with this disclaimer: I'm very interested in the Blogher conference itself and all it has to offer. I'm very much looking forward to hearing from the speakers and learning how to be the very best blogger I can be.)
  
  Ahem.
  
  Have you seen the movie "Blind Date" with Kim Basinger and Bruce Willis? You know, what ever you do don't get her drunk? Well, it's been years since I've spent more than a day or two away from my husband and my kid. Since I went on a short trip to Cancun with a girlfriend to celebrate our divorces, as a matter of fact. Let's just say I don't remember parts of that vacation and we'll leave it at that.

• Did I mention I was shy? Yeah. You might not notice it, though. You might just think I'm "reserved", "aloof" or "a snooty bitch" but I'm not. Well, I am reserved but I'm not a bitch. All of the time.

Remember, I'll be watching you. (two fingers pointing to my eyes, then to your eyes, then to my eyes)

• It's one thing to refer to myself as "Mrs. Chicky" online but it is completely another to refer to myself as my blog moniker in person. I've done it once or twice and it makes me feel extremely dorky. I may just introduce myself by my real name and let you all figure it out.

• On that note, I suck at remembering people's names. If you're wondering why I'm staring at your chest it's because I'm rereading your name tag for the millionth time. And because I'm jealous of your rack.

• I can put a lipstick in my bra and paint my lips upside down with no hands.

• Turn-ons: The movies of John Hughes. John Cusack. Anthony Bourdain. Jeremy Piven (in his pre-Entourage days. Cupid, anyone?). Cookbooks and tell-all novels about the restaurant industry, wine snobs, or foodies in general. Men with nice legs. People who love dogs. And long walks on the beach at sunset.

• Turn-offs: Rude people. Ralph Feinnes (outside of his work as Voldemort I've never cared for any of his movies). Colin Farrel (besides the accent I just don't see the attraction). Cruelty to animals. Skinny jeans (mainly because I can't wear them). Any cocktail that doesn't have vodka or gin and dry vermouth but are called "martinis" just because they're served in a martini glass. (Not that I won't drink them - they are mighty tasty - it's the overuse of the term that bothers me.)
  

So that's me in a nutshell (Oh no! I'm stuck in this nutshell!). Now I'm calling upon the Canadian contingent to play along (that would be you, and you, and you, and you, and you, and you, and maybe you if you've decided to go after all. And any other Canadian lady I've missed). It's not a tag since this is not a meme. I just want to know more about all my Canadian sisters who will be attending the conference. And because, secretly, I want to be an honorary Canadian. I'm hoping someone will bring me a maple leaf pin or a toque or something. Maybe some poutine. Although, when I think of poutine, I think of poutine rapee. Mmmmm, poutine rapee. Now that is good food to eat after a night of drinking.

(And a huge shout-out to the person who can identify the quote in the title of this post. I felt it was quite relevant to the situation. Clues are sprinkled throughout this post.

Way to go Avalon and Painted Maypole. They knew the title of this post was a quote from The Breakfast Club. Not very hard, I know, especially with all my hints. But I'm standing by my lack of interest in Ralph Feinnes. Quiz Show was good, I'll give you that, but he just doesn't do it for me.)

(And I should mention that Redneck Mommy was nice enough to correct my poor Canadian cuisine lingo. Poutine is never spelled with an "S" no matter how many you order. My bad. But I don't know, I distinctly remember some pretty drunk Canucks ordering those in the diners after hours and it always sounded like "Poutines". But that could have been them slurring their words. Yeah, that's probably what it was.)