Category Archives: Socially Awkward Barbie™

This is for my people. My party people.

“Gratitude is a quality similar to electricity: it must be produced and discharged and used up in order to exist at all.”  ~William Faulkner

Way back in February – you remember February don’t you? With the cold and the ice weasels? – well way back then I went to Houston for three days. Three days in a room with Susan surrounded by women I have since….gosh, forever. Except here’s the funny part, the part where you can understand my pill popping ways: The first day we ordered bottles of champagne by the pool and slowly people that have always just been there appeared. Susan and I got pedicures at the spa and then got dressed for a Mad Men themed party. We went downstairs and started to mingle and instead of hugging and kissing it was as if I didn’t belong. Here I was in front of these Forever People and yet I couldn’t stand being there. I was there physically but mentally couldn’t help but feel as if I wasn’t wanted there. Like ‘they’ didn’t like me. I lost the ability to speak to others and a lump formed in my throat so I ran back upstairs. I tweeted something about being around all of these people I’ve known for years and yet feeling like complete awkward shit. I stared at myself in the full length mirror, shook my head and went back downstairs.

Everything else is a blur. A chaotic mess of wonderful memory. Where I had more fun than is legal and I laughed. Oh, how I laughed and enjoyed a tasting menu and hugged and whispered and talked about what was fun. And my God, I was inspired. During the keynote featuring Heather, Maggie and Gabby I tweeted, “This keynote is making me smarter” and later “I love seeing smart women do great things”. It was all better than good and I’m not sure why it has taken me so long to write about Houston or the ideas that I left with. Probably life getting in the way. Not enough time to really process. But four months have passed and I’ve processed and percolated. And now I sigh. I got comfortable. I don’t know why I was so nervous because those women there? The ones brimming with brilliance? They’re my people. Now can we do that again?

Mom 2.0

Mom 2.0

Lindsay

Also posted in Blogology, Grace in Small Things | 6 Comments

In Real Life

“Like other parties of the kind, it was first silent, then talky, then argumentative, then disputatious, then unintelligible, then altogether, then inarticulate, and then drunk.  When we had reached the last step of this glorious ladder, it was difficult to get down again without stumbling. ” ~George Gordon Byron


It was during my 2006 trip to BlogHer when I made it known that if I knew you prior to flying across the country then I would attach myself to your ass for the duration of the trip. And because my dear Amy – who I was once upon a time afraid of – was attending I welcomed myself to her left shoulder and made her drag me around introducing me to people who would never remember my name. Like Tracey and Y. You know, those people who still are unaware of my existence. My favorite part, the part that I have relayed to others time and time again now because it’s funny then because I think I used the phrase “…punch a motherfucker” after this occured; is when some found out that I was Amy’s baby sitter and then requested to know why Amy would bring her baby sitter to a conference. But ‘Baby Sitter’ was said in a tone like I didn’t belong and/or had no other profession except for baby sitting and/or might have some venereal disease.



Let it be known that unless someone looks at you like you’re the help and then announces it to the world, then I promise that you will have a far better time at BlogHer than I did that year.
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It is a truth not so universally acknowledged by anyone except for myself that I am not a people person. There is this comfort I get being in close quarters and in deep conversation with one to five people. It’s like my own version of a snuggie. When I’m tossed into a room with 156 people I carry a paper bag in my back pocket and a stash of Klonopin in my front. It’s the only way for me to stay level and not run heading for the hills or in a drunken stupor licking someone or smacking somone’s ass because I’m too drunk due to anxiety. In the immortal words of Heather Armstrong “Be ye not so stupid”.
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1) Do not get drunk and dance on a table in front of 950 people with DSLRs would be my first and most important rule of attending BlogHer. BlogHer is not Fight Club. People will talk about that shit and next thing you know there’s a photo of you on Flickr flashing the world. Don’t be that girl.



2) It’s okay to part with your laptop. I get it. Yours is new and pretty and the battery lasts for 39 hours but I also am a fan of my shoulders and there’s really never any need for carrying one around at all times. I can tell you now exactly what I’ll be carrying: My havana hobo or wyeth bag, camera, business cards, sweater, maybe a flask depending on how my trip to Philly right before goes, my red moleskine and my Great Big Book of Ideas, my iPhone, lip gloss.



3) Dress like you would any other day of the week. There’s a lot of hand wringing and hyperventilating that goes on when a bunch of women get together. Notice how you never hear of men worrying about the state of their nails, eyebrows, hair or if their ass looks fat in a particular pair of jeans? But women. My God. And I’m counting myself in the bunch we care. Hell, I’m already worried about how much hair product I’ll be able to smuggle on the plane but if you saw my hair in its natural state and the way it walks into a room by itself, you’d want something to tame it down as well. But clothing wise – and be on the look out for a very special series on BeautyHacks on this – bring what you would normally wear. I bring 15 jersey knit dresses from JCrew because I own 15 jersey knit dresses from JCrew and that is what I wear all of the time. Bring shoes that are comfy but cute for shopping and conferencing and I strongly suggest cardigans. A lady can never have too many cardigans. Just be yourself.



4) At some point you will see someone you love/admire/have always wanted to stalk here is what you should do this based on personal experience and after a few unpleasant experiences last summer: Go up and talk to that person. Put your hand out, tap them on the shoulder, whatever but say hi. If you catch me in a good mood, I’ll probably hug you. If you catch me in a bad mood point me in the direction of the bar and then we’ll be new BFFs. People are just people. Bloggers do not possess magic, super powers that makes them holier than thou so really if you want to say hi, say hi.



a) You should have business cards. Always have business cards. Business cards should/can include the following: Name, site, URL, email (optional, twitter, other sites you write, a little about yourself).
I’ve seen pretty inventive things like condom lollipops and tampons. Have fun with it and you want it to be memorable.



5) There will be parties and there is a comprehensive list right here. As far as I know all of the parties on that list are open to all and anyone. Let’s say that there is a party that you want to attend I’m sure someone will drag you along but I’m saying this as nicely as possible: Who gives a flying fuck if you weren’t invited to a party? Really. Don’t worry about it and if you weren’t invited then start your own.



6) Some just like to party others like to learn and then there are the others who through some divine miracle can party like a rockstar and be up at 7 AM the following morning for yoga and a jog around the lake. I like to do a little bit of both; I like to mingle and I actually enjoy attending the sessions. It depends on what you feel comfortable with. Sometimes it’s just nice to relax and have a conversation on branding your blog with two people as opposed to two hundred. There is always someone or something going on to keep you from the madness if you need to get away (Example: The Shutter Suite) The agenda is here. Don’t worry about what everyone else is doing just worry about making good use of your time out there participating in as much or as little as you’d like. And if you get



7) If you’re looking for me I’ll be in my room while Kelly drags me out by my hair and tells me to get my ass in gear. If I’m not in my room I’ll be standing in a little clump with Susan and Chris trying not to cry because THERE ARE SO MANY PEOPLE. But that’s a good thing right? It’s fun to see something grow and adapt to different groups of women. I’m not saying that because they pay me and I’m so broke that I’m contemplating prostitution but because I do believe in what BlogHer is doing. They have put on a better conference than the last year after year and I cannot wait to bogart some drink tickets and take in Chicago once again.



8) Though not two paragraphs ago I said not to worry about what others are doing I will say that it’s always nice to have a buddy. A go to type person who you know you can call and count on to hang out with you when you’re feeling like no one knows who you are and you will be all alone at every party but you weren’t even invited to parties and p.s. everyone hates you. No one hates you but it’s nice to have someone to reassure you that you are not crappiest person on Earth. I love having a buddy. Leah and Sarah (and Susan and Chris, duh) make excellent BlogHer buddies.



9) Have fun. Really. Please, for me and the baby Jesus, have fun.
Also posted in BlogHer, Blogology | Tagged , , | 23 Comments

Stuff. ‘Nuff said.

“Life is a great big canvas, and you should throw all the paint on it you can.”  ~Danny Kaye

Earlier today I became thoroughly and shockingly annoyed over the apathy of others. I demanded response and some sort of commentary to a new Obama administration appointment and instead no one shared the joy, wonder, curiosity and overwhelming amount of giddiness that erupted upon hearing of a thisclose vacancy in the United States House. As much as I dislike apathy towards politics I find my reaction to the apathy a bit deplorable. Who am I to be judgemental and tell people that they should care about Sonia Sotomayor or John McHugh? Why should I be the one to tell others that how a presidential candidate feels about a woman’s right to choose or Plessy v. Ferguson will end up impacting generations? That isn’t my job and yet the way it maddened me today. It was so…well…it was unnecessary. And I totally take back when I said – behind your back – that if Neil Patrick Harris was giving someone a blow job on my bed then you would care more than who Obama was appointing to very high powered positions. I’m sorry.

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On Sunday evening – pre the day of self righteous bitch ass behavior – I burned three of my fingers on my right hand. I burned them after I put METAL into the microwave so I could make tea because I couldn’t find my normal tea making accouterments. So there I was grabbing hot metal, fleshy fingers first out of the microwave. Good news is that in the event that I commit a serious felony I have no finger prints. Bad news is that I’m using the hunt and peck method when it comes to typing. There’s also a ruined manicure and my father was rather disappointed by my Vulcan salute because my fingers are so effed up that I can’t tell anyone to ‘live long and prosper’ with the proper enthusiasm.

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I think I’ve spent the last three weeks without telling you that I’ve started writing at MamaPop again. I’m…and I’m loathe to admit this so I’m taking deep breaths but it’s not nearly as bad as Holly crying during Speidi’s wedding so I really shouldn’t care…..I’m doing recaps of The Real Housewives of New Jersey(1, 2, 3). And I fucking love it more than is appropriate. Especially that Caroline. The Carmela Soprano of the group who will fuck a bitch up in a minute.

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I leave for DC again next week. I’ll have to update my suggestions but that is the least of my worries right now. I keep flipping through my paper planner to July and then I flip back. I then I look at July again and then I flip back. Rinse and repeat. It’s because I need a Klonopin every time I think of July. The running around and the multiple experiences with TSA and how I’m going to pack and the number of tattoos I will be getting and suddenly I’m awake at 2:30AM thinking about standing by myself at BlogHer because EVERYONE HATES ME.

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Last night I lived my worst fear: I saw my therapist at the bar. I’m not really supposed to be drinking. We pretended not to know each other. Let’s just say I’ll have some ‘splaining to do about that goblet full of (shitty) Meritage.

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I’m posting now in hopes that tomorrow comes sooner. I’m awaiting a special package at the suggestion of Karen and OMFG I cannot wait to show you guys and also I owe Karen a kiss. And this chick needs some practice like whoa.

Also posted in Oh The Stupidity You'll See, Strait-jacket, The object of my obsession | 7 Comments

Verbal diarrhea

“Be careful of your thoughts; they may become words at any moment.”  ~Ira Gassen

Usually I’m very meticulous about the stories I tell you all because they are all a manifestation of something I’ve been thinking long and hard about for days. Sadly with NaBloPoMo you’re getting a heap load of verbal diarrhea: Exactly what I’m thinking as I think it. It’s my brain in real time. Discussion of vanity plates and how my brothers leave me out of everything are exactly what’s going through my head. Not about the economy or the world’s most heinous project but vanity plates and high pitched whining.

Currently* I want to go off on a room full of educated white women discussing how black people think. It’s a discussion of race and gay marriage. And oh, oh, the burning. It hurts to hear a group of people discuss race and to want to just throw yourself into that conversation but you cannot because you’re so livid by the overall tone and accusations that have come up since the election day debacle that you cannot bring yourself to insert yourself without your head doing a 360 degree turn at the absurdity of it all. Instead I fumed and spouted off and stomped outside to be alone with my ever sober self then came back in to drown my sorrows in chèvre. And to do as my mother said; which is to blog about it and use incessant run-on sentences and possible non-sequiturs to say: Oh my hell, I’m pissed.

*This was last night. I’m fine now. Carry on.

Also posted in NaBloPoMo | 7 Comments

In which I decide to start showering regularly

“Let us be grateful to the mirror for revealing to us our appearance only.” ~Samuel Butler

The theme for last week was ‘Arduous’ though ‘shit in a can’ seems much more accurate. Details will come later but given the laborious tenor of two weeks worth of travel and having my heart punted into the Potomac, by Saturday I was beyond spent and decided that showering and getting dressed would require a minor act of God. Since it is both illegal to get on a plane naked not to mention the thought of flesh eating disease, I decided to rock the jeans and tee with flip flops look. With my hair in desperate need of deep conditioner hidden behind a headband. If there were ever a time to question why I am single, look no further than the haggard look I was sporting on Saturday afternoon. I then boarded a tiny plane from DC to Albany next to a very large and sweaty man. I went from one rather balmy climate to another. By the time I arrived to Albany, I was a hot, sweaty mess with dry hair and in desperate need of a manicure.

The awesome part about the above is that I am hardly exaggerating and yet I found myself driving home with the sunroof open thinking that I should stop at the mall. Purchase myself some cute summer wear and by ‘cute summer wear’ I mean something that makes my bloated ass look less like a sausage stuffed haphazardly in its casing. I clearly remember giving ‘Let’s go to the mall!’ a second thought but then thought that maybe I wouldn’t see anyone at the mall because it was a gorgeous day in Upstate NY and when it’s gorgeous in Upstate NY people run around naked on golf courses. They don’t go to the mall.

“I won’t see anyone” would be my famous last words because there is a reason for why people refer to Albany as ‘Smallbany’, because it’s easy to walk out of the front door and see your high school Organic Chemistry teacher, your former pediatrician, the nurse who delivered you and some woman who used to date your father. And if you think I am being hyperbolic, I cannot tell you how many times I’ve ducked behind grocery carts to keep away from my first grade teacher.

I am at the top of the escalator looking down when I see a woman I haven’t seen in seven years looking up at me. I briefly think that she didn’t see me and then I contemplate hiding but it’s an escalator so running back up would probably force someone to notice me more than coming down peacefully. I put my face down and look casually off to the side when she catches my eye. I stand up straight, suck my stomach in and wave back. She was a good friend from high school and so we hug and she tells me I look great and I say “Ha. I just got off of a plane. I NEVER dress like this”.

“Well you look great” she replies.

“I NEVER look like this. I’m all hot and sweaty and did I mention that I just got off a plane? Because I literally just got off a plane like 25 minutes”

We exchanged updates on each other’s lives and pleasantries and she told me that I really did look great while I kept interjecting that I just got off a plane and I’m surprised she didn’t backhand me because I’m sure she got it that I just got off a damn plane. We depart and I wonder if I actually do look decent even though I’ve yet to see a mirror.

I go upstairs to do my normal Banana Republic, JCRew back to Banana Republic dance of credit card suckage. On my round of JCrew I go towards the back to look at dresses, including a dress I keep trying on and fondling the eyelets even though I have yet to actually make the purchase. I’m standing by the dresses and barely notice two girls standing in front of me. That is until one stops mid-conversation with the other and stares at me. This is when I have to quell my urge to be blatantly rude. I look at her trying to see if I can place her and going through my mental rolodex of people I know and for the life of me, I cannot figure it out. I can feel the “What the fuck are you staring at?” right at the tip of my tongue and it’s then that she says “HEATHER?!”

“Uh yeah”

“I’m JEN!”

JEN! And then I have to keep from diving under the dresses and pretending like she can’t see me because I’m all hot and sweaty and gross and I DIDN’T SHOWER. Yet no invisibility cloak arrives to save me because ha! There’s Jen! Jen who reads my blog! Here is where I prove how absurdly small Albany is: Jen found me on someone else’s blogroll and commented that we must live like right near each other because there are like 24 people in this city. So I clicked over to her blog and realized that I did ‘know’ Jen in that I wrote about her nephew in November and her sister and I work on the same floor.

So ha! There’s Jen! Right in front of my face laughing at how crazy it is that she has found me in J. Crew and I’m all “I just got off a plane” and awkward and OH MY HELL, I JUST GOT OFF A PLANE AND I DIDN’T SHOWER. I’m pretending not to be wildly uncomfortable because I’m all gross and crazy haired and all I can think is she is going to remember this very moment, the first time she met me in the mall and I looked as if instead of sitting inside the plane, I just strapped myself to a wing and hoped for the best. She goes to pay for her flip flops and I stand looking at some chinos with my heart racing because on top of all of the other grossness, I remembered that I had Cajun fries from Five Guys for lunch, you know, ON THE PLANE and so I probably smelled like Cajun fries.

I swear this gets better every other second.

I told my mother, who happens to work in the same department as Jen’s sister (this place is so small that it suffocates), what had happened she asks how Jen knew I was Heather and I said “uh, from my picture” and she is all shocked and shit that people might actually know what I look like from a photo on my blog. She thinks it’s creepy to say the least and I have to bite my tongue to keep from telling her that’s nothing compared to the number of times I’ve discussed my boobs on this site. For wouldn’t she be a little upset to know that not only do several thousand people know my cup size but they now also know that her only daughter sometimes hates to shower and walks around town like an unkempt woman who got run over by a USAir puddle jumper.

Also posted in Oh The Stupidity You'll See | 16 Comments