Thanks be to other outside forces, I popped a klonopin prior to opening this document. Klonopin being a drug in the benzodiazepene family used most commonly for treating anxiety and panic disorders and as a secondary treatment to epilepsy. Then again, there is nothing like the look on your pharmacists face when you get your monthly refill of psychotropic drugs. They speak to you in hushed tones as if I fell on the “psychosis” side of things, ready to burn this mother fucker (a CVS in a tiny town in Upstate NY) down. In turn I speak in normal tones to say, “dude, it’s ok. I promise not to lose my shit up in here. Drugs please”. And so goes life when you’re felled by severe anxiety over any and everything.

I bring this up because long-time readers of the site know that I am fearful of change. If I could preserve the status quo, forever and ever, I’d be ok with that. I’m sure ‘stagnation’ was the first thing Thomas More thought of when he came up with Utopia. Change brings out a shock to my system and on top of change is it’s evil twin Different and their cousin New. No. No. And another emphatic no. It brings out the worst in my rather frail mental state. It’s the reason for why I attend events and spend the first hour(s) standing behind a fake tree pretending to be super important while scrolling. I now have a blackberry and an iPhone. I look like the world’s most pretentious douchebag but at least I won’t have to form sentences in front of strangers.

Do I wish that I wasn’t like this? Of course. My job and my livliehood both depend on my ability to interact successfully with people in a variety of situations. This career path that I have chosen for myself means facing these fears each and everyday. Hence the medication and need to sit out at times just to regroup. I take deep breaths and as if I’m participating in a game of double-dutch, I jump back in. Following the rhythm though cautiously, I’m still in there until the movements come to me and I’m able to move a little bit more freely.

In the next two weeks I’m headed to Chicago and then Utah for conferences that are completely different but depict the two very different sides of my life. Though I still refer to one side as “real life” as if the social media/blogging/writing/non-stop tweeting side of my life is fake. Alas when either side pinches I feel it. I am thrilled to be headed to Utah. It will be my first trip there even though I’ve been dying and promising to go for years. My first concern being that there are no black people there. I mean the last black person there might have been Karl Malone circa the early 1990′s. And one friend acknowledged that quite honestly. “We’re not really diverse. But you’ll like it”. So there’s that also given that I recently survived two weeks in New Hampshire, I think I can handle Utah. Other friends and varied cohorts will be at the EVO conference as well. Despite knowing that I’ll know people there I am still a little on the nervous side because of The New. What if these women hate me? Or find me uninteresting and boring and oh my God, they fell asleep mid-conversation. What if?

Then again new is what I am currently craving. Isn’t that odd? I want a change and different and smaller and to see what other smart people are up to. I’m looking forward to this adventure where I have no agenda other than being able to experience the unfamiliar. Sometimes you need to push yourself towards what makes you uncomfortable. That’s where I have always been able to find myself at my best.

If you’re headed to EVO ’11 please feel free to say hello.

This is me. I’m tall-ish and chubby-ish. I am also full of anxiety and hugs and will never turn down a glass of wine. Years ago during a BlogHer conference I spent an evening in my room crying. It was the same year that someone asked why I was even there for I was only another blogger’s babysitter. Then there was the year where once again someone made a comment about my being someone’s babysitter which was the same year that someone was terrified of saying hello to me and then wrote about it later and then I got upset and it did not go well. I am no longer anyone’s babysitter.

I wear a lot of dresses and I have giant hair. And I am such a dork that even my own brothers don’t want to be seen out in public with me. In fact I am currently trying to bribe my youngest brother into going to the movies. Let’s see…what else? I am terrified of crowds but since I make a living from being in public and talking to people, I can’t go around looking petrified. Thank God there are drugs to help with that one. I like cupcakes and one-on-one conversation. Don’t mention congress or else I’ll go into a very long diatribe about cloture votes. I think I’m pretty awesome.

And did I mention the wine?

If you see me next week please say hi. Try to ignore my ‘deer caught in the headlights’ look.

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?

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.

***

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.

***

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.

***

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.

***

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.

***

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.

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.

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.

In Boston this summer, I spent an entire four day period as a recluse wanting to throw my own little tea party. And of course there were tears. My cycle of social awkwardness goes: HB doesn’t like new people, HB gets overwhelmed, HB rushes into the bathroom on the ballroom level of the Westin Copley Place to have a good cry. Because God forbid I actually attempt to open my mouth and speak to someone. What might I say? What could happen? What if I confess to wanting to bludgeon half the people in the room because I cannot handle the bullshit?

The thing is that I can be a ‘large party’ kind of girl if I know several people at the party. This is how I managed to successfully walk upright in Chicago for four days straight and look like I was having fun while doing it; because I was. Otherwise, I like intimate settings. My brain goes into sensory overload when surrounded by too much at one time and to stave off the inevitable explosion (SEE: Tears) I need to step back to survey my surroundings before diving into the hors d’oeuvres and handing out business cards. I don’t recall always being so skittish and edgy around new people or large groups, but it has happened and so I must deal with it. Or else I see myself on a trajectory towards failure since talking to people seems to be a large part of my job.

Several months ago, Helen Jane, offered up a ticket to SXSW. As I recall it was the middle of the day, so I was completely of sound mind and well aware of what I was doing when I said yes. I said, yes, to spending five days in a city I’ve never been too with exactly four people I know. While it isn’t rare for me to have bad judgment and overestimate my ability to behave like a person with average social skills (and by ‘average’ I mean I can speak to people without biting them or wanting to claw them to bits), it is rare for me to face a large social gathering completely head on. I’ve been so very flippant about going to Texas, that every time someone has asked I say “Oh yeah, Texas…yeah…” Then forget about it once again. I usually do well with bloggers, perhaps because we all tend to be a little on the misanthropic side. So it ends up being a large group of people who are all prone to hermitic behaviors who love to drink. Awesome.

Anyway, I am going to Texas. I will be standing in the corner either with my margarita or with my margarita and Aimee. I am not nervous but instead, abnormally excited to be in close quarters with several thousand people that I barely even know and 70 degree weather. Oh, and that noise you just heard? That was the sound of Hell freezing over.

On Friday a family friend’s 17 year old son died in a car accident. One of those accidents that is played and replayed on some loop by stations around the area, analyzing and updating to the point where on the third day of seeing the story in the A-section of the paper, I threw the entire paper in the garbage in a fit of anger and annoyance because all I could think of was his mother.

His wake was earlier this week and when my mother mentioned going I promptly ignored the emails and her phone call with the trepidation usually reserved for meeting new people or being pulled into a closed door meeting with a boss. I hate wakes with the burning passion of a thousand blazing suns. I would rather be on a life long diet of cottage cheese and cooked carrots, my two most hated things, rather than go to a wake. But of course I attend, I always attend because it’s one of those times that no one really gives a shit about my intense fear of a dead person being a few feet away from me because it isn’t about what I want or don’t want to do. It’s about being there and supportive and feigning understanding even when I know that I would give my left arm not to experience that type of emotional pain.

A wake is the time when my social awkwardness comes out in full force and I literally have nothing to say, because what is there to say? The mother hugged me and I said nothing. The siblings smiled at me and I smiled back. The grandfather said “It was nice meeting you” and thanked me for coming and I mumbled a “You’re welcome” and gave a weak smile why he was welcoming. I feel like a simple I’m sorry is too trite and saying ‘My prayers are with you’ sounds fake and like I’m forcing it.

I don’t know what to say without sounding like a complete asshole but I figure that I can’t be that much of an asshole because I was there and that probably means more than anything.

I’ve been chastised for having my door shut and for shutting people out in general. Apparently it comes off as me being too private or plotting something or being a bitch. Even though it’s not a community door and there is no need for me to defend myself, I’ve been explaining it over and over again because I’m not plotting in here with blueprints of how to case the joint, I’m sitting in here leaned back as far as my chair will take me. My door is now wide open so people can watch me do the really exciting act of staring off into space and biting my lower lip while tapping the top of my coffee cup. Riveting.

Even when nothing is wrong something ends up being wrong and I feel at unease. Mornings have been for shit lately though I did surprise myself when I was sitting at my desk at nine AM and ready to take on the world at about 11:15. I know what needs to be done and I have to be reminded by others that things are not that bad and it’s not like I’m picking cotton so there really is no cause for complaint. I would say that I hate myself for being all ‘woe is me’ and shit but at least I’m honest when hit by the one two punch of ennui and petulance.

By next week I’ll be back to my normal, happy, wine drinking, table dancing, throwing up the finger to piss poor merging drivers, self. But for now I’m just eh and I really needn’t defend myself for needing a moment, but there you go.