“Hunt down your favorite bloggers at Blogher and talk to them. Don’t worry if they are going to be an asshole or not. Almost everyone comes home with a “you won’t believe who was a cast-iron bitch to me in the elevator” story.” – Kristen Hammond

I have my bucket full of cliches over here and have just pulled one out. “Easier said than does” it reads. I nod approvingly because yes, this is the one that I need right now. It’s far easier for me to yell at myself “YOU’LL HAVE FUN!” with a reminder not to worry because I’m gonna do the latter anyway. I can’t help myself.

You see, at least a year ago, Chris and Susan mentioned that they would not be attending BlogHer. Ok, I thought, then I will not attend either because how could I possibly head to a convention with over 3,000 women alone? “Alone” in the sense that they, my best friends, my loves, my I need you to lean on when I feel like there’s a swarm, they would not be with me. So, no, I would not be attending. Of course I thought about it more and more and with each day of ruminating on whether or not to make the trek to San Diego, I was continuously pulled into the ‘but how could I not?’ camp. I’ve been five other times which would make BlogHer San Diego my sixth consecutive BlogHer conference. I’m that woman who looks back fondly to San Jose in 2006 and remembers the Yahootinis poolside. When darkness fell we’d all still be out there in clumps chatting away but all of these women were in this spot together.

Last month I stayed at the W Lakeshore in Chicago a host hotel during BlogHer in 2007. That bar was far smaller than I remembered for once again we all just congregated there. It was at that bar where I met Susan for the first time over glasses of wine at noon. Helen Jane and I took inappropriate photos courtesy of Simon. Lindsey and Y decided that we would have McDonald’s in their room that night. We were all kicked out within 30 minutes but not before ingesting bags of french fries. There was brand party of some sort. Geared to the moms of course and I crashed. It was at Whiskey SkyBar. It was where Jess and Emily took ridiculous photos and I met Metalia for the first time. I ended that event knowing that this are my people. Four days later I flew to Oklahoma City for Wito’s first birthday party. But mostly because how could I go another 12 months without a Susan, Shana or Sarah sighting?

The fondness of these memories are flooding me and if you were to peek in on me right now you’d see a half-grin on my face. Remember the Macy’s party where we sat on their furniture laughing and spilling wine onto brand new couch cushions. The Community Keynote during which I wanted to vomit. Stefania, Karen, Kelly and I telling PR people that women of color do use Swiffers and do the dishes too. I mean duh. Lisa bringing Ilene freaking Chaiken into our session and then? Then I actually died. My fear of Catherine and randomly telling her that I love her. The first time I met Julie after being righteously indignant over something Julie had said previously. But who remembers that nonsense after three free drinks. Loralee singing opera in my ear as I cried and drank wine out of a paper cup from Starbucks.

What you bring to BlogHer is this sense of dread and fear. That no one will like you and you’ll be alone and my God, the popular girls and the fact that for 72 hours you will find yourself surrounded by a sea of faces all of people you don’t know. It will be the longest 72 hours of your life but when it ends, it ends. You come home with souvenirs of your time away but everything in the beginning is just a far off memory. Like the pain you have long forgotten because the reward was so great. It’s why I do it over and over and over again despite the overwhelming fear I have right now that I will have no one to be friends with me. On Monday I’ll be home, back at my office with the same half-smile remembering what Leah said what Kelly did that made me laugh until my face hurt and how Karen and I totally look a like.

Have fun my dears and don’t forget to say hello. I’ll be just as nervous as you are. Promise.

This is what I look like:

Ok, more like this. I mean, let’s be real here: