kdiddy.org

I spent most of yesterday on the couch, tooling around on the internet and watching TV, which is what you’re supposed to do when you’re sick. I think the giddiness that I experience at the prospect of being able to partake in such activities without a smidgen of guilt is what jump-starts the recovery process.

I watched things that wouldn’t cause me any grief if I were to fall asleep during them. Daytime TV is made for that sort of thing, but that’s also what makes it kind of enthralling, leaving me napless. First was The Family Stone, the plot of which captured about 3% of my attention. The rest of them time I spent thinking, “God, I LOVE that house.”

Then I watched a particularly absurd episode of MTV’s True Life, which was about young psychics. One young woman was having trouble in her relationship with a guy whose name I believe was Squash because he didn’t believe in her abilities. There was also the not insignificant issue of her Christianity and her psychic gifts were not in line with the Bible. Squash went to Chattanooga to buy guns and then they broke up over the phone. She started dating a guy she met at a psychic expo and made out on camera, but then broke up two weeks later. (Insert joke here about why she didn’t see that coming.)

There’s a soap opera channel and they were showing an episode from the first season of Beverly Hills 90210. I realize now that the only reason that I ever liked that show was because I was 12 and a moron. I wanted to smack Brenda so badly and Jason Priestley does nothing but furrow his eyebrows the whole time.

At some point in all of this, I saw a commercial for Rent-a-Center starring Troy Aikman and Hulk Hogan. The, um, plot was that Troy talks up the great deals at Rent-a-Center for a few seconds and then Hulk Hogan wanders into the frame wearing an elf costume. He then utters the words, “I have an elf wedgie.” And that’s it. That’s their commercial. That’s how a company chose to sell themselves. I have an elf wedgie. If viewing this commercial caused you to consider patronizing a Rent-a-Center, please drop a bag of hammers on your foot.

Later on that night, the husband and I ended up watching Spies Like Us, which is way more hilarious than I remember. We were cracking up over the training sequence, particularly the Radical Vertical Impact Simulation exercise.

We then ceased being able to breathe when the husband read the comments for this video. Someone actually formed this thought and then typed it:

They watched the explosions, the bog of pig shit with machine gunfire, flamethrowers, g-force exercise, and an airplane smashing into the ground, and THAT was the detail that gave them trouble.

I’m taking this week off of 30 days of truth because the topics that I would tackle this week, my views on religion, politics, drugs, and alcohol, are way too long-winded to crank out during a lunch break blog post. Next time!

Way back in 2000, just a few weeks after the husband became the boyfriend, I came down with a really disgusting stomach virus. It was a total disaster because as poorly as I handle vomitous situations now, I was way worse back then. I wouldn’t calm down about what was happening and kept trying to find what I considered, in my no doubt delirious brain, the most appropriate receptacle for my stomach contents. Because I was sick and weak, I never made it to any of the arbitrary destinations I had in mind, and ended up throwing up all over the goddamn place. It was pathetic. I’m pretty sure that I begged to be taken to the hospital mid-heave on the dining room floor.

My mom had to come and help mitigate the situation, but the husband stayed right by my side the whole time as I ran from room to room, ruining carpets, and slept on the couch with me while I watched The Outsiders and clutched a bucket.

Ten years later, almost to the day probably, in some weird, messed up cycle, I came down with another bug. It wasn’t quite as intense as the original version and I’m slightly less of a baby about the whole thing. But…ugh.

I was fine yesterday, but in the car on the way home, my stomach felt a little uneasy and I suddenly became very sensitive to smells. “I smell burnt plastic,” I snarled, but no one else did.

When we got home, I headed to the kitchen to make dinner, but spun around and told the husband and the baby that they should dip into their soup reserves because I wasn’t feeling good and didn’t want to make anything. Then I headed upstairs because I needed to go to the bathroom.

I sat there, slightly concerned, but figuring/hoping that going to the bathroom would take that away. But then I started sweating out of nowhere and thought, “That…generally doesn’t happen.” And, of course, the baby was talking to me about…something through the door until I had to tell him to please stop because I was physically unable to talk anymore.

I stood up, flushed, and tried to evaluate the situation. “Yeah, I think maybe it’s going to happen. It’s okay. You can do this. Try not to think about what you ate for lunch today and how that will look in reverse. You don’t know how long you have at this point. Best to get ready. Take off your sweater. Secure your hair. It’ll be okay. It’ll be okay. It’ll be–HHUUUUUUGHGHHGHHUUUAAAAAAAAHGHGHGGHHHH.”

The baby had still been talking until he heard the unmistakable noises of hurling. As soon as there was a break in the (very graphic…believe me I am sparing you SO MUCH detail) action, he sweetly called out, “Mum? Are you okay?”

“Bleh. Cough. No.”

Once everything had calmed down and I had cleaned up the bathroom, I shuffled into my room and changed into pajamas.

And so it continued for the next few hours, though thankfully not as dramatic as the initial episode. The husband and baby kept their distance, but brought me Saltines and ginger ale and the baby made me the sweetest get well card which he ended with, “P.S. Don’t throw up on this leter.”

It was much like this, but without the drinking and the shame:

One of my duties at WeCovet is to select a post each day to actively promote. It’s a simple task, takes less than a minute. The only catch is that I’m supposed to do it by noon and I sometimes get engrossed in something at work and noon flies past without me noticing it. So, yesterday, after this exact thing had happened, I set a recurring alarm on my phone for 12:00 p.m. so I would be sure to tend to that duty. Thinking I wanted a sound that was more pleasant than a regular alarm, I decided to go with a nice, mellow harp sound.

Of course, I forgot about this entirely. Around 12:00 today, I was delivering a book to a professor’s office and had my phone stuffed into my back pocket. As I was closing the professor’s office door, the alarm went off. It took me a second or two to notice the harp sound and I, of course, couldn’t figure out where it was coming from. I looked around, trying to find the source of the pretty harp music that was somewhere behind me. My eyes settled on the door of the office next to the one where I delivering to. The first thought that ran through my head, and I’m being serious here, was, “Oh! Neat! She must have some kind of motion-sensor harp thing on her door or something!” To test this cracker jack theory of mine, I started lunging back and forth. It seemed to work, since the harp kept playing, but I still couldn’t find the motion-sensor device that just HAD to be there.

It’s important to note that there were students milling about and had one of them looked up, they would have seen me staring at a door, lunging back and forth, all while harp music, muffled by my butt, played.

I carried on like this for at least another minute before I finally solved the mystery and shuffled out of there to spread my brilliance elsewhere.

This exercise is making me realize that emotionally I’m healthier than I thought, since prompts like this make me realize that I really haven’t obsessed over what I’m NOT praised for. Back when I was in school, I think I sought a lot praise for balancing (or “balancing,” really) everything. And even though people did occasionally say, “Wow, I don’t know how you do it,” I think I wanted more…sympathy? I don’t know. But that’s sort of the last thing that I remember really pouting about.

I don’t seem to get any compliments on how well I sleep. Or maybe I do but don’t hear them because I’m passed out. Maybe the husband invites our friends and family over during the night and they all stand around me going, “Wow. Look at her go. Look at that drool string reaching from her mouth to her pillow! She’s an inspiration.” But I kind of doubt it. I go through bouts of insomnia from time to time, but when I’m not, I am seriously ON my sleeping game. My powerful sleeping skills prevent me from waking up early every single day, which I think is pretty impressive.

Back when I was a teenager and I was still in ballet, my winters were always completely bonkers with Nutcracker stuff. In the midst of Nutcracker performances, a ballet mistress (which is a big deal) from the New York City Ballet was visiting Pittsburgh and wanted to lead a rehearsal of my class in Concerto Barocco, which is one of the toughest ballets ever. (You can check out more info about it here.) Already exhausted from our harried schedule of school, ballet classes, rehearsals, and Nutcracker performances, we trudged up to one of the studios in the Benedum Center. My group went first. We did well. I sat down to stretch and watch the other group go. The next thing I knew, I was pulling my face out of a puddle of drool on the floor and the ballet mistress was glaring at me. I had fallen asleep on the floor and apparently had made it very evident that I was unconscious. No one complimented me on my awesome time management skills that allowed me to squeeze in a nap during a packed day. Jerks.

Day 1 Something you hate about yourself.
Day 2 Something you love about yourself.
Day 3 Something you have to forgive yourself for.
Day 4 Something you have to forgive someone for.
Day 5 Something you hope to do in your life.
Day 6 Something you hope you never have to do.
Day 7 Someone who has made your life worth living for.
Day 8 Someone who made your life hell, or treated you like shit.
Day 9 Someone you didn’t want to let go, but just drifted.
Day 10 Someone you need to let go, or wish you didn’t know.
Day 11 Something people seem to compliment you the most on.
Day 12 Something you never get compliments on.
Day 13 A band or artist that has gotten you through some tough ass days. (write a letter.)
Day 14 A hero that has let you down. (letter)
Day 15 Something or someone you couldn’t live without, because you’ve tried living without it.
Day 16 Someone or something you definitely could live without.
Day 17 A book you’ve read that changed your views on something.
Day 18 Your views on gay marriage.
Day 19 What do you think of religion? Or what do you think of politics?
Day 20 Your views on drugs and alcohol.
Day 21 (scenario) Your best friend is in a car accident and you two got into a fight an hour before. What do you do?
Day 22 Something you wish you hadn’t done in your life.
Day 23 Something you wish you had done in your life.
Day 24 Make a playlist to someone, and explain why you chose all the songs. (Just post the titles and artists and letter)
Day 25 The reason you believe you’re still alive today.
Day 26 Have you ever thought about giving up on life? If so, when and why?
Day 27 What’s the best thing going for you right now?
Day 28 What if you were pregnant or got someone pregnant, what would you do?
Day 29 Something you hope to change about yourself. And why.
Day 30 A letter to yourself, tell yourself EVERYTHING you love about yourself

Unfortunately, I knew exactly who I was going to write about for this one as soon as I saw it.

I met Stacey in 1993 when she started at Pittsburgh Ballet Theatre School. She was a level and a grade ahead of me. We didn’t really get to know each other until that following summer which was when we found out that we were a lot alike. We both had red hair and extremely fair skin. We were both quiet. Neither of us was very enmeshed in a group of people at either ballet or school. We had similar senses of humor and similar interests outside of ballet.

During the two years that we were together at PBTS, we became very close and remained in touch when she moved to Richmond, VA to dance with the Richmond Ballet. A year later, I followed her down there and it was a given that we would be roommates.

We had some trying times as roommates…common annoyances like whose turn it was to do dishes or that time I accidentally got the phone turned off would have us sniping at each other. But we knew we were each other’s support. We laughed and cried together and spent many of our weekends chain smoking and “feasting” on bowls of sugar-free Jell-O or pretzels.

After I moved back to Pittsburgh, we kept in touch. When Stacey’s dance career ended from a persistent foot injury, she moved back, too. We became even tighter and when I got pregnant with the baby, she was one of the first people I told. I wanted her there when he was born. She showed up right after they had whisked me back to the operating room. I still thank the gods that she was there, as she was the only person with the presence of mind to grab my camera and take some pictures of that crazy morning.

Seriously, I could never thank her enough for capturing these moments. You see, I was over in my hospital bed talking to the pink elephants that were dancing around.

Durrrrr

Some years later, when the boyfriend was poised to become the husband, Stacey was the obvious choice to be my maid of honor.

We were still close, but by that time our interests and values had started to diverge a little. To be honest, I looked down on her new passions for motorcycles and guns. But I loved that she was standing behind me on my wedding day. I loved that we had been friends for so long. I loved her.

A few months later, I started working on my Master’s degree and became completely obsessed with this new version of my life, in which I was busy and working all the time and was sacrificing so much and nobody really knew or appreciated how hard it was. Stacey would try to make plans with me and I would decline or cancel and eventually stopped returning her calls. I was incredibly busy, too busy to even talk to her on the phone. Surely she knew that.

By the time our first wedding anniversary had rolled around, we hadn’t talked in months. I felt bad, but figured I would get back in touch with her soon enough. Another year or so went by, our only communication being Christmas cards. Last year, feeling incredibly shitty for how I had just dropped her, I wrote a note in the Christmas card that I sent her. “I miss you, Stacey. Can we reconnect soon?” I didn’t want to be too pushy after not communicating in so long.

I was stunned when the card came back with a bright yellow postal service label that robotically informed me that Stacey, one of my oldest friends, was no longer at that address and that the forwarding service to her new home in Montana had expired.

MONTANA?!?!?!

I deliberated over what to do and considered contacting her parents, who I hoped were still in Pittsburgh, for her new address. Before I could take any action, Stacey appeared on Facebook. I immediately sent her a sheepish message, telling her how sorry I was for being such a terrible, selfish friend and for being so careless with our friendship. Stacey kindly replied that it was fine, that she felt like she was getting in my way and just quietly bowed out of my life.

Her words stung, but only because they were true. In my foolish quest to be more important, to prove to myself that I was not a failure, I had utterly neglected her and she was too good of a person to call me on it, she just did what I wanted her to do.

I didn’t push for more interaction. I didn’t feel that it was my place anymore. I no longer had any right to influence how she felt about me.

A few months ago, a mutual Facebook friend tagged Stacey in a picture. I wouldn’t have noticed it if it hadn’t shown up on my news feed when I happened to be looking at it. The picture was of Stacey, dancing with her father…in her wedding dress.

I was crushed. I wasn’t mad at her. I had no business being there. But I had failed her in that I couldn’t reciprocate the favor of standing and supporting her on her wedding day, vowing to be part of the network that made her marriage work like she had done for me.

I thought about writing to her to tell her all of this, but more photos appeared. She was beaming, beautiful, happy. She was fine without me and without my apologies.

I know that relationships, even the ones that seem the most likely to last forever, can just end. People grow apart, they no longer fill the roles in each others’ lives that they used to. At best it’s a chasm that quietly grows. At worst, lives are ripped apart. But it’s one of the few things in life that we can look at and see as being meant to be, whether we like it or not.

I still love Stacey and cherish the years that we had together. I will forever regret that I was the one responsible for undoing our friendship. Maybe someday we can try again.

Day 01 Something you hate about yourself.
Day 02 Something you love about yourself.
Day 03 Something you have to forgive yourself for.
Day 04 Something you have to forgive someone for.
Day 05 Something you hope to do in your life.
Day 06 Something you hope you never have to do.
Day 07 Someone who has made your life worth living for.
Day 08 Someone who made your life hell, or treated you like shit.
Day 09 Someone you didn’t want to let go, but just drifted.
Day 10 Someone you need to let go, or wish you didn’t know.
Day 11 Something people seem to compliment you the most on.
Day 12 Something you never get compliments on.
Day 13 A band or artist that has gotten you through some tough ass days. (write a letter.)
Day 14 A hero that has let you down. (letter)
Day 15 Something or someone you couldn’t live without, because you’ve tried living without it.
Day 16 Someone or something you definitely could live without.
Day 17 A book you’ve read that changed your views on something.
Day 18 Your views on gay marriage.
Day 19 What do you think of religion? Or what do you think of politics?
Day 20 Your views on drugs and alcohol.
Day 21 (scenario) Your best friend is in a car accident and you two got into a fight an hour before. What do you do?
Day 22 Something you wish you hadn’t done in your life.
Day 23 Something you wish you had done in your life.
Day 24 Make a playlist to someone, and explain why you chose all the songs. (Just post the titles and artists and letter)
Day 25 The reason you believe you’re still alive today.
Day 26 Have you ever thought about giving up on life? If so, when and why?
Day 27 What’s the best thing going for you right now?
Day 28 What if you were pregnant or got someone pregnant, what would you do?
Day 29 Something you hope to change about yourself. And why.
Day 30 A letter to yourself, tell yourself EVERYTHING you love about yourself

I’m just going to blurt it out: I hope I never have to bury my child. Anything else in the world I could endure. That…I’m not sure that I could survive.

Ahem.

Anyway, to try to push that out of my head, a close second to that is that I hope I never have to take a math test ever again. I thought I was in the clear after my sophomore year of college, when I finally passed the dummy algebra class after failing it twice. But then I had to go and apply to graduate school which required the GRE. I even ruled out a career as a teacher when I found out that there were hefty math requirements to get the bachelor’s degree.

Even though you generally take math tests quietly and on your own, I still feel like I’m having the mother of all naked anxiety nightmares when I have to actually DO math and then SHOW it to someone, since my computations generally look like this:

It’s not that I don’t respect math and all that is truly awesome about it. I just don’t get it. At all. I mean, I can drive a car better than I can do math and if you’ve seen me drive then you know how much of a dunce I must be about numbers. And I have always hated the reactions that I get from people when they start to grasp how little I understand math. Especially since people who have even a little understanding of it are so freaking smug about it.

So if I could avoid ever taking another math test, that would be wonderful.

Day 01 Something you hate about yourself.
Day 02 Something you love about yourself.
Day 03 Something you have to forgive yourself for.
Day 04 Something you have to forgive someone for.
Day 05 Something you hope to do in your life.
Day 06 Something you hope you never have to do.
Day 07 Someone who has made your life worth living for.
Day 08 Someone who made your life hell, or treated you like shit.
Day 09 Someone you didn’t want to let go, but just drifted.
Day 10 Someone you need to let go, or wish you didn’t know.
Day 11 Something people seem to compliment you the most on.
Day 12 Something you never get compliments on.
Day 13 A band or artist that has gotten you through some tough ass days. (write a letter.)
Day 14 A hero that has let you down. (letter)
Day 15 Something or someone you couldn’t live without, because you’ve tried living without it.
Day 16 Someone or something you definitely could live without.
Day 17 A book you’ve read that changed your views on something.
Day 18 Your views on gay marriage.
Day 19 What do you think of religion? Or what do you think of politics?
Day 20 Your views on drugs and alcohol.
Day 21 (scenario) Your best friend is in a car accident and you two got into a fight an hour before. What do you do?
Day 22 Something you wish you hadn’t done in your life.
Day 23 Something you wish you had done in your life.
Day 24 Make a playlist to someone, and explain why you chose all the songs. (Just post the titles and artists and letter)
Day 25 The reason you believe you’re still alive today.
Day 26 Have you ever thought about giving up on life? If so, when and why?
Day 27 What’s the best thing going for you right now?
Day 28 What if you were pregnant or got someone pregnant, what would you do?
Day 29 Something you hope to change about yourself. And why.
Day 30 A letter to yourself, tell yourself EVERYTHING you love about yourself

“Mum. Mum, I have a nosebleed.”

The baby’s wiry shadow stood by my bed, his hands clutching his nose.

“Are you okay?” I muttered, poking myself in the eye with my glasses as I pulled myself out of bed.

“Yeah.”

We stumbled to the bathroom and I assessed his nose. It wasn’t bleeding very badly. A few quick applications of pressure and he was back in bed.

I returned to my bed and nudged the husband’s knee out of my spot before curling my pillow back under my head and closing my eyes.

I expected to fall back to sleep immediately but instead a convention of worries began in my brain. All of the regular players were there: How Will We Ever Pay Our Student Loans showed up with Maybe We Should Try to Sell the House. Should I Get a Second Job on the Weekends came stumbling in followed by I’m a Terrible Parent, who promptly put the lampshade on her head and ended the night by peeing in the front yard and calling her best friend a bitch. Again.

These are all the kinds of things that are not affected whatsoever by worrying, especially not at 4:30 a.m., thereby making my worrying pointless and self-indulgent.

My body started to tense up the way that it does when I’m worrying like this. My jaw clenched, my shoulders rose, my legs wouldn’t relax. I whipped the covers off of me and went downstairs, feeling the need to direct the tension elsewhere.

I did the dishes and cleaned up the kitchen a little bit, every few minutes poking my head through the blinds to see if there was any hint of daylight yet. A weird idea had crept into my unexpected, early morning housekeeping: go for a jog.

I had started jogging about 5 months ago and was surprised to find that I enjoyed it. Or rather, I enjoyed how I felt when my jogs were over and found myself getting antsy on the days that I didn’t have that release.

Estimating that sunrise was only about 10 minutes away, I pulled on my jogging gear, grabbed my phone and my key, and quietly made my way outside.

I warmed up by walking down our quiet street and down toward the main drag where there was more light. The only other people that I saw were the bakers in the two bakeries along the way. They were busy making the morning’s treats, doughnut-scented traps that nearly lured me in.

Finally, at the end of the main drag, I broke into my run and immediately had to confront a small hill.

The run wasn’t easy. I’m not used to hills and the lingering darkness of the lazy dawn and my uncertainty of my timing had me a little worried. My only companion was the automated voice of my running application that told me how far I had gone.

But I kept going, up into the next neighborhood and very nearly into the one after that. On my way back, the sun was finally starting to blink its eyes open and emit that sleepy blue light. A few other runners and walkers were out by then. They all grinned at me as I huffed past them.

When I got back to my house, I was no richer than I had been, but I felt somehow lighter. I peeled off my sweaty clothes and rinsed my still sleepy muscles in the warm water, thinking maybe I could go on for one more day.

My buddy Frank was my “bridesman.”

That’s him all the way over on the left

At that time, Frank had just recently started seeing a lovely girl named Andrea.

A little over four years later, Frank and Andrea are getting married, and I am going to be Frank’s “groomswoman” (or “groomsbitch,” as he’s been calling me).

Groomsmen are usually in charge of throwing the bachelor party, but as it came closer to being about that time, it turned out that Frank wasn’t going to be able to squeeze it in. Money, the fact that he would need to travel from New York to Pittsburgh, saving up vacation days, and so on all prevented our hedonism. I felt kind of bad about this and told Frank that he should do something “bachelory” and we would watch via video chat and cheer him on. Since he’s not into strippers, my suggestions were to leave clothes and pizza boxes strewn all over his apartment while we watched and screamed, “WOOOO! YEAAAHHHHH! WOOOOO!”

Sounds silly, right? What actually ended up happening was not that far off. Armed with a new laptop, Frank pinged me on Gmail’s video chat on Saturday night and we decided that that would be his online bachelor party. He grabbed some beers and I made some half-assed margarita concoctions. Our conversation turned to Kicking and Screaming (alternate title: Kicking and Screaming…No, Not that Will Ferrell Soccer Movie), which is a favorite movie of ours. Rather than spending the whole night exchanging our favorite quotes, we decided to watch it…together.

“Okay, on ‘3’ I’m going to press play. Ready? 1…2…3!”

It was fun and nice and very much indicative of our friendship, but we agreed that it was kind of the most old person bachelor party ever…at least until I dozed off on the couch and Frank had to wake me up via video chat so that I could cart my old self to bed.

At least we took pictures of the wild and crazy time that we had.

Struggles that I Overcame:

I only had two beers at the MamaPop party the night before, but when we got back to the hotel, I was struck by how badly I missed the husband and the baby. I turned into a total sap and started getting weepy because I had arranged to stay until Tuesday to see some of the city and was totally regretting it. So in the morning, I had post-beer, post-karaoke, post-cry headache. But nothing will keep me from a breakfast buffet, so I staggered out of the room leaving my snoozing roommates to sleep for me.

Sessions that I Attended:

Since I was in need of a lot of coffee, I ended up staying for the morning keynote that included a panel with the International Activist Blogger Scholarship recipients. Four women, Esra’a Al Shafei of mideastyouth.com, Dushiyanthini Pillai of humanityashore.org, Marie Trigona of mujereslibres.blogspot.com, and Freshta Basij-Rasikh of Afghan Women’s Writing Project spoke about their experiences as bloggers. These young women put their lives in grave danger with every keystroke as they document injustices in their countries. It was tempting to listen to their stories and feel sheepish about my blog, which I repeatedly described to people as “just about my life.” (Like, “Oh, don’t read it. It’s terribly dull.” I clearly haven’t mastered this pitching thing yet.) But I didn’t. I can’t rush over to Afghanistan and change things there, but I can listen and try to understand where they’re coming from. And I can appreciate the communication tools that I have at my disposal that allow me to write and relate.

I attended the Women and Sports session that Sarah helped to lead. It’s too bad that Rob Dibble didn’t say that nonsense about women at sporting events until a few days later, because it was almost exactly what we discussed for a portion of the session.

Since I just have my son, I don’t have too many tales about encouraging young girls to participate in sports. But since I didn’t eject myself from the sisterhood the second we saw a tiny weenis on the ultrasound screen, it’s definitely something that I would like to see more of.

The only other session that I went to was the Humor Writing which…meh. And unfortunately not that funny. But I think I was getting tired and hungry at that point.

Before Humor Writing, Amber and Danielle and I took a spin around the expo hall, which is just this huge orgy of marketing. It never fails to both awe me and weird me out. Sometimes there’s cool stuff there, though. Like sausage dipped in pancakes and this guy:

That was my only celebrity sighting.

I also checked out a few of the suites, namely the Firefox suite where I fudged my way through a survey about add-ons and got a teeny-tiny tshirt.

Parties that I Attended:

Saturday night was MamaPop’s Sparklecorn party which was just huge and crazy and sweaty and fun. Also, there was cake.

It was from Charm City Cakes and I’ve always been skeptical of them. I suspected that they were mostly hype and the cake wasn’t that good.

My friends, the cake was so good. SOOOO GOOOOD. It had several different flavors: blueberry muffin, bananas foster, and peanut butter and jelly. I tried the bananas foster and the peanut butter and jelly and they were both extremely delicious. Charm City Cakes: I am now a believer.

Ryan was on hand with his camera skills and documented the party in both stills and video. Like last year, I didn’t make the final cut, but maybe that’s because I look like this at parties:

Sweaty, drinky, scowly, with my arms sticking out. Photo by Amy.

Injuries Sustained:

One gigantic blister on my left foot. And one of my stockings didn’t even survive being put on, but I forged ahead with a huge run, looking somewhat deranged.

This is how parties end sometimes. Shoes, hair accessory, and tattered hosiery discarded, feet damp from doing the Hustle in a puddle of vodka.

People on Whom I Mouth-Breathed:

The husband rolled his eyes when he saw me packing my running gear. “You know you’re not going to go running while you’re there.” Ordinarily, this would be the case. But Saturday, before the party, I went for a quick jog through Central Park with Jess. It was really nice to jog with someone. One thing that is hurting my motivation for running right now is, I guess, getting bored and just wanting it to be over. Running with someone is different. We chatted (breathlessly) and took in the sights of the park. It was really cool. I wish I could do it all the time.

Because I’ve been stretching this recap out for so long, my memory of who I met when is pretty feeble. So I’m going to do a quick run-down of the business cards of the people I haven’t yet mentioned: Bookish Penguin, Delightfully Sweet, Life After Bagels, Sarah Granger, Multi Tasking Mama, Carrie Actually, Knotty Yarn, Dimple and a Smirk, Smarty Pants Mama, Average Jane, Stephanie Himel-Nelson from Blue Star Families, JavaMom, and Diana Lee.

I’d say I accomplished my goal of meeting blogging types that I didn’t already know. It was pretty cool, actually, just introducing myself to strangers that I knew I had at least one thing in common with, chatting with them for a few minutes, finding out a little bit about them before the busy days swept us apart. It’s not something that I would normally do, but what’s life without new experiences?

Pictures that I Took:

In the interest of wrapping this thing up, two whole weeks after the fact, I’m going to punk out and put my flickr slideshow here.

The actual conference was Friday and Saturday. My official, stated goals were to: not sleep through breakfast, meet people I didn’t already know from the internet, attend sessions, and nerd out as much as possible.

Struggles that I Overcame:

I realized that whatever lingering childhood shyness that I used to have that would cause me horrendous anxiety when thrown into a group of strangers has all but disappeared. If anything, it’s made me more empathetic to people who feel the same way. Look at me! Growing! Changing! Not mumbling into my oatmeal and avoiding eye contact or eschewing society all together to tremble in the ladies’ room!

The handful of people that I sat with at breakfast were lovely and we had no trouble chatting. After the opening keynote address, there was a “speed-dating” session that sounded like it would be chaotic, but I managed to just remain in my seat and allowed people to come to me, like I was the Godfather or something. The key to these things is to act like you’re super important. Next time, if there is a next time, I’m hiring somebody to stand behind me and look like Secret Service. Then watch the business cards pile up. That’s how 50 Cent got where he is today.

My other struggle was referencing American Psycho when I went to lunch with several MamaPoppers at this place called Johnny Utah’s. It was suggested that we go there because there was a mechanical bull. But I guess lunchtime on a Friday isn’t prime bull-riding time, because it just sat there like…well, like a giant inanimate bull in the room. I mentioned that the restaurant reminded me of the no-longer-popular restaurant that Patrick Bateman takes Paul Allen to in American Psycho and everyone got kind of quiet. Like, maybe referencing a misogynistic serial killer that was dreamed up by a bougie misogynistic a-hole is a faux pas in the midst of a women’s conference. I don’t know, I’m not always in tune to these subtle social cues.

Sessions that I Attended:

The first was a session on resume-writing and social media profiles and it was really, really good. My internet-writing experience is not insignificant. Far from it. But I really don’t know how to incorporate that into my resume and I don’t know how to get over my fear that people will see that and read, “I WRITE INAPPROPRIATE THINGS AND SHAME MY EMPLOYERS! CALL ME! LOL!!!ONE1 twitter.” So it was really helpful to hear from people who have done so successfully and see examples of resumes that do this in a professional way.

There were a couple other social media sessions that I wanted to go to, but I ended up lugging my camera to a photography session that ended up being more about composition than actual, hands-on technique. And I kind of already know a little bit about composition from taking a couple history and theory classes about photography in college. I was hoping for more practical advice on getting comfortable with adjusting manual settings for various shots. But I have a book for that, I just need to find it.

Parties that I Attended:

The MamaPop writers spent some quality time together, drinking, eating burritos, and doing karaoke. Funny. Drunken karaoke sounds a whole lot like shouting and giggling. This was actually my first foray into karaoke and Laurie and I belted out “Me and Bobby McGee.” I got a little too into it, I think, because after I handed off the mic, Amy looked at me and said, “That was…something else.”

Injuries Sustained:

I banged my knee on something getting out of a cab and got a small but healthy scrape. I dramatically declared that I would soon be coming down with hepatitis in that knee, but so far it seems okay.

People on Whom I Mouth-Breathed:

I know for sure that I met these people at breakfast or during the speed-dating: Pine Creek Cottage, Hide the Cheese, The Bellini Bunny, Dana from Rodale, and Naomi from Ketchum. I know I’m missing a few but I’ll do a round up of all of the cards that I’m having trouble placing with memories later. I also bumped into Jason and TwoBusy in the morning who were in search of that fine lady Mrs. Potato Head. Pimp! Adam P. Knave met up with us for drinks before the MamaPop party and I talked to him and his friend for exactly 2.5 seconds. I finally met Melissa and called her Christine.

Pictures that I Took:

This was the view from our hotel room. When we first walked past that LOVE sculpture, I pointed and yelled, “HEY! IT’S THIS THING!” I should be a tour guide.

Adam, Friend of Adam, and Palinode

BHJ and Amber

Schmutzie!

Jodi, Tracey, Palinode, and Ryan. I don’t know why there’s so much bending in this picture.

Kelli, Laurie, Schmutzie, Sarah, and Marilyn cracking up over something with a cardboard cutout of somebody. Based on the direction of their gaze, I imagine it’s something PG-13. I don’t remember taking this picture or what was going on, which is weird because I really didn’t even drink that much.

Karaoke action with Palinode, Tracey, Amy, Catherine, Schmutzie, Amy, Amber, and I believe Miss Banshee is back there, too.

This picture doesn’t do them justice but Jodi and Amy are, like, radiantly beautiful in real life.