This is totally the look I was planning on rocking at Blogher. Members Only, baby!
I registered for Blogher months ago, just after I was laid off and ahead of me stretched a seemingly endless mirage of long un-showered days spent watching Oprah and blogging. I craved connection and purpose. The promise of a good time. So I plunked down a chunk of change, splurging on the weekend package, cocktail parties and all. How could I not? This year the conference takes place in San Francisco, my backyard. It’s not as if I had to pay for airfare or accommodations.
The problem with Blogher being in San Francisco is that I am not on vacation from my life. I cannot drink a few martinis and stumble up to my hotel room, tipsy and just a wee bit gassy from bacon-wrapped canapés. I have to work. I am exhausted after the first week at the new job. Last night Zoey’s diaper leaked and I have to wash all of her bedding before tonight. Tomorrow we have a birthday party to attend. This weekend we are re-landscaping our front yard. Oh blah di, oh blah da, life goes o-on! La la la la life goes on.
Truth be told I don’t like martinis. Even when blitzed I suck at mingling. Most likely I would just stand there awkwardly in that conference room sidled up close to a ficus tree for camouflage, strategically planning out trips to the bathroom just so I have somewhere to go.
I did not attend the cocktail party last night. I can’t go to the conference today. Or tomorrow. And I certainly can’t just show up all fresh and unknown at the cocktail party on Saturday night, right? Not when everyone is in the midst of bonding, blood sisters of blog.
I have spent more on less. An Ab-Cruncher complete with instructional video. Membership to Lucinda Bassett’s Center for Attitudinal Healing. A leather motorcycle jacket that I never wore way back in 1992 just because I thought Shannen Doherty looked badass in hers. At least this waste of money is supporting something I really believe in: the blogging community. Because really? I have never believed in washboard abs.
So this weekend somewhere across the Bay there truly is a party going on without me. It's not just a feeling; I can hear the laughter tinkling across the water as inmates once did imprisoned on Alcatraz. Meanwhile over here at Casa Petunia Face, bridge and tunnel, baby, my swag bag will be filled with diapers and dirt.