August 16, 2010
The Solillaquists of Sound – New Sheriff in Town
Soul Coughing – Bus to Beelzebub
The Notorious B.I.G. (Biggie Smalls) – Party and Bullshit (ratatat remix)
The Solillaquists of Sound – New Sheriff in Town
Soul Coughing – Bus to Beelzebub
The Notorious B.I.G. (Biggie Smalls) – Party and Bullshit (ratatat remix)
Last night I woke up at 3:33 am with what felt like labor pains.
My stomach was cramping so badly that I was convinced that Vicky was having her baby.
I reasoned that she and I had bonded so deeply when we roomed together at BlogHer that I could feel her labor pains.
I don’t know. It seemed feasible at 3:30 in the morning.
*
When I woke up the fist thing I did was check facebook to see a picture of the baby.
There were no photos.
So I e-mailed Vicky.
There was no labor. No baby yet. She slept through the night.
*
It must have been the entire sleeve of Pringles I ate yesterday.
I have got to stop doing that.
I just stood in my kitchen and watched a pot of water boil.
I watched it happen. They say you can’t, but I can. Maybe you can’t, but I can.
I CAN DO ANYTHING! You can’t stop me.
It was amazing.
(They don’t really call me The Myth Buster. They call me “The Boiler”.)
The funniest joke I heard all day as told by my four year old neighbor, Todd:
(Laurie and Suebob should stop reading now)
Q: Why did the chicken cross the road?
A: Diarrhea.
I turned my head as his mother scolded him for that kind of talk at the table because I was laughing and I didn’t want to encourage his behavior. His second joke was “Why did the diarrhea cross the road?”* Then he said – and he said it really loud and we were in a restaurant – “WHAT? YOU DON’T LIKE DIARRHEA?”
I had to hide behind my child so that Todd couldn’t see that I was laughing so hard I was shaking.
I know it is inappropriate lunch conversation. I know that I am a parent and a grown up and it takes a village and I should be throwing him stern glances as his own mother tries to raise him right, but dammit, diarrhea is funny.
Especially when it crosses the road.
Ninety minutes.
That is how long it took me to start crying after I got back into town.
I wasn’t even actually home yet.
I don’t know why I was surprised. This happens every year. I go to BlogHer and I leave feeling amazing. I see people I only get to talk to face to face once a year. I meet people in person that I have been internet friends with for five years. I watch amazing panels of women inspire me to be a better writer, mother, artist, person. I get more compliments in three days than I do for the other 362 days a year combined.
At BlogHer I make business connections. I learn. I socialize. I reunite. I am recognized as a writer. As a business woman. As an individual.
At home I am recognized as “Ian’s Mom”.
At BlogHer people ask me how I do it all.
At home people ask me why I’m not doing more.
At BlogHer I am one of the hosts of the most amazing party. We had a cake from Charm City Bakery, we had a DJ and we did The Hustle. I was sparkly.

Jen and Sarah posing as “robot hookers”. We actually wore the same dress to Sparklecorn. What are the odds that two people would buy this dress? Photo by Laurie White
At home there is a rotting cantaloupe on my kitchen counter, my sink is full of dishes and I can’t find my glasses anywhere.
At BlogHer I meet with producers of major television news networks that want to discuss the upcoming book in which two of my essays will appear.
At home it is dismissed because it is a “little blogging thing” and did you hear my sister-in-law is going to have an article in Oprah’s magazine? Did I know that she was a real writer?
At BlogHer I sit on panels next to WNBA champions and people come to the session to hear me speak.

With Megan Hueter and Kelly Mazzante at BlogHer 10. Photo by Laurie White
At home I sit next to my cat who will not stop meowing. I have no idea why.
At BlogHer I say intelligent things and people write it down.

At home I walk into the wall and hurt my elbow.
The same wall that has been in the same place ever since I moved here in 2006.
Every year it is like this. Maybe next year, when I go to my sixth BlogHer I will stop being surprised.
I’ll see you in San Diego.


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