I lugged about 10 pounds worth of camera and lenses to Blogher, and the only photos I have in my possession to share with y'all are these two, taken with Kristen's iPhone. During our impromptu Floor Party in the pantyhose department at Macy's:
After realizing that I was simply not getting nearly enough attention, I decided to have a dramatic fainting spell en route to the shoe department portion of the Blogher cocktail party. (For anyone who wasn't there and is thinking...Macy's? Shoe department? Cocktail party? What? Yeah, I don't really understand either, and I was both THERE and SOBER.)
The party started out in Handbags, and I started out very horrified by the sight of hummus and various hors d'oeurves plates perilously close to the Marc Jacobs, I was soon distracted by this vague feeling that Oh Shit, I've Possibly Gone And Overdone It, and started meekly asking people if they knew where I could get some water. Various people went on a search mission for me, but returned with the news that champagne appeared to be the only option available. (Pregnant traveling ladies, I highly recommend you get yourself a whole posse of Danas and Catherines and Traceys and and Isabels and a couple Laid-Off and/or Backpacking Dads, who will ignore your protestations that you are FINE, stop FUSSING, and bring you chairs and shake down cocktail waitresses on your behalf.)
And then, while walking through the aisles of pantyhose, I found myself grabbing the nearest elbow and hissing that I needed someone to GET ME ON THE FLOOR, RIGHT NOW, and...I remember spinning, high-kicking, thigh-highed mannequin legs and very cold marble and Catherine rushing off to find water and returning with a little thimble of a Starbucks cup and wailing that it was all they'd give her, and then I laughed so hard I thought I would puke, and that's when I noticed pretty much every conference attendee filing by and staring at me strangely. After awhile a nice group of people joined me on the floor, where we accepted bottles of water and Luna bars from anyone who could scrounge one up for me, like some kind of really fucked-up Nativity scene.
(TANGENT! For anyone who has been to Blogher, you know how you go with a List? That List of bloggers you're just really jazzed about and hoping to meet, and you possibly rehearse what you'll say when you meet them [because OF COURSE you'll recognize them, being so excellent with names and faces already] just so you don't do something lame like SCREAM DIRECTLY INTO THEIR FACE [sorry, Cecily] or otherwise make a fangirl ass out of yourself? It was at this moment, there on the floor of the pantyhose department, that Jenny the Bloggess sat down next to me. All I can say is that I'm very happy I was having some kind of horrific Blood Sugar incident at the time because at least I am not forced to live with very detailed memories of what a spastic dork I was -- it's all lost in a glorious haze of dizzy spells and those weird spots that cloud your vision. Ahh.)
(TANGENT, PART TWO! I missed all the drama, is all I can say about all the drama. I was TRYING to rest up and take care of my delicate little self and missed the keynote.)
THEN the party moved up to Furniture, where I at least got to recline on a sofa while signing books with Cagey and Kristen (the Non-Dramatic Pregnant Lady) and...oh God, everybody else, until I 1) kicked over somebody else's glass of red wine all over the rug, and 2) really really really really really had to pee and had to take an ELEVATOR to another floor and it was like I was back at the airport and once I found the bathroom I was completely baffled by the stall doors (they didn't look like doors! and you couldn't tell if they were occupied unless you hurled your body at them and after slamming myself into the third locked door I turned around and randomly screamed to the heavens and scared a lovely group of young 20-something non-mommybloggers before spotting a slightly open door and peeing for oh, about the entire running time of Juno.
On Sunday my friend Julie (some of you may remember her as Bunny. Met her in Gymboree, bonded over our hatred of everyone else at Gymboree, moved to California in February, broke my heart, is total whore) picked me up at the hotel and whisked me off to her house/decompression chamber, since she knows about my blog but doesn't read my blog, doesn't read ANY blogs and if I dared spend one second trying to rehash some kind of OMG DRAMZZ! moment from the conference she'd...she'd...well, probably just call me an asshole and change the subject. Perfect.
Now I'm home, surrounded by the dozens and dozens of business cards I picked up, marveling at how many new people I met, old friends and whores I reconnected with however briefly, and then there were the people I technically met for the first time who already felt like old friends, in that weird Internet way. And that's just culled from my memory (haaaaa) and the cards I stashed in my camera bag (well, I had to use that bitch for SOMETHING)...I'm pretty sure I have about a hundred more in my actual suitcase, but opening that one means I would have to do laundry. And...it is not time for laundry yet, I don't think.
Jason and Noah met me at the airport last night, and Noah pointed and screamed (he gets that from me -- he'll be a huge hit at business conferences!) and came barreling at me for a huge hug, and then pulled back and said (for the first time ever), "I love you, Mama."
(That one goes out to all my peeps at the Blogging About Special-Needs Kids panel, who both refrain from playing the Pain Olympics AND are okay with me cornering them at parties to talk about SPD Manifestations in Poop without batting an eye. All we need is a gang sign that somehow incorporates what Miralax dosage we use.)
(Regarding Every Other Photo Of Me Out There: Look, I forgot lipstick, AND I brought sample-sized everything, including foundation, which I guess was a TAD PALE, bordering on TRANSLUCENT REFLECTIVE POSSIBLY UNDEAD. The persistent double-chin, however, I have no excuses for.)