Archive for the ‘Travel’ Category

BlogHer, In One Fell Swoop

Aug 10th, 10 / 8 Comments

The time has come to write about BlogHer, but I had to take a moment and remind myself that the majority of people who stop by here are not bloggers, and if they are, BlogHer might not be up their alley, or it might be totally foreign to them, or it might be outside their comfort zone. That and I think that if anything can crush the spirit of a blog, it is blogging too much about….blogging. That isn’t what you come here for so, I promise that this is my one (unwieldy, long, ohmygoodness stop talking now) post about it. In a nutshell BlogHer is a conference where bloggers of all types, shapes and sizes come together for a few days to learn, meet, support and enjoy each other’s company without a keyboard and computer screen between them. For me the trip was 9 parts social and 1 part learning because I only purchased a partial conference pass- it was my first year, and naively, I thought this would give me some time to slip away and visit some friends, family, and JGIWC, who wasn’t attending but lives in NYC.

Oh how wrong I was.

I decided to go on a whim- my best-blog-friend Katie was going, she had fun last year, and hey, why not, I write a blog too! It would be fun! Yay…!….? And it was fun, oh so much fun, but even without panels to go to (where the learning & collaborating portion takes place) I was busy from the moment I woke up until the moment I fell asleep. Sure, a lot of the “busy” was because a good part of BlogHer is akin to herding cats, i.e., 5 people decide to go to lunch together and do you know how long it takes to coordinate 5 women? No? Let me help: imagine a bunch of cats (say about 20), take them out of a box, put catnip 500 yards to the left, put some tuna fish 500 yards to the right and now try to force them all to walk in a straight line down the middle.

My point exactly.

If you’ve read at all about BlogHer, this year or last you might have nagging questions about BlogHer scandals or complaints, i.e., “private parties” that seem to fly in the face of the idea of “community” that BlogHer stands for (that only top-tier bloggers with lots of traffic are invited to), swag-bags that morph  normal, everyday women  into rabid lemurs, ready to shank another woman if they don’t get their bag of free plastic crap before they run out, and then of course the typical drama that ensues when you put two women within 50 square miles of each other. You know. That stuff. Which, I’m happy to report was not what I dealt with over the weekend. Sure there were private parties, but I still had an amazing time because there is so much more to BlogHer than a private party. Yes there was swag, but I brought home one small bag worth, turning down offers for gadgets and coupons that were not things that I would use, or that I needed, or that interested me – and I think a lot of other attendees did the same. And sure, drama can happen but at some point, you have to treat it like the drama from high school, work and life- and let it roll off your back.

Setting all that business aside I had the time of my life. Katie wasn’t there the first night, so after a lovely pizza dinner with my new friend and roommate, I walked to one of the many open parties being held that night and took a deep breath before walking in by myself. Of course I promptly grabbed a drink and then pretending to text on my phone for 10 minutes before I got the courage up to introduce myself to people…and before you know it, I was having a great time. Funny how that works. I even met someone who (also)  has an animal on Prozac. It was like love at first sight. After Katie got in the next morning we started the whirlwind that was. We had lunch with the cutest baby in the world who took the opportunity to douse Katie in both coffee & spit up, necessitating a costume-change. I knew I’d made a good choice to attend BlogHer when I confided to a new friend over dinner (with a few of these ladies) I was contemplating ordering lobster ravioli for dinner but the price made me question if it was lobster or imitation “krab” meat and she admitted she was having the same reservation. (We ordered the ravioli & split a salad -it was delicious & you know you’ve made a friend when you can share food together.) There was a lot of late night hotel room pizza parties, (during one of them I snuggled with this lovely woman & photographer) and all of the BlogHer parties were as much fun as promised. I jumped up and down on a bed in a ballroom with (with other people) while wearing a hat made out of a McDonald’s sack & I had part of my cheeseburger swiped, like a pigeon from the sky by someone who will remain unnamed…she knows who she is….CHEESEBURGLER. (What? You can “cheers” with cheeseburgers. Just because you’ve never done it doesn’t mean you can’t.) I’d also like to point out that while everyone else’s McDonald’s sack slid down their heads, covering up their eyes, I discovered I apparently have the WORLDS. LARGEST. SKULL. (as opposed to my tiny-skulled friends) and my bag perched precariously on top of my head, like a chef’s hat gone terribly wrong. I had my photo taken by a photographer and writer who I truly admire. I met another Midwesterner who made me laugh, and laugh hard. I shyly introduced myself to one of my most favorite bloggers (Ok, fine, it was more like “Um, hi, I write Daisy JD, and I’m ….um…a really big fan…I just love your writing….- oh no, my palms are sweating, my voice is cracking ahhhhhhhhhhhh- and so I wanted to introduce myself……” before trailing off into a pile of awkward. She was just as lovely as I’d imagined.)  I made a friend at a party who didn’t judge me when I ate 2 (ok fine, 10) donut holes with creme anglaise. I finally met a fellow lawyer-in-crime & as well as a woman who makes me laugh on a regular basis with her “herkie” comments. I sat next to an old Twitter friend late one night at a diner and laughed over cheeseburgers and omelette’s.  I attended the Community Keynote (my one part of learning) as Katie’s guest (she had been a finalist to speak at it!) and was truly inspired by the words and stories of others. I finally, after much Tweeting, met someone who just came home from the honeymoon of a lifetime. And any time I got tired or wanted a nap I remembered my lovely roommate who was there, pregnant with twins and I just kept on keeping on.

Even the flight home from BlogHer (which was delayed THREE TIMES and then had some sort of luggage snafu which  meant I didn’t get home until 9:30 pm on Sunday night) was fun, as I was sitting with two Chicago blogger’s who listened to me ramble on….and on….and on. (Sometimes a girl just has to decompress, you know?)

I met amazing women, laughed until my sides hurt and only woke up once with Katie’s silicone laptop keyboard cover plastered to my face. (Don’t ask because I honestly can’t give you an answer.)

And when I got home, and kissed my husband and unpacked my dirty, crumpled clothes and snuggled my dog the only thing that mattered was the swag.

Ok fine, just one piece of swag.

Meet Humpty, Rhett Butler’s new best friend. He wants everyone to know he LOVES himself some Eggland’s Best & will take down anyone getting in his way of an eggtastic swag bag.

BlogHer, Chicago, Travel

You Are Not From Around Here, Are You?

Aug 9th, 10 / 8 Comments

Rather than dive right into a BlogHer wrap up post (which: I had so much fun, squee, but oh my goodness am I sleep deprived) I thought I’d give anyone new stopping by a chance to get to know me. Or at least one of my (many) neuroses, one that reared its ugly head while I was in New York City.

Truth: I have an abnormal fear of being labeled a tourist. Outside of the obvious reasons; a cab driver over-charging you or taking the longer route or paying way too much for something that everyone else knows you can buy two blocks over at half the price, I’m afraid of having the locals roll their eyes at me while side stepping around me as I block an entire sidewalk or escalator, saying to someone on the phone “I’ll be there just as soon as this tourist figures out how to get out of my way.”

I think this phobia started when I was a child and my family lived overseas and we were given a lot of pamphlets and videos about being “good Americans” which warned against wearing large white tennis shoes and fanny packs while wandering around small German villages, while simultaneously reminding us to carry loose change so we could use the public restrooms. Then I moved to Chicago and made the unfortunate choice of renting an apartment by Navy Pier (the number one tourist attraction in Chicago, or so I hear, which I find truly tragic and baffling because y’all, Navy Pier is just an over priced carnival with a Bubba Gump and flashing lights) where I dealt with the tourists every.damn.day. The highlight of living by Navy Pier was when I was sitting on the sidewalk in front of my building, bleeding, waiting for a cab to take me to the emergency room for stitches in the bottom of my foot (exploding Pryex baking dishes are a real delight…..stepping on one of the broken pieces is an even bigger one….) and a group of tourists wandered by with their cameras. Suddenly one of them exclaimed “LOOK, IT IS JUST LIKE LAW AND ORDER, SHE IS BLEEDING” and then, without warning, they all took photos of me. Sitting on a sidewalk, my foot wrapped in a towel, fumbling through my purse for my health insurance card and some cash to pay the cab driver.

It wasn’t a delight, is all I’m going to say. And I might or might not have used some choice non-touristy, big city girl words on them. Ones that cannot be repeated because my Mother is reading this, and some of you might be new, and I should at least pretend to be polite on our first date.

In order to deal with my fear of being labeled a tourist I force myself to carry a map and then, when I need to read it, I find a Starbucks and duck into the restroom where I can pull the map out to examine it without anyone marking me as Someone Who Doesn’t Know Where They Are Going, Quick, Steal Her Wallet or harassing me to come upstairs to look at a “real authentic Rolex(xxx)” they are selling for “real good price” if you know what I mean. I also will walk two blocks out of my way, all while pretending I know exactly what I’m doing, to prevent myself from having to ask anyone where I am going and I refuse to eat at any restaurant that appears to have people with white tennis shoes and fanny packs eating at it. And finally, because of all my efforts typically pay off and someone confuses my aura of complete and total fear of being exposed as having a different zip code for an aura of confidence, when I’m asked for directions I tend to nod with complete understanding and then say gravely “Oh that is quite far. I’d suggest taking a cab.” before walking off. This method is not one I can recommend, as it often backfires when I walk two blocks further and see the person I’d “helped” exiting a cab with a confused look on their face.

All I’m saying is, when you travel with me, leave your white tennis shoes at home and be prepared to go into a lot of coffee shops. I promise I don’t have an over-active bladder, I just really need to read the map so we can walk in circles a few more times. It will be fun, I swear.

Chicago, Travel

Big Apple Bound

Aug 4th, 10 / 2 Comments

Tomorrow morning I’m heading off to the airport (an hour earlier than I’d like thanks to JetBlue having some new computer system with “glitches” youhavegottobekiddingme RIGHT?) to fly to New York City for BlogHer. I think this is where I’m supposed to write about being super nervous but the truth is, I’m more nervous about eating too many bagels than I am about meeting other people who blog. I blog. They blog. Maybe about similar things, maybe not, but hey, NYC, yay! Lets go find some lox for these bagels!

I have packed entirely too many pairs of shoes and I have double checked three times that I remembered a tube of toothpaste, because lets face it, no one likes a roommate that doesn’t have minty fresh breath. I’m rooming with Overflowing Brain, La Primera & Last Girl Standing & I expect many hijinks, if for no other reason than one of those ladies might have brought a small moose, whom we have named Maurice, and he is our manservant. It should be good. I’ll pay him in bagels.

(If you are in NYC and spot “Daisy” on a name badge say hi…goodness knows I’ll be jabbering away about something!)

Travel