All you need to know about BlogHer

This man carded me. HE ASKED FOR MY ID. I fell in love with him immediately, and I blame that for the fact that I somehow found myself puking into the toilet and passing out by 9pm on Friday night. Woo Hoo! I am the life of the party!



Actually, the more I think about it, I'm quite sure that I simply got a bad shrimp, and had a bad case of food poisoning. Maybe I should look into suing the hotel. I mean, sure, nobody else got food poisoning, but maybe none of the other 400 women in attendence Friday night ate the shrimp. Maybe there just happened to be only one bad shrimp, and I was the unlucky one to consume it. I can't imagine the hours of vomiting and moaning had anything to do with the fact that I drank 3 beers and the equivalent of one bottle of wine in 3 hours. (Social anxiety plus free wine = drunk Amy.)

By the way, if Yvonne told you on Saturday morning that she was really worried about me because I was "frothing at the mouth", it wasn't really true. I mean, there was a moment when I thought "well, puking up foam is better than puking up eggrolls" but that's all. You know Y, she's such an exaggerator!

Aftermath

BlogHer was fun, and weird, and everything I expected in good ways and bad. I have a couple posts brewing in my brain, but in the meantime, I leave you with this photo, and a question:
Does anyone know who these beautiful women are??

I had an awesome conversation with them Friday evening but I (cough, cough) can't seem to recall their names, and definitely not their blog urls. I do know this: they did not have business cards (you know, with all their bloggy info), and neither did I, and we all three of us thought that made us extra special in a very hip, un-BlogHer way. (We don't need no stinkin' cards! We are too cool for that!) Um, except now I may never find them again.

Damn you bloggers and your silly ideas that prove to be practical in the long run.

Oh, here's another photo, so you know what I'm talking about:



Update: Ha ha ha--that IS Chase from Taste the world, and guess what? She totally gave me her card. It's even in the picture I took last night--the picture of all the bloggy businessy cards that I thought we were talking about not having. Apparently that was a conversation with another blogger? Or perhaps I misunderstood when she handed me her card? Maybe I thought she was just giving me her autograph. It is possible, just possible, that I had a wee bit too much to drink Friday night. Maybe.

Will I ever do a real post again?

Random bullets, ala Phantom.

1. Last night we took the kids up to the neighbors' house for a bbq. I drank two beers and 3 margaritas. I actually had bed spins as I was trying to fall asleep. I haven't had bed spins in 15 years. I feel like roadkill this morning.

2. Bed spins.

3. I have no memory of getting the kids into pajamas and bed last night. It's a miracle we ended up in the right house. At some point, I also folded the laundry, so I can't complain too much.

4. Hooray for long weekends. We had two days of spectacular weather this week and now it's back to grey. I hope to God it clears up soon. We are attending a pool party tomorrow, where I was hoping both kids would miraculously learn to swim, so that I won't be forced to don a bathing suit for swimming lessons at the local pool.

5. Tonight I'm going with Heidi over to the bride's house for some girl time--wine, snacks, gossip. I've been looking forward to it all week--except, roadkill and all.

6. At every meeting we have with our architect we discuss budget. After 6 months of planning, the architect now believes that the house he has designed will be way beyond our financial scope. There is no way to cut back on the design without losing the aesthetics of the house. So it's back to square one.

7. Because my husband is a saint, he got the kids dressed, put Vivian in front of Nemo, and took Isaac to pre-school this morning so I could nurse my hangover. He left me his car, which is great, except it has no carseat in it. I shouldn't really call him and complain, should I? Do you think Vivian will be okay if I leave her here while I get some coffee? I really, really need coffee.

8. Lance just came home with the car so I decided to run over to Annika's house with the lasagne I made for her yesterday. Except that I live in L.A., you know, so the 12 mile drive took 30 minutes which meant I was running late to pick Isaac up at pre-school. She opened the door, I threw the lasagne at her, yelled "what a cute baby!" and left. Nice. He is a cute baby, though. So tiny! So sweet!

9. Tequila, elixir of Satan.


(10. I just came home after a doctor's appointment to see what you lovely people had to say about my bed spins and--surprise!--nothing is posted. How can that happen? There's this little button called "publish post", see, and you have to click on it. Oh my pretty pretty braincells, I'm miss you already.)

I got nothin'.

Because I have nothing to say and it's already Wednesday night: another meme. And, oh yeah, Melissa tagged me. AGAIN. So blame her.

I AM: on my third beer.
I SAID: "Nice knowin' ya."
I WANT: my son to be healthy.
I WISH: my sister was happy.
I HATE: Peas. Winter. Sweaters. Tom Cruise. Shopping. When friends act like assholes.
I MISS: my family.
I FEAR: too many things.
I HEAR: my children squabbling. ALL. THE . TIME.
I WONDER:why my son wakes up before 6am EVERY SINGLE MORNING.
I REGRET: losing touch with Andy Nye, my college boyfriend. (Inside joke, in case he's reading this (which, yeah, of course he's not, but I'm on my third beer, so whatever): "Do what?") {It's an INSIDE joke, okay? Not funny to you, but it's not meant to be. Sheesh.}
I AM NOT: crafty. Nor do I want to be. Keep those scrapbooks FAR AWAY from me.
I DANCE: with my kids. Except they always want me to pick them up and swing them around, and goddammit, I am not their father! Can't you just move your feet or your hips? Must I do EVERYTHING LITTLE THING for you??
I SING: hardly ever. (Be glad. I'm tone deaf.)
I AM NOT ALWAYS: smart. I wish I was.
I MADE: the beds a long time ago. I need to change the sheets again. Crap.
I WRITE: this blog. That's it. Isn't that enough?
I SHOULD: change the sheets more often.
I START: not much. Sadly. No, actually, that's really sad. But it's true. I don't start anything. I mean, I guess I start the car every day when I drive to pre-school. But that's all I can think of.
I FINISH: a tall chai latte way too frequently than is good for our finances.
I BELIEVE: in myself. in my husband. in love. in happiness.
I KNOW:that you probably think I'm full of shit.
I CAN: kick your ass in soccer. And I never played soccer as a kid. I'm much more athletic than you think.
I CANT: carry a tune.
I SEE: lightning bugs. Oh wait, no I don't. I live in California, where they don't have lightning bugs. Can you believe that? A place with no lightning bugs?? It's unfathomable. And yet, here I am. Here my children are, in a world without lightning bugs. I'm not sure they'll ever recover. I know I won't.
I BLOG: when I should be playing with my kids. Do you play with your kids? I mean, really play with them, often? Because, GOD, it bores me to tears to play with them.
I READ: blogs and not much else. It's because of you people that I haven't read a novel in over a year.
I AM AROUSED BY: lazy afternoons, sun spots on the bed.
IT PISSES ME OFF: when people refuse to accept responsibilityy for their actions.
I FIND: my husband's belts all over the house. Is it that hard to hang them up in the closet? Is it? Really?
I LIKE: beets. (So what? At least it's not brussel sprouts!)
I LOVE: 48 Hours Mystery. And Grey's Anatomy.* Oh yeah, and my family.

* Thanks for the reminder, Kate!

San Diego, balm for a burnt out Amy

Okay, so here, finally, is the wrap-up of our weekend in San Diego, at the wedding of a very good friend, while the kids stayed home with grandma.

Since it's Friday and I'm lazy, a photo-essay:

Good Times:
The unbridled joy of the bride and groom, but especially the groom.


The fact that Heidi confiscated my camera, which meant that some pictures actually got taken. And good ones, too!



The incredible awesome-ness of the wedding band. Besides being a 30 piece band, complete with dancing girls in sequined dresses and 18 year old blonde surfer dudes in shiny tuxedos singing Earth Wind and Fire at octaves usually heard at the opera, they featured a blind piano player doing Stevie Wonder and Ray Charles impressions, several outfit changes for the whole band, a fiddle player to challenge any Kentucky blue grass band, and a God Bless America medley which might have been cheesy, but for the one soldier at the wedding, in full uniform, standing at attention through the whole thing. Oh, and later in the evening they handed out props, like the guitar you saw me "playing" in that other post. Seriously, even the fact that they sang both "Kokomo" and "I just called to say I love you" did not take away from the fun times we had dancing. Oh, and maybe the best thing of all was the priest throwing down when they sang Mary J. Blige's Praise Me* towards the end of the night. I WISH I had a photo of that.

there he is, before the dancing started

the band, going off

That my husband performed his best man duties admirably, including giving a nice speech at the rehearsal dinner that didn't even embarrass me.

(I'd love to have a picture here, but--well, Heidi wasn't at the rehearsal dinner, and although I did bring the camera, I didn't remember to take it out of my purse. Sorry, honey. He looked hot, though, trust me.)

That Heidi's new boyfriend continues to step up to the plate, say the right things, and be the right guy.

(Again, no photo. The Cake, as we call him, is relatively new, so he did not get the invite to the reception. He came for the weekend though, and loaned Heidi and I his porche to drive to the church and back. Very cool.)

That so many people who were at the wedding are good friends and good people.



That my kids enjoyed spending the weekend with their grandparents almost as much as Lance and I enjoyed spending the weekend without them.



That my dress, due to the extreme tightness around the bodice, which required two people to zip up and made breathing difficult, actually gave me some cleavage. A miracle in and of itself.



(the existence of cleavage is enough to overlook the fact that my face looks terrible in this shot. Focus on the boobs, people.)

Not so good times:

That I lost Heidi's $450 sweater at the last bar we went to, after remembering to grab it from the church, the cocktail spot, and the reception hall, all of which are places where, HAD I left it there, I would probably have gotten a bit more help than the guy who answered the phone at the bar ("What? Sweater?Oh, I don't think so. Someone else probably stole it already.")

See the sweater?

there it is again

That although we managed to arrive in Del Mar with an hour and half to spare, we still missed our designated start time at the church for the rehearsal by 15 minutes, since my pretty pretty husband was so busy primping, AND saying things like "Don't be such a nag!" "It's only 15 minutes away!" "Chill-ax, babe". Oh, I love him so. The bride was thrilled, as you can imagine.

That the 8-year-old dress I brought to wear to the rehearsal dinner made me look exactly like a stuffed sausage. Since apparently when I tried on said 8-year-old dress a week or so before the wedding, I was drunk. Or blind. Or something that caused me to believe it actually still fit.

(No picture. Duh. Haven't I embarrassed myself enough?)

That there was not sufficient water pressure at the ghetto, I mean Best Western, where we were staying to get the shampoo out of my hair.
(See all above photos.)

That we decided against calling a cab and instead walked 1 mile to the hotel from the bar (withOUT the sweater, I should add) in barefeet.

And that was our weekend. Very much fun, and worth the life-threatening hangover I had all day Sunday.

The happy couple. We owe it all to you:



*Okay, I was very drunk at this point, but I swear it was a Mary J Blige song, and I swear she was singing Praise me! or Praise him! but now I can't find a song like that anywhere.
In any event, the priest was wasted and REALLY enjoying whatever song it was.

Dinah Shore 2006

Early Friday afternoon, I left Lance with the kids and drove to Palm Springs with two new friends for a bachelorette party. Prior to this weekend I have been to two bachelorette parties, including my own. Most of my close friends who are married live on the East Coast, and if there is such an event, I usually can't fork over the cash to fly across the country for it. So I'm a bit of a bachelorette party virgin.

Anyway. There were 7 girls in all, two of whom I would consider "close acquaintances", two of whom are "new friends" and two that I had only met once or twice before. No one that I felt completely comfortable with. In case you haven't been reading my blog for very long, I should tell you this kind of situation is my absolute worst social nightmare. (Well, okay, no. The worst nightmare would be to go away for the weekend with 6 acquaintances, but there's no way in HELL I would ever agree to that, so. So.) I admit to being fairly nervous about the whole thing.

On the other hand, it was an opportunity to go away--for a whole weekend!--without the kids, and an opportunity to leave my husband in charge for 2.5 days, something he's never done before. Not to mention, Palm Springs is in the desert, and thus warmer than L.A., and have I mentioned? I live for warm weather. Sitting by the pool in 80 degree weather is my idea of heaven, and worth whatever social anxiety I might have.

(Also, the bride-to-be, one of the women I'm terming a "new friend", is marrying a very good friend of ours, and once they marry, she, along with her husband, will be my kids' guardians. Lance is the best man. I couldn't really get out of it, even if I was desperate to.)

The traffic was hell getting to Palm Springs, as one might expect on a California highway on a Friday afternoon, and we got a later start than we intended, so we didn't end up arriving at the hotel until 5:30 or so. The other women were already there, on the patio, having cocktails.

One of the things which worked in my favor was that this bunch of women came from all different parts of the bride's life. In other words, it wasn't 5 college friends and me, or 5 work friends and me. Two college friends, two post-college friends, the sister of the groom and the sister's best friend, who had come to know the bride that way. This meant there was no telling of old stories that only I wouldn't remember, no reminiscing about other friends who only I never knew. In fact, although at least 3 of the women there knew the bride and each other much better than I did, I was the only one, besides the bride, who had actually met everyone.

We quickly got settled in our rooms and headed out to the patio, where we guzzled our first cocktails of the evening and I tried to get the lay of the land. I ended up sitting between the two women I barely knew, and one of them was smoking, which made me a little uncomfortable. But one glass of champagne later things seemed to settle down a bit. Also, one woman, A., who I drove there with, has one of those loud, accepting, all-inclusive personalities, and having her there definitely eased everybody's transition from nervous attendee to happy-go-lucky partier. (Wouldn't it be great to be that person? Who can make anyone feel at home, and make everybody laugh? Sometimes funny people intimidate me, because I feel like they are judging me for not being funny, but A. just wanted to make sure we all had a great time, and so we did.)

A little while into our patio-fest, A. and I got up to try the ladies' room. As we walked inside, she turned to me and whispered, "Is it me, or are there a lot of lesbians here?"

Maybe you don't know this about me, but I am pretty oblivious. Just ask her. I tend to not notice anything that isn't right in my line of sight, or otherwise important for me to take note of. So I hadn't, in fact, noticed any lesbians. Or, at least, if I saw a bunch of women, I didn't take notice of the fact that they might be lesbians.

"Oh, A., I am the wrong person to ask. I never notice things like that."

"Okay, well look around now, and tell me what you think when we go back."

We continued on to the ladies room, and I began to look around the lobby and inside bar of the hotel. She was right: almost ALL the patrons were women, some of them obviously lesbians (either because they were sitting on each other's lap, or they were dressed in very typically "butch" attire), some of them who might or might not be.

Here is where I say: I hope you all know that I have absolutely nothing against lesbians. It just is worth mentioning when you find yourself in a very large hotel and that's all you see. Not the norm, know what I'm saying?

In any event, by the time we got in the cab to go to dinner, everyone else had noticed, too, so we asked the cabbie about it. We were right. This past weekend was Dinah Shore weekend in Palm Springs, which claims to be the biggest lesbian event in the world. According to the cabbie, at least 150,000 lesbians had descended on the town for the weekend. Also according to the cabbie, Palm Springs is 40% gay, which is maybe why they held the event there. Apparently there is also a gay party every year, equally as large.

The rest of the weekend, wherever we went (except the very straight cheesy dance club we went to Saturday night) there were lesbians everywhere. This was hilarious. (Again, not making fun of lesbians here.) The thing is, it's very funny to see so many lesbians, so openly out, everywhere you go. Especially when you are celebrating a bachelorette party. I felt very square, and very straight. Especially since the bride was often wearing t-shirts that said "I love D" or "the future Mrs. D"--oh, and also, a cheesy veil. Sometimes I wished we could tag along with one of the lesbian groups, because you could tell that they were having an incredibly good time.

Instead, we went out for dinner the first night, then came back and hung out in the bride's room, where my several (but not too many) cocktails allowed me to crack some jokes that had the room doubled over. By the end of Friday night, I think everyone's nerves were settled, as it was obvious that we would all get along fine.

Saturday was spent by the pool--I laid there basically all day, as various members of our party came and went, leaving for spa treatments or to go hiking, etc. Around 11am, I heard one of the kids in the pool tell her friend that her name was Rowan, and a few hours later Brooke Shields showed up to claim her. They actually stayed at the pool all afternoon, and I was by terms impressed and frightened by how well Rowan behaved. Not one meltdown in the 6 hours that she was at the pool. By my calculations, Rowan is maybe 2.5, and she was not wearing diapers, did not take a nap, and had a vocabulary that rivals Isaac's. Really the most astonishing thing was how well behaved she was. I admit to feeling a bit insecure in my own parenting skills just watching her. Fortunately, 3 of the other women in our party are mothers of 2 to 3 year olds, and all of them agreed that Rowan's behavior was unusual. We decided that she MUST be at least 3, if not 3.5, not matter what the celebrity mags tell us. Oh, Brooke is very pregnant, too, which I did not know. (It's nice here, under this rock, where I live. You should try it.)

Late afternoon, the sister of the groom (who was the only other woman to forego the spa in favor of the pool) convinced me to drink a double shot of tequila, and the night was on.

We had cocktails, including a lingerie shower and "newlywed" type game where we asked the bride embarrassing questions, headed off to dinner at a local steak club, and then to possibly the cheesiest nightclub in all of America. (I am astounded to discover they have no website). Had I been there for real, and by that I mean if I had been there in any other capacity than a bachelorette party, it would have been horrifying. As it was, it couldn't have been more perfect. At one point the bride got up on stage with the band to sing "Like a Virgin" (yes, it was an 80's cover band. I know, perfect!)

Sometime around 3am, we stumbled home and into bed. What remained of Sunday after we slept in, packed up and checked out consisted of more laying by the pool in the 80 degree weather, trying to detox, and catching up on all the gossip in the tabloids. No celebrity sightings Sunday, and we headed home around 2:30.

I am tired, and sunburned, and happy. My family was thrilled to see me upon my return, my husband has new appreciation for all that I do, and I feel proud of myself for not allowing the social anxiety to affect my weekend.

Blech

That's how I've been feeling lately. Though truthfully, it's more of a blah feeling. I can't even get all the way to blech.

I'm not sure why. There doesn't appear to be any unusual outside stressor. Of course, this is my period week, which I'm sure that has something to do with it, despite the fact that I haven't had a period in 6 months, unless you call spotting a period. (No, I am not pregnant. Yes, I need to call my OB).

I'm thinking I need to change birth control pills, or perhaps birth control methods. Ever since I had the kids, it seems I get dinged with a depression of greater or lesser value just about every 3 months. I'm not that into it, as they say. And I want it to stop.

Not surprisingly, so does Lance.

Vivian is perfecting her whining tactics and is driving me crazy, although I'm sure it's also fair to say that I'm driving her crazy, what with my incessant moodiness. Whatever it is, one thing is sure: there will be NO computer time when Miss Princess is awake. Not if I want to save my eardrums from bursting. If I dare sit down she whines right over and grabs my hand off the mouse, screaming No! until she gets my attention. Suddenly she wants to go to the playground every day, and can't be bothered to look through the books that used to keep her occupied forever.

Also we've been busy, which doesn't necessarily make me happy. I'm more of a take it slow kind of gal. I suppose part of the busyness comes from Vivian's insistance that we leave the house, even on days when Isaac's in school, but other things are conspiring to keep me away from the couch as well. Doctor's visits, various illnesses and the resulting trips to the drug-store, upcoming wedding showers and parties which require trips to the mall and presents to wrap. Basketball tournaments which completely preoccupy me.

A friend gave me some advice a while ago: "Get a life, Amy!", she said. She meant that I need to get out more, do more things with people who have acheived heights taller than 36" every once in awhile. I know that she is right, so Sunday I went with a friend to church. Catholic church. (That visit was definitely post-worthy for this non-practicing, Catholicism-is-my-least-favorite-religion semi-agnostic, but I'm so blah, I can't seem to force it out of my brain.) Later we went to brunch which included the requisite three mimosas and that was the point of the morning anyway (Sorry, Father John). Monday, Lance came home early which allowed me, mircale of miracles!, to go to the nail salon and get my hair cut. (I went to the cheap place, though, and they completely fucked up my fingers. Oh, and Fantastic Sam's cut my hair too short by about two inches. Yay.) Then Tuesday night I went out for drinks and dinner with some old friends from my working days. (Ah, remember the days when I used to earn a paycheck? And have meaningful conversations with people who didn't think pooping on the floor was hilarious? And go out for drinks without considering the myriad of things I need to now?)

Today, I had a fabulous blogger meet up, with Gina and the ever-adorable Mr. Personality. I know I say it all the time, but I just LOVE blogging. I would NEVER have met Gina if not for blogging, and I would have missed out on so much! We had a great time at the park and the kids all got along great. Even playing soccer together seemed to entertain them, although "playing soccer" actually meant Gina and I took turns telling our sons to "Okay, now kick it to him, sweetie! No kick it over there! You need to share the ball! Don't pick it up with your hands . . .Isaac! Isaac! We are sharing the ball!!Okay, good!"

After a nutritious meal at McDonald's, we headed home, and I stopped by my old place of work since we were driving right by. There the kids received the appropriate oohs and ahs, I reminisced about the good old days while everybody there gagged, and then we went home.

So, in fact, I've had quite a bit of a "life"this last few days. Yet still I am blechy. Blech-itable. Ble . . . blah. I still need to call the OB.

Truly, it's a blessing for all of you that I haven't had the inclination to write anything lately--all you'd be getting is more of these whiny posts--yuck. I have been lurking about occassionally, and when I can gather the energy to type I even leave a comment (aren't you thrilled!) Hopefully I can bust out of my funk soon.

(Of course Isaac's upcoming surgery (May 9th!) could possibly be causing some of this angst, but I prefer to believe that it is simply hormones. That fucking pill.)

Thanks, Phantom!

Check it out:








This video makes me want to write something about my uncle--Lloyd, who was born mentally retarded. But I'm still crazed here, not to mention hungover (birthday party went well!), so it will have to wait a few days.

As seen at Phantom Scribbler