In two days I leave for BlogHer.
I swear, I can actually hear most of you groaning.
But the rest of you, the bulk of you, who have been reading me for years - I know how you feel about BlogHer. I know that we do not run in those circles. I know that you roll your eyes at the term “mommy blogger”, while at the same time yielding it as a insult. I know that you scoff at commercialism and monetization and mainstream or A-list anything.
I know how you feel – and it scares me.
Because you, more than anyone, are my people.
It was you who welcomed me to blogging with open arms. You don’t flinch when I say “fuck” and you don’t care about my page ranking. You picked me up at airports and and invited me into your homes. You emailed me when I was afraid my marriage was falling apart, and you counted down the days to my move to Florida. You’ve laughed at my jokes without asking me to perform for you.
You got me, when no one else did.
And you still get me, when nothing I have to say is thought provoking or controversial or stumble worthy or in any way important to anyone but me. And you.
It’s childish and silly, but I’m terrified of losing you. And at the same time, I want so badly to share with you all of the details about what’s coming up for me this week – because it’s big and new and holy crap, you guys will not believe all of the shit I have been invited to do!
So as much as you don’t “get” BlogHer or a big ginormous BlogHer conference or why in the hell I would have any interest in going, I need more than anything to share this with you. Because you are my people, and that’s what we do with each other.
I’ve stuck the agonizing details after the jump…
First and foremost:
I am speaking at BlogHer.
Me. The girl who got kicked out a mommy group. The girl who PR companies run screaming from. The girl who comes with a warning label and is banned from Paneras all over the world! And they’re giving me a microphone.
In fact, they’re giving me my own room. With a panel and stuff. Granted, they didn’t actually ask me to speak and I suggested a room that other people voted on and therefore they kind of had to let me talk a little and stuff. But still. I’m one of the panelists for the Room of Your Own: Reallly Personal Blogging – How Much info is TMI?
Which technically means I am speaking. At BlogHer.
(And I’m more than a little concerned no one will be showing up – so if you are coming to BlogHer, please come to my room. So that I don’t look like a dumbass. Thanks.)
Next up on the OH MY FREAKING GOD I KIND OF FEEL IMPORTANT list:
I’m going to a party with Carson Kressley. For those of you who had to google Carson Kressley’s name – he’s one of the Fab Five from Queer Eye for the Straight Guy and the show “How to Look Good Naked”. You know, minor celebrity and all that. We’re probably going to be BFFs by the end of the night. Clearly.
But what is super stupid cool about this is that I’m hanging out with him because I got invited to a “Nikon Night Out” event. By a PR person. Who had actually looked at this blog.
Let me just tell you how much I dropped my jaw and crapped my pants when I got that email.
I never get invited to crap. Occasionally, my friends get invited to crap and ask if I can come along. One time, a company had left over tickets to SeaWorld and my friends gave me the link so that I could go claim them. Thus has been the extent of my participation with “exclusive” events or perks of any kind.
(And it is probably totally awesome right now that I am recounting in precise detail how uninterested other PR companies are in me. I’m sure that’s making the poor Nikon lady who emailed me feel very confident in her decision to include me. Heh.)
ANYway – I’m excited as hell. And I know that makes me shallow and superficial and incredibly immature, but I feel like I just got asked to the prom by some really hot guy who never talked to me before.
Shit. That only ever happens on a bet.
I swear to God if someone drops a bucket of pig’s blood on my black dress and $95 stilettos, I will tweet the shit out of it. In a bad way.
I’M GETTING A CRAP LOAD OF FREE STUFF!
EXTRA SPECIAL FREE STUFF!
XShot printed my business cards for me and gave me 5 free XShots to giveaway at BlogHer. They also let me get a coupon thingy so that people can save $6 if they buy it from my site and use the code BH09Britt. That’s really mostly exciting to me because I am kind of a psychotic fan of the XShot and otherwise was going to be too cheap to buy business cards.
Because I bought $95 shoes, instead.
So – apparently there is this thing called a “Yummie Tummie” that is just like a regular tank top or t-shirt, except that Oprah says it also makes you look skinny. And I’m getting TWO of them. For free. With the condition that I wear them to BlogHer and pull my shirt up at some point.
In other words, someone looked at me and thought “hey, that looks like a girl who needs a girdle and isn’t afraid to pull her shirt up in public if she has enough to drink. CALL HER!”
Those tank top thinks are expensive as hell so – YAY! HA! I totally AM that girl who needs a girdle and will probably pull my shirt up! Suckahs!!
Wait a minute.
Sorrelli Jewelry! Free!
All I know about this stuff is that I saw Angie wearing a necklace once and I gushed over how gorgeous it was and asked her where she got it and she told me how much it only costs about over a hundred dollars per necklace and I thought “hm, well, that’s pretty. In my fucking dreams.“
And now I’m getting my very own necklace and earring set. For free. To wear to BlogHer. And then keep. For free.
Did I mention I’m getting hundreds of dollars in jewelry for free?
So. There’s that.
And one more THING THAT SOUNDED TOTALLY AWESOME AT THE TIME and now has me wondering UMMM – CRAP. REALLY?
I am actually flying into Chicago a day earlier so that I can attend a Ford Drive & Ride event Thursday morning. And Ford is paying for my hotel room that night – because my opinion is oh so valuable and worth the cost of a room at the Sheraton.
Now, this was the very, very first BlogHer related PR email I got.
And it started with “you are one of 50 people” and I pretty much slit my wrists and signed my return email in blood after reading that. Because the way to get an insecure girl who is getting ready to meet 1400 people who have no clue who she is to do just about anything you want, is to be the first person to make her feel special. And one of 50.
I have not, unfortunately, been given a car.
I have, it seems, agreed to spend several hours touring a Ford plant. I have to wear pants and closed toed shoes. I have to sit in a room with some people and tell them what I think my readers and I need and want and value in a car. I do, however, get to sit in a car that parallel parks without me touching the wheel. Which will undoubtedly make me say things like “Holy fuck this is the coolest thing EVER! Shit! Shit! Are you fucking kidding me?!?! AWESOME!”
I will not, obviously, be bringing my business cards to this event.
And I’m probably going to tell them my name is Stacy.
I think if I’m wearing closed toed flats I can totally pull off a believable Stacy.
And thus ends the gloating portion of our show.
So. That’s what I’ll be doing for most of this week.
I’m trying to remind myself of all this really awesome stuff that is happening in a desperate attempt to ignore the fact that this is not TequilaCon and no one is going to have a fucking clue who I am. I’m trying to remember all of the times that I have encouraged my friends to step outside of their comfort zones and not think about the fact that I am terrified that people will not like me. Or that I will be too loud and too silly and too obnoxious for all of those oh so serious bloggers.
And I’m hoping like hell that you, yes you, will still be here when I get back.