A Newbie Gets Her Feet Wet
I didn't sleep much at all on Thursday night. After my drink ordeal, I was a bit frazzled. I tried to go to sleep thinking about the Naked Cowboy instead of my social awkwardness. This photo marks what will probably be the first and last time Mr. BBM will ever ask me if I want to pose with a ripped guy in his undies (more pictures of this funny dude and my NYC adventures on my Flickr page here).
I woke up and told myself it was a new day and that the newbie breakfast would be my salvation. Plus, I didn't have to walk in alone. Somer was meeting me in the lobby. . . sweet relief (How do I not have a picture of me with Somer!?!?).
I was shocked to see an entire ballroom packed with newbies like myself. I felt so alone only hours before. Our table filled up with people and we started talking. I met Jonna, a cool NYC blogger, and we really hit it off. I could do this; I could actually meet people instead of trying to blend in with the wallpaper.
The keynote started and then Megan spotted me and we spent the break talking about kicking things (She's a muay thai martial artist). The coolest thing about her is that she didn't even blink when I asked if I could see her shins. There is one word that comes to mind when I think about hanging out with Megan, and it's probably not the word you imagine when you hear that she's a muay thai boxer. Megan, in a word: calming.
She washed over me like a BlogHer anti-anxiety medication and I realized that my BlogHer experience was entirely up to me. I took advantage of my new-found attitude and plugged along throughout the day.
I spent a ton of time in the Writing Lab, scribbling down notes with a pen and paper, shocking I know. Many people were toting around technology to take their notes, technology that my poor beat-up laptop (the one I left at home for fear it couldn't survive the trip) couldn't even dream about. I found inspiration from Rita in the Writing Lab session. My notepad practically reads like a Rita Arens monologue.
And then I was introduced to Faiqa. I left this weekend wondering how I could possibly not have read this woman's blog. That's her in the white, me in the middle, and we'll get to that other awesome lady soon enough.
Faiqa is one of those people you meet and you're just instantly friends. We spent our lunch break wandering around the sponsor floors, trying out comfy new Tempur-pedic beds and having an absolute blast. I heard about the free swag but I had absolutely no idea how many wonderful connections you could make, just by talking to the sponsors. For the local ladies in my hometown, if Black House/White Market moves into the local shops, you all owe me one. I will gladly accept your appreciation in the form of clothing and cute accessories.
And there's also this. . . That's me and children's book author Todd Parr. . .
Here I am with the Jimmy Dean "Sun". . . He really does radiate happiness.
And here I am on a cooking show with the Sun and celebrity chef Catherine Diorio (whose name I'm probably not spelling correctly). I had heard that when at BlogHer, you need to eat whenever you can, so I figured there was no better way to get my food intake and still have fun than by having "The Sun" cook for me.
At one point, Faiqa needed to go rest up for her Voices of the Year speaking role later in the day, so I became Wonder Woman. When in Rome. . .
After attending some afternoon sessions, it was time for a break. I was without the comfort of any familiar faces once again, so I decided I would sit myself down at a table alone and see what happened. What happened was Mrs. Smith and MollyinMinn. Newbies as well, we instantly hit it off, shared horror stories of the first day and about feeling like insignificant nothings, and exchanged cards. Thank God, two less "Black Belt Mama" pens I had to work into the suitcase to bring back home.
We listened to the Voices of the Year keynote and it made me want to be a better writer. It also made me laugh out loud, thanks to this guy. New goal for the blog and this year: have someone think I'm a "Voice of the Year" and work on raising my writing to that level.
For some, BlogHer was about hanging out and partying college-style with blogging friends they only get to see a couple times a year. For others, it was a platform on which to great crazy (and even naked, and no, that part is not a lie). For me, it was about stepping outside of my comfort zone to put myself in a position to become better at what I love to do. . . write.
Stay tuned for Saturday! It gets even better!
Rockettes, Broadway Songs and Invisibility Cloaks
After taking a three-hour bus ride that included about 4,763 unpredictable lurches, bumps, drops and turns, and then a 15 minute cab ride that was more of the same, I arrived at the New York Hilton for BlogHer on Thursday feeling nauseated to the extreme and with a migraine that was threatening to take my right eye hostage indefinitely. My expectations about what my arrival would be like were perhaps, I'll admit, a bit unrealistic.
I expected that there would be a welcoming committee, who might even break out into song like, "Welcome Black Belt Mama, we see you're looking green. . . but now that you are here with us, we just can't help but beam. . . " (2400 awesome blogger ladies all bat their lashes, grin ear to ear, and start throwing up kicks, Rockette style).
It wasn't at all like that.
It was more like this: get into an extremely long check-in line with Mr. BBM who continues to encourage me to be all social and go start meeting people when all I want to do is hide, and/or yell out that I need someone to come hold me. For a 24 hour period, Mr. BBM and I completely traded personalities. He became the social butterfly, while I wished that I had packed an invisibility cloak instead of 10 pairs of shoes.
Despite seeing a familiar face in the lobby and even exchanging a few words and a hug, this inner voice was screaming at me, "Don't be a leech! Don't attach yourself to the first familiar face you see. No one wants you around. Go hide in your room."
So I did for a little while and then I dragged Mr. BBM along with me to the hotel bar so we could grab a soda and a free popsicle. I figured that people would approach us and introduce themselves. I thought I'd be able to say, "Hey aren't you so and so?" and instant connections would be made, but that didn't happen either. It was intimidating and awkward and the more people who showed up, the more socially broken I became.
I began rationalizing. "You know, I really paid for the sessions, not the parties. If I have no night life BlogHer experiences, I'll be fine."
Happily back in my comfort zone thanks to that line of thinking, Mr. BBM and I went out to dinner at this great little italian place called Il Gattopardo. I had lasagna with these amazing little meatballs in it. We shared a bottle of wine that was pure perfection. We even tried this melt-in-your-mouth lemon and limoncello semifreddo for dessert. Neither of us had any idea exactly what we had ordered, but I assured Mr. BBM that Giada said those words regularly and it was going to be good. I was right. Thank you Giada.
We walked back to the hotel and it was the first night of parties. Despite not having RSVP'd, the party opened up and I went in while Mr. BBM went up to the room. Walking into that ballroom alone was pretty nerve-wracking. I wandered around the room looking for a familiar face. Some turned away from their discussion groups for a second and glanced at me, but all of them turned back to their conversations. My one familiar face had to leave, and I mentally smacked myself around for being so shy when that is totally not my nature. It's very intimidating to try to walk up to a group of people who are already deep in discussion and introduce yourself though. What if they simply don't want to talk to you?
So I continued to wander by myself for a while. Then I found someone who looked as scared and intimidated as I felt and we talked for a bit. She introduced me to one of her friends and then before I knew it, they were gone and I was alone again.
I made a mental deal with myself. "You have to drink one drink and then you can go be sad and pathetic in your room." I walked to the bar with purpose, ordered a rum and diet coke and rationalized that I could absolutely chug that sucker if I got really uncomfortable. I ordered my drink and then realized that Mr. BBM had pulled all the cash out of my wallet earlier in the day. I felt around in my purse for a tip and the bartender said, "No, no, no tip is necessary. I just need your ticket."
I showed him my name badge and he said, "No, I need your drink ticket."
"Oh, I don't have one," I told him. I considered slamming that drink down as fast as possible, sorority style, and running, now hot from embarrassment and totally overwhelmed with not-fitting-in-at-all-ness. But I knew that if he chased me, he'd catch me. Just three weeks post surgery, I still couldn't alternate stairs. Who was I kidding?
The bartender gestured to a cash register a few feet away and told me to go buy one. I told the cashier I needed one drink ticket and handed her my credit card. "Only cash," she said. "My God," I thought, "what else can go wrong? Maybe someone will come up and kick me in the knee now too."
"Well, then I'm going to have to go to my room first," I said, knowing full well, I was NOT going to be coming back down for that drink. I laughed a nervous laugh and lied to the bartender that I would be back and walked out of that ballroom with my head held high. On my walk out the door, I rationalized that it wasn't really safe to come back and drink a beverage I had left unattended for any period of time. This wasn't about embarrassment; it was about responsibility to myself and my own personal safety. Yeah, that's it!
When I walked into the hotel room a few minutes later, Mr. BBM was shocked to see me. I relayed my experience, despite the fact that he had already read it all over my face, and he assured me that Friday would be better (insert foreshadowing here). I nodded and said nothing because I was already on the verge of tears. I curled up in bed, and came to the conclusion that I really would have been better off if I had packed that invisibility cloak.
Day two had to get better. . .
The Leg Unveiled for Real this Time
Here's the funny thing. . . I have walked around for years with a screw protruding from my bone and it hasn't ever made me feel queasy or grossed out. Sure, it was gross and disgusting, but I guess I just looked at it as part of me, AND couple that with the fact that it came out gradually over time, I guess I just got used to it. This from the girl who used to be grossed out by everything.
Then you become a Mom and part of your mission in life becomes making sure your baby's noses are clear of any and all booger material and the whole gross-out tolerance rises to an entirely new level. You change a couple diapers, deal with post childbirth grossness and you just evolve and deal with it. No one else is going to come to your aid while you're hanging out on the cold tile floor trying to regain consciousness when your baby is crying and needs to be fed. Grossness becomes you.
However, there is one thing that I still can't handle no matter what: incisions. Blech. I just shivered from the top of my head down to my toes. I hate looking at them, can't stand steri-strips (because I know what's underneath them), and dried blood is just nasty. Over the weekend, I changed the steri-strips because they were driving me insane and peeling up. I broke out in an instant sweat on my scalp and straight down the center of my back. I thought I was going to pass out.
Yesterday, I was able to stop wrapping my leg and the center steri-strip, the one I left go the other day for fear of seriously passing out, had to come off and get replaced. I knew I had to clean the incision with some alcohol and just deal with life, but I did it from the comfort of my bathroom floor because I was afraid I would be hitting the floor with my face first if I didn't.I can't imagine you retain break fall knowledge when unconscious. I'll just assume I won't.
So, finally, I can reveal to you the new and on-its-way to being improved leg. . .
Gone is the crater and the stretched out scar. What remains is just a line, a dried bloody line (excuse me while I take a moment and insert my ears between my knees for a second). . .
Whew. . . ok, back.
I would guesstimate that my flexion is better today. I was able to hang out on the side of my bed this morning and touch my heel to the bed this time without too much agony. Getting much beyond that right now is tough, but I'm working through the pain, which has pretty much been my life for 2.5 years now.
Mr. BBM made the mistake of zooming in on the above picture to make sure it was in focus and showed me the result. "Extreme close-up!" he said and I instantly broke out into a serious sweat all over again, and had to get horizontal for a minute.
The bottom of the scar looks great. The top is a little yucky still but I'm hoping it will eventually close up and feel ok. It's weird to have a cushion there where one didn't exist before. It's a bit bruised and still uncomfortable, in places where I didn't even imagine I'd be uncomfortable, like on the other side of my tibia where I am uber-sore; but I'm getting there. I'm really getting there (if I can just manage to not look at it until it's completely healed and not gross-out worthy).
BlogHer10 BBM Orientation
I was a nervous wreck about going to BlogHer this weekend. Then I started getting comments and emails and tweets from people I haven't met yet who are also going. It has helped to ease my mind immensely. But there are always a couple things that still make me nervous, especially when you consider who I am and what I write about.
First, I teach English and Communications classes as an adjunct. Frequently, when someone first meets you and finds out you have a degree in English, they will pull a random three-word quote out of the air from some obscure piece of literature and start quizzing you, Jeopardy style, on exactly who said that when and to whom. Let me save you the trouble. . . I'll likely not know it. You see, I have quotation anxiety. When I was going to school at Pitt, I took a class called "Bible as Literature." We had two tests the entire semester and read the entire bible during the course of one long and painful semester. The midterm was brutal and I didn't do well at all, despite the fact that I had studied endlessly. The final wasn't much better. In fact, every random biblical quote that my professor had pulled from the Bible, I got wrong. You were supposed to say who said it or what it was referring to and place the book in the bible. When I got my final back, I was horrified. Never had I seen such a large amount of merciless red ink. I knew I had failed and worse yet, had probably failed the course too. And then I flipped to the back page. My professor wrote me a personal note. It said something to the effect of: "You got every quotation wrong. However, it is blatantly obvious that you studied very hard for this exam. So, how about a C-." I was never so happy.
Of course, if you come up to me and ask me random "Twilight" trivia, I will probably know it. Ask my neighbor. I won her a bottle of wine and myself a magazine subscription. I'm not exactly proud of this, but it's a fact. It is what it is. And just so we're clear, I'm Team Edward.
Second, as a martial artist, you are frequently subjected to the English teacher line of questioning, but instead make it about self defense. For example, a random person will walk up to you and say, "So you're a martial artist, huh?" and then proceed to throw a slow mock-punch at you (if they're kind-sometimes they come at you much more quickly) and see what you do. But being a martial artist isn't about being the party trick girl. It's about self defense. So, at BlogHer, you shouldn't expect me to start throwing people around to demonstrate my knowledge. And please, no random punches.
Third, people should know that while I'm pretty good at remembering a face, I can't remember names well at all. I will probably spend much of the two day conference staring at your name tag from afar even if we've already talked for like two hours. I'm not trying to ogle you; I'm just trying to figure out who you are already. And if you happen to resemble someone I already know, I will probably call you the name of the person I know. Just ask my former student Diana. . . I mean, Erin.
Finally, you should also know that if I'm standing and talking to you, I might start to look uncomfortable. It's not you; it's my knee and I may just need to sit down. The leg is not 100% and I will frequently be choosing to sit over standing( and unfortunately over dancing despite the fact that I'm practically a dancing queen). If I happen to sit on the floor and you see me there for a while, it may be because I'm having trouble getting up. If my leg is feeling particularly cranky, I'm kind of like that "I've fallen and I can't get up" lady from years gone by. So, help a girl out; we'll be instant friends.
I am starting to get really excited about meeting so many cool people and learning so many new things. In just two days, this Black Belt Mama will be NYC-bound. I can't wait!
For Those Who Will Meet Me Soon Enough
Filed under: ACL Hell, BlogHer 2010, Mental Strain for Mama
For the first time ever, I am attending BlogHer in New York City this coming weekend. I bought my ticket as soon as they went on sale and we booked our hotel room quickly too. I was super excited about going, and then life got in the way and I put it on the back burner. My Grammom got sick and passed away. Then this knee business started again. . .
Mr. BBM kept asking me before my surgery on July 20th, if I was excited to go. "No," I told him. I simply couldn't think about or concentrate on anything other than getting through my surgery and recovery. To be honest, I'm nowhere near finished worrying about the recovery part yet. Walking after being in an immobilizer for so many days isn't exactly a piece of cake right now. I'm hoping the only forms of transportation in the hotel and around BlogHer are elevators and escalators. Because otherwise. . . well, you don't want to be behind me going up or down the stairs right now, especially if you're in a hurry. Imagine your 1-year old when they're learning to navigate the stairs. That's me. I also kind of limp and walk funny right now. You would too if you had a hole in your bone.
By the time the conference rolls around this week, I'll be able to stop wrapping my leg up in gauze, but the steri-strips will probably still be there. They're nasty. There's dried blood and pen marks underneath them. It's not exactly the first impression I want to make. I thought about wrapping my obi around my incision. I mean, I am "Black Belt Mama" and all, but somehow I'm thinking that obi's are meant for the dojo, not for blogging conferences. I'm also thinking that keeping it wrapped in gauze to hide the steri-strip excitement is a major fashion faux-pas, and who wants to wear pants in August?
People who might meet me this weekend should also know this. On Friday night, I sat outside for hours and have like five mosquito bites right by my left temple. It's so flattering, and the stupid bug couldn't have sucked the right side of my face where my hair covers. No, definitely go for the side where I always push my hair back behind my ear. Because of the way my body reacts to mosquitos, I'll probably be scabbed and diseased looking by Thursday, so people who are about to meet me are in for some serious fun.
Oh, and thanks to some weekend virus that came to haunt me, I've lost five pounds. Most people would be happy about this, but I believe that the entirety of those five pounds came straight from my atrophied hamstring and quad muscles. In other words, I'm not even symetrical.
In addition and thanks to my whole "have to get through surgery" attitude, I didn't realize that when you attend the conference, that doesn't mean you're signed up for the parties. I am waitlisted on all of them, and at this point, I'm not exactly hopeful that I'll be breaking into any of them. I told Mr. BBM, who is tagging along with me to explore the city while I attend the conference, that we may be having some quiet nights alone while there.
Then again, maybe I'll throw a private "Black Belt Blogger" party. If you can't attend the parties, make your own right? I just need to get out of this mental funk and enter the conference with an open mind. Those who know me in real life probably have a hard time believing I'd have anxiety about entering a conference of 2400 people without really knowing anyone there. But I'll admit, I'm a little bit intimidated.
Copyright
© Copyright 2006-2019 blackbeltmama dot com ALL RIGHTS RESERVED
Follow Me
Blog Designed By
My Creations
Things You Could Care Less About
