BlogHer Wrap-Up
I decided on Friday night that there was no way I was making it to 8 a.m. breakfast on Saturday. I needed sleep, first and foremost. After arriving back at the hotel after midnight, it just wasn't going to happen. I grabbed coffee from my room and figured I'd function on caffeine and a granola swag bar that found its way into my bag until lunch.
I spent my morning and afternoon floating in and out of sessions. They told us to "vote with our feet" so I did, often. I was really pumped about the Fitness Blogging session, but after investing 15 minutes, realized that this was a room full of a lot of women who wanted to talk about weight loss and plateaus. There's nothing wrong with that; but it wasn't what I was expecting so out I went.
I found myself in the Tragedy session where two of the speakers were Anissa and Peter Mayhew. Anissa suffered a massive stroke and her husband blogged her progress and the family's heartache in the days that followed. Listening to them speak was inspiring, especially after losing my grandmother to a massive stroke in April.
When it was over, I rushed out to the Humor Writing session. It was funny, but it was so packed and when I saw a message on twitter that the Small Blogs session was incredible, I walked again.
I walked into this room and looked around. This, the last session of the conference, was filled with women I had met and connected with during the conference. People talked about loving their small blogs, and using their blogs as writing exercise, not for ad revenue and shameless self-promotion. It was here that I had the guts to speak up (before the time was out-which had happened to me in another session). (By the way-here's a link to that post I mentioned in there.) I stood up and suggested that instead of all running off after the session was over, why not stay, exchange business/blog cards and get to know each other a little better? We may not have 50,000 followers on Twitter or write a blog that pays our mortgage, but couldn't we all help each other grow and at least expose our writing to other like-minded people?
The response was incredible. Instantly, Tricia turned around and handed me her card. I instantly saw "fighter" and knew we would hit it off. She teaches boxing of all things. With a blog called Left Hook, we were destined to be friends. Even though this looks more like a right back fist, she is legit. She's actually just showing off her new swag bracelet.
Then other women started moving over towards me and handing me their cards as well. This was a friendly group. By the time I left the room, about 20 minutes after the session had ended, I had met at least 15 new people and found some really interesting new blogs to read. Here's my collection of cards from the weekend.
When the final keynote of the day wrapped up, I returned to my room to get ready for the night. Armed with a cell phone full of blogger's phone numbers, I wasn't worried about arriving at parties by myself. As a crasher anyway, who didn't realize the importance of RSVPing or trying to get invites to private parties, I was relieved when Faiqa invited me to a Blogger Meet-up at The Volstead, for all the bloggers without parties to attend. Funny that I had no parties to attend, but still didn't know about the Blogger Meet-up. I sent text messages to all my new friends and they began filing in. It was one of the most relaxed environments all weekend and I had a blast while there.
Here I am with "Mrs. Smith," whom I will always think of as a great little sister. We had an absolute blast together.
It was after The Volstead that we went to Sparklecorn, which sounds cheesy and ridiculous, but it was easily one of the best parties I had ever been to. . .EVAH. This is the cake from said party, made by Charm City Cakes. You know, the Ace of Cakes people on The Food Network. I seriously love them and couldn't wait to try the cake. Each turret, unicorn, etc. was a different flavor. The one I had was banana and it was easily the best cake I have ever had. Mrs. Smith had a peanut butter slice and I was lucky enough to snag a bite of that one as well. It tasted like a Reese's Peanut Butter cup would if it was a cloud. In a word: incredible.
Then, standing right beside that amazing cake, I recognized one of the people I was determined to meet over the weekend. . . Amalah. One of the first blogs I ever read, I felt like I already knew her as I walked up, introduced myself and asked for a picture. The coolest part? She totally knew who I was, probably because as a newbie blogger I had tagged her in a meme just for fun. I never thought she'ddo it, but she did and the mad hits I had that day from Amalah blew this then-newbie blogger out of the water. She was gracious, warm and totally normal. What a relief.
Before heading out, "Green" and I posed for a picture and spent some time discussing our experiences at BlogHer. If you appear on her blog, you appear as a color and she promised me "teal." You guys all know how much I like my shades of blue and green around here.
With Sparklecorn wrapping up, Mrs. Smith and I headed over to CheeseburgHer. A so-called rite of BlogHer passage, I wasn't surprised to see so many people walking around with McDonald's bags on their heads. I had seen the pictures from last year. And then I saw Goon Squad Sarah! Buddies in my blogger fantasy football league for years, it was so nice to finally meet her.
After getting my fill of snack wraps and burgers, we decided enough was enough. All in all, I had a great time at BlogHer. There were some awkward moments; but overall, I made some great new friends, and found inspiration and writing advice that I needed. . .
If only I had met Lisa Stone (whose blog has clearly been neglected because she's been all busy running some site called BlogHer or something). . .
And there she was, in the gray dress right behind Mrs. Smith. If only I had known this before I downloaded my pictures after arriving at home. "Hi Lisa, wish we had met."
Finally, because you can't talk about BlogHer without talking about the swag, I'll show you this, a partial picture of all the swag because I had already loaded all the edible stuff into my pantry closet. I didn't attend the private parties with vacuum cleaners. I didn't have any clothing companies throwing free clothing at me. But I did make some nice connections with sponsors, and get some cool new stuff, my favorite being the Tempur-Pedic travel pillow that made my bumpy bus ride home a little more tolerable.
I learned many things at BlogHer this past weekend. First, I love this blog and I should be more proud of it and promote my writing and my work more often instead of worrying that people will be offended by something I might write one day. Second, some bloggers can be downright odd. I should have expected this, but I guess not everyone has a healthy balance between their online lives and the ones they tend to write about. And finally, there are some amazing people out there; and I consider myself very lucky to have been able to attend a function where I could meet so many of them.
I would like to thank my neighbor Amy, for letting me borrow some beautiful jewelry pieces for the trip. Thank you Amy!
Owning Your Title, Derogatory or Not
Filed under: Board of Directors, Things that get my gi all in a bunch
There is something disturbing about a woman who's pushing 85, sitting just three seats away from you at a table during a meeting, mouthing the words "She's a bitch" to another one of her cronies while you're speaking. I guess I'm happy I found this out many hours after the meeting had ended, because I'm afraid that if I saw her doing it during the meeting, I might have become an even bigger one.
It is absolutely amazing to me that a generation of women who fought so hard for equality would try even harder to keep one of their own down. We may have 50 or 60 years between us, but we were both born with ovaries.
It's difficult for me to understand their line of thinking because I was blessed so many years with a grandmother who was quite progressive. She chose to wait until the age of 27 to get married. She was the one who made the first move to pick up my Pop-Pop in a bar. Forget the old-fashioned courting; she knew what she wanted. She spent all of her young life working in factories to support her family. She was a classy woman, but she was no one's doormat. She wasn't your typical woman of that era; she was that and so much more. It's times like this that I miss her even more than usual, because I know she would be clicking her tongue, shaking her head in disgust and preparing to go to battle for me.
Historically, ladies auxiliary groups were formed in support of an organization, because women were not allowed to be on the Board of Directors. They weren't permitted to have any type of influence other than a role that supported a club or group, almost like a charity within the group. Now, there are women in positions of leadership in corporations and groups worldwide. Our own board of directors has five women out of 15 positions; and two of the four executive committee members are women. One would think that this would be a real positive for the women at the club who have been there for decades, but more times than not, it seems their only interest is in self-preservation and keeping one of their own down. . .
"I didn't have that opportunity, so you shouldn't either."
It puts a 30-some-year old woman in quite a conundrum. Raised to respect my elders, what does one do in this situation? When a woman 50 years your senior is treating you no better than that catty 8th grader who was ticked that Joey asked you to dance instead of her, what should you do?
What's even more disturbing about the entire situation is that during this meeting, there were several men who were much more outspoken than I was, yet no derogatory comments were uttered about any of them. It was during my two minutes of professional but stern questioning about a legitimate issue, that I reinforced my title of "bitch." If you are an outspoken man, you're a leader; but if you're an outspoken woman, you're a bitch.
It's a double standard that I've learned to accept, because it's been that way as long as I can remember. The troubling thing for me is that this stereotype isn't perpetuated by a man in this case, it's by a group of older ladies, our country club's equivalent to an unruly biker gang. Our "biker gang" doesn't go out and start fights in bars; they just want their tuna melts served piping hot or else all hell is going to break loose. And for the love of God, can someone please put duck back on the menu?
I guess I should be happy because I have held several titles during my months on the board. I started out as the "little blonde," moved quickly to "scary blonde" despite the fact that I had dyed my hair brown for a bit, and now I guess I should feel that I've arrived. Bitch it is. At least they're now noticing me for what I say and do, not my hair color. That has to be a positive.
The shame of it is that there are some wonderful women in this group; they are just overshadowed and out-voiced by a few who have given their entire organization a reputation fraught with negativity.
To that sub-set of women though, I'd just like to point out that resorting to the word "bitch" when your back is against a wall, because that "bitch" just so happens to have called you on the carpet, doesn't hurt my feelings. It just makes me realize how outdated the whole "respect your elders" standard really happens to be. I'll respect those who respect me. Age doesn't give an individual carte blanche to say whatever you want and do whatever you please; and frankly, I think your mothers and their mothers would be ashamed of you. I know my grandmother is, and I'm pretty sure Susan B. Anthony would think more of the same.
As far as my "title" goes, I'm going to own it. To me, it says I'm doing a good job of speaking out instead of shrinking into the background. It says I'm making people uncomfortable, as well they should be, when they've done something reprehensible. Frankly, having them call me names and hate me so much is affirmation that I'm the opposite of them, doing the right and smart thing, and that alone is enough to satisfy me. A good friend of mine says, "people either love you or hate you and there's no money in the middle." I don't think anyone has ever accused me of hanging out in the middle. Now, that is something that would offend me.
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).
Copyright
© Copyright 2006-2019 blackbeltmama dot com ALL RIGHTS RESERVED
Follow Me
Blog Designed By
My Creations
Things You Could Care Less About
