Part 1 and part 2 of my Blogher summary are done. Part 3 starts now:
I was asked to do a cooking competition at Blogher and I would have said no except that they said that I could create whatever I wanted and that the judge would be Padma from Top Chef so of course I was all “I’m in”. Everyone I was competing against in my heat made stuff like “stuffed artichoke areola some-thing-or-another” but I figured if I’m going to do this I should totally carb-load the sandwich because Padma needs to eat something, y’all.
I'm the one playing on my phone.
My sandwich ingredients were white bread, ham, chocolate fudge, gummi bears, m&m’s, whipped cream, more chocolate fudge (for bonding), caramel corn and packets of sweet-and-low stolen from the hotel.
This was "organic chocolate fudge" so I *technically* this sandwich is considered health food.
Padma looked horrified and not in a good way and I explained that this was a sandwich I made for my daughter all the time and that my kid really likes it although she does have severe diabetes but that I still make it for her because I believe in “tough love” and then Padma looked a little appalled and she was all “Your daughter is diabetic…and you’re making this?” and I’m all “Yep” and then I squirted some whipped cream directly into my mouth to get me to stop talking because at that point even I wanted me to shut up but I overshot and sparklets of whipped cream shot onto Padma and she looked unpleased.
Girl on left is trying to distance herself from me. Girl on right has given up. I offered everyone whip-its and no one wanted them. Probably because they thought I was talking about dogs instead of whipped-cream. I would NEVER offer people dogs in a cooking competition. Because I'm a professional.
You can tell that no one knows me here because they gave me a knife.
Then the sandwiches went for judging and when Padma picked mine up she was all “I’m gonna need a wet wipe” and I turned to the girl next to me and I was all “Hell yeah. My sandwich is so sexy she’s gonna need a wet wipe” and the girl next to me was all “I don’t think that’s what she means” and I decided to ignore her because it’s pretty obvious that she was just trying to psyche me out.
I think the guy on the left was doing the wave for my sandwich. It was that awesome. Also, the girl on the right needs to learn how to hide her emotions better.
But then Padma refused to eat my sandwich and I was all “FUCKING SHENANIGANS!” but she totally ignored me. But the other judges were all kids so I figured I was totally winning but then the votes were tallied and then Padma called out who was moving on to the next heat and it was EVERYBODY IN THE COMPETITION BUT ME. I shit you not.
The aftermath. (Technically it was less of a sandwich and more like a chocolate stew that had bread and ham in it.)
And I was all “WTF? I was robbed” but then I was like “Wait, where would they get a bunch of kid judges at an adult conference?” and I decided they were most likely stolen from an orphanage and the orphans probably just weren’t used to that level of love in a sandwich. Also, I may have given them all diabetes and I think giving diseases to orphans probably counts against you on your sandwich score card and probably in life in general.
PS. All of this is on video, y’all.
PPS. Photos taken by Karen, then vandalized by me.
PPPS. This is the worst picture of me in the history of the world but I’m including it because it kind of sums up the whole day:
This is my "cooking face". It's also why I don't cook. Also, this is exactly how you should always look when you're standing next to a supermodel anyway because no matter what, you're going to look like shit comparatively so you might as well go all out.
Part 4 of Blogher still to come. Someone get me some ritalin.
Last week I was at the Blogher conference and it’s too complicated to write about so instead I’m just going to re-write the notes I jotted in my journal while I was there because I’m really tired and I believe in phoning it in. Also, if this is the first time you’re reading me you should skip this post and read the one before it or just find a less offensive blog.
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I’m not allowed on a plane unchaperoned so I spent the night at Chookooloonks‘ (aka Karen) house where I was serenaded with live ukulele music and we exchanged stories of passing out in ditches. Then I went to wash my hair but I forgot to bring shampoo so I used her “Uncle Funky’s Daughter Shampoo For Kinky Curly Hair” which is not really made for white girls but when I came out of the bathroom I told Karen that it was awesome because I felt very multi-cultural and also now I know what it feels like to be black. Except without all the history and repression. Then my hair dried and it looked exactly the same as before, which was disappointing but I’m pretty sure I was changed inside forever, like the day you lose your virginity except better because no cops came and it didn’t happen in a truck. Then Karen gave me the “Girl, you are not right” look which looks a lot like the “Girl, you need a sandwich” face and so I agreed because either way she was right and I really wanted a sandwich.
It's basically this look but with more raised eyebrow.
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Landed in LaGuardia airport. Hey, you know what would be a good idea? If you didn’t put the runway on a pier IN THE MIDDLE OF THE FUCKING OCEAN. Or if maybe the captain came on and said something like “Oh, by the way, it’s about to look like we’re crashing into the water but at the last second the runway will appear and we’ve never had any giant squid reach out their tentacles to grab us even though we look EXACTLY LIKE A FISHING LURE SKIMMING THE SURFACE. No worries. Stop crying, girl in row 8.” That would have been helpful. But it didn’t happen, probably because they totally had been grabbed by a squid tentacle before and now they can’t legally make that disclaimer and then I may have hyperventilated a little and then Karen gave me that look again which was weird because I totally wasn’t in the mood for a sandwich and she’s usually very intuitive about that sort of thing.
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I’ve been in New York for one hour and already I’m being detained by the NYPD. Apparently it’s illegal to get a pedicab the way we did which was by stabbing the people about to get in the cab and then forcing the cab driver to commit robberies for us. Kidding. Actually we were just standing in an illegal place to hail a cab and so we got pulled over directly in front of a hotel full of bloggers. I tweeted that if you looked outside the hotel right now you could see Laura and I being detained for 20 minutes by the NYPD but no one did, probably because everyone inside was too busy doing opium and pulling used kidneys out of murdered hookers. Way to pick your battles, NYPD. Also, last time I was out of town with Laura we almost got arrested as well so I blame her. It’s pretty much the worst tradition ever.
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My friend Grace just asked me how many drink tickets I got. I have no idea what she’s talking about. She pulled out the perforated badge sheet that should have had drink tickets printed on it and it was entirely blank. Awesome. Blogher thinks I’m an alcoholic.
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Went to the Social Luxe party and got snubbed by everyone I’ve ever met. Except that I’m almost sure that it was just because I looked so different in my phony-tail. Or maybe they’re just assholes. Probably the first one. Then I won the “Funniest Blog” award and when I went on stage everyone was all “Huh” and that’s kind of what I thought too. Then I think I got fitted for lingerie but I’m not sure if that was part of the party or if I was just being molested so I just went with it. And that’s basically how Blogher is. Also, FYI? The award is a glass paperweight and if you go through security with it on the way home they will assume you have a bomb and they will bring out security and then when they finally pull it out and read it they’ll say “What’s a blog?” and that’s how you know you’re in the real world again.
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Called Victor to tell him I won an award.
Victor: Awesome. I already have a trophy for you at home.
me: Is it “World’s Greatest Grampa”?
Victor: I scratched out the “Grampa”.
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Hosted the annual People’s Party with a bottle of screw-top wine that I stole from the mini-bar. As usual, I went to the actual party for 1.9 minutes then spent the entire rest of the night hiding in the bathroom. It was a lot like a normal party except that people make you wear their shoes so they can swallow them and someone makes an art installation of play-doh on the sink but you don’t even notice it because a group of girls dressed in full Girl Genius costume just came to pour drinks. The bathrooms of Blogher are a lot like Burning Man, but with slightly less nudity.
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Back in the hotel room. Just stuck my head out of the bathroom to clarify to my roomate that I’m using an electric toothbrush in here and not a vibrator. She looked less relieved than I expected. This is why I shouldn’t be allowed to talk to people after 10 PM.
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Part two comes tomorrow. I need a nap.
Conversation I just had with Victor that just proves what a terrible idea it is that we both work from home:
Victor: Hey, could you find a way to turn up your music any louder when I’m on a conference call? Can we get you an amplifier?
me: Dude. I can’t help it that I don’t have any walls in my office.
Victor: Why don’t you see if there’s a music store nearby so we could pick you up a drum set and some cymbals. And a klaxon.
me: A klaxon? The horn on a submarine?
Victor: Yeah. You use them in music. And on submarines. When you’re diving.
me: I’m pretty sure people don’t use klaxons in music.
Victor: Sure they do. That’s why you always see them in music stores by the cash register so you get it as an impulse buy on the way out.
me: Those are batteries.
Victor: Lots of people who are in submarines are into music.
me: What is wrong with you?
Victor: Like when you’re in a music store and Klaus is all “Ich vill ein Klaxon! Un Klaxon!” and then the other guys are all “Calm down, Klaus. We’ll get you the klaxon.”
me: And then they’re all “Awesome. And now we don’t even have to make a side-trip to the Wal-Mart. Time saver.”
Victor: It’s just “Wal-Mart”. Not “the” Wal-Mart.
me: Well, I know that but they aren’t very good with English. You know, they should install wind chimes on submarines because that way whenever they stop suddenly they get free music.
Victor: Except that the whole point of submarines is that they’re supposed to be quiet so they can’t be heard.
me: Oh you know someone brought their wind chime on board though. And the captain was all “WHO BROUGHT THEIR FUCKING WINDCHIME ON THE SUBMARINE?” and the wind chime guy would be like “BUT THERE’S NO WIND HERE. IT’S PERFECTLY SAFE” and then the enemy is all “Captain, I’m picking up something. I think I hear…wind chimes?”
Victor: And then the captain of the enemy ship is all “Well it’s obviously not a sub because there’s no wind down here”.
me: And then we lose the war. Or win the war. Depends on who has the wind chimes, I guess.
Victor: The CIA should have American spies sneak wind chimes into the closets of enemy submarines so we can always find them.
me: And the Germans would be all “SHITSKI! How do they keep finding us? SOMETHING IS FUCKED WITH THIS SUBMARINE.”
Victor: Yeah. We really need to get you some walls.
A chair would be nice too. Also, I have tape on the floor right now to mark where walls will go eventually. I just turned into Les Nessman, y'all.
Comment of the day: Um. If you only know one word in German it should be Scheisse. Shitski is Ukranian. ~ Betsy B.Honest
Actual pitch I just received from a marketer:
We’re fans of your blog, and we especially love your realistic perspective and experience with beauty products. We’re hoping you might be interested in trying our latest skincare discovery and reviewing it on your blog. In only 14 days, you’ll see a significant improvement in the texture and tone of your skin and a decrease in the appearance of wrinkles. If you want to try it and review it on your website, please e-mail us with your full name and address.
We look forward to hearing from you,
Debra
It seemed fairly obvious that Debra hadn’t read my blog at all but I thought I’d just check to give them the benefit of the doubt. My response:
Thanks! As you probably know from my blog, I’m only 16 so I don’t really need wrinkle cream but does it work on babies? Because my daughter has all these wrinkles on her legs and arms and it would be great if I could smooth them out.
PS. My mom said the wrinkles are “fat rolls” and that wrinkle cream won’t work. Do you have any products that removes fat rolls from babies?
Her response came quickly:
Hi there,
Thanks for writing back. We don’t make products for the issue you mentioned.
Have a great weekend,
Debra
And then all bets were off:
I understand. It’s almost impossible to find any products to make your baby less wrinkly. God knows I’ve tried. It does seem, however, like an open market so maybe you guys should look into making something like that. It should make babies less fat and wrinkly and also maybe…glittery? Vampire babies are totally hot right now so I bet you’d sell a shitload of that stuff. But call it something really descriptive because I refuse to put baby powder on my baby because I I suspect that it’s powder made from babies.
PS. My mom says that baby powder is powder for babies but I just pointed out that babies smell good and baby powder smells good and therefore baby powder is probably made from powdered babies. That’s why they’re so vague in the name…so that you don’t know if it’s made from babies or not. I’m just saying, descriptions matter.
PPS. Don’t make the product from powdered babies if you can help it because PETA’s gonna be all up in your business if you do. Unless babies aren’t considered animals. Then you’re probably fine.
Surprisingly, there has been no response.
