Dear internets, it’s once again time for my mandatory Blogher post. I’ll make it short, I swear.
If you aren’t going to the Blogher conference, no worries. I spend most of my time hiding in my room or in a public bathroom so technically you could just hide in your bedroom at home and simulate the whole thing. Except that to make it a true experience you need to share one bed with several other girls and you have to pretend that you’re always happy and that you never have to poop. That’s basically the whole conference. Plus booze. Also, my roomie Laura and I were comparing all of the private parties that we didn’t get invited to and we decided that we would host an imaginary private party so that when you see people tweeting about some awesome party you weren’t invited to you can make them jealous with your own personal party tweets and we will totally back you up. If you claim to see me throwing flaming furniture out of a hotel room inexplicably filled with rare Brazilian lizards I won’t deny it because that’s pretty much exactly the kind of thing you expect to see at #vaginapalooza10. You’ve just been invited. No vagina necessary.
If you are at Blogher then come find me because I spend most of my time alone in bathrooms. I’m co-hosting the People’s Party again this year but as usual I probably won’t see the inside of the party and will most likely be in a bathroom outside of the party hanging out with the irresponsible people who didn’t RSVP on time. On Friday I’m doing “performance art” at the Kirtsy party and popping into the Serenity Suite when I get too overwhelmed. Then Saturday I’m speaking about when it’s okay to lie (summary: It’s not) and then Saturday night I’ll be at the Volstead and at the SexIs party at the Warwick. (Both of those are totally open to non-blogher attendees, btw. No RSVP necessary. Just come if you want.) As always, I will be a mess and cannot be held responsible for anything that I say or do and I apologize in advance for whatever ill-advised thing I convince you to do. Honestly, I don’t know what I was thinking.
Also, every year I wear a confidence wig (or two) because I’m scared of people and it helps me pretend that I’m someone else but this year my friend Karen insisted that I need to stop wearing confidence wigs because I need to just be myself with my own bad hair but I’m pretty sure she’s just saying that because she’s never had bad hair but I’m taking her advice and this year I’m making a compromise.
PS. I just did spell-check and it told me that “Blogher” isn’t a real word but that “#vaginapalooza10” totally was. Awesome. Spellcheck’s totally coming to the party.
Comment of the day: In order to compensate for not being a cool BlogHer type lady I’m going to spend the weekend pooping as much as I possibly can. ~ Erica
People always tell me I shouldn’t give money to homeless people because they’ll just buy booze with it and I understand that but I’ve been giving money to the homeless for years and if we all stop giving hobos money then the liquor stores lose and that’s what causes a recession. Then we’re all fucked. Nice work, homeless people. Now I can’t get a car loan because you ruined the economy.
That’s why now I just give my money straight to the liquor stores. And I get liquor in exchange for that money. So now I’m stabilizing the economy, saving the homeless from themselves, and I can make wine slushies. It’s kind of a win-win except now I think I might be an alcoholic. I blame the homeless.
PS. I wonder if this is how those drunken homeless people get started? Maybe they’re just trying to heroically stimulate the economy and then a year later they’re living under a bridge talking to themselves because they’re too drunk to use twitter correctly. Those people are fucking saints.
PPS. I just took that online test to see if I’m an alcoholic. Turns out I’m a cocker spaniel. That’s fucked up.
PPPS. Victor says I accidentally took the “What kind of dog are you?” test. Still, you hardly ever see drunken cocker spaniels so I’m pretty sure that proves something. Victor says it proves something too.
PPPPS. Fine. I took the “Are you an alcoholic? test” and it says I answered one too many of the questions “yes” so I “might have a problem” but technically one question asked you drank because you were shy and another asked if you drank to increase your confidence and THOSE ARE TECHNICALLY THE EXACT SAME QUESTION. So I’m pretty sure this is a trick test and that only real alcoholics would be so drunk that they wouldn’t recognize that they are totally answering the same question twice and that if you’re sober enough to realize that this test is fucking with you that means you probably aren’t drunk enough. So, yeah. I win. And I’m a cocker spaniel. This is the best day ever.
Comment of the day: I just took the test, only I pretended it was about drinking lemonade.
Apparently I’m totally addicted to lemonade. ~ CyraEm
So I said I’d write more Blogher stuff but I’m easily distracted and can’t fit in all of the wonderful people I met or missed or drunk-dialed and so instead I’m just going to skip to the part where I tell you the things I didn’t do. Like how I totally didn’t force Evany to give me her autograph while I babbled about the time I gave a non-plussed Amy Sedaris a love letter with pictures I’d drawn of her holding my (now dead) cat. And how I totally did not crawl over to a semi-conscious Amalah in Macy’s pantyhose section and start anxiously rambling away about the time I passed out on top of my cat at the vet’s office and woke up on the floor with my shirt ripped open and two paramedics and a bunch of dogs looking down at me because that? Would be ridiculous. Who would do that?! Not me. Also, I did not share a toilet seat with Mocha Momma or stick pregnant barbies in my boobs. Singing Little Mermaid songs in the men’s bathroom and attempting to use the urinals? No. Stop it. You’re embarrassing yourself.
In fact, one of the only things that I’ll admit to doing at Blogher was the community keynote address and the real, professional video has finally come out so I’m posting all the links here so you can hear them all. Watch them. It will remind you why you got into blogging in the first place: Random sex with strangers. The amazing power of a life story.
Eden and Sarah
Megan (Haven’t seen her video pop up yet but here’s her post.)
Stephanie and Zan and Casey
Doug and Polly
Lindsay and Yvonne
Evany and Deb on the Rocks
Also, I just want to clear up two things. First of all, when I say I’m an “addict” in my keynote I’m referring to being addicted to blogging, not drugs. I should have been more clear but I was a little high terrified.
Secondly, I’m going to make a t-shirt that says “I’m not as drunk as you think I am”. Because I’m not. Mostly because I can’t afford that much booze. Besides that, people think I’m drunk even when I’m dead sober because I’m filterless and stupid and fall a lot and so I basically have what I call “the three-drink handicap”. Everyone else in the world after 3 cocktails = me just waking up. Then I have one shot and I’m technically only slightly buzzed but with my three-drink-handicap I appear to others to be reaching the choke-to-death-on-my-own-vomit stage and bartenders stop serving me. Which is probably why I started getting calls from people after blogher asking if I would come to an intervention if they threw one for me, to which I replied, “What will you be serving?” In retrospect that might not have been the best answer but in my defense I was drunk. Also, I’m not sure they said they would “throw me” an intervention as much as they implied they would tie me to my bed until the D.T.’s passed but my way sounds nicer. Mainly because it seems like something that would involve confetti and tiny napkins. I’m not proving my point here very well but just take my word for it that I am less of a dangerous alcoholic and more of an entertaining cheap date who drinks lots during terrifying social situations and not much otherwise. In fact, last week I only had one inch of alcohol (for charity!) and absolutely no crack at all so when you take into account my three-drink-handicap I’m actually in the negative and am now subtracting drinks I had at blogher.
I’m no mathematologist but I’m pretty sure that’s how algebra works.
Comment of the day: George Bush is sober. Need I say more. ~ Always home and uncool
So last year I was totally verklempt to have snagged an invite to attend a pre-blogher party thrown by the cool kids and I spent the entire time I was there hiding in the bathroom wishing I’d brought more anti-anxiety pills. Which is why this year I was shocked to be asked to actually co-host the party. I suspect it’s some sort of cruel joke and that halfway through the night I’ll find myself drenched in pig blood with half-naked girls throwing tampons at me. Which actually? Kinda sounds hot.
Anyway, the hosts this year are famous, hysterical, paranoid, amazing, Canadian and socially retarded so if you fall into any of these categories you are invited. And best of all? Free booze from our fab sponsors! RSVP here, bitches. It starts at 8 and it’s in the Elizabethan Room (2nd floor) of the Westin( St. Francis) where Blogher is being held.
And for those of you who can’t go, I suggest prostitution. It’s an excellent money-maker, plus you can make your own hours. And for those of you who think you’re too good for prostitution (you’re not) we’re attempting to put together a live video feed so we can toast, twitter and chat with you in real-time even if you’re at home but I suck at this crap so someone who can teach me about it who can do this for me please email me and I will be your best friend forever or set you up with a prostitute. Your choice.
This is where I’d mention all the people pitching in to get us tanked but I’m supposed to put that little R-with-a-circle-around-it behind their names and I don’t know how to do that so instead I’ll just show you pretty pictures of them:
Now get to hooking people. That plane ticket to San Francisco isn’t going to earn itself.
*PS. Feel free to steal the party button for yourself. Power to the people.
More sponsors = More booze and swag. Yay for booze and swag.