Is it possible to be so far behind in your work that you get lapped by yourself? Like in High School when that skinny bitch would fly by you on lap 5 and there were still 17 to go. (Did I ever mention I was on some drug-induced psychosis that made me run the 10K on a track? That’s 22 and a half laps in a circle. “Hamster on a wheel” comes to mind or maybe even Smashing Pumpkins “Bullet with Butterfly Wings: Rat in a cage” is more befitting.) I’m not sure who the skinny bitch in this analogy is but she just lapped me with her laptop and completed todo list and a fistful of happy clients.
Me? I’m more like a whale.
A Fail Whale in fact.
Since I think I’ve pretty much exhausted my Brutally Honest-ness for the week on Saturday’s post, and since I have a deadline on Friday and no nanny (read: copious amounts of caffeine and green tea pills) and there are still a
hundred emails to reply to, I’m keeping it simple.
You want to see my stats? Or you want to see my fugly dress?
FUGLY DRESS WINS.
The Next Big Thing is in the works. Things may be spotty around here for a bit.
But! I leave you with this! For your viewing pleasure. :: snort ::
Do I keep? Or take back?
Fugly is IN.
Or at least I hope it is. Otherwise it’s just me wrapped up in my Grandmother’s old drapes.
Play Along! You’ll look better, I promise
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Popularity. Fame. Money. Drama.
I think Mom101 said it best, “We don’t have to be ashamed about what we do or why we do it. Whether we blog for money or friendship or approval or attention or magical beans. I said it in the first Momosphere panel and I meant it: It’s all good.”
The hate blogs, the jealousy, the gossip; It’s a bi-product of mixing fame, money and popularity in a tiny tiny space called Your Computer. We’re exposed. We’re sharing. We’re being “honest” except we’re not.
I can not tell you how much it means to me to know that really great writers with great sites know who I am and are just as amazing in person as in their blogs. But this does not bring me fame. It does not bring me money. It does not bring me popularity.
It brings me community.
You choose to either participate in the community or not. You decide what and how much you give to your peers. You are the one who can either introduce yourself or sit and watch. Either way, it’s your choice. And they are both ok.
I’m not overly confident in who I am. I still squee (loudly) when Joelle of Moxie Design Studios says HI or sends a client our direction. I was flattered beyond flattery when Angela gave me a CD and when Amy and Tracey and Dana included me in their link list. Don’t get me wrong. I still love that these people I read and admire also read and link back to me.
It’s a warm fuzzy that even my nightly
bottle of wine can’t re-produce.
But if you feel that I am popular or self-righteous, you’ve clearly never met me in person. Or read me for that matter. I’m far from being an “A” list blogger. I’m a mom who barely holds her shit together, who tries to write every so often and works even more often. I value friendships, real ones, over my blog and would toss this site in a heartbeat if it got in the way of my real relationships. My real life.
Which is something I’m struggling with.
The best and most wonderful thing I’ve found through this blog are my close friends Michelle and Laura and the site we launched together. My career took a fantastic turn when I met Karen through this post and then joined Swank Web Style and found Shaz and Emily and we decided to start a new commercial design business Catapult Web Development because Sydney helped inspire this move and Susan Getgood and other clients encouraged it. When I found out my my new great Seattle Playdate Friend also worked in the web programming / tech field I was in heaven and we talked nerdy to each other.
From there, the real world got better and better.
I blog for a variety of reasons but it will be changing soon. There is a New Big Thing in the works and The Real World is involved. It’s exciting, what has come of being in this community, and it’s inspirational. But it is not exclusive or ellusive or any other “ive”. It’s what you make of it.
Just like real life.
I just signed up my daughter for swimming. On the surface, this sentence isn’t anything fantastic. The reality is, though, that swimming here is very “cut throat”. This is the third session I’ve either stayed up late or gotten up very very early to sign her up online. My heart races. My knees shake. Picture 1984 Cabbage Patch Kid Craze where parents are yelling, “Back of, bitch!” as the doors open to Toys R Us.
As the page loaded with only one spot left I practically yelled out, “BACK OFF, BITCH”
I’m not a horrifically competitive person by nature, choosing personal sports like gymnastics and track instead of team sports. (Side note: I have no hand-eye-coordination whatsoever so don’t let me blow too much smoke up your ass like it was an actual choice. Ball sports and I are like Brittney Spears and Good Judgment. We don’t mesh.) I was all in to the “personal record” shit so that I wouldn’t have to live with the letting-down of a team.
Today, though? I did not let The Team down.
And so my daughter will have the coveted swimming lessons. She will go to the indoor pool. She will wear her bathing suit. She will sit on the edge kicking her little legs in the water wating for her turn to do “Motor Boat Motor Boat.”
And dammit, she will like it. Or else.
You know how when you return from a trip and your husband says, “so how was it?” and then you spend EXACTLY six hours spreading out every detail with him sitting next to you on the couch trying to flick his eyes to the TV because deargodsheisstilltalkingaboutBlogHer? And you know how all of your friends are like, “did you have fun?” and then you spend EXACTLY seventeen hours recounting every details because they are better listeners and even still they flick their eyes to anything else because deargodsheisstilltalkingaboutBlogHer?
I’ve already told these stories with more to tell and already the details are getting fuzzy and I’m starting to bore myself a little because deargodisshestilltalkingaboutBlogHer?
Instead of recounting every details, every squeal, every “holy shit she knows my blog!” or “holy shit I love your blog!” I thought I’d do it all American Pie like and just start a category, “This one time? At BlogHer?” and that way you can deal with stories, both long and short, for a very long time.
So here are a few of the visuals I can provide for now. As the pictures get uploaded from the conference I’m constantly reminded about the bond of women, the emotion, the crazy excitement.
My own personal highlights which may, or may not, be fuzzy from alcohol intoxication during the photos:
Remember that time The Bloggess was all like, “Oh, you are SO POPULAR. Every time you link to me a get a ton of hits” and then I’m all like, “No, stop, no really (don’t)” so I link and hit her site MYSELF like six hundred and twelve times? You know. Just to keep the lie alive. :: cough :: (quick! Click here!)
And then there’s Aimee whom I’m moving in with next month. God, I love her. Her and her fucking swear words and her fucking amazing job and her fucking awesome photos.
And Jenny who is officially coming to playdates with us and totally hung out with me in my room when I was all, “too. many. people. holy. crap” and she made me laugh and said nice things to me like, “You bitches have a huge room!”
Not only did I meet Bossy , I kept tagging along behind her all weekend. Every time she’d look up, THERE I WAS like a stalker. Or a puppy. Let’s say puppy.
:: Interlude :: Will someone remind me not to stick my chin up in the air because HELLO INTERNET HERE ARE MY BOOGERS. Thank you.
I didn’t lick Sweetney until the very last day but I think she’ll hold her cheek for the rest of her life. You haven’t showered have you, Tracey? I mean, comon, you PROMISED.
Elaine was not only a highlight, she was one of The People I could find when I was feeling a little overwhelmed. She’d put her hand on my boob and say, “you want something to drink?” Yes, Dawling.
Then there’s my photo with Whoorl who sat next to me and was my friend at the Sesame Street Room. And who also cut up the floor with (er, near) me at Maggie’s party.
Then.. fast forward a bit because my son is up in his crib yelling, “BITCH! I AM AWAKE! FIND ME!” in his little one year old talk wich is more sweet than that. “mammamamamama!” I know what he means, though.
Here’s the part where I almost pissed myself (aside from when I met Dooce.. I probably shouldn’t just worn depends all weekend come to think of it) but when Isabel of the Alphamom fame came up to me and said, “Mrs. Flinger! YES! It’s SO great to meet you! I want to get licked!!” I seriously could’ve puddled the floor. Instead? I just hump/licked her. I think she’s terrified.
But really, she laughed. And then I was all “OHMYGOD I made Isabel laugh!” and promptly hump-licked Amy while I was being all self deprecating and mortally embarrassed.
In the end (Oh thank god! A conclusion!) it’s all about the people who share the experience with you and for that I am grateful these ladies were there.
I could not have asked for better roommates.
(not pictured: like eight other women I hung out with all weekend and wantt to link to but blame the BoyChild for his needs and also because if I don’t post this now I may never. Look for actual stories to come in the sequel, “This one time? At BlogHer?”)
Back to being a working Mom for a while. It was lovely while it lasted.
Draft #5: I’ve tried four times previous to write my first Post-BlogHer-Post. I’ve spent an hour typing A H R E F = BLAHBLAHBLAH and deleting the entire post. I’ve struggled to compile my photos in to some sort of order that I can share. I’ve been sitting here organizing work but getting sucked back in to drafts for this post.
I think I’m speechless.
I’ll find the words. I’ll find the photos. I’ll find the URLs and I’ll try not to leave anyone out. In the mean time, I will share this short video we made with you. It’s ironic that I left a blogging conference completely unable to blog, isn’t it? That in all the bustle and hustle and writing tips and site information I leave with a short clip my closest local friends and I made? Because in the end, it’s not about blogging, it’s about the real world.
Welcome to ours.
I’m hitting publish before I over analyze this post. See? look! A Spesling error! POSTED.
With so much history packed in to a 5MB MySQL database here, some of who I am slowly leaked out in various posts. Sure, an about page is helpful, but here is what you need to know if you happen to run in to me in, say, San Fransisco.
1. I obsessively think I’m pregnant, even if I have not had actual, you know, S-E-X.
2. I once peed on a used pregnancy test. Yes, I kept my first positive pregnancy test from my daughter in February 2004. Yes, I freaked my shit out with a six month old daughter. No, I do not have it anymore.
3. I’m a clutz. (Watch your drinks around me…)
4. I streak orange.
5. I really really really don’t want another baby.
6. I fart when I’m nervous.
7. I randomly yell things like “I WILL LICK YOU” and then make stickers out of it.
8. I’m a web programming nerd. And I like it.
Which is why I did the following:
1. Peed on a pregnancy test (new, yes I checked) before I start drinking at BlogHer. (Yaknow, I’m late, yaddyyaddy, and why not? I pee on things. What-can-I-say.)
2. Get a professional spray tan (which I still managed to totally fuck up).
3. Stay up late the night before placing my “business card” stickers on condoms.
4. Stock up on Bean-O.
5. Launched our new business the night before BlogHer.
5. Promise myself I will politely introduce myself before tripping, falling, and smacking various drinks out of people’s hands.
Hai. I’m Leslie. It’s nice to meet you.
What is that you’re drinking?
**updated to add **
I literally spilled a record THREE DRINKS at Guy’s House. Two within three minutes on Laura. I only had one drink spilled on me by my favorite blog-writer-hero Rachel. I was honored.
So much more to update. Like singing in the men’s bathroom with Y and Jenny The Bloggess and OH MY GOD I LOVE THESE PEOPLE AND I WILL SAY THIS A LOT. Because deargod. Awesome. Womenz. Squeeee!! Too many to link to.
Visa Debit Cards.
(Look! No BlogHer Post!)
(Wait, does that count? I just wrote BLOGhER)
(Shit. I Did it again.)
The End. (AGAIN.)
Look, I sympathize, I do. I sat home years in a row watching people I would DIE to see (caps on DIE because I mean it for emphasis not actually as in keel over) go to a conference and meet each other and laugh and have cheezburgers and DAMNTHEM. Except I didn’t damn them. I wanted to go. I was a little bit jealous. But I was secure in my own self and I knew one year I’d go, too. And if I didn’t, it was ok. They were still my favorite bloggers/friends/girl crushes.
So I’m going to blog about it and you’re going to drink with me. And we’re going to have a non-politically correct gay time (and giggle because HAHA you said gay) and share the experience. Ok?
For starters, here’s what you can expect from our possy:
Obsessive Lipstick Application
Pushing our beliefs on others regarding obsessive lipstick application
Passing out shortly after 9pm
I know they won’t kill me for posting these. Even if I AM sleeping in the same room and, oh, could be vulnerable at 4AM when there are accessible pillows around. I know they will forgive because they’re like Jesus that way.
I’m pretty sure if Jesus was a girl, he wouldn’t have washed feet.
He’d have given pedicures.
And at home? I leave this:
San Fransisco? Just. In. Time.
During my years teaching at the college level, I had a few unfortunate run-ins with a type of student that is becoming too prevalent in our society. You know, the “do nothing earn an A” types. You all know the type: The student that never makes class, somehow manages to blame the instructor and cries until he gets an A? And by cry, I mean Real Tears And All, people.
It’s not just the old “My dog ate my homework” excuse. It’s deeper. It’s every day. Every assignment. Every test.
Not al kids are this way but talking to old Professors, they all agree: It’s an epidemic and they don’t know what to do about it except compare emailed excuses and take out some sort of Liability insurance for the-Professor-that-makes-their-students-excel-through-hard-work.
A few years went by. I became a mom again. I quit teaching.
The same attitude popped up at playgroups and on TV. It started permeating daily life in a new twist: Mom Entitlement.
Something clicked one day while watching one of those “news” shows (Dateline? Something?) which featured a successful mom earning a night out. “She makes breakfast for her teen son, works 9-5 and rewards herself at night with parties and cocktail bars!” The mom comes on the air explaining how rewarding yourself is the best gift you can give your child. It’s the best for everyone, really. You work hard, go enjoy life! So she justified her nightly parties by her 30 minutes of morning routine with her 15 year old son.
Look, I say that. I get that. I do that. But when did becoming a Mom entitle me to stay exactly the same? To enjoy my nightlife? To drag my children along my bumpy road of self fulfillment?
I bitch about wanting to be ME. The OLD ME. I whine because my kids are hard. I joke about surviving motherhood by booze. My children are not an accessory, they are my CHILDREN. They are hard. They are challenging. They whine. They throw fits. They spitup and crap themselves.
Of course they do. They are kids.
Somewhere along the way, either through too much Mister Roger’s neighborhood or awards for showing up, we’ve lost the whole “grow a pair” attitude our country was built on. We’ve become ninnies. Do you think our Founding Fathers’ children never threw a fit? Do you think their wives went out for pedis once a week?
I’m not saying we shouldn’t enjoy comforts and rewards because lord knows I love me a Mom Night Out. I love me a four day trip to San Fran with ladies and drinks and no kids.
But maybe when I return I should worry a little less about how hard being a mother is and actually be a mother. Spitup, poopy pants, and real live tantrums and all.
Next up? I insult your religious beliefs while quoting Rush Limbaugh!
P.S. No, kidding, I have a post for the real Brutally Honest Monday Fashion Style asking (begging) for input on this floral dress. I just forgot the card in the camera at home. Unless you want to fling some input about the dress sans-visual, feel free.
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