UPDATE TO Mrs. Flinger October 16, 2015
Because the Universe has a wicked sense of humor, after this delcaration, my blog threw up all over my last upgrade.
So I'm starting over using Craft. Turning 40 and kid entering Jr High next year, sometimes it's just time for a change. These archives will still exist in the way the last child goes off to college and their room is the same for 20 years, but it's just time to move forward.
BlogHer 2008: A (not so) brief highlight Jul 22, 2008
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.
When You Take Swag Too Seriously Jul 21, 2008
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.
Hai. I’m Leslie Jul 18, 2008
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.
To Old People Everywhere, especially the ones ALWAYS in line in front of me Jul 17, 2008
Visa Debit Cards.
(Look! No BlogHer Post!)
(Wait, does that count? I just wrote BLOGhER)
(Shit. I Did it again.)
The End. (AGAIN.)
Ohdeargod Another BlogHer Post Forthelove When Is It Over NEVER HAHA SUCKAH Jul 16, 2008
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.
Brutally Honest Monday of a different kind: Mom Entitlement Jul 14, 2008
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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In case I’m too drunk to post this later: The obligatory “I was left out at BlogHer” post Jul 09, 2008
It’s nigh. That Conference I won a trip to? That Conference I practically shit myself in total an utter fear because OH MAI GAWD I get to meet these people that I’ve read and, like, TOTALLY have a girl crush on? (Too many to link to holyhell I love you people)
And oh dear god, they get to meet me.
Thankfully, two of my dearest friends are traveling with me. This means several things, 1) I have someone to sit with at the lunch table already to talk with so I can put away my inner 13 year old 2) they already love me
in spite of my nervous-gassy stomach and 3) I will introduce and be introduced to many many bloggers, famous, not-so-famous, well known (no, wait, that means famous) and quiet, but amazing, amazing women.
And 4) I will probably be too wobbly to remember.
So, if things don’t pan out and maybe, say, some people have other people they’re talking to and maybe I walk in to a room and people get all, “ShhhHHHHHhhhh” it’s ok. No, REALLY (caps). It’s OK (caps! again!). Because see? See this post here? WhaWhaWha I feel left out because some people are cliquish and whahwa I’m not in it.
And that’s the end of that. Now, let’s all go enjoy being women who love to write and learn new things about this outlet we’ve all come to love and hate sometimes. And hate to love.
To each one of you, I can’t wait to meet you. Seriously. And if I look a little “bitchy” please know, my bitchy face and my drunk-for-three-days-and-I-think-I-just-farted face are The Exact Same.
(The hardly-known lover of good wine and vodka martinis and smart code but only slightly read… Me)
(Similar to, but not exactly, like Sparks and Butterflies disclaimer. Play along! Comon. I’m licking her..
From Fear to Love: A friend’s quest Jul 08, 2008
It’s no secret we’re done having children. In fact, we’re a little gun-shy in the whole “boink-a-boink-a” department because of it. In the words of Mr. Flinger, “I am a potent man!”
Now, it’s not so much a good thing.
However, I have friends who want, crave, try to have children. Who may not get the opportunity. Who undergo treatments, stress, financial burden all to obtain the thing I take for granted on a daily basis: Motherhood.
It’s a little bit astonishing to me how much I don’t appreciate my own gift of birthing to healthy babies. Some days I look at our children in marvel and wonder and think I may explode from the sheer love of having these people in my life. Other days I wonder what-the-hell and when I can get back to me. Me. Not Mom, just Me.
There are people unable to get to the place in life where I’m at right now, sitting here with children needing and wanting me more than anything in the world. Children who squeal with delight when I walk in the door. Children who yell out, “Mommy! I was just missing you A WHOLE BUNCH!”
What kind of a rotten, horrible person am I for not loving every minute of it?
I once asked Mr. Flinger if he thought I had a drinking problem. “No, I think you’re a mom” he replied. He’s right. With every second of joy and love there’s alternating seconds of frustration and irritation. Would I trade any of it? No. I wouldn’t. But I’ve been so vocal about the frustrating parts that I sometimes forget to share all the mushy wonder of my soft, lovely tiny humans that we created.
Some people can’t create. Or need help creating. Or adopt. Or suffer possible serious physical consequences stopping medication to create a home for a child in their body. And here I sit, sputtering, wishing I could take back ever negative thing I’ve said. While it’s real, true, it’s not fair.
It’s never fair.
So what do you say to a friend who can’t get to the place you are? The place you some days wish you weren’t? The place where children are so needy you cling to your sanity with threads and other days you snuggle to their soft breathing as their tiny chest rises and falls beneath your hand. The chest, the heart, the body you grew?
BHM: Self Tanning Disasters Jul 07, 2008
You know that I live in Seattle, which really does mean it’s sunny six times a year here. Okok, sorry, eight if you count those two days in Winter. (Picky Picky) At any rate, being in such a northern state means I’m prone to bi-polar skin. Uhhu. My skin is six degrees of tan depending on what you look at.
This here? My arm against my leg.
So what’s a girl to do? SELF TANNER! Now that there is a product made for people like me. Spray Tan! No Sun! Half the cancer!
So, see, me ‘n self tanner go way back.
Why, then, can’t I use the new and improved products? Like the Banana Boat Sunless Tanner Spray? Or the million other “NEW AND IMPROVED NO-STREAK NO-ORANGE” products?
I. Don’t. Know.
So today, for Brutally Honest Monday, I thought I’d fill you in on a secret. I’m one white pale mother down below and a sunny golden kissed mama up top.
Now, isn’t that lovely?
(Feel free to join in and tell me your self tanner mis-haps. Or am I the only spray-tan-challenged one out there?)
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