4/8/2011

BlogHer 2011: a usual recap Travel

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The Perfection of Imperfect.

It can be overwhelming here. BlogHer can cripple those with a great self esteem. There are so many women, so many pitches, so many places to feel left out and alone in a sea of thousands. There are women with the right outfit, the tight ass, the amazing cleavage. There are people who print the highest quality business cards, carry their elevator pitch ready at a moment, who say all the right things.

Then there’s us.

To me Lotus is my BlogHer 11. We wear comfortable clothing and flip flops. We walk around with armpit sweat and unwashed hair. We don’t wear a pedicure. We don’t have the fancy business cards or elevator pitches and it we don’t even possibly pretend. We come as we are: raw, creative, expressive.

My brush, literally, with fame (a blogHer tale) Stories

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**April, 2013** Hello and welcome! If this is your first time here, I’d love to meet you. I’ve recently written about being diagnosed with Adult ADHD, spent much of last year traveling and went back to work full time as a Program Manager for Media at a large global company. My children are 8 and 6 and I love talking to people with similar stories. Be sure to say hi and pull up a chair. I’ll grab the coffee. (Or tea for my UK friends with milk and sugar.)**


I walked in to the keynote, searching the thousands of faces to find “my people.” I wonder in and out of tables bumping in to elbows and computers. I recognize a few features but I continue to bump, walk, bump, walk looking for my table.

I spot the table of women more familiar than their pictures or email addresses. Vivaciously, as only I am known to do, I yell out, “There are MAH BEESHES! Wuz up Mothah Fuckahs!” I glance around the table taking in each face that I adore. I see Angie, Dawn, Molly, Shonda, Sam and Karen and…. who’s this? I don’t recognize the lovely lady in the red hair so poised next to my flamboyant friends. “Hi! I’m Mrs…” It hits me about the same time Angie pipes up, “This is Ree Drummond? THE PIONEER WOMAN.”

There is a silence and my mouth hits the floor.

I stumble over to hug her, gush, possibly lick her feet. She says in her polite southern accent, “I was just admiring your belly.” I laugh as she touches my two year postpartum belly. “This?” I exclaim, “This is old left over from before.” I can tell she feels bad. She recovers and says, “At least yours is in the front, mine is all in the rear.”