Tag Archives: BlogHer

HOLY CRAP!

BlogHer is this weekend.  Given that I registered months ago and have a hotel room and even ordered business cards, I really shouldn’t be surprised.  But, shit, that really snuck up on me.

Let’s see here:

  1. Sitters for Friday – check
  2. Carpools to drop the boys at camp – check
  3. Legs waxed – check
  4. Ticket – check

Now I just need to pack, look at the agenda, enter all the cell numbers I’ve gathered into my phone, type out instructions for the babysitters, figure out where the hell I put my business cards, schedule Zach’s birthday outing, and finish revisions on the book.  By Thursday night.  Because I head into the city early Friday morning.  Which reminds me: I need to look at the bus schedule and figure out which subway to take to get to the Hilton.

What I haven’t done and most likely just won’t do is make plans with people.  I’m supposed to do that, right? Like make dinner plans and shit.  But I haven’t.  Because I haven’t really looked at the times of all the events.  And I’m not sure what to wear to the parties.  Is the Gala the LBD event?  Or is the next night?  To which can I wear jeans and a sassy top?  Not that I’m all that sassy these days.

No, really, I’m asking.

If you’re going to BlogHer, please email me with your cell number, OK?  And I’ll send you mine, in case you’re making dinner plans.

And this is what I look like:

If you see me wandering around the lobby of the Hilton, looking as though I’m not quite sure what to do with myself without at least one child tugging at my arm, please say “hi.”

I do plan to go running early Saturday morning, should anyone wish to join me.

BlogHer

So, yeah, I have a ticket and a room reservation for BlogHer, and I was only late for signing up for parties rather than absurdly late, so I am signed up for two parties on Saturday night.

What I don’t have: a sitter for Friday, any clue what to do when I get there, any idea how to get in touch with people who are there, business cards, or fancy shoes.  It’s the shoe thing that gets me — I mostly wear Keens in the summer.  How am I going to show up for Sparklecorn in Keens?

Anyway, please tell me if you are going.  And how I am supposed to get in touch with you.  And anything else I ought to know.

Sorry so quiet around here lately.  I’m working on the writing for publications with slightly larger readership — like more than 27 people.  But I’ll be back.

Two cheeks to the wind

There is much I want to write about.  But I can’t, because as Zachary gets older, his privacy becomes more and more of a serious issue.  Already, I don’t use my children’s real names around here.  I make a point of never posting photos.  I may be comfortable hanging my ass out in the wind to be viewed by the various and sundry who come along, but I try hard to respect the privacy of my children.

I Googled myself last week and quite a bit came up.  I am, if you must know, highly Googleable.  I have to be if I want anyone to know about my writing.  Now that we live in a small town, I have to be much more cautious about what I say about my family, because we are much easier to find than we were when we lived in Los Angeles.

My family is nuts.  My family of origin, I mean.  And while most of them are the harmless kind of nuts that just hates me but would never hurt my kids, there are a couple with a proven history of hurting kids.  I think my children need to be even less searchable than they already are.

I took their pictures down from Facebook.  I know I can set privacy settings, but that then leaves the job of keeping them safe in the hands of whoever the hell runs Facebook.  How do I know what Facebook really does with my information or when someone will compromise that particular site?

I walk a fine line between needing to be very much out there in public and keeping my kids shielded.  That line is complicated by the fact that I write about my kids, and there are often things I would like to masticate in public that I instead decide to leave alone.  You’ll notice nothing particularly intimate comes up here unless I am the only party involved.  I am willing to tell you all about my failings as a parent or share anecdotes that are more or less generic, but I am cautious when it comes to many, many things.

So, you’ll never truly get to know all there is about my kids by reading my work.  If you really want to get to know me, keep reading, because that’s my ass you see waving around.

(Or, come to BlogHer, because I just registered for the conference.  Um, y’all will talk to me there, right?  Because I’m a little nervous, and I don’t own any fancy shoes.)