Why do people go to BlogHer? {The picture heavy addition}

Somebody asked me why I go to BlogHer. I go for some of the same reasons that most people go. To network, my blog is tiny, but I love it. This year, I even went to a session or two. AND, I went to the convention hall. While I am not REALLY the kind of blogger that this event markets to (I'm not having another baby, not even for more swag), there were companies whose products I was actually interested in.

But for me, it's also about:

 Taking awkward pictures with friends that I haven't seen in a while.

And dancing so long/hard that I had to take off my fabulous (hot pink) shoes. (Pro tip: If you're going to wear  4 and 1/2 inch heels, MAKE SURE YOU BREAK THEM IN FIRST)

And sometimes it IS about cake. Fabulous, awesome, SPARKLECORN cake!

I wore this special for @emmiej

And wearing shirts that say FUCK, that end up disqualifying me from taping a 2 minute video from Hillshire Farms because APPARENTLY my shirt is inappropriate, and they like to keep it PG-13.

 It's about Aiming Low parties, where they have those words that you can put together to say weird things. (My contribution: This isn't about chest hair. Which. OBVIOUSLY. Hopefully the lady bloggers at BlogHer weren't having TOO many issues with chest hair)

It's about taking pictures of the random things you find because I DON'T CARE WHO YOU ARE, THIS IS FUNNY. (And she was too. And nice. Apparently there are REALLY nice people in Arizona, not just tumbleweeds.)

It's about dragging newbies along for the ride, and forcing them to get a twitter handle, and then telling them that HAI, I'm a blogger. All pictures that I take run the risk of being posted on the internet.

And about the end of the weekend, where after a weekend of hanging with all the friends who live in your computer, you have these stickers to show for it (FYI: Both penis stickers were given to me. They are both true. But. So is the one that says I'm awesome. Because I totally am.)

And it's about already planning next year's trip, to do it all over again. Hilton, I hope you're ready.

Because I am nothing if not helpful

So. This has been happening:

I did a teeny bit of research. And by teeny, I mean I actually looked up the actual twitter handle of said nursing shirt people. Such hard work, yo. I mean I almost got a cramp in my pinky finger.

WELL, HELLO @Undercover_Mama! It's like my name, only...DIFFERENT. And now I sort of feel bad. Because the peoples, they keep retweeting this, and I have nothing to give away. Except assvice, and #thatswhatshesaid jokes.

So. As not to confuse those who are angling to win yourself a breastfeeding shirt. LET ME HELP YOU:

Me:

1. Married to Retired Marine
2. Works at Big Fancy Hospital
3. Breastfed both of my brats old skool style, without fancy hiding shirts because MY KIDS ARE OLD. 
• And so am I.
• And I wish a m-f'er WOULD'VE had something to say about it, so that they could get cussed the fuck out.
4. NO UNDERSCORE

@Undercover_Mama:

1. There is an underscore.
2. Not Me.

You're welcome.

Reply All

It all started last Thursday. I received a random e-mail which CLEARLY was a mistake. Of course it was sent to a bunch of e-mail groups. But. Do you know what *I* do when I get e-mails that are CLEARLY sent to me mistakenly? I ignore and/or them. Unless I receive more than one. I mean, because, really? How many times will people:

1. Reply ALL
2. Request to be removed from the mailing list

 Let me tell you: MORE THAN 50 TIMES.

Remember how I said that normally, I just ignore/delete them?

Yeah, so apparently, all it takes is for me to come in first thing in the morning and find ONE. MORE. E-MAIL. And then this happens:

Hello Everyone (including: various MDs, my supervisor, AND my manager*),

Perhaps you are not aware of this, but TO THE LEFT of the REPLY ALL button, is the REPLY button. If you are unclear on when it is appropriate to use, please use THIS GUIDE.

THANKS! 

*It also went to the Manager of SOME IMPORTANT DEPARTMENT. He said he will be sending that link to his staff. So. I guess they don’t plan to fire me for my insubordinance. YET.

This is why opinions are like assholes...

Because everybody has one.

I have been told that I am not very black. Which...What does that even mean?

Who gets to decide how black is black? I'm not black enough because I grew up in the suburbs? Because I went to predominately white schools? Because I speak WELL (which is usually phrased as "you sound like you're white"...which is another thing I don't understand)? Because I prefer alternative music to hip hop? Because I go to Renaissance Faires?  BECAUSE I DON'T DO THINGS YOU THINK BLACK PEOPLE ARE SUPPOSED TO DO?

The list goes on and on.

I grew up in the suburbs because my parents wanted to live there. At five years old, I was in no position to have opinion on where I lived. Also? I should mention that I have gone to schools catered to gifted type students for as long as I've been getting an education. Yes. I'm a super smart motherfucker. And on top of that, my father would pop me right in the mouth for saying things like "huh?" and "yeah". So there was additional incentive to speaking properly. And just because I PREFER alternative to hip hop, doesn't mean I don't ever listen to Jazz, or R&B, or even rap. If I feel like it. I go to Ren Faires because they're fun. And my mom used to take me when I was a kid growing up. And I am keeping the tradition going by taking my kid when the Ren Faire returns to Southern California.

But these things are neither here or there. Because I'm going to let you in on a little secret: There is no measuring stick on blackness. I am black; therefore, everything I do is something that a black person does. Even if that black person is just me.

I'm black because it's what my father is, and what my mother (mostly) is. Like most, I am a mixture of other things. But I identify MYSELF as black.

So who are you to tell me I'm not?

You can blame this rant on mochamomma and grace. And the fact that people can be assholes.

This should totally be a Weight Loss Wednesday post...

Except, I haven't lost any weight.
Because I haven't been to the gym all week.
Because I've been too busy playing hide and go tweet with THESE GUYS.

Somehow, though...I managed to lose an inch on my waist though.

Not ungrateful. But still. I can do better.
And then, this Sunday was the Super Bowl...So I'm sure you already know that any thoughts of "eating healthy" went right out the window, when the pizza (it was spinach and feta cheese, does that count?) got to the house.

So. Gym tonight, and healthy food type things until next Wednesday's post. Deal?

Weight Loss Wednesday: The What I've learned from tracking my foods edition

• There’s too much salt in my diet
• There are too many CARBS(“SUGAR”) in my fancy hot beverage
• EGGS HAVE TOO MUCH CHOLESTEROL
• I felt bad having to type in I had 3 Yard House Beers. But not bad enough not to drink them
• I need to workout to obtain more calories to eat I need to go to the gym more.
• I WILL go to the gym if it means I can have dessert (my husband bought me a sour cream lemon pie. He is a saboteur)
• Maintaining my hair is a bitch when I go to the gym every day
• I can feel that my clothes fit differently, BUT. I can’t find my tape measure. This is also The Man’s fault.
• Sometimes, livestrong recommends things with lower calories than what I just ate
• But. If you recommend that I eat a tub of frosting because it’s less calories than something healthy, you’re doing it wrong.

 

Also? I NEED a cheat day. That cheat day is going to be SUPERBOWL SUNDAY.

 

Happy Monday!

Now that I have to be at work at 6! AM! on Mondays, I have to get up pretty early to get to work on time. Luckily though, because it's so early, I can leave a little bit later and still make it in to work on time.

I don't know WHY it seemed like such a good idea to be unable to sleep until 1 o'clock in the morning. But there it is. I figured that I could come home and nap it off, since getting to work early means leaving early.

And because I was so tired, I waited until the last possible minute to get up. In my case, 5AM. I will need to get out of the house by 5:30. MAX.

And because I put on make-up almost every morning, OF COURSE I WAS RUNNING LATE.

And because I was running late, and I'm not the kind of asshole who wakes up EVERYBODY in the house, just because I'm up, I got dressed in the dark.

And because I got dressed in the dark, this happened:

Would now be a good time to tell you that I have the EXACT SAME BOOT IN TWO DIFFERENT COLORS?

Thank God I keep an extra pair of shoes at work.

My fancy argyle tights y'all. I'm SUCH an adult.

Yeah, this Monday is shaping up to be a real winner.

Weight Loss Wednesday?

Maybe. This may be a thing. Or maybe it will just be a thing for a little while. Either way. Apparently I make lots of lists.

  

So, I’m going to try to use this website to track my food intake. STARTING TODAY. I would like you to know that:

1. If I want to lose 2 pounds a week (or is it 1.5), I can only have 928 calories
• That’s not a lot of food
2. I used it today withOUT regard to how many calories I ate so I can see how much I routinely eat
• FAT. THERE’S A LOT OF FAT IN MY DIET
• Grande Chai Tea lattes are 200 calories (I didn’t drink the whole thing; I never do)
• Now I only have 345 calories for dinner
• Including any/all snacks
• There’s an orange sitting on my desk and I’m scared to eat it.
3. I’m DEFINITELY going to have to go to the gym, so that I can have sommore calories.
• Starting tonight
• Who's with me?
4. OMG. 928 Calories.

 It should be noted, that these calories do not include any sort of exercise. Which. I WILL BE DOING. So that will allow a couple hundred more calories. Also? Why didn't it have an option for sedentary job, but busy like a motherfucker once I clock out? AND? I don't really think that 928 calories is reasonable. But I guess if I eat healthier, maybe 928 calories is a WHOLE LOT of food?

 

We'll see. Luckily I have the option to change it to something I think is more I WANNA LOSE WEIGHT BUT NOT STARVE TO DEATH IN THE PROCESS calorie goal.

The things I do for my girls....

I almost ALWAYS lie about my weight. Mostly because I can. I weigh a lot. I am OBVIOUSLY overweight. But. I look as though I weigh less than I do. If that makes sense.

So I usually knock off around 10 lbs. SIGH. Women. We can be so vain, yes?

Anyways. Along with the shredding, I was given a log to write down my measurements: Weight, Chest, Waist, Hips, Wrist, and Forearm. (Forearm. Random, don’t you think?). OF COURSE, my period decides to come A WHOLE WEEK EARLY just so that when I start this whole 30 day shred, I’m all SUPER BLOATED and crampy and I CAN’T EVEN EXPRESS TO YOU THE BACK PAIN. WTF. Also? Fuck you Mother Nature, you’re a big giant asshole. *cough* But, I digress.

I thought it was just a PERSONAL log to keep track of weight/inches lost.

And then, my friend sent her measurements on Monday. OH. I DID NOT KNOW I WAS GOING TO HAVE TO SHARE THIS INFORMATION WITH EVERYONE?! ::cue the internal screaming.

She’s small. She has pounds she wants to lose, but really? She’s at the weight I want to be. EITHER WAY. She’s got balls. She sent all of us her measurements. I KNOW HOW BIG HER HIPS ARE, Y’ALL. You know how much you have to trust someone who is NOT a medical professional before you can put that kind of information in their hands?

So I went home. Pulled out my measuring tape and put it on the bathroom counter.

And then went to the kitchen to eat a piece of sweet potato pie.

And then thought I’m totally doing this wrong.

And then I got distracted by some shiny thing. So I forgot. Quite possibly, accidentally on purpose. But in the meantime, I’ve been hitting the gym, rode my bike several miles and have a date with the gym again tonight.

Now it’s Wednesday. I get dressed for work and see the measuring tape. Can I really put my weight into cyberspace? Can I put the ACTUAL NUMBERS in an e-mail? I don’t even tell my husband how much I weigh. And he knows pretty much everything there is to know about me. Except that. He walked in just as I was measuring my waist.

So how many inches? Are you serious? I am NOT telling you that.
Can you measure me? Sure.
Now, Can I measure you? Umm, NO.

He pulls out the scale and gets on. I say, I weigh less than that. Not as much less as I’d like, but less.

I came to work. And I thought about how many other things I've shared with my girls. My worries. My joys. My completely random thoughts. And how they support me, whenever I need it. And sometimes, when I think I don't. So. I sent an e-mail to the girls with ALL of my true measurements. Including my weight. These girls? I’d do anything for.

APPARENTLY, even things I won’t do for my husband.

I never really thought

...That I would enjoy blogging so much. Which is weird, considering that I am the kind of girl who had a journal...And these ridiculous stories of mine? Are stories that if I HADN'T been blogging, then I totally would've e-mailed my friends. And not only am I writing these stories here, I also was talked into writing over here too.

...That I wouldn't even think twice about asking twitter to help me pick out shoes to buy, or to remind me to do something.

...That I would have the balls to do a meet-up with some bloggers/tweeters in Las Vegas, where I got completely drunk, got my boobs graffiti'd, and took a shitload of pictures.

...That I would make a last minute decision to crash Miss Grace's Super Secret Trip of Awesome where I'd sleep on the couch, try to figure out WTF is a Virgin Tin Lady, and randomly give a last minute tour of a Marine Corps Depot (because someone had never been on a Marine Corps Base and/or met a Marine IN UNIFORM --which, OMG. A Marine in uniform is quite possibly the sexiest sight there is.)

...That I would decide that I would go to Blogher, and end up spending 5 days in NYC, where there's going to be Hooters, and drinking and SHENANIGANS.

Nope. Never would have thought this would be my life. BUT I'M SO GLAD IT IS.

I can be guilt tripped all the way to the gym, apparently

For the last couple of weeks I've been going to the gym. (Again. I've started going, again.) The front desk clerk, who usually just says hello & goodbye has started clocking my time.


Ohh, I haven't seen you in a few days...

I'll see you tomorrow...right?

Why do you look so sleepy?

"DUDE. It's 5AM. This is how everybody should look at 5AM."

And I started wondering why this guy is giving me the business? I don't remember signing up for a trainer, or a make-sure-undercovermama-gets-her-ass-to-the-gym-guy. And yet, there he is. Mocking me with his extra cheerful "good morning" and his "see you tomorrow" I mean, REALLY?

But here's the thing. I went to the gym Friday. And then I skipped Saturday, because well... #worldcup. And Sunday, I was too busy getting ready for the 4th of July bash at my house. Monday, I just plain didn't want to get out of bed. So I didn't. YESTERDAY, though... yesterday, I went to the gym. I got the ridiculously cheerful good morning, then I got THE LOOK. You know the one. The one that says I KNOW YOU HAVEN'T BEEN HERE ALL WEEKEND AND SHAME ON YOU.

And do you know that sonofabitch worked? I felt GUILTY! So guilty that this morning, when The Man snuggled me and asked for 10 more minutes, I said, No, I have to go to the gym. GAH! And I did. And he was there all cheerful and shit, telling me to have a great workout (which I did, but still. THE MOCKING, PEOPLE, THE MOCKING) As, I was leaving he smirks at me and says "I'll see you tomorrow, RIGHT?"

Yeah, yeah, you'll see me tomorrow. Jerk.

What I learned at Rehab

Not THAT Rehab. This one

YEAH. So I went to Baker 2 Vegas, because my sister is an officer of the got-damn-law (anyone? anyone?) and because THESE GUYS were having a concert at the Joint and really, is there ever a bad time to go to Vegas? And because she hates me, she wanted to go to Rehab...And I said no, no, no (sorry. but I really, REALLY couldn't resist)... But because I'm a curious sort, it wasn't that difficult to change my mind. And because we had all this stuff going on at the Hard Rock, that's where we stayed

So after a couple of days of drinking, I'm supposed to put on a skimpy bathing suit and frolic in the water with a bunch of half naked boys and girls? Right. But I'm going to tell you something that I learned at Rehab:

Rule #1: You are only getting in the pool in your bathing suit. And that is all.

Because this guy says so

So off comes the cover up and in goes the legs in the pool.

Still though, I was self·-conscious. Because whatever you THINK Rehab at the Hard Rock looks like, it's more. More itty bitty bikinis. More skin. More fake boobs and flat abs. Just...MORE. And well, there's more of me too. But my "MORE" doesn't look as hot in a bikini, nahmean?

But whatever. I'm chilling by at the pool with my sis and cousin drinking a Jack Daniels & Sprite at 11AM in the morning. BEFORE BREAKFAST. I'm talking to the very regular-looking couple sitting next to me, and watching people get in the pool.

Rule #2: See Rule #1.

So I'm watching the skinny broads get told to take off their cover-ups or get out of the pool. And the athletic type fellas taking off their T-shirts. And noticing that even the people who LOOK LIKE MODELS are looking just as self-conscious as I do.

Rule #3: EVERYONE is vulnerable when they're half naked in the bright light of day.

There's no hiding behind clothes that camouflage, no pitch black club, no strobe light.. No make-up. Well... there's waterproof mascara. But mostly, there's just sunblock. There are, of course, people who came to the pool with no intention of getting anywhere near the water. THOSE people were wearing teeny tiny bathing suits/booty shorts, 4-inch heels and full face of MAKE-UP (who wears make-up to the POOL?! I'll tell you: people who are missing the point of a pool party...people who I am NOT convinced weren't ladies of the evening working a day shift, that's who.)

Rule #4: Have FUN.

You know what a good time is? Hanging with my sissie and prima for the weekend at The Hard Rock Hotel ,concerting at The Joint, winning some dollahs at the roulette table... and topping it off with some drinkin' and partying at Rehab.

That came out wrong, didn't it?

At least I'm not dead or This week in review

My week started off kind of ridiculous. I was late to work Monday - I choose to blame the fact that the time changed as opposed to it took me longer to apply my make-up than usual. WHATEVER. Tuesday, I stayed up until midnight, which is weird because usually I'm sleep before 9pm (oh hai. I have the sleep pattern of a 90 year old woman) AND THEN an earthquake woke me the fuck up at 4 AM. Which pretty much assured I wouldn't be going back to bed.

Wednesday, St. Patrick's Day, I went over to my co-workers office and ran into her boss. She gave me a box of girl scout cookies. Said she bought some extras, so please to enjoy. My co-worker says to her boss, "These were your dad's favorite" Her boss says " Yeah, well, he's not eating anymore, so I have some extras" I should add that her dad passed a few months ago.

I laughed so hard that I cried. Hello, I love inappropriate humor.

Thursday I woke up with a cold, or something. Sore thoat, body aches, chills. I went to work anyways, because

1. I didn't EVEN want my boss to think I called out sick due to St. Paddy's day hangover.
2. I was covering for someone who was on vacation
3. I had a SHITLOAD of work to do that had to get done by Friday.

The MD that I work for made an executive decision that I was going to stay home tomorrow. Blah, blah, blah...something about how he does not play a doctor on TV, he really does have a medical degree. FINE THEN. I'll see you on Monday.

So today, I'm lying in bed. I'm a whiny, congested mess. I'm guzzling Nyquil in the hopes that I will not only stop coughing, I may also get some sleep. I wanna feel sorry for poor pitiful me because I feel horrible and look like crap. But I am comforted by the fact that my MD cares enough about his health   me to tell me to stay home, my husband is home taking care of me and letting me sleep while he makes me breakfast.

Well, that and the fact that I can eat cookies.

An extra kick in the pants

Thursday I decided that I cannot live in my house unless I change my cat litter RIGHT. NOW. So even though I had come straight home and put on my pajama pants, I threw on some tennis shoes and went over to the Target. My cousin, D, who just happened to be at my house and needed weights for some boot camp program she was starting on Monday decided to ride shotgun.

Since I had decided that the only thing I was picking up from the Target was kitty litter, I didn't even grab a cart. We ran by the workout section grabbed some 3 lb weights and walked over to the pet section. We find a 35 lb bucket of cat litter on sale. And we attempt to carry it to the register.* Holy shit, y'all that's heavy. First, we both hold the handle and try to drag it to the register. We get pretty far until we have to put it down because we can't laugh hysterically AND carry almost 40 pounds because I can't even believe how ri-damn-diculous it is that cat litter is so fucking heavy and I'm not sure how well THIS plan was thought out and where the fuck is that random empty cart that has been abandoned by some jackass when you really need one as opposed to when it's just in your way screwing up your shopping experience?

Holy Crap, this is heavy.

In the end, D just dragged the cat litter to the register and we snagged an empty cart while we were in line because there was no way we were gonna carry that shit to the car.

And as we were wrestling it in the car, I said *this* is about how much weight I want to lose.(30 pounds all told. But still) OMFG is THIS what thirty pounds feels like ON MY BODY?! Aaand...cue the screaming on the inside.

So even though I've been hitting the gym AND bringing my mostly healthy lunch, I am taking the time to thank Tidy Cats Cat Litter for reminding me why I am doing all of this: Because 30ish pounds is heavier than a motherfucker and picturing that on my ass has given me MORE motivation that I ever needed to get rid of it.


*Also, I would like to pat myself on the back for entering Target and *only* getting the thing that I came in there for, even though they've got bathing suits and the first season of Glee and BOOKS! All kinds of books! Because that is probably the first time I've done that in years.

Not so much looking fondly back as I am looking forward expectingly

I mean, not to sound ungrateful...because it could have been so much worse, I could have been stabbed with a rusty splinter, or hit by a car, or hell.. even robbed at gun point...none of which happened to ME, but you know what? This year pretty much sucked big fat hairy ones, and I would like to go on the record as saying Fuck you, 2009. Fuck you right in the ass.

On one hand, I got a big ol' raise because my jackass boss screwed me over last year, The Man finally retired from the Marine Corps, and I returned to school and am *this close* to graduating, I also went to Vegas a ridiculous amount of times, and met some of my blogger/twitter friends IRL.

On the other hand, I went to war with The Man over a "friend's" relationship, only to have her stab me in the back and force me to kick her ass out of my life (like Mary J. says no.more.drama). The Man, who finally retired from the Marine Corps has no idea what he wants to do with his life, is home 24/7 - which I've never had to deal with before. I returned to school and couldn't really afford it AND I can't use his GI Bill AND can only get a few dollars if he were permanently, totally disabled, or dead (really?! WTF VA?), and along with my raise came MORE WORK while my other fuckwit co-worker cries about how busy he is while spending most of his day trying to beat his friend's bejeweled score of one hundred million, and to top it all off, I found my neighbor whom I've known for freakin' 18 years and called my Auntie, dead and I JUST RECENTLY stopped crying every time I look at her house, which coincidentally faces mine, so every time I walk out of my front door, I see HER front door.

And this just the stuff that happened to ME. Not close friends who just found out their father has cancer, or whose sister had a heart attack, or have been laid off for the better part of 2009 and may possibly lose their house.

I'm not really sure who the fuck I pissed off in 2008 to make this year so relentlessly depressing. Oh wait, NOBODY - because last year I tore my Achilles and was off work for 3 months, while my jackass boss fucked up my paperwork, so I didn't get my disability money AND my husband lost his grandmother AND one of my best friends moved to freaking JAPAN - I actually was thinking that 2009 was gonna be my year because of how much 2008 sucked. Fooled my fucking ass. 2009, you pretty much sucked harder than 2008, and I didn't even think that was possible.

So I'm saying all that to say, so long 2009. Don't let the door knob hit you on the way out. It's been real, it's been fun, but it has NOT been real fun. Don't keep in touch, don't send me an e-mail to see how I'm doing now that you've moved on, in fact let's just pretend that we never met, hm?

And 2010? I've got my eye on you. I'm expecting rainbows and unicorns and a bunch of other really cool shit to happen this year. In fact, I refuse to accept anything less, so consider this a warning.

I'm ready for the new year and it's going to be motherfuckingfabulous. Or else.