Note: I had so much to say about BlogHer I’m posting two segments. Part II will have most of my photos and will detail the funny stories. It’s titled: BlogHer ‘08 Part II: What can I say? Hot Canadian woman just keep making out with me!

(And you think I’m kidding.)

This is ass-long but you really should just read the damn thing. I will be quizzing you later, Sarah.

**

The first five minutes into my BlogHer experience, I thought about going home.

I snotted a booger on the dress of one of the best and biggest bloggers on the planet.

I had nightmares that some how, some way, I was going to electrocute Dooce when I mic wrangled the closing keynote session.

We’ll talk about all these things later, though.

I will state right now that I had one of the very best trips of my life. BlogHer ‘08 blew every expectation that I had out of the water. I loved it. I’ll write about all my squeeing, making out and funny stuff that happened in Part Two of my recap, but for today I want to talk about the challenges of attending a conference of this magnitude and craziness.

I’ve been reading BlogHer recaps for two years and there is always one common thread that pops up amongst the posts with photos of happy people and parties and hugging. Some people write that they did not have a good time. They felt awkward, ignored, or slighted or that BlogHer wasn’t what they thought it would be.

For whatever reason, their conference was lacking.

I haven’t read any posts like that yet, but I am making a preemptive strike here. I want to point out to those people who didn’t have the best time that BlogHer isn’t always a bed of roses for people who had a GREAT time.

(That would be me. In case you were wondering.)

After one of the sessions I mic wrangled (ie-ran around like a crazy person thrusting microphones at people who had questions for the panel speakers in different sessions), I was speaking with a blogger who seemed to be having a particularly unhappy experience.

She said, “It must be so easy for you here. Everyone seems to like YOU.”

Well, yes. I can see that. I am outgoing. I am bubbly. I stand out in a crowd and can be silly. I had a great time and there were a lot of people who seemed to like me just fine. Was this conference a cake walk for me, though?

HELL, NO!

I think that the end experience you have greatly depends on how you deal with the situations you are given. I have a hard time in this area in other areas of my life, but I knew there would be negative things thrown at me at this conference and I was determined to do my best to turn them around. It went really well. Here’s a list of examples:

The first encounter I had at BlogHer made me seriously consider turning the hell around to go home.

I flew in at the crack of dawn and tagged along with my roommate Scribbit on an video interview she agreed to do for 5 Minutes for Mom. I was scraggly, tired, and had managed to dump half a can of Diet Coke on myself during the plane ride. When we got there, there was a makeup/hair artist, wardrobe racks, a production crew and I was met by three gorgeous, immaculate women who were the equivalent of Vogue- pages one, two and three.

They were very polite but I just felt so damn intimidated and felt like I should have “INSIGNIFICANT HICK FROM UTAH” tattooed on my forehead. I thought, “If this is how the whole conference is going to go, I can’t do it. I can’t walk around feeling this frumpy and lame and stupid for four days.” Luckily, I met someone who knew me and was also planning on hanging out in jeans the whole trip so I was much more comfortable and could relax.

Later, I had the opportunity to meet up with Janice from 5 Minutes for Mom and I told her how intimidated I was of the whole experience. SHE WAS WONDERFUL. Janice and I were joined by Jenny of Absolutely Bananas (who I pink puffy heart) and we had great conversation for three hours.

If I hadn’t approached Janice, I would still have this intimidating image of her in my mind and she is so easy to talk to. I’m glad I took that leap. I just wish that I knew that the young 20-something blogger that was hanging around our table was attending HARVARD in the fall before going on and on about how I write about my hoo-hoo on the internet.

My volunteer duties as mic wrangler had rocky moments.

I did a LOT of mic wrangling for sessions. I was so nervous about it because I wanted to do a good job for an organization that has been so good to me. It was a hard job, but I would do it again in a heart beat. I loved it. What I did NOT LOVE was during my very first session, CONTROVERSIAL TALK RADIO STARTED BLASTING THROUGH THE SPEAKERS!!!!!!!!!!!!

In the midst of listening to a broadcast of political people saying things like, “Obama! You don’t know what the HELL you are talking about! You are an piece of poo in the flotsam and jetsam of the world’s sewage system!” I was frantically trying to figure out what the HELL was going on.

People were looking at me like I should know what I was doing and all I could do is give them a look that said, “I DON’T KNOW NOTHUN’ ABOUT FIXIN’ NO AUDIO SYSTEM, MISS SCARLETT!” and announce, “Never fear! I have a card with a telephone number to call!! YAY!!!!’

Problem? Number was out of service.

I played with some buttons and made it all much worse before the audio people finally showed up to save the day.

While I think I was sort of known as the Vanna White of mic wranglers and was really visible for the conference, I also looked pretty damn stupid some of the time.

I did some embarrassing things pre-conference and knew I would be running into the people involved.

Nobody likes to fess up to being an asshat. It was hard to do, but I found all of the people I had internet faux pas with and spoke to them. Every single situation ended up being good in the end. I don’t mean that I was ready to join the ya-ya sisterhood with all of them, but we all left on good terms and they were all understanding once I spoke to them and explained myself face-to-face.

I was a dork, scared, anxiety-ridden, insecure and felt intimidated a lot of the time.

While talking to the lovely Jess from Drowning in Kids, I turned around and found myself face-to-face with Schmutzie the fabulous.

In my head the introduction was supposed to go like this: “Well, hello, Schmutzie! My name is Loralee. Thank you for graciously featuring one of my posts on Five Star Friday. I am a fan of your wonderful website and that amazing birdie masthead that you designed.”

What came out of my mouth was garbled, high-pitched squeeing and “Oh! Oh!! Oh!!!-ing” that was accompanied by me pointing and jumping up and down while waving my name tag in her face.

Dorkish, indeed.

However, she was lovely and relating the experience to Some of us are clowns put her at ease because she felt HER introduction to ME didn’t go “as planned”, either!

I was scared to start talking to people I didn’t know. I made myself and it was great. Striking up a conversation about blogging platforms makes waiting in line to pee so much more enjoyable.

I was anxiety-ridden about my blog. I often had thoughts that my blog was “just a personal website”. One morning my roommates and I were at breakfast with a bunch of people from a global PR marketing firm. My roommates are an impressive lot of people. Plus, they are all gorgeous. Just look at them:

Besides being hotties, they are also quite accomplished in the bloggity world. Introductions went like this:

“My website is Scribbit, a one-author site that functions like a web magazine. I run my own advertising and am looking different ways to expand my business opportunities.”

“Hello, I am Amber. Aside from my personal website, I am the creator and editor of Mile High Mamas, a blog magazine that is sponsored by the Denver Post.”

“I’m Jill of Glossy Veneer. I have been blogging since 2001 and also have a website that chonicals my participation in a marathon to help lukemia research.”

Then it was my turn.

“HI! I’m Loralee! I write about my ta-ta’s on the internet!”

I am super awesome.

However, it made people laugh, which makes me happy, so I was good. I just embraced my blog and realized that I love it even if it doesn’t look as good on paper as some. I LOVE my roommates. We had the best time together.

I didn’t let my anxiety stop me from showing of my ‘Stellar’ dancing skillz. Even though there were only about 5 of us busting a move to sucky music on the dance floor. we had fun. If I had been drinking it would have made the situation a little bit less painful but I got to get a photo with Moosh In Indy, V Dog and BOSSY, and I had a great time, so it’s all good.

Intimidation was probably the biggest issue I had that was getting in my way. In a way it led to one of the most embarrassing but WONDERFUL moments of the whole trip:

I found myself in a puddle of tears surrounded by a semi-circle of some of the most amazing and well-known bloggers out there (who also intimidated the living hell out of me before BlogHer) and I also managed to snot a booger on the dress of a blogging goddess of the internet.

This moment sort of saved me and my blogging life. My favorite session of the whole conference was about “Taking back Naked Blogging”

The reason I went is that it was led by Sweetney and I had a question for her. I knew if anyone knew the answer it would be her, but I am the type that is way too gun shy to send her an email. So, I went to the session.

It was amazing.

It was one of those “What happens in this session STAYS IN THIS SESSION” so I will not go into detail, but I asked a question and found myself breaking down and sobbing. I am the most overly dramatic person on the planet but it takes a whole lot to actually make me cry.

And cry I did.

Big, fat, mascara-ridden tears kept coming and coming and coming. Thankfully, Jen and Tonica and Ink thinker had tissue and LeahPeah gave me chocolate. Backpacking Dad and Mr. Lady were wonderful as was the blogger wearing black whose business card I lost.

Before this conference I was down right SCARED to talk to a short list of specific bloggers. I was scared because while I know that I have talent and intelligence and excel in a lot of areas, the face and public side of me is very silly.

While being extremely theatrical, silly, and extroverted can be a plus a lot of the time, it can also make you look like a big dork to people of a more serious nature.

These are such strong, wise, blunt women who write damn well and really know their stuff and I was worried that they would see me as this dorky, flighty, silly person who well…worries and is insecure about coming off as dorky, flighty and silly. (If that makes sense.)

I even made a list of six women and made a goal that at some point I would try and introduce myself to them. Because I don’t want to feel intimidated. They certainly don’t make me feel that way, it is MY problem and my problem to resolve. I really wanted to tackle my fear because well…that is what I do with fear. I tackle it. Why the hell do you think I jumped out of a plane?

After the session, I looked up to see Sarcastic Journalist, Sweetney and Her Bad Mother standing in front of me with kind looks on their beautiful faces. Without dripping sap all over you…damn. These women were so kind. Generous. Helpful. HUMAN. Especially Tracey and Catherine. I just can’t even illustrate in words how much they helped me and how kind they were.

It helped to know I wasn’t alone and that all of them knew exactly what I was talking about and they didn’t see me as silly or flighty or spineless, just as another human out there that was looking for help, advice and understanding.

It made me smile and cry harder at the same time.

Someone I was crying too hard to notice before squeezed my right arm and said, “My mom always said, “Amy, when you have tough situations you just pull yourself up by your big girl panties and keep going!” and then she handed me her card.

I laughed, squeeked out a “Thank you”, asked if I could blog that her mother told me to pull myself up by my big girl panties and watched in horror as a small piece of booger flew from my nose onto her striped maternity sun dress.

No one seemed to notice and I was relieved that this fabulous blogger named Amy would never know that the snotting blogger she was so kind to left a genetic piece of the action on her dress.

I looked down at the card.

It was cute.

It was pink.

It was from…AMALAH.

Oh. THAT Amy.

Dear God above. I JUST SNOTTED A BOOGER ON THE DRESS OF AMALAH! ONE OF THE MOST AWESOME BLOGGERS ON THE PLANET!

Way to go, Loralee.

It made me cringe. Then I got over it. She was so nice, I’m sure she’ll forgive me. They were all so wonderful and in one fell swoop I saw all the crap and perception of big bloggers and smaller bloggers fall away. We’re all just people who blog. Or better yet? We’re all just PEOPLE.

It was such a great moment. I’ll never forget it.

And finally…

Crazy Blogging Canuck made me eat bacon mints.

They SUCKED. At least I wasn’t alone. Velveteen Mind had to eat them too.

In conclusion, I went into BlogHer DETERMINED to have a good time. I tried as hard as I could to walk away feeling positive. If I felt like an ass, I went and talked to the person I was an asshat in front of. If I was scared of someone I went and talked to them and tried to get that feeling to go away. If I was an idiot and forgot someone’s name I tried to tell them it wasn’t because they weren’t great, it was the limitation of my brain. If I felt neglected or if I didn’t connect with a blogger I was hoping to meet, I tried my best to remember that it was a crazy trip, people are human and sometimes things don’t work out.

I know that this doesn’t always work. Sometimes the “Oops!” is too big or the person you are dealing with just isn’t going to change their mind about the situation, but my point is…TRY. Then try AGAIN.

Oh, and get your ass to BlogHer ‘09. I WILL SO BE THERE.

*Edited to include a little slice of humble pie. Just in cased you still thought I was a bit too big for my britches after reading this.

Today’s topic: Jealousy in the blogosphere.

(Or envy, feeling left out, whatever emotion you want to add to it. I think it all falls under the same umbrella, I just chose jealousy because who didn’t love that song by The Gin Blossoms?)

I am not the first to write about this. I’m not the second, tenth or probably even the eleventyhundredth to type out my thoughts and feelings about blogging jealousy. I am also pretty damn sure that many people have written about it far more eloquently than I am about to.

Yesterday, I posted a link that I found via Megan the Beautiful (Otherwise known as Velveteen Mind). It really resonated with me because I could have written a lot of it myself. I found myself going back to check the comments (something I do not do very often simply because of time) because I wanted to see what other people had to say.

Then, I got a comment on this blog on my “Postsecret-esque” post that allowed anonymous comments in reference to the link. (And? I am so sorry I left that post up so long. My internet died for a couple of days and then it was the holidays. Still, holy cow you all are totally fascinating. It’s an illustration that we are all walking around with baggage that is unseen by most of the world. )

This comment was left by what I am assuming is a regular reader and I really wanted to address it because I have wanted to talk about blogging envy for some time and now seems as good a time as any.

Anonymous says:

I read your sidebar and the post that it was linked to and I had to comment here.I’m using a cloaker just to make sure you really don’t know who I am.

I hope this doesn’t come off as mean, but I am eaten alive by jealousy of your blog and other big bloggers. You have so many friends and so much traffic and I even though I check your blog almost obsessively, I also have so much envy that I am beginning to think it is unhealthy.

I try to comment on blogs and still only have a reader or two. You’ve never commented on my blog and while I understand that you have a lot going on, I still get hurt, but then I feel like a pouty kid on the school bus and am ashamed. I’m actually crying here. How stupid is that?

It seems like so many people I read have success after success while I try but seem to fail. I expect it from some of the snarkier bloggers. For instance, I’ve been trying to get Black Hockey Jesus to follow me on Twitter or his blog but I sort of expect the rejection there.

I can’t even seem to get the attention of the nice bloggers.

You aren’t the only one that I am talking about, but you are the place where I can vent this anonymously and get it off of my chest.

I really admire you and think that your blog is wonderful. I hope that this didn’t come off as too mean. I am just having a hard day.

Dear Anon, I wish you would email me privately. I would love to talk to you at length because I have been right where you are. No, this didn’t hurt my feelings at all. Don’t be afraid that I think you’re “Mean”. I don’t. I did something similar to my beloved Kerflop and am still amazed that she didn’t think I was the world’s biggest jerk. She was understanding about my naivety and was, and still is, all kinds of awesome.

There are a few salient points that I would like to talk about, if you don’t mind.

Having traffic doesn’t make feelings of inadequacy magically disappear.

I doubt that there are many bloggers out there that would label themselves as “Popular” and I certainly don’t classify myself as that. I AM very aware that I have awesome and loyal readers and commenters AND I AM SO DAMN GRATEFUL FOR IT LIKE YOU CANNOT BELIEVE, but it doesn’t mean that I am not critical about myself. On those down days when I over-analyze everything I start writing “The List” of things that are negative.

Wanna peek inside my feelings of inadequacy? Here you go:

I have never been asked to review one product, go on one paid trip, drive a car around, write for any kind of blog/newsgroup/blogging magazine or speak about blogging at any formal blogging function save the one where I was a total asshat and ended up saying someone was pretty much the equivilent of a dirty, urinal whore. (Good thing that just made me go up in her estimation, huh?) I am not a channel editor, award winner, nor do I even consider myself a good writer. I just count myself blessed that I have a quirky enough life/personality to have the following that I do because I use CAPS! EMOTICONS!! EXCLAMATION POINTS!!! And as my English major friends will attest, very inadequate grammar skills.

Book deals, Camp Baby, Feedburner buttons with subscriber numbers, Technorati rankings, television interviews, write ups in major newspapers, coveted guest postings, Stumble reviews, Twitter followers, convention speaking, and howmuchisyourblogfreakingworth, I could go on and on and ON about the things that I think I am inadequate at or have been excluded from that good friends have been privileged to enjoy. And it stings and sucks sometimes. I am so genuinely excited and thrilled because all of them truly deserve it, but (again) I am human and want to participate, too.

Last year when everyone was preparing to go to BlogHer 2007? Even though I was happy for those going I also wanted to make badges that said, “I’m NOT going to BlogHer 2007 and you all can just BITE ME!”

I hated that I wasn’t going and hated how jealous I felt of those who jetted off to Chicago. So, I made a plan. I worked and saved. I reached out to people that were going. I joined the BlogHer Network and have done everything I can to prepare. I am proud that I am going and it is a dream come true for me so I am writing about it. I know that this will probably hurt some that feel how I did last year, but I would hope that they would also be understanding about how hard I have worked to go and let me be excited and write about it. I wish I could take you all with me (although that would probably be uncomfortable for my very awesome roommates.)

Most bloggers have many more failures than successes. Also, don’t take it for granted that awesome things just “Happen” to bloggers. You may not know the full story.

I fail much more than I succeed. Look at the above section, for Pete’s sake. Not that I haven’t had some successes with blogging, I have. I would be sad if I hadn’t because I invest a crapload of time and energy into it.

I was written about in my local paper (No CNN or New York Times for certain) for making a blatant ripoff of Matt Harding’s Dancing Man video. I made an ass out of myself by dancing around Cache Valley. Weirdly, people loved it. Yes, I am the world’s WORST DANCER and yes, I misspelled “Blatant” in the opening credits. Awesome.

One awesome bloggity pal asked me to guest post in her stead (STILL one of my favorites, ever) and I’m listed on Alltop. Guess what, though? I wrote and asked to be considered. I wasn’t just noticed and thought the world of and included. I wish that was the case (and it was for MANY) but nope. Not me.

I wasn’t even formally invited to the Alltop/Kirtsy party being hosted during BlogHer and I’m on the freaking Alltop list! It’s embarrassing to admit but it’s the truth. I could have gotten hurt by it, but I just wrote and asked if I could crash and they were very lovely and said everyone was invited, so it is all good. I am going to go and have a wonderful time.

I get rejected all the time. Pointing to a specific example listed in the anonymous comment, Black Hockey Jesus does not reciprocate my following on Twitter, either. There could be loads of reasons for it and I could drive myself crazy at wondering why, so I just don’t. However, if you call him a little bitch he will apparently adore you, so you may want to give that a try. Heh. (Untwist the knickers, people. I’m quoting him.)

Bloggers are human. (Even the really popular ones.)

Everyone has the same 24 hours in a day to work with. Everyone has varying levels of time that they can put into blogging and despite the fact that you may read every syllable that a blogger publishes or even email them or tweet them to death, you can’t know the how’s or why’s that go into why or why not someone does or does not read you or comment on your blog.

I used to read and comment on the blogs of everyone who commented on Looney Tunes because at the time I was capable of managing it. I am sad that is no longer the case. I may and I may not read you. I can’t read everyone as much as I GENUINELY would love to, even if it was just to make everyone feel as happy as I do when someone reads me.

I think that I am like a lot of people who blog. I have different, mostly unknown, reasons why I read the blogs that I do. I also change them frequently and lurk much, much more than I used to. In fact, I am considering dumping the whole Google reader thing all together and starting off fresh. I don’t know. I have been thinking and pondering blogging balance and how to achieve it for a long time. I am not alone in this.

So much of it is just an issue of time. Truly. I have had to cut way back on my online stuff to tend to in my real life stuff. I am sorry if you feel neglected and I need to stress that I try my best. I am so bad at so many things like emails, comment response and even thanking people for the lovely things that they do and send me. Boo on me! Truly, though…I don’t mean to hurt anyone.

Every blogger out there was a “Newbie” once.

Not having readers can suck a duck. Some people really are fine with it and either turn off comments or just find an inner peace that they write for themselves. (I am not one of those people.) However, with some exceptions, pretty much all bloggers start at the same place. Where you have no readers except for a handful of people that you have to force/bribe/promise your firstborn to to get them to read your blog. I went months and months with my sister Linny and faithful friend, Karen as my only readers and commenters. Hell, even Dooce started out talking about a carton of Carnation milk and I am pretty sure that no one was clamoring to read THAT post when she hit the publish button.

It’s human to want to be noticed by people you admire.

I am not going to lie and pretend that I am not thrilled to my very tip tippie toes when a blogger I admire that has a big following actually notices that I exist. I wish that I could say that I am immune to it but I would totally be lying due to the fact that just this morning I ran in circles like a rabid dog on meth screeching, “She likes me! She likes me!!” when a huge blogger that I adore and thought maybe, MAYBE might have my name ring a bell when I tackled her at BlogHer and that want to totally make out with on a regular basis wrote me an email telling me that she loves my blog despite just being a lurker.

(She obviously doesn’t mind humungo run-on sentences and over abundant use of parenthesis.)

I realize this may look like bragging and I don’t mean it to be. I would not mention it at all except to illustrate the point that I can totally be a star-struck DORK when it comes to people whose work I admire. DON’T YOU ALL REMEMBER WHEN I TOUCHED AIR SUPPLY?????? I’m human, so shoot me.

All bloggers are not equal, despite what the fairytale says. You may never get to be one of the A-listers. And to survive and keep blogging you have to be ok with this to some degree.

The words and writings of some bloggers carry more weight in the blogosphere. That is just reality, friends. It doesn’t mean that as a person they are worth more than others, but I can’t make the blogging world into a Marxist fairytale where all bloggers have the same status.

There may not be a “CLUB” but there are bloggers that are DAMN AWESOME and they have buttloads of people who read them that think the same thing. To pretend that there are not “A-listers” out there is as stupid as thinking that they are all condesending writers that are incapable of paying attention to people that don’t have equal readerships. (Not to say that it doesn’t ever happen.)

There are ALSO some bigger blogs that are popular and I really have no idea WHY or HOW that happens. Hell, NO I am not going to link to them. For one, obviously some people love reading their stuff and I don’t want to insult someone’s taste and two, I do not have an internet-drama DEATH WISH.

This is just a reality that everyone has to come to grips with and to find a way to deal with it in their own way or you will make yourself miserable.

It will probably never be enough. At least some of the time.

Humans are not meant to be stagnant-very few can stay in one place without continuing to reach or strive to other levels. Blogging is no exception. If you have a 100 readers, at some point you will probably want 200. If you get 20 comments on a post you will aim to get 50. This is not a bad thing. Having goals is good. It makes people grow and succeed.

Like most things, just try to keep it in check because you also want to be happy where you are and have fun.

There is downside to popularity.

Your mother was right about that. With more traffic and exposure comes, well…More traffic and exposure. You have more obligations, more people to care about, to worry over, to email, to read, more haters, trolls, and people who can be so fugly and suckass in their comments it would make your eyes bleed and your skin fall off from the scathiness of them.

Your words can be mocked and patronized. You can make people so damn angry over the slightest comment or opinion. It can get ugly to the point that you are scared to write ANYTHING and agonize before hitting the publish button for fear of who you will piss off.

The bigger you are, the more weight your words carry and the ramifications of an opinion and how you state them can be effing HUGE. (NOPE. Not specifically TOUCHING THAT ONE. Enough has been said already eleventyBILLION times over.)

Friends and family can get hurt or irritated or angry and sometimes it can get to the point that you don’t recognize who you are writing about because you feel like you can’t write about ANYTHING for fear of fallout.

It isn’t fun. No, not at all.

Luckily, this isn’t constant and most people learn to suck it up and deal and create boundaries pretty damn fast about what they are comfortable writing about.

Still, be careful what you wish for.

At some point, Loralee will run out of finger strength,lose her balance and fall off the soap box, or just get to the damn point and finish this ass-long post, already.

The point of all this VERY LONG rambling is that we are all in this together and you aren’t alone. Everyone has jealousy. It is to what level you allow it to reach and what you do with it that matters. Just don’t let it get out of hand.Take action, do what you can to remedy the situation, talk to people about it! If you are having jealousy to the point of it really causing problems, that sucks. Mainly for you, because that is the person it will ultimately hurt the most.

“The jealous are troublesome to others, but a torment to themselves.” -William Penn, Some Fruits of Solitude, 1693.

P.S. No matter how hard you try or want them to? Some people just AIN’T GONNA LIKE YOU. Sorry, but again, a reality you have to face. Just try to realize that is humanity and appreciate and love on the people that think the sun shines out of your ass, or if worse come to worse-that can tolerate speaking to you in five minute increments.

P.P.S. If none of the above advice works, just exclaim to the internet that you have magical boobies. Totally worked for me.

*In conjunction with today’s post on blogging jealousy, there is nothing quite like having your Technorati ranking plummet almost 200 points in ONE DAY.

Ouch.

What was supposed to be a quickish trip to drop off my nephew and see some bloggity friends became a trip fraught with difficulty and awfulness due to a broken down car. I had to drive 30 miles an hour on the freeway and even though I had my hazard lights on I was screamed at, sworn at, flipped off and had a 44 oz. soda cup thrown at my window.  It was also 105-degrees and I couldn’t turn on the air conditioner AND my glasses broke.

Wow, has this whole thing suckasuckaSUCKED.

The good news is that I had people that were around to help me out. Fun, lovely people that make me laugh and also helped forget I was pretty much stranded and stuck in a flaming bag of poo on the porch of a situation.  Maddie, Jon Deal and Sarah graciously let me tag along with them around Salt Lake and Sarah put me up for the night and I managed to find a mechanic that specializes in VW’s.  Plus, I have accommodations until my car is fixed.

The bad news? It will cost me NINE HUNDRED DOLLARS to fix the timing belt and O2 sensor on my car. Nine HUNDRED dollars.  Right after moving.  Right before BlogHer.

Ouch.

I would write more (OH, would I write more) but my internet access is fairly limited and will be so until I get home sometime on Wednesday night.

Pardon the loud, booming sound. That was my brain exploding.

I got my bag from Bluefly.com today.

The UPS guy drove up just as I was starting the hideous task of de-jungling my yard and flower beds. Jonathan’s birthday is on Saturday and he has opted to take his geeky self and several of his geeky friends down to his office to spend the whole day and night with their geeky computers all networked together to play endless amounts of geeky computer games.

Not MY idea of a fantabulous birthday, but since I don’t have a million and one Leathermans, flashlights, phones and other forms of geekary attached to my belt at all times, I know that I “Just don’t get it”. It’s his day, he can do what he wants. I just want him to be happy.

As I will be kid-free that night, I will most likely be curled up with a good book or movie and possibly a vat of cookie dough, but you didn’t hear that here.

Back to my yard.

Since Jonathan is turning 32 (YES. HE IS OLDER THAN I AM, OK? He loves calling me “Mrs. Robinson”. We are not amused.), I did want to celebrate his birthday at some point. We have good friends that grew up with Jonathan visiting from Virgina and since we wanted to get together with everyone we just decided to throw a BBQ on Friday to celebrate both events.

Which means our first outdoor party of the year.

Which means I don’t just have to clean my house, I also have to get my yard ready. Which is not easy. My trip to Minnesota (and my inadequacy of dealing with my life-suck) has put me WAY behind on my yard. The biggest problem has been with our mower. It has been at the shop since the first thaw and so my yard has been HORRIBLE. The weeds in my area are crazy bad, too. It took a very long time, some serious swearing and about 3 herniations to get the whole project done.

I swear I thought I was going to find Jimmy Hoffa amongst the weeds in my back garden. GAH! I managed to get the 200 lbs of Sienna red chips scattered, all the flowers planted and my herbs potted, and made sure that all half acre of the lawn was mowed, even though it means that I am going to need to take eleventyhundred Aleve so that I can walk tomorrow. Although, since I also had a rehearsal full of the Charleston combined with tons of frantic house cleaning, I REALLY don’t think that there is much chance of that. I am in bucketloads of back pain and I can just imagine what a night on my suckass bed is going to make me feel like in the morning.
Back to my yard. Again.
All through my gardening process, I kept eying my box from Bluefly. I left it on the porch as a visual reminder that I had something AWESOME waiting for me. Call it a, ‘Don’t stick the pruning clippers in your eye, Loralee. Just finish the damn garden so you can open me!” pep talk if you will.
I finally got the last of the weeds thrown in the wheelbarrow as it turned officially dark and then went inside to guzzle water and open my box to see my new purse!!!!

DUDE.

Total disappointment.

It’s…Boring. And stiff. And the leather is nubby, which you can’t see in the photo and which I hate. The ruffles look stiff and awkward instead of feminine and it just isn’t something that I really want to spend a hundred bucks on, even if it was 60% off.

AND…it was designed by JESSICA SIMPSON.

I think that last tidbit was the final nail in the coffin for me.

It’s so disappointing.

It’s SO being sent back.

Roughly 700 people received an email saying that I was “Searching” for them from reunion.com. I was fiddling with the site today to upload a “Then” and “Now” photo, mainly to assure the world that I no longer had orange, double-processed hair and massive amounts of fatty layers embedded on my face.

I mean, LOOK AT ME:

See?

If YOU looked like this on Senior photo day, you would want a public record that you no longer resemble an obese version of that squeaking muppet, Beeker, too!

Then, the satanic site reunion.com asked me if I wanted to check my email account to see if I had any friends registered. Stupidly, and with the decision making process of a three-toed sloth, I thought, “Sure! Why not?!”, and I allowed it to upload my account.

You know how the process normally goes, right? You can do this pretty easily at Facebook and Myspace and the like. You import your email contacts and it allows you to see who has an account, then you can mark them as a friend or not and ignore the message that says, “Invite your other contacts to blah.com” because you would NEVER send unsolicited invites to people about that sort of thing.

No harm, no foul, right?

Wrong, wrong, WRONGITY-WRONG!!!!!

I had a million things going on this afternoon, and I am to blame for not paying closer attention, but not only did reunion.com upload my entire contacts but it AUTOMATICALLY EMAILED EVERY FREAKING ONE OF THEM saying that I was basically stalking them on the internet.

Anyone here use Gmail?

You do?

Then you know that Gmail automatically saves every.single.email.you.receive to your account.

Like, EVER.

That would include not only people that you know and email but it also includes all the people listed on things like forwards and mailing lists, so you have people you don’t even know stored in your contacts list.

So?

I ended up sending this crap to former professors, almost everyone I have ever worked with on my parent organization, The National Enquirer (You know, from that time I sold them photos off of this blog),extended family I have never met, the co-founder of BlogHer, former co-works, bosses, ex-boyfriends, and most wonderful of all–relatives of ex-boyfriends who consider me a stalking psychopath ANYWAY. (Not that this would add fuel to THAT fire or anything, right?)

I bumbled out a rambling blanket apology to all 700 people saying how sorry and embarrassed I am and that I am basically thinking of spending the rest of my days hiding in a burka and living in the Australian outback, but the fun doesn’t end there. Apparently because of said apology sending I am now LOCKED OUT OF MY DAMN GMAIL ACCOUNT FOR SENDING TOO MUCH EMAIL!

It’s so grand that Gmail thinks I’m a spammer. I am also having such fun with the tons of bounced email messages that my account is wracking up.

Happy, happy, joy, joy.

(Oh, and apparently I also might cause all of you to be on vast lists of spam because I suck further for not BCC’ing and provided a juicy spam list to the masses. GAH!)

What a headache this has all been.

I loathe you, reunion.com.

I really do.

If anyone needs me, I will be curled in the fetal position in my bed with an entire tub of chocolate chip cookie dough and a couple of Velveeta cheese slices. (And a Diet Coke chaser or four.)

Ug.

Scene:
Posh, local gym, Dressing area

Time:
Immediately after ‘Boot Camp’

Cast:
Our heroine (That would be me), two elderly HARPIES, one mute, anemic-looking girl who sniffs CONSTANTLY and wipes her nose on her sleeve.

Action:
Having forgotten to put a spare bra and underwear in her gym bag, our heroine decides to go commando and bra-less rather than consider putting back sweaty, girly-gunked underthings on her freshly-showered body. Since she is in layers, no bra is actually needed and frankly, the other option is just GRODY.

Suddenly, a smug voice pipes up from behind her.

Harpy #1: “It certainly is a different generation from when I was raised. We never went traipsing around without all our undergarments. It implied you were racy. In fact, the one girl in my school that never wore a girdle was fast, but she was from California.”

Mute, anemic girl: Sniff…

Harpy #2: “Parents were more responsible then. WE were more responsible as parents. I can’t imagine raising a girl who would go around with her BOSOMS flapping in the wind for all the world to see.”

Mute, anemic girl: SNIFF… (Wipe)

Harpy #1 “Yes, we were certainly raised better than people today.”

(That was it. The final straw. Normally, our heroine has a spine made out of string cheese and with the exception of one teeny incident at a gas station (In which she was also bra-less. Coincidence?) she abhors public confrontation. She even has issues sending her food back at restaurants. However, she is also raging and angry and is also a bit “WTF? Is this for real? Seriously?”, and the SNIFFING is driving her over the EDGE. Something must be said.)

Heroine: “You know? My mother taught me to respect my elders, but I have to say that what I wear on my naked butt is NONE of your business. Y’ALL DON’T KNOW ME! (Oh, yes. Yes, I did actually say that.) And? My mother also raised me to not speak about other people rudely. Especially WHEN THEY ARE RIGHT IN FRONT OF YOU. I am sure my mother would prefer me to have my “Bosoms flapping in the wind” ANY DAY over being so publicly awful!”

Mute, anemic girl: SNIFF! SNIFF!! SNIFF!!!

Heroine: OH, GET A TISSUE FOR THE LOVE OF ALL THAT IS HOLY, WILL YOU?!

Ok, that last part was in my head, but the sniffing really didn’t help matters. The rest of it was dead on. Word for word. I still cannot believe something that archaic happened. It’s just foreign to me. The people I know that are their age are all kind and awesome.  It was just weird and it felt like I was in an episode of the Twilight Zone or having an encounter with Rachel Lynd from the “Anne of Green Gables” series or something.

I grabbed my things and left angrily. I didn’t even notice how they reacted. I just drove home feeling pissed off and wished for the eleventyhundredth time that I could grab a Diet Coke to calm me down and comfort me. (Five weeks, people. FIVE!)

Oh, well. At least I didn’t want to vomit my bowels out and die during boot camp today, right?!

P.S.

In case you ever wondered?

Dry shaving your legs is as EVERY BIT as bad an idea as they say.

Just so you know.

After my son died, I struggled with severe depression, acute panic attacks, PTSD (Post traumatic stress disorder) and basically felt like aliens had captured me and sent me to the mother ship for about three years.

I lost so many things in my life during that time.

Including, “Me”.

I don’t know if any of you have ever had your life destroyed so completely that you don’t even feel familiar in your own skin anymore. You don’t recognize the person staring back at you in the mirror.

That was me for a very long time.

My problem is not an issue of chemical-imbalance. Anti-depressants only exacerbated things and the massive amounts of anti-anxiety and sleeping medication they gave me only clouded an already compromised rational and made things much worse. Therapy made me feel broken and horrible about myself.

I spiraled slowly down and down until it hit a horrible stop.

I quit every medication I was on and I stopped thinking about going to therapy about a year ago.

(I know therapy is a good thing for many. However, because of the way that I think and filter things, thinking about the process and what I was exposed to made me feel like utter crap about myself. After I let go of the idea of needing therapy and that I need to “Fix” myself, I finally felt a lot better.)

It’s only been the last year and a half that I have really started to feel like myself.

Things started to slowly get more manageable, and in the tiniest steps, my life began to right itself.  It started out with small glimpses and every time that I would have a moment where the old me shone through I was so happy. It happened more and more until here I am today.

I am grateful that many of the things that I lost at the time were not lost to me forever.

Even though I am throughly familiar with the reflection in the mirror, I am not the same.

I will never be the same.

Part of me died with my boy and like him, will never come back.

Still, I feel familiar. I recognize me. I react to things more like I used to.

Just when I got used to driving on a fairly well-paved road, the bitch that is life threw a big-ass pothole in my way.

I’ve been struggling a bit lately.

I have so many projects not done (Hello? My freaking links page for one) piles of emails, I have hardly been on blogs and I just feel perpetually behind. I have been struggling with some relationships where hurtful things have happened. I don’t enjoy things as much, struggle with motivation and I have been more emotional that usual. Things are just a bit more overwhelming lately.

Yesterday, after a perfectly AWESOME day full of family and friends and new aprons, I had reason to go somewhere that I hadn’t been in years…since I was in my bad place. I shouldn’t have gone.

First, I wasn’t in a great place to begin with. I had had a weekend full of a lot of difficult things and was in a bit of a fragile mood. Even though I was with a friend that I love and trust, being in that environment, with those smells and memories, set off one of the worst PTS episodes that I have ever had.

Up until that point, I hadn’t had one in about a year and a half. I can even see red ambulances on siren and be ok, which was a bit feat.

If you have never seen or experienced a PTS episode, it isn’t pleasant. There is a lovely description of PTS and what it involves, here.

It was horrible and I was a mess physically and emotionally. When I think that I used to have these episodes on almost a daily basis I just don’t know how I made it through. I’m not sure why this one was so bad. Maybe my masochistic subconscious is just trying to make up for all this peace of mind I’ve been having lately.

The aftermath of it has been difficult.

It’s been a rough day…I’ll probably have a few more until I’m over it. Luckily, I have good things scheduled with my family and my friends (Hello? Project Runway Finale, anyone? I totally want Christian to win.) so I know that I will have loved ones around. My friends and family have always been the thing that helps more than anything. They are always a comfort.

Still?

I’m scared.

What if this means that I am going back to how I used to be?

When you are in the clutches of things like these and you break free, having a setback is terrifying.

I don’t want people to overly worry, here. I am not on the verge of crazy, I will not go postal at the CVI luncheon today, and I am doing many things already that I know will help: Vitamins, exercise, eating well, etc. etc. etc. (THREE AND A HALF WEEKS DIET COKE FREE, THANK YOU VERY MUCH!)
I don’t even know the point of writing this. I don’t want people to worry. I am not whining or asking for sympathy (or god forbid, pity) or even understanding.

It’s just…

I never want to go back to where I was before.

Never.

Let’s talk about social anxiety for a moment, shall we?

More specifically, let’s talk about MY social anxiety for a moment. Those who may think I am superfab, may want to read this whole ass-long entry and be educated in one of the realities of “Being Loralee”.

On Sunday, I was invited to participate in a blog reading with 10 other fabulous people (All of whom are funnier than I am. Seriously.) It was appropriately titled “Live Blogging Thingy ‘08″.

Here we are, from left to right:

Barnson, Sra, Carrie, Sterkworks, Jon Deal (Who I snagged these photos from. I am lame and left my camera in my purse.), Pete, Me (The anxiety-riddled Amazon), Sarah, Miss Pants and Singing Cicada

Looks fun, no?

This mic had incredibly good sound quality and pickup.

That doesn’t look so bad, right?

Wrong.

Before I begin I have to say that this reading was the HIGH point of the day and that I did have fun and a good time. (Promise!)

To understand, you need to hear about how my morning went before I even got up to the pulpit to speak. I have a hard time meeting new people. Especially when I am on my own. This was also the first “Big” thing I faced without having a can of Diet Coke in my hand. I know that sounds lame but as I’ve said, I feel like Linus sans security blanket.

I started off fighting with my spouse, which never puts me in a grand mood. I thought I left Provo in plenty of time to get to downtown Salt Lake. Not only that, but I alloted for “Down Time” to find a quiet corner and review my readings, put my notes in order and take a few deep breaths before going into the presentation.

That was before I came to the conclusion that the Universe considers me its favorite toy to eff with.

First, I got pulled over for going SIX MILES over the speed limit. I was also chastised for my gas door being broken and part of my front fog light grill missing. I was beginning to think that he wasn’t really a cop, but one of those people with fake badges and uniforms that get women to pull over because of some trifling thing and they end up ravaged and dismemebered in multiple hefty bags in a landfill somewhere.

He didn’t even give me a fix it ticket or written warning.

It was very bizarre.

When I left, I was so rilled that I got off on the wrong exit and then became totally lost. Not difficult to do when you have the directional sense of dirt. I seemed to get more and more lost, when it happened. I hit a pothole and my non-Diet Coke drink spattered all over the front of my shirt.

FRICK! FRACK!

What to do?

I finally found a gas station and asked for the location of the nearest on ramp. Turns out I was near Nordstrom Rack. I could write a whole post about how much I love this store, but that is a post for another day. Not wanting to risk the chance of getting lost again finding a lesser known mall location, I decided to try and find a shirt in there.

Bad call.

NOTHING FIT.

NOTHING.

Everything was either staggeringly expensive or too dressy or too tight or too hideous or too sheer and too dark to wear with a white bra.

GAH!

There was one shirt that kept catching my eye. An adorable white button down with the cutest puffed sleeves. It would have looked better with a sweater vest, but it was adorable.

The only one I could see was an extra small.

NOT.

The very flustered dressing room attendant was getting rather annoyed with my back and forth changing at record-breaking speeds. Who cared if I screwed up my hair, I had to find something to clothe my naked body.

Still nothing.

I checked my phone and saw that I had 20 minutes to get to my reading and I was still blocks away.

I made my way to the front door, resigned to show up at this event even if it meant wearing a soaking wet shirt that made me look like a nursing mother in the middle of a lactating accident, when I saw it. A peek of white puffed sleeve sticking out of the jacket section of the men’s department.

It was the shirt! In a size medium!

I didn’t even try it on, just rushed to hurry up and wait to be checked out by the cashier that was being trained.

I got into my car and raced to the library. Miraculously, I found the parking complex and changed in my car. If anyone was in the library parking lot and saw a half-dressed flustered chick in a Volkswagon Passat wagon, I’m really, really sorry.

Looking in the salty reflection of my unwashed car, I noticed that the shirt was a bit too snug and see-through, which added to the overall feeling of new, discomfort and anxiety.

Then I got lost in the library (Directional sense of dirt, remember?)

The place is huge, there were no maps and no one was available at information and I rode four different elevators to try and find someone. The only person I managed to find was the homeless guy with a slush puppy that kept getting on every elevator I was in.

By the time I found it, I was well over 15 minutes late and they were already on the second speaker.

My mouth was dry, I felt nervous, sweaty and shaky and this feeling increased when I realized that the final page of one of my posts wasn’t there.

Crap.

I scrawled down as much as I could remember on the back sheet and when it was my turn to get up to the podium, I was a freaking MESS.

My choice of selections kinda sucked. I mean, I am very proud of the entry I read about the woman in the grave next to Matthew’s, but let’s talk about bringing the room DOWN.

And my second? It was the piece I wrote about Matthew McConaughey on Friday. It wasn’t my funniest piece I’ve written by far, but I truly just didn’t have time to comb through and select a piece. I was baking fattening French food, remember?

THE WORST?

I LEFT A PAGE ON THE CHAIR NEXT TO MY SEAT.

Not the one that was missing in the first place. ANOTHER ONE.

So? I had to pull out a good 3/4ths of that post out of my ass and make it sound like I was reading it. I’ve been through lots of things like that on stage. You HAVE to learn to fly by the seat of your pants or you are DOOMED. It was kind of a blur, but I lived through it despite my throat being as dry as the Salt Flats. (I obviously failed to notice the bottled water placed so kindly on the table.)

The thing is? I usually have a dressing room to have an emotional freak out by myself afterwards.

Here? I had to meet lovely, charming people while in a state of mid-level anxiety.

Dude.

What is the worst, is the aftermath. The thinking and the analyzing on the way home. Because that is what I do. I have social encounters and then I freak out and analyze what went down and then post my shame for all the world to see.

Here are a couple of examples:

One blogger (Who shall remain anon for the time because I didn’t talk to her about writing this conversation) came up to me and said, “I wanted to pipe up and say that I like Matthew McConaugheyBECAUSE he is dirty! I think it’s a turn on. When you said you wanted to scrub him down with Lysol and a loofa I turned to my friend and said, ‘I do, too!’.”

To which, I answered some total piece of crap mumbling like, “Well, I guess it’s because when I think of him I’m picturing him as a boyfriend or husband and he’s just skanky. Maybe I should step out of the box and picture him as a dirty, whorish, one night stand to find him attractive.”

Hours later (You know, during the analyzing freak out) my mind translated that statement into the following:

“I am a pure, judgmental person who would never even fantasize about anyone outside of a monogamous relationship. Since you fantasize about “Oily Boy”, you are obviously a total whory slut who has one night stands standing up by the urinal of some random airport restroom, you slutty urinal whore, you.”

GAH!!!!

I kinda want to stick my head into the earth.

I open my mouth and lame things just pour out of it.

I’m also concerned that I may have come off as being slightly homophobic because when I was flying off the seat of my pants I am fairly certain my wording sucked and could have been misunderstood.(Which, please for the love of EVERYTHING be that not the case. I would die.).

I also rambled. OH, how I rambled.

Why can’t I keep my freaking mouth shut? Or at least train it to say non-stupid things?

When I left, one of the bloggers called out after me and we rode down the elevator together. By such a huge coincidence, the same homeless guy that I shared the last four elevators with was in the same car.

My conversation with my blogging acquaintance was very random and stuttered. I have learned to at least ATTEMPT to keep my mouth shut before unleashing anxiety and words over people. However, it’s still like plugging up a leaking hole with your finger. You may succeed at holding back a torrent, but water still seeps out.

So, what came out pretty much sounded like this:

“Argument…lost…shirt…drink…ill-fitting…cleavage…see-through…no maps…No Diet Coke…Linus without blanket…elevators…homeless-guy.”

(Tip: People LOVE this. Try it some time.)

My evening wrapped up by having decaf coffee with my friend, Rachel in Ogden. It was nice to unwind, but I’m sure I wasn’t much entertainment for her after my day.

In the end, I DID have a good time, really. I had a lot of fun and laughed at the sheer wittiness of some of these bloggers. All these people were so lovely and kind and funny. It was a blast, I just wish I had been better prepared. I also wish my social anxiety would disappear. It is much better than it used to be but MAN, does it cause me needless stress.It wasn’t nearly as bad as it has been and I know a lot of it was due to external bizzarness of things out of my control.

Still…

I need to chill the hell out.Anyone else do this? The social anxiety freak out?

Does anything that isn’t in pill form help?