I am very, very much looking forward to BlogHer.

But fuck, I will be so glad when it’s over.

I don’t know when this conference (for some) and vacation (for most) and opportunity to meet people we all wish we had coffee with everyday (for all), became the next big fucking orgy but I’m just about over all of that. Sure it’s cute at the beginning. Now? Over it. Not “above” it, just over it.

People try too hard.

Oh goodness, with the trying too hard. I see it every. single. day. I see the ass kissing. I see the “teehee we have a secret reallysuperclose frienship and reallyfunny(nooneactuallygivesashit) inside jokes but we’re going to just make all of you feel stupid about it by tweeting nonsense sentences that mean something to one person who may or may not be seeing it but lets confuse the fuck out of the rest of you and hope that you envy us and our super duper awesome and exclusive only to us” bullshit.

Over that too.

Lest I be called a hypocrite, I’ve probably been guilty of this at least once. I never said I was perfect, just almost. And probably a little more than you. But either way.

~ Exclusive Blogher parties? Are stupid. I only know of one (Nikon party. Which, holy fuck I wish I had an invite to it because I have a love affair with my Nikon but what do they care? I’m just a CONSUMER. *cough*) and I think it alienates people when companies do that. Go for the RSVP, first come, first serve type shit. You snooze, you lose. Or even better, get a fucking booth and show your shit off to a hell of a lot more people, some of which might actually have money to afford your product. Because I don’t. But I want to look at the pretty new stuff tooooooo. And dream. Oh, the Nikon wet dreams….(btw, I don’t really need you to explain the purpose of an exclusive party. I’m not a child or an idiot. kthanxbai)

~ Hi. I’m Miss. I write this blog. I want to meet you. Yeah, you, reading. I want to meet you. I want you to say “hi. I’m *fill in the blank*. I read your blog. I follow you on twitter (but you don’t follow me you bitch)(I’ll follow back right then and there, technology lets me, promise).” Give me your card, or a scrap of paper with your URL. No, I don’t want your fucking sponsor’s card. Get that BS outta my face. You want to take a shot? Let’s do it. Pictures? Fo Sho.

~ I’m going to BlogHer to meet people. To cement certain friendships that I hope stay in my life forever. Confirm things I’m learning and have been learning in the last few weeks. There are two “conference” things I really want to see. I want some free shit. Most of all, I want to have a good time. I don’t want drama. I want laughter. Any situation that becomes complicated, or maybe if there’s an awkward moment when something that maybe should have been mentioned a week before but wasn’t and now its happening and whoops —- ah. Stop right there. I’m walking away. All that shit? You’ll be talking to my back because I don’t care now that it’s happening, now that you’re having your freak out moment or even lack of. We should probably just carefully pass one another and not say much. Because I’ll probably end up out smarting you with my words and no one wants that. I sure don’t. I hate drama. Drama is for people with uninteresting lives, looking for an excuse to feel important for even a minute.

~ Oh hey guess what? I’m packing skirts. And sundresses. And maybe 1 sexy dress. And threadless tees. Tank tops. And jeans. And sandals. And shoes that make my legs look good. I’m also getting a manicure/pedicure/and wax on Tuesday and a trim on Wednesday. Why? Not for you bitches. For me. Because I like to wear clothes I feel comfortable in. I like to have neat eyebrows. I like to have bangs that don’t hang in my eyes. I practically need my nails done to function and one of my toe nails has a chip and it makes me fucking crazy to look at. I feel better when I take care of myself and just because I’m not wearing sweatpants all weekend does not make me worried about what other people think of me. If you wanna wear sweatpants, then rock the fucking sweatpants. If you wanna wear designer shit, knock yourself out. Guess what? I can’t tell the difference. I care little about what you’re wearing, except if you mix florals with like verticle stripes or something. Then you’re hurting my eyes and you need to GTFO. Believe me, I’ll be the first to tell you that you look pretty.

Yeah yeah. I’m a bitch. But at least I’m an honest bitch.

And I really can’t wait until Thursday. I just want the weekend to go the way I want it to, with a lot of good memories and even better and new friendships.

Let’s go with the flow. Let’s enjoy each other. Have some fun.

Bring it on Chicago. Let’s do this.

Related Posts with Thumbnails