There are a lot of people in Midtown Manhattan. I live in New York, so you think I would have remembered that.
I got out of the subway yesterday at Rockefeller Center, and descended upon the Hilton. There were about a zillion tourists and about 14 different conventions going on. Okay, I exaggerate a little - but you get the picture.
I'm not the greatest planner. I skimmed the Blogher newsletters that told you what was going on and where everything was. Do you think I remembered any of that, once I hit the sea of people, at one of the busiest hotels, in one of the most populated cities in America? No. The answer is no. So I basically walked around in a confused stupor, trying to remember what exactly I was trying to accomplish. I got my badge, and headed toward the expo to retrieve my coveted Blogher tote.
This is one of the first things I saw:
How do you feel about getting old. Really? I just got here. Why are you thrusting deep metaphysical questions in my direction. Answer: not great. I don't feel great about getting old - it sucks. How do you feel about fucking off, giant cardboard taunter? I stopped, and answered "optimistic" (lie), and made my way to the swag.
Swag. Overwhelming. I get overwhelmed easily and just figured I didn't want to carry any of it. Until I heard they were giving away vibrators. I made a bee line for the Trojan booth. I got to the front of the line, and gave the dude my media kit. It is the only one I gave out yesterday. He pulled out one vibrator, and handed it to me. Then he started talking about some of their other products, and pulled out the super vibrator with 3 interchangeable heads.
Him: Do you want this one, too?
Me: I want all the vibrators. I mean, yes. I do. Thanks.
Procuring the vibrators put me in a good mood, so I decided to give the expo hall another chance. I happened upon a manicure booth by Kiss Nail Dress, and grabbed some samples for my step daughter. Maybe I shouldn't have just grabbed them, because a girl approaches me and says, Fill out our survey, and we'll give you a gift bag! I'm feeling a little guilty because I've probably taken more than they give out in their gift bag, so I take the survey. I get to the results screen, and it says something like, You are older... I stop reading at that point. How in the hell does this computer know I am older? I said Rihanna was my style guru, for Christ sakes. (Not true, but I didn't know who the other two options were.) Mood ruined. I head to the bar. The real bar, in the hotel lobby, because I want a martini.
I sit at the bar and have a martini. I pay for the martini. It's $21. Holy crap. I head to the People's Party.
The People's Party is a room full of people that seem to know each other. I know no one, so I pick a table with an empty seat and join that group. The universe loves me. I sit next to Funky Brown Chick and Jenn motherfucking Pozner. Jenn Pozner! We talk about sex and politics and take pics like long, lost BFF's.
|Jenn Pozner and Funky Brown Chick|
|Guerrilla Mom and Jenn Pozner|
Funky Brown Chick confirms my lifelong suspicion that the vaginal orgasm is a myth. Well, not really, but she agrees that they are harder to come by. My night has taken an awesome turn. I walk into the hall and see Scary Mommy. Scary Mommy! I freaking love this woman and can't believe I get to meet her in person. She is the coolest woman ever, and gives me her cell number in case I feel overwhelmed by the next day's activities and need to text someone. I resist the urge to beg her to leave the whole convention behind, and paint the town red with me. I can be cool when necessary.
This post is getting too long, and my son needs some attention. I'll quickly say I ended the night hanging out with Somebody's Parent, who is adorable and fun, and cut the dessert line with Good Girl Gone Redneck. Yay, churros! Then I met Deb Rox and Mama Non Grata, whose talk I will be attending in a couple hours.
To sum up - Blogher rocks. And, yes, I'm old - but who cares.