Cell phones can act as travel vibrators.
Just send your Twitter account to your phone, get on a plane for 4+ hours, turn your phone back on, have it set to vibrate, and put it down you pants.* I’m pretty sure at first count there were 121 messages. Not enough to get a girl off but. . . close.
*I did not actually put it down my pants. I am a lady. (In public.)
At the St. Louis airport during my layover on my way back home to Seattle my waitress asked, “Are your eyebrows naturally thick like that?” to which I answered honestly, “Yes.” Her reply? “You are blessed.” Her comment marked the fifth observation about my eyebrows in as many days.
My eyebrows are noteworthy.
For those curious: I have a really great esthetician. I use an angled brush dipped in brown shadow to fill in the sparse areas. And yes, if you look closely enough, one brow is slightly arched all the time.
And, thank you for the compliment.
$20 ride from O’Hare to the Sheraton? Hell yeah I am on that shit! Except, what they don’t tell you is, they’re cramming you and 12 other conference attendees in a stretch limo. Do not be lured by the word limo because while it might generally denote high class, it is not when you fear decapitation based on the amount of unsecured luggage precariously stacked right behind your seat and your driver wastes 20 minutes exiting the airport only to take you back to the place where he just picked you up. Then some New Jersey blogger rips the driver a new one and you get to watch. BONUS! But then you get stuck in traffic and try not to barf on your Seattle friends from carsickness and arrive with 10 minutes to check in, drop off your luggage and race to a meeting that you are hosting.
You = Me in this story.
Moral? Careful of a discount.
I was born to hail a cab.
Photo credit: Rhi
I do not care about swag, monetizing my blog, tracking my stats to a CIA level, or, it turns out, attending sessions in cramped rooms with insufficient air conditioning and no cell reception. I attended two sessions both of which were lead by bloggers I read/know and they were great. The thing I realized is I already know who I am as a blogger so I don’t come to these conferences to figure that out. I come to meet people and experience the host city. I come to connect.
Okay, fine. I COME TO PARTY.
The amount of booze ingested can directly correlate to the sum of photos shot. For example: 5 cocktails x 1 woman clad in purple dress = 64 photos. Or conversely, zero cocktails consumed x 1 woman clad in black dress = 3 photos taken. Oh who am I kidding? I drank the entire time. Hence, the 374 photos I shot.
Also, if you “misplace” your phone and your camera in the span of 2 minutes it is time to put yourself to bed. Besides, everyone knows that the sixth cocktail always causes me trouble.
Pictured: Nilsa from SoMi Speaks
Where else can you sit at a table eating the most delicious meal of your entire trip with four of your best blog buds, phones in hand, Twittering away and not get shit for it?
At BlogHer, that’s where. #blogher09
Pictured: Kaleigha, Carrisa, Rhi and Kerri
I love this photo.
Someone’s partying caught up to him.
The architectural river tour was AWESOME. Don’t ask Neil. He was busy napping.
If the first you hear of conference “drama” is on Twitter from people not actually AT the conference then you know that you are doing something right. Because I AM A DRAMA FREE ZONE. At least in Chicago.
Wearing a McDonald’s bag as a hat on my head is as close as I will get to actually eating their food. And I’m totally okay with that. Yes, there is an actual party involving cheeseburgers and wearing bags on our heads. We packed a hotel suite to the max and it was The Most Fun. At one point I saw a bunch of beefy dudes walk in and was like WHA?! so I asked them who they were and one guy responded, “We heard there were cheeseburgers and chicks up here.”
Turns out they were a bachelor party.
It’s okay to get a little choked up saying goodbye to your internet soul sister or when meeting your BlogBro and long-time bloggy friends for the first time. At least that is what I am telling myself.
P.S. Kevin’s head taste like marshmallows. You heard it here first.
Having good friends to pal around with made all the difference.
I had a fucking blast at BlogHer and even picked up a few back up dancers.
Pictured: Kaleigha & Kerri