Have Job, Will Grumble

Waking up for work in the morning is never an easy thing to do. I think it must be at least 11 times harder when you haven’t done it in 11 months.

After starting a new job earlier this week, I was reminded of that unwelcome gut punched feeling first thing in the morning when you realize you really, REALLY can’t go back to sleep this time. No matter how (very) tired you may still be. No matter how much (5 hours) more you could sleep if given the chance. No matter how much you can think of nothing but doing this:

for the rest of your life. You simply cannot. You must awaken and you MUST get this party started.

The first thought that enters my brain each morning that I wake up at 7:00 am is “Ugh. Seriously?” followed by: “Urrrrgh… this is fucking brutal.” then: “I can’t do this somebody please kill me kill me now.”

What makes it all the worse is the fact that it’s September (BLARF!) and this brings back all sorts of crippling memories from the ghost of 1st week back to school past…

***

It’s the RIE*RIE*RIE*RIE*RIE*RIE*RIE*RIE*RIE*RIE*RIE*RIE*RI_[lazy two finger click] of 5:45 am, followed by the RIE*RIE*RIE*RIE*RIE*RIE*RIE*RIE*R_[irritated palm slap] of 5:54.

It’s the staring at the ceiling in utter frustration and anger from 5:54 and 6 seconds – 5:57 while slowly facing the reality of the responsibility that awaits you; brushing teeth, getting dressed, walking around places and making sounds come out of your mouth all the while trying to look cool and seem normal enough not to become a social pariah at least for one more day. Truly horrific shit…

***

Finally managing to pull myself off of the mattress is at once one of the simplest and most difficult tasks I will encounter all day. Get past the point of actually laying down and you’re golden. Unfortunately, it’s usually not until around noon before I actually start to feel good about the decision I made this morning. The time leading up to that is pure and total hell full of doubt and remorse and daydreams about sleeping while simultaneously eating, watching television and reading internet gossip. Of course, by 2:00 I can’t help but feel irritated that it’s NOT 5:00 yet so it’s really just a ceaseless nightmare.

At least it is for me. For others, waking up is the least of their problems.

Wii Crazy

In an effort to not be such a flaccid, slovenly ball of flab for the rest of my existence I decided that now was as good a time as any to start working out regularly.

It has not been easy.

I used to enjoy taking hour-long walks through my neighborhood where I probably only burned about a Twizzler’s worth of calories but I enjoyed it nonetheless. Plus, I regard it as a considerable feat when I manage to leave the house at all. Ever.

Baby steps, friends. Baby steps…

Since the New Jersey landscape has been little more than a wasteland of snow and ice for the better part of a month and a half, taking leisurely and physically unproductive walks has been out of the question.

Instead, I decided to dust off the ol’ Wii Fit that had been lying quietly dormant since well before we moved into our house in December ’09. Stepping on that bad boy after all that time was humbling. To say the least…

In an effort to shed the extraneous 10 pounds that I have been nurturing and oh so sweetly laying to rest at night with each bowl of ice cream and fistful of peanut butter pretzel bites devoured I realized I needed to do something. Like, NOW.

The Wii Fit can be fun, which is probably why I’ve stuck with it for the past few weeks. It can also be incredibly frustrating and shaming. Still, I suppose I prefer being laughed at by a computer than by actual people after they’ve seen my superfluous muffin top spilling out of my stretched thin spandex leggings at a public gym.

What I find to be especially cool about the system is it allows you to log any additional activities you may partake in to gain fitness credits for the day.

Since I can really only do about an hour on the Wii Fit daily without wanting to punch the tiny ponytail off my “trainer” I usually supplement my regime with some ball-busting aerobics which really amps up my activity log.

That being said, I was pretty surprised at what Nintendo classifies as credit-able activities, especially under their examples of “Light Activity”:

I figure if “Laundry” counts as legitimate physical activity then I could come up with a few of my own and give myself points for each of those I manage to accomplish:

I suppose I’ve spent enough time on my butt writing this so I’m outta here so I can go full-throttle on that last one…

*****

BONUS MATERIALS:

It is quite possible I have a seriously perverse cat. I might expect a dog to eat the crotch out of a pair of leggings but a cat? Seriously? GAH.

I can cook. Just not very well.

me: Oh, thank GOD you’re here.

the bee: What happened?

m: I think I may have ruined the chicken.

b: What makes you say that?

m: I’m not sure if I cooked it long enough.

b: How long did you cook it for?

m: About 15 minutes, but it feels raw to me.

b: Should we really be feeling it?

m: I think so.

b: Well, when you cut it open is the chicken pink or is it white inside?

m: It’s white but I tried some and it felt like raw in my throat.

b: *raises a concerned and skeptical eyebrow*

m: Should it be white on the outside too? Because it doesn’t look very appetizing…

b: Steff, it’s fine. It looks exactly the same as when I cook the chicken.

m: You’re just saying that. I won’t believe you til you try it.

b: Ok. (Takes bite and chews for an inordinate amount of time to eat a reasonably sized piece of chicken)

*gulps* It’s… good.

m: *waves arms in a defeated and hysterical manner* Oh my GOD! Somehow I’ve managed to make it both raw and overcooked. I’ve ruined dinner! It’s a disaster.

and poison!

b: You just need to relax. This is not a disaster and it’s not poison. It’s chicken.

m: *mumbles under breath* poison chicken…

b: *sideways glance*

m: Well?

b: Maybe…

I’m *back*?

The only thing I’ve been able to write in the last month and a half seems to be in the form of lists. Grocery lists, holiday shopping lists, lists for thank-you cards that needed to be sent out a month ago. Those sort of lists. I also wrote this list so that’s something too.

I guess.

Then I started to think that was a part of my problem. I was using list-making as a crutch and couldn’t get creative unless I just stopped making them. So THEN I think to myself: “What is the OPPOSITE of making lists? I KNOW! A photo montage of my cat depicting the events that have unfolded since I last wrote here!”

And here it is:

Things were blurry at first…

Actually it was like that for a WHILE…

So I thought I should look for guidance from the great wise window…

But I didn’t really like what it had to say so I got outta there…

And decided maybe it was best if I just sat back and relaxed for a bit instead…

Even still, It was undeniable that I was a bit blue…

So I looked toward the fire for comfort…

But I soon tired of that, so I took a nap…

After so much sleeping, I had become paranoid so I thought it best to hide…

But then I felt guilty so I chose to ease my mind by getting some work done…

Until THEY showed up…

Which only served to make me MORE paranoid. So it was back into the box for me…

And then, before I knew it… It was CHRISTMAS! I love Christmas. Very tasty…

All was well until I realized that Christmas isn’t all about joy and the deliciousness of tiny fake trees. Sometimes it’s just humiliating…

I guess it’s true what they say about nothing being easy…

and I’ve still got a helluva long way to go.

HAPPY CAT-YEAR ERREYBODY!

See you soon?

I Can’t Write. Right Now.

I think about things to write about and then I think about them again.

Eventually I over-think it all until my thoughts and ideas and plans for written creativity are nothing more than over-processed pulp lying uncomfortably under the magnifying glass of my ever scrutinizing eye.

I like to write. I do. Better yet: I want to like to write. For a while now it’s felt less like fun and more like this is some daunting task that I must complete. I will near episodes of total breakdown before I finish a post and after I’ve poured my heart and soul (and usually countless hours) into it I just feel exhausted and doubtful that it was even worth all my tireless efforts.

I blame this on my being OCD. By the time Wednesday (because for whatever reason, the crazy in my head tells me that if I’m only going to post once a week then it’s got to be on Wednesday. Uh huh. Yeah…) each week rolls around I start the mental melt-down process where I panic about what I’m going to write. It almost always starts to come together; usually at the last-minute, but it gets done, nonetheless.

When I was working I needed this outlet to quell the mania that was sure to rise were I not to find some outlet to plug it into. My job was a vehicle for my unhappiness and in efforts to avoid a crash course for total self-destruction I would find solace in the written word. It wasn’t any easier really, probably a lot less so, but when I had something accomplished on my blog then I felt, at the very least, well – accomplished.

Nowadays, just being on the internet gives me a case of the howling fantods and I look for excuses to do anything else: Toilets need a-cleanin’! Who’s for a round of scoopin’ kitty litter?

The internet has lost its charm for me. At least for now. Don’t get me wrong; when it comes to the people of the internet I don’t have a problem. In fact, I love a lot of the internet folk I’ve come across in the short amount of time I’ve been active in this “blogger” function. It’s what the internet does to people (myself so totally included) that I don’t like.

Facebook and Twitter and Flickr! Oh – No.

Since I’ve had some time away from an office cubicle I find myself having more time to do the things that I never had time for in the past: going for walks, reading books, spending time with people (in real life!), cleaning more often than every other month, organizing my life (that’s the OCD again) and more than what the tasks are, it’s about the fact that it genuinely makes me happy doing them.

I feel like all this might sound a lot more dramatic than intended. I also feel like this is sounding more like a note to myself than to anyone else but I suppose it just is what it is.

I don’t really know what this whole declaration means other than I’m stepping back for a while. Indefinitely? I don’t know. The holidays are approaching and I must say that I anxiously await them, more so than I have in a long time.

To put it simply: life’s priorities have changed for me. My focus has shifted elsewhere for now and I’m just looking forward to a new adventure.

Wherever it takes me.

On Books And Their Covers

The other day a friend of mine sent me a text saying she had been reading my blog and enjoying it. She mentioned, in particular, the post I did recently which featured my passport photo taken in highschool. Since she attended the same trip the photo was taken for she remarked that it reminded her of when we first became good friends, which made me smile.

Then she said that before we were friends she always thought that I thought I was “too cool for school”. This also made me smile, just not for the same reason.

I told her that I was pretty sure she was right about that. The more I thought about it the more I started to understand the purpose behind my chilly exterior of long ago. Then I realized that I probably still carried around that same demeanor depending on the situation which meant I couldn’t really blame it on the foolishness of youth.

***

When I started my freshman year of highschool I had absolutely no friends. ZERO. I went from a public junior high where I had my safe little group of like-minded comrades to a Catholic prep school where 90% of the kids got a brand new car on their 17th birthday and where I had to muster up all the strength within me not to self-destruct when my mom would pick me up in her white ’89 Ford Bronco ala O.J. Simpson.

I was going through a very rebellious stage of my life. Within the year I had gone from being an only child, to a full-time sister/babysitter. My close-knit circle of friends and extracurricular activities became distant memories of a life that I once knew but had a hard time grasping onto now. I went from being a comfortable and somewhat well-adjusted youth to a melancholy shadow of my former self, thrust into a world of the torturous unknown.

I spent the first few months of school avoiding people, which meant steering clear of the cafeteria altogether. Instead I opted to spend lunch and any and all free periods I had in the library. Alone. In a corner. Reading something, ANYthing so as not to die of embarrassment for being the lamest of all the lame loser’s in all the land. I was embarrassed at how badly my life had spun out of control and there was very little in the way of safety or familiarity in anything to give me comfort.

I ended up becoming friends with a girl who I had spent most of junior high despising. I’m pretty sure the feeling was mutual though neither of us ever had the nerve to bring that up. We found solace in our outsider status and chose instead of being miserable alone to do it as a team. Together we smoked & drank and convinced ourselves that it was everyone ELSE who had the problem. That THEY were missing out for not knowing how cool WE were.

At the end of my freshman year, I was really no better off than I had been at the beginning. The one friend I made, moved away at the end of the school year when her dad got transferred. In retrospect it was the best thing that could have happened. Ours was the Paris Hilton/Nicole Richie (circa 2003) of friendships; less about being good friends than not wanting to admit how alone and desperate we would appear without the other.

The summer before sophomore year I turned over a new leaf.  I decided it was much less important to be aloof and unreachable and decided to make these changes on both the inside and out. I bleached my hair as blonde as it would let me and chose not to concern myself with the prospect of having or NOT having friends. This new attitude suited me very well and it didn’t take long before those who barely acknowledged my existence prior, started to actually pay me mind.

Although my outlook on life (and hair) had brightened a bit I really wasn’t any different from the person I had been before. I still refused to buy into the typical highschool bullshit; kissing the asses of some and snubbing others just because. It didn’t feel right and I knew my new-found “popularity” (in quotes because I was really by no means popular, just less wildly unpopular than I had been before) had little to do with anything but outward appearances so I continued to tread warily around those I hadn’t fully sussed out.

There is no doubt, due to this type of behavior, that I might have come across as a little rough around the edges initially. In fact, another friend of mine confided that before we became friends how she thought I looked as though I had “throwing knives for eyes” when we would pass each other in the hallway. Not entirely sure I know what that means but I’m thinking it’s not good. My personae became my bullet proof glass and the only way I knew to protect myself from the firing range of viciousness and cruelty that was a highschool hallway. Or gymnasium. Or cafeteria. Or parking lot.

Nowhere was safe.

***

I still feel like that.

A lot.

Not as much as I did as an angst-ridden teen but most days I still find it hard to locate a place where I “fit”. I’m a homebody for good reason: it’s safe there. Home offers me comfort and solitude and it’s filled to the brim with the things that I love. Nothing at home makes baseless judgements about me or ridicules me behind my back for the way I talk or dress or think. My home welcomes me back inside everyday even when I leave it behind for hours or days at a time.

Home is the one place where I can put away the pretense, the mask, the look of indifference and just be me and whole again.

Whoever that is.

It’s not anyone’s fault but my own that I’ve been categorized as a bitch or mean or a loner at one time or another. There is a time and a place where all those monikers ring true. I’d like to think of myself as multi-faceted but if I do that probably means some of those facets are going to be less than desirable. Those who had the nerve to tell me how they perceived me are my friends for a reason. They saw a glimmering crack in my exterior and instead of kicking me aside they chipped away to find something unexpected, something they liked.

To those who did, I thank  you. I’d REALLY be a friendless loser if you hadn’t.

And to those who still read this blog despite the questionable content and lapses in comedic judgement, I thank you too.

Y’all are awesome and A-OK…

in my book.

The Quest for Perfection Only Leads to Despair

Growing up I longed to have green eyes like my grandmother. I thought by having green eyes I’d be just that much better: prettier, confident, more likeable. It’s not like I had a PROBLEM with brown eyes in general, just the fact that I had to have them. I wanted to be different and unordinary and in my immediate family filled with eyes of brown, their presence became my oppressor.  

In the 8th grade I wore a pair of disposable purple contacts for almost the entire school year. I wore them long after their life-span until they were yellowed and itchy. (There’s a really good reason they’re labeled as disposable.) I didn’t care though. I suffered through it because I wanted to be just that much closer to my idea of personal perfection.  

It was also around this time that I bought my first straightening iron. With that discovery I was taking great strides toward finding my “best” self. One without kinky-frizzy hair overtaking my head and face. Now I had the sleek and smooth strands that it seemed all the rest of the world had without struggle.  

i was making "sexy-face" in this picture which is WAY more embarrassment than i'm ready to deal with just yet...

I soon learned that all these methods of “improvement” were really just a means of trickery to hide my own self-loathing. For the moment I would feel better about myself because it was like I had duped mother nature: “Haha, bitch. Look at me now! I’m AWESOME! No thanks to you… ”  

living the lie

But contacts must come out at night (unless you want to peel them off your eyeballs the next morning) and at the slightest hint of humidity, even the most fastidiously flattened hair will curl when confronted with moisture. It’s physics. Or something…  

After years of fighting my ocular pigmentation and follicular genetics I decided to toss the lenses once and for all and chop off my hair. I no longer had to worry about spending hours on my tresses or what might happen to it if exposed to certain elements. Extra hold hairspray and Bed Head wax were my good friends and little, if anything, could permeate my super coif…  

giving the camera my best "jerk-face" and Ronald McDonald a run for his money

It wasn’t too long before I began to miss my long hair and all the hassle it had once caused me. Talk about indecisiveness. I just couldn’t figure out what it was that would make me happy with the way I looked. If it wasn’t my hair bothering me then it was my jiggly thighs, chunky arms, convex belly, excessive body hair, et al.  

I began to realize that something had to give. Since I was kind of stuck with my physical attributes no matter how much it des-troyed me to accept, it became clear that something had to be me. I had to start being happy with what I did have and not focus so much on the flaws.   

Isn’t it less plausible that “perfect” people are not without flaw themselves but rather that they refuse to let it ruin them? Food for thought…  

I know I’m not covering ground-breaking content by saying all this. I think most sane/living people have this revelation at one point or another otherwise they end up insane/dead. Since I’m not all that keen on joining the latter just yet, it became clear that I had to start thinking highly of myself* otherwise I couldn’t expect anyone else to.  

I mention all this because for most of my adulthood my “career” has existed in complete opposition with this theory.  

Instead of looking for change inside of myself I kept expecting each of my jobs to hold the answers to my professional pursuits. I never had a good idea of what it was I wanted to do when I “grew up”. I figured with enough time and effort put forth I could shape my job(s) into something that would last the test of time, make me happy and secure. Clearly, this never happened.  

I have never had a job that I wanted. I have only had work that I needed. For the last 5 years I have had 3 jobs all of which I have taken on out of sheer desperation. The need for money has always been the determining factor in seeking employment; my personal needs from a job have always taken a back burner because of this.  

It’s not that I think my story is all that different or all that much worse than anybody elses out there. We have all hated our jobs at one point or another. We have all faced workplace injustices and convinced ourselves that we deserve better than (because in my experience we usually do) what our jobs can offer us.  

The difference is this: I’m not playing second fiddle in my life anymore.  

When I started at my current job, 3 years ago, I was definitely bright-eyed and bushy-tailed. I was eager to please and willing to take on ANYTHING that was up for grabs. It was never a means to be a show-off or better than anyone but to prove, mainly to myself, that I was a hard-working, fast-learner who would rather be busy at work than twiddling my thumbs, clockwatching and praying for day’s end.  

I won’t bore you with the specifics now since I’ve gone into quite elaborate detail about both my rise and fall from grace at work before. I will, however, say this: There was a time when I thought I could make my current job work for me. I envisioned an almost perfect future for myself and my family given the opportunities this job could afford me. I considered myself lucky for having a job that some people work towards and look forward to having their whole life.  

It didn’t take long for me to realize that my quest for “perfection” in a career path I hadn’t really wanted was only leading me to despair. I needed to be happy and if I couldn’t feel that way with what I was doing then I had to be the one to make the change because lord knows the job wasn’t going to just start getting better. I had to learn to accept imperfection from both life AND myself.  

It certainly hasn’t been easy but I’m not about to give up.  

It’s been incredibly hard for the über practical person I am to commit to taking such a risk. To embark upon a chapter full of the unknown has left me riddled with questions in search of answers:  

Q: What if I quit my job and then CAN’T just CANNOT find another job and I have to shuffle back with my tail between my legs begging for employment?  

A: That’s not going to happen because the fact of the matter is that job is NOT right for me. I’ve done my time there, worked my butt off and if it comes down to absolutely needing money I WILL find another job; full-time/part-time/whatever it takes. Even if it means I must take a considerable pay cut, as long as I am happily living in the moment and satisfied by my way of life then that’s all that matters.  

Q: What if I find myself completely unable to handle the prospects of self-employment/entrepreneurship and all the hardships/inconsistencies that are involved?  

A: Then I get myself another crappy corporate job somewhere else and hope it’s not as bad as the place I left behind except I can’t imagine ever being that desperate because I’d rather have sold off all my personal property and/or sell oranges by the freeway than go back to cube-hell. (15 internet points if you can correctly identify the origins of the probably imprecise, definitely pilfered orange quotes!!!)  

Q: What if I realize I’ve made a terrible mistake and the 9-5 corporate life really is for me?  

A: Not gonna happen. Not now, not never. Just, NO.  

I will never be perfect and, moreover, do not wish that for myself anymore. Perfection is boring, stagnant, tepid, flat and EASY. That’s right, the quest for perfection is a pursuit for the easy way out. It always has been for me, anyway. Looking perfect makes it easier to get by, you don’t have to use your intelligence or personality as much and that’s just sad. Working the perfect job is also easy because you will likely never feel the rush of a real challenge, the thrill of seeking out something new and unfamiliar.  

I’m not looking for that anymore. I’m looking to live the shit out of my life.  

Starting… NOW.  

So, if you’re looking for a hard-working, smart-mouthed, wannabe writer/blogger extraordinaire, cat obsessed, manic-depressive misanthrope… I’m totes your gal. 

*My definition of thinking highly of myself fluctuates often. One day thom could mean: I am the effin’ cat’s pajamas! I totally rock at life and I’m going to conquer the pants off of the UNIVERSE!!! Give it another day and thom sounds more like: At least I’m not the biggest heinous-faced loser on the planet. Probably…

I went to BlogHer and all I got was…

a(n all TOO) close encounter with irritable bowel syndrome, an inflated inferiority complex and my period.

Before I get into the moment by moment break down of my conference experience I think I should first preface this post by saying any and all general negativity derived cannot really be blamed on any one or thing other than myself.

This experience taught me, if nothing else, that I am not a particularly good social networker, either on or offline and although I think I might possibly one day be an a’ight blogger, I will never be anything close to an “elite” persona because it’s just. not. me.

I am pretty sure my perspective of the conference was different from that of most attendees. I didn’t stay at the hotel or attend any of the keynotes or parties. 

Because of this?

I’m pretty sure I missed out on a large chunk of the experience. Again, nobody’s fault but my own. From the beginning I wasn’t really interested in attending parties or the immersing myself in the overwhelming social aspect of this event.

In retrospect, I guess that was my first mistake since so much of BlogHer is about hobnobbing and gettin’ down during off-hours.

*sigh*

Let’s do this shall we?

I start Friday morning off fairly well. I get up, have my coffee, get dressed and I’m actually out the door ahead of schedule!

We-ow!

My main goal is to attend all the available sessions so I can gain as much how-to-be a better blogger tids and bits as logistically possible.

There is a welcome breakfast followed by something called “Speed Dating, BlogHer-style” that I’m not all that keen on making it to NYC in time for. Knowing what I know now, my lack of interest in activities such as these should have probably been an early sign to me that I wasn’t going to get as much from this conference as countless others BUT I’m stubborn, so on we go…

Everything is going according to plan, I’m in the car driving up the turnpike, listening to a little Rilo Kiley for inspiration and good vibes when ALLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLL of a sudden… my innards start shouting Mayday! and I have nary a floatation device at hand.

If you know what I’m saying…

I’m talking this is the WORST and I do mean The. Worst. stomach pains I’ve ever had so far away from a toilet in-my-entire-life. I don’t have much recourse here but to take deep breaths and pray to a god I’m not so sure gives a shit about my GI problems.

The severe pains persist all the way through the Lincoln Tunnel up into Manhattan.

Have I mentioned that at this point I have fallen a bit off course and I’m now stuck in traffic on a street I shouldn’t have turned down in the first place?

Because I am.

So I get to the Hilton with some time to spare and I ruuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuun to the bathroom where next to nothing happens. That’s right. Next to nothing. Let’s leave it at that. So whatever, I’m still on schedule and I didn’t crap my pants.

The first session is O.K. Kind of vague and over-generalized and initiate my feelings of inferiority in this particular atmosphere.  It’s at this point where I first start to fear that: I do not belong.

Lunch feels like something out of the first day of highschool; shuffling my way into a large room cautiously glancing about for the sight of a familiar, or at least non-hostile, face.

I begin to feel as I often do when stressed and unsure: not hungry.

After lunch, or as I had – half of a 1/5 of a sandwich and 2 pieces of watermelon, I skip outside to partake in an activity often used as a crutch, security blanket or just plain god-awful but for whatever reason, unavoidable, addiction: smoking. I’m not proud to say that I still use cigarettes as a social tool but I never said I was perfect. Anyway, thank GOD for smoking because that’s where I start to feel the natural ease of fraternization return.

I often use the term organic when referring to situations that unfold in a natural, unforced way. I hate being fake or feeling fake or pressured to “perform” in order to adapt myself to large social settings.  I’m not in the business of getting people to like me under false pretense. I am who I am and unfortunately (for me) that means I’m not all that marketable, at least not to those who aren’t willing to break through my crunchy exterior and the find the warm and gooey mess that lurks beneath my crackly shell.

Try not to take that last part too literally…

I did meet one person who seemed up to the challenge of my (apparently) prickly personality though I doubt I made a huge splash with most of the other folks at the conference. I’ve always been that person who is often pigeonholed as snobby or aloof when really I just hate small talk. Is that SO wrong?

Ugh. It is isn’t it?

So, instead of fitting in or making friends right off the bat, I usually come off as a strange awkward alien or I just make unintentional enemies. The honest to god truth is that of the (very few) people I am still friends with since my childhood I can’t think of a single one who upon first knowing me who just did NOT like me. Then again, I am a shitty friend so, I guess I fooled THEM!

foolish, FOOLISH, sucka...

So day one is over and I leave feeling at least a little better now that I had found ONE person who seemed to not want to flee in terror from my presence. I get seriously lost on my way back to the Lincoln Tunnel due to my having absolutely NO sense of direction (thanks, Dad!). I finally make it home, just a lot later than I should have.

Day two’s drive is EXPONENTIALLY better than day one, with no almost-exploding-bowel-syndrome or inconvenient slow-motion tours down 7th Ave.

On a Friday.

During rush hour.

Because that was fun.

I meet up with my new friend for a smoke before the first sessions of the day and already feel better than I did the day before.

*objects in this picture are not as close as they seem. (i'm pretty sure my camera was on 20x zoom or, as I like to call it, super-stealth-stalk-mode a.k.a. i'm way too embarrassing to actually go up to her and ask for a real picture so this will have to do)

I attend the session with Jenny the Bloggess, mainly because I think she’s cute and hilarious and a complete and total inspiration to me as both a blogger and a humorist and she proves to be all that and more. She is probably even more cute and funny in person even though I never thought it humanly possible or particularly fair to the rest of us. There are numerous times she has the crowd lol-ing in their seats and at one point I’m thinking someone might misconstrue the literal SCREAMS of laughter for screams of slaughter.

Apparently no one else was all that concerned…

As far as day two of the conference, this is the highlight of my day. Aside from lunch, that is. The rest of the sessions leave me feeling *kind of* depressed. I begin to feel more and more out of my element as the day wears on and being that it’s the bee’s birthday my mind is most definitely elsewhere.

I swear that in writing about this experience it was not my goal to bad-mouth or bash BlogHer. It just wasn’t really the right fit for ME. Had I been a bit more immersed in “the scene” or been a mom, or more of a business oriented woman of tomorrow, it may have been more impactful. In a good way. Instead I just felt like I didn’t belong. It wasn’t until Saturday afternoon that I discovered this thing called “Birds of a Feather” where you sign up on a list to sit with/meet like-minded bloggers.

Had I known about this sooner, I probably would have exchanged a lot more business cards…

All in all it was a learning experience and I did walk away with a lot more knowledge than I had to begin with but more than anything I learned that I just don’t belong with the BlogHer crowd. In a few years time? Perhaps. I think I would benefit from a smaller blogging offline network, one where I wouldn’t feel like SUCH a small fish in an all-encompassing ocean of internet experience and clique-ish-ness.

Ohhhhhhhhhhhh yeah. I went there…

I want to wrap this up by saying that in almost every way BlogHer lived up to the expectations I set around it before I ever set foot in the Hilton. I knew it would be clique-y and miles above my head technically and professionally. The problem that I had was BlogHer didn’t exceed my expectations, which I had so hoped it would and probably all of us hope will happen no matter what situation we’re thrown into.

And, yet again, whose fault is this?

***please point fingers in direction of computer screen***

I B Freakin’

A few months ago I wrote about how I was still on the fence about going to BlogHer ’10. Long story short, I spent so much time straddling that damn thing that I missed my chance completely. Early bird registration came and went and then so did all the regular priced tickets. I figured it just wasn’t meant to be and even though I signed myself up for their waiting list I was secretly happy that I wouldn’t have to shell out a few hundo for the event.

As more time passed I started to think maybe my saving myself the money hadn’t been worth all that I would miss at the conference. As much as I’d like to envision myself as a Dooce or a Bloggess in 10 years time, I don’t know the first thing about blogging for bucks or even blogging all that well, so if I ever wanted to chase that dream, this was my chance.

As they often do, the fates aligned and I got my chance at BlogHer redemption. Reading through blogs (as I am wont to do during the work day) I came across a post that Mayopie wrote, offering up his 2-day conference pass that he no longer needed. Maybe BlogHer ’10 WAS meant to be after all! After a few days of back and forth emails the pass was mine and I was one step closer to world domination.

Given all that…

Can somebody please tell me why the reality of all this makes me want to upchuck my lunch?!

BlogHer is about 3 weeks away but already I feel like I’m going to be my normal awkward, anti-social self who will wish she could turn around and go home the minute she steps into the Hilton/find the darkest loneliest corner to hide in until it’s all over and OH GOD! What if somebody tries to talk to me?! Yaaaaaaaaaaaaghhhhhhh! but, Oh NO! What if NOBODY talks to me?!!! Waaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaahhhhhhhh…

How big of a mistake have I made by signing on for this thing?

I just read through the BlogHer ’10 “Checklist” of things to bring and things to do in preparation and let me tell you, it’s not making me feel any more relaxed. Especially the part about bringing a “Business card with your blog’s URL and/or Twitter handle”.

BUSINESS CARD?!

Why didn’t I think of this sooner?

Ugh.

I read a post that Schmutzie wrote on tips to consider when creating your business card which was actually quite informative but I’m at an impasse: what the hell kind logo do I create for my card when I can’t even decide what kind of blog it is that I have here?

Am I a personal blogger?

Yeah, kind of. I talk about my life to an extent but I don’t really get into grittier topics for good reason (Hi there, Mom! Dad! Gramm!) and I do hold a lot back that I would most definitely share if I were slightly more anonymous. I’ve got some killer stories that will forever stay on the shelf because some of the people involved actually read this blog and I’m not in the business of hurting anyone’s feelings or alienating the few friends I have left.

Am I a humor blogger?

Eh… maybe. SOMETIMES. Though I think some of my funniest stuff is often times unintentional.

Good thing? Bad thing? You tell me…

Am I a photo blogger?

On occasion. I like to take pictures and all but are there people out there that DON’T? Doesn’t that kind of make everyone a photographer? That’s a lot of competition, yo. How the hell do you make yourself stand out with that?!

I dunno. Maybe I’m over-analyzing all this and intensifying the negative (that is what I do best, after all) but in the year or so since I started blogging, I have not found a way to appropriately “brand” myself. Maybe it’s because I hate labels and trying to fit things into neat little compartmentalized categories even though I will still try to do it because of my own obsessive need for order.

Have I mentioned that being me is AWESOME?

The more I read about successful bloggers the more I hear that one of the biggest pieces to completing that puzzle is to find your unique niche or brand so you will stand apart from the rest. But what if you can’t? Does that determine imminent failure from the start?

I’d really love to hear some feedback on this subject. Are YOU going to BlogHer this year? Have you ever attended a BlogHer or like-minded conference? Are my biggest fears irrational at best or am I totally in the right for freaking the fuck out over this thing?

Split Ends

Driving to the supermarket after work yesterday was the first time in a looooooooong azz time that it felt that spring might be right around the corner. Despite a (now dirty) smattering of snow accumulation upon the ground, the weather was balmy and warm for March, at almost 60 degrees.

You know the smell of the air when you can tell the seasons are changing?

That’s what it smelled like yesterday.

It reminded me of lazy late afternoons spent after school would let out, laying on the floor of my childhood bedroom, windows open, listening to music and daydreaming. So far, today looks as though it is shaping up to be just as nice. I actually didn’t need a winter coat this morning and instead opted for just a sweater and a scarf.

I’m not sure why it took me so long to figure out, but it wasn’t until living through these past few months that I realized just how poorly cold/dark times affect me. I’ve always had seasonal issues related to my depressive episodes, and I don’t think this year was any exception.

I think the major difference between this past winter and all the others was just how busy I was this time around, making moves and transitioning from one stage of life to another kept me occupied where I might normally just wallow in my winter misery. For someone who doesn’t particularly enjoy hot weather or the beach, it matters little as there is no question that I NEED the sun.

I need fresh air and I need a temperate climate.

Is that so much to ask?

Well, New Jersey?

Is it?!

Summer 2009 was one of the worst I can remember weather-wise. I think it rained more than it didn’t and by the time summer finally got its collective ball rolling, August was winding down and Autumn was already knocking on the door. If you live in Jersey or the surrounding area, you know what I’m talking about. That’s why, while driving around at 5:00 pm yesterday, I could be found sans coat and with the windows down basking in the first signs of Spring, however premature it may have actually been.

This post is kind of everywhere, I know. I’m seriously considering starting another blog, one where I can let my inner fan-girl run wild, post more random pictures (unfortch wordpress is not the best format for photoblogs), humorous nonsense and get all broody and introspective at times because, let’s face it, some days it’s Dr. Jekyll, others? 

Watch the eff OUT, ya’ll.

Mr. Hyde, IN. THE. HOUUUUUUUSSSE!

Since I’d rather not subject people to negative crap, like, ALL THE TIME, this blog will focus more heavily on the life and times of (me) and the bee, as titled. You’ll get words & pictures centered around us and our goings on, life updates, events we attend and general things we do. The somewhat zany, errr manic (me) can be found at the other blog, whose name and location are currently unknown but since I know you’re just DYING to know all about it, I assure you I will keep the updates coming as they progress. For now, things will continue as-is until I can make heads or tails of these prospective changes.

Now. It’s about to get all STUPID up in here because I’m gonna get serious and kind of sappy so that I can just say:

Thanks!

Whomever you are and wherever you’re reading from, I think you’re totally awesome. I’m sure there are like billions of other (much better) blogs out there (just see sidebar for some examples) yet, for some reason, you’re reading mine! Or maybe you just got lost, and wound up here accidentally. In that case:

“Hello, there! How are you? Would you like to sample an American Idol Recap?”

Maybe you’re here after searching for “kinky vampire sex mom” because this one time I wrote about how stupid I think Twilight is and then that led to a follow-up rant and now I am forever on the wordpress.com sex-fetishists radar. So yeah, fetishists are welcome too! I just have to draw the line of welcome at internet pedos & scary stalker types because they are the opposite of awesome, so let’s just go with you not being them and therefore being awesome.

Problem? Solved.

UPDATE:

The above links no longer send you to the articles they reference because I moved all that -ish to another site. If you click the links it will take you to the new site but it is now up to you to search THAT site and find what it is those links refer to.

phew!

I’m sorry I didn’t link them properly but I’m tired and lazy and you probably aren’t even reading this anyway let alone interested in reading those pieces of crap and if you WERE reading and WERE interested you probably aren’t anymore so can someone please tell me WHY AM I STILL TALKING?!!!

PS – i love you.