BlogHer's almost here and I'm feeling a little crazy like I get every July. The drumbeat under my feet, the wacko dreams (No, I am not working registration. No, I am not late for the only assignment I have this time. No, I am not traveling to California via ZipCar. No, I did not sleep through my final exam. Simmer down, brain!)
You will not find, from me, any advice posts of any kind. I can sum up my BlogHer guidelines for myself in basically a line or three:
There are as many BlogHers as there are people there, so now there will be approximately 3,000 BlogHers. Neat! Don't have anyone else's. Have yours. If you want to sit in a hallway and feel persecuted this year, knock yourself out, self, but that's not the best path to self-actualization, for real.
Likewise, don't blame anyone else if your BlogHer sucks. Give credit, sure, if you feel like it. A little bit of credit is always nice, and God knows if I have fun there it's mostly because of some other people. You're in charge. You really are, I promise.
Have fun. Please have fun.
See? Done. And those are all just for me.
I go every year because it's just my thing I do. I am psyched every time and I have fun every time, in different ways. I love my friends from the Internet, and I love San Diego, so this year is shaping up to be pretty great, fingers crossed.
(Sure, I hope I end up on the chocolate and Champagne yacht, but those people haven't returned my email and even if they don't? I can get my own damn chocolate and Champagne and drink it in my room with people of my choosing and that'll be just fine.)
But I really started this rambling nonsense to say that I'm getting the urge to do this again:
(My roommate emerita Genie took this at the Tattoo Factory in Chicago, BlogHer 2009. I am multi-tasking. I'm a little bit impressed with me, only because this means I didn't fall asleep.)
Genie won't be there this year, and I'm sure she'd internally freak out in San Diego just like she did in Chicago when I decided on a whim as I unfailingly decide most big things that I'm going to have permanent ink injected into my skin. It's just a thing I do. I haven't gotten anything for my 40th birthday yet like I planned, so I have two weeks to figure this out if I want to do it while I'm in California. I know damned well that Sarah won't have any part of this activity because this is one of the major interests we do not have in common (so much so that she may well have had to look away from that picture.) Maybe Mr. Lady and Redneck Mommy will accompany me?
Or maybe they'll just take ice from a hotel room bucket and numb up my nose before they pierce it. Hard to say.
This is a really long-winded way of saying I need my 40 tattoo. I wasn't sure if I was finished or not. I'm so not. And what this has to do with BlogHer and San Diego and my friends and ice buckets and rogue piercings, well, yeah, I don't really have an answer for that. But I promise it all kind of makes sense in my head.
(And if you're that person from Twitter who told me a few months ago that I should work out my midlife crisis in some other way, please know that I've had approximately 87 of those already, and they generally result in me sitting on my couch eating seven popsicles, drinking medium-grade Spanish blend and listening to Lodi on repeat. The tattoos are the fun part.)
If you'll be in SD I'll see you there. And I'm open to ideas for art.