Archives For Blog Her ’15

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This is the kind of stuff that just happens to me.


This is just like Saturday, when my Ex and the Cute Guy texted me at the EXACT same time. I have to be go under general anesthesia at the dentist this morning, and my Ex texted, asking “Do you need me to drive you to the dentist on Monday?” at the exact same time that the Cute Guy texted, “Are we gonna watch movies tonight?”

And I may or may not have texted my Ex, “As long as you bring that big cock over here for me to suck.”

While my Ex was no doubt jumping up and down because he had just won “Ex wife fellatio lottery,” I racked my brains to come up with the most clever plausible excuse. My gazelle-like reflexes came to the rescue with “Jk.”

I’m sure it would make an exceptional porno movie plot, though. En route to the dentist to have what will no doubt be the most excruciating oral surgery of my life, I just have to have my EX, of all people, put his penis in my mouth. Ooh baby.

But I digress.


I work HARD on my post images. I search for a long time for a photo, one that I’m not stealing from anyone. Then, I upload it to iPiccy which is Photoshop for the artistically challenged.

I then tinker with a gazillion effects until I get the one I want. I’m not a graphically inclined person, so It’s more of me just clicking on every effect going, “Whee! Look at THAT! Ooh, cool!”

Very much like when I was on hallucinogenics in college, holding a cigarette and waiting for the ash to turn green. And then waving it around so it would make all those cool trails in the sky.

And it was really hard to post that picture of myself in this blog, so there’s no WAY I’d use one for a post image! It’s a super cool bondage bra from Nasty Gal, and meant to be seen, but NOT IN THE WORDPRESS READER. (By the way, don’t EVER hashtag your outfit on Instagram with #NastyGal. You’re welcome)

Like most women, I am beseiged with body image issues. STOP – don’t tell me how I look to you. There are a million ways to make a photo look good before you post it online and I USED EVERYONE SINGLE ONE OF THEM. TWICE.

So I was pretty freaked out when I clicked into the WordPress reader to catch up on posts and HOLY HELL, WHAT THE ACTUAL FUCK? I have no clue how that happened. I know if you post a video, it will automatically supersede any image you have as your post image and appear in the reader.

I also know that when you share to stupid Facebook, they just grab whatever image they want out of your post to accompany your story as the thumbnail. It’s damned annoying.

I’ve actually learned how to deal with that, by running the link through something called a “URL scrubber.” I giggle maniacally every time I use it, because “scrubber” is what we used to call slutty girls when I was in high school.That, and “hua.” Not “Hua,” a state in ancient China that was destroyed by the Qin Dynasty.

To fully understand how we used it, for your viewing pleasure, The Ralph Cifaretto Whore Tribute. 

And now, I actually know that because I added this video, it will APPEAR AS MY POST IMAGE! Take that, WordPress, you hua!


But other than that, I’m clueless about all things techie. Hence, the mystery of why the bra shot showed up in the Reader.

When people start saying stuff like,”To optimize your site’s PageRank flow, use special no-index code to tell search engines to not index these pages and add no-follow code for all links to them,”

I just hear “Blerghity blergh de blerghin blerrgh.”

I know, I KNOW! I should have been learning this stuff at BlogHer, but I was too busy flirting with bloggers, Minions, random guys in the elevator, and McHunks serving us the food at the closing party. I have no memory of that last one, but Gunmetal Geisha claims she has photographic evidence. Of course she does.


So, today I will be have to be to knocked out by the oral surgeon lady to carve out my impacted wisdom tooth. She tried for HOURS, but couldn’t extract it and I kept getting un-numb. That’s a redhead thing, by the way. We are resistant to anesthesia. And it’s right next to a very sensitive root canal tooth.

She may just take out both, which pisses me off! I’m the goddamn poster child for dental health! I was 21 years old before I had my first cavity, that’s right! 21!

She’s very mean, by the way. She is short tempered and curt and a sadist and I think she and the lady who wax my vag should go out on a date and bash each other in the mouth and rip each other’s pussy hairs out.


So, hopefully I’ll survive this procedure and if they give me really good drugs, I may even publish again.

Maybe WordPress will just magically make a picture of me in my panties appear in the goddamn reader this time.



Does your blog do glitchy stuff like that? Can you deal with it yourself?
Have you ever had to be put to sleep for dental surgery?  Did they at least give you good drugs afterwards? 
Talk to me. I’m listening. 

mask with color


It would have been problematic to walk around BlogHer with my hair artfully swept in front of my face all weekend.


According to the lady at the waxing salon, Instagram is the best way to network. Evidently, some chick who pours hot wax on my vag is the final word on networking, because I opened my Instagram account the day before BlogHer.

Annnnd, I posted pictures of myself on it. By the second day, I could no longer resist taking selfies with other bloggers. EVERYONE was doing it, and I was stupid drunk just got into the spirit of things.


The first day of BlogHer, I clung anxiously to Quirky Chrissy, who took excellent care of me. She was completely chill about me being up her ass like a suppository. Chrissy is one of the most positive, light-filled people I’ve ever met. Even hungover, her optimism defies logic.

I stopped attending sessions at BlogHer, after sitting through ones that informed me I was violating all “rules” of blogging. My posts are too long, my titles suck, I have no niche, I don’t organize my blog-related files (organize my blog files? I get outwitted by laundry).

I did some networking at the Expo, and found out that although I can’t earn actual money writing for brands, I CAN get paid in dog food. I’m gonna buy a dog so I can finally monetize this blogging thing.


The best part of the conference was not the sessions or the Expo. It was the camaraderie. In my soulless suburban neighborhood, women specialize in haughty standoffish-ness.  At BlogHer, the default behavior is “Hey! Let’s hang out!”


I was very much ME at the conference. And people still liked me.

– I dress like a middle aged rock star frantically trying to beat back death by shopping at Hot Topics.

– I am clumsy. Chrissy and Joules watched me slam-walk straight into a glass door.

– I’m a hot mess who loses EVERYTHING. I lost my wallet (recovered!), my conference badge (got another) and my sunglasses (prescriptions Ray Bans, sadly gone forever.)

– I can be nutty. The first thing I did after meeting Chrissy was jump up and down on her bed shouting “WHERE ARE THE LESBIANS???”

– I say inappropriate things, like, “Okay, I’m gonna go to my room, watch a little porn on my phone and touch myself.”

– I do inappropriate things, like grinding up against the beautiful Ponies and Martinis while dancing at the closing party. She was totally cool about it, even though I held about as much appeal as a kid grabbing on your clean blouse with greasy French Fry fingers.

– I am an incorrigible flirt. I picked up a man in the elevator.

This one needs an explanation, so I don’t sound like a slutty elevator strumpet. I was waiting for the hotel elevator with Chrissy and Joules, deep in discussion about whether testicles are essential, because, you know, that’s a vital topic to discuss in public.

A hot guy emerged from the hotel gym and joined in our conversation. We all bantered in the elevator, and because his chiseled abs showed through his sweaty shirt he seemed interesting, I asked him,  “Are you single?” He was, and asked for my number.

He then exited the elevator on the wrong floor 3 times, claiming that I “made him nervous.” It think it was more that I was wearing this:


me at blgo her




Apparently, when I drink I feel the need to make out with bloggers like Aussa Lorens.

kiss aussa


And Minions.



I’m practically blind without my glasses (which I wasn’t wearing, because that would make too much sense). So I introduced myself to bloggers with my “Helen Keller at the dinner table” impersonation, in which I would grab the badge from around their necks and yank it up to see who they were.

This was how Dawn and I discovered simultaneously who the other was, and SCREAMED at the top of our lungs in the hotel lobby like two hyenas escaped from the Central Park zoo.

Gunmetal Geisha is an enchanting, ultra feminine waif. She captured the whole experience on video but I swear that’s not why I’m saying all these nice things bout her.

I’ve “known” Emily as long as I’ve been blogging, but our friendship was firmly cemented when she proclaimed at the closing party, “If you can’t appreciate the glory of David Bowie you have no soul.”

Usually when I meet someone and I feel like I know them, it’s because they were in jail with me. Lucy, however, I think was my sister in another life. She took off this necklace and gifted it to me:




Molly (A Mother Life) is a funky redhead with a killer Aussie accent, Sarah (est. 1975) is even FUNNIER in person than on her blog, Jen Kehl, techie goddess extraordinaire, of COURSE had an extra phone charger thingey when my phone died.


The closing night party was on Pier 84 in Manhattan. The food was by McDonald’s, but cheeseburgers become ambrosia when a wait staff of all gorgeous male models serves them to you on trays.

As the sun set over the Hudson River, we drank free booze and danced our faces off to old school R&B. In between dancing, l lounged on the grass with the coolest group of chicks ever.

I started the weekend a nervous introverted wreck. I ended it laying on a blanket on the grass, laughing, talking, cuddling with my head in Lucy’s lap, purring contentedly while watching the stars in the night sky.


Writing is how I breathe. However, it can be a very lonely endeavor. I began blogging because I craved interaction. For me, that was my main takeaway from the conference. I connected.

Online friendships are missing a crucial physical component, that of touch. At BlogHer, I was able to hug/kiss/grab/grind/snuggle/hold all the people I’ve “known” online.

The beautiful people who have lived in my heart for a year and a half, became real.


Have you been to a blog conference?  Have you met people you know from the Internet in real life?
What was I thinking with that outfit with my bra showing??   Talk to me. I’m listening.



Most of you don’t know this about me, but I’m an introvert.

I’m brash and outgoing and a real wiseass – yes, I realize this.

Extraversion is characterized by sociability, talkativeness, assertiveness and excitability. I possess those traits. So how can I be an introvert?

Because being an introvert, vs an extrovert, has to do with whether you are energized or drained by interacting with others. I gather my energy from within myself. And if I interact with a large group of people, it takes me DAYS to recover.

When it comes to socializing, I do best with one or two close friends.

In my pre-Suburban Mom life, which was all about clubbing, I had two easy fixes.

One: I was high. It’s easy enough to be the life of the party when you’re stoned on Ecstasy, dancing in your underwear at a bubble rave while strangers rub you down with ice cubes.

Two : Lots of time to charge up before and re-charge after.

In New York, clubbing starts at midnight. My friends used to tease me because I HAD to have a “disco nap” before going out. On a typical night out, I needed quiet and solitude from 8 or 9 pm til about midnight. Then my friends would drag me around the corner to Veniero’s, arguably the best Italian pastry shop in New York, to blast my central nervous system awake with espresso.

These days, to combat my anxiety, or perhaps because of it, I occasionally do bizarre things in public.

That’s how I ended up hotwiring a car the first time I got together with the Cute Guy. Acting stupid helps me over the hump of anxiety. I shield my vulnerability as an introvert with outlandish behavior.


I’ve had a few real humdingers of awkward penguin introvert behavior. I’d like to share them with you, so we can laugh at me together.


Years ago, I was at an outdoor summer party with a crowd I mostly didn’t know. There was this super cute guy there, who was wearing cut off jean shorts with very unfortunate looking frayed bottoms. He was totally attractive, but that fringe? Not so much.

I was a little drunk, and decided the fringe had to go.

I thought it would be hilarious to light it on fire with a lighter. When his back was turned I lit the lighter right under his ass, and gleefully watched the frayed cotton of the shorts go up.

And keep going.

I recognized that I had made a HUGE error and started slapping at his ass. I did put the fire out, but that was after I ran up to a complete stranger and essentially, began spanking him in a frenzy.

The host suggested I go home, after lighting one of her guests on fire. I complied.


Then there was the time I injured two men simultaneously.

I was in a bar flirting with a man who was standing with his buddy. The guy I liked had longish hair, like bangs, that fell over his eyes. He was doing a sexy “flip of the hair” thing that made him seem really artsy and vulnerable.

He turned to say something to his friend and his hair fell in his face. I reached up to playfully brush it off his face. Just then he turned, and I poked him in the eye.

I hurriedly reached my arm up to see if he was okay, and I elbowed his friend in the face.

This is some Three Stooges shit. People pay MONEY to see this stuff. To complete the effect, I should have shouted “Whoop whoop WHOOP!,” sprayed them with ink and scuttled sideways out of there.



So, here are some common misconceptions about introverts:

Myth #1 : Introverts don’t like to talk.

I love to talk. If you get me started about movies, books, music – I won’t shut up.

But football talk makes me want to jump off a high rise.  And small talk – how can you not believe it’s only whatever day of the week it is? Look at a fucking calendar!

I’m also not interested in talking about television shows I’ve never watched. I don’t care if the guy from The Bachelor has more tank tops than everyone at Coachella put together.

I talk plenty. I just don’t care for nonversation.

Myth #2 : Introverts are shy.

I’m not shy.  Going to a party where I only know the host just does not tickle my penis.

I like socialization in small doses. If I’m forced to attend something that requires an extended visit like a wedding, I can show up and function just like everyone else.

I’ll just do it with a constant feeling of, “Holy shit, is this over yet? I just want to go home, take off my bra, and rub one out to a Game of Thrones torture scene on my couch.”

Myth #3 : Introverts are rude.

I’m NOT rude. I like to just be real, which is not always the most acceptable mode of behavior at, say, a PTO meeting. It’s exhausting for introverts to fit in with all the mindless pleasantries that pass for conversation.

I also have no filter and blurt out things that I think are funny, but end up sounding rude. Like asking my son’s best friend’s dad if his new Prius runs on ‘period blood.’

Myth #4 : Introverts don’t like people.

I LOVE people. People who I feel have substance. After dealing with nothing but suburban cheese nugs for the last 10 years,  I learned that my life doesn’t cease to carry meaning because the whole “face-to-face” interaction thing sucks big ol’ floppy horse balls.

Myth #5 : Introverts don’t like to go out in public.

I love going out. I simply prefer my nice, quiet house over the jaw-clinching idiocy of public functions.

Myth #6 : Introverts always want to be alone.

I do need my alone time. I embrace solitude and  get my energy from within,

But I enjoy being with people. I just choose intimate gatherings over large parties and one on one conversations over group discussions. And I’m fiercely loyal to the few people I consider true friends.

Myth #7 : Introverts are weird.

Once every couple of years, some deranged psychopath steals a tank, drives into a mall, and starts leveling the food court, screaming out the names of random elementary school teachers as each fast food booth disintegrates in a cloud of flames.

Of course, the news always describes him as a “loner.” We’ve been so deluged with these “He was an introverted time bomb” stories that we’ve started to associate completely normal introverts with an inevitable madman demise.

I’ve always been an individualist. It doesn’t make me a jackpine savage. I fully admit to being weird, but my weirdness is not connected with my being an introvert. It’s just a happy accident.

Myth #8 : Introverts are aloof nerds.

I’m a nerd and I embrace that. I am an information junkie. I have nerdgasms over complex math problems.

But aloof? Nah. I just get lost a lot in my inner world..

I often wish, during a conversation with someone I like who is saying something relatively interesting, that he or she would just stop talking.



Two nights ago, I registered to attend BlogHer. It’s right here in New York, in three weeks.


I’m fucking terrified.


There will be lots o’ people, Serious Professional Bloggers. And meanwhile, I’m going over my wardrobe, trying to figure out which skull tee shirt to pack.

Quirky Chrissy and Aussa have said they would let me attach myself to them with a human leash. They think I’m kidding, but I own one and I’m not afraid to use it.

I’m not going to be fully anonymous once people see me. Even in a huge crowd at BlogHer, I will be easy to spot. I’ll be the one dressed in clothes from Hot Topics, which gives me the dubious distinction of shopping in the same store as my 11 year old.

But I promise to be on my best, most grown-up behavior. I will refrain from asking keynote speaker Gwyneth Paltrow how frequently she recommends steaming her vagina.

And I’ll tell you all about it when I get back.




Are you an introvert or an extrovert? 
Have you ever planned to do something that scares the bejesus out of you? 
Talk to me. I’m listening.