Jun

26

Pros and cons with regards to being a non-drinker at BlogHer

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Pros:
• Will not feel like shit in the morning. Handy, as I have a 7 AM event to attend Saturday. SEVEN AY-EM.
• Will not randomly decide to step entirely outside of my normal personal boundaries in order to, say, demonstrate how I can do a handstand. On a table. While wearing a dress.
• Will not have to make awkward conversation with someone the Day After, with only a shamefully vague memory of what we talked about the night before, and did we really make a Taco Bell run at 3 AM, oh god
• Can give my drink tickets to someone else, like the generous bastard I am
• I don’t need to include “That One Totally Shitfaced Chick, Did You See Her?” on my business cards

Cons:
• Cannot self-medicate social anxiety out of existence
• When I inevitably use horrible language in casual conversation (as in, “Yeah, that Ann Coulter really needs to stuff a dicktowel in her bugfuck-crazy-ass cock-holster”), I can’t blame my unprofessional behavior on the seven gin-and-tonics I had earlier

Well, clearly the pros have it, but I do kind of feel like going to BlogHer for me is a little like being a celibate going to a strip club. Not that it’s about temptation — I’m pretty much past that now — but more like, I don’t know, awkward? I mean, technically this is not a conference where drinking is the main purpose but uh, it sort of is, you know? After all, you can choose to bypass the conference-y stuff altogether and just buy a Cocktail Parties Only pass, or get a feisty little “I’m drinking at BlogHer!” button for your website.

(Of course, you can also get a “I’m breastfeeding at BlogHer!” button and I suppose I don’t feel weird that I’m not, like, LACTATING, am I even allowed ENTRY?)

It’s been years now, and I still sometimes feel angry that I’m not someone who can just enjoy a drink or two like a normal fucking person. I wonder how long before I can just let that go altogether?

Jun

24

Tuesday blather

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I don’t know if I’m allergic to mosquitos or what but every time I get bitten the area of attack gets enormous and puffy and red and sort of . . . well, boil-y, if I’m going to be honest, all brain-searingly itchy (ohmigod) and throbbing and basically less of an insect bite and more of a TORTUOUS PUSTULE OF HORROR, and this would be why I flail around batting wildly at myself whenever there are flying bugs nearby, or even when I think there might be bugs, and did you just hear something? Just now? A tiny eeeeeeeeee sound? Goddamned bloodsuckers, I’ll . . . I’ll burn down your pupae. I’ll tear off your proboscis and crap down your thorax.

MUST. NOT. SCRATCH.

Anyway! How’s your week going? Mine is going swimmingly, aside from the Pustules of Horror (PoH) I acquired during an otherwise lovely walk through some gardens last weekend. Oh, and there’s the matter of Dylan having cut his first tooth and morphed into a drooling, hand-gnawing (and finger-gagging), snot-tacular mess as a result. Also, Dog has a lump on her side and it seems likely that it’s just a fatty benign tumor thing since she’s an Elderly Labradork but I’m worried the vet will tell us otherwise and now I feel guilty for yelling at her yesterday when she joyously dragged her ass along the carpet like hey, look at this great way I found to buff my rectum!

In happier news, my hardware budget at Workplace had accrued enough funds to buy a new computer, and I got myself a spanky-fast MacBook Pro. I love it very very much, especially since it doesn’t sear the flesh from my thighs like my old laptop. JB, after months of crabbing about how Macs are mold-covered pieces of wet shit compared to PCs — suitable only for creating cute little scrapbooky photo albums, not for legitimate business activities – has already started angling for ownership of my previous MacBook, and I’m thinking of letting him have it, as long as he promises to wear a special shirt whenever he’s using it which will read I NEED TO KEEP MY BIG FLAPPING IGNORAMUS SHUT.

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