I went to BlogHer with really only two expectations. The first thing I wanted was to meet friends in person. I hoped that it would be amazing. And, of course, it was. Seriously, spending time with wonderful women is always good.

That was only one of things I hoped to walk away with. The other thing is I wanted to learn some more technical stuff and maybe take this little website to the next level. I’m not too sure what the next level is, but you know, I wanted to figure that out and how to get there. I had looked over the class schedule months ago and planned on taking quite a few technical and professional classes.

That all changed with the first class I attended. I had planned on going to something all professional and techy until Zoot informed us that she had heard that the Naked Blogger class would have goody bags that may or may not include a sex toy. Hey, plans change.

Yes, I did get a sex toy (I borrowed this picture). Yes, it’s still in the package waiting to be used as the best White Elephant gift ever. But more importantly, in this class I got to listen to bloggers talk about blogging and why they blog.

What was the best thing I learned in this specific class? Yeah, it was the part where Sarcastic Journalist stood up and told us all to never, ever under any circumstance check your blog at work. She did. And she lost her job and got disowned by her family. And this is the part where I threw up in my mouth a little. Because you know, I’ve checked my blog at work a few hundred times.

Later that day I went with Lizzy to a class on tolerance on the web. I was hoping to learn something about how we treat each other. I was anxious to hear the stories from the panel members. But them something happened, one of the panel members hijacked the class and began (almost) bragging about how she likes to stir things up on the web. To me stirring things up means not being tolerant. Am I right, or am I right?

It seemed to me that the other panel members were uncomfortable. The moderator seemed to have lost control. It was not her fault. She was awesome. The other panel members were awesome. It was just that one lady. Lizzy was so upset about it all that she got up and left the room. She said she saw others in the hall that had done the same thing.

After this class was over I began having fewer expectations about the other classes. I think the planners for the conference totally had the best intentions when they picked the speakers for each class. Totally. I just felt like the the classes were very organic and just took on a life of their own. And not always in a good way.

Oh well, the catered food was t-a-s-t-y. And plentiful.
I learned quite a bit from the technical class taught by Zoot and Slackermama. I was a little nervous about attending since I didn’t have my laptop with me. But that worked out just fine since I took notes like crazy. I can’t wait to get all hooked up with plugins and widgits. Since now I know all about plugins and widgits. (Note to Lizzy, don’t forget to get a self-hosted Wordpress site.)

I originally hadn’t planned on attending the Craft Blogger class that Amy Sedaris was speaking at. After going back and forth I realized I would probably only ever have this one chance to see her. So I stayed. And I’m glad I did. Not only was Amy hilarious but being introduced to some craft blogs to check out is a good thing. I need more crafts to do in my spare time.

Were my two expectations met? I’m not too sure that I actually walked away knowing way more about blogging, or my blog specifically. Am I disappointed about this? Not at all. I did learn some new things and I got excited about learning more. Being in one place with so many other bloggers was awesome.

So was it worth it for me to attend BlogHer? Heck yes it was.

If I wouldn’t have been there I wouldn’t have gotten this awesome (?) picture of myself playing the drums at the Children’s Museum. (Babboo loves the drums, so this was my lame attempt at giving him a little shout-out.) I wouldn’t have been able to eat some deliciously catered food (Saturday morning breakfast, I’m talking to you). I wouldn’t have been able to stand on the rooftop at the Navy Pier and look out over Lake Michigan (it’s Lake Michigan, right?) and be surrounded by women who amaze me.

I also wouldn’t have been able to get this picture of the lovely Mrs. Squirrel passed out, mere seconds after meeting Chloe Dao. (It’s Mrs. Squirrel’s birthday today, so go and send her some interweb love.)

What are my suggestions for BlogHer ‘08? Maybe better training for the moderators. Maybe less discussion from the audience members. Maybe just save that part until the end of the session. Definately, more down-time. Give us some time in the afternoon to maybe go back to our hotel rooms and drop off our swag. For sure, no doubt, more time between the last class and the cocktail party. Dude, all I wanted to do was sneak back to my room and brush my teeth and apply some face powder. But there was only 15 minutes, which was not even close to enough time.

Oh, and while I’m giving suggestions, is there anyway you can work Rhett Miller into the format for next year? And maybe holding BlogHer in Seattle? I hear they have a rocking Convention Center.

First things first:

I finally finished Harry Potter. After waking up early every morning while at BlogHer and reading non stop in the airport, I finished it. And now I can listen to all of Miss Zoot’s Podcasts. (You know Miss Zoot, the one I totally just hung out with.)

Secondly, thanks to my awesome Guest Bloggers from last week. Janet and Operation Pink Herring both brought up some awesome things for y’all to discuss while I was away. Sounds like I missed some good times.

And now, on to BlogHer.

I really wish I could write an eloquent post about how amazing BlogHer was and how fabulous getting to meet all of my online friends was. But I just can’t. Maybe it’s too soon. Maybe I’m still tired from lack of sleep (see previous paragraph). Maybe I just too damn busy going through all my photos. (note to self: must subscribe to Flickr pro at some point this week.)

How much fun did I have in Chicago? A million. How much did I love finally getting to meet everyone? A million. How much did I miss my Sweet Babboo and The King? A million. How much do I miss everyone already?

A million X 10.

It’s a good thing Carrisa made us all the blacked out eyes glasses so that I won’t have to spend this week blacking out the eyes using my awesome photoshop skillz.

(L-R: Frema, Carrisa, Me, Liz, Lizarita and Mrs. Squirrel. Molly was taking the photo.)

Do you actually want to see a picture with all of our beautiful faces? Okay, if you insist.

Here we all are on the Thursday night before the conference started. We, very smartly, decided to meet for dinner before the madness began. It really was a very nice and relaxed way to just hang out and chat after a very stressful day of delayed flights and leaving babies at home.

I can’t wait to go through all the business cards I received from other lovely ladies I met and start stalking them. You know, in a very not-creepy way.

Do you want to know what I learned in the classes? Basically I learned that I should be paying attention to the speakers and not trying to take pictures.

I kid. I fully intend to get online this week and read through all the live-blogged sessions that I missed or just reread the transcripts from the ones I loved.

But before that, I gotta get some work done here at the office. And then go home and clean the apartment and do some laundry.

It’s good to be home.

Hi. I’m Jen from OperationPinkHerring, and I have a confession to make. I don’t dare admit this on my own blog because I am afraid that I would lose all my readers…. and possibly be threatened with bodily harm.

(No, I’m not going to blurt out Harry Potter spoilers).

I hate The DaVinci Code with the burning, fiery passion of a thousand yeast infections. Uh, not that I would know what a yeast infection feels like or anything.

Is anyone still reading? Or are you all on your way to my house to beat me to death with your hardcover, autographed editions of Dan Brown’s masterpiece? You should know that I have a high tech burglar alarm that is routinely set off my cats in the middle of the night. Oh, and I also have cats. Plural. And they bite. Just a warning.

Here’s another confession: I’ve never even read The DaVinci Code! And yet I still hate it.

Perhaps a little back story would help.

[Close your eyes and imagine those wavy backflash lines here.]

When I was a kid, I was a huge book nerd. HUGE. I used to read books in the cafeteria at lunch while I ate my peanut butter sandwich and ate my skittles. When I got my yearly bout of bronchitis during Book-It Week, (did you all have Book IT? I luuurved Book-It, because it allowed my to combine my two favorite things: reading and beating people at things), my classmates checked out a stack of books from the library and had one of the parents drop them off at my house so that my book tally wouldn’t be affected just because I was couldn’t eat, drink, breathe or come to school. They were afraid that without me, they would lose. When we went to the shore (in New Jersey, it’s called the shore, not the beach) every summer for vacation, I often went through two entire Sweet Valley Twins or Baby-sitter’s Club books per day.

And then when I got to about sixth grade, I just stopped reading. I’m not sure what happened. I just got busy with friends, and talking to my “boyfriend” on the phone for hours every night. When I got to high school, I was too swamped with schoolwork to read. And in college, I was too busy… uh, studying.

I felt guilty about not reading for pleasure anymore, and I envied the people who seemed to find time to read books and still keep up with their lives. But I also mocked them in my head, because they were so… snobby.

Two years ago, one of my New Year’s resolutions was to start reading for fun again. The first book I read was The House of the Spirits by Isabel Allende. And I fell back in love with reading. I thought it was going to be a struggle to keep up with my resolution, but now my problem is more that I am forking over too much of my paycheck to Barnes and Noble every month.

And Lord help me, I think I’ve become a book snob.

It all started with the fanfare surrounding the release of The DaVinci Code. When the book came out, I’d never heard of it. No surprise there. But I wanted to see what it was all about. I went to the library to pick up a copy, but all they had was Angels and Demons. On CD. Since I was about to drive up to New Jersey for Thanksgiving I checked it out.

Oh. My. God. It was absolutely, without a doubt, the most painful 94 hours of my life. Was the running time less than 94 hours? Because it felt like 4-EVA. By the time I got to my mom’s house, I was yelling at the CD player. Why did the chapters just end mid-paragraph? To add suspense? They’d end saying something like “And then, dashing/cool/sexy/brilliant Harvard professor man opened the door” in a very serious, foreboding tone. “What happened when he opened the door?” I’d wonder. Surely something exciting! Something dangerous!

And then when we’d come back to dashing Harvard professor man, it just turned out that he opened the door, walked through, and made himself a pot of coffee.

Angels and Demons was so bad that I couldn’t actually bring myself to read The DaVinci Code. But that doesn’t stop me from hating it, mostly because it was so over hyped. Later that month, when I was visiting The Last Supper in Milan and saw that they were actually selling The DaVinci Code in the gift shop I made a big speech to my friend about how Leonardo was probably rolling over in his grave over this sacrilege, only to have my friend’s mother emerge from that very same gift shop five minutes later clutching a copy, barely able to contain her excitement. That’s when I learned to keep my mouth shut about my hatred for all things Dan Brown.

Until now, when I’m admitting it to the entire internet. Please don’t kill me.

Here’s the thing: I have no right to be a book snob. I love books that are easy to read. I didn’t read a damn thing for over 10 years. Oh, and also, I am completely ignorant about current events, and I am addicted to television.

But I still don’t understand it. And I felt the same way about My Sister’s Keeper. The Nanny Diaries was even worse. Because they were lent to me by a dear friend, I’ve read two of Jennifer Weiner’s novels, and I couldn’t believe how awful they were.

So now you all know my dirty little secret. I am a closet book snob. There are just so many great books out there that it blows my mind that people waste their time reading chick lit.

Wait; just give me a moment to change out of this white shirt before you start throwing rotten tomatoes at me.

Hola, hola, isabel readers! Today Isabel is partying in Chicago with all the cool kids and I, Janet, of loveisblonde.com, will be your guest blogger for the day.

Don’t worry though, because Isabel and I are so similar that you might not even notice she’s gone. For example, we both love to lay on the beaches of Mexico (some of us more naked than others). We both have orange cats. We both like to make homemade holiday cards. We both love Ira Glass. We both live in tiny, one bedroom apartments. We both are (hopefully) moving to new homes soon, except that (in case you were not aware of the awesomeness of The King), Isabel’s husband is BUILDING THEIR ENTIRE HOUSE WITH HIS BARE HANDS. My husband? He just logs on to ZipRealty from time to time and points and grunts.

If you read my blog, you know that I got married late last year, which means I get to claim the title of newlywed for just a few more months. In addition to the wonderful bliss that is merging you heart and soul with another person, I have a few other, slightly more practical thoughts on the first year of marriage.

First, I believe it’s perfectly rational to keep the newlywed bliss alive by refusing to use wedding gifts out of fear they might get broken or dirty. Please see the brand new luxury bedding still in its package in our closet or the entire set of gorgeous white everyday dishes sitting in my mother-in-law’s house. Their shiny-new sparkle and bubble wrap coating make me feel like my wedding was just yesterday.

(This drives my husband absolutely bonkers. In my defense, I have promised that we can finally break out the new stuff once we move into a new house. Unfortunately, it’s looking like that might not happen until 2028 and by then everything will be outdated.)

Second, it’s not all that easy to go through a 100 pack of condoms. I know people think most newlyweds are so in love that they can’t keep their hands off each other, but it often seems like the stress and exhaustion of everyday life gets in the way. My advice? As often as you can without arising suspicion, take a day off and visit the play “doctor.” Don’t you know that’s what “sick days” are meant for?

Third, and I’m not sure if I have mentioned this before, but husbands who build houses for their wives WITH THEIR BARE HANDS are hotties. Other, less talented men, such as my husband are still hot because they do their own laundry and scoop the cat litter every day without being asked. Men + chores = true love.

Fourth, and this one is important: Once you become a Mrs., you are not allowed to purchase any of those trendy, baggy shirts that are currently available in every store from Nordstrom to Target. People will assume it’s a maternity top and that you are pregnant. This is bad when all you’re “pregnant” with is quintuplet Krispy Kremes.

Fifth and last, I now know that sharing money with someone is perhaps more intimate than sharing, ohhhh, let’s say a 100 pack of condoms. It’s a little odd to log into online banking and know how your husband spent every dollar. Among the things I have learned since we joined finances: How much an annual subscription to Playboy magazine costs and that golf is the most expensive “sport” on the planet.

For those of you reading this who plan to get married sometime soon, I hope I have not totally burst your bubble about the true joys of marriage. And for those of you who are already married or living with your honey, please feel free to add you own insights to the list.

And thanks to the lovely Isabel for letting me rent some space over here on her blog while she’s gone. And the Vegas rule (“what happens in Vegas…”) doesn’t apply to Chicago, so you better come back with some juicy stories!

You may or may not have heard that BlogHer is happening this week. I’ve been a little busy trying to get ready for my 9:00 am flight this Thursday.

Plus, you might have heard about a certain book that came out this week that I’m trying to finish before the spoilers get to me.

You might also have heard that our laptop died.

Which means I will be at a blogging conference without a laptop to actually blog on.

The irony is not lost on me.

Since I love the interweb so much, I have asked a few of my favorite people to guest blog while I’m away having fun and enjoying some non “everything I do, I do it for you” time.

(Proof that we do get to see each other every now and again.)

Long time readers might remember back in the day when my husband used to write here every Friday. We called it King Friday, and it was fun. But then he got busy and was relieved of this duty.

Some of you missed hearing from him. Most of you didn’t. For those of you that did miss it. May I present The King, in all of his glory:

Wheels, and the need for them….

I walk to work every day. Its not bad. I like it. It takes me about 20 minutes or so. Sometimes longer. Particularly if the foot traffic is moving slowly, or if I get stuck behind some idiot with a suitcase that they are dragging to work. Explain this to fad to me. I understand a bejeweled denim jacket, or those stupid white canvas shoes with no laces. I get talking in ebonics, or driving a low rider car with a really loud stereo. What I don’t understand is having a bunch of stuffed animals or bottles of air freshener on your dashboard, or dragging a suitcase to work.

Let’s talk about the suitcase issue.

If you are leaving town on business, directly from work, then by all means, save time by taking your suitcase with you. If you are a stripper, and have tons and tons of panties and bras that you are bringing to work, so you are always wearing fresh ones while giving lap dances, then okay. I get it. But if you are a professional anything else, and have arms and legs that operate, put your stuff into a backpack, briefcase or otherwise, and pick it up off the damn ground!! There is no reason to tote an entire suitcase of work back and forth every night.

Maybe you are unfortunate and your company refuses to pay for a laptop, so you are bringing home an entire PC every night, monitor and all. Okay, then I understand not wanting that on your back. There is NO OTHER reason to require wheels for your commute. If you have a laptop in there, carry it like a normal human. If you have that much work to bring home, then stay at work and get it done. We Americans are viewed as lazy fat ass slobs as it is. Let’s not prove the rest of the world right by insisting on dragging our briefcase to work instead of carrying it. Next, the trend will be working women in Gucci Larks. (Yes, the lark is a device for the handi-capable, not the lazy.)

(Isabel took this picture last night. Proof that this is a problem in downtown Seattle.)

So, since half the working population seems to have a wheeled suitcase to drag to work, we get into small traffic issues. There are only so many curb cuts at each corner crosswalk. These people want to roll down from the sidewalk, thus causing considerable congestion at every corner, making it tough for people in wheelchairs, and those pushing strollers to actually get anywhere. Plus, most of them are on the phone, and carrying their legally available addictive drugs (yes, I mean Starbucks) so they are already moving very slowly.

Can we make a special lane for people with a timeline? Can we pass a law requiring people with luggage to walk closest to the curb? Or maybe better yet, can we just all act like we have arms and pick our crap up off the street?

Seriously people. Seriously.

On another note, don’t you guys love vintage Vespa scooters.

I’ve enjoyed reading all the others, so I might as well post my own. Which, surprisingly isn’t going to be as easy as I first thought.

Isabel is not really my name. I’ll try to remember to answer when someone calls me that.

My husband looks good naked. My 15-month old son is also pretty cute naked. I hate being naked.

I love pizza and candy and can’t see faces without my glasses on.

I hate wearing my glasses.

And I’m hopelessly devoted to my family, my friends and Rhett Miller.

blogme2007