The First Rule of BlogHer Is - You Do Not Talk About BlogHer

In the first session I attended, one of the gorgeous BlogHer management reminded the masses of ovaries that we were all on the record at the two-day event. That everyone was press. That anything we said, even beautiful blogger to other beautiful blogger and again under the dandy influence of the FREE WINE DISTRIBUTED ON BOTH NIGHTS AT THE COCKTAIL PARTIES (yeah, you can reread that part if you need to just to soak it all in) - could be smattered across the blogosphere at any time.

That is pretty effing awesome.

Somehow this has put the fear of God and Oprah in me and has made me hesitant to share any negative details of my San Ho (copyright Jurgen Nation, 2006) experience. So I won't snark to excess on the spider that jumped out of Stacy's hair towel when she pulled it from the bathroom shelf, the fact that it rained on my I'm a sassy, independent woman day trip to Carmel, or the man on our tour of the Winchester Mystery House who snapped photos without focus in every crevice of every one of the 110 rooms we visited just in case a dead person's "orb" were to manifest itself. Like any dead folk would choose to hang around San Jose when they could go to the Maggiano's in heaven.

I will, instead, share some of the sheer joy that I experienced while being surrounded by litters of like-minded amazing women.

I have not felt that invigorated, that proud of a group of which I was a part, since I sold the top number of Samoas and those bland old Trefoils back in '82. Politicobloggers, Celebribloggers, Vinobloggers, Mediabloggers, those who chronicle their relationships and their body image and their life transformations and their experiences with racism . . . Every last one of them a cool chick in her own way (except for that one . . . ;)

My confession for the day involves the fact that I felt somewhat isolated when I was there, that the absence of children or a true passion in life or a nationwide cause somehow left me unaccounted for in the blogosphere. Truthfully, how important can the everyday details of one neurotic, at alternating times humorous then purely miserable, comment-obsessed, Pop- and cat-loving woman be in the scheme of things?

I have since reconsidered this perception. My site may not change your world, but I have been absolutely lost without it for the past few weeks. Without an outlet for my stories about Bug lying on his back to expose as much hairy belly to the ceiling fan as possible, my sadness and confusion about my now defunct relationship with the ex-beau, and snorting overchlorinated water while failing miserably at the breast stroke, I have felt as if a portion of me was missing.

Thank you, to those of you who left such supportive comments when I lost my mind and left for a bit. Thank you, Delta, for opening up the embargo you put on anyone using 108,000 accured miles on flights to anywhere other than Lebanon with layovers in Bogota and Beaumont, and making a $10 flight available so I could attend BlogHer. This Her needed it.

Suffice it to say, it has been many months since I smiled - ok, ok, and snarked - as much as I did in those few days.

[Insert happy picture of Kris and Stacy here, the only photo taken in three days in which Kris doesn't have a wayward eye, when Blogger stops its tantrum and allows the upload. UGH.]
And although this site clearly doesn't generate school supplies for kids displaced by Katrina or provide Extreme Makeovers for kittens born with two faces, maybe in some little way my site is leaving a mark on even a tiny slice of this world. I know it has mine.