It is the end of a decade full of a swirling mix of highs and lows – events, emotions, memories – for all of us, as is customary. We are humans; this is our experience. Thank you for letting me share pieces of myself with you, for supporting me in all the times when I came here and needed something, and for giving me insight into your lives and thoughts as well. Humanity is alive and well, whether the world knows it or not. I do.
May you all have the desires of your hearts this coming year, and in the new decade.
Some of you may remember the post waaaaay earlier this year where I admitted to you something that really was no surprise, considering I have mentioned how gross and lazy I have been on a regular basis. Yeah, I’m talking about the one where I basically said, “I smell like forty ripe asses rotting in the sun. Oh, and I have fat rolls that have fat rolls and their fat rolls are bigger than their fat rolls’ fat rolls.” I’m not sure if that even makes any sense, but I wrote it out anyway, because I like the way it sounds. You do too, you just don’t know it.
The point is that I had gained quite a bit of weight (enough to aggravate my joints and make my fat pants tight on me) and I wasn’t caring enough about myself to bathe regularly. Unless you’d say once every week or two is regularly. I guess it is, since I regularly waited that long to scrape the accumulated layers of sediment off of my body. (I swear I found a tiny, fossilized animal in one of the layers once. It was from the Cretaceous Time Period. I’d be rich if I hadn’t dropped it down the drain.)
By May, I was carrying a good amount of weight…
By the end of May, I was sick of myself. I made a lot of changes (that really needed to be made) and turned my life onto a healthier track again. Instead of drinking the local liquor store and grocery beer aisles dry practically every other day, I stopped drinking entirely for a whole month.
I hated every fucking one of you bitches that talked about drinking on Twitter during that time. I wanted to stab you in the face.
Hahaha, just kidding!
It wasn’t as hard as I thought it would be, in all honesty. And during that month, I dropped junk food and excessive carbs, as well as late night eating. You know what else? I started moving. And I had some support: people who motivated me by talking to me about what they were doing, listening to what I was doing, and just being there. They lifted me up when I was dragging, and they celebrated my successes with me when I was floating. That kind of support from friends is instrumental for me. Thank you so much Leslie, Haley, & Karen. I got my ass in gear and I started doing The Shred – downloaded it right to my computer and did it almost every day. I added in some Yoga, too.
And the real killer for me? I went to bed at a decent hour more often than not. It was like a sign of the Apocalypse. Or flying pigs. Or that monkeys streaming out of your butt thing.
But mostly, it was a whole heap of positive change in my life that both cleared my head and dropped pounds of fat off of my body.
I lost 15 lbs in just a couple of months.
Then I started traveling. Oy! Chicago first, then NC, and before I knew it I was drinking and eating excessively again, and not exercising. And sleeping? Hah, what was that? I was up into the wee hours again. For some reason, I love the wee hours.
I was still making half-assed efforts to exercise once I got back home, but it wasn’t adding up because I was being really inconsistent, and the other bad habits were still hanging on, blossoming even.
By mid-September, I was saying, “hello again!” to the last 8lbs I had dropped. (And by “hello again” I mean, “awwww, shit, you again? Damn.”)
But I was in a funk. The sloth in me was in charge.
By mid-October I had reached a point again where I realized this crappy way of whipping myself back and forth has got to stop.
I called on the cavalry again: I’ve got Haley, Leslie, and now Mishi motivating me in a Skype chat regularly (thank you, ladies! I love you.). And I’m trying this novel concept: moderation!
I cut way back on drinking, but I still have one drink most nights. Junk food is out again, and healthy food is in. But “cheats?” Oh yeah, they’re around about once a week.
I’m *trying* to go to bed at a decent hour (most nights, and sometimes I’m actually successful) and I’m moving again. I’ve been doing different things to keep it fresh - Shred, Yoga, Dance, Walking. I’ve lost that ugly 8 I gained back, and then some. I’m feeling better again… lighter, smoother, and quicker.
Just this week, I started pushing myself to jog and run.
And then a little birdie named Leslie got on my proverbial shoulder and whispered in my Skype Chat ear: “Fiiiiive Kaaaaaay?”
And I said, “What, me? Surely not.”
But later in the day I said, “Why not? I can do that. I am *going* to do that.”
And that’s where I am right now. In total, I’m down 21lbs (and counting!) from my May 09 top weight, and I’ve built some muscle. It’s time to tone, train, and build endurance. I have a plan, some tools, and at least one friend to do this with. I’m about to bust crazy and go for something I’ve never attempted before.
And I’m not talking about going one whole day without saying, “fuckbuckles!” (What, you don’t say that every day?)
It’s time to train for a 5K, my friends.
I plan on leaving a little piece of my funk behind me with every step.
*For updates on Anissa, you can visit her CaringBridge Page.
I was going to tell you about how great it is to have my laptop back and tell you a little about what I went through to get it fixed, but being on Twitter more again today led me to learn some awful news about a wonderful lady who is a friend and fellow blogger.
(This is her second. You can read about her first one in 2005 here.)
Often when you hear bad news about someone, the first thing you think of is that last time you talked to them or saw them in person. In October, Anissa, Mishelle, and I spoke at a seminar and we got to share laughs and drinks together the night before. It was a fabulous time because of the amazing company.
photo credit: Mishelle Lane, © all rights reserved
Anissa is such a fireball and, at the same time, just the most lovable sweetheart you’ve ever met.
This post, at Aiming Low, tells how you can help her and her family – especially if you are in the Atlanta area. Please visit Aiming Low for this post as well as new updates on her condition and how you can continue to help.
(If that page won’t load for you, it may be getting hit with a lot of traffic, and you can go here for the information it holds, as well.)
If you have a chance, send Anissa love on Twitter – (her handle is @AnissaMayhew) When you tweet, you can use the #hashtag #prayersforanissa so that your messages join together with those of many others thinking about and supporting her and her family.
You can also show your support by changing your Twitter Avatar to a photo of you and Anissa together, if you have one. If you don’t, you can still show support with your Twitter Avatar by adding a Twibbon to it. There are currently two available:
For updates on her condition and to leave her and her family supportive messages on the guestbook, please visit Anissa’s CaringBridge Page.
You can also send her messages on or her Facebook page if you’re a friend of hers there. And by all means, pray, if that is your way. Remember, if you are in Atlanta, you may be able to help her family in a more practical way (see link above).
We are all used to seeing Anissa’s smiling face online and being entertained by her quick wit, her fabulous humor… and her magnificent rack. (She was First Runner Up in Bewb Fest 09, remember?)
Tonight, many of us are shedding tears and wringing our hands in worry. She is being showered with love, lifted in prayer, and thought of all across the world. There is hope, boundless. There are jokes and stories being told in her honor. We wait for updates and continue to push our strength out to her and her loved ones.
Anissa, there’s tons of love for you from all of your friends, all over. We are sending you everything we can, and we won’t give up! We all know you’d do the same for any of us.
Now get your ass out of that hospital and back here where you’re supposed to be making us laugh, woman.
We love you.
Lions stalk the Jungles around us in August.
This August, Leo was hiding behind one of those particularly bushy and leafy plants in the Jungle, doing his Kingly Duties without me noticing him too much.
As the end of August neared, I walked past his hiding spot. I was expecting there to be a Virgin hanging around somewhere by that time, but it seems he ate her up, and when he saw me, he roared and reached out with a giant, furry paw and gave me a whap.
This was no friendly cat batting. His claws were out, and he threw me into September in a painful way. I landed in the Ninth Month ‘O The Year hard on my ass and with jagged claw marks on my heart.
It was September, I realized with a jar, and midway through this month, it would be a year since I’d conceived the boy who had then died 3 months later.
A deep, aching sorrow captured me for awhile. On a few occasions I cried it out. One late night, in particular, left me on the living room floor doing what is known well as The Ugly Cry. Oh, that it was. Ugly with a side of Stinkin, Holy Hell.
For twenty minutes, I lay in a heap, pouring it all out into the carpet.
My face was a swollen mess the entire next day; my head throbbed.
I can laugh in the sun as well as I can cry in the dark, it seems.
But then, can’t we all? Yes is the answer. (Remind yourself of that if you need to, sometimes. It can be easy to forget.)
Then I realized as the end of September ran out that someone resembling Lady Justice had me sitting on her outward facing scale. Before I could throw something on the opposing one to keep things steady, she dumped me face-first into October, and crashing into another of those dates I can never seem to forget.
I knew, of course, the whole time I was flying down the bike path with the wind slicing past my grin and throwing out my pony tail in whips and flips behind me, that this next bump was coming. Of course I did.
Today is that date, and it marks one year since the last time I realized I was pregnant. It’s been a year since I spied that little pink cross next to that little pink line.
It was an odd day one year ago, emailing my husband a photo of the pregnancy test with a message that spoke of my fear, instead of joy. A few weeks prior to that, I had finally come to terms with emotions and thoughts I’d been having and I felt sure enough about what I had decided to announce it out loud.
“I really just don’t want to be pregnant again right now. Maybe one day, but not any time soon.”
Soon after, I began having… those strange, but familiar sensations. You know, the bloating, the craving, the heightened senses. When my period was late, I pulled out an extra pee stick that was in the bathroom, and sure enough, it was time to turn off the neon vacancy sign on this lady’s uterus.
I was struck almost simultaneously with fear, anger, disgust, disappointment, guilt, sadness, and grief.
The irony of the situation did not escape me. Luckily, a new set of emotions rose quite quickly from deep inside, as well: Hope. Longing. Joy.
Guarded, those three were. But they were there, unmistakably.
You can follow posts back through my miscarriage tag and find me talking about the feelings I had being pregnant again after a miscarriage earlier that year. You can obviously also read the posts that detail what I went through emotionally when this new baby also died, in early December.
This, right now and through December, is a hard span of time for me – it is the first anniversary of the pregnancy that ended in a second miscarriage. I know, it’s confusing. But I think the first anniversaries are hardest. I tend to believe that while the dates will always have a sting, these initial ones offer the deepest blows.
And if you think I should be over this, I forgive you. You don’t understand, and that’s okay. I sincerely hope you never do. If you think I’m dealing with it all so very bravely and I am very strong, you are sweet and kind. I appreciate that, but I’m just like you. Some days I’m so strong. Other days, I’m nothing but Jello. In the sun.
October 3rd is the first blow of that second time when I decided I could let myself hope. I wrote a post about that hope. I damn near internally promised my dead son that I would never give up the hope that he taught me it was okay to have.
And yet? I’ve spent a damn lot of time this past year being pissed off, signing off on hope, and mentally giving the finger to anyone who dared suggest I hold onto it. (Not you, really.)
Did he really teach me, in those short 3 months that it’s okay to hope again?
I have to believe that was the truth, no matter how things turned out. I have to, even if I don’t feel that way every day, you dig? I just have to keep believing that the lesson Davin taught me was true. About hope.
Because if you don’t have hope for something new and maybe even better, if not every day, then at least with some consistency, how do you keep moving forward? How, without hope, can one keep flowing and going, smiling and laughing, growing and loving?
I just don’t think you do, and so I know I still have it. Even if it’s a bit dented and has lost some of its shine.
Today I’m going to be sad, that’s for sure. Really, really sad.
And that’s ok. But I refuse to allow myself to wallow in misery this time. This will actually be difficult for me – it seems I’m an innate misery wallower. (Spell check wants me to change this to “swallower.” So you hear it here first: I don’t spit misery, I swallow it, folks.)
Yesterday, I said, on Twitter:
I got a variety of answers, and lots of support. Thanks to all of you who reached out then, and to those who have done so in the past. Even when you don’t hear back from me, please know that if you’ve done it, you’ve been a part of a support network that I value deeply, that keeps me going, and I thank you sincerely. (Even later, I come back to these posts and read your comments again.)
My favorite response yesterday was from @wbgookin (author of Daddy Is Tired), and I thought I’d share it with you. It is simple, and yet seems powerful to me. That’s the best kind of advice, isn’t it?
It’s what I aim to pull off today, and hopefully any time this same kind of question arises inside of me.
“Be both. Be sad for what might have been, be glad for what is.”
So yes… Today, I’m going to miss Davin. I’m going to be incredibly sad about what could have been, but was not. I am going to wish he was with us while I still rejoice in how wonderful it is to play in the sun at the park with Braden.
I’m going to do the Sad, Sad, Happy, Happy, Joy, Joy Dance.
Here’s hoping your Saturday is peaceful and beautiful, even though you live with a sorrow, too.
Yes, I know that it has been a freaking month now, and I have not yet written about Blogher 09.
In my defense, here is a list of excuses. Please pick and choose from them the ones which you find most pleasing:
- I am not really a human being; I am a robot and I have been programmed not to write my opinions on conferences I attend in a timely manner. This is making it really hard to, you know, write my opinions on conferences I attend… in a timely manner. Like Blogher 09, for example. If you are a robot programmer, please get in touch with me. I need your help.
- Blame Alcohol. I had so much to drink that weekend that really, people, come ON. I might as well just write: Got to The Chicago Sheraton. Heard ear splitting squeees echoing off of the walls in all directions as people saw one another. Stuffed swag bags. Party. Drinks. Party. Drinks. Naked woman? Wow. Stumble, stumble, sleep. Sessions. People! Party! Someone handed me a drink. And another. Another. Another? Sure! WHY NOT. Etc. *drink train ensued* Blur blur, Party, Dancing, blur blur, static, room spinning, I’m falling, oh God, I’m falling. What is that? Slur slur slur. Static. Someone cut me off, Good Lord why is no one cutting me off? I think I just ate my own hair. Is that a moose? Blur blur. Laughter, sleep of some sort, passing out? Blackness. Dog turds in my mouth. Hangover. Hangover. Hangover. Hangover. Bowling? Sleep. I got on the plane with perfume bitch and came home. But that wasn’t very fun to read, now was it?
- Swag Issues are to blame.
a) When I tried to enter The People’s Party, the crushing sea of people almost did me in, but somehow I survived! Unfortunately, then someone elbowed me in the head while they were trying to OMG GET THEIR FREE SHIT HURRY BEFORE IT’S ALL GONE AHHHHH, and I forgot everything that happened. (and well, no, that didn’t really happen. not to me, anyway.)
b) While manning the Room 704 Party opener, handing out drink tickets with Dawn, Victoria, Leslie, and Heather, multiple women killed me with their death stares of angry entitlement and hatred (I’m not bitter about this, I’m NOT.) because I (we) wouldn’t give them their swag imm-effing-ediately (free vibrators bring out the best in us all!) and dead people CAN’T EVEN WRITE BLOGS, PEOPLE.
- Your mom.
- Every time I try to write about the conference I get all verklempt and I can’t even get halfway into anything decent because my Emo tears are rocking me to sleep. I think about all the wonderful people I finally got to see in person. I spent time (not enough, never, never enough) with so many wonderful people over the weekend of the Blogher 09 Con and I can’t believe that it flew by so quickly. I didn’t get to talk to all the people I wanted to talk with. I didn’t get to spend enough time with those I did get to talk with. I missed out on doing some things with certain people over the weekend, and I kick myself and/or spank myself with a rolled up piece of paper (oh, baby) almost every day now because of it. (By the way, there is a nasty bruise now and it hurts, oh man it hurts. You should be thoroughly ashamed that you didn’t try harder to get me in on that stuff. Yes. YOU.) But overall, the chance to see so many people I know, admire, respect, and want to hump enjoy talking with was so awesome that I have a hard time putting it into words. I got to touch people who live inside my computer! I got to touch them and know that YOU GUYS REALLY ARE REAL (so there! to everyone I know in real life, my “computer friends” are NOT just deranged guys in prison trying to trick me into sending them my nudes. They are just the real people they SAY they are… trying to trick me into sending them my nudes. I totally win. You must be so embarrassed. Hahaha. Losers.) Also, now that I am home again I MISS YOU ASSHOLES. So, yeah. It is all too emotional for me to recount for you, and when I try to, I cry in the way that the unpopular kid on the playground who got pushed down in the dirt for the eleventy-seventh time this week cries. Yes, with sand in my eyes and a booger on my face. But then I pour myself a drink, put on some black nail polish and write poems deep into the night, until the meaning of all things becomes so clear that I don’t even understand who I am anymore. And at that point, I can’t be writing blog posts about blogging conferences. I am deeper than that.
- Mishelle snored so loudly next to me that one night that the contents of my brain were wiped clean. Good thing she’s such a doll. It was totally worth getting to sleep next to her.
photo courtesy of Angie
- I am a seriously lazy douche, and there is just no way I can ever really get anything done that I’m supposed to get done. I even have a tattoo on my forehead as a disclaimer, so you can’t exactly be mad about it, can you? I mean, did you even take the time to look at my forehead? If not, then you are really to blame for all of this, aren’t you? AREN’T YOU? You can’t even admit it, can you? When did things get so messed up between us that you can’t even tell me the truth? How did we get here? I don’t even know you anymore. *sobbing*
- When I got to the airport in Chicago, I not only got to have an Airport Hump Date with Angie, Shash, and Mel, but I also ran into Elizabeth and Lindsay at the baggage carousel. I had never met Lindsay before, even though we live in the same town. So I shook her hand and told her I was happy to finally meet her in person, since this was the first time. She exclaimed, “But I know your BEWWWWBSSS!!!” The old woman to my right made SUCH a foul face that her head almost fell off. In hindsight I should have just shown them to her, so that she would GET IT. Can’t resist the power of Bewbs. I am not smart in real time, though, and instead, it turns out that she’s a Gypsy and she put a curse on me that delays all writings about Blogging Conferences. This is really going to slow things down for me After Type A Mom Con, too. (Am I going to that? I forget.) So just go ahead and expect it. Damn Gypsy curses are the worst. I’m actually jealous of that guy from Thinner. Not only did his curse cause him to lose weight without trying, but he earned it by getting a Road Blow. And no one at the airport even OFFERED to blow me. The Universe hates me.
- I did write it, I published it, you all read it already and it was AWESOME. It was SO AWESOME. What? You don’t remember? WTH is wrong with you? It might be a tumor. You need to have that checked.
- I passed out over the Blogher 09 Weekend, so drunk that I didn’t even make it back to my room before the black curtain of no return fell inside my head. Though I was in the care of people who don’t write “PENIS!” on your face in black Sharpie while you’re sleeping, or even take pictures of you, while you are blacked out, with genitals somewhere in the shot near your general face area and then send them to Post Secret or post them to TwitPic, I still feel really, really stupid and OMG I don’t want to talk about it at all. Because the next day people were all OMFG LOTUS IS DEAD and APBs were going out over Twitter to find out if I really was dead or if I was just sitting in jail with a black eye and ripped fishnet stockings because I was whoring on the streets of Chicago to earn extra money for meals (you have to eat when you drink that much, people) and the pimp was all “Bitch better have my money!” and I didn’t. Which of course ensued in a public beating where I was loudly screaming, “Get your Pimp Hand off of me!” And the cops were not sympathetic to the whore because she said, “Where’s my free drink, Pig, THIS IS BLOGHER WEEKEND, DON’T YOU KNOW YOU ARE SUPPOSED TO GIVE ME FREE DRINKS?” But luckily it wasn’t either of those things (I’m no whore) and I had to get up in the morning and apologize to Twitter and then tell my husband I wasn’t dead/in prison for hookin’, take a shower to wash away the shame of being such a miserable loser, clean the dog turds out of my mouth and sleep all day. And I really don’t want to tell you guys about any of that, so I’m not going to write about Blogher.
- I had such a fabulous time that I can’t imagine waiting a whole year to do it again, so instead, I’m going to keep talking about how I’m JUST ABOUT to write my recap, because if I keep being JUST ABOUT to write my recap, then maybe it will seem like no time has passed at all and even a year later, I’ll be all, OMG I JUST GOT HOME FROM BLOGHER AND HAVE NOT EVEN WRITTEN MY RECAP YET BUT IT’S ALREADY TIME TO GO AGAIN!? SCORE!
- You should be paying me for my opinions on things like this and NONE of you has posted your payment to my PayPal account yet. Really, this whole delay is your fault, and honestly, I don’t appreciate it one bit.
- Over the course of the weekend, I actually had my ass smacked more times than I had my bewbs grabbed. (Just in case you were wondering, women at blogging conferences are HANDSY.) Which is kind of perplexing to me. I didn’t know how to approach that fact in the whole retelling of things. Does this mean my ass is way hotter than my bewbs? Or that bewbs are just way less hot than I thought they were?
This has been keeping me up at night. It is very important to consider. I can’t think of anything else in the world that is more important than this, actually. Until I get this figured out, I can’t write the recap.
- Every time I try to type my Blogher09 post into my WP Text Editor, the whole system crashes and I get locked out of my own website. Apparently, the quota for Blogher Recaps has been met for 2009 and trying to write another one causes a fatal error. (This lockout is also why I haven’t been writing much else. It’s not just because I suck and don’t deliver quality content on a regular basis.)
- I have to get really drunk to write about the times when I have been really drunk, because being in the same state of mind allows you to recall information much more accurately. And I have been completely sober ever since I left Chicago. In fact, I’m definitely not drunk right now. Really. I swear.
- If you question me again, I will cut you, bitch.
- Your mom.
- My bewbs.
- Other random nonsense. Like popsicles, bumble bees, and Andy Samberg.
- Mmmmm. Andy Samberg.
- Also, while I was at Bowlher being all “I’m still hungover even though it’s the next night, so I’m going to go hide on this couch in the back of the building, in the dark, and eat chicken on a STEEEEEK while I drink Mr. Pibb,” these people (a nice couple) came and sat down next to me. (side note: every time I tried to order Dr. Pepper in Chicago, I got one of two responses:
- “We have Mr. Pibb.” (Implied: “dumbass.”)
- *look of disgust and hate* “You are not in the south anymore, you damn HICK. Just leave. Leave now.”
For the record. SCREW MR. PIBB. Uneducated bastard.)
So, anyway they (the couple) were nice and all, but they were on a completely different plane than I was at that time, like, marketing and business and stuff. And, to reiterate, I was all I AM STILL HUNGOVER, WHERE CAN I HIDE? And so, anyway, when I was asked about what kind of things I do, and I talked about the photography part, I said “I am not a professional photographer, but I have a real passion for photography and I thoroughly enjoy sharing that.” And the guy was all, “You shouldn’t say you’re not a professional, you should just say that you are a passionate photographer…” (and some other stuff, but I don’t remember, because in my head at that point I was all “Are you fucking serious?”) And when he stopped talking I was just like, “Oh. Well. Thing is. I’m not a professional photographer, but I have a real passion for photography and I thoroughly enjoy sharing that.” And then I just looked at him. (Here’s where some people will roll their eyes and be all “You are such a bitch and why are you so mean to people? Whore.” To which I have a two-part response:
- I abhor to be told what I should say or do when it’s really not anyone else’s business and I didn’t ask. He was a perfectly nice guy, really, but he was just in a totally different state of mind about all this with the marketing and such, and I get that. But overall? I was over here (hand gesture) and he was over there (hand gesture way far away from first hand gesture) and I had no desire to build a bridge.
- I am not a whore. I’ve never been paid. I’m a slut. So there.
What does this story have to do with the reason why I haven’t written a recap yet? Well. It’s because I knew I would have to tell this story and I’M SENSITIVE TO BEING CALLED A WHORE AND LOOK AT WHAT YOU DID.
- While I was at the pretty damn awesome Nikon’s Night Out Party, I got to have my photo taken with Carson Kressley.photo courtesy of Angie
Now, this is not embarrassing for ME but for HIM, and out of respect, I didn’t want to hash it up again by writing the recap.
- Anissa also licked my bewb while I was at that Nikon party. But it really has nothing to do with why I haven’t written my recap. I JUST WANTED TO MAKE SURE YOU ALL KNEW. Because I’m proud of that. Don’t act like you’re not impressed.
- My pen is out of ink. What? Nobody else writes all their posts with an ink quill first and then transfers them to the computer? WHEN DID YOU ALL LOSE YOUR SENSE OF ART AND BEAUTY? When did you lose your appreciation for the elegance of the CREATIVE PROCESS!? I am ashamed of all of you. You don’t even DESERVE my recap.
- The drugs. And the booze. And the mental infirmity.
- The sheer fact that this is the kind of crap I’d be publishing when it was all said and done.
- The large number of you who will probably unsubscribe now. (I can see you, damnit.)
- Your mom.
I’m here to help you all out with a bit of friendly information for bloggers and those who use social media applications for business or networking with others. This is also good information for halfwits who have access to a computer and whack at the keys in random order.
Having some type of contact information on your website and your social media pages is a good idea if you’re interested in interacting with the outside world. And I’m assuming that if you use things like Twitter, etc, then that is most likely the case. Especially if you send out @’s to people.
One might want to contact you about something – elaborate her feelings. Maybe relate to you something FYI. (By the way, since I’m being helpful today, FYI means “For Your Information.”) A person might want to do that privately, between you and her, out of respect for you. Because hey, that’s the decent thing to do, right? So she looks for your email address.
But if you don’t leave your contact information anywhere, this becomes difficult.
It doesn’t have to be your personal email address – set up a business account, whatever.
I can’t find an email I need right now. And I can’t shut this.
So here I am! Lucky, lucky you. You feel so lucky, don’t you? Come on… tell me you do.
And by the way, I have a general rule of not calling out specific people on my website, but damn it, if you belittle my friends publicly? When you stand up in a public forum and go out of your way to put down someone I love – someone who is a damn fine person, both intelligent and compassionate? You’re pushing me.
This was brought to my attention yesterday:
And it is bullshit.
Because, hai! You can follow and unfollow whoever the hell you want on Twitter. But announcing it as a Tweet is about the most STUPID ASS THING you can do. You deserve an immediate STFU when you do that.
I was not happy. Leslie is a close friend.
photo credit: Angie
So, anyway, she is a close friend and she doesn’t deserve that kind of treatment.
So. I checked out this Keyboard Whacker. Here is her bio:
And you know, I have no problem with that, whatsoever. I want to say that at the outset here. I am not a Believer Basher or a Jesus Hater. If you know me, you know that. But, and here’s another FYI moment for you, know this: Your Twitter Bio represents who you are, and everyone visiting your page will take it as that. Because this is how you’re representing yourself in a nutshell. So, hey, if you write it there, people are going to refer to it. Doubt that not.
Ok. Taking out the name, but I’m well aware you can easily find it. Just don’t see the need for it here.
from Keyboard Whacker
Someone forgot the daily challenge they typed in their own bio. Rut-roh!
As far as I can gather, he didn’t separate himself from sinners, either.
from Keyboard Whacker
from Keyboard Whacker
Just for FYI. You know, in other words, just for for your information.
Man, I think those might just be the most sincere apologies I’ve ever seen.
from Keyboard Whacker
Pioneer Woman Blog College? LMMFAO Oh, my.
from Keyboard Whacker
You might want to revisit the process.
Wait. What the? Hold on. Okay. “you got did from my bio…” *scanning, scanning* Nope. Does not process.
That is, more or less, what unfolded. It’s ridiculous, and yes it’s drama. Oooh, the gossipy drama. Which, yeah. But I had to go there this time. (Please to be scrolling back up and reviewing the Flinger Kissing photo and the part about she’s mah beesh forevah.)
And then the rest of that crap just left me needing to talk to this woman a little, but not really out there, or only in 140. But I couldn’t nail down her damn email address.
And so here goes it, the open letter to Keyboard Whacker.
I definitely don’t hold Christians to a standard of perfection. However, most “followers of Jesus” generally aim to be more like Him. Is that not what you are challenged to do every day? Enlighten me to your different way of following Him if that is not the case. If you are announcing these things about your relationship with and to Jesus on your Twitter page, you might want to try harder to represent his ideals appropriately to the public as you use your account. You make a very poor example for others if you can’t even filter yourself enough to avoid attacking other people for minding their own business and being themselves on their own turf. Jesus’ aim is to deliver us from sin, not belittle us for it. I have high doubts that he would say to anyone “You cuss, I can’t hang with you because I don’t like foulness.” Instead, I’m thinking He would show that person love and compassion. Do you think he would publicly humiliate a person for their sins? Personally, I don’t. So get a clue. You’re not perfect, we get it. But I’m calling bullshit on you this time, because it needs to be done. Even your apology to Leslie (mrsflinger) is a cop out – you apologized “if you offended her” – you didn’t apologize for belittling her. And you claimed she needed to know why you were unfollowing her – as if she needs to change who she is comfortable being so that she doesn’t lose followers. Some things are more important to people in life than their number of Twitter followers – Leslie is secure in who she is, and she doesn’t need your “for FYI” comments. But if you really feel the need in the future to connect with someone and let them know why you are unfollowing, I suggest you email them. Most of us have really easy to find contact information on our websites. And that’s probably the decent thing to do. I’m thinking it’s likely what a modern day Jesus would do. So your challenge continues – and yes it IS your mission, unless you were lying on your Twitter bio. So I hope you’re better able to accomplish it today, tomorrow, and every day after, if that is what you find fulfilling.
So that’s that. And I feel better having gotten it out.
But I saved something delicious for you to end with.
There’s a Tweet Bot that auto-retweets certain user tweets – somehow I ended up on this list. (I know, I’m SO HONORED. Yeah.) Well. It retweeted my earlier messages to Keyboard Whacker.
And? She actually talked back to it.
from Keyboard Whacker
And if you’re not attending the conference? Scroll to the bottom – there’s a special message for you there from me.
THE OFFICIAL ROOM 704 PARTY PIMPAGE POST (in its full glory):
DRINKS sponsored by:
And of course, drinks paid for by YOU!!!
AWESOME swag from:
Here’s how it’s going to go down – as best as we can tell anyway. Remember – we’re as transparent as saran wrap. No, we will not model the saran wrap for you.
10:30pm you will begin leaving the awesome People’s Party and making your way to “Java East.” Now, we are not encouraging you to dump another party for ours, NAY, we are encouraging you to make your way to us so the faboo ladies hosting the People’s Party can head on up to us as well, take a sigh of relief, relax, put their feet up and revel in a job well done; a party well thrown.
About the location – “Java East”….. oh Java East. Through a series of … interesting communications we have a very casual layout. We have easy accessibility, we have comfy couches…. we have a section of the first floor lobby. We feel for the people who decided *this* was a great idea, they’ll learn. They should consider themselves fortunate we are not decorating with inflatable penises …. Anyway. We will be very easy to find. Want to see it? Java East/Lobby Level/Sheraton Chicago. When it starts the 360 sweep and you see the fountain, hit pause. There is our area.
Hour One – 10:30pm-11:30pm
About the drinks: The first 200 people to make it to the bar at our party will get a tasty vodka drink on us. No tickets, no bracelets, whatever Hotel pricing for drinks is … WOW. So ask for your drinks without ice, and be sure to say big fat THANK YOUS to sponsors of *all* the parties at BlogHer. If you are potential sponsor reading this who would like to buy a round of drinks? Feel free to reach out to us at contact at room704 dot us. If you are still thirsty after our drinks run out, head to the ChiBar right next to us, get a drink and come back out to the party (yes, we’ve cleared that with the Sheraton big wigs, and yes, you can get “light fare” there too (aka FOOD) FYI).
About the swag: As a great big thank you to those who purchased ads from us — we are putting a sticker on a swag bag with your name on it. One bag per person, so yes, even if you ordered multiple ads/spots, it’s still gonna be one bag. Since we can’t figure out a good way to make sure you get a drink, we’ll make sure you get a swag bag. (We will also be posting the catalog at Room704 so everyone can see the awesome.) The rest of the bags will go out on a first come first served basis. If you would like a “vanilla” bag (i.e., one that doesn’t go “buzz” in the night) – be sure to grab one of the ‘ProtectABed’ bags and not the brown bags
Hour Two – 11:30pm-12:30am
You can continue to get drinks from the ChiBar – and we will begin our giveaways. We have a LOT to giveaway. A LOT. So be sure to drop us your card when you get to the party so you are entered! We plan to have a place set up between the columns in front of the fountains. We’ll be the ones in the purple feather boas.
At some point we will be pimping and honoring our special guests — Stefania Pomponi Butler, a “Very Clever Girl(tm),” aka CityMama, and Michelle Lamar, aka White Trash Mom, who will be selling & signing copies of her book, The White Trash Mom’s Handbook. So don’t forget to bring some cash money for your book (and to buy something from ANOTHER special guest, yet to be announced!).
Last but not least, if you would like the latest in the series of buttons for the party – here it is!
Editor’s Note: And for those of you not attending the Blogher Conference – we have not forgotten you! Blogher@Home has been set up to be chock full of giveaway sand fun times for those NOT attending the conference. And Room 704 (Purveyors of Swag!) has been putting together a very lovely Swag Opp for all the fabulous At Homes! So get in on the fun. Go here and sign up for your chance to win some awesome swag that we’ve rounded up from some amazing sponsors who care about you even if you can’t attend a conference.
Peace, beeshes. <3Lotus