I am a nerd who lives in West-By-God-Virginia, in a town with more churches than restaurants. I love my small town and the people in it, but I have to admit there is something lacking.
This weekend, out in the wilds of Chicago, there is an event happening. An event I will not be attending this year, even though I swore I was going to attend and even though I went last year and had the time of my life even though I was 74 months pregnant at the time and hi let's continue this sentence on a little longer just for grins.
You see, the Blogher Conference is officially My Happy Place. It is a place where a girl can admit that she once spent every evening for 2 years playing World of Warcraft and, instead of looking at her askance and attempting to nonchalantly inch away from The Crazy, the other women shake their heads knowingly and clink together their wine glasses. It's a place where I could totally sport this t-shirt and cause strangers to burst into spontaneous giggles, where the panels are equally passionate whether discussing pop culture, perl scripting, or women's issues. This is my tribe; these are my people.
So somebody at the People's Party, or the MamaPop Sparklecorn Extravaganza, or any of the other bajillion parties that will all be lacking my attendance this year... spill a few drops of wine for me on the carpet. It's ceremonial to remember a fallen comrade. (Melodramatic much? Yeah, so what. Besides, plenty of wine is sure to get spilt there anyway, so I'll just pretend it's in my honor.) (I'm avoiding acknowledgment of the fact that I'm hardly likely to be missed. This is maybe the one time I wish I wasn't quite so adept at being a wallflower.)
Now, if you'll excuse me, I'm going to go sniffle quietly into my coffee.
I'll see you beeshuz next year.
1 comment:
I will miss you - I had such fun with you last year! Consider the wine spilled. :)
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