Oh, yeah. That was two nights ago…
Honestly, I wanted to name this post “Mommy Bloggers are Bananas” but I thought we should start with the end…
On Saturday, Andy and I braved the drive down south to attend a women’s blog conference (“BlogHer”). We had no idea what we were in for, given that:
A.We come equipped with penii. Penises. Pennies. Whatever.
2. We began blogging a few months ago.
And I already know what you’re thinking, “Ohfortheloveofbacon, please don’t talk about a going to a blog conference.”I understand. I would be saying the exact same thing. It’s like John Malkovich talking about the scene in “Being John Malkovich” when the characters can only say “Malkovich”. Bloggers talking about blogging is not funny or interesting, unless you blog. But just stay with me for a few more words because the trip wasn’t without it’s hilarity. Did I mention I don’t even like the word “blog”?
I picked up Andy at 7:00am, Saturday morning. The night before, as per usual, both of us stayed up well past our respective bedtimes. In addition, Andy left our business cards an hour away and went to bed at 4:00am. I stayed up late whittling throwing spears in case the mom bloggers went all lynch-mobby on us. We peeled out by 7:15am and got coffee. We both ordered XXXXL bucket-sized cups, but Andy got his done intravenously. There are a lot of drinking games I could probably win. But the ones involving coffee… against Andy… forget it. We also saw a 12 year old girl order a triple espresso and a guy getting into an argument with his dog.
As we sped down I-5 South, we pontificated about the reaction conference attendees might have to us two dad-bloggers, if anyone could’ve seen our stuff, why we were going in the first place and if we’d be ambushed by a Chris Hansen and his “To Catch A Twitterer” film crew about our Twitter followers.
By two hours into the drive to San Diego, both of us were squirming in our seats from our liquid breakfasts, but we knew Shamu couldn’t help us with the goings-on in our bowels. Andy was about geyser his pants and my molten lava threatened breach every inch I drove.
This is not an ad for Coffee Bean & Tea Leaf. It’s an ad for Coffee Peein’ & Re-lief. Use as directed.
We fishtailed into a parking lot and did an Olympic run-walk with clenched fists for a nearby cafe. The place was overrun and seven people deep for the bathroom. Great. I waited in line while Andy scouted down the street for additional drop sites. I made it into the bathroom in time. When I emerged as a new man with a deeper respect for the plumbing arts, I ran into Andy again. He looked equally eased. Hmmm… Apparently, he pulled a ninja-dad move facing a shipping dock (irony), only to notice the wall of windows facing him while mid-stream. We all know you can’t cross the streams, but you also can’t stop the streams midway.
Surrounded by scores and scores of webtroverts and literati-moms, we were overwhelmed. So we did what any two guys would do in a sea of uteruses, we went and got breakfast. Chewing, we looked at our options in the conference schedule and decided we would loudly crash a couple panels, maybe burst through the doors and say “We come bearing testosterone.” In the end, it didn’t happen but we wished it would have (not unlike our keg backpack idea).
Making s’mores at the Hershey Chocolate cave. Lighting stuff on fire and eating chocolate? Yeah, I’m in. I’m all in.
We went to a couple panels including one where Andy spoke at length about Twitter for an extended period of time until he relinquished the fact that he’s never once posted to Twitter, and then we met up with some rad people as they rendezboozed into the evening. We only felt uncomfortable about being there when we went to sponsor suites. They didn’t stand up to greet us when we entered as they realized we came in sans fallopian tubes. We were the perceived accessories.
We finally left around 1:00am and drove a stray dad blogger home since he was local. We sat around, in front of his house, bellowing in our car for a good 30 minutes. We made our 2.5 hour trek back. I caught my second, third and fourth winds while driving. There were few moments I had roll the windows down, blast hardcore metal music and maybe scream into the freeway air to make sure I stayed sharp. I practically told Andy to open the car door and make sure he tucked his arms as he flew out of the car up to his door.
When I pulled up to my place at 4:30am, I had a magical realization: I didn’t bring any house keys. So I sat in my car in a brainspin. Normally, I would’ve just made the call and awoken my angelic wife but with a teething, feverish baby who’d been waking up intermittently all night, I couldn’t bear being that masochistic. So, I texted her a few times and then angled myself to try to sleep in my car. It was a delicious taste of homelessness. Forty-five minutes into my non-sleep, my wife texted back and I dragged my corpse into the house, extricating business cards from my pockets and tearing off sleep-soaked clothing.
Many said it couldn’t be done. We couldn’t do a one-day trip. But we will not be bested by a whale’s vagina (see video below)…
You know what’s funny? OUR BLOG! HA! HA! JUST KIDDING!