So, I'm back at uni.
My study habits have gone from 'tends to leave things to the last minute' to 'completely non-existent.'
That's not actually true; I totally read the book for last week's class. And I read it before class and everything. But I could not tell you a single thing about it. No themes, symbolism, character motivations. I just didn't get the point of anyone writing it down at all. Like The Great Gatsby. Sorry, everyone who loves it. I didn't get it in Year 12, and I don't think I'd get it now.
And when your class of five is held in the lecturer's office, it's kind of noticeable when you have nothing to say. But I was LISTENING. And THINKING (about, like, what would I Twitter right now if I had Twitter?). But listening and thinking don't count towards a participation grade.
You know what else doesn't count? A thesis which sounded so cool back in March or April when October seemed sooooo far away it was practically in next year. I might want to make a start on those 10000 words that (apparently, and not for lack of waiting for them) aren't going to write themselves.
And also, GENIUS, you don't get marks for learning how to MAKE A CURVE IN PHOTOSHOP.
Saturday, August 16, 2008
Thursday, August 14, 2008
Want My Number?
Because I could totally give it to you right now and it would not help you the tiniest bit.
I am typing this at uni because my home internet is down again. This time it's through no fault of our internet people. Somehow - and I really have no idea how this happens - our phone number is not our phone number at the moment.
Basically, we can call out, but the number that will show up is not ours.
Crap! Does this mean mean that someone else has our phone number and could be ringing up our phone bill as I type? That's not cool, other people.
WAIT A SECOND.
If we have someone else's phone number, I could be ringing up their bill right now. I could call Asia, Europe ... oh wait. I could call YOU.
Wait by the phone, bitches.
I am typing this at uni because my home internet is down again. This time it's through no fault of our internet people. Somehow - and I really have no idea how this happens - our phone number is not our phone number at the moment.
Basically, we can call out, but the number that will show up is not ours.
Crap! Does this mean mean that someone else has our phone number and could be ringing up our phone bill as I type? That's not cool, other people.
WAIT A SECOND.
If we have someone else's phone number, I could be ringing up their bill right now. I could call Asia, Europe ... oh wait. I could call YOU.
Wait by the phone, bitches.
Tuesday, August 12, 2008
Blogging About Blogging - How Self-Indulgent
Obviously, BlogHer provided a lot of new and interesting ideas to consider regarding blogging, the why and how of it, the monetary aspect, and the mainstream-ness of it all. I don't think I actually have all my new ideas sorted yet, but we'll just start typing and see what happens.
Why do I blog? 'In the beginning, it was a way of keeping in touch with friends and family back home. Here's what's happening down here; how are things back at the ranch?' I said this a few times while I was away. I'm not sure that it's totally true, and I'm positive that's not why I blog now. The Ranch is a record, a memory, an outlet. My family and friends from home still read it, although I am less aware of them when I'm writing than I was; I certainly use more f-words than some of them would like. I include things which keep them up-to-date, but those same things are a memory for me.
Will I become rich? I do have BlogHer ads on my blog. I don't know how to log in and check how much my huge cheque will equal, but I can tell you it won't be much. Maybe enough for a milkshake once a month. Possibly. I don't know. I'm ok with whatever, really. I would love it if someone wanted to pay me to write, because then I would write so much better and more consistently. But since I'm not doing that to start with, it's unlikely anyone will offer me that. Y'know? Which is fine. As long as I'm happy with what I'm writing, I'm happy with whatever BlogHer ads gives me for it.
What do I want for ...
... the way I read blogs? I read blogs through Bloglines. I have been making an effort to Blog The Recession and click through. As far as I'm concerned, if I can't visualise the author/blog in my reader, why bother reading at all? I have a bajillion new blogs to read since BlogHer, and I'm trying to be okay with deleting some of them. It's nothing personal; not every blog is for me. Or you. Categorising my Bloglines has helped me to prioritise my blog-reading, as well. Basically, I most enjoy blogs when I feel like I recognise/know the blog/blogger.
... my blog? Right now, I've been making some small changes to my blog. Older buttons are all in one place and not cluttering up my sidebar, I'm going to start work on my About Me page, I've started using spell-check, little things like that. I'm thinking of changing the colour scheme / design - nothing too drastic, but just to make it a little cleaner or something.
... my writing? I wish The Ranch was more consistent. I developed a huge wordiness during most of my BlogHer posts, and then suddenly posted three big pictures with hardly any words. I want my style to show clearly on everything I post. I want every post to say what I wanted it to say. I want to be proud of every post I write; I want to be proud to submit them to things like the Community Keynote (no, we're not too ambitious AT ALL). You know those posts where people point out the awesome posts they've read that week? I want mine to be among them. I don't imagine that these things happen without effort - who even knows if effort and planning are blogging aspects that will make me happy to publish things here, but it's worth finding out.
Where are you at with your blog at the moment?
What direction would you like to see The Ranch take?
What are the essential aspects required for an About Page?
Why do I blog? 'In the beginning, it was a way of keeping in touch with friends and family back home. Here's what's happening down here; how are things back at the ranch?' I said this a few times while I was away. I'm not sure that it's totally true, and I'm positive that's not why I blog now. The Ranch is a record, a memory, an outlet. My family and friends from home still read it, although I am less aware of them when I'm writing than I was; I certainly use more f-words than some of them would like. I include things which keep them up-to-date, but those same things are a memory for me.
Will I become rich? I do have BlogHer ads on my blog. I don't know how to log in and check how much my huge cheque will equal, but I can tell you it won't be much. Maybe enough for a milkshake once a month. Possibly. I don't know. I'm ok with whatever, really. I would love it if someone wanted to pay me to write, because then I would write so much better and more consistently. But since I'm not doing that to start with, it's unlikely anyone will offer me that. Y'know? Which is fine. As long as I'm happy with what I'm writing, I'm happy with whatever BlogHer ads gives me for it.
What do I want for ...
... the way I read blogs? I read blogs through Bloglines. I have been making an effort to Blog The Recession and click through. As far as I'm concerned, if I can't visualise the author/blog in my reader, why bother reading at all? I have a bajillion new blogs to read since BlogHer, and I'm trying to be okay with deleting some of them. It's nothing personal; not every blog is for me. Or you. Categorising my Bloglines has helped me to prioritise my blog-reading, as well. Basically, I most enjoy blogs when I feel like I recognise/know the blog/blogger.
... my blog? Right now, I've been making some small changes to my blog. Older buttons are all in one place and not cluttering up my sidebar, I'm going to start work on my About Me page, I've started using spell-check, little things like that. I'm thinking of changing the colour scheme / design - nothing too drastic, but just to make it a little cleaner or something.
... my writing? I wish The Ranch was more consistent. I developed a huge wordiness during most of my BlogHer posts, and then suddenly posted three big pictures with hardly any words. I want my style to show clearly on everything I post. I want every post to say what I wanted it to say. I want to be proud of every post I write; I want to be proud to submit them to things like the Community Keynote (no, we're not too ambitious AT ALL). You know those posts where people point out the awesome posts they've read that week? I want mine to be among them. I don't imagine that these things happen without effort - who even knows if effort and planning are blogging aspects that will make me happy to publish things here, but it's worth finding out.
Where are you at with your blog at the moment?
What direction would you like to see The Ranch take?
What are the essential aspects required for an About Page?
Monday, August 11, 2008
When Does It Stop Being My Birthday?
When the last piece of birthday cake is gone? (I should point out that although I left it sitting around in the kitchen unprotected all this time, neither of boys stole so much as a bite.)
When I finish the series I bought with my birthday money?
When I finally get off my arse, unpack, and start sending presents to other people?
Or, how about never?
When I finish the series I bought with my birthday money?
When I finally get off my arse, unpack, and start sending presents to other people?
Or, how about never?
Sunday, August 10, 2008
Good Decision / Bad Decision
First of all, here is the brief version I could have written many many posts ago:
I flew from Adelaide to Auckland to San Francisco, where I met SuperTiff and Fog City Mommy. Tiff and I stayed with FCM for two days while we did some sightseeing. We checked into our hotel for BlogHer08, which was freaking awesome. We were very brave and met many amazing people. Adrienne drove us to Fullerton, where we stayed with Tiff's BFF Jobi, and went to Downtown Disney. Tiff went home, and I went to Costa Mesa to get my hair done by Whoorl's stylist. I got a train to Palm Springs to hang out with Holly, and then I drove to Vegas. Then I flew to Michigan to hang out with Tiff some more, and held a party for the bloggers in the area. Then I flew to Phoenix, then San Francisco, then Auckland, then Adelaide. And then I slept for a hundred years. In my own bed.
And now, was all of that a good idea? (This format totally stolen and vandalised from Katelin. For the well-written and original version, go here.)
Good decision: To come to SF for BlogHer.
Good decision: To come a couple of days early.
Bad decision: To not be a millionaire so I can guarantee I'll be able to attend every year.
Good decision: To plan to be brave and say hi to everyone I read.
Bad decision: Accidentally missing some people. Getting distracted by $4 margaritas and forgetting about others.
Good decision: To ride in one of the GM cars from SF to LA.
Also good decision: To leave Monday, giving us extra time in SF.
Good decision: Bringing business cards.
Bad decision: To not have anything to say when presenting them apart from "Hi, I'm Missy from Australia!"
New decision: The cards will be prettier next time.
Good decision: Not bringing my red suitcase (wayy too heavy).
Bad decision: Letting the strap break on my duffel.
Good decision: Allowing Holly to force me to buy a wheely one.
Bad decision: Tempting fate with new luggage meaning the New Luggage Gods and US Airways could team up to destroy my new bag.
Bad decision: Bringing four pairs of shoes when I only ended up wearing two of them.
Good decision: Dumping one of the extra pairs on Holly.
Bad decision: Leaving my favouritest jacket there as well, by mistake.
A decision: To resist the Twitter Is Taking Over The World vibe.
Good decision: The world does not need to be burdened with all the crap I would post. I can do that to my friends, not to the whole internet.
Bad decision: A lot of things happened when it was inconvenient to whip out a blog post. Twitter would have been good as a record of this trip.
Good decision: To visit FCM, LA, Whoorl, Holly, Vegas, and Tiff.
Bad decision: To not meet up with Jennster in Vegas.
Bad decision: Booking non-refundable, non-changeable flights before plans were set.
Good decision: Changing plans anyway.
Good decision: Road-tripping it to Vegas.
New decision: I allocated time unevenly. Will plan better next time.
Is it just me, or does decision not even look like a real word any more?
I flew from Adelaide to Auckland to San Francisco, where I met SuperTiff and Fog City Mommy. Tiff and I stayed with FCM for two days while we did some sightseeing. We checked into our hotel for BlogHer08, which was freaking awesome. We were very brave and met many amazing people. Adrienne drove us to Fullerton, where we stayed with Tiff's BFF Jobi, and went to Downtown Disney. Tiff went home, and I went to Costa Mesa to get my hair done by Whoorl's stylist. I got a train to Palm Springs to hang out with Holly, and then I drove to Vegas. Then I flew to Michigan to hang out with Tiff some more, and held a party for the bloggers in the area. Then I flew to Phoenix, then San Francisco, then Auckland, then Adelaide. And then I slept for a hundred years. In my own bed.
And now, was all of that a good idea? (This format totally stolen and vandalised from Katelin. For the well-written and original version, go here.)
Good decision: To come to SF for BlogHer.
Good decision: To come a couple of days early.
Bad decision: To not be a millionaire so I can guarantee I'll be able to attend every year.
Good decision: To plan to be brave and say hi to everyone I read.
Bad decision: Accidentally missing some people. Getting distracted by $4 margaritas and forgetting about others.
Good decision: To ride in one of the GM cars from SF to LA.
Also good decision: To leave Monday, giving us extra time in SF.
Good decision: Bringing business cards.
Bad decision: To not have anything to say when presenting them apart from "Hi, I'm Missy from Australia!"
New decision: The cards will be prettier next time.
Good decision: Not bringing my red suitcase (wayy too heavy).
Bad decision: Letting the strap break on my duffel.
Good decision: Allowing Holly to force me to buy a wheely one.
Bad decision: Tempting fate with new luggage meaning the New Luggage Gods and US Airways could team up to destroy my new bag.
Bad decision: Bringing four pairs of shoes when I only ended up wearing two of them.
Good decision: Dumping one of the extra pairs on Holly.
Bad decision: Leaving my favouritest jacket there as well, by mistake.
A decision: To resist the Twitter Is Taking Over The World vibe.
Good decision: The world does not need to be burdened with all the crap I would post. I can do that to my friends, not to the whole internet.
Bad decision: A lot of things happened when it was inconvenient to whip out a blog post. Twitter would have been good as a record of this trip.
Good decision: To visit FCM, LA, Whoorl, Holly, Vegas, and Tiff.
Bad decision: To not meet up with Jennster in Vegas.
Bad decision: Booking non-refundable, non-changeable flights before plans were set.
Good decision: Changing plans anyway.
Good decision: Road-tripping it to Vegas.
New decision: I allocated time unevenly. Will plan better next time.
Is it just me, or does decision not even look like a real word any more?
Saturday, August 09, 2008
Apparently, there is such thing as a stupid question
Me: Why is there so much Australia stuff around?
Everyone at work (at a SPORTS store, no less): ... Um, duh? A little thing you might have heard of called THE OLYMPICS?
And here I thought all the shops were just welcoming me back.
Everyone at work (at a SPORTS store, no less): ... Um, duh? A little thing you might have heard of called THE OLYMPICS?
And here I thought all the shops were just welcoming me back.
Friday, August 08, 2008
Michigan Blogger Party: Ice-cream and RockBand Award
Argh! So many things happened that I'm still trying to get written down!
Tiff and I decided to host a party for any Michigan bloggers who could make it. After couch-buying-related hijinks that afternoon, we headed off in a total rush to buy the necessities - chips and dip, Ben&Jerry's, strawberry mix, and vodka.
We made it home before any guests arrived, set out all the snacky-food things we'd promised people, and commenced stressing.
All that stressing was totally unwarranted, I have to say. We had an awesome time, and I hope our guests did too.
Highlights included:
~ Meeting everyone. Duh.
~ Perfecting our strawberry slushie drinks.
~ Deciding what to do with Andrea's hair.
~ Me and Andrea (ok, mostly me) cursing out Elizabeth (or the car I thought was Elizabeth's) for ditching us. You have to admit, that would've been pretty genius if she'd done it that way.
~ Finding the Smiley Fries from BlogHer at the shops that afternoon, cooking them in Tiff's brand-new kitchen, and eating them at 2am.
~ Playing RockBand til three in the morning.
~ Did I mention I got to hang out with all these awesome people (plus a few more)? AWESOME, I TELL YOU.
(That picture totally stolen from Elizabeth, because we are just so damn hot. Also, go read her post; it is much more coherent than mine.)
(I had to finish with that one, because it took us about twenty bajillion tries to get an even remotely sensible shot. It was late. Really late.)
In conclusion: You guys need to do that more often, even if you don't invite me. I won't be offended. (I will be pissed I can't gate-crash, but that's different.) You guys were so much fun - any success of the party was totally caused by you. Thank you so much!
Tiff and I decided to host a party for any Michigan bloggers who could make it. After couch-buying-related hijinks that afternoon, we headed off in a total rush to buy the necessities - chips and dip, Ben&Jerry's, strawberry mix, and vodka.
We made it home before any guests arrived, set out all the snacky-food things we'd promised people, and commenced stressing.
All that stressing was totally unwarranted, I have to say. We had an awesome time, and I hope our guests did too.
Highlights included:
~ Meeting everyone. Duh.
~ Perfecting our strawberry slushie drinks.
~ Deciding what to do with Andrea's hair.
~ Me and Andrea (ok, mostly me) cursing out Elizabeth (or the car I thought was Elizabeth's) for ditching us. You have to admit, that would've been pretty genius if she'd done it that way.
~ Finding the Smiley Fries from BlogHer at the shops that afternoon, cooking them in Tiff's brand-new kitchen, and eating them at 2am.
~ Playing RockBand til three in the morning.
~ Did I mention I got to hang out with all these awesome people (plus a few more)? AWESOME, I TELL YOU.
(That picture totally stolen from Elizabeth, because we are just so damn hot. Also, go read her post; it is much more coherent than mine.)
(I had to finish with that one, because it took us about twenty bajillion tries to get an even remotely sensible shot. It was late. Really late.)
In conclusion: You guys need to do that more often, even if you don't invite me. I won't be offended. (I will be pissed I can't gate-crash, but that's different.) You guys were so much fun - any success of the party was totally caused by you. Thank you so much!
When You're Travelling Alone, You Can't Blame Other People
At the buffet:
Exhibit A: One.
Exhibit B: Not one.
Greediness!
Exhibit A: One.
Exhibit B: Not one.
Greediness!
Thursday, August 07, 2008
Guest Review: Twilight by Stephanie Meyer
I'm like, a total professional book reviewer now, just like Holly.
If you're interested in my "I read this on the plane, when I was half asleep and in ten different time zones, and now it's 10:30 at night, but really it could be any time, so I don't really remember anything, but I HAVE LOTS OF OPINIONS" opinions on Stephanie Meyer's Twilight, you can head on over to Book Binge for my review.
***
Missy: When do I get my guest reviewer cheque?
Holly: "Thanks for the review." That's the best you can hope for in the form of payment. That and millions of adoring fans will read your review and hate you for it. YAY you.
Missy: Oh, AWESOME.
If you're interested in my "I read this on the plane, when I was half asleep and in ten different time zones, and now it's 10:30 at night, but really it could be any time, so I don't really remember anything, but I HAVE LOTS OF OPINIONS" opinions on Stephanie Meyer's Twilight, you can head on over to Book Binge for my review.
***
Missy: When do I get my guest reviewer cheque?
Holly: "Thanks for the review." That's the best you can hope for in the form of payment. That and millions of adoring fans will read your review and hate you for it. YAY you.
Missy: Oh, AWESOME.
The Un!Comfortable! Moment (and Awesome Recovery) Award: Heather B
Again, this is all impression and seemed and felt, so read it with that in mind.
Tiff and I both read Heather B’s blog. We both got to it through Amalah, back when Heather was Noah’s babysitter (surely the best job in the world). We are both well aware of the fact that Heather is no longer his babysitter, and is in fact, a person and blogger in her own right.
One day (I’m guessing Saturday), Tiff walked close by Heather B and was brave enough to say hi. Good work, Tiff! Then the both of them, separately, walked close enough by me for Tiff to say, “Hey Missy, there’s Noah’s babysitter!” And then, I did my squealy excited thing, and called out, “Hi! I’m so jealous!” because I wasn't thinking, and also, if there had been more time, I would have said something like, “I love your blog,” but there wasn’t.
That night, at Macy’s, while Tiff and I were talking to Amalah about Trader Joe’s and Sephora and Noah, Heather B came up to rescue Amalah / take her to the Cheeseburger Party / whatever. Then she realised who I was and looked at Amalah and was all, “This is the girl I was telling you about. She thought I was Noah’s babysitter.” Um, hi, you were Noah’s babysitter, and if you’d give me a second, I could explain that I know you’re not any more. Then she recognised Tiff and said something about her as well, but I couldn’t hear because I felt like I’d been punched in the stomach.
Me and Tiff and Amalah had been having fun, hanging out, and then Amalah had been informed that I was nobody she would want to hang out with, ever, and straight away I was nothing to her. Obviously, not actually, because Amalah is not a horrible person (there’s an endorsement for you), but that was how I felt, because I am irrational like that.
Tiff took over Amalah duties and I tried to explain to Heather B that I actually did know who she was, that I liked her writing, and that I read her blog all the time, but I got the impression she didn’t care and wasn’t listening. Of course, that may have been because we were all about to be late for cheeseburgers, but still. I really don’t think it was anyone’s finest hour right there.
Again: NOT TRYING TO START DRAMA. MY OWN POINT OF VIEW. FEELINGS/THOUGHTS ATTAINED AFTER CONSUMPTION OF ALCOHOL.
Also: Heather B sent Tiff an extremely awesome email apologising for the situation (unnecessary, but lovely of her), and it was indeed as I thought, that she would like to be recognised as someone other than Noah's babysitter. Like, maybe as Heather B of No Pasa Nada. I'm just guessing, and the second one is in fact the way I think of her, but it was just simpler for Tiff to point her out to me as the former at the time. So we're sorry, too.
And I got to meet Heather B! Woohoo!
Tiff and I both read Heather B’s blog. We both got to it through Amalah, back when Heather was Noah’s babysitter (surely the best job in the world). We are both well aware of the fact that Heather is no longer his babysitter, and is in fact, a person and blogger in her own right.
One day (I’m guessing Saturday), Tiff walked close by Heather B and was brave enough to say hi. Good work, Tiff! Then the both of them, separately, walked close enough by me for Tiff to say, “Hey Missy, there’s Noah’s babysitter!” And then, I did my squealy excited thing, and called out, “Hi! I’m so jealous!” because I wasn't thinking, and also, if there had been more time, I would have said something like, “I love your blog,” but there wasn’t.
That night, at Macy’s, while Tiff and I were talking to Amalah about Trader Joe’s and Sephora and Noah, Heather B came up to rescue Amalah / take her to the Cheeseburger Party / whatever. Then she realised who I was and looked at Amalah and was all, “This is the girl I was telling you about. She thought I was Noah’s babysitter.” Um, hi, you were Noah’s babysitter, and if you’d give me a second, I could explain that I know you’re not any more. Then she recognised Tiff and said something about her as well, but I couldn’t hear because I felt like I’d been punched in the stomach.
Me and Tiff and Amalah had been having fun, hanging out, and then Amalah had been informed that I was nobody she would want to hang out with, ever, and straight away I was nothing to her. Obviously, not actually, because Amalah is not a horrible person (there’s an endorsement for you), but that was how I felt, because I am irrational like that.
Tiff took over Amalah duties and I tried to explain to Heather B that I actually did know who she was, that I liked her writing, and that I read her blog all the time, but I got the impression she didn’t care and wasn’t listening. Of course, that may have been because we were all about to be late for cheeseburgers, but still. I really don’t think it was anyone’s finest hour right there.
Again: NOT TRYING TO START DRAMA. MY OWN POINT OF VIEW. FEELINGS/THOUGHTS ATTAINED AFTER CONSUMPTION OF ALCOHOL.
Also: Heather B sent Tiff an extremely awesome email apologising for the situation (unnecessary, but lovely of her), and it was indeed as I thought, that she would like to be recognised as someone other than Noah's babysitter. Like, maybe as Heather B of No Pasa Nada. I'm just guessing, and the second one is in fact the way I think of her, but it was just simpler for Tiff to point her out to me as the former at the time. So we're sorry, too.
And I got to meet Heather B! Woohoo!
Wednesday, August 06, 2008
How I Almost Got Locked In Macy's And Then Met A Bunch Of Awesome People
I had had a make-over from the Bare Minerals people at the conference, and - like a total sucker - bought a couple of their products, to be picked up from the Macy's party.
Naturally, I was way too busy prancing around the lingerie department, or demanding bottles of wine since they'd run out of glasses, to even think of searching for my purchases. Until like the very last second, when it occurred to me that I'd given these people my credit card number, it wouldn't be too good if I didn't track them down.
Which I tried to do and was sent to the cosmetics department, bottom floor. Except that the very bottom floor was closed and the dude wouldn't let me down the escalator. But then I was all "I need to pick up my crap!" and must have looked a little emotional, so he was like, "I'm going to get someone from security" which was different to the "Security!" call that he could have made, so that was good.
Security took me downstairs and found me a make-up person. Turned out my crazy foreign credit card hadn't even gone through, so I could have just left without my "crap." But I got it, and they made me walk out the employees entrance as it was so late. I had to have my bag searched (black, clutch, TINY, like, my phone barely fit - plus she totally ignored the huge Macy's bag I was carrying that would have fit all kind of stolen merchandise) by the door bitch, and then I was released.
As I stepped out the door I realised I was on the totally opposite side to where I'd come in and had no freaking idea where the hotel was. I ran back inside and demanded someone tell me where my room was. Shockingly, the door bitch was unhelpful, but there was no way I was going back outside without some directions, a map, preferably GPS (with a battery that worked). I would rather have slept there (and since this means I would've missed the festivities of the last night, being locked in Macy's was much less appealing than it normally would have been). I was all, SERIOUSLY, NOT LEAVING. WHERE IS MY CHEESEBURGER PARTY? at the guys in the security booth, who were wayy more helpful than the door bitch (shocker) and I made it home.
By the time I got there, a bunch of people were gathered in the lobby after the Cheeseburger Party had been broken up. I went up to a group of people which included someone I knew (maybe Jennster?) and maybe three or four that I didn’t.
After me and whoever had stopped chatting, one of the other girls was all, “Are you Missy, from Meanwhile, Back at the Ranch?” (Ok, first of all, SQUEE! This was the first and only time this happened to me.) I was like, “Yeeeees?” in the tone of voice like, you might be a psycho and I don’t want to give too much away, but I was really trying to figure out who this person was without reading her nametag or looking like I was trying. Thank god, she relieved me of the effort: “I’m Kristabella.” And I was like, “Really? Kristabella?” like, no, she just made it up. After I stole a glance at her nametag, I demanded a hug – and I’m sure there was a squeal in there as well; I was fucking excited – and babbled some more crap.
Then I realised I was making a scene and turned to introduce myself to the rest of the circle. “Hi, I’m Slynnro.” Shut up, you are not. OMG it’s Slynnro! “Hi, I’m Ali.” OMG it’s Ali Martell! And so on.
Seriously, that whole circle was people I wanted to meet, but hadn’t seen all weekend (or if I had, I’d rudely ignored them). I wish we had more time to spend together, but maybe next year.
In summary: it was freaking awesome.
Naturally, I was way too busy prancing around the lingerie department, or demanding bottles of wine since they'd run out of glasses, to even think of searching for my purchases. Until like the very last second, when it occurred to me that I'd given these people my credit card number, it wouldn't be too good if I didn't track them down.
Which I tried to do and was sent to the cosmetics department, bottom floor. Except that the very bottom floor was closed and the dude wouldn't let me down the escalator. But then I was all "I need to pick up my crap!" and must have looked a little emotional, so he was like, "I'm going to get someone from security" which was different to the "Security!" call that he could have made, so that was good.
Security took me downstairs and found me a make-up person. Turned out my crazy foreign credit card hadn't even gone through, so I could have just left without my "crap." But I got it, and they made me walk out the employees entrance as it was so late. I had to have my bag searched (black, clutch, TINY, like, my phone barely fit - plus she totally ignored the huge Macy's bag I was carrying that would have fit all kind of stolen merchandise) by the door bitch, and then I was released.
As I stepped out the door I realised I was on the totally opposite side to where I'd come in and had no freaking idea where the hotel was. I ran back inside and demanded someone tell me where my room was. Shockingly, the door bitch was unhelpful, but there was no way I was going back outside without some directions, a map, preferably GPS (with a battery that worked). I would rather have slept there (and since this means I would've missed the festivities of the last night, being locked in Macy's was much less appealing than it normally would have been). I was all, SERIOUSLY, NOT LEAVING. WHERE IS MY CHEESEBURGER PARTY? at the guys in the security booth, who were wayy more helpful than the door bitch (shocker) and I made it home.
By the time I got there, a bunch of people were gathered in the lobby after the Cheeseburger Party had been broken up. I went up to a group of people which included someone I knew (maybe Jennster?) and maybe three or four that I didn’t.
After me and whoever had stopped chatting, one of the other girls was all, “Are you Missy, from Meanwhile, Back at the Ranch?” (Ok, first of all, SQUEE! This was the first and only time this happened to me.) I was like, “Yeeeees?” in the tone of voice like, you might be a psycho and I don’t want to give too much away, but I was really trying to figure out who this person was without reading her nametag or looking like I was trying. Thank god, she relieved me of the effort: “I’m Kristabella.” And I was like, “Really? Kristabella?” like, no, she just made it up. After I stole a glance at her nametag, I demanded a hug – and I’m sure there was a squeal in there as well; I was fucking excited – and babbled some more crap.
Then I realised I was making a scene and turned to introduce myself to the rest of the circle. “Hi, I’m Slynnro.” Shut up, you are not. OMG it’s Slynnro! “Hi, I’m Ali.” OMG it’s Ali Martell! And so on.
Seriously, that whole circle was people I wanted to meet, but hadn’t seen all weekend (or if I had, I’d rudely ignored them). I wish we had more time to spend together, but maybe next year.
In summary: it was freaking awesome.
Tuesday, August 05, 2008
Welcome Home
After flying for 9,908,547,592,380,390,853,290 hours, I finally made it to Adelaide Airport. I went through duty free, where a bottle of alcohol cost me as much as it would have normally cost in the US.
I caught the slowest taxi EVER home (like, the reason you go Tapley's Hill instead of Marion Road is that it's 80 instead of 60 there. This is negated by the fact that you did 60 along there anyway) and worried that I wouldn't remember directions to my house. When I did get inside, my house had changed. Did they paint the walls? Was the hall always this wide? And oh my god, my walls are so bare.
After being in other people's gorgeous houses for three weeks, dude, my room is SO BORING. Maybe it was with this in mind that I stole four posters from the video shop when we went there last night, even though I haven't seen any of the movies featured. I don't think movie posters is the answer, but I am doing something with this wall:
Help me! Ideas!
Shelle and Jollan came over to help me celebrate. We made a birthday cake which, hmm, I would not eat the bottom of it if I were you - let's just say cranking up the heat to reduce cooking time might not be as effective as it sounds. But the rest of it was absolutely delicious and I love you guys for humouring my need for birthday cake.
Also, the chip packet told us to do this:
Today, I am trying to sort out categories in my Bloglines, which is essentially a pain in my arse, but when it is done the organisation-loving part of my heart will be so happy. I am uploading all my pics to Flickr, and tagging them all carefully is making up for all the current Bloglines chaos.
I am also making my way through this ...
... and I should have thought of a couple of things before I started. Namely:
1. There is never going to be enough room on the line for all those clothes.
1a. Also, what, is there a world peg shortage going on?
2. It is winter.
2a. Which means it is constantly raining and cold.
2b. Even though I don't care if my clothes get rained on, I still need to be able to hang them out so I can say I DID MY LAUNDRY.
Which all amounts to
3. How the hell do you think you are going to get all these clothes dry, ever?
I am also ignoring the fact that I am expected to be at uni tomorrow, ready to learn things, and the fact that I am, oh, a bajillion months behind on writing my thesis. "Work on it at BlogHer" my arse. But I still feel like it's my birthday - because I am insane like that, and because I had a bajillion Facebook messages to the tune of, "Facebook totally makes it easy for us to wish you Happy Birthday, even though we never would have remembered and don't know how old you are and really are not that concerned over any of this, but still, have a great day" - so I am happy.
And also because I got like the greatest birthday present ever this morning. (Equal greatest. I got this from Tiffany - like, the person, not the jewellry place - before I left. Pretty, right?) Here is Holly, in all her drivers licence glory that she denied the internet.
I love you guys!
I caught the slowest taxi EVER home (like, the reason you go Tapley's Hill instead of Marion Road is that it's 80 instead of 60 there. This is negated by the fact that you did 60 along there anyway) and worried that I wouldn't remember directions to my house. When I did get inside, my house had changed. Did they paint the walls? Was the hall always this wide? And oh my god, my walls are so bare.
After being in other people's gorgeous houses for three weeks, dude, my room is SO BORING. Maybe it was with this in mind that I stole four posters from the video shop when we went there last night, even though I haven't seen any of the movies featured. I don't think movie posters is the answer, but I am doing something with this wall:
Help me! Ideas!
Shelle and Jollan came over to help me celebrate. We made a birthday cake which, hmm, I would not eat the bottom of it if I were you - let's just say cranking up the heat to reduce cooking time might not be as effective as it sounds. But the rest of it was absolutely delicious and I love you guys for humouring my need for birthday cake.
Also, the chip packet told us to do this:
Today, I am trying to sort out categories in my Bloglines, which is essentially a pain in my arse, but when it is done the organisation-loving part of my heart will be so happy. I am uploading all my pics to Flickr, and tagging them all carefully is making up for all the current Bloglines chaos.
I am also making my way through this ...
... and I should have thought of a couple of things before I started. Namely:
1. There is never going to be enough room on the line for all those clothes.
1a. Also, what, is there a world peg shortage going on?
2. It is winter.
2a. Which means it is constantly raining and cold.
2b. Even though I don't care if my clothes get rained on, I still need to be able to hang them out so I can say I DID MY LAUNDRY.
Which all amounts to
3. How the hell do you think you are going to get all these clothes dry, ever?
I am also ignoring the fact that I am expected to be at uni tomorrow, ready to learn things, and the fact that I am, oh, a bajillion months behind on writing my thesis. "Work on it at BlogHer" my arse. But I still feel like it's my birthday - because I am insane like that, and because I had a bajillion Facebook messages to the tune of, "Facebook totally makes it easy for us to wish you Happy Birthday, even though we never would have remembered and don't know how old you are and really are not that concerned over any of this, but still, have a great day" - so I am happy.
And also because I got like the greatest birthday present ever this morning. (Equal greatest. I got this from Tiffany - like, the person, not the jewellry place - before I left. Pretty, right?) Here is Holly, in all her drivers licence glory that she denied the internet.
I love you guys!
Monday, August 04, 2008
Saturday, August 02, 2008
The End (updated from san francisco)
I'm leaving.
In like, not very many hours.
This does not actually seem real, possibly because I haven't packed and am busy watching Harry Potter, which is good because then I am not freaking out.
How is it possible that I leave Michigan, fly to Phoenix (which ... where is Arizona, anyway?), fly to San Francisco, fly to Auckland, then am home, which equals not anywhere that I can play RockBand or eat Ben&Jerry's or casually discuss Keynotes and Cheeseburger Parties. I think that is not actually possible.
What is even more impossible is that, essentially, 'tomorrow' is my birthday, so I get home, have a party, then have to go straight back to uni.
Like, what the fuck?
Update: Ok, I actually am leaving now. Well, very soon. Now I'm in SFO, at my gate, about to board my plane for New Zealand. (I almost wrote 'ready to board' but I don't think I am. It seems like ages since I was home, but no, three weeks was not long enough.) The flights to and from Phoenix were uneventful, except that when we got to SFO, we broke two luggage carousels when someone's bag got stuck and kinda ruined. Anybody want to guess whose?
In like, not very many hours.
This does not actually seem real, possibly because I haven't packed and am busy watching Harry Potter, which is good because then I am not freaking out.
How is it possible that I leave Michigan, fly to Phoenix (which ... where is Arizona, anyway?), fly to San Francisco, fly to Auckland, then am home, which equals not anywhere that I can play RockBand or eat Ben&Jerry's or casually discuss Keynotes and Cheeseburger Parties. I think that is not actually possible.
What is even more impossible is that, essentially, 'tomorrow' is my birthday, so I get home, have a party, then have to go straight back to uni.
Like, what the fuck?
Update: Ok, I actually am leaving now. Well, very soon. Now I'm in SFO, at my gate, about to board my plane for New Zealand. (I almost wrote 'ready to board' but I don't think I am. It seems like ages since I was home, but no, three weeks was not long enough.) The flights to and from Phoenix were uneventful, except that when we got to SFO, we broke two luggage carousels when someone's bag got stuck and kinda ruined. Anybody want to guess whose?
Friday, August 01, 2008
Not To My Hair, You Don't
I have tried to keep my new haircut in it’s Tera-given pristine condition. I have failed.
I went on one of the water rides at the Circus Circus theme park, and yes, shocker, got wet. Specifically, got my hair wet. Bugger.
Now technically, and with the benefit of hindsight, it would have been fine until I got to Michigan. It was only a little splash, and only I would know that Tera’s handiwork had been defaced. But I wanted to do something all about me – because the rest of this trip totally hasn’t been – so I went in search of a hair salon.
The one in my hotel was undergoing renovations, so that was out. I decided on the closest hotel to mine, because it’s a wash and a blow dry, how bad could it be?
Pretty damn bad.
After wandering around the Riviera, and down many long and increasingly narrow corridors, I finally found the “beauty” “salon.” I walked in, and was greeted by a woman having her nails done. I said Hi back and scanned the price list to see if they even offered what I was after. They did. Then the woman was all, “Can I help you?” and I was all, “Wash and blow dry?” and she was all, “Now?” and I was all, “Yes, please,” and she was all, “THANK GOD.” And then I was all, “What the fuck?” and also a little, “Hmm, crap.”
So the one woman washed my hair – none too gently – while the other one watched from the counter.
Washer: I’m going to put some conditioner in it, ok?
Me: [Duh, doesn’t everybody?] Yep, that’s fine.
Washer: You usually use conditioner?
Me: [Duh, doesn’t everybody?] Yep.
Washer: Ok, I’ll put some in. *Puts conditioner in.* That will be an extra ten dollars, of course.
Me: [WHAT THE FUCKING HELL?!] Um, okay.
Watcher: *Says something I can’t hear, my head being under water, and also me being still slightly stunned.*
Washer: She says you need a pedicure, too.
Now, I am the first to admit the job I did on my nails before BlogHer was pretty sub-par, and walking up and down the Strip for two days in the dust and the dirt wasn’t helping matters, but seriously?
I laughed it off, told them I wasn’t need of one right at that second (Them: “Maybe tomorrow”), and got transferred to the Watcher who would straighten my hair.
First off, she pulled out a brush that looked like she bought it from Kmart. In the kids’ section. With the pink glitter hair clips and the neon shoelaces or whatever. And brushed out all my tangles (and there were a lot). Again, seriously? Now I’m not saying you can’t ever put a brush to wet hair, but straight up, no product, no drying at all, and you’re going to drag a brush though my hair?
Then she put some product in, clipped my hair up, and stuck me under one of those drying things. Guys, come on, you’re not even trying here. When Tera did my hair, she did all the blow-drying AND she’s pregnant AND it was uphill in the snow both ways. Don’t be so lazy.
Once she decided I was cooked enough, she bought me back to the chair, pointed the hair dryer at my hair, and waved it around a little. I think we all learned on Grad Night (well, you guys didn’t, cos The Ranch wasn’t around then, but the hairdresser at Rydges totally did) that you can’t do that with my hair. You need to be very specific with it, and do bits at a time. When she got sick of the waving around, she pulled out a chunk from the bottom and started blow-drying it straight using her Kmart brush (not even a round Kmart brush, either). She stopped and made it a smaller chunk, and when she decided that still wasn’t working, she pulled out a straightener.
This one came with a My Little Pony set, I think. It was pink, and plastic, and while I have no problem with either of these things in theory, I feel they have little place in a professional hair salon.
And then she applied the straightener to my dripping wet hair. Which sizzled.
It was about this time that I “remembered” I had to meet my friends for lunch or cocktails or something, anything, and I left. I paid for the wash, neglecting to leave a tip, because I’m Australian and we don’t do that here.
Or possibly because I thought they sucked.
I went on one of the water rides at the Circus Circus theme park, and yes, shocker, got wet. Specifically, got my hair wet. Bugger.
Now technically, and with the benefit of hindsight, it would have been fine until I got to Michigan. It was only a little splash, and only I would know that Tera’s handiwork had been defaced. But I wanted to do something all about me – because the rest of this trip totally hasn’t been – so I went in search of a hair salon.
The one in my hotel was undergoing renovations, so that was out. I decided on the closest hotel to mine, because it’s a wash and a blow dry, how bad could it be?
Pretty damn bad.
After wandering around the Riviera, and down many long and increasingly narrow corridors, I finally found the “beauty” “salon.” I walked in, and was greeted by a woman having her nails done. I said Hi back and scanned the price list to see if they even offered what I was after. They did. Then the woman was all, “Can I help you?” and I was all, “Wash and blow dry?” and she was all, “Now?” and I was all, “Yes, please,” and she was all, “THANK GOD.” And then I was all, “What the fuck?” and also a little, “Hmm, crap.”
So the one woman washed my hair – none too gently – while the other one watched from the counter.
Washer: I’m going to put some conditioner in it, ok?
Me: [Duh, doesn’t everybody?] Yep, that’s fine.
Washer: You usually use conditioner?
Me: [Duh, doesn’t everybody?] Yep.
Washer: Ok, I’ll put some in. *Puts conditioner in.* That will be an extra ten dollars, of course.
Me: [WHAT THE FUCKING HELL?!] Um, okay.
Watcher: *Says something I can’t hear, my head being under water, and also me being still slightly stunned.*
Washer: She says you need a pedicure, too.
Now, I am the first to admit the job I did on my nails before BlogHer was pretty sub-par, and walking up and down the Strip for two days in the dust and the dirt wasn’t helping matters, but seriously?
I laughed it off, told them I wasn’t need of one right at that second (Them: “Maybe tomorrow”), and got transferred to the Watcher who would straighten my hair.
First off, she pulled out a brush that looked like she bought it from Kmart. In the kids’ section. With the pink glitter hair clips and the neon shoelaces or whatever. And brushed out all my tangles (and there were a lot). Again, seriously? Now I’m not saying you can’t ever put a brush to wet hair, but straight up, no product, no drying at all, and you’re going to drag a brush though my hair?
Then she put some product in, clipped my hair up, and stuck me under one of those drying things. Guys, come on, you’re not even trying here. When Tera did my hair, she did all the blow-drying AND she’s pregnant AND it was uphill in the snow both ways. Don’t be so lazy.
Once she decided I was cooked enough, she bought me back to the chair, pointed the hair dryer at my hair, and waved it around a little. I think we all learned on Grad Night (well, you guys didn’t, cos The Ranch wasn’t around then, but the hairdresser at Rydges totally did) that you can’t do that with my hair. You need to be very specific with it, and do bits at a time. When she got sick of the waving around, she pulled out a chunk from the bottom and started blow-drying it straight using her Kmart brush (not even a round Kmart brush, either). She stopped and made it a smaller chunk, and when she decided that still wasn’t working, she pulled out a straightener.
This one came with a My Little Pony set, I think. It was pink, and plastic, and while I have no problem with either of these things in theory, I feel they have little place in a professional hair salon.
And then she applied the straightener to my dripping wet hair. Which sizzled.
It was about this time that I “remembered” I had to meet my friends for lunch or cocktails or something, anything, and I left. I paid for the wash, neglecting to leave a tip, because I’m Australian and we don’t do that here.
Or possibly because I thought they sucked.
Thursday, July 31, 2008
The Make My Dreams Come True Award (Tie): Amy from Amalah.com
So the surprise of this one was totally ruined, Amy, but whatever.
Friday night, Tiff and I finally made it to Ruby Skye, after the door bitch wouldn’t let FCM in. We snagged some food from downstairs and managed to get to upstairs just as some other people were vacating a table. Score.
Even more score than we realised at first, because who should be sitting on the couch behind us but Tiff’s (and my) great blogging crush, Amalah.
After a lot of back-and-forward conversations along the lines of …
You go talk to her.
No, you.
No way.
You’re the one that wanted to meet her.
I’m drinking my drink.
I’m eating my food.
We can’t go over, it’ll look like we came here on purpose.* (Which, if you mean our table at Ruby Skye, then no, we didn’t. If you mean to BlogHer, then yeah, we kinda did.)
… and so on and so forth, the decision was made for us.
Amalah had been totally surrounded and protected by her bodyguard every time we had seen her, including right then. But then! She was walking somewhere (to get carbs, as it turned out. And maybe to go to the bathroom), and she was walking there alone.
This was it. I stepped out and was all, “Amalah?” as if there was ANY DOUBT IN THE WORLD that this was Amalah. I babbled a lot of crap – including the fact that I flew to San Francisco from Australia just to meet her – and she was looking a little scared, so I introduced her to Tiff, and they had a great conversation about Noah’s recent haircut.
Yay! Another Internet Rockstar successfully stalked.
But no, wait, it’s not over yet.
At the book-signing at Macy’s, Amalah was banished to a couch at the back, and by the time I got there – I was busy in the lingerie department, remember? – she was all by herself. I got all the other signatures then approached her for hers. I apologised for babbling like an idiot the night before, and she said she remembered me but not the babbling (I might be totally making this shit up to make myself feel better, by the way).
AND THEN, Amalah and I had a huge fucking chat. Mostly about Sephora. And the advantage of sample sizes when travelling on flights that don’t exist. And then I was all, “I bought some of the Bare Minerals from the make-over thing at the conference! You write about Bare Minerals in the Advice Smackdown, right?! I’m just like you!” And she was all, “Actually, idiot, I fucking hate Bare Minerals with a fiery passion. But still, you scored a product from the Advice Smackdown line, so yay, props to you.”
Then she was very sweet and let me take a photo of her and baby Tivo, and one of us, after I promised I would go away after this.
Which I did, but then Tiff wanted to tell Amalah she made her cry, so we had to go back, and Amalah was all (in her head), “Dude! I just got rid of you! What the hell!” and out loud, very sweet and awesome.
Then we all had another chat, this one about my delusion that I might have been likely to run into Amalah at Trader Joe’s the second I got to SF, which she seemed to find funny instead of insane, and then somehow, in the course of talking about internet crazies (hey!), Amalah let out this huge “MAH BABEEEEE!” just like she’s written a thousand times and I almost died right there. It was so freaking awesome.
In conclusion: Amalah = freaking awesome. Missy and Tiff = totally in love with her.
*PS: Tiff was just reading this over my shoulder, and yelled at me for revealing to Amalah and the whole internet that we were not as suave as we may have appeared, what with all the casually approaching internet celebrities and whatnot, and may now appear slightly crazy. Which, Amalah, you're pretty smart, right? You already figured that part out, didn't you? Yeah, I thought so.
Friday night, Tiff and I finally made it to Ruby Skye, after the door bitch wouldn’t let FCM in. We snagged some food from downstairs and managed to get to upstairs just as some other people were vacating a table. Score.
Even more score than we realised at first, because who should be sitting on the couch behind us but Tiff’s (and my) great blogging crush, Amalah.
After a lot of back-and-forward conversations along the lines of …
You go talk to her.
No, you.
No way.
You’re the one that wanted to meet her.
I’m drinking my drink.
I’m eating my food.
We can’t go over, it’ll look like we came here on purpose.* (Which, if you mean our table at Ruby Skye, then no, we didn’t. If you mean to BlogHer, then yeah, we kinda did.)
… and so on and so forth, the decision was made for us.
Amalah had been totally surrounded and protected by her bodyguard every time we had seen her, including right then. But then! She was walking somewhere (to get carbs, as it turned out. And maybe to go to the bathroom), and she was walking there alone.
This was it. I stepped out and was all, “Amalah?” as if there was ANY DOUBT IN THE WORLD that this was Amalah. I babbled a lot of crap – including the fact that I flew to San Francisco from Australia just to meet her – and she was looking a little scared, so I introduced her to Tiff, and they had a great conversation about Noah’s recent haircut.
Yay! Another Internet Rockstar successfully stalked.
But no, wait, it’s not over yet.
At the book-signing at Macy’s, Amalah was banished to a couch at the back, and by the time I got there – I was busy in the lingerie department, remember? – she was all by herself. I got all the other signatures then approached her for hers. I apologised for babbling like an idiot the night before, and she said she remembered me but not the babbling (I might be totally making this shit up to make myself feel better, by the way).
AND THEN, Amalah and I had a huge fucking chat. Mostly about Sephora. And the advantage of sample sizes when travelling on flights that don’t exist. And then I was all, “I bought some of the Bare Minerals from the make-over thing at the conference! You write about Bare Minerals in the Advice Smackdown, right?! I’m just like you!” And she was all, “Actually, idiot, I fucking hate Bare Minerals with a fiery passion. But still, you scored a product from the Advice Smackdown line, so yay, props to you.”
Then she was very sweet and let me take a photo of her and baby Tivo, and one of us, after I promised I would go away after this.
Which I did, but then Tiff wanted to tell Amalah she made her cry, so we had to go back, and Amalah was all (in her head), “Dude! I just got rid of you! What the hell!” and out loud, very sweet and awesome.
Then we all had another chat, this one about my delusion that I might have been likely to run into Amalah at Trader Joe’s the second I got to SF, which she seemed to find funny instead of insane, and then somehow, in the course of talking about internet crazies (hey!), Amalah let out this huge “MAH BABEEEEE!” just like she’s written a thousand times and I almost died right there. It was so freaking awesome.
In conclusion: Amalah = freaking awesome. Missy and Tiff = totally in love with her.
*PS: Tiff was just reading this over my shoulder, and yelled at me for revealing to Amalah and the whole internet that we were not as suave as we may have appeared, what with all the casually approaching internet celebrities and whatnot, and may now appear slightly crazy. Which, Amalah, you're pretty smart, right? You already figured that part out, didn't you? Yeah, I thought so.
Wednesday, July 30, 2008
Michigan Bloggers Party Reminder
Calling all imaginary internet people located in the Michigan area!
If you haven't got your invite yet, email me meanwhilemissy AT gmail DOT com, and I'll send you the details.
If you haven't got your invite yet, email me meanwhilemissy AT gmail DOT com, and I'll send you the details.
See you all on Friday!
Tuesday, July 29, 2008
Dear US Airways
Dear US Airways,
This is not a Complaint letter. Your people were all lovely to me, even if they did pull that whole "Welcome to Chicago" thing when we were in fact (I think) landing in Detroit. This is more of a What The Fuck? letter.
First of all, you're making everyone remove their shoes straight off the bat now? Like, what exactly do you think I'm concealing in my Havaianas, huh? And then there's the whole liquid thing (which I really should have thought about, since Amalah totally gave me a lesson the value of Sephora sample sizes, but I didn't, being more concerned with my own hydration than your airline codes). You won't let me take through an unopened bottle of water, and you escort me out - like, physically escort me, and won't let me have my bottle of water back until I'm passed the security checkpoint - but I'm allowed to take on a spray can of sunscreen. The hell?
And then there's the slot machines at the airport. Which I think is pretty cool and Vegasish and whatnot, actually. Plus, it was considerate of you to put them there as the designated waiting area had many less chairs than was required. But given that you had to be playing the pokies to sit at one of the chairs there, I would have to say that that was the most expensive seat I've ever sat in.
And finally, on the plane. You turned the lights off before we'd even started taxiing, which, whatever, it's the red-eye, people want to sleep (and yes I was that person who had their reading light on when everyone else was trying to nap). But then, you demand that people pull down their window shades RIGHT THE FUCK NOW because it will be bright when we land in Detroit. I have to tell you, if I were in a window seat, I would have staged a protest right then and there. Surely Vegas is one of the prettiest and most exciting cities to fly over at night, and you deprived us of that thrilling experience. Also, you scared the shit out of me - not be able to see where the metal tube was going freaked me out enough to grow a little sympathy for those who usually have issues with this whole flying thing. Luckily, the people in the row behind and across from me were smarter and kinder than you and kept their windows open. I got a total neck spasm but at least I wasn't hyperventilating.
Love,
Missy (who really could be in Chicago right now, she wouldn't have a fucking clue).
This is not a Complaint letter. Your people were all lovely to me, even if they did pull that whole "Welcome to Chicago" thing when we were in fact (I think) landing in Detroit. This is more of a What The Fuck? letter.
First of all, you're making everyone remove their shoes straight off the bat now? Like, what exactly do you think I'm concealing in my Havaianas, huh? And then there's the whole liquid thing (which I really should have thought about, since Amalah totally gave me a lesson the value of Sephora sample sizes, but I didn't, being more concerned with my own hydration than your airline codes). You won't let me take through an unopened bottle of water, and you escort me out - like, physically escort me, and won't let me have my bottle of water back until I'm passed the security checkpoint - but I'm allowed to take on a spray can of sunscreen. The hell?
And then there's the slot machines at the airport. Which I think is pretty cool and Vegasish and whatnot, actually. Plus, it was considerate of you to put them there as the designated waiting area had many less chairs than was required. But given that you had to be playing the pokies to sit at one of the chairs there, I would have to say that that was the most expensive seat I've ever sat in.
And finally, on the plane. You turned the lights off before we'd even started taxiing, which, whatever, it's the red-eye, people want to sleep (and yes I was that person who had their reading light on when everyone else was trying to nap). But then, you demand that people pull down their window shades RIGHT THE FUCK NOW because it will be bright when we land in Detroit. I have to tell you, if I were in a window seat, I would have staged a protest right then and there. Surely Vegas is one of the prettiest and most exciting cities to fly over at night, and you deprived us of that thrilling experience. Also, you scared the shit out of me - not be able to see where the metal tube was going freaked me out enough to grow a little sympathy for those who usually have issues with this whole flying thing. Luckily, the people in the row behind and across from me were smarter and kinder than you and kept their windows open. I got a total neck spasm but at least I wasn't hyperventilating.
Love,
Missy (who really could be in Chicago right now, she wouldn't have a fucking clue).
Monday, July 28, 2008
The Total Enthusiasm and Friendliness Award: Jennster
Guess what guys, I have a very long list of people I met at BlogHer that I want to post about. You're going to be ignoring reading BlogHer Awards posts for a long time, the way we're going. Awesome, right?!
Thursday night, People's Party. Tiff and I were doing well on our goal of speaking to other bloggers. We could almost be described as ... sociable.
THEN, I saw, across the room, Jennster. Maybe. I don't know. It kind of looks like her, you know? She's blonde. She is blonde, right? She has a camera. I'm almost sure Jennster has a camera. Maybe it's some other blonde chick who looks like a lot of fun. Let's go over here now and talk to someone else.
Up til then, I had either read people's nametags and done my squealy "OMG I love your blog!" bit at them, or Tiff had made the introductions. Jennster was the first one who WASN'T WEARING A NAMETAG (very unhelpful) and that Tiff couldn't help me out with. Fuck. On the one hand, we had a deal. On the other ... I still wasn't sure if it was actually her.
Pink top. Does Jennster have a pink top? Maybe if I scooch over in her direction a little I might be able to see her face a little better. What if I imagine it in a little box on a profile page, does that help? Ok, even I am getting ready to slap myself upside the head.
Jennster and I somehow ended up at the bar at the same time, and I was totally brave and asked if she was indeed Jennster. Yes she was. (THANK GOD.) When I told her who I was, she did the squealy thing, and demanded a hug, and was just generally so excited to chat to me that I was never afraid to speak to anyone ever again. (Pretty much.) (Which is an awesome thing to have happen on the first night. I highly recommend it.)
I remain convinced that she didn't actually know who I was, or thought I was someone else, but THAT'S NOT THE POINT. Jennster was totally cool that night and continued to be so for the rest of the conference. She's just one of those awesome people who seems to know and be liked by everybody.
She gets this award for being completely awesome, enthusiastic, and photographical. The lesson in all of this is GET EXCITED, BITCHES!
Thursday night, People's Party. Tiff and I were doing well on our goal of speaking to other bloggers. We could almost be described as ... sociable.
THEN, I saw, across the room, Jennster. Maybe. I don't know. It kind of looks like her, you know? She's blonde. She is blonde, right? She has a camera. I'm almost sure Jennster has a camera. Maybe it's some other blonde chick who looks like a lot of fun. Let's go over here now and talk to someone else.
Up til then, I had either read people's nametags and done my squealy "OMG I love your blog!" bit at them, or Tiff had made the introductions. Jennster was the first one who WASN'T WEARING A NAMETAG (very unhelpful) and that Tiff couldn't help me out with. Fuck. On the one hand, we had a deal. On the other ... I still wasn't sure if it was actually her.
Pink top. Does Jennster have a pink top? Maybe if I scooch over in her direction a little I might be able to see her face a little better. What if I imagine it in a little box on a profile page, does that help? Ok, even I am getting ready to slap myself upside the head.
Jennster and I somehow ended up at the bar at the same time, and I was totally brave and asked if she was indeed Jennster. Yes she was. (THANK GOD.) When I told her who I was, she did the squealy thing, and demanded a hug, and was just generally so excited to chat to me that I was never afraid to speak to anyone ever again. (Pretty much.) (Which is an awesome thing to have happen on the first night. I highly recommend it.)
I remain convinced that she didn't actually know who I was, or thought I was someone else, but THAT'S NOT THE POINT. Jennster was totally cool that night and continued to be so for the rest of the conference. She's just one of those awesome people who seems to know and be liked by everybody.
She gets this award for being completely awesome, enthusiastic, and photographical. The lesson in all of this is GET EXCITED, BITCHES!
What Happens In Vegas ...
... may well stay in Vegas, or at least not end up here, given the number of things I forgot to write about in yesterday's post.
Like, did I mention I am in Vegas now?
Also not mentioned:
~ Dear MM: I'm moving in with Holly. Hope that's cool. Love, Missy.
I feel very ripped off that we got less than a day together. That was just mean. Like, 'see how awesome Holly is and how much fun you could have? Well you can't, sucks to be you, ha ha on you both.' I just feel like there were so many questions we could have asked and so many stories we didn't tell. NEXT YEAR.
~ Holly was awesome about helping me find and get to a rental car. Thanks, babe.
Why did I need a rental car? Oh, because I drove to Vegas. By myself. In a car that had the steering wheel on the wrong side, on roads where I had to drive on the wrong side.
I did not crash into anyone, not even in mega traffic on the Strip. And I even parked, right next to another car. It was excellent to be able to follow Holly around for a bit, like car-driving training wheels. After that I was fine. Mostly.
I repeatedly tried to rest my right arm on the door, and I could not find the stupid button to open the petrol tank. Turns out there is no little button, you can just open the little door. Stupid car.
And I did I mention I did all this AFTER MY GPS STOPPED WORKING? Luckily, it's fairly hard to miss the big huge signs that say "LAS VEGAS IS OVER HERE, SUCKAS! COME AND SPEND YOUR MONEY!" so I was fine.
~ I am by myself again.
Unfortunately, Jennster and I managed to not meet up, because I am lazy. An American from the Hall is going to be here tomorrow, so we may get a drink. But basically, I'm on my own.
This may seem sucky, to be in Vegas by yourself, but I don't think so. For one, I am not being all anti-social and psychotic like I was in The Fucking OC. Last night I wandered around my hotel, had dinner, and yelled at you all for posting so much when I was so tired. This morning I returned my rental car (more driving! by myself! in America!) which I was kind of sad to do. The whole road-trip thing is very fun and all empowering and shit, y'know? Then I got a cab to the Bellagio (why there? I don't know) and starting walking along the Strip, stopping at anything that seemed cool.
I have a bajillion photos of that, and there will be a proper Vegas post at some point, maybe, you never know, so I won't go into all that. Point is: everyone in Vegas is a tourist, I can wander and take photos and be all "ooh!" and it doesn't matter, and I am not being a fucking chicken any more. Yay!
Update: Ok, I am being a chicken still. I went down to the pool, got confused by all the chairs and the towels and is this seat taken and fuck it's hot, ok I'm leaving. But! I'm going back in an hour, with my own towel, when it will be a little bit cooler. Then I'm going for another wander down the Strip. The adventuress (TM Jory) returns.
Like, did I mention I am in Vegas now?
Also not mentioned:
~ Dear MM: I'm moving in with Holly. Hope that's cool. Love, Missy.
I feel very ripped off that we got less than a day together. That was just mean. Like, 'see how awesome Holly is and how much fun you could have? Well you can't, sucks to be you, ha ha on you both.' I just feel like there were so many questions we could have asked and so many stories we didn't tell. NEXT YEAR.
~ Holly was awesome about helping me find and get to a rental car. Thanks, babe.
Why did I need a rental car? Oh, because I drove to Vegas. By myself. In a car that had the steering wheel on the wrong side, on roads where I had to drive on the wrong side.
I did not crash into anyone, not even in mega traffic on the Strip. And I even parked, right next to another car. It was excellent to be able to follow Holly around for a bit, like car-driving training wheels. After that I was fine. Mostly.
I repeatedly tried to rest my right arm on the door, and I could not find the stupid button to open the petrol tank. Turns out there is no little button, you can just open the little door. Stupid car.
And I did I mention I did all this AFTER MY GPS STOPPED WORKING? Luckily, it's fairly hard to miss the big huge signs that say "LAS VEGAS IS OVER HERE, SUCKAS! COME AND SPEND YOUR MONEY!" so I was fine.
~ I am by myself again.
Unfortunately, Jennster and I managed to not meet up, because I am lazy. An American from the Hall is going to be here tomorrow, so we may get a drink. But basically, I'm on my own.
This may seem sucky, to be in Vegas by yourself, but I don't think so. For one, I am not being all anti-social and psychotic like I was in The Fucking OC. Last night I wandered around my hotel, had dinner, and yelled at you all for posting so much when I was so tired. This morning I returned my rental car (more driving! by myself! in America!) which I was kind of sad to do. The whole road-trip thing is very fun and all empowering and shit, y'know? Then I got a cab to the Bellagio (why there? I don't know) and starting walking along the Strip, stopping at anything that seemed cool.
I have a bajillion photos of that, and there will be a proper Vegas post at some point, maybe, you never know, so I won't go into all that. Point is: everyone in Vegas is a tourist, I can wander and take photos and be all "ooh!" and it doesn't matter, and I am not being a fucking chicken any more. Yay!
Update: Ok, I am being a chicken still. I went down to the pool, got confused by all the chairs and the towels and is this seat taken and fuck it's hot, ok I'm leaving. But! I'm going back in an hour, with my own towel, when it will be a little bit cooler. Then I'm going for another wander down the Strip. The adventuress (TM Jory) returns.
Sunday, July 27, 2008
The Let's Take This Show On The Road Award: Holly (and Freaking MM)
Holly and I have been reading each other for, say, ever. For about as long as I've been blogging.
In that time, she got engaged, and married, and invited me to come visit her. Oh yes, those are the most important things that have happened to her, ever.
She was kind enough to pick me up at the Train Station In The Middle Of The Fucking Desert, and after talking on our phones from like five meters away to establish that we were us, she gave me the hugest hug in the world, which was totally what I needed.
Then she took me to Outback Steakhouse, because Holly = Outback. For reals.
And we had these awesome drinks, which were, again, totally what I needed. (Remember this theme, I'm going to blow your mind when it all comes together later.)
The chick at Outback was very awesome to us, so you should all go there and say hi.
Then we went drunk book shopping, which caused MM to freak out somewhat and threaten to send someone to arrest us. Which, hello? We're still waiting!
We decided to skip a movie and head home to form our RockBand. We freaking rocked the house! I got 101 notes in a row! And I got ninety-something percent! (Where ninety-something probably equals 90.000000001, but WHATEVER. We rock!)
Before Holly would let me play the Wii, she DRAGGED me to Walmart and FORCED me to buy luggage. The strap on my duffle bag had broken on the way from Santa Ana to Palm Springs (and what track did I leave from in LA? 11. Out of 12. Almost the longest I could possibly have to walk with a broken bag) and Holly got all up in Mom Mode and was like, "You need a new bag!" And I was all, "It's fiiiiine." Seriously I was at my totally sookiest for Holly, the poor thing. I refused to pack my Nike shoes because they take up the most room. I gave her kids all the packets of Tim Tams I had left (sorry, Tiff's mum!) and forced all kinds of stationary equipment on her, all, "I AM NOT CARRYING IT ANY FURTHER!" And then I left my favouritest jacket there, by accident, and now she can be all, "YOU DIDN'T WANT TO CARRY IT, AND NOW IT'S MINE, HAHAHA."
But, okay, ready Holly?
Yes, the wheely thing is the bestest invention in the whole world. Yes, my life was incomplete without it. Yes, you are the smartest person in the whole world ever. I bow down to your total awesomeness. IT WAS JUST WHAT I NEEDED.
And then The Girl (who was the first one up) was looking at the stats of today's play on the Wii, and was all, "How did you guys play three hours today?" Question is, how did she even get any sleep between midnight and 3am, with us ROCKING THE FUCKING HOUSE?
In that time, she got engaged, and married, and invited me to come visit her. Oh yes, those are the most important things that have happened to her, ever.
She was kind enough to pick me up at the Train Station In The Middle Of The Fucking Desert, and after talking on our phones from like five meters away to establish that we were us, she gave me the hugest hug in the world, which was totally what I needed.
Then she took me to Outback Steakhouse, because Holly = Outback. For reals.
And we had these awesome drinks, which were, again, totally what I needed. (Remember this theme, I'm going to blow your mind when it all comes together later.)
The chick at Outback was very awesome to us, so you should all go there and say hi.
Then we went drunk book shopping, which caused MM to freak out somewhat and threaten to send someone to arrest us. Which, hello? We're still waiting!
We decided to skip a movie and head home to form our RockBand. We freaking rocked the house! I got 101 notes in a row! And I got ninety-something percent! (Where ninety-something probably equals 90.000000001, but WHATEVER. We rock!)
Before Holly would let me play the Wii, she DRAGGED me to Walmart and FORCED me to buy luggage. The strap on my duffle bag had broken on the way from Santa Ana to Palm Springs (and what track did I leave from in LA? 11. Out of 12. Almost the longest I could possibly have to walk with a broken bag) and Holly got all up in Mom Mode and was like, "You need a new bag!" And I was all, "It's fiiiiine." Seriously I was at my totally sookiest for Holly, the poor thing. I refused to pack my Nike shoes because they take up the most room. I gave her kids all the packets of Tim Tams I had left (sorry, Tiff's mum!) and forced all kinds of stationary equipment on her, all, "I AM NOT CARRYING IT ANY FURTHER!" And then I left my favouritest jacket there, by accident, and now she can be all, "YOU DIDN'T WANT TO CARRY IT, AND NOW IT'S MINE, HAHAHA."
But, okay, ready Holly?
Yes, the wheely thing is the bestest invention in the whole world. Yes, my life was incomplete without it. Yes, you are the smartest person in the whole world ever. I bow down to your total awesomeness. IT WAS JUST WHAT I NEEDED.
And then The Girl (who was the first one up) was looking at the stats of today's play on the Wii, and was all, "How did you guys play three hours today?" Question is, how did she even get any sleep between midnight and 3am, with us ROCKING THE FUCKING HOUSE?
Friday, July 25, 2008
The Don't Judge A Book By It's Awkward Award: Backpacking Dad and Redneck Mommy
Disclaimer Part One: I was going to write a post about how I am in The OC, where I should be outside and at the beach every daylight hour but am instead hiding in my room, because I am a fucking chicken right now. I was going to write about how I spent the whole day reading blogs, and obsessively checking a few blogs in particular to read their comment sections, except for when I went to the pool, saw that there were other people there and went back to my room. I was going to write about how the only place I went to was Denny's, and the hotel front desk, but only after I argued with the woman about whether or not I could give them a signature over the phone. I was going to write about how I haven't even been to the beach, and not only because I didn't want to mess up my hair. But I didn't want that to be the post up when the imaginary hordes of people came here via BlogHer business cards or linky love fests, so I am - now, after babbling all that anyway - going to write about two more bloggers I met at BlogHer.
Disclaimer Part Two: This is going to be an interesting writing exercise, to see if I can convey all this so that you read what I think I am writing. Just know that a lot of BlogHer is first, quick impressions, and that words like thought, felt, impression, seemed, appeared will come up frequently, and there is a reason for that.
Are we all disclaimed enough? Ok.
One day, Tiff and I were looking for a seat from which to listen to the Community Keynote. The ballroom was one of the most intimidating places at BlogHer, in my opinion. 1000 women, all in one place, and most sitting at tables, which instantaneously creates 'groups' of which you are not a part.
As we wandered, trying not to look like we were attempting to find cool people to sit with that weren't so cool that they would question what we were doing at their table, I kept reading people's boobs, and in doing so, saw Backpacking Dad's nametag. I said to Tiff, "I have to say hello to someone," because we had a deal, remember? And I dragged her over.
I squealed at him (poor bloke), as I do, "Hi! I'm Missy from Australia! I freaking love your blog!" or words to that effect. He said Hi back, because he is cool like that, and I was very happy. That was all I wanted, for cool people to say hi to me, and then I didn't need to see them for the rest of the weekend. Problem was, I had sat down at his table, and Tiff had joined me.
Fuck.
I really should have thought that through.
See, I can sometimes chat to people quite well, but in this case, I hadn't prepared any small talk topics, as I already knew what his blog was about, and I'd covered the Australia thing right there in my intro.
Anyway, Redneck Mommy came over (or was maybe there the whole time and I just now realised who she was?) and I squealed at her as well, as soon as I recognised her.
Here's where the impression part comes in: they both seemed less than impressed that Tiff and I were at their table, and I was starting to think that maybe the squealing was wearing on people. I even suggested to Tiff that we could go get some more food, just so we could come back in and sit at a different table. But she wouldn't let me, so we were stuck.
And then Backpacking Dad asked for a photo with me, and I was thrilled that someone wanted a photo with me and got a smidge bit happier. But I still couldn't shake the feeling they weren't totally in love with me. And that was hard. It's not that they were rude, or unwelcoming, but that they didn't completely love me. Oh yes, I have it tough.
That feeling was completely shaken when the two of them left simply amazing comments - here and elsewhere - to the effect that they did in fact think highly enough of me that I should go back to totally loving them and their blogs. Which I have.
I'm feeling a bit something about this. I hope I have not offended the bloggers in question; I really do love your writing. I hope this doesn't sound like I'm manufacturing bad shit; I just want to put it out there that BlogHer does depend a lot on what people get from certain situations. I hope no-one thinks this is some lame attempt at creating drama; I wanted to write about my feelings and I feel using an actual situation (especially one that turned out fine in the end) is me being honest (and also letting you know that it was all in my head).
BlogHer, and blogs, is about little snippets of people, which we use to judge them. Poorly, in this case, for which I am very sorry, and you should all read these two awesome bloggers because I thought of them in a manner which is not conducive to the spirit of BlogHer, and I owe them one, or a bajillion.
Sooooooo. I freaking love you guys! Hugs?
Disclaimer Part Two: This is going to be an interesting writing exercise, to see if I can convey all this so that you read what I think I am writing. Just know that a lot of BlogHer is first, quick impressions, and that words like thought, felt, impression, seemed, appeared will come up frequently, and there is a reason for that.
Are we all disclaimed enough? Ok.
One day, Tiff and I were looking for a seat from which to listen to the Community Keynote. The ballroom was one of the most intimidating places at BlogHer, in my opinion. 1000 women, all in one place, and most sitting at tables, which instantaneously creates 'groups' of which you are not a part.
As we wandered, trying not to look like we were attempting to find cool people to sit with that weren't so cool that they would question what we were doing at their table, I kept reading people's boobs, and in doing so, saw Backpacking Dad's nametag. I said to Tiff, "I have to say hello to someone," because we had a deal, remember? And I dragged her over.
I squealed at him (poor bloke), as I do, "Hi! I'm Missy from Australia! I freaking love your blog!" or words to that effect. He said Hi back, because he is cool like that, and I was very happy. That was all I wanted, for cool people to say hi to me, and then I didn't need to see them for the rest of the weekend. Problem was, I had sat down at his table, and Tiff had joined me.
Fuck.
I really should have thought that through.
See, I can sometimes chat to people quite well, but in this case, I hadn't prepared any small talk topics, as I already knew what his blog was about, and I'd covered the Australia thing right there in my intro.
Anyway, Redneck Mommy came over (or was maybe there the whole time and I just now realised who she was?) and I squealed at her as well, as soon as I recognised her.
Here's where the impression part comes in: they both seemed less than impressed that Tiff and I were at their table, and I was starting to think that maybe the squealing was wearing on people. I even suggested to Tiff that we could go get some more food, just so we could come back in and sit at a different table. But she wouldn't let me, so we were stuck.
And then Backpacking Dad asked for a photo with me, and I was thrilled that someone wanted a photo with me and got a smidge bit happier. But I still couldn't shake the feeling they weren't totally in love with me. And that was hard. It's not that they were rude, or unwelcoming, but that they didn't completely love me. Oh yes, I have it tough.
That feeling was completely shaken when the two of them left simply amazing comments - here and elsewhere - to the effect that they did in fact think highly enough of me that I should go back to totally loving them and their blogs. Which I have.
I'm feeling a bit something about this. I hope I have not offended the bloggers in question; I really do love your writing. I hope this doesn't sound like I'm manufacturing bad shit; I just want to put it out there that BlogHer does depend a lot on what people get from certain situations. I hope no-one thinks this is some lame attempt at creating drama; I wanted to write about my feelings and I feel using an actual situation (especially one that turned out fine in the end) is me being honest (and also letting you know that it was all in my head).
BlogHer, and blogs, is about little snippets of people, which we use to judge them. Poorly, in this case, for which I am very sorry, and you should all read these two awesome bloggers because I thought of them in a manner which is not conducive to the spirit of BlogHer, and I owe them one, or a bajillion.
Sooooooo. I freaking love you guys! Hugs?
Thursday, July 24, 2008
The Make My Dreams Come True Award (Tie): Sarah from Whoorl.com
A looong time ago, I basically wished to Jesus Santa hobbits that Amalah would give me cosmetics advice, and Whoorl would take me to her hairdresser and they would turn my hair into something beautiful.
(And tangent? I was really annoyed, because I couldn't figure out how to write this without spoiling the Amalah surprise, and then she went and left a comment on my blog, ruining the surprise, so ... guess what? I got to chat to Amalah! That post - in excruciating detail, I have no doubt - is to come.)
Later, Whoorl and Moosh In Indy held a competition, which I entered, and had no doubt I was totally going to win.
Which is why, on the last night of BlogHer, I was totally stalking the both of them so they could tell me that I won. Sadly, no. (Also sad? I never did speak to Moosh In Indy. She might be like the only one on my list that I didn't freak right the fuck out by flinging myself at while squealing.) I did not win the competition. I was very sad, but not really, because I got to talk to Whoorl!
Anyway, somehow - magically, or possibly very rudely - I invited myself or found myself invited to visit Whoorl's stylist with her and we would do a real live Hair Thursday. I know, right?!
The lovely and awesome Sarah has a post up about it over on her site. No need to watch the video. I tend to babble shit and not know where to look when a video camera is pointed at me. (Also, do I never smile?) I believe her take on it was something like, 'We only want to hear your accent! We don't care what you say!' So that was nice.
This is the actual version of what happened.
I made the appointment, after Sarah told Tera that some crazy girl was going to invade the salon and expect miracles to be worked. Tera was not actually there when I called, which gave me a teeny problem. "Whatever Sarah says" is not very helpful when they want to know what you're having done. But it was fine, and Sarah and I would meet Tera there.
Backtrack a little - some incredibly smart person left all her hair products at home. She then used her awesome roommate's hair products, which worked quite well. Said awesome roommate then ditched her for Michigan, taking her hair products with her.
Which is how I ended up buying a random curl hold thing from Rite Aid, which nearly gave Sarah and Tera heart attacks when I told them what was in my hair. Also? Out of this whole trip, when I arrived for Hair Thursday my hair has never looked crapper. I like to think it made the Before and After photos that much more dramatic, but really? You kind of want the best hair people in the world to think you're not a total hair idiot. (They did not even think that, seriously, they were freaking lovely. But still.) I got them to produce some more pained looks when I told them I'd coloured my hair myself, but they recovered and we moved on.
Sarah was all like, 'layers and bangs and oh it might look like mine, I hope that's ok.' Uh, fuck yeah. That'd be fricking amazing! And Tera was like, 'this home colour thing is killing me, I need to put some chocolate brown in there.' And I was like, 'I like chocolate!' So we were all agreed.
Tera and I got started (yes, I was working sooo hard, not) and Whoorl took off because it was too scary to watch. No, actually, Wito (freaking adorable!) needed a nap, as did I, but no-one was offering to drive me around in the car while I did it.
So blah blah colour wash cut blow dry and then Sarah shows up just when I'm wailing for like the bajillionth time, "It's so shoooort!" And she was literally, "I think I need to smack you upside the head." That is a direct quote.
She was right, however, and seriously, I was not saying it didn't look amazing. It really does. At its longest length, it's not much shorter than it was. The layers make it feel shorter and, at the same time, look longer because it's not all heavy and one length and whatever. I have the awesome Whoorl sideswept bangs, and I really like the colour.
Tera was truly great. She explained why she was doing things, and how I could keep it looking the way she intended it to look, and not once did she tell me to shut up, it's not that freaking short, and if you want short young lady, I'll show you short. Her contact details are on the Hair Thursday site, so if you live in Costa Mesa or The OC or SoCal, or whatever the fuck this is, you should totally go make an appointment with her right now.
And Sarah. I don't know what I can say. She was amazing and nice and funny and generous, and she made my hair look absolutely brilliant. She totally did not have to do this for me, but I guess the moral of the story is that you should never be afraid to squeal and hug Hair Goddesses in the lobby at BlogHer.
(And tangent? I was really annoyed, because I couldn't figure out how to write this without spoiling the Amalah surprise, and then she went and left a comment on my blog, ruining the surprise, so ... guess what? I got to chat to Amalah! That post - in excruciating detail, I have no doubt - is to come.)
Later, Whoorl and Moosh In Indy held a competition, which I entered, and had no doubt I was totally going to win.
Which is why, on the last night of BlogHer, I was totally stalking the both of them so they could tell me that I won. Sadly, no. (Also sad? I never did speak to Moosh In Indy. She might be like the only one on my list that I didn't freak right the fuck out by flinging myself at while squealing.) I did not win the competition. I was very sad, but not really, because I got to talk to Whoorl!
Anyway, somehow - magically, or possibly very rudely - I invited myself or found myself invited to visit Whoorl's stylist with her and we would do a real live Hair Thursday. I know, right?!
The lovely and awesome Sarah has a post up about it over on her site. No need to watch the video. I tend to babble shit and not know where to look when a video camera is pointed at me. (Also, do I never smile?) I believe her take on it was something like, 'We only want to hear your accent! We don't care what you say!' So that was nice.
This is the actual version of what happened.
I made the appointment, after Sarah told Tera that some crazy girl was going to invade the salon and expect miracles to be worked. Tera was not actually there when I called, which gave me a teeny problem. "Whatever Sarah says" is not very helpful when they want to know what you're having done. But it was fine, and Sarah and I would meet Tera there.
Backtrack a little - some incredibly smart person left all her hair products at home. She then used her awesome roommate's hair products, which worked quite well. Said awesome roommate then ditched her for Michigan, taking her hair products with her.
Which is how I ended up buying a random curl hold thing from Rite Aid, which nearly gave Sarah and Tera heart attacks when I told them what was in my hair. Also? Out of this whole trip, when I arrived for Hair Thursday my hair has never looked crapper. I like to think it made the Before and After photos that much more dramatic, but really? You kind of want the best hair people in the world to think you're not a total hair idiot. (They did not even think that, seriously, they were freaking lovely. But still.) I got them to produce some more pained looks when I told them I'd coloured my hair myself, but they recovered and we moved on.
Sarah was all like, 'layers and bangs and oh it might look like mine, I hope that's ok.' Uh, fuck yeah. That'd be fricking amazing! And Tera was like, 'this home colour thing is killing me, I need to put some chocolate brown in there.' And I was like, 'I like chocolate!' So we were all agreed.
Tera and I got started (yes, I was working sooo hard, not) and Whoorl took off because it was too scary to watch. No, actually, Wito (freaking adorable!) needed a nap, as did I, but no-one was offering to drive me around in the car while I did it.
So blah blah colour wash cut blow dry and then Sarah shows up just when I'm wailing for like the bajillionth time, "It's so shoooort!" And she was literally, "I think I need to smack you upside the head." That is a direct quote.
She was right, however, and seriously, I was not saying it didn't look amazing. It really does. At its longest length, it's not much shorter than it was. The layers make it feel shorter and, at the same time, look longer because it's not all heavy and one length and whatever. I have the awesome Whoorl sideswept bangs, and I really like the colour.
Tera was truly great. She explained why she was doing things, and how I could keep it looking the way she intended it to look, and not once did she tell me to shut up, it's not that freaking short, and if you want short young lady, I'll show you short. Her contact details are on the Hair Thursday site, so if you live in Costa Mesa or The OC or SoCal, or whatever the fuck this is, you should totally go make an appointment with her right now.
And Sarah. I don't know what I can say. She was amazing and nice and funny and generous, and she made my hair look absolutely brilliant. She totally did not have to do this for me, but I guess the moral of the story is that you should never be afraid to squeal and hug Hair Goddesses in the lobby at BlogHer.
The Fucking Awesome Mythical Hobbit Jesus Santa Award: Jenny, the Bloggess
Thursday night at the People's Party, Tiff and I had exhausted our supply of people we could bravely approach and had heard a rumour that Jenny, the fucking awesome Bloggess was holding court in the bathroom. Since we had had a fair amount of vodka at this point and also really needed to pee, we went to investigate.
Sure enough, there she was, being all absolutely fucking hilarious and awesome.
As I kind of alluded to in my Bossy post, I basically felt that I could approach famous bloggers once, tell them I loved their writing, and then never speak to them again for the rest of the conference. Well, that didn't happen with Jory, or Bossy, and it also didn't happen with the Bloggess.
We were all brave and shit and introduced ourselves. There was a heated discussion with the Yahoo boys about them not being able to spell "Bloggess." There was singing. And, as the whole world now knows, there was boob patting.
I feel very strongly that the Bloggess had spilled something and I was helping. I don't know. It is entirely possible I just wanted to be touching her boobs. Seriously. It's very possible. How could you not?
(That seems like such a good note to end this post on, but I have more Bloggess shit to discuss.)
There was THE DRAMA at the closing keynote. Anybody still want to talk about that?
Ooh, no, first there was the Community Keynote, which was absolutely fucking amazing. I was thisclose to crying several times (but, lucky for Jory, I saved it all for her) and I also just about peed my pants laughing. At this, in particular. In my personal opinion, the Bloggess is fucking hilarious, in person and on her blog. So there. I hope I remembered to tell her that. (And she makes me say fuck a lot.)
So then it was the closing keynote, and Dooce said something about being called a hobbit by 'someone who might be in the room,' like, seriously? Of course she's in the room, and even if you didn't say her name, a decent percentage of the audience knew who had written it and who she was. But, as she acknowledged, she's still learning to cope, and I understand that people, even mythical blogger type people, make bad decisions sometimes. So, ok.
Then the Bloggess stood up and was all, 'that's not what I was saying! I fucking love you!' which, duh. And she was hilarious some more.
And then she left and we never did get to hear Dooce's response to her.
AND THEN (yeah, I'm such a fucking awesome writer right now) we ran into her in the lobby and she was crying and I just had to give her a hug and THE BLOGGESS REMEMBERED ME.
And then she posted pictures of me grabbing her boobs on her blog. And then I loved her forever, and also she moved to Australia.
Sure enough, there she was, being all absolutely fucking hilarious and awesome.
As I kind of alluded to in my Bossy post, I basically felt that I could approach famous bloggers once, tell them I loved their writing, and then never speak to them again for the rest of the conference. Well, that didn't happen with Jory, or Bossy, and it also didn't happen with the Bloggess.
We were all brave and shit and introduced ourselves. There was a heated discussion with the Yahoo boys about them not being able to spell "Bloggess." There was singing. And, as the whole world now knows, there was boob patting.
I feel very strongly that the Bloggess had spilled something and I was helping. I don't know. It is entirely possible I just wanted to be touching her boobs. Seriously. It's very possible. How could you not?
(That seems like such a good note to end this post on, but I have more Bloggess shit to discuss.)
There was THE DRAMA at the closing keynote. Anybody still want to talk about that?
Ooh, no, first there was the Community Keynote, which was absolutely fucking amazing. I was thisclose to crying several times (but, lucky for Jory, I saved it all for her) and I also just about peed my pants laughing. At this, in particular. In my personal opinion, the Bloggess is fucking hilarious, in person and on her blog. So there. I hope I remembered to tell her that. (And she makes me say fuck a lot.)
So then it was the closing keynote, and Dooce said something about being called a hobbit by 'someone who might be in the room,' like, seriously? Of course she's in the room, and even if you didn't say her name, a decent percentage of the audience knew who had written it and who she was. But, as she acknowledged, she's still learning to cope, and I understand that people, even mythical blogger type people, make bad decisions sometimes. So, ok.
Then the Bloggess stood up and was all, 'that's not what I was saying! I fucking love you!' which, duh. And she was hilarious some more.
And then she left and we never did get to hear Dooce's response to her.
AND THEN (yeah, I'm such a fucking awesome writer right now) we ran into her in the lobby and she was crying and I just had to give her a hug and THE BLOGGESS REMEMBERED ME.
And then she posted pictures of me grabbing her boobs on her blog. And then I loved her forever, and also she moved to Australia.
"Welcome to the OC, bitch."
Yes it's true, I am in Orange County, or, as no-one ever actually calls it, The OC.
In addition to my fascination with Walmart and mailboxes, it has been discovered that all of my knowledge of US geography comes from pop culture of some description, and so finding places that I recognise is also very exciting to me. This was very evident on the drive from San Francisco to LA.
(Which ... oh yeah. I was maybe going to post about that. Ok, so, very pretty drive, lots of beaches and also houses I could never afford but would love to live in, and great times with Tiff and our awesome driver Adrienne.)
Pismo Beach is from Clueless. Redondo Beach is from that Beach Boys song. San-ta Mon-i-ca Boul-e-vard is from that song. (PS, I cannot say the word, I have to sing it just like that.) I remember there were references to Felicity, Grey's Anatomy, Veronica Mars and plenty more. It's a good thing I watch TV or I would have no idea where I am right now.
I am currently in a hotel room, with my free wireless internet (which is working, ahem the Westin) and all my electronic equipment spread out around me, charging or waiting to be uploaded or whatever.
Every now and then I get a rush of something which may be hunger or it may be some slight anxiety.
I am on my own for the first time this trip (except for that lovely time I had wandering around SFO) and I am supposed to get myself from Newport Beach or wherever the hell I am to Palm Springs by Friday and to Vegas by Saturday. I do not know how to do this, and when I finish babbling crap at you, I will figure it out. So that might be what that feeling is about.
Or it could be because I had two hours of sleep and three huge glasses of vodka last night.
In addition to my fascination with Walmart and mailboxes, it has been discovered that all of my knowledge of US geography comes from pop culture of some description, and so finding places that I recognise is also very exciting to me. This was very evident on the drive from San Francisco to LA.
(Which ... oh yeah. I was maybe going to post about that. Ok, so, very pretty drive, lots of beaches and also houses I could never afford but would love to live in, and great times with Tiff and our awesome driver Adrienne.)
Pismo Beach is from Clueless. Redondo Beach is from that Beach Boys song. San-ta Mon-i-ca Boul-e-vard is from that song. (PS, I cannot say the word, I have to sing it just like that.) I remember there were references to Felicity, Grey's Anatomy, Veronica Mars and plenty more. It's a good thing I watch TV or I would have no idea where I am right now.
I am currently in a hotel room, with my free wireless internet (which is working, ahem the Westin) and all my electronic equipment spread out around me, charging or waiting to be uploaded or whatever.
Every now and then I get a rush of something which may be hunger or it may be some slight anxiety.
I am on my own for the first time this trip (except for that lovely time I had wandering around SFO) and I am supposed to get myself from Newport Beach or wherever the hell I am to Palm Springs by Friday and to Vegas by Saturday. I do not know how to do this, and when I finish babbling crap at you, I will figure it out. So that might be what that feeling is about.
Or it could be because I had two hours of sleep and three huge glasses of vodka last night.
Tuesday, July 22, 2008
My First Brush With Fame Award: Bossy
On Thursday night, we went from the Newbie Party (just what it sounds like) to the People's Party (also just what it sounds like).
At the People's Party, I spent a lot of time going "Oh my god, I think that's [awesome blogger]!!!"
The very first one I could not leave without seeing was Bossy. She freaking hugged SuperTiff, and there was no way I was leaving without an intro and maybe fainting at her feet or something.
I did get the intro, and had a short chat (it was very loud in there - you drunk bitches need to learn to keep it down when Bossy and I are having a moment) and I got the impression she got the impression I was batshit insane. Whatever. I can live with that. I met Bossy!
Friday night at Ruby Skye, Tiff was all, "There's Bossy!" And I was all, "Whatever, dude, that was soooo Thursday." Not that I didn't still love Bossy, but everyone has a very short attention span at BlogHer. You have to - there's a thousand people to squeal at or demand hugs from or leave with the impression of total insanity.
Saturday night, however, I managed to spare a few more seconds to swoon in the presence of Bossy. We were walking in opposite directions and she said 'hey' TO ME (actually, now that I am thinking about it, maybe it wasn't even to me, oops) (also, despite our goal to say hi to everybody in the world, Tiff and I had already had time with Bossy, and I didn't expect any more. So don't be all, 'why didn't you say hi to her?' at me, because I already did) and so we had another very short chat where she was totally nice and awesome to me, so apparently I didn't scare her too badly before.
And I got a photo.
Bossy's Excellent Road Trip The Second: Must Include Australia.
At the People's Party, I spent a lot of time going "Oh my god, I think that's [awesome blogger]!!!"
The very first one I could not leave without seeing was Bossy. She freaking hugged SuperTiff, and there was no way I was leaving without an intro and maybe fainting at her feet or something.
I did get the intro, and had a short chat (it was very loud in there - you drunk bitches need to learn to keep it down when Bossy and I are having a moment) and I got the impression she got the impression I was batshit insane. Whatever. I can live with that. I met Bossy!
Friday night at Ruby Skye, Tiff was all, "There's Bossy!" And I was all, "Whatever, dude, that was soooo Thursday." Not that I didn't still love Bossy, but everyone has a very short attention span at BlogHer. You have to - there's a thousand people to squeal at or demand hugs from or leave with the impression of total insanity.
Saturday night, however, I managed to spare a few more seconds to swoon in the presence of Bossy. We were walking in opposite directions and she said 'hey' TO ME (actually, now that I am thinking about it, maybe it wasn't even to me, oops) (also, despite our goal to say hi to everybody in the world, Tiff and I had already had time with Bossy, and I didn't expect any more. So don't be all, 'why didn't you say hi to her?' at me, because I already did) and so we had another very short chat where she was totally nice and awesome to me, so apparently I didn't scare her too badly before.
And I got a photo.
Bossy's Excellent Road Trip The Second: Must Include Australia.
Monday, July 21, 2008
Take Her Home In My Pocket Award: Jory Des Jardin
My first award goes to the BlogHer founder I cried all over this afternoon.
We met Jory at the Newbie Mixer, and she was nice and came up and said hi, and I was impressed that the Founders were wandering and chatting, but I really shouldn't have been.
Let's fast-forward to the Macy's cocktail party.
I think we're a little past polite hellos at this point, don't you?
Jory gets this award for being one of the awesome BlogHer founders, which means it's all her fault I even came.
She gets it for being a freaking awesomely fun person to hang out with, and also because she was doing all this awesome hanging out with me.
She gets it for putting up with me telling her "I LOVE YOU SOOO MUCH!" about fifty bajillion times over the course of the weekend (although, let's be honest, who doesn't want to hear that?), and for enduring me crying all over her on my way out of the hotel. And also for being the person I wanted to be crying all over at the end of it all.
Jory Des Jardin: If I could have put her in my purse and taken her everywhere with me, I totally would have. Jory, in case I didn't mention this - like, ever - I LOVE YOU SOOO MUCH.
We met Jory at the Newbie Mixer, and she was nice and came up and said hi, and I was impressed that the Founders were wandering and chatting, but I really shouldn't have been.
Let's fast-forward to the Macy's cocktail party.
I think we're a little past polite hellos at this point, don't you?
Jory gets this award for being one of the awesome BlogHer founders, which means it's all her fault I even came.
She gets it for being a freaking awesomely fun person to hang out with, and also because she was doing all this awesome hanging out with me.
She gets it for putting up with me telling her "I LOVE YOU SOOO MUCH!" about fifty bajillion times over the course of the weekend (although, let's be honest, who doesn't want to hear that?), and for enduring me crying all over her on my way out of the hotel. And also for being the person I wanted to be crying all over at the end of it all.
Jory Des Jardin: If I could have put her in my purse and taken her everywhere with me, I totally would have. Jory, in case I didn't mention this - like, ever - I LOVE YOU SOOO MUCH.
BH&B: All Over
I am back at FCM's house. Chilling. Seriously in need of some chill-out time.
We leave San Francisco tomorrow, and we're lucky enough to get a ride in one of the GM-sponsored cars. Yay! More on that as it happens.
The conference is all over. Done. There were so many sessions and I met so many people. It was A-FREAKING-MAZING, but man, it might take me a while to post about it all.
I have decided to give out awards to people I met at the conference and maybe places and perhaps things and it should be clear that I haven't really thought this through. In addition, I will be in LA and then Vegas and then Michigan and then flying and then writing a fricking thesis, so when exactly am I going to do all this posting?
Whatever.
Point is, if you don't get posted about, it's because ... whatever. YOU GUYS ARE AWESOME BUT SO VERY EXHAUSTING. Sleeeep.
We leave San Francisco tomorrow, and we're lucky enough to get a ride in one of the GM-sponsored cars. Yay! More on that as it happens.
The conference is all over. Done. There were so many sessions and I met so many people. It was A-FREAKING-MAZING, but man, it might take me a while to post about it all.
I have decided to give out awards to people I met at the conference and maybe places and perhaps things and it should be clear that I haven't really thought this through. In addition, I will be in LA and then Vegas and then Michigan and then flying and then writing a fricking thesis, so when exactly am I going to do all this posting?
Whatever.
Point is, if you don't get posted about, it's because ... whatever. YOU GUYS ARE AWESOME BUT SO VERY EXHAUSTING. Sleeeep.
Friday, July 18, 2008
BH&B: Newbie Party / People's Party
Parties were awesome.
People are awesome.
There was a lot of squealing. Also alcohol.
People are awesome.
There was a lot of squealing. Also alcohol.
BH&B: CALL ME!!!
I have a new phone number for while I'm here. I wouldn't usually go around posting my phone number on the internet, but this time I actually want all you crazy (BlogHer) people to call me.
The number is:
415 254 3561
Seriously. Call me.
Or come visit. Room 1078.
The number is:
415 254 3561
Seriously. Call me.
Or come visit. Room 1078.
BH&B: What To Expect From Me At BlogHer
There are a couple of people from the blogosphere I think I would recognise. I did ok with FCM and SuperTiff at the airport. The presence of The Cutest Kid In SF helped a lot there. I would recognise a couple of Internet Rockstars. But people who don't post pictures of themselves often, yeah no way. Meaning you have to find me. This is your guide on what to look for.
Way back before I had two hours of "sleep" in thirty hours, I would have looked like this:
Now, since SF is both cold and windy, I might look more like this:
You might find me here or here:
There might be a lot of "ooh"ing at bridge!s or bussses or beep-beeps (TM The Cutest Kid In SF).
If you happen to be behind me (*cough*FCMonthecablecar*cough*), I might look something like this:
If you hear me talking, I may sound a bit Australian, as I am screaming at you "GUESS WHAT? WE'RE IN SAN FRANCISCO!!!:
And if you are really lucky, you might even get to have your photo taken with us:
So, to the 998 posts I just read that said "OMG, I'M ABOUT TO LEAVE FOR SAN FRANCISCO!" I say:Ha ha, suckers. We've already been here two days. Hurry up and get here so we can party! We can't wait to meet you. See you tonight!
Way back before I had two hours of "sleep" in thirty hours, I would have looked like this:
Now, since SF is both cold and windy, I might look more like this:
You might find me here or here:
There might be a lot of "ooh"ing at bridge!s or bussses or beep-beeps (TM The Cutest Kid In SF).
If you happen to be behind me (*cough*FCMonthecablecar*cough*), I might look something like this:
If you hear me talking, I may sound a bit Australian, as I am screaming at you "GUESS WHAT? WE'RE IN SAN FRANCISCO!!!:
And if you are really lucky, you might even get to have your photo taken with us:
So, to the 998 posts I just read that said "OMG, I'M ABOUT TO LEAVE FOR SAN FRANCISCO!" I say:
Thursday, July 17, 2008
BH&B: Auckland to San Francisco
This post was written (with pen and paper) on the plane from Auckland to San Francisco on Tuesday 15th.
VIDEO KILLED THE AEROPLANE STAR
The airline gods clearly approve of this trip. Once again, the seat next to me is free. Can I get a hell yeah?
You know, the flight attendants or stewardesses or cabin crew, or whatever they like to be called, really don't have much to do (except bring me a new I94 form because I ignored their instructions on how to fill it out). The only part of the safety demo they still physically demonstrate is where the exits are. They don't even have to mess up their hair getting the life jackets on. Also, was I the only one who giggled every time they mentioned the business class 'ottomans'? (Hee.)
I've decided I quite like flying. I like the smell. I like the food.* I like the blankets and the teeny little pillows. I like that no-one ever wants to (or, more importantly, does) sit next to me.
*Cordon bleu. And now roast lamb or ... something. (I think the fact I forgot it meant I was destined to have 'it' - fish.) And something about chocolate for dessert.
I like the free alcohol, even if I haven't taken advantage of it. (Come on, not even I am going to drink for 15 straight hours, especially with scary US immigration people at the end of it. [I had a great chat with the guy, he was awesome. He was even joking around and we messed up my photo because of it, and had to take another one. Not scary at all.]
I also like my own personal adjustable tv screen with remote control and entertainment on demand. I forsee a lot of time in the movie section. [I watched Penelope and Definitely Maybe.] So far, I've compiled my own personal playlist - some Spice Girls, little bit of Miley Cyrus, some Chris Brown, Madonna and JT, Usher, and Fergie, then some old school Abba and Bee Gees. I ran out of room for Evermore, Foo Fighters, and the Killers, but I did some shuffling and they got added.**
So far? This trip freaking rocks.
MAKE LOVE IN THIS PLANE
Track 9 in my customised playlist reads:
"Make Love In This Club - Usher feat. You..."
That right there is Usher taking the Mile High Club to a whole new level.
I finished dinner and the chick next to me (but ONE SEAT OVER!) pointed out they'd stiffed me on dessert. So I asked for one.
And then they bought me two.
And then it was triple-choc ice-cream.
And then I moved into this plane until the day I died.
The end.
Man, I have a lot to say up in the sky. I am verywitty wordy up in the sky.
PS: You try listening to the Spice Girls' Stop and not doing the actions.
WHY DO I WANT TO GO TO DISNEYLAND?
**I also like the turbulence. It's like going to a theme park! But cheaper. Or not, actually. Well, you don't have to stand in lines all day. Hmm, that doesn't work either. They don't demand a kidney for a plate of food! Wrong again, NEW ZEALAND AIRPORT'S FIVE DOLLAR CUP OF JUICE.
VIDEO KILLED THE AEROPLANE STAR
The airline gods clearly approve of this trip. Once again, the seat next to me is free. Can I get a hell yeah?
You know, the flight attendants or stewardesses or cabin crew, or whatever they like to be called, really don't have much to do (except bring me a new I94 form because I ignored their instructions on how to fill it out). The only part of the safety demo they still physically demonstrate is where the exits are. They don't even have to mess up their hair getting the life jackets on. Also, was I the only one who giggled every time they mentioned the business class 'ottomans'? (Hee.)
I've decided I quite like flying. I like the smell. I like the food.* I like the blankets and the teeny little pillows. I like that no-one ever wants to (or, more importantly, does) sit next to me.
*Cordon bleu. And now roast lamb or ... something. (I think the fact I forgot it meant I was destined to have 'it' - fish.) And something about chocolate for dessert.
I like the free alcohol, even if I haven't taken advantage of it. (Come on, not even I am going to drink for 15 straight hours, especially with scary US immigration people at the end of it. [I had a great chat with the guy, he was awesome. He was even joking around and we messed up my photo because of it, and had to take another one. Not scary at all.]
I also like my own personal adjustable tv screen with remote control and entertainment on demand. I forsee a lot of time in the movie section. [I watched Penelope and Definitely Maybe.] So far, I've compiled my own personal playlist - some Spice Girls, little bit of Miley Cyrus, some Chris Brown, Madonna and JT, Usher, and Fergie, then some old school Abba and Bee Gees. I ran out of room for Evermore, Foo Fighters, and the Killers, but I did some shuffling and they got added.**
So far? This trip freaking rocks.
MAKE LOVE IN THIS PLANE
Track 9 in my customised playlist reads:
"Make Love In This Club - Usher feat. You..."
That right there is Usher taking the Mile High Club to a whole new level.
I finished dinner and the chick next to me (but ONE SEAT OVER!) pointed out they'd stiffed me on dessert. So I asked for one.
And then they bought me two.
And then it was triple-choc ice-cream.
And then I moved into this plane until the day I died.
The end.
Man, I have a lot to say up in the sky. I am very
PS: You try listening to the Spice Girls' Stop and not doing the actions.
WHY DO I WANT TO GO TO DISNEYLAND?
**I also like the turbulence. It's like going to a theme park! But cheaper. Or not, actually. Well, you don't have to stand in lines all day. Hmm, that doesn't work either. They don't demand a kidney for a plate of food! Wrong again, NEW ZEALAND AIRPORT'S FIVE DOLLAR CUP OF JUICE.
BH&B: Adelaide to Auckland
This post was written (with pen and paper) on the plane from Adelaide to Auckland on Tuesday 15th.
THE MORNING AFTER THE NIGHT BEFORE
I doubt I'll get any sympathy from any working/parent type people, but I had to wake up at 7am today.
I showered, dressed, and packed, and I even remembered my toothbrush. I was still debating my packing choices with myself in the shower, like, shouldn't you already have this sorted?
I had my last vegemite crust in Australia, at least for the next three weeks, and discovered the Housemates had left me a goodbye note tacked to the door. Considering I haven't spent much time with either of them lately, I thought that was nice. They might just be glad to get rid of me.
TO THE AIRPORT ... AND BEYOND!
Shelle came and picked me up right on time, because she is awesome and I love her. By this point, breakfast and Hannah Montana had calmed my stomach and all was well. Until we walked to the car and my laptop strap broke.
1. It's not even unusable, merely inconvenient.
2. I bought a new one at the airport, in lieu of a bottle of kahlua, so now I have a quasi spare if I need it.
3. If this has taken care of the inevitable something that goes wrong, I'm ok with that.
Shelle and I (by which I mean Shelle) got coffee (well, I got a milkshake) and they disappointed me by giving us a number instead of letting me give them my fake name. ("Hi! I'm Kylie!") Everyone should have a fake name. For Starbucks and randoms.
Had a phone call with Carla, because she is also awesome and I love her. I discovered the following:
~ She is a Birthday Extremist. Be proud, sister. That's just how we roll.
~ I am an idiot.
~ Tuesday the 4th of August does not exist in this year. (See above.)
Watched a little kid repeatedly punch his dad, asking, "Does this hurt?" every time. I'll show you what hurts, kid. When he pulled back his fist and asked the mum, she shut him down so fast. So he turned back to the dad and kept going with him. Great parenting, guys. (Thankfully, the kid is nowhere near me on the plane, as far as I can tell.)
I am now in seat 25A. In a great start to the trip, the two seats next to me were empty! I say 'were' because the second the seatbelt light went off some bitch from across the aisle took the end of my row. She's probably watching me write this. Hi, bitch! I had plans for these seats! Piss off! Love ya!
Since I am uninterested in their movie (College Road Trip? Is that even a real movie?) I am going to read some Sherlock Holmes and work on my thesis. ... Ok, you guys finish laughing and I'll be back later.
PS: I'M GOING TO SAN FRANCISCO!!!
THE MORNING AFTER THE NIGHT BEFORE
I doubt I'll get any sympathy from any working/parent type people, but I had to wake up at 7am today.
I showered, dressed, and packed, and I even remembered my toothbrush. I was still debating my packing choices with myself in the shower, like, shouldn't you already have this sorted?
I had my last vegemite crust in Australia, at least for the next three weeks, and discovered the Housemates had left me a goodbye note tacked to the door. Considering I haven't spent much time with either of them lately, I thought that was nice. They might just be glad to get rid of me.
TO THE AIRPORT ... AND BEYOND!
Shelle came and picked me up right on time, because she is awesome and I love her. By this point, breakfast and Hannah Montana had calmed my stomach and all was well. Until we walked to the car and my laptop strap broke.
1. It's not even unusable, merely inconvenient.
2. I bought a new one at the airport, in lieu of a bottle of kahlua, so now I have a quasi spare if I need it.
3. If this has taken care of the inevitable something that goes wrong, I'm ok with that.
Shelle and I (by which I mean Shelle) got coffee (well, I got a milkshake) and they disappointed me by giving us a number instead of letting me give them my fake name. ("Hi! I'm Kylie!") Everyone should have a fake name. For Starbucks and randoms.
Had a phone call with Carla, because she is also awesome and I love her. I discovered the following:
~ She is a Birthday Extremist. Be proud, sister. That's just how we roll.
~ I am an idiot.
~ Tuesday the 4th of August does not exist in this year. (See above.)
Watched a little kid repeatedly punch his dad, asking, "Does this hurt?" every time. I'll show you what hurts, kid. When he pulled back his fist and asked the mum, she shut him down so fast. So he turned back to the dad and kept going with him. Great parenting, guys. (Thankfully, the kid is nowhere near me on the plane, as far as I can tell.)
I am now in seat 25A. In a great start to the trip, the two seats next to me were empty! I say 'were' because the second the seatbelt light went off some bitch from across the aisle took the end of my row. She's probably watching me write this. Hi, bitch! I had plans for these seats! Piss off! Love ya!
Since I am uninterested in their movie (College Road Trip? Is that even a real movie?) I am going to read some Sherlock Holmes and work on my thesis. ... Ok, you guys finish laughing and I'll be back later.
PS: I'M GOING TO SAN FRANCISCO!!!
Wednesday, July 16, 2008
BH&B: Tuesday 15th. Again.
I'm in San Francisco. How weird is that?
Tiff and I are at FCM's house right now.
We went to Trader Joe's.
We saw Golden Gate Park.
I got freaked out by people driving on the wrong side of the road.
And now we are waiting for pizza. Really freaking awesome pizza - and that is a direct quote from FCM.
Tiff and I are at FCM's house right now.
We went to Trader Joe's.
We saw Golden Gate Park.
I got freaked out by people driving on the wrong side of the road.
And now we are waiting for pizza. Really freaking awesome pizza - and that is a direct quote from FCM.
Tuesday, July 15, 2008
BlogHer and Beyond Diary: Tuesday 15th July
Thanks for all the comments and emails guys, I love you all.
I'm in Auckland, New Zealand, at the moment, after a three and a half hour flight from Adelaide. Does it seem weird that I could have gone to Darwin in the same time it took me to get to a whole nother country? (Of course, when I was in Europe (ha! look at me, the world traveller!) I thought it was so cool that you drive for, like, twenty minutes and be a different country. Or three.
We flew over a bunch of islands on the way in, but my NZ geography sucks, so I'm taking the captain's word for it that I'm in Auckland, which is on the North Island.
Things We Have Learned So Far:
1. If a laptop bag strap breaking is the worst thing that happens, we're doing ok.
2. Even if you take off your bangle and jacket and anything else that might beep, they'll still make you take off your shoes.
3. If there are two spare seats next to you (TWO!) some bitch will steal one first chance she gets.
4. YES! There is free alcohol on international flights. Mystery solved.
Gotta go, boarding in 35 mins for SAN FRANCISCO!
PS Thanks to the nice man who let me use the rest of his internet time. This post is for you, buddy.
I'm in Auckland, New Zealand, at the moment, after a three and a half hour flight from Adelaide. Does it seem weird that I could have gone to Darwin in the same time it took me to get to a whole nother country? (Of course, when I was in Europe (ha! look at me, the world traveller!) I thought it was so cool that you drive for, like, twenty minutes and be a different country. Or three.
We flew over a bunch of islands on the way in, but my NZ geography sucks, so I'm taking the captain's word for it that I'm in Auckland, which is on the North Island.
Things We Have Learned So Far:
1. If a laptop bag strap breaking is the worst thing that happens, we're doing ok.
2. Even if you take off your bangle and jacket and anything else that might beep, they'll still make you take off your shoes.
3. If there are two spare seats next to you (TWO!) some bitch will steal one first chance she gets.
4. YES! There is free alcohol on international flights. Mystery solved.
Gotta go, boarding in 35 mins for SAN FRANCISCO!
PS Thanks to the nice man who let me use the rest of his internet time. This post is for you, buddy.
I Can Go To San Francisco!
30 stickers in six weeks!
I really should have thought to weigh myself or, like, take arse measurements or something. Just to see if all those half-hours got me anything more than a wall full of stickers.
(This should post right about the time I'm getting on a plane. (Fuck!) (Yay!) Okay, it's all good. See you in San Francisco bitches!)
I really should have thought to weigh myself or, like, take arse measurements or something. Just to see if all those half-hours got me anything more than a wall full of stickers.
(This should post right about the time I'm getting on a plane. (Fuck!) (Yay!) Okay, it's all good. See you in San Francisco bitches!)
Monday, July 14, 2008
Six Random Things: The Night Before
I was tagged by TLC over at Send Chocolate to tell you all Six Random Things. First, this may end up being more than six. I am very jittery, and may just keep typing all night. Second, I will do a What To Expect At BlogHer edition later in the week. And third, in case I don't mention it a bajillion times in the next six paragraphs, I leave for San Francisco in the morning.
1. The next time I post, I will be in San Francisco. In a different time zone, in a different country, in a different hemisphere.
2. This morning I had a little meltdown, refusing to start packing. Literally refusing to start. It was too big. Luckily Shelle talked me down off of that particular ledge, and I packed. I am packed. Lists were made and crossed off. I have nothing left to do but remember my toothbrush in the morning.
(TOMORROW morning. I am leaving tomorrow. For BlogHer. Which is in San Francisco.)
3. I think what really freaks me out is how normal this seems. Oh yes, I'll just toss some things into my bag so I can FLY HALFWAY AROUND THE WORLD TO MEET MY IMAGINARY INTERNET FRIENDS.
4. I thought there was free alcohol on international flights, and SuperTiff backed me up on this. But then DanDan told me that was only in first class. Am I going to need to do some sneaking/flirting/stealing or are they going to just give me a damn drink already, I've been flying for fifty hours and I really need one, please pretty please.
5. Turns out my grades weren't being withheld because I still haven't read that one book. It's just an Honours thing, that they don't show your grades til the end of the year. So I have two grades back - both Distinctions. Honours is back on track.
6. I now have my e-ticket. Well, that's a fucking relief, don't you think?
That's six. I'm going to go and visit all your blogs one more time before I leave for San Francisco, and try to ignore the teeny tiny numbers on my countdown which are freaking me right the fuck out.
Something for you to think and comment about while I'm enjoying the hospitality of Air New Zealand: what should this trip be called? I need to make a label for it, so leave me your best catchy tags and I'll start posting updates on the [whatever you decide it's called] [trip/adventure/holiday/craziness/whatever] when I get to SAN FRANCISCO. TOMORROW.
In conclusion: YAY! WOW! FUCK! SQUEE! OMFG!
1. The next time I post, I will be in San Francisco. In a different time zone, in a different country, in a different hemisphere.
2. This morning I had a little meltdown, refusing to start packing. Literally refusing to start. It was too big. Luckily Shelle talked me down off of that particular ledge, and I packed. I am packed. Lists were made and crossed off. I have nothing left to do but remember my toothbrush in the morning.
(TOMORROW morning. I am leaving tomorrow. For BlogHer. Which is in San Francisco.)
3. I think what really freaks me out is how normal this seems. Oh yes, I'll just toss some things into my bag so I can FLY HALFWAY AROUND THE WORLD TO MEET MY IMAGINARY INTERNET FRIENDS.
4. I thought there was free alcohol on international flights, and SuperTiff backed me up on this. But then DanDan told me that was only in first class. Am I going to need to do some sneaking/flirting/stealing or are they going to just give me a damn drink already, I've been flying for fifty hours and I really need one, please pretty please.
5. Turns out my grades weren't being withheld because I still haven't read that one book. It's just an Honours thing, that they don't show your grades til the end of the year. So I have two grades back - both Distinctions. Honours is back on track.
6. I now have my e-ticket. Well, that's a fucking relief, don't you think?
That's six. I'm going to go and visit all your blogs one more time before I leave for San Francisco, and try to ignore the teeny tiny numbers on my countdown which are freaking me right the fuck out.
Something for you to think and comment about while I'm enjoying the hospitality of Air New Zealand: what should this trip be called? I need to make a label for it, so leave me your best catchy tags and I'll start posting updates on the [whatever you decide it's called] [trip/adventure/holiday/craziness/whatever] when I get to SAN FRANCISCO. TOMORROW.
In conclusion: YAY! WOW! FUCK! SQUEE! OMFG!
Sunday, July 13, 2008
Good Hair Day
When I moved to the new house (at the start of the year) I lost my curling iron. Now, it's not like I need a curling iron, or ever really used it, but I got it for free and I'm told it was a decent one. So I didn't really want to lose it. But somehow, between the Hall and the new house, the curler disappeared.
I carefully checked everywhere it could be, because I had a lot of boxes, and I know that duffle bags and suitcases have a lot of hidey pockets big enough for a hair curler. And yet, it was lost.
Until I took out the bag I'm taking to BlogHer, and my curling iron jumped out and smacked me in the face. Seriously, it was right there in the main pocket, not hiding at all.
POINT BEING:
The Good Hair Day picture I included in my post for the Contest I MUST Win may have a rival for the title.
If only I had make-up on. But alas, the curls had dropped out by the time we got to that part of the proceedings (not really, surprisingly) so that other picture is safe. But dude, CHECK OUT THOSE CURLS! I'm quite impressed with myself.
I carefully checked everywhere it could be, because I had a lot of boxes, and I know that duffle bags and suitcases have a lot of hidey pockets big enough for a hair curler. And yet, it was lost.
Until I took out the bag I'm taking to BlogHer, and my curling iron jumped out and smacked me in the face. Seriously, it was right there in the main pocket, not hiding at all.
POINT BEING:
The Good Hair Day picture I included in my post for the Contest I MUST Win may have a rival for the title.
If only I had make-up on. But alas, the curls had dropped out by the time we got to that part of the proceedings (not really, surprisingly) so that other picture is safe. But dude, CHECK OUT THOSE CURLS! I'm quite impressed with myself.
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