This one time I was at an event hosted by John Hodgman who called out to the crowd, “Do you know what Twitter is?” (this was two and a half years ago when this was still a valid question.) About half of us raised our hands. “You sir,” he pointed at someone I couldn’t see. “What’s your Twitter handle?”

“Dontstaylong” the guy called out, and I immediately tweeted a hello to him. We’ve been following each other on Twitter and Tumblr ever since.

Cut to Saturday; Rob and I tagged along to a friend’s friend’s party.  Somewhere in the conversation this guy Davis turns to me and says, “Wait. What’s your Twitter handle?”

I told him, and he said, “I follow you! Two years ago I was at this thing with John Hodgman…”

And I lost my shit. Like, I literally squealed. And then I blurted out that I loved him. And then my hands got sweaty.

Rob wrinkled his brow. “Should I be worried?”  Maybe.

It was so cool to hang out with him!  By the end of the night we were hammered on Trader Joe’s beer and potato vodka (pro tip: don’t do this), but we still attempted to take a self-photo of ourselves for posterity.

Um… that’s the ceiling.

To quote Maggie: “These are my people, and I found them on the Internet.”

BlogHer was… a lot. It was wonderful, and I’ll likely go again, but I was totally unprepared for the way it drained me.  I’m introverted after all; shit’s hard, yo!

Rob swung by in the middle of it all and I took the opportunity to bury my face in his neck for a moment to regroup.  He’s better than coffee, that one.

The swag!  MY GOD THE SWAG!  It was not only plentiful, it was amazing.  There are mixed feelings about all the sponsors; I say bring them on.  They keep the cost of tickets down for everyone, making it less exclusive.  This is a good thing.

Highlights include Spanx, a Pur water filter, Play-Doh, Weebles (they really DO wobble but don’t fall down!), and a meat thermometer.  I even played mommy blogger and brought home something for “my kids” – Matty and Tino got stuffed animals and Leeloo got a mousepad.  She likes to use it for an elbow pillow.  It’s weird, but whatever – if it makes her happy, I’m happy, too.

Awesome shit that happened, and pictures:

Lindsay Ferrier walked by me, and I was going to go say hello but she got caught in a conversation.  Maggie, sensing I might wuss out, pulled a “Have You Met Ted?” adding, “She won’t shut up about how much she loves your blog!”

I got to tell Lindsay how fabulous she made my wardrobe.  I’m not a total glamor girl (yet!), but her blog has really helped make my 28th year more polished.  It’s filled with good shopping tips and sale alerts for normal people who shop normal stores – Ann Taylor Loft yes, Gucci no. And she’s totally hot!

Holly introduced me to Yuvonne, and I did this, in this order: squeal, hug her, and then introduce myself awkwardly.  I’ve been reading her blog for-EV-er, and she was one of the handful of people that inspired me to start my own blog back in 2004 (omg.)

Miss Britt is awesome.  “She’s a firecracker!” I said to her husband.  He shook his head.  “More like a grenade.”

A grenade of awesome.

*ker-pow!*

I HUGGED CECILY!  She’s so… gritty!  She opens up about her life in a way few of us would dare to do, and it’s inspiring.

I met the Bloggess.  A lot of people were excited to meet her, none so much as Michael, a reader who recognized her walking down the street.  It was really adorable.

Here is the Jennifer from the Baptist Wine Club holding some balloons at the Kirtsy party.  Sassy foot pop!

Here are Cindy and Elizabeth at the Kirtsy party. They recognized me as “the lady that went flying with Maggie Mason.”  I want that on a tee shirt now.

Here are a group of fancy blogger ladies, and one keeping it real.  This photo makes me laugh.

Here is Gabby Blair (Design Mom) painting on someone’s arm. She wore a full length Dashiki as a dress, and I thought to myself, “Rock on, mom of 6 looking funky!” We should all be as cool.

Here are bloggers in full-on KISS makeup. Sometimes weird things happen at BlogHer.

Here is Melissa, Single Gal in the City, painting at a party.

Here are Holly and Maggie in a cab. Our driver got really mad at another driver and threw a water bottle out of the window screaming obscenities and we were all a little scared when I snapped this.

Here are the ladies from Southern Fried Snark. Despite their name, they are friendly.

Here is me and Heather B (No Pasa Nada). I like her.

Here is Laid Off Dad. He totally held his own in a room full of chicks.

Here is me and Danielle Henderson (Knotty Yarn).  Miss Britt initially mistook her for me, which is totally understandable if you mainly know me via my Twitter icon.  Danielle is a stunning six foot something, though.

I’m totally using this photo to show people “my cute sister”.

On Sunday I’m helping my gal Pam host an early morning stroll. “Walk across the Brooklyn Bridge” is on her Life List, and since “Help someone with a Life List item” is on MY Life List, we’ll be high-5ing for both of us at the end.

We even have coffee and bagel sponsors: ListPlantIt and one of their affiliates Simply Organized.

All of the details are here on Pam’s blog.

I’m terribly excited about BlogHer, and it’s not just the sessions – in fact it’s not the sessions at all… I don’t know what the sessions ARE yet! It’s the people, and the hugging, and the drinking, and the gabbing at night, and the sharing of ideas… all that good stuff that comes when internet people get together.

The best part is I don’t have to get on a plane, a fact I used for justification to do a little bit of shopping for some new clothes (I needed them!) and some new jewelery (which I didn’t, but, my gosh, the necklace I bought literally made my heart start beating faster when I saw it. Now I’m all over the mail carrier like a terrier. Also, I am excited that my “thing” is necklaces. Not earrings or rings or bracelets. I am a necklace person. It is cool to have a “thing”.)

My hair is cut (by a PRO – I learned my lesson!) and my face is facialed (at home; I love a DIY skin brightening). I am all set to rock.

Bring on the fun!

P.S. If you are in town and want to hook up, you’re best off texting me or calling me rather than sending a Twitter DM. 4242-AMBER-8 is my Google voice number.

Are you going to BlogHer? I am!

I haven’t thought a ton about it until yesterday, though, when Pam posted something on her blog talking about how there was some “What are you wearing?” chatter on Twitter. My first thought was, “OH MY GOSH! What AM I going to wear?!” All my summer clothes are in the slightly grungy and mis-matched camp, and a LOT of my prettier dresses are too big (yay!) and need be replaced (boo!)

Pam wasn’t having a fun What-To-Wear conversation though, she was talking about the OTHER women, the women who are making fun of the fashion talkers. There’s a whole slew of attendees who can’t STAND the “girlishness” that surrounds the event. The arguments I’ve heard usually boil down into something like: “MEN going to a blogging conference wouldn’t be chatting about what shoes they’re packing, so why are WE?” and “We aren’t going to get DRESSED UP, we are going to LEARN and NETWORK so shut UP about your CLOTHES!”

And I sigh, because this is the part of blogging I can’t stand – the catty part.

I know that all of us want to Take Our Blogs Seriously and that we all want to be viewed as Professional and not fashion-obsessed “lady bloggers gone wild” at a convention. But for lot of us, we DON’T do these sorts of things but once or twice a year, and it can be nerve-wracking to think about your clothes (and also fun!) I don’t see anything unprofessional about wanting to look your best and asking for feedback and help from your community in putting your best face forward. That’s why most of us are blogging in the first place anyway, right?

Also, Twitter and Facebook are there for people to use however they’d like; neither you nor I have any business commenting on someone else’s use of it, even if you think it’s, like, OMG THE MOST UNPROFESSIONAL THING EVER. Because you know what’s even MORE unprofessional than squealing about shoes? Being a bitch.

The summer is so hot; we are all so hot.

I’m left with two choices: the jet-engine noise of the air conditioner or sleeping in swampy, stuffy conditions. It sucks either way.

I slept at my grandmother’s house the other night, and it was one of the most terrifying nights of sleep ever. I had nightmare after nightmare, and didn’t fall asleep properly until 5:30 am. I don’t know why; I’ve slept there before just fine. Hell, I lived there for years not so long ago. But I’ve gotten used to sleeping with three dogs and Rob in the room with me, and it just wasn’t the same without the usual chorus of snoring, the large hairy arm flung over my face suddenly in the middle of the night, and the more-often-than-not sneaking into bed of certain small dogs who like to curl in the nooks of my body and snooze.

Speaking of certain dogs: the other day Leeloo was coming around the side of my desk while I was unhooking my camera from the USB cable attaching it to the computer. She caught it across her chest and pulled it from my hands, and it crashed and broke. Actually, the camera is fine but my favorite lens broke, hopelessly. I’d buy a new lens, but I’m weeks away from upgrading my camera to full-frame anyway, so that seems foolish. I’m now upgrading sooner than I thought, but not quite yet, so I’m currently camera-less. It seems that now the universe has put a number of Amazing Photographic Opportunities in my path. I’m sure they were all there before, too, I’m just feeling quite annoyed. But not at Leeloo. How could I be when she has a face like this:

Edward Sharpe and the Magnetic Zero’s – A Take Away Show from La Blogotheque on Vimeo.

I posted this song on my Tumblr blog ages ago, and Rebecca posted this version, a spontaneous performance of this incredibly happy song, today. I love it! It reminds me of Rob so much. I was figuratively (and, for a while, literally) homeless before he took me in five years ago.

I love being “home” here with Rob, so much so that I had the word engraved on his wedding band. But still. Still. Even all these years later, even after he claims it is he who is the lucky one, it’s a hard concept for me to accept. I was taken in, reached out to and pulled up. I married up.

It’s kind of embarrassing to not have taken myself up, as if the anti-feminist undercurrents of my upbringing in church (where Man is The Head and Woman is an ‘Helpmeet’) and my blue-collar, bad-with-money upbringing came to pass and was skirted only by the fact that I happened to fall in love with the right person.

Still, I wouldn’t have had it any other way because (in the words of another fantastic song) God only knows where I’d be without him.

It’s something I am still working on being ok with. This makes me a mildly awful person, and I’m so embarrassed, but it’s been nearly a week and I couldn’t think of anything else to blog about.

Rob likes to let the world know where he’s going by way of neatly labeled tee shirts.

It was an epic journey to Milwaukee.  Rob and I DROVE THERE like insane people. It’s a two hour, $78 zip-over flight with the wonderful “free hot chocolate chip cookies on every plane because we’re from the Midwest and that’s how we roll” Midwest Airlines, but we went with the 15 hour car ride (and, sadly, no free hot chocolate chip cookies).

Chevy gave us a 2010 Equinox for a week, and since we rarely drive around Brooklyn when it’s so much easier to jump on the the subway or walk, we decided to take a road trip so that we could enjoy having the fancy car with built in do-dads like XM, in-dash navigation, and video screens in the backseats. It even has a camera on the bottom of the car in the back so when you go in reverse, you can see the ground in the video screen on the dashboard and can’t accidentally run over a dog or your bike, or a little kid. It’s pretty awesome feature but, after using it for a week, my ability to parallel park without it has diminished significantly.

It came fresh off the lot with a new car smell. Chevy didn’t give us a mileage limit, and Rob and I are punks so we thought “How far can we get and be back in a week”? It took us all of three seconds to decide where to go.

Rob’s mom said, “What the heck is in Milwaukee?!” which is actually the sentiment a lot of people had, but it was a no-brainer for us. Jake and Tracy are in Milwaukee. Duh.

This photo makes my heart go gooey with love and bunny feelings.

It was the best kind of vacation for me, half vacation-y things (Jake set up a sailing tour for us, we toured museums and the Jelly Belly warehose, and we played mini golf) and half just hanging out in Tracy’s house, living life with her (drinking in her bars with her friends, sitting around her office on our laptops).

I also got to meet Tracy’s girlfriend, finally! It’s nerve-wracking for me to meet a friend’s significant other, because what if they’re some awful jerk-face? Then what? Pretend they’re so wonderful or go, “Girl! What are you thinking!” and risk alienating your friend? Does anyone else get this worried about it, or is it just me? I was spared such drama however; they are wonderfully, delightfully perfect for each other, and I liked her very much. Good job, Tracy!

We’re on a boat, motherfucker!

It will likely be our last road trip that long. Rob and I had a good time together in the car, and I am so glad to be married someone that doesn’t annoy me after being cooped up, just the two of us, for 30 hours, but it was so draining, and I can’t sleep well on the road which makes me cranky. (And you won’t like me when I’m cranky.) It took me a full day to recover.

I skipped Weight Watchers this week. I was too tired and REALLY didn’t want to see the scale anyway – Milwaukee has a lot of good beer, and I tried all of it. Twice.

Cheers!

Here’s a sad admission: I don’t know how to travel. I know how to pack a mean suitcase and sail through airport security like it’s my job; I can book hotels and flights with ease and negotiate killer rates thanks to being an American Express customer; I can sleep through turbulence. However, I don’t know how to go about picking someplace new and wonderful, setting up an itinerary, and doing interesting things once there.

I’m pretty sure I can blunder through being a tourist; you go to Italy, you see Rome, eat pizza and gelato and pasta. Easy. But I don’t want to be a tourist. I live in New York City, and I hate tourists, with their SNEAKERS and gigantic maps and slow walking.

I want to be a traveler; eat where the Italians go out to dinner (or the Spaniards, or the Argentinians, or whatever), walk to the places they walk to, and drink in the bars they drink in. I want to avoid being the international equivalent of the mid-westerners who come here in jorts and eat at the Times Square Olive Garden. Basically, if tourist town is mid-Manhattan, I want to find the Brooklyns of the world. I want to contribute to local economy and meet people, especially people my age, who live somewhere else, not just read about them.

I feel like the internet is full of great airline deals, but when it comes to having a fabulous time elsewhere, especially in the tucked away, non-touristy places, I’m clueless.

Do you all know any good websites or books, or just have any good tips? I’m sure there out there.

Maggie was in town, and unfortunately it was pouring rain. “I want tea,” she had said, and so we found ourselves folded into Cha-An, a tiny Japanese tea house in lower Manhattan, with Alice and Laura. Everyone else ordered normal tea, and I ordered the oolong. Oolong, I thought, was exotic enough to feel special (the place oozes with a unique cozy/fancy vibe) but familiar enough not to feel weird.

“The oolong; it’s the kind that you pour and pour with the little things.” said the waitress, heavily accented and seeming to struggle with English.

“It’s what now?”

“You get the little… and it comes with the tea…” she made a pouring motion again.

“Ok.” I said, not knowing at all what I ordered. “Sounds great.”

When she left I shrugged and smiled. “I’m sure it will be fine.”

She arrived at the table with this whole… set up! It was a tall metal pitcher of hot water and a wooden box slightly smaller than a shoe box, on top of which was the following: a big glass tea pot, a small clay tea pot, loose tea in a little glass container [not pictured], an empty white porcelain cup just smaller than a shot glass, and a small ceramic tea cup with no handle. There was also a bowl containing a few lumpy, frosted green tea cookies which were pretty good.

She put the dry tea in the glass pot and then poured the water over it to brew. She poured the brewed tea into the little clay tea pot, and from there she poured it to the tea cup, then the porcelain cup, and and then she dumped it out into the wooden box which had slats to drain into itself. She did it all a second time. On the third series of pouring she dumped brewed tea from the tea cup all over the little clay tea pot, and then she handed me the little porcelain cup.

It was hot from the tea, but empty and dry. I was confused, but she was looking at me expectantly so, in one of the more awkward moments of my life, I touched the tip of my tongue to it a few times and glanced up to see if I was doing it right. I wasn’t. She laughed, and pointed to her nose.

“I think you’re just supposed to smell it.” said Laura.

“Ahh!” I said, and sniffed it. It smelled like tea. It was one of those “appreciate with all of your senses” moments, so I tried to concentrate on appreciating the aroma and not being embarrassed about the inappropriate licking. I handed it back, and the waitress smiled, set the two tea pots, the hot water and the ceramic cup in front of me and shuffled off.

Now, should you find yourself in a similar fancy tea place, you know what to do. You’re welcome.

P.S. If you go, try the scones. OMG, the scones!

Back in 2008 I mused about having a generic roll of wrapping paper for everything. I have a collection of a few different rolls that I only sort of like, and there’s no where in my apartment to store them. Plus they’re kind of a jumbled mess.

Finally I ordered a roll of 30 lb*. brown kraft paper to wrap everything in. I also ordered some blue ribbon, and now if you see a brown kraft package wrapped with this ribbon, you know it’s from Rob and Amber. We’re branding!

(That’s a social media joke.)

I LOVE having one roll of wrapping paper for everything and all occasions. It feels so classy and organized. What I don’t like is how BIG this roll is. I thought it would be much smaller and more manageable, but the whole thing rolled up is just under a foot in diameter and weighs about a zillion pounds.

I had the package shipped to my grandma’s house, and she told me it was stuffed behind a chair by the front door because she wasn’t strong enough to lug it further into the house than that.

“Uh, oh.” I said.

I went to fetch the box, and when I saw it I had a tiny panic. I drew a breath and hauled it into the kitchen to open it.

Rob took one look at the gigantic package dragging behind me and goes, “Amber, what did you BUY?” and then busted up laughing when I tore it open and howeld, “I thought it would be smaller!”. It’s 1625 feet, which is just over one-third of a mile (or half a kilometer). I guess I just didn’t visualize it!

We are fairly certain that this roll will outlive us, and so, this blog post is for posterity, because I’m sure they are wondering: the brown roll of kraft paper that’s still around is from great-great-grandma Amber. Enjoy it, dears.

***

*If you have similar thoughts, I suggest going for a 36 lb. instead. This is just a touch too flimsy for me, but I’ll manage. Oh, and also, get a SMALLER ROLL.