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Awkward guest blog

I asked Erin to  give me some tips on how not to be awkward at Blogher. Specifically I was trying to avoid moments where I see a well-known blogger and spaz out in front of her (and her three friends.) This spaz scene was like a train wreck in slow motion as I tried to recover. fail. recover. fail. and so on. “Oh my gosh. I love your blog and I read it all the time and some of my friends started reading it and oh. We just loved your Chipotle story…” 

So Erin, thanks for your don’t do tips. They did not help me in any way. But at least they made me realize that it could have been worse. (Sorry…).

 

Oh Stephanie.
When you e-mailed me and asked me to write a guest post for your blog, at first I was excited.
 
Then I saw one of the topics you suggested, “Advice to me to not act awkward at Blogher when I meet people” and I started wondering a few things.
 
Things like: Have you ever read my blog? How awkward are you, if I am a person that may offer advice on not being awkward. Is this a joke? You solicit advice on not acting awkward from me, the equivalent of advice on maintaining a healthy weight from Oprah.
 
Seriously. I’m the girl that was called “epically awkward” by local news outlet.
 
But then I realized I do have advice to offer you, even if it is in a unconventional way. I give you Erin’s Top Ten Ways to Be Awkward: A Cautionary List of What Not To Do
 
1) Get drunk
 
2) Hear people incorrectly.
Then, when your mind, which resides permanently in the gutter, thinks someone has said something dirty, don’t hesitate to tell them – word for incorrect and painfully awkward/inappropriate word – even after you realize what the speaker actually said. Example: “Then my dad said to put the car in reverse,” “LOLZ OMG, I thought you said your dad found a penis in your purse!!” Bonus points if what you heard sounds nothing like what was actually said.
 
3) Fall.
It isn’t necessary, but #1 can help accomplish this. I actually find it best to be completely sober, but at an event where others are drinking – this way everyone can assume you’re the painfully drunk girl. Really, you’re just awkward.
 
4) Sweat profusely.
Decide it’s best to own this sweating by pointing out the massive pit stains that grace your dress/shirt. In your (awkward) mind, it’s not as sad to point them out to others as it is for others to think you don’t even know you have them. In reality, they never would have noticed if you hadn’t pointed them out.
 
5) Forget a person’s name but, naturally, don’t realize you’ve done this.
Relish the fact that you’ve (finally!!!) remembered a person’s name correctly after just meeting them. Call them by (wrong) name all night. Even better if it stretches over a few separate encounters and days.
 
6) Tell a friend that you’ve known, hung out with, traveled with, etc, “It’s SO nice to finally meet you!!” #1 is completely necessary to reach this astounding level of awkwardness.
And yes, I did this a month ago.
 
7) Dance. 
You must dance as if you are convinced your dance abilities are so good they will land you on Madonna’s tour and this is your audition. Again, with or without #1 it is bound to be painful for everyone involved. If #1 comes into play, you probably really are convinced Madonna is going to bring you on tour – nay – ask you to re-do the choreography for her tour!
 
8) Spike your own drink.
This is an Erin speciality – once you have accomplished #1, spike your own drinks when no one is looking because OMG LOLZ it’s going to be so freaking hilarious when you’re suddenly wasted and your friends aren’t! I can see them now, oh Erin! –with a shake of the head and laugh– she did it again, the ol’ hussy! Gone and got herself blotto while we weren’t looking!
 
This is probably the most awkward thing I do.
I also always try to get my roommate to do shots while Mr. Perfect is upstairs. I’m convinced that it will be hil-arious!! when he comes downstairs to find us wasted.
 
9) Tell people you don’t know to GFY.
I always think it’s funny – it’s so ridonkulously over the top, right? How can anyone think you’re serious? Isn’t it just silly to tell people to go fuck themselves? Apparently, when in a setting where people are accomplishing task #1, they totally think you’re serious.
 
10) Meet a guy you like. Make sure your outfit is totally inappropriate. Then, point it out to him. Spill drinks. Kiss him, fall asleep, and wake yourself (and him) up by yelling in your sleep. Don’t ask for his number; instead, sing AC/DC to him
 
 
Good luck Steph. 
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The guest blog that almost tricked me into skipping Chicago for North Carolina

Nice work, Jenny. This post almost tricked me into taking a flight on to Raleigh instead of Chicago today. Sneaky sneaky.

Greetings, from Rocky Mount, North Carolina!

This morning, I just about melted when I went outside to run an errand.

It’s only about 80 degrees, so far. That’s nothing compared to some days. But the humidity….let’s just say it’s moist out there.

Most Southerners have a love/hate relationship with the summer months of July, August and most of September.

Schools are out, vacations have started, the beaches are full, cookouts are in full-swing and gardens are cornucopias of yummy veggies.

But the heat…

It can be stifling.

When I was growing up, we didn’t have (gasp) air-conditioning. My father swore our house was too old to take the wiring for central air and the whole house would blow up if we tried.

So we suffered through countless summers, getting the only relief we could in the family room, where my parents installed a single window air conditioning unit.

That we ran during the day.

At night, up went the windows, in went the window fans and away went all our friends to visit someone at a home with AC.

Of course, right after the last one of us went off to college, Mom and Dad got central air conditioning. And the house did not blow up.

Go figure.

Here are some of my favorite things about Southern summers:

  • Going barefoot outside
  • Not having to cook dinner, “because it’s just too hot”
  • You never know when you’re going to get a beautiful evening thunderstorm
  • It’s not uncommon to find tomatoes or cukes on your desk, dropped off by your retired former colleagues, who now garden all day long
  • Buying a watermelon from a roadside stand from the farmer that grew it
  • Sweating it out at a pig-picking cookout, because, it’s just that good
  • Sipping on ice cold sweet tea on a hot day
  • Buying snacks at the pool, because they always taste better from the concessions stand
  • Screaming/laughing kids, running through sprinklers
  • Feeling the welcoming warmth of the sun after walking out of a freezing-cold building (This usually only feels good for the first 60 seconds)
  • Dainty, delicate humming birds hovering around flower beds
  • Kids playing outside until 9 p.m. because it doesn’t get dark until then
  • Huge, frilly hydrangeas everywhere
  • Juicy,drippy, ruin-your-shirt-but-you-just-don’t-care- peaches, eaten right off a tree.

Hope Kansas summers are as fun as North Carolina summers! If ya’ll come through Rocky Mount, NC, be sure to visit me. I’ll get you a nice cold glass of iced tea…..

tomatoesMysteriously, found these tomatoes on my desk yesterday. We’re going to have BLTs for supper tonight!

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Guest Blog: Shimajiro, My Leetle Quirky Friend

While I’m whooping it up at Blogher, I wanted to make sure you had lots to keep you entertained. So we kick off this series of guest blogs with a post on “progress” from Mamatouille. 

She sent this post all the way over from Japan, so enjoy!

Nobody over here in Japan would ever consider potty-training their kiddiewinks without the help of Shimajiro, a cartoon toddler-tiger with toilet-side cheering Mama and Papa tigers. 

Since we’ve got two little boy beans ages three and one, Shimajiro is our hero (we’ve watched this a bazillion and a half times). There’s no need to be squeamish, folks: Smiling cartoon pee droplets and dancing poo can wiggle their way into your heart in no time. 

His sidekick, Pants Man (complete with star-studded briefs and a cape), also has a place in our home. We’ve got a “Pants Man Progress Chart” (covered in stickers) on the wall next to our own special Japanese (heated-seat) toilet. 

Progress, when your home is full of runner beans named Maffa and Jellybean, is defined by where pee and poo end up – and a wee bit of chocolate-incentive doesn’t hurt either. 

As long as it doesn’t get confused for anything else.

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