First, let's just put this out there... I never intended to go. I don't got no money for blogging conventions and I do got me some little kids that require my presence at the old homestead. So, my weekend comprised of watching Homa and her boyfriend get into a mega-fight over something even more stupid (or stupider as I typed first) than all the dumber than dumb fights Mark and I have gotten in to. (Seriously, and we once had a knock down, drag out over whether or not you choke or drown on water when it goes down the wrong pipe. Uh huh...almost cancelled the wedding over that one). Then Saturday we didn't do much until I went to my mom's to make an octopus (yeah, another day in the life of me) and after that I was home making a gag-tacular meatball casserole (and I hate me some casserole). Sunday, we managed to mooch lunch and dinner off my parents, so a banner day in my book, but not necessarily swaggy/drunken/blogger fabulous.
Now I am reading tons of my other blogs and getting their take on BlogHer, and I'll admit it. I am jealous. One person I read got to meet tons of other people I read, and I was sitting at home pouring Cream of Onion soup on frozen meatballs. I wish I met those people. I wish I got their swag. Most of all, I wish I was successful enough to warrant my appearance at said convention. The reality is that I don't just want to go to BlogHer... I want someone to want to meet me at BlogHer (insert requisite "oh we would have loved to have met you" pity comment here). I am no Moosh In Indy (although seriously considering changing name to Mooch In Indy and riding her coattails for awhile) and while I am pretty bossy, the reality is I am not BOSSY. So, if I did go to BlogHer, I would have wandered around alone saying (to myself, but not speaking aloud as to remain cool and mysterious but not schizo) "look, its Redneck Mommy" and walking away alone and ashamed that if I talked to Redneck Mommy she'd say "Domestic Who????" So, trips to ALDI and web cam chats with my brother is where I was instead.... but at least that ALDI checker knows my name. (And, my brother does, too). I guess it's time to resign myself to the fact that casserole is how I roll.