Pause

Conversations I had before, during, and after BlogHer '06

"I don't understand. Why can't it be 'clits down'?"
--B-friend, being his usual literal self, seeing me wearing a pin that Susie Bright had handed to me that said, "Clits Up."

"It's weird. I don't know all these people."
--Robert Scoble, when he arrived at BlogHer's appreciation soiree for event speakers, Website contributing editors, Ad Network members, volunteers and our Advisory Board. He was there with his wife, Maryam, who was on the "Next Level Naked" panel.

"I have to admit, I'm a little scared being here. It's a bit ... emasculating."
--A male podcaster giving BlogHer a little too much credit, interviewing me onsite

"Maryam, do you know where we're going?"
--Me, in the passenger seat, while test-driving a Saturn Sky roadster with Maryam Scoble from the San Jose Hyatt and noticing we were getting surprisingly close to San Francisco

"Is that, like, a Saturn? You guys look great!"
--Random dude in a Honda, who pulled up beside me and Maryam in a moment GM couldn't have scripted better it was so gushing. I looked behind me to see if our sponsors had somehow been behind it, but Maryam had wandered so far away from the hotel that it wouldn't have been possible

"And over there is Jory Des Jardins--she's got the short, dark, big hair..."
--Chris Nolan, moderator of the closing keynote "Creating Your Platform", letting people know to flag me down--the woman holding the microphone and who pomaded the f*%& out of her hair to keep it from frizzing--if they had questions for the panelists

"Oh my God you're so cute and thin in person ... and you're really cute too!"
--a guilt-ridden BlogHer attendee, gushing upon seeing Amanda Congdon, and then noticing that I was standing next to her

"Did you get a pastie?"
--BlogHer attendee, raving to a friend about the schwag she discovered in the exhibitor pavilion

"One point? That's impossible! This has to be, like, 100 points!"
--Me, geeking out over how good a WeightWatchers snack can be. This was my lunch on Day 2, as I had been running all over the freaking place and blew off my mantra for this year's event: "Don't forget to eat." The WeightWatchers Online table became my buffet

"So niiiiize to meet you."
--Arianna Huffington, upon being introduced

"Are you going to let a MAN do that at your own conference!"
--B-friend, pissed because Salim Ismael cut into the booze line during the Yahoo! Cocktail party

"Don't think I'm weird or anything like that. Arianna Huffington is coming out and we're going to do an interview."
--KRON's Brian Shields, mistakenly perceiving any judgements I might have about his proximity to the women's restroom.

"I think we need a serious break, OK? So let's regroup, then, on Monday."
--My BlogHer co-Founder Lisa Stone, as exhausted as I was, at the Day 2 evening cocktail party, Saturday night

"I'm thinking next year we might want to get an event planner."
--My other BlogHer co-Founder Elisa Camahort, having difficulty standing, at the same party

"So I heard."
--My sister, Julie, as I was telling her about the conference. Apparently I'd unwittingly dialed her on my cell phone during the conference, and she listened to me giving people directions to the session rooms for 10 minutes

"I'm thinking about it."
--My mother, a blogger with travel issues, when encouraged to attend BlogHer '07, which will be in Chicago next summer--20 minutes from her house

BlogHer06

Can a company run itself? Lessons BlogHer has taught me about collaboration

In honor of the BlogHer Conference, starting tomorrow, here's a little food for thought on the wonders of collaborative leadership, from my perch at BlogHer.org's Business and Career section.

The Relationship Chronicles: Understanding how women shop and love

To be clear, I'm not sold on buying my wedding dress at Neiman Marcus. I told B-friend this clearly before we entered the store and that I had no idea what kind of dress I wanted to wear; I needed ideas. I wanted to see what I liked, so that I could go find cheaper knockoffs somewhere else.

Not-so-subtly, I reached for the tag in each dress that looked remotely interesting to determine its designer and how much I'd have to win at Lotto to buy it. I don't see this exercise as a waste of time; this is what I do at all stores I browse. I look at everything and hope to find an incredible deal on an imperfect, out-of-season Vera Wang.

"Forty three hundred dollars! Put it down, Jory!"

"I'm still looking at it."

"Not any longer you're not. Put it down ... In fact, let's get out of here."

"We just got here!

This Week's Lesson from Project Runway: In fashion Roshambo, psychosis trumps passive aggression

I watched last year's season of Project Runway and hardly imparted any thoughts on the blog--a big mistake, I learned from Elisa Camahort, whose musings seemed to elicit a lot of response on her blog. I get all uppity after every episode of that show--why waste it? I've already let the first few episodes of this season pass with ary a snicker on the blog. This will change today.

Just the facts Ma'am

(Blogger's note: In response to my challenge to quit complaining about the "inaccuracies" in my blog and write his own damn blog, B-friend has taken me up on my challenge and has begun posts here on Pause that tell his side of the story. Get it? "His-Story." NOTE: The typos aren't mine.)

Her-story (def.): A superbly written, sometimes verbose, meaningful, and introspective tall tale, based largely on truth but having had selective and careful segregation and reorganization of words and events so that the recreation of the story is told in the appropriate order to give the most rewarding punch line. Synonym: Made for TV movie

His-story (def): A recollection of events directly tied to temporal and physical realities, often with little embellishment or creativity - unless needed to prove a point. Synonym: National Geographic Special

Learning Lessons of Self Worth at Pottery Barn

"Oh don't be such a martyr!" my friend said when I told her I was thinking of not having a bridal registry, "You've bought gifts for other people for how long now? It's your turn."

I've written about getting what's due me in bridal booty by having a gift registry--fiance or no--by the time I was 35. Now that I'm in the position of being a socially-sanctioned recipient of bridal gifts I question the practice.

What the hell is going on?

Meanwhile, people want to give us stuff--engagement gifts, shower gifts, wedding gifts. People feel badly for taking up my time, "when I must be so busy with the wedding!" People send me names of caterers, dressmakers, pastry chefs, even when I don't ask for them.

No one died; we're not incapacitated; nothing tragic or unexpected has happened, so the overly independent and disconnected part of me wonders, why do people care so much?

Lynn Broadwell: On growing a business, staying sane, and finding a decent caterer

More on my Small-Business Hero, Lynn Broadwell, on BlogHer.org.

The Relationship Chronicles: Introducing His Side of the Story

I said it to B-friend for the umpteenth time,

"If you think I exaggerate, then YOU write a blog."

"I think I WILL!"

"Great. I look forward to reading it."

 

The Family Reunion Part I: Oddities

I woke up yesterday morning and my engagement ring was missing, but I wasn't really worried. I knew B-friend probably had it. He'd woken up before me and was off doing the things he likes to do in the morning--chores, cooking, email--pretty much everything I like to do in the evening. We were spending the weekend with B-friend's parents--the Pre-In-Laws--in San Diego, and would make a trip up to Orange County for his Grandfather's 80th birthday.

I must have been tired; I didn't hear him wake up. Or maybe I did and went back to sleep--I don't remember; I was emerging from redemption sleep, making up for previous nights of interrupted slumber.  B-friend has been waking me up in the middle of the night since he declared war on the terrorist mosquitoes that have been staging attacks since the weather's been warm enough to keep the windows open. These are not average mosquitoes; these guys pray to Allah and are willing to give up their lives for human flesh. I used to sleep like an ignoramus in the buff and would wake up with mump-like welts on my body; my white, moley skin was chocolate chip ice cream to these pests. After scratching off yards of my skin last summer, I've resorted to High-Alert measures of mummifying myself in sheets every night, exposing only my face. I sleep on my side, so if I'm lucid in any way, I can hear the suckers buzzing and swat them if they dare try to bite me. Unfortunately, since I'm usually immobilized by the sheets I have to make odd noises to scare them off, or wiggle my whole body to try to deter them.