Back from Texas

So I celebrated the latter half of Winter Break: The Breakening (alternate title: The Sky is Gray, the Days Are Cold, and Life is Joyless and Yet Too Brief; in Germany: Tod Kommt Für Uns Alle) by getting the hell out of here and hightailing it to Texas for the Mom 2.0 Summit. Sorry, Scott and Henry. Enjoy the rest of your Winter Break! So long, suckers!

(Very smart to have a conference during the winter doldrums, when everyone is desperate for escape. Take note of this, Other Conference Organizers! Next year: BlogHer 2011 at the end of January, in the Bahamas. All panels will take place on the beach. The lunch buffet will feature giant urns of daiquiris and piña coladas. I am onto something.)

It’s always hard to sum up a conference when my own experience is so colored by my wacky internal landscape that it’s kind of hard to say exactly what went on. (Did I really take my top off during my panel, like everyone says I did? Seems hard to believe. But when everything went black and I woke up wearing only a hotel blanket, who can say what happened in the interim?) (That part is a joke.) (You know that. I know you know that.)

I can say for certain that the panels I attended were illuminating, that I was thrilled to spend quality time with some of my favorite Internet people, and had some amazing conversations with people I hadn’t met before. (Apologies for not calling these people out specifically, but you cannot know how terrified I am of forgetting someone and having that person wonder why I didn’t mention them, do I secretly hate them? Which is what I would do, because I’m like that.) (I am allergic to hurting people’s feelings, did I mention? Literally. I swell up.) (Not literally. Which, also, you know.)

What always gets in the way of me talking objectively about the kick-ass conference and all the amazing people is the fact that—how I do put this—I don’t seem to do well at these things. I mean, I get by. Do not pity me. But I find them emotionally overwhelming, and spend the whole time shaking like a rained-on Chihuahua. After the last BlogHer I attended (which, okay, was a few months after a miscarriage, when I was suffering from some kind of post-miscarriage postpartumness) I determined that I would never again attend a conference. But I was assured that Mom 2.0 was different—smaller, more intimate. And it was. It was lovely.

And yet. I spent most of the time hiding in my hotel room, and when I walked into one of those giant conference rooms I felt the floor spinning. When I spoke to other attendees, all I wanted to say was, “Don’t you want to run away?” And they would say, “I’m having the best time!” and I would be all, “Me, too!” And then I’d sit in my hotel room and shake.

This puzzles me, because I’m typically a sociable person. I like people! Well, mostly. I mean, let’s not get crazy. It’s not like I shy away from attention, you guys. I enjoy the stage. I am comfortable with a microphone. (Anyone who saw my panel will know I had a hard time giving up the mic.) I had nothing but great interactions, and I wouldn’t trade those moments for anything. I don't want to avoid conferences, because then I'd miss out on discovering all those great people. What I could do without is the inability to sleep and the low-grade nausea and the, well, the trembling and sweating. What the hell, me?

I would love to know if any of you have similar experiences. Maybe I’m simply a delicate flower. Maybe I’m reacting to the wall-to-wall carpeting. That’s it: it’s dust mites! Next time I will attend in a plastic bubble.

Has it been that long?

Hello I am here! My name is Alice! CAN YOU HEAR ME!

Wait, let me try that again. Hello! This is a blog! Wait. That’s not good at all. HELLO WHAT IS YOUR NAME ARE YOU FRIEND?! No, no, I’m coming on too strong. Sorry. Wow. Greetings, I am here writing you for having long-time not written… is strange! Yes is!

There you go. Much better.

Sorry about that. I’m a little out of practice. It turns out I have to post more frequently, or several terrible things happen: 1) I forget how to come up with ideas; 2) everyone gets mad at me, but secretly, in their heads, so I have to imagine it; 3) Earth’s orbit goes just the tiniest bit awry, and we are set on an immutable trajectory that will eventually hurl us straight into the sun. I apologize for that last part. I didn’t know my own power. I should have guessed, of course. Apologies all around.

So I went to the Broad Summit the weekend before last, and it took me almost this long to recover. I was terribly fatigued, and had an attack of the nerves. A few drops of laudanum in my chamomile tisane managed to soothe me, but a longer rest cure than usual was prescribed. And now these linen straps are holding me fast to the bedposts, making it rather difficult to write! Oh, why won’t the doctor answer my bell?

Seriously, it was an incredible weekend, and apparently I am now a wrecked and aged woman who can’t handle air travel. Or maybe it’s regular life I can’t handle, and the return to reality is what caused my neurasthenia. Either way, I am now returned to my normally vigorous self. Huzzah!

Let’s change the subject now and talk about something cheerful, like miscarriage. We finally tackled the topic over at Momversation, and I am just grateful that the editors edited out my bizarre behavior, because in addition to being an old woman, I am a child who cannot discuss anything painful without interjecting jokes and weird inappropriate laughter. I believe I began my video with a fart joke. I’m not even kidding.

It felt strange to talk about my miscarriage so long after the fact, and the crabby guilt-laden Catholic inside me is whinnying, Why are you still thinking about that? Move on! Worry about the poor and the lame! And also the blind! Jesus died for your sins, missy! But then the rest of me is all, I’m sure you have a point, Sister Teresa of the Bleeding Ramekin, but put a damn sock in it. So there.

We didn't die after all.

Us at the Louvre.
Originally uploaded by finslippy

Instead of dying, we just had an incredible time. Huh. Go here to see our complete Flickr set.

Au revoir à jamais

Oh, my friends who live inside the computer, Scott and I are leaving tomorrow for Paris. It’s our tenth anniversary on Friday, and it was my 40th birthday last week, and since we sold our house we had some cash lying around (technically not lying around; we used it as padding for Charlie’s dog bed). So we thought, why aren’t we going to Paris? What kind of jerks are we?

So Henry’s going to hang out with the grandparents while we cavort and gambol around Paris for six days, and I should be ridiculously excited. Except now that we’re getting ready, I’m pretty we’re going to die. I don’t deserve a nice vacation and therefore the Lord will smite us. Obviously. Here’s what’s going to happen, in no particular order:

The plane will crash and we will all die

The French will hate us and we will all die

Having forgotten the four years of French I took in high school (Je suis désolée, Madame Goldenberg!) I will be unable to obtain for us food or beverages, and death will ensue

We’ll forget to do anything and we'll sit in our hotel room crying (and subsequently die of shame)

The United States will blow up because I wasn’t here to keep things non-blow-uppy

Henry will be sad and lonely with his grandparents and we’ll have to come home early, and somehow we’ll die as a result of that

Something something something death

Needless to say, some of these scenarios are unlikely. Probably we will not die. I went to Paris many years ago and found the French to be largely tolerant of my crude Frenchifying. Henry loves his grandparents way more than us. We have guidebooks and the like. The plane will maybe get us there and back safely. Maybe.

I’ve been practicing some important phrases, too:

Excuse me, stewardess, please make sure there is no turbulence.

Excusez-moi, hôtesse de l'air, s'il vous plaît assurez-vous il n'y a pas de turbulence.

I thought I said no turbulence. Now I require a bucket of red wine and some horse tranquilizers.

Je pensais que je l'ai dit pas de turbulence. Maintenant, j'ai besoin d'un seau de vin rouge et quelques chevaux de tranquillisants.

Pardon me—does the United States still exist?

Excusez-moi, les États-Unis continuent d'exister?

Do not laugh at me. I have an anxiety disorder.

Ne vous moquez pas de moi. J'ai un trouble anxieux.

That man who is laughing? He is my husband. He is a monster.

Cet homme qui rit? C'est mon mari. Il est un monstre.

I go to the library. I want hamburger and fries.

Je vais à la bibliothèque. Je veux hamburger et des frites.

(I already knew that last one.)

We’ll return in a week. Please keep our planes aloft and the Earth safe with the power of your positive thinking or praying or voodoo or whatever it is you do, I really don’t care.

(And I just realized I forgot to tell you about the surprise party my husband threw for me. It was incredible. But I’m leaving now so I’m going to have to tell you about it upon our return, IF WE EVER RETURN, of course you will Alice shut up.)