A Girl...

Let's Get Together, Yeah Yeah Yeah

Although I CAN multitask, I don't LIKE to multitask, and if you know me even a little, you can be sure that not liking to do something pretty much means I won't do it (See: cleaning toilets, eating fish in tacos, waking up before 8 a.m. See also: juvenile behavior unbecoming of a twenty-seven-year-old woman).

In general, I like to handle one project or activity at a time, seeing it through from the start to its conclusion, while keeping the blinders up to sheild me from distractions. And although this preferred method is constantly challenged by my officework and a boyfriend who likes to wake up before 8 a.m., complete a triathlon, go to a picnic, watch a movie, eat a fish taco, attend a roller derby match, and throw a mini-whiskey party all in one day, I still like to do things my way when I can, and that is why I had until yesterday let my trip to Salt Lake take precedence over the fact that I will be at the BlogHer Conference this weekend and I should have been working myself into a nervous frenzy over it instead of just letting it linger unmenacingly in the background. Why have I been so CALM?!?!

What will I wear? How much equipment should I bring? Will the other kids make fun of me because my laptop weighs as much as a human head? Does cocktail party = cocktail dress? What if Ariel thinks I'm a square? What if JenB spikes my drink? What if someone comes over to me and starts up a conversation like we're all best friends and stuff and I have no idea who she is? What if I meet someone I really really admire and I can't stop myself from talking a thousand miles a minute about how we have SO MUCH IN COMMON and we should TOTALLY HANG OUT, you know, like, in the *fingers*BLOGOSPHERE*fingers*? What if my feet get hot during one of the sessions and I take my shoes off and a Pigpenesque plume of stench billows forth from under my chair? What if all the people who have agreed to meet up with me only meant that they would take thirty seconds out of their schedule to shake my hand and say hi before running off with their real friends? What if I get turned away at the door by a bouncer who will inform me that the conference was "refocused" at the last minute and I'm not allowed through the doors without a baby and the stretched-out tummy to prove it's mine?

And now if you'll excuse me, I need to go make a little checkbox chart so that I can have a handy method of marking off the bloggers I've met the way my brother and I used to mark off out-of-state license plates we'd see on road trips. Let me know if you should be on my list.