When in Houston...

In two weeks, half of the damn internetowebosphere is going to descend on Manhattan for the annual BlogHer conference. Well, the half that I'm not on. I'm going camping with this chick for her birthday. Because nothing says, "I love and value you, and I sure am glad your momma shot you out of her chocha on this day, 24 short years ago" like making that person smell you after 3 days without a shower in the middle of a Texas summer.

If you're going, you might want to check out Mom 101's primer for bloggers hitting the big city, and Adam P Knave's ongoing primer for the big city hitting bloggers. If you're not going, well, you might want to check out The Retropolitan's summary of Cloverfield, which is damn near the best virtual tour of New York you'll ever take. Complete with horrifying monsters and equally horrifying plot developments.

Since I can't go to the conference, but I still want to take awkward self-portraits with my partners adentro crimen, I'm having a little get-together on Saturday night for anyone and anyone who wants to come. It's officially the Houston Pre-BlogHer meetup, but I like to call it Mochadad's birthday party plus. The plus being six months or so. Shut up, everyone likes birthday cake.

Morton's the Steakhouse has opened up their bar area for us and will be extending their weekday 'Power Hour' prices to us for the evening, including $5-$6 select appetizers, $5 select beers, $6 select wines and $7 select martinis (Manhattans totally included. Themes, we stick to'm).

Everyone is welcome to attend, and no, you don't have to dress like it's prom...just no hats. They're kind of weird about hats. You can get directions to Morton's from the map below, or call 713-659-3700 if you get hopelessly lost. There's a parking garage on Fannin Street and Valet out front, which is actually pretty reasonably priced.

See you there?

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Real World Killed the Video Star

I'm sitting in the same bar I've sat in every night for the past 6 nights, somewhere in the middle of Los Angeles, all by myself. I always think that these work trips are going to be so totally amazingly awesome, that I'll get so much done and enjoy the peace and quiet I am constantly begging any deity who will still listen to me* for.

And then I get here and my daughter calls me to tell me she meeds me, momma, and my middle son has emoticon text wars with me and my oldest son tells me every single thing he's done for me to keep the house together while I'm gone, and I try to go to the gym to sweat out the fact that I undeniably miss them but what I really end up doing it eating all the cheesecake room service will bring me and watching MTV all night, which doesn't actually have music on it anymore. Yo Yo Yo, MTVdumbteenagers! It just doesn't have the same ring to it.

And so I fall asleep at one and I wake up at four because my ears are ringing from the silence which is okay because in three days, when I'm home, I'm going to be bitching about how my house is clearly an echo chamber and how, though I do little right in life, I can totally make a mean pair of lungs. Three times over, in fact.

Yes, there is a point, and it is that we're talking about getting enough rest at my little review blog and it's the very last post in a series that ends in $100 gift certificate going to one of the commenters, so get going already. I'll be sitting here trying to figure out what the point of this Bachlorette show is.

*Turns out, there aren't any. Not even that delicious Flying Spaghetti Monster.

She Really Needs to Get Out of the House More Often, That's All.

And still, she doesn't finish the cop story.

She still also doesn't have a wallet or her super crazy hot red glasses anymore. Which is totally the punchline of the story. Bygones.

This all means that she can't see out of 2/3 of her eyeballs, and she doesn't have the insurance card she'll need to replace her glasses.

None of this excuses the whole third person thing. She really can't explain that. What she can tell you is that she's been writing much more coherently for BlogHer and Crystal Light, talking about summer vacation and great auntie Babbas and stuff.

And that every comment on any one of these posts this month enters you for a $100 giveaway. Every comment on her regular blog enters you for a chance at an email. Which is worth it's weight in gold, of course.

When Good Neighbors Go, Um, Er, Gooder?

In my inbox this morning, courtesy of my lovely neighbor Andrew who tries very hard to avoid public forums, and will now probably hate me:
Exterior establishing shot.  A hot, dry sunny day on (the street I live on).
3of3 runs with a little soccer ball towards a tall, bald man watering his dahlias.

3of3: Anjou! I want to play with you!  We can chase the ball.  Don't touch it.

Andrew: Okay, I won't touch it. I swear.

3of3: Let's go, Anjou.

The intrepid duo run up (said street).

Andrew: You must miss your mom.

3of3: No.  She's in Chicago.

Andrew: So, if she were in another city would you miss her?  Like New York?

3of3: No, she's coming back in two minutes.

Andrew: In a few days?  Next week?

3of3: Two minutes.  Next week.

Andrew: I don't think you understand time, 3of3.

3of3: Oh my god!  Two minutes, Anjou.

Afternoon Delights

I blow-dried my hair this weekend. Twice.  I even shaved my legs, which means the end is extremely fucking nigh, people.

See, we had a little party this weekend, under the guise of "BlogHer is so close, I can smell the panic" but was, of course, really just about "Oh my god I need a martini."  Which we managed to squeak in at the last hour, thanks to this guy.

His Name Is Jonas

It's funny to me that I've lived in Vancouver for two years plus now but that I've only met, oh, four bloggers or so in that whole time. I honestly had no clue at all how many women I know, or know of, or didn't know at all, were right in my backyard, and I'm kind of excited for that because I've almost completely hit that brick wall where if I don't talk to a grown up soon, about grown up things, something may give and that something will probably be the last little thread that holds my sanity in check and then I'll end up running around wearing teal shoes and stealing unsuspecting women's passports in airport restroom stalls and no one wants that, really.  

Lucky for me, I have this blog thing.  Lucky for me also, Natalie and Angella and Amber and ZoeyJane and Emily and Kristen and Kerry and Fawn and Cori and Susan and Nicole and Gwen and Tracey and Xangelle and Sandi and Laura and Catherine and the other 18 million people I'm leaving out because, yeah, it's 2:40 exactly in the AM right now and I saw god 30 minutes ago, but lucky for me all of them have one, too.

The rest are on FlickR, of course.