How I Prepare to Be the Official BlogHer StalkHer

While the rest of you. . .

shine your fancy tickets to BlogHer,
buy new cute yet comfy shoes,
plot wardrobes with the intensity of a brigadier general,
check the mailbox hourly for razzle dazzle cards,
RSVP to parties that overlap,
hack into databases to see who is going to be where and when,
plan escape routes with trusted friends,
bribe city officials for the official blueprints of the Hilton NYC,
create elaborate index card systems of conference tracks and panels,
study Facebook photos and bios like a sorority girl before rush,
set up Google alerts for any blog or Web mention of BlogHer 10 (plus BlogHer 10+your name, just in case),
hound insiders for secret appearance special guest names,
and more. . .

I am in complex and highly technical preparations myself to be the official BlogHer StalkHer.

First, it's necessary that every StalkHer suit up in the appropriate outfit. I'm thinking this looks about right, minus, of course, the strong masculine jawline and five o'clock shadow.

(Frankly, Google has offended me again. Last week I asked about "baby changing tables in men's restrooms" and Google asked me if I meant "baby changing tables in women's restrooms." No GOOGLE, you sexist pig, I mean MEN'S. Some people may call it babysitting when a dad takes charge of the kids, but I call it PARENTING and some fathers do too, such as the ones who will take their baby into the bathroom to change a dirty diaper aka MOST DADS. Now? Google wants to be sure I meant "female bandit." Which, by the way, DO NOT GOOGLE THAT. It's a slew of fetish and playboy and penthouse results. "Bandit costume" provides much better results, albeit all for the men. As usual.)

Anyway, the outfit:

Second, one needs one's tools of the trade. I've been jonesing for an excuse to get this ever since I heard about it:

Micro Ear Gear -- no conversation is safe from me!

Finally, I need a gimmick. This should do the trick:

Everybody clap clap your hands and let's get funky!

Anyway...don't pity me, in my Zorro outfit doing the Cha Cha Slide with a supersonic spy gear hearing piece hanging off my ear.

Just find me and say HI!

(You guys know I'm kidding, right! I've got some spectacular events and plans, and fun with friends lined up. But do not despair! I have, of course, dedicated some time during the day Friday and until my flight on Saturday to StakHer-ing!)

'Whatever' is not an actual salary and it really doesn't buy the groceries, either

Teaching my girls how to pull the rope for themselves. It was a pretty innocuous mother's club meeting, and we were talking about babysitters. I don't even recall why it came up, the talk about babysitters. Conversation unrolls so organically in these meetings, these times we get together, without children, and get to just talk. But sitters came up in conversation and the turn of that conversation surprised me. Greatly. Apparently around here it's bad manners to quote an hourly rate for one's babysitting services. "You know what gets me?" a mom said, "You know what sitters I prefer? Who I pay the most to? The ones who say 'oh just pay me whatever.'" She went on to explain that (and this is my paraphrase not her exact statement) to her, it came across as very forward, rude even, when these sitters said they charged X dollars per hour. My mind rolled that concept around for a minute: it's cheeky and rude to state upfront how much you charg...

Restaurant Trauma in Texas: How eating out prompted a really uncomfortable lesson about culture

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Enough with the Mary Poppins Parenting, All Right?

Note: this post begins with "recently" but it was recent then not now. Then was around March 2012. At some point, someone for some reason reported this post and the platform pulled it down. However, the concept is evergreen so I am republishing it! ________________________________________________________________________________ Recently on Facebook, a friend disgustedly posted another "how French parents are better" article (this one cruelly about how French kids have less ADHD and it's because the French parents are BETTER -- or so it read to a lot of parents dealing with this situation in their own families, and boy do I understand that POV). She was appalled, we were all mainly appalled. Though there was a slight thread of "maybe there's a point here...how can we have so much more?" running through it. Feeling insecure about your parenting is pretty de rigeur for parents, I think. We are raising a person who will go out into the world, rep...

Julie Pippert: Using My Words

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