depressing reduction of womanhood, but making lemonade

Listen. You know me, right? So you won't be surprised by what clearly surprised me *to my bones* today, although of course I had an inkling that the surprise was coming.

I guess I'm still learning. At 51, that's good, I guess.

I don't know why it didn't occur to me until tonight that the only conference I've ever been to, ever, where I didn't feel like the lonely freak I felt like this evening, wandering around at BlogHer like an alien lifeform gawking at the Lysol booth, the ziploc bag booth, at the fucking vacuums -- yeah, the only conference where I've ever felt at home, happy, with my people? 

Doy: a conference for Misfits.

I had a bad feeling from the moment I picked up the goody bag this afternoon at registration, a smelly PVC-plastic bag containing, besides two pens and three granola bars, three brochures about dermal filling and Botox, a coupon for a free Happy Meal, another for free nail polish, a weird foam toy bus with Lysol on its side. OK, there was some other stuff, but I could barely look at it because the smell of the bag was making me sick.

Since I'm a Pollyanna, I suppose -- and I say that with all respect for me and other perpetual sunny optimists -- I hoped that BlogHer would not be like that. And 'cause I'm a Pollyanna, I put on mascara and my new flats and took myself to the opening evening expo.

Oy, where I lasted 45 minutes.

Everyone else looked so happy. No one else looked like they wanted to topple the Scrubby Bubbles and Glade and Pledge booths, smash them to bits and build something cool from the wreckage. Nope. Everybody else seemed to be having a great time.

So I came back to my delightful room at the Hilton, where I now sit snuggled up on the King-size bed, laptop on a pillow on my lap, tv on in the background. And where I'm trying to make the best of it. As usual.

I'm sure I'll learn something tomorrow and the next day. OK, maybe I won't. But here's the deal: I'm going to sleep in this comfy bed for two nights anyway, and walk around like a gawking alien weirdo and make just the best of it I can. And dream of a conference for women bloggers that feels better than this.

And wait for registration for MisfitCon 15 to open. That's a win.

xo