what twitter is for
I was hanging out with some friends the other night . . . friends who (gasp) are not on twitter. They were asking me what the point was – and their questions were valid. Is it just where people tell what their having for dinner? Yes. Is it an ADD platform for narcissism? Yes. Is it a pointless way to waste time bantering with people you don’t really know? Yes. It’s all of those things. But there is a little more to it, and this morning's reaction to . . .
that’s what she said (Blogher edition)
Alright, one last Blogher recap. I know, I know. Last year I remember people talking and talking about the Blogher conference and wishing they would move on already, and here I am blathering on about it for three posts . But I suppose that for many of us, who spend our days in a groundhog's day existence of diapers, swiffering and playdates, that a few days in New York City is a whole lot of excitement and grist for the blogging mill. On Friday, the . . .
party planes, puke fests, and fondue feuds (blogher days 1 & 2)
In my life, I’ve had a couple variations of recurring stress dreams. One involves me being unable to find something right before a big event (it’s my wedding day and I can’t find a hairdryer, it’s time for prom and I can’t find my dress, etc). Another recurring dream involves me finding out that I am failing a class (in college I took an anthropology class where you could skip the final if you got 100% on the midterm. I did, and then I skipped that the class for the rest of the semester. My . . .
homeward bound (re-entry from the blogher alternate universe)
I've been on several mission trips in my life, and typically the last day is devotd to a process called "re-entry" - where participants some time debriefing in preparation for acclimation back into real life. On a mission trip, time is usually spent discussing how one might react to the newfound awarenss of the excesses and privilege in their first-world life. One might be warned of the culture shock they may experience, the discomfort they may feel returning their current . . .
adventures in daytime tv
We got back from New York last night. It was a whirlwind, and I think it will forever be dubbed our Ultimate Date Night Weekend. We got in around 10pm on Tuesday night, and The View had a driver to pick us up. Having our own driver made us feel very self-important. We tried to work the phrase "our driver" into as many sentences as possible over the weekend. i.e. "Should we have our driver drop us at the restaurant?" "Do you give the driver a call to tell him . . .
the first rule about block club . . .
I got back from my conference late last night, and I must brag on my husband. Jafta and I came home to a spotless house, and three bathed and peacefully sleeping children. I don't know what happened while I was gone (I'm guessing that bath before my arrival was the only one of the weekend), but from all outward appearances, Mark and the kids had a great time in my absence. There were really only two dire consequences from my time away: 1. Mark allowed a Veggie Tales . . .
survivor guilt
I am a little uncomfortable with calling myself an "earthquake survivor". When I got back from Haiti, I had my little 15 minutes of fame as all the local news channels clamored to get an interview with the "local Orange County woman who survived the earthquake". It all seemed very overdramatic to me - but I realize (sadly) that people tend to be more interested in a story about someone they identify with. I did the interviews, most of them on my first full day home, because I wanted to use . . .