Yesterday was BlogHer DC. I went to most of the shindig, but left early because I was overwhelmingly tired. Not of the BlogHer event, which was actually (yes, *actually*) very nice, but because I guess I was just tired. To prove my point I will make the rather embarrassing admission to finding myself drooling upon my pillow whilst deep in sleep at the pansy hour of 9 pm.
Okay, before 9 pm.
Anyhoo. The above picture is of my nails in their (mostly) current state. I'm really rough on manicures, so although the nail polish is still on, it's starting to look like tampered-crackly-shell of creme brulée by now. I predict that by tomorrow I'll be frantically chipping away at it, as my masterpiece of destruction of sorts.
Anyway. What do my pink nails have to do with anything?
Well, it's kind of a fun picture –to me, at least. And it's girly and pink –so this reminds me to remind you about soaping your bosom ever so gently. Even if you're a man, you can either soap up your own or find a friendly bosom to help, you know. After all, it's October and as the possessor of twin fountains of estrogen I am supposed to be telling you about breast cancer awareness.
Also, BlogHer. Because pink is girly and chicks and "she" and "her" and therefore BlogHer.
I know there were men there. I counted five, which is quite nice– all for equality and BlogHer is not just for women and so cool.
But I have to tell you one thing: there was no doubt this was a chick event. I don't even mean that derogatorily: it just was.
When I arrived –fashionably late– there was a networking exercise going on in the main ballroom, which was quite cool; it was a bit like those speed dating things you hear about, but without the awkward cleavage staring and/or dashed expectations, I imagine. I got to meet a few very interesting bloggers whose blogs I will probably read and share in the coming days.
But then, there was the din.
When I call it "din" I think I'm being generous. It was more like the thunderous (or perhaps glorious?) clucking of two hundred plus female voices, all struggling to be heard over one another.
I suppose if we're going to pick a nature equivalent, it would be more like the buzzing of a bee colony, swarming and slithering and wending around and filled with an energy that is both formidable and downright scary at the same time.
All girls, girls, girls, all the time.
(And, with their clothes on, unlike the girls that tend to accompany the aforementioned phrase)
Let us hope that one of us BlogHers can ever be described as George Sand was described by a contemporary writer:
"What a brave man she was, and what a good woman."
Ivan Turgenev (novelist)
(Or perhaps not? Is bravery solely the territory of people with cojones?)