Sunday, July 31, 2011

Packing is for pussies, except that it's not for me, and I'm definitely a pussy, so really...packing is for *other* pussies

So my former BlogHer roommates have been emailing back and forth for CENTURIES about what to pack for the conference, one even going so far as to lay our her outfits, photograph them, and send them all for our admiration. Or approval.

I don't know which it was, but I have not stopped making fun of them. Because, look:

"A thought that has crossed my mind: Do I need sparkle for Sparklecorn? I don't like costumes."

In my experience at Sparklecorn, you can wear (or not wear) whatever the fuck you want to wear (or not wear), so I replied, "No you don't. Not even a little bit."  Just bring your boobs.

So while this entire month-long exchange has been entertaining, I woke up this morning and realize I have to get on an airplane. Like, TOMORROW. And with me must come clothing and shit.

Now I'm frantically reading the archived emails from my former roommates, trying to decide what to bring, what not to bring, challenging my shitty memory to decide what I took last year that was non-necessary and what I forgot to bring, all the while forcing myself not to panic that I am getting. On. A flying DEATHTRAP.

On purpose, and with purposeful intent.

So I'm also regretting how I let the laundry pile up for days and days now because UNDERWEAR?!?! does not seem to exist in my household at the moment. And skirts? are all fucking M.I.A. Which means I'll be one of the dykes at BlogHer, baggy jeans and my home-grown mullet, which means I'll be a predator: a horny dyke in a sea of thousands of awesome vaginas, and frankly, people are already scared to meet me. Being a dyke predator is NOT going to help my case.

Haircut? Might be the easiest solution.

Anyhoodle, bon voyage and wish me luck because I'm pretty sure I'll be dying in a flaming, airplane-shaped inferno tomorrow.