In fact, if this was somebody else’s blog, I’m not sure I would even be reading it.

Sure, some of my titles are catchy: The one about Slutty Costumes got a few extra readers, as did the one where I mis-lead the reader by suggestion my marriage is over (nothing makes for more compelling reading than a crumbling marriage, right?

But a fish must learn to crawl before it can learn to fly right? And that’s what I’m shooting for.

I was reminded of this today, while reading a post by  SharonDV and her adventures in speed-skating. She was describing a less than stellar speed skater and the “strength of character to put yourself out there”. He was clearly not going to win this race, in fact he was last from the start. Yet he entered the dang race anyway…

That’s when I remembered: I’m such a sucker for the underdog. The one’s who haven’t really got a chance, who go unnoticed and get trampled over…and decide (crazily!) to persevere anyhow. That’s my tribe.

I’ve spent most of time, reading really well-established bloggers – those who have most likely spent years crafting the art of blogging (cause, really it is an art). And yes, I learn from them. And am entertained by them. More importantly, I am drawn to them because I am inspired by them.

But I am not growing with them, and I think that’s what I need to do for a little while.

Reading only awesome stuff just highlights my own deficiencies, if that makes any sense.

It is not jealousy ( I checked for that). It is admiration.

But I think I also need to find more of a community of growing bloggers like myself..and by growing, I mean, all the other average bloggers, working hard to find their voice and grow a community.

Preferably ones who use yours, your’s and yous guys interchangeably.

So, there’s no perfect way to ask this (and even if there was I wouldn’t know what it was, right?) but I’m in search of the average blogger.

The more mediocre, the better.

Do you ignore spellcheck and talk in gibberish? I want you!!

And I am not even kidding. I’d love to exchange ideas, references and war-stories with you. Have apost that NOBODY read (moms don’t can’t) – tell ME about it! Have you spent hours writting a post, only to realize that you basically plagiarized Barefoot Foodie or The Bloggess? Yep, done that too! Tell me about it. PLEASE!!

And just like that, I remembered the mantra that got me through most of high school (and part of university): “I may not win but I cannot be thrown” Irene Cara style:

And we got married.

Since then, we have plowed through countries, cities, jobs, takeout containers and coffee makers.

We have had 2 kids, three houses, endless colds, fights and giggles.

But it all boils down to just this:

The wedding dress…..that no longer fits…..

For the most part, I never think about it. But when we moved a few months ago, it ended up at the bottom of my closet, taunting me with it’s cinched waist and narrow shoulders.

And now I have to figure out what to do with it.

Cause it doesn’t fit.

It is severely jaundiced.

It has *princess sleeves* (romantic way of saying batwings).

It’s probably for the best that it doesn’t fit, I’d totally wear it otherwise.

Like out, in public…

I’d start to sneak it in at Halloween, totally reasonably….but I know myself.

Before long, I’d organize a Bridesmaids Party…which could be fun, except, I wouldn’t know that we were being ironic and I’d suggest we do it monthly…and people would stop replying to my Evites and Facebook Events….that’s how much I wish I could still wear the dang dress!

Because the truth is, I loved this dress.

And the body that fit into it (Mine).

staged photo, in case you're wondering

And the body that snuggled up against it (His).

And all the friends and family that accidentally stepped on it.

And I am so grateful that I still look back on that date, and all of the wonderful days since, with happiness.

(Admittedly, If I had a do-over I would choose a stretchier fabric so I could be one of those smug women who still fit into it)….

So, I’ve spent the day, trying to come up with ways to re-purpose it.  I could turn the dress into:

• fancy kleenex
• purse liner
• panty liner
• dental floss
• cat scratch pad
• ghost costume
• Jennifer Lopez costume
• Ghost costume
• Ghost pinata
• Bubble skirt for entire Girls soccer team

I’m sure there’s a better way, what did you do to yours?

I wish I had the um, balloons, to wear this costume

Dressing like a tiger does not turn you into one. Even if you have a really good growl. It simply does not work that way.

It never occurred to me that my cousin was a doctor, simply because he dressed as one for Halloween last year. In no way was I tempted to show him my “rash”.

Nor do I believe that if a woman dresses like a slutty-anything it will turn her into one.

It’s as if men shamed us into wearing the slutty costumes and now women have shamed us out of them.

The talk of the town has been focused on judgement and bullying this past week. Ok, that is awesome. We all agree that judging each other based on what we wear to the dogpark or the mall is counter-productive. And that words are just as harmful as fists when it comes to bullying. So why is bashing the slut costume (and by extension, those that choose to wear them) exempted from this inclusiveness?

I rarely see people judging others based  on their choice of clothing for Mardi Gras or a pride Day parade…in these cases we generally applaud creating an environment that let people feel safe and welcome, regardless of how little clothing they have one..or the amount of body glitter they choose to abuse. Nor do we regard them as boring, right?

“Women can be anything their imaginations can dream of, as long as you can’t see their boobs.” Emily McCombs

The biggest argument I have heard about slutty costumes is that they are unoriginal…my kids have dressed as gorillas, pirates, football players and  the ubiquitous teletubby over the years. Not once have I heard them being criticized for their lack of originality. Florists, artists and Prince need to be original - Halloween just needs to be fun and whimsical and maybe even daring, so I simply don’t buy that argument.

Why are we so bent on taking choices away from women? Dressing sexy for Halloween can be fun. Or powerful. Or liberating. I may be missing the point but I am more attune then ever of how women bring one another down.  Is this simply just not another way of doing it?

(For the record, the picture I used was of Emily McCombs, managing editor of xojane.com [lest you think I just randomly googled slutty Halloween images...which I did anyway] – not only is she really really smart and sharp, she looks great as a nurse and she wrote an awesome piece about why she’ll be wearing that as her costume this year)

Spread out throughout the room are dishes of guacamole, lasagna and pie.

When you sit down, the table to your left is scattered with your old Judy Blumes and your new Hunger Games trilogy.

But then suddenly – and you don’t even know if it’s yours or belongs to another  - there is this long thick fart…the odor penetrates everything.

You really just want to curl up in a bowl of lasagna and listen to the music…but the smell, it permeates and distracts….This was my BlissdomCanada.

[For The Record:  This was an incredibly well-executed conference - there were generous sponsors and fun parties, enthusiastic volunteers and organizers. It was very clear how much time, energy and resources went into planning BlissdomCanada. What I discovered is that maybe Blissdom is not my bag....which would absolutely suck. I thirst for the connections, lessons, inspiration and  generosity of others. Blissdom, I need you to be more of  what I need though. The fart was a metaphor. Everybody there smelt really really good.]

My friend Alex  wrote a thoughtful  piece on her Blissdom reflections earlier today and y’all should read it. It echoes so many of my sentiments as do all of the thoughtful comments left by others. But where Alex writes about the disconnect between bloggers & brands, I simply felt disconnected from the entire conference.

This is more a reflection of myself than of the conference, by the way. As mentioned, all the ingredients of a successful event were in place and I hope many left feeling re-charged and focused.

I also wish I had been one of them.

Truth be told, I am indifferent to the monetization/branding sessions at Blissdom (ironic because one of my favorite sessions at Blissdom was loosely tied to branding. Though it had more to do with swearing, if you ask me)

I am just grateful that I am not financially dependant on my blog. I am equally grateful the option exists for those that need to generate income from it, if the fit works.

That said, I do worry that people are making choices now that may effect how seriously they are to be taken later on…of course, if I was approached by certain brands (and I’m looking at you anthropologie, apple, anything Etsy *wink*) I could easily be persuaded.

Maybe it’s harder than I know, trying to marry a personal blog with a brand. I have no idea.

I was there for other reasons, primarily to focus on improving the quality of my blog during daytime sessions.

And to get drunk and giggle with friends at night.

Neither happened.

I cannot tell you why. I have heard self-righteous smug happy people say that how we feel is a choice – I certainly don’t recall choosing to feeling like every punchline was being spoken in Swahili by an old Irish guy, originally from Ittoqqortoormiit (that’s Greenland, in case you are wondering). But that’s how I felt. Danggit – hate when that happens.

What I learnt instead was that

I need to focus more on what I write rather than where I write it.

I have been very focused on increasing my traffic because the website I had been contributing to required it. Of course, that is their revenue model and I get that. But it turns out that is not what drives me. I need to connect with people.

I want my writing to be compelling and relevant because I want to be relevant and compelling…I have no idea what to make of this realization (please no dime-store theories, I don’t actually want to know what this makes me), other than nothing rings more true for me than when people do that head nodding thingy, like I get it, I get it! – it is the best way for me to connect with other people…..

Words are the liaison between myself and others. I am distracted and fascinated by them, their imperfections and thick chunky unfinished edges.

I spend my  time alternatively crushing on other peoples words and cringing at my own.

I am not a girl. Nor, apparently, am I a wolf.

I do not hug, dance, squeal, karaoke or faint at the sight of Jordan Knight – I am not even sure I am allowed at these events. (ps. Jordan knight genuinely looked like he was having a blast, and made me wish I was a fan).  Also, I do not do well in groups, preferring the smaller, more intimate gatherings.

I chose sessions on my own, went to the bathroom on my own, chose what to eat on my own, went to bed on my own.

And then I am left…well, alone and wondering why I am often alone at these events.

I was not conditioned with the pack mentality. Again, this is not a reflection of Blissdom (how could it be) but it was more apparent in a room full of hundreds, than say….when I am alone…

My favorite moments were when I was one on one, even if these were just 5 minute bursts of intimacy – they were the things that sustained me throughout the weekend.

So essentially I am asking Blissdom to host an event with hundreds of bloggers but group sessions are not to exceed 3-5.

I want them to focus on the craft of writing rather than on a specific blogging topic, even thought it is a blogging conference.

I would also like a no touching policy in place.

Ideally, everybody will think just like me and prefer a bergundy over a chardonnay for dinner. Very little focus on how to *do* social media strategically.

Oh, and can you have those awesome massages and manis that you provided complimentary delivered directly to my room. I’ll be up there for the most part…alone…

What Will I Do Now

• I will focus more on the craft of writing and find ways to showcase it. I have realized that my ideal platform will be in print (that means you, magazines!!)
• On the second night of Blissdom, I resigned from Babble.com I will try to convince myself that I will have other opportunities as awesome as this one. I simply could not commit to writing 5 posts a week. Also, I suspect I need my repertoire to extend beyond personal finance.
• While at Blissdom, we were invited to watch a screening of missrepresentation, courtesy of Jen Maier. Without any doubts at all, this is the direction I would like my writing to be heading.
• Working with Gail Vaz-Oxlade is incredible. Meeting her in person? Even better! I am excited about the projects she is working on and so thrilled to be a part of  initiatives that are so clearly making a difference to people.
• As community manager at WallStSurvivor I see the importance of forging genuine thoughtful relationships with people as the primary goal of social media

Cue the sappy music now:

And I love it all. Mainly. But occasionally, certain updates frustrate the bejesus outta me [ok - very crazy digression. Spellcheck likes the word *bejesus* as much as I do, and has accepted it without prompting me to change it. Awesome]

The thing is, I wonder, are people intentionally trying to annoy with their status updates? Cause, that would actually be funny….

I mean, I get why blog posts may occasionally bore or annoy.

The potential for failure is accelerated with every allowable  character.

My idea of annoying may be your bliss…one persons self-righteous tweet is another’s plagiarized Oscar Wilde…

Here’s what I mean:

“I just finished 687km in 43 minutes. What size jeans are your jeans?” (I am paraphrasing a tiny bit)

“So sad when certain people can’t take the hint” OMG – NO MORE passive-aggressive tweets/updates please! and you know who I’m talking about  <——- SEE???!!!!

“Can’t wait to go to the #RTH11 event and see all the #FHNNG gals…better than last years #TCGBV1o That was just lame” OK, seriously, nobody understands these tweets, it’s not just you, I promise!!

“And then the PR guy called me a  f*cking B*tch” or ANYTHING by Jenny. Because when I read her blog and I should and you should and so should everybody else. Except maybe your mom – she makes me want to just leave life (and all of it’s updates and blog posts and stories) entirely up to her. Which may deserve a whole new category: Tweets That Remind Me How Inadequate I really Am.

What would you add to the list??

I have a tendency to over-think and over-share and over-plan…and sometimes that leaves me 63 steps from where I actually need to be – like today…

Except that my world revolves online. So the same way when I was a kid, I was constantly editing my life as if it was a tv show. “What would Tootie do if I sent that boy in class a note” or “The Beav and I would kick-ass at building a fort together” these days I edit things into post sized thoughts.

Feeling like crap? I know, write a post on the “Top 10 Most Un-Sh*tty Things To Do” or a “How to Un-Sh*tty Your Mood In 5 Easy Steps – 3 of which include a package of Oreos, some whipcream and an avocado” .

Which really sucks because then I start thinking of all the bloggers who could do this post way better than I could, and there are tons. Except a post like this would likely not make it past the draft stage, that’s how silly and obvious it is…moping is for facebook and suckers, kiddo.

Regardless, I need to shake the sh*tty’s today, so rather than make lists of all the practical stuff that actually needs to be accomplished, I did this instead:

Who Shakes Your Sh*tty’s??

Fictitious Chicks Who Would Slay Me For Moping:

Music to ass kick my mope-y’s:

Turns out I don’t have any dirty little secrets. I was not a former beauty queen. I have never murdered a rainbow, nor have I ever participated in a hazing (but if I could, I would totally haze Jeremy Piven)

But I was thinking recently of an old friend who told me about the recent breakup with her boyfriend. They left each other, angrily and are not destined to *keep in touch*. Everything ended badly, the way these things do. And yet…the one pact they have made with each other  - and by pact it is everything short of a legal document – is that they won’t spill the beans on each other.  At various points in their relationship they confessed to previous lovers (this includes the number of & intimate tendencies). This also includes days taken off work that included trips to the mall, rather than the doctors…insider family information…and an indecent amount of gossip on their friends and co-workers.

So I was entertaining the thought of which parts of my past could come back to bite me…and really, though I am not sin-free (that would be boring) but there was nothing scandalous really.

I wondered aloud (ok, fine, on the twitter):

What would be worse : having your salary exposed or your weight?

Most people agreed that they were more comfortable revealing their weight than their salary.  One helpful gal admitted to wearing a size  7 shoe. My amazing buddy (who I have yet to meet in real life @hippofatamus ) actually DID reveal both, with a message to “Suck it World” for people who couldn’t appreciate her awesomeness. And for the record, I love her absolute joy and awesomeness!!)

As far as my salary is concerned, I  would not be crushed if it was revealed, I just don’t think it is anybody elses business (except for the cashiers at anthropologie, who I give most of it too anyway ;)

But I can honestly say that it would be devastating to reveal my weight. It would hurt me and humiliate me (again, this is not a dare!!).  So then I was thinking how liberating it would be to just not have that hanging over my head anymore. Like if I wrote a blog post that revealed my weight, publicly and by choice, how liberating it would be.  it would either shame me into losing the weight or motivate me to want to!

So……with that in mind………I proudly wear a size 9 shoe, so suck it world!!

What would be worse for you, exposing your salary or weight?

Son 2, not missing a beat: “Gay Octopus Penis’”

I was not present for this exchange. This is what happens when the boys leave me out of things. (I *may* have choked I was laughing so hard when PJ sent this to me though)

just a regular octopus

So, what do I do?

I mean this sincerely. I trust my husband implicitly. When pressed, he just mumbles something about them making my feet look like Barney Rubble impostors. But  I  have a wonky foot and these are sooo comfortable and they are PURPLE – nothing is ever bad in purple, right? ( My kids are tweens, so apparently Barney no longer exists in my universe)

I have little doubt that he is looking out for my best interest here, I am neither offended or hurt. That said, I am a little self-conscious wearing them out of the house now. He may likely be right, they are not flattering.  To be fair, I am a firm believer in being able to not look too schleppy and remain super comfortable – the days of  pitting comfort against style are dated and aged (and to the fashion editors who continue to battle them out – so are you, suckah!!).

So the question remains (Actually it has evolved into a few questions):

1. Would you wear something that your partner genuinely thought was doing you a disservice?
2. Would you wear something that YOU genuinely though was doing you a disservice but chose to disregard?
3. Would it make a difference if it was your bff/Stacey/Clinton calling you Barney, rather than your partner?
4. Should I just replace the dang shoes already?

That said, it’s not as if I live off of Kraft dinner, hide out in my basement with all the friendly earwigs, avoiding daylight & camis.  Not anymore, at least. No, I have moved into Denial – it is way happier here! Denial encouraged me to buy all my new clothing one size up -I am swimming in delusion skinny jeans these days. Denial also helped me replace all of our full-length mirrors with this:

Denial believes that oreos are as wholesome as carrots, exercise hurts butterflies and that cellulite is actually caused by the oranges it resembles.

Denial told me that training for a 5km would take too much time away from kids, and that without parental supervision they were bound to get caught up in all the drugs and hookering going around. As if I’d want that to happen, right??

Still, I decided to put together a list of stuff about my body that doesn’t make me regret not spreading that rumour that I am addicted to eating teddy bears. At least then, I would be eccentric, y’know – rather than just an Oreo-eating chub-chub:

• My green eyes
• My freckles, mainly because just saying the word makes me sound like a ten-year old
• My last name O’Connor (which technically isn’t a physical feature but I just really like the way it emphasizes my green eyes and freckles)
• I like the way my small waist keeps gently reminding me that the rest of my body used to be in proportion to the size of it
• But mainly I like the way my mouth smiles whenever I hear this song: