My Kizz never gets tiresome even after four straight days of togetherness.
The idea of someone having a business-like orgasm isn’t as funny to other people as it is to me and Kizz and definitely is confusing as a Facebook status.
The clublounge on the 33rd floor has a lot of cheese. I like cheese very much (I didn’t just learn that part but I hadn’t known that the lounge would be serving so much of it).
Apparently, announcing that Chelsea Handler is a whore is not considered “take-away information” when leading a blog-to-book panel. (P.S. if you are someone with a Google alert on Chelsea’s name, it was said in jest after giving her credit for my own book deal, but…let’s face it, she is a whore.)
Lulu is awesome in person. Kizz, Lulu and I immediately became the three muskateers only with bigger tits.
Black Hockey Jesus is a real person and he saved my sanity on more than one occasion. If he really quits blogging there will be serious hell to pay. Seriously, BHJ, don’t mess with me.
You can buy the beds in the Sheraton (which seemed like an excellent idea for about an hour but after an entire night it became obvious that owning one would lead to back surgery within a month).
Turns out that a photo op with Carson Kressley is not a good enough reason to go to an off campus party (Heather, can you back me up on this?)
The Bloggess cannot teach you to be funny. But she will be hilarious trying.
Xanax is the new party drug among middle-age, socially awkward women who are used to spending quality time in front of their computers in the safety of their own homes. Therefore, if one were to let’s just say, happen to have some Xanax left over from an old prescription, one could charge a pretty penny for it at BlogHer.
The term “grandmother’s hands” may be the funniest term for a certain type of writing style that I have ever heard in my life. Thank you for that Alexa. You made my trip.
The drunk redhead whose hair did not handle Chicago humidity well and who shoved her business card at me three different times on Saturday night slurring, “I’m a real writer. Look me up, bitch” made my decision to not drink much, much easier.
Carolyn…Online looks exactly like Cameron Diaz and has a very dry sense of humor and if I were gay I might’ve been hitting on her a little. I know, what do I mean if?
There is really no reason to leave for the Chicago airport three whole hours before your flight unless you really enjoy sit down Mexican cuisine at 10 a.m. on concourse B.
Offering to tongue kiss each and every person who attended my book signing may have been a bit desperate.
You can get herpes from kissing.
I will be attending BlogHer next year.