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	<title>WIRL Project &#187; Awkward</title>
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	<description>What It&#039;s Really Like.</description>
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		<title>BlogU: Middle Age Middle School</title>
		<link>http://www.wirlproject.com/blogu-middle-age-middle-school/</link>
		<comments>http://www.wirlproject.com/blogu-middle-age-middle-school/#comments</comments>
		<pubDate>Wed, 17 Jun 2015 21:00:19 +0000</pubDate>
		<dc:creator><![CDATA[Guest WIRL]]></dc:creator>
				<category><![CDATA[Life/Leisure]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[WIRL Challenge]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Work/Money]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Awesome]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Awkward]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[blog]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[BlogU]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Middle Age]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Middle School]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[WIRL Challenge BlogU]]></category>

		<guid isPermaLink="false">http://www.wirlproject.com/?p=6974</guid>
		<description><![CDATA[I had the weirdest dream: I’m sharing a couch in a hotel bar with “I Just Want to Pee Alone” NYT Bestselling Author, Jen Mann. Our conversation meanders from our mutual admiration for Hugh Howey to me giving her shit about the fact that her rental car has manual roll-down windows. We then somehow make the connection that I was in the PTA with a book blogger that she follows. The next thing I know, Kim Bongiorno (Let Me Start By Saying) is next to me dressed up as Urkel performing a “Dancing With the Stars” worthy number with Frugie from Frugalista Blog. This dream is so much fun that I don’t want to wake up! But this isn’t a dream. This is Blog U. When I signed up for the Blog U conference on a (wine inspired) whim a few months ago, there wasn’t even a schedule in place, let alone a list of presenters. All that was on the BlogU website was the registration form and this picture of Kim Bongiorno, Nicole Leigh Shaw and Kerry Rossow. My fan-girl obsession with Kim Bongiorno seemed to be a good enough reason to fly half way across the country and miss my kids’ last day of school to attend the 3-day blogging conference so I put down my wine and filled out the registration. As the months passed, and the details of the conference were revealed, it became clear that I should start making more of my career decisions after 2 ½ glasses of wine. In addition to Kim Bongiorno, the ‘faculty’ list now included Jen Mann (People I Want to Punch in the Throat, I Just Want to Pee Alone), Nicole Knepper (Moms Who Drink And Swear), Jill Smokler (Scary Mommy), Anna Luther (My Life and Kids) and Ilana Wiles (Mommy Shorts). And they were just a few of the amazing talents leading classes, (please see them all here.) The excitement of the opportunity to learn from some of the most talented and successful women in the blogging world could only be matched by the thrill of finally getting to meet many of the bloggers that I have grown to admire and care for during my nine-months of blogging. But there were still some doubts: What would they be like in real life? Would conversations still come naturally when there weren’t 1,000 miles and a computer monitor between us? What if they didn’t like me? Was this going to be awesome or was it going to be awkward? Some of you, (okay, two of you), may remember one of my very first posts, “I’m a Facebook Girl Living in a Twitter World”. The post is about how terribly overwhelmed and nervous I was about trying to ‘break in’ to the world of blogging. (And oddly enough, just as he did with my dream-like conversation with Jen Mann, Hugh Howey played a prominent part in the story.) Here’s a brief excerpt: “The first thing I realized was, Holy shit, I think every mom in the world has a blog, (and some of them even have two!) The second thing I realized was “Holy shit, I think all of these mom bloggers are all besties who have been partying together for years” and immediately felt like the new girl at the party who keeps wandering around trying to squeeze my way into a bunch of circles of conversation only to look down and realize I’m not wearing any pants. Super awkward, super humbling. I have been fortunate to make it through all levels of school without a socially awkward phase and at age 42 I thought I was safe….guess not.” Coincidentally, the theme of the dress-up party that Nickelodeon hosted on Saturday night was #MiddleSchoolAwkward. I hoped that this wasn’t some cruel foreshadowing that all my fears from that original post would materialize during the conference In one sense, it turned out that part of my post from back in September was correct: Many of these bloggers are besties who have been partying together for years. Fortunately, the part that I had wrong was the belief that I would need to “squeeze” into their tight-knit conversations. The reality was that no matter how tight the circles were, they opened right up to welcome me when I arrived. They were friendly, generous, smart, kind and so damn funny. As for the part about looking down and realizing I wasn’t wearing pants….that was also accurate, but only because I went and removed my leggings from under my skirt half-way through the Nickelodeon party after almost having heat stroke on the dance floor. I originally intended for this post to be more of a true recap of my weekend at Blog U, but every time I started writing, I felt like I was trying to describe a dream: It wasn’t so much the individual moments or the events, it was how they all tied together to create a feeling that I’m simply not able to describe except with the word grateful. Grateful for the weird inspiration, while brushing my teeth one night last August, which led me to start a blog about beginning a job search after 10 years as a stay at home mom. Grateful that one silly post about my super-anal Childcare Instructions that I left for my in-laws got noticed by someone at Redbook.com and took my blog in a new direction. Grateful that this new direction has given me the opportunity to meet so many new friends who share my interests, weird sense of humor and unusual combination of extreme-emotional-introvert/extreme-sharing-extrovert. Grateful that I have a family that supports me (both with their love with their cash-money) so that when I suggested going to Blog U so I could spend the weekend with these new friends the response was an enthusiastic “you should totally do it!” (Except for my 9 year old, who continues to remind me that you’re not supposed to meet up with strangers from the internet.) Grateful that after all my fears that the Blog U might turn out #MiddleSchoolAwkward, instead it ended up being #MiddleAgeAwesome. And since a picture speaks a thousand words, I’ll let this one do the rest of the talking. &#160; &#160; *This WIRL was originally published on The Dusty Parachute  &#160; &#160; Join The Conversation! Easily contribute your story here. &#160; About the Author… Once upon a time, Susanne Kerns was a Senior Account Director at an advertising agency working for two of the top brands in the world.  Nine years ago she traded in her corporate life for a life as a stay at home mom, raising two of the best kids in the world.  She started her blog, The Dusty Parachute as a way to dust off her online advertising skills and begin her job search. Instead, she now uses it as a way to spend lots of time on the computer so her kids think that mommy has a job.  Susanne’s essays have been featured in Scary Mommy, BonBon Break and Redbook and she is also a contributor in the upcoming books, It’s Really 10 Months, Special Delivery and Martinis &#38; Motherhood – Tales of Wonder Woe &#38; WTF?!  You can follow her on Facebook, Instagram and Twitter.]]></description>
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		<title>BlogU: The Good, The Awkward, and The Bloody</title>
		<link>http://www.wirlproject.com/blogu-the-good-the-awkward-and-the-bloody/</link>
		<comments>http://www.wirlproject.com/blogu-the-good-the-awkward-and-the-bloody/#comments</comments>
		<pubDate>Wed, 17 Jun 2015 10:00:39 +0000</pubDate>
		<dc:creator><![CDATA[Guest WIRL]]></dc:creator>
				<category><![CDATA[Life/Leisure]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Technology/Web]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[WIRL Challenge]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Awkward]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[BlogU]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[BlogU15]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Bloody]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Good]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Middle School]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[WIRL Challenge BlogU]]></category>

		<guid isPermaLink="false">http://www.wirlproject.com/?p=7036</guid>
		<description><![CDATA[For those of you not obsessively stalking me on social media (First, PSA &#8211; what are you thinking? You can savor little bits of me in small doses, and each social media outlet is like an adorable and ridiculous puzzle piece that fits into the grander scheme of me, people. Go forth and use those shiny social media buttons at the top of my page and love the shit out of me&#8230;), you may not know that I was waking a roommate up each morning to &#8220;Good Morning, Baltimore&#8221; from Hairspray as we relished a weekend of blogging camaraderie at the BlogU conference. I&#8217;m going to tell you now that my roommate, Vicky, loved me and wouldn&#8217;t trade me and my Breath Right nose strips for a toffee and sea salt chocolate bar any day. I think. I survived three glorious days on almost 14 hours of sleep total, pretending I was in college again. I had the time of my life with a beautiful mish-mosh of (mostly) women (plus like 4-ish dudes) bloggers as we learned, partied, played and learned some more. On Friday, at the crack of dawn, Brian loaded my suitcases into the trunk of my car as I prepared to embark on my first solo trip in more than five years. I realized I was terrified as we made our way to Midway Airport, and told him as much. I explained I thought I was going to throw up, and asked what would happen if it wasn&#8217;t as amazing as everyone said it was? And what if no one liked me? What if I got nervous and shy and said nothing? You may not believe me, but it&#8217;s true. Bloody Mary I&#8217;d only met ONE other person attending BlogU &#8211; Aussa Lorens (who, after hanging out with a couple times at two blog conferences, I think I can safely say that we&#8217;re BFFs). So I planned to start my afternoon with Joules, who wasn&#8217;t attending the conference but lives&#8230;sort of nearby. We had a killer delicious brunch and were joined by a hundred other bloggers. (Or like 15. Whatever.) I had the most beautiful bloody Mary ever to grace the planet, one which I will never be able to replicate (until my imminent return next year). So the weekend began with a bloody&#8230;which turned out to be my theme for the weekend. In many more ways than one.  The drink was loaded with deliciousness and just a hint of spice. I split breakfast apps with my new friends, McCall and Anne. I had to sweet talk the server into splitting up our check a little more than the original plan (ONE check per table and max FOUR credit cards. I promised we&#8217;d tip well, and I&#8217;m pretty sure we did), but it worked and we were all golden. Then I bid farewell to Joules and piled into a car with four other bloggers and their luggage (me carrying the most, of course). Bloody Shaving At dinner on the first night (a lot of these stories are going to revolve around eating and drinking. Deal with it, yo), I was drooling over the dessert table, when Jen Simon started swooning over some magic half brownie thing. I already had 27 desserts on my plate, so she was like, &#8220;go try mine. There&#8217;s my table. Don&#8217;t tell them you know me.&#8221; Not one to miss out on a golden opportunity of awkward moments, I strolled over with a fork, sat down, and dug in. Everyone laughed and I made a new table of friends, including the super sparkly Mary. So then, Jen walked up and stood behind me, chatting. And I felt something warm and wet on my lower back&#8230;because there was some hot chocolate drizzle rollin&#8217; down my back. She felt bad, but I didn&#8217;t. I had planned to wear my rainbow pants and tee shirt to the pep rally and Term Paper of the Year (and was beginning to feel a bit on the self-conscious side) but now I had an excuse to change. I brought enough clothes, and decided I wanted to look adorable with all the other people (seriously, everyone I met was adorable). I decided that if I was changing, I should probably shower. And if I was showering, I should probably shave. Well. If you may recall from my shit that&#8217;s hard for chubby girls post, I&#8217;m not exactly great at shaving my legs. And I almost always regret this beauty regimen. But I braved the fucking shower yoga so I didn&#8217;t feel completely self-conscious in front of so much amazing talent&#8230;and cut the fucking shit out of my legs. Bloody Towel After taking a miniature battle axe to my legs, I toweled off with the tiniest towel ever to grace my body. Poor Vicky almost caught a glimpse of everything but my left tit, because that&#8217;s all this terrycloth bitch could cover. I set it on the towel bar in our shared suite to dry, where the sight of it broke the amazing Chris Dean&#8217;s heart. As one of the few people lovely enough to believe that my hair really is THIS RED&#8230;she was disappointed to discover the bloody towel hanging on the rack. As a faux ginger herself, she knows the site of a hair-dyed towel when she sees one. But&#8230;did I mention Vicky and I got to share a quad with Chris and Anne (from breakfast)? Because that was definitely a highlight. Bloody Period Well&#8230;thank GOD Jen Simon spilled hot chocolate on my ass (literally), because if she hadn&#8217;t&#8230;I wouldn&#8217;t have showered. Or changed. Because I was pretty thankful when I was cut off mid-sentence telling Vicky that I was glad I didn&#8217;t have to worry about getting up and speaking during the Term Paper of the Year&#8230;as they announced my motherfucking name&#8230; I looked at Vicky and Sasha, shell shocked. &#8220;Umm&#8230;I think that&#8217;s my name.&#8221; &#8220;Woohoo!&#8221; I stood up. I looked around like a deer in headlights. &#8220;What do I do?&#8221; &#8220;I think you go up there.&#8221; &#8220;Oh. Fuck.&#8221; I didn&#8217;t even know what I was reading. I couldn&#8217;t remember for the life of me what I submitted. And then I stood in front of 200 people I hadn&#8217;t introduced myself to yet, and read the story of my first period. Thank GOD they laughed when they were supposed to laugh. Because speaking about bleeding from my lady bits (and not fucking knowing it) in front of brilliant writers was the most terrifying thing ever. I gripped the podium like I was hanging onto the edge of a building and prayed that I didn&#8217;t fall down. And when I was done, I was shaking. Thank you, Vicky for capturing this on video (see below). Bloody Shoulder The rest of the weekend seemed to go pretty well and remained relatively accident-free. Until I was sitting in Jen Mann&#8217;s session about writing books (because books). I was listening, learning, and laughing (I love it when people are funny in real life&#8230;especially when they make the universal tongue-in-cheek sign for blow job), when I looked down and noticed a significant amount of blood welling up on my left shoulder. Of course, I reached to touch it and ended up with blood on my fingers as well. The girl sitting next to me (who my mind is COMPLETELY blanking on and for that I&#8217;m so sorry. If that was you, please let me know so I can credit you for your sympathy) searched her purse for a tissue, but came up empty, apologizing profusely. So I improvised. The thing about having a former life as a catering manager is that you learn to improvise quickly. I ripped out a piece of notebook paper, wiped my bloody fingers, folded the paper up, and used it to apply pressure/soak up the blood. Bloody Dance Floor Okay. So. At the AMAZING middle school awkward party hosted by Nickelodeon, I would love to tell you I was the belle of the ball, and since there were about 200 belles, so I guess I&#8217;ll say I was just one of them. Dancing my freaking ass off like I was 22. I seriously believed I would lose like 10 pounds after an epic dance floor experience, but alas, not one pound. Anyway, I was really hoping to hear, The Bad Touch, because I know all the words and was SO ready to dirty rap for all my new friends. After an appletini or two, I walked up to the DJ and explained he NEEDED to play The Bad Touch because it was a quintessential song from my existence, and I wouldn&#8217;t be able to live with myself if he didn&#8217;t play it. An hour later, I was jumping around to Madonna, singing Like a Prayer, and pretending I was 22. I&#8217;m a firm believer in dancing the lyrics, so when Madonna sings, &#8220;down on myyyyyy knees&#8230;&#8221; I got down on my knees like a motherfucking boss. I popped up and continued dancing, feeling a little twinge of pain in my knee, but it wasn&#8217;t unbearable. As the song was ending, The Bad Touch came on and I was READY for this shit. Until I accidentally looked down and saw that there was mass quantities of blood gushing from my knee to my ankle. I stared in horror&#8230;deer in headlights AGAIN&#8230;and I was ushered off the dance floor. Evacuated, if you will. I kept trying to go back because they were playing my JAM and I was missing every glorious second of it. Jana brought me paper towels and took a picture. Others offered to bring me alcohol. Estelle searched her purse for a Band Aid (I had them&#8230;in my dorm room) which she couldn&#8217;t find. I stood there crying about missing my song. Then, I took Estelle up on her offer of Purell because I wanted to emotionally snack on mass quantities of gummy candy and I couldn&#8217;t do that with bloody hands. So I cleaned up my act and finished the evening in style. I also spent the rest of the evening yelling at people to be careful because I thought I knelt on glass, because there&#8217;s no way I was just&#8230;bleeding from the dance floor, right? Bloody Squirrel The next morning, walking to breakfast, my new friend Amy commented on the insanity of the local squirrel population as they swirled and swung from the tree tops. I just chalked it up to college campus squirrels, as the Bradley squirrels were a little&#8230;well&#8230;squirrely too. But as we were walking BACK from breakfast, we happened upon the saddest scene in the world. A squished squirrel, posthumously named Skippy by Tracy, lay bloody in  the middle of the campus road, as his little buddy gingerly walked up to him and nuzzled his battered body. I cried a little bit watching this happen. Can we just pause for a brief moment to recognize Skippy? Bloody Delayed Flight After my flight was delayed an hour, and I woke up from a power nap on the floor of the boarding aisle, I made my way to the back of my aircraft and passed the fuck out. For about an hour. I woke up, gave myself a good scratch and&#8230;wait for it&#8230;started bleeding on my right shoulder. I cursed silently and decided that my bloody weekend needed to be over, and so I went back to sleep and woke up in Chicago (or something like that). I made so many more friends and wish I could tag every damn one of you, but this post is already at an unreadable length. But you were all fucking magical. I learned a LOT. I laughed constantly. I found my people. Every single person that was there was my people. And I adore you all. My nerves were quickly replaced by friendships that will last forever. &#160;  *This piece was originally published on QuirkyChrissy. &#160; Join The Conversation! Easily contribute your story to WIRL Project here. &#160; About the Author… Christine Wojdyla is an award-winning writer and humorist, sometimes pairing the two as she would her favorite bottle of cheap wine and expensive cheese. A professional copywriter by day turned creative writer by night, she writes at her personal, no-niche, full-nonsense blog, QuirkyChrissy.com, where you&#8217;ll find her passionately raving about cheese, her hilarious boyfriend, and that one time (or twenty-seven times) she fell down. You can also spot her practicing yoga on Instagram or sharing random and ridiculous thoughts on Facebook.]]></description>
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