Chirky

I've been mulling over for a while what to say about BlogHer. I kind of feel obligated to talk about it, obligated because you know I went, obligated because it was the second time I've attended, obligated because I can't ignore the fact that I was there and choose to simply talk about the real reason I stayed a few extra days in Chicago: Garrett's popcorn.

BlogHer was … big. I met lots of bloggers I don't already read, as well as many bloggers that I already do. I have oodles of business cards stuffed in my laptop bag, and a sincere hankering for another piña colada. I already miss spending time with women who get me, who understand why I write online before I even have to attempt to explain it, who don't think twice about lining up on the floor of our hotel hallway to have a race doing The Worm. Those are my type of women.

Photo by Heather

The sessions I attended were not what I had expected them to be, and that was disappointing. Some were funny. Some were tense. Some were dry. I didn't walk away with as much practical know-how as I had hoped for from one session. In another I felt annoyed as I sat through an hour and a half of fluff to get five-minutes-worth of solid information. And still, another session had me laughing so hard that I'm heading out tonight to buy a book written by one of the panelists.

The golden egg of BlogHer, in my opinion, is the way it has created community among bloggers. BlogHer has become the conduit through which women (okay, fine, and some men, too) who might not otherwise connect have an opportunity to hole up together for a weekend, squeeeeeee! with excitement over meeting each other and then hug their new friends goodbye when the weekend is over. And somewhere in the middle, they might harvest several nuggets of wisdom from the expert panelists that BlogHer recruits for the event.

Sure, there's tons of swag. Sponsors swung in with copious amounts of free alcohol, a tote bag with a rather cute, asymmetrical design (but I wasn't fond of the two giant logos, so I didn't bring it home) that was filled with all sorts of goodies.

Items that made their way into my tiny little carry-on:

-- a chocolate brown, faux alligator (Wait - was that alligator? Does anyone know? Do I have my reptiles confused?) storage box filled with a spa kit (though I'll admit that the W Hotel in Chicago stocks the fabulous bliss line, and I might have borrowed a few extra samples from the housekeeping cart)

-- a journal from Wiley (I'm always on the lookout for journals, and free is totally in my budget)

-- the casauri tote from AOL Body ($85 retail, perfectly padded for my laptop, with enough pockets for all my carryables, and something that even my husband might like, plus it was hand-delivered to my room)

-- a mini box of cereal from Curves (which is kind of weird considering they're in the fitness business. Does this mean I'm soon going to find a box labeled 24 Hour Fitness in the cracker aisle of my grocery store, or Gold's Gym yogurt in the dairy section? In any case, I brought it on the plane in case I needed a snack, which I did since my flight was diverted from Dallas and stuck on a tarmac for two hours in Oklahoma City, but which I also forgot about when I needed it most. Now it's in my desk drawer at work, just in case.)

-- several CDs (I've not listened to them yet, but I brought them home anyway. I have high hopes.)

-- a purse organizer from the good folks at Real Simple (who sewed their brand name to the tag inside the organizer, rather than painting it onto the outside. That action alone made the purse worth keeping. Bonus points: it fits in my other purses, so I just move it from purse to purse whenever I switch handbags, which is like every day, and also? Pockets. Like, gazillions of them, perfectly sized for my cards and phone and wallet and most importantly, LIP GLOSSES. Yes, plural. Why do you ask?)

Items that made their way into the nearest trash receptacle:

-- a sweat towel (for the gym, I suppose, but the "get sweaty" logo was enormous and scratchy, and since I glow rather than sweat, it was left in the hotel room)

-- a plastic martini glass (I later learned that it glows in the dark, and now I wish I had it just so I could have a glowing cup for at least one drink, though I won't comment on how well it would work out for me to drink in the dark)

-- a Butterball oven mitt (it looked sturdy enough, and like my fingers might not get too hot if I held a heated platter for too long, but again with the giant logos!)

All in all, I would call the trip a success, though that's probably because I've got a gallon of Garrett's Caramel Crisp popcorn waiting for me at home.

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