Hello friends! I’m not sure what I was thinking when I invited the How To Be A Dad’s to guest post, but I did. And, now I will stop typing so you can enjoy their guest post while I’m off in BlogHer land… <3
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Hello, Fine People of Papermamaland.
We’re Charlie & Andy of HowToBeADad.com. We’ve invaded your regularly scheduled programming to bring you the tale of our meeting Chelsey for the first time.
::WAVY LINES AS WE GO BACK IN TIME::
It was a warm summer morning last year on the first weekend of August. We were two grown man-dads heading to a women’s blogger conference, BlogHer to be exact. We told ourselves we were going to rebrand the conference as BlogHim by setting up a barbecue in the lobby, watching “The Godfather” while we lifted weights. That almost happened.
We stumbled over to nearby hotel to grab some breakfast and tweeted to our 150 followers that we had finally landed at our arrival target. One person tweeted back. “Leave.”
It was from an account we’d never heard of before. A second Twitter mention, “She doesn’t want you here. Finish your crappy breakfast burrito and exit the hotel.” We looked around. Everyone was happily eating their horrible plates of food. One female human was looking right at us. She had a bloody mary and a furrowed brow.
As she got up, we averted our gaze, as we normally would have thinking she was heading off to go pay her expensive hotel bill. It was Mandy from Harper’s Happenings. She leaned an arm against one of the tall chairs at our table. “I guess you didn’t read my texts.”
She had sauntered over from a table of women. They were like a gang: similar colored clothing, loud conversationalists and definitely carrying weapons. Mandy continued, “She doesn’t want you at this conference and I’m here to deliver a message.”
Wow, already getting violent threats and only in the first 30 minutes.
They all got up simultaneously as if they communicated by thought-phone and traipsed out the door. One of them spit on us. We think it was Krystal from “Tie A Little Ribbon” or maybe that crazy lady-person from “Heir to Blair.”
We sat there covered in spittle and shame. Who didn’t want us there?
The rest of the conference was fairly normal, if by normal you mean oceans of estrogen accompanied by pointing and laughing. Eventually, it was sunset, which meant Andy had to start hydrating his wine-organs inside his body.
We walked over to the bar and grabbed some drinks, then plopped on a couple oversized pool chairs near some oversized ferns and oversized white tourists. Like Dementors chasing Harry Potter, the gaggle of gals appeared again, but this time they parted, much like the Red Sea and one female ladyhuman approached us. It was Chelsey. She held a drink in her hands and a chip on her shoulder.
“You’re either incredibly dumb or incredibly stupid. I think we both know which one you are.”
“Aren’t those the same thing?” We replied in unison. We never did that. Unless we’re really, really, really scared. We had defied The Paper Mama. No one does that, at least that was the word on the street.
Just then, a pack of guys swooped in from their Fraternity Bro Conference and asked her if we were bothering her. She waved them away but they seemed intent on making a group-on-group love connection. Immediately, Chelsey softened. “Ohhhh, I’m sorry. I’m so rude. What’s your name?” The gentleman caller responded, “Mike Rockney. But people call me ‘Rock’ for short. Cause it’s shorter. Get it?”
“Well, Mike, have you ever played Ro-Sham-Bo?” She was being downright demure having been near violent with us only ten minutes ago. “Sha, like when I was five and junk,” he batted back. She held out her hand. He smirked a ‘what-the-funk’ smile at his boys and held out his hand.
What happens next can only be described as hurricanical. She grabbed Mr. Whiskey-Tango’s hand and somehow managed bend it 720 degrees into a circular pretzel, tucked one his friends heads through the loop, swept another of his friend’s legs, used that guy’s back a step ladder and tap danced on some other dude’s neck. It was like “Breakin’ 2: Electrical Boogaloo” but on people’s faces.
When she was done, over the moans of the asswhooping, we heard her say, “Remember Mike, Paper always beats Rock.”
She tossed us a card and said we’d be hearing from her again someday. We swore we’d never cross her again. But now BlogHer is coming up again and feel we owe her a debt before we’re in the same zip code.
Hence this guest post.
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Thanks so much to Charlie and Andy for this extremely accurate story about our BlogHer meeting last year.
