Sitting at the Popular Table

You know how over there on my sidebar I have a list of blogs that I follow? Well, some of them are people that I know personally, either here in OK, or around the country. Several of them are people I met, either online or in person, back in the Caringbridge days. In fact, I have several more CB links I should add over there, when I'm not so lazy busy. Most of them, however, are people I don't know at all, except through their blogs.

One of the first blogs I ever started following was this one. I've been reading her blog religiously for probably four or five years. We have very little in common as far as our daily lives go, considering she has seven kids and I only have three, and she has the patience to home school and I ..... uh .... do NOT. But, she still cracks me up with pretty much everything she writes.

Through her blog, I found this blog. Oh, probably two years ago or so is when I started following along. And I really don't have much in common with her, either, considering she's a total fashionista and my idea of haute couture are my good jeans from JC Penney. But she's funny, and enjoyable, and bonus points, lives in Oklahoma. So I felt connected and continued to read and now I'm totally hooked on what she has to say.

Through her blog, I recently discovered this blog. And although I've only been reading a short time, so I have no idea if we have anything in common, she already cracks me up. I was actually sad a few weeks ago when she took a brief blogging break to ... oh, I don't know .... do some minor thing like have a baby. Yep, that's how selfish I am .... she was busy birthing a child, and all I could think about was how much I missed her updates and when would she be coming back?

Anyway, these are just three examples of blogs I follow regularly. Blogs of women who are fabulous writers --- who in fact, are paid to write and give advice, and who have advertisers on their site, and who go to blogging conventions, and speak publicly and what have you ... all kinds of cool stuff. And on a regular basis, I sit back and am entertained/touched/prodded/impressed/pickyouradverb by them and their writing. At some point, I've left comments on these three blogs and all three ladies have taken the time to reply, which thrilled me. I realize that probably makes me sound all fan-club-y and pathetic, but it's true. I'm grateful they share their lives with me, even if it's vicariously through the internet and that makes me almost a little stalker-y creepish. Yes, I realize I'm one of hundreds, probably thousands, of people who enjoy these blogs every day .... and that's ok. I'm happy to just follow along.

So imagine my surprise when I got an e-mail from this one a few days ago. An e-mail (are you ready for this?) inviting me TO HER HOME for brunch, and champagne, to celebrate the inauguration of Barack Obama. I know!!! One of my favorite bloggers, inviting me to her home?? With other bloggery friends of hers??? Can you even imagine how much total AWESOMENESS that would be?!? So I did the only logical thing I could do --- e-mailed her back and said there must have been some mistake. I mean, she doesn't even know me, and not only that, I'm (shhhhhhhhhhh) Republican. So although I certainly had fantasies about meeting them all and becoming BFFs and exchanging texts and hanging out at Starbucks for witty blogging banter on a regular basis, I figured it was a computer glitch and the invitation was sent in error ....

Then! She e-mailed back and said nope, it wasn't an error, and I was really invited. Holy cow, I almost wet myself!!

So I've spent the past few days thinking about what I'm going to wear because dudes, seriously. She, like, gives fashion advice on the internet. I don't think my favorite boots from Goodwill and the sweatshirt I bought in Alaska are going to cut it. And thinking about what I can possibly say to impress these women that I am a rational, intelligent person, and not some bumbling fool who loses her head when nervous or under pressure. (Which, ok, I have been known to do, thank you very much.) And thinking about what intelligent things I can possibly say about our new president. Who I didn't vote for, but she promised she wouldn't hold that against me.**

Basically, I'm nervous as hell I'm going to be out of my league.

Blaine, being the helpful pillar of common sense he always is, told me to pull my head out of my butt and that they'd like me just fine. What could go wrong, after all? What could go wrong? What could go WRONG???? Do you REMEMBER who you're talking to????

So, I've thought about it. And come up with an entire list of things that could possibly go wrong.

1. I get lost on the way to her house and have to call for directions, establishing myself as the biggest moron on the planet -- it's not like Oklahoma City is that hard to navigate.

2. I find her house ok, but hit another car in the driveway. Given my recent driving situation, we all know this is a real possibility.

3. I get out of the car, trip going up her sidewalk, and break my leg. Embarrassing, but totally could happen. If it does, I will crawl into the bushes and lie there until brunch is over rather than risk the humiliation.

4. I knock on the front door, and when Susan opens it to let me in, I trip and fall on her. I've seen pictures of her on her website and guesstimate that I outweigh her by about fifty pounds. If I landed on her, I would snap her like a twig.

5. I will not drink enough mimosas and be thought of as a party-pooper.

6. I will drink too many mimosas and be thought of as an obnoxious lush.

7. I will spill my mimosa in any part of her house. (Note to self: research ingredients in mimosas, and also best home remedy for cleaning. Then carry bottle of cleaning remedy in purse to party.)

8. I will make an ass out of myself by calling all her super-cool blogging friends by the wrong names.

9. I will be the only person there who has never been to a Blogher conference and is therefore officially the lamest blogger-guest ever.

10. I will drop the baby and break it.

11. I will go to the bathroom and come out with my skirt tucked in my pantyhose. (Note to self: do not wear skirt.)

12. I will forget to take my McCain/Palin button off my coat. (Kidding, I never wore the button.)

13. I will have an allergic reaction to some kind of food that is being served, and have to ransack the guest bathroom for children's benedryl to avert breathing crisis.

OK, see? I'm not even allergic to any foods! I'm worried about stuff that cannot possibly happen. (Except for the broken leg or the spilled mimosa. Those things could TOTALLY happen.) Yes, definitely, number seven probably has the highest degree of likelihood.

But you know what? I'm just going to go and have a good time. If these ladies are even half as cool in person as they are online, it will be fabulous. And I'm going to enjoy myself, skirt tucked in my pantyhose and all.

To be specific, however, let me give you a little information off of the blog:

"The very kind people at Quaker Oatmeal are sponsoring 11 house parties across the country, including mine. But they’re doing more than just hosting parties — Quaker is partnering with Share Our Strength, a network of food banks that target children, to help Mr. Obama keep his promise to end childhood hunger in America by 2015. Through February 28, you can go to the Quaker Start With Substance website and enter the UPC from any Quaker hot cereal; for every UPC entered, Quaker will donate one bowl of oatmeal to Share our Strength, up to one million bowls of oatmeal."

So see? That's pretty awesome. A chance for me to rub elbows with the popular people, and help out a worthy cause at the same time. I've already entered the upc code from every box in my pantry .... I hope you'll do the same.

And wish me luck tomorrow that I don't break my leg walking up the sidewalk.

**For the record, I have nothing against Obama personally.*** I just worry in America's zest to elect a black president, we elected the WRONG black president. It is my sincere hope that I am proven as wrong, as wrong can be.

***That is Blaine's job, Mr. "Pessimistic for the Next Four, Good Heavens, Don't Let it be Eight Years".