Warning: If you have no interest in BOSSY, don’t bother reading this post. I’m detailing this event as though her stalker biggest fan got locked up an hour before and I’m trying to be his second. Or her second, as the case may be.
Yesterday afternoon Jeremy and I loaded up the car with some Emu-chili (shut-up, it was totally delicious), a bottle of Barefoot Pinot Grigio, some strawberries and chocolate. Plus some other stuff that’s really none of your business. We kissed the kids good-bye and headed off on our mini-roadtrip. The excitement! The open road! Oh wait, I forgot my camera so back we went. But then. The excitement! The open road! It took about four hours (with bay area traffic) but we arrived right on time to Cat’s fabulous apartment in San Francisco.
After depositing our offerings on the buffet and making hasty trips to the bathroom (where Cat strategically placed this),
we got to chat with BOSSY and some super-cool Bay Area Bloggers. Hopefully you can find their links on BOSSY, because I’m terrible at keeping track of such things. Poor Jeremy, I told him that a couple of other guys were going to be there but turns out they couldn’t make it. I promise, honey, they did exist.
BOSSY said Jeremy looks just like her cousin so I captured the family reunion in this photo.
And then I stepped up to the plate, and BOSSY’s all, Damn! and tried to help me out by doing the tall-person-meets-a-midget stoop.
You can’t know what to expect going into a situation where you don’t really know anyone and where you feel like you know all about someone but they don’t have a clue about YOU. So BOSSY was all, “Yea, my son…” and the rest of us were all, “Uh-huh, yea, he’s tall, and he has brown hair, and he’s 18, and he’s going to go to Columbia, and he’s all for Barack Obama…” and then BOSSY was all, “Um, what was I saying?”. Just kidding. It was a lot more natural than that and I must say, BOSSY is a totally normal person. I don’t know what else I expected, but there you go. I kept calling her, “her” because I had been referring to her as BOSSY this whole time, but it’s really weird to say, “So, BOSSY, have you been pooping alright?” but yet I had a hard time calling her “Georgia” because she’s BOSSY. But she’s not actually bossy. Are you following this? Wait, how many glasses of wine did I have?
Here are some totally stalker-ish photos for you.
BOSSY’s non-toe cleavage shoes. I also have a photo of her bling-y belt, but it looks more like a shot of her crotch and this is not that kind of blog.
BOSSY setting up a shot.
Let me take a moment here to say, maybe one of these days I will figure out how to make my photos look prettier, as in, not all washed out with red eye for all mankind. Until then, you all have to suffer – particularly those of you on the other end of my camera. Especially when I’ve had a few glasses of wine so that each glass increases the number of clicks exponentially. Left hand, drink, right hand, click. Gotcha.
There was great conversation, lots of laughter, and a totally comfortable atmosphere.
And I really wish I had noticed my whole eye was covered by my hair.
I’d like to say THANKS to BOSSY, Bay Area organizer Stefania, SF host Cat, and all the other bloggers who came – we had a great time. The biggest thanks of all goes to my husband: thanks, babe, for going to this estrogen fest with me on our date night; for driving 7 hours round-trip; for not waking me up as I slept in the passenger seat at 1 AM; for supporting me and not complaining even once. I’m the luckiest woman ever, and I know it!
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