Circle time is still happening; if you have something for Show and Tell, come present it to the class.
On Sunday, The Order of the Plastic Uterus (otherwise known as TOOTPU...um...even more informally known as the DC Bloggers) got together at the same restaurant where we met over a year ago for the first time. There are so many terrible stories about the Internet--I'd like to counter it with this one.
Once upon a time, a blogger named Lindsay called together all of the DC Bloggers to meet face-to-face and we've gotten together at least once a month since then. We've sat with each other after a miscarriage or distracted each other in the two week wait. We've eaten enough calories to fuel a small country and drank enough alcohol to leave twenty frat boys vomiting with a hangover. They are my girls and I know for a fact (not that this has been actually tested) that we would collectively chew someone a new asshole with our razor sharp teeth if they ever messed with another member of the Order.
After lunch, I took a photo of everyone at the table to take with me to BlogHer. I plan on transferring the photo to my palm pilot and then setting my palm pilot on the panel table. This (1) makes me look super serious and super prepared--ready to toss out infertility questions like breakdance moves--and (2) gives me confidence, knowing that I can look down as I quake in my seat and feel the power of the Order radiating across the Continental states--from D.C. to San Francisco.
It is interesting how simply seeing someone can make one feel as if everything is okay even when everything is decidedly not okay. M once mused about Mick Jagger that if she was ever walking at night on a deserted street and coincidentally passed him in some dark back alley, just seeing him would make her feel okay. Safe.
It's strange because she doesn't know Mick Jagger--she has no clue if he would or would not come to her aid. But it's just a gut feeling. Bob Dylan, Paul McCartney, and even Keith Richards don't bring out this same feeling. This feeling of a small comfort.
I have made long lists of celebrities that I would like to hug during a nervous breakdown--that sense that holding on to someone would keep me from drowning or bumping into them on a deserted street would make you feel less alone and scared. It begins with Anthony Rapp simply because he seems like a lovely person based on his book. As I read it, I thought to myself, if I was in the center of New York, panicked and lost (which often happens to me in New York), he would be a face I'd love to see. And it would be comforting for him to walk by, ask me if I needed anything, and then give me a small hug before sending me on my way. The hug is crucial for me--it's a connection. A clear statement that the person has interacted with you and touched your life. Plus, who doesn't enjoy a good hug? A good hug is like finding an unopened pack of m&ms in your purse right before a movie begins.
In a writing crisis, I'd like to bump into Peggy Orenstein. I consider her a writing goddess. I would also fare well and probably calm in the presence of Anne Lamott or Elizabeth Gilbert. With a run-of-the-mill emotional breakdown, I'd love a hug from Rosie O'Donnell or Ellen DeGeneris. I think both radiate love and warmth. Sally Field, Frank Warren (from PostSecret), K.D. Lang, Dolly Parton, and Alton Brown round out the list.
I base some of this theory on actually hugging Grace Paley. And in that moment, having the world right itself as it thrashed about in such a tumultuous time in my life--even if it was just for a short time--and I am so eternally grateful still for the breathing space and clarity I gained from her hug.
So, who--living or dead--would be on your list?