I keep my promises… without further ado, living proof my my bull riding experience at the The NYC 20sb Happy Hour… cape and all.

*shame

*wait no

*quite awesome, actually.

Mama said share.

Oh, BlogHer. I honestly don’t even know where to start.

*dives right in*

I got on a Bolt Bus Friday morning, anxious to meet my e-friend and roommate Elizabeth for the first time. I had an Expo/Party pass from the lovely Justine of Brand About Town, and two full days in NYC with only one specific thing on my schedule: the Saturday evening 20sb Happy Hour at Johnny Utah’s, where I had vowed to ride the hell out of their mechanical bull.

The bus took off and I was officially Excited In The Pants for all the things to come… until it broke down, an hour outside of DC. Like, electricity-off-broke-down… aka no A/C. So we suffocated on the side of the road until a new bus could be brought to fetch us. Finally, we were on our way again, and the trip was relatively uneventful until we were actually approaching NYC, and the bus was making unwieldy turn after bumpy exits after terrifying tunnel… and it was that moment I very urgently needed to pee.

Against my better judgment, matter won over mind, and I unsteadily made my way into the sliver of a “bathroom” at the back. Once inside, I was faced with a grave problem: there was no way to not fall over without supporting oneself against the walls, and yet there was no way I was touching those walls. I almost wish the next two minutes were on camera, as I was flipped around that 9 square foot space, using elbows and a few 1 ply squares of TP to try to keep myself from tumbling into the cesspool of a toilet, as well as relieve myself without decorating the restroom, or worse, myself.

Let’s just say by the time I made it out of there, I was fairly certain that mechanical bull wouldn’t be a problem at all.

We arrived without further incident, and I entered the Hilton New York in Times Square to see BlogHer here, there, and everywhere. We had taken OVER the place. Everywhere you looked were women chatting, sharing, promoting, exchanging, inspiring, laughing. By the time I made it up to my room, it was obvious that BlogHer had pwned the Hilton… and it was awesome.

I spent a couple hours exploring the Expo halls with Elizabeth, where sponsors handed out swag and chatted up their new products, but more importantly, were awesome people who actually wanted to hear what WE had to say. The number one question I was asked was, “Are you a blogger??” They were EXCITED to meet us, to share with us, to impress us. *cue “A Whole New World” music*

When my arms started to hurt from the bags o’ swag, I met the beautiful Kinsey for dinner at a pub around the corner from the Hilton. We’d met before at a happy hour in Boston, but it was so great to have some one on one time and really get to talk. She’s got some exciting things in store for you, Boston- be sure to watch that girl.

After a bit, my beloved Matt met up with us for drinks.

And drinks and drinks and drinks and drinks and drinks.

Kinsey took off for a Sex and the City tour with her girlfriends, so Matt and I did what any normal people would do:

Got even more plastered and found the nearest karaoke bar.

Shitfaced at some ridiculously pretentious strangely all-white basement club, we ordered our $12 drinks and looked at the song book. This choice was not to be taken lightly.

We had two requirements: first, it had to be a duet, and second, it had to be the absolute WORST duet we could possibly think of.

Please to enjoy…

Shortly thereafter (for obvious reasons), we called it a night.

In the morning, this happened:

Followed by this:

To be continued… (and, um… Saturday? Put Friday to SHAME. That is all.)

Mama said share.

Money.

Delicious, envy green, key-to-all-things shoes and pedicures and cute Betty Draper-esque dresses money.

We’ve had quite the love/hate relationship for as long as I can remember.

Hate because I’ve never had much of it.

Love because it’s shaped my closet, my friends, and most of all, my life.

I took a job at the local TGI Friday’s when I was 16, because my father thought I should “earn” all the silly clothes I wanted from Express and The Limited (back when The Limited actually made cool clothes, and not just uniforms for middle-aged women trying to repress their sexuality). Basically, my dad was the father from Calvin & Hobbes who was always telling me that dealing with annoying things like “wearing a sweater instead of turning on the heat” and “camping” and “getting a job” would build character.

(Love you, Pops.)

Little did I know that was the beginning of a decade I would spend in restaurants, and that the way I earned that money would determine the kind of people I surrounded myself with for the rest of my life.

Those TGIFs folks are my oldest friends. When I went down South to UNC Chapel Thrill, I actually joined a sorority, mostly for shits and giggles (and a place to live on campus). Those girls didn’t become my friends. I probably couldn’t tell you one of their names.

The people I worked with at the Carolina Brewery, at The Weathervane, and at multiple restaurants around Southpoint mall… those are my college friends who’ll be at my wedding, who I can’t live without seeing every year, whose baby!!! I couldn’t be more excited for.

And finally, here in DC… my friends may be young professionals, but most of them worked in the service industry at some point. They learned the value of a hard day’s work, they fight with me over the bill when we go to lunch, and they always leave a healthy tip for our server.

It is a culture that’s shaped my financial values, my friends, and the way I live my life.

I may have scored a 49 on Charles Schwab Community Services‘s new handy dandy financial fitness check-up tool, but I’m pretty sure that’s mostly because I’m forgetful about bills sometimes, and I’m not great about saving for a rainy day. (I bet Chuck can help with that.)

I'm pretty sure this is a "meh".

Overall, I’m pretty darn content with the impact that money’s had on my life.

Because yes, Dad, I’ll say it… YOU WERE RIGHT.

It did build some goddamn character.

Mama said share.