Awkwardness at BlogHer (Reliving the Misery)—Part 5 of 5

This is post #5 in a five-part series about how awkward I was at BlogHer ’10 in New York last week. Here are the first and second and third and fourth installments if you’re interested.

Join me, if you will, on a full (five) days of reminiscing how horribly awkward I felt (and really was) at the blogging conference everyone’s been talking about. Every few hours days weekends I’ll post another humiliating experience so I can relive my shame in the hopes of getting it out of my system.

I have a whole year to fine-tune my cool.

Somehow I don’t think it’ll be long enough.

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Awkward of All Awkwards. #1. For Obvious Reasons.

So there I was on my last night at BlogHer, having made it through the weekend relatively unscathed (except for all those times I was so very scathed, but never mind).

Of all the events at the conference, I was most excited for Saturday night’s CheeseburgHer party, having seen photos of all my favourite bloggers at said event for the past three summers. If you are unfamiliar with CheeseburgHer, I will change your life enlighten you: It is a party where swarms of bloggers, high on life and the networking they’ve just completed let loose and eat cheeseburgers (catered by McDonald’s, of course) and wear paper bags as hats.

In other words, it sounded like just my sort of party.

(In retrospect, however, may I always remember that any time the words “my sort of party” come out of my mouth, I should proceed with extreme caution; for, invariably, my very best sort of party is the one I don’t attend. It’s really better that way.)


(It’s also, apparently, the sort of party that turns people purple.)

Anyway, I was looking forward to free cheeseburgers, so I dragged my poor friend Chelsie there after Promises, Promises.

But as soon as we entered the room, we were instantly on our guard.

Music blaring, lights flashing, the place was total chaos. Someone had moved a couple of beds to the middle of the dance floor—you can see the pillows in the above photo for proof. (Thankfully, people were just dancing and lounging on the beds, fully clothed. But really? Beds? The first thing I thought when I saw them was ORGY TIME!)

We sort of hovered near the bar for a few minutes, trying to find our bearings (not knowing that bearings are not invited to CheeseburgHer), when out of the corner of my eye, I spotted her.

Who?

Her.

Who?

BOSSY.

Yes, my friends, THAT Bossy—the very one, in the flesh—at CheeseburgHer.

Bossy, whose blog was one of the first I read, long before I started a blog of my own.

Bossy, who travels coast to coast to coast sponsored by Ford™ and Saturn™ and Burger King™ on road trips of epic blogging proportions.

Bossy, whose hilarity I only halfway meet, and even then only in my dreams.

That Bossy.

But then—THEN—she caught my eye and smiled.

Oh, the horror. Having learned from experience that I am not to be trusted in social situations, especially in such situations where I am starstruck, my mind was screaming, “RUN AWAY! YOU’RE NOT READY! YOU’LL NEVER SURVIVE!” But instead of running, I just stood there and watched while Bossy meandered over to where Chels and I were standing.

I wasn’t prepared; seconds before Bossy got within conversational range, I thought to myself, “This is going to be bad.” And if ever I uttered a self-fulfilling prophecy, it was there at CheeseburgHer three seconds before Bossy came to say hello.

See, here’s how my relationship with Bossy is:

Nonexistent. Because white is the absence of relationship. (Or is it black? I get so confused with my made up adages.)

What I mean is, it’s one-sided. Because I know all about who Bossy is, but she has no clue who I am. Here’s how it went down:

Bossy: Hi!

Me: Hi! Oh my gosh, you’re Bossy! You’re the best! I read your blog (Uh, hello? It’s a blogging conference—everybody reads her blog.) and you’re the greatest! I love you!

Bossy (leaning over to peer at our name tags): Thanks…who are you?

Me: Oh, duh, of course. I’m Camille. You don’t know me, but one time you commented on a post of mine and you said it was better than Dooce.

[Note: Of all the things to say, why did I say that? I sounded like I really believed I was better than Dooce, which of course I don’t because I’m not. I knew that as I said that, Bossy was thinking, “Better than Dooce, eh? Fat chance.” I regretted my conversation topic immediately.]

Bossy: (Weak smile.)

Camille: But of course I didn’t believe you. (Clears throat.) That would be ridiculous.

Bossy (to Chelsie, no doubt hoping for livelier conversation): And who are you?

Chelsie: Oh, I’m Chelsie. But I don’t have a blog. [She does though.]

Bossy: Oh. Hi.

Awkward silence.

Me (practically exploding because if there’s one thing a socially backward person fears it’s awkward silence): CAN I TAKE A PICTURE WITH YOU PLEASE?

Bossy: Sure.

Some fumbling ensued while we sorted out whether I should hold the camera myself or Chelsie should take it for us.

Here’s that picture.

Me (putting my camera away): Thanks.

Bossy: No problem.

Awkward silence.

Bossy: How did it turn out?

Me (getting my camera back out and showing her): It’s great.

Bossy: No, it’s bad. I have a stupid face. Let’s do a different one.

Me: Okay. (Thinking, “Why are you still here? There are so many cooler people you could be talking to! I wasn’t expecting you to stick around—I don’t have enough material to talk to anyone longer than twelve seconds!”)

And here’s that photo.

Bossy: Was that one better?

Me: Yes, YES, it’s PERFECT, now just please leave so I can go kill myself already! Yeah, it looks good.

Bossy: No it’s not, my mouth is open.

Me: YOU HAVE GOT TO BE KIDDING. Why don’t you just take your cool famous self and leave already so I can stand here some more and lick my awkward wounds in peace?

Bossy: Let’s take one more.

And here’s that photo. Note how my face gets progressively more desperate in each picture, culminating with this final deer-in-the-headlights look in my eyes. Also note my blurry hand: that’s on account to the fact that I was pumping it up and down in an attempt to fast forward through that moment in my life.

Me: Okay, thanks.

Bossy: … (Still standing there, mind you, fully amiable and seeming perfectly content to hang out with us all night.)

Me: ‘Bye.

Bossy (looking confused): ‘Bye.

And after a few more unbearable seconds, she finally walked away.

Of course Chelsie and I left immediately for fear of seeing Bossy again. In the elevator on our way back to our room, I had what can only be described as a nervous breakdown: what I really wanted to do was cry, but who cries about being awkward in front of a celebrity blogger, so instead I laughed, which turned out to be a failure because I laughed so hard that in the end I cried anyway.

Also I peed myself.

******************

Here are the rest of the posts in this series:

Part the First

Part the Second

Part the Third

Part the Fourth

About Camille

I'm Camille. I have a butt-chin. I live in Canada. I was born in Arizona. I like Diet Dr. Pepper. Hello. You can find me on Twitter @archiveslives, Facebook at facebook.com/archivesofourlives, instagram at ArchivesLives, and elsewhere.
This entry was posted in failures, fiascos, oh brother what next, woe is me and tagged . Bookmark the permalink.

16 Responses to Awkwardness at BlogHer (Reliving the Misery)—Part 5 of 5

  1. Shesten says:

    Definitely the best awkward story ;op

  2. Chloe says:

    THIS story is really awkward. I’m sorry you had to experience that… Although at least you met HER.

    P.S.: I don’t understand why there is a bed there and why you have to wear those bags as hats…

  3. BOSSY says:

    Too funny. It was great meeting you both. Next time Bossy will drag you out on the dance floor.

  4. Haaaaa!

    Those pictures are amazing! They caused me to physically laugh out loud.

  5. Alexa Mae says:

    Oh my gosh Camille! This made me laugh so hard. You are so blasted funny!! I think you are the only one who thinks you are socially awkward because YOU are where the party’s AT!! really, i love you.

  6. Alexa Mae says:

    p.s. i love that she commented.
    p.p.s. i am going to new york too! where did you stay?
    p.p.p.s. thank you for your comment. ♥

  7. Alaina says:

    I, too, am lost at the wearing bags as hats thing and the bed…but hey, at least she took multiple pictures with you!

  8. How gracious of her to insist taking another picture. But I do find it interesting that her mouth was open on the one after she complained that her mouth was open.

    I liked the series. Now we can look back when we are famous and say– remember when…

  9. jami says:

    Oh I can just feel the awkwardness! But she commented, and so now she knows what a truly awesome person you are!

  10. HeatherPride says:

    Oh Camille, you are so adorable.

  11. Did you see people who thought you were famous?

  12. That was hilarious! You definitely saved the best for last.

    I’m going to keep thinking about you saying bye and laughing all day!

  13. chelsie says:

    You are an amazing writer camille but this gave the awkwardness no justice… I think we win for awkwardest moment in the world!

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