I drove 13 hours to meet Loralee.
Okay, so I was going through Utah anyway, and I had three hours to go from there, so I needed to stop for dinner. But that doesn’t mean I was any less excited for the rendezvous.
See, there was this time in my life that I lost my faith in humanity; Loralee renewed that faith. During the first few months of my blogging obsession, I stalked many a talented bloggers, and didn’t quite understand why none of them stalked me in return. Loralee was the first professional blogger to acknowledge me, and even then it was only after I begged on my hands and knees for it. But however pathetic my reasons, I felt like a superstar the first day I read a comment from her, and every comment thereafter. I’m sure she was just trying to be nice, because she’d been in my position, but eventually I gathered the courage to email her and now we’re sort of friends.
And we’ve met, so we’re sort of better friends.
She’s really very nice. For anyone wondering whether he or she should try and meet his or her blogging hero, my advice is to go for it.
Probably all blogging heroes are as cool as Loralee, who asked the waiter to split our cheques right from the start [I am so paranoid about whether or not that is tacky, I would have paid for me, Loralee, and her displaced southern belle friend, if it meant I could avoid an awkward situation. I bet you wish you’d never spoken up, eh Loralee?].
Also, I got the scoop on a lot of juicy drama that Loralee is too tasteful to ever actually post on her blog–it was the real inside edition, and totally worth every moment of pre-meeting anxiety.
But really, our friendship was doomed from the beginning. Loralee and I can never become truly bosom buddies. Because when our dinner at Chili’s was over, our pictures were taken and our goodbyes hugged, I unlocked the door to Tamra Camry, sank–relieved at my presence of mind through the meal–into the driver seat, and checked the visor mirror. Only about an hour too late…