This is not the BlogHer post you are looking for. I can go about my business.*

The pressure to write about BlogHer is, quite honestly, giving me writer's block.

And the only way I know to get past The Block is to write through it, however crappily.

SO.

I had an amazing, deliriously joyful time. My panel went better than I could have hoped for (audio on that when it becomes available), and I met so many amazing women I think their awesomeness scrambled my brain a little. It was also, I must admit, unbelievably exhausting -- almost physically debilitating, in fact. I talked to more people in a 48 hour period than I normally do in a 6 month period. It made my mouth hurt, the talking. But every person I met was gracious, kind, and embraced me in a way that was, quite frankly, startling. That so many people knew my blog and actively wanted to meet me was something I found both baffling and humbling. Thank you to everyone who made a point of coming up to me and introducing yourself, or who bellowed "SWEETNEY!" at me across rooms and down hallways, or gave me fabulously warm hugs. All of it means more to me than you can imagine. I've never felt so connected to so many people, so appreciated, so loved. sniff.

And good thing too, because getting to San Francisco was a dread nightmare of EPIC proportions. It was the kind of experience one might consider handing down to their kids as a part of family lore, an oral history bearing a moniker like The Dark Day Of Darkening Blackish Unlit Doom. Catchy AND ominous, no?

It started with me getting lost on the way to the airport -- something of a feat, since I'd been there like 20 gazllion times before, and had in fact directed other drivers on how to get there in the past. I guess the excitement of the day (BlogHer! Friends! San Francisco! Drunk-puking in Guy Kawasaki's pool (god willing)!) kind of got to me, made me all directionally dumb and stuff. So I ended up having to take the most circuitous, time-sucking route imaginable just to get back to the general vicinity of the airport, and became so frustrated with myself in the process that had I been in possession of a bag of hammers I surely would've beat myself with it. To sum up: the whole getting lost thing? I don't recommend it. TWO THUMBS DOWN.

And then, just when I'd turned myself around and gotten back on the right road, I promptly got a flat tire. Because God hates me.

This is when things start getting a little hazy for me, as I think I had what you might call a teeny-weeny nervous breakdown at this point. I was on this middle-of-nowhere road out in middle-of-nowhere airport land with only about an hour until my flight because I'd killed so much time getting lost on the way there (oh god, BAG OF HAMMERS WHERE ARE YOU?). On the bright side, we have AAA. On the not-so-bright side, I'd purged my wallet of all (ha!) unnecessary (ha ha ha!) cards and paper before leaving for the airport, and so was no longer carrying my AAA card.

My cell phone call to Jamie:

Jamie: "Hello?"

Me: "GARRGBBLGLAALAAAAAAAGGHH!!!"

Jamie: "Tracey? What's wrong?"

Me: "CAAARRRRRRRR BAAAAH WAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH!"

Jamie: "Okay, here's the number for AAA... You might still be able to make your flight."

Me: "Blarrgh? WAAAAAAAAAAH. sniff."

Jamie: "And call the airline and let them know the situation in case you do miss it. Okay?"

Me: (sounds of hyperventilating)

Jamie: "Okay, call me back when you can."

Me: "*gurgle*"

I spent the next twenty minutes openly weeping on the phone at the unlucky call center folks at both AAA and US Airways. Both were as helpful as they could be, but both also essentially admitted that, all things considered, it was likely I was going to miss my flight. Which meant getting into San Francisco much later, and possibly missing throwing up in Guy Kawasaki's pool as a result. My heart? BROKEN.

Then this dude showed up.

I don't know how to refer to him except as "this dude" -- he never gave me his name, or told me anything about himself except, randomly, that he was from Colorado. So I guess I could call him "Colorado Dude"? ANYWAY, I'm sitting there in my car weeping, when I see a pickup truck in my rear-view mirror pulling up behind my hobbled Camry. Enter Colorado Dude.

Colorado Dude, through driver's side window (imagine an appropriately deep-throated manly voice): "Hey, are you okay? Need some help?"

Me: "YES OHMYGOD YES. I have a flat tire..."

Colorado Dude: "I can see that. Do you have a spare?" [begins inspecting the open trunk's contents]

Me: "Yes, in the trunk... I'm trying to make a plane... OHMYGOD THANKYOU." (sob)

Colorado Dude: "No problem, I'm happy to help."

...At which point I kind of melted all over the Corinthian leather, waves of relief washing over me. It was possible to still make my original flight, to not miss out on my Date With Puking Destiny... for everything to, in an instant, get back on track and turn out okay. THANKS, COLORADO DUDE!

So while Colorado Dude was changing the tire I got back on the horn and gleefully told AAA I wouldn't be in need of their services after all, and confirmed with US Airways that I would, indeed, be rushing to make my original flight.

Once the spare was on, I asked Colorado Dude for his contact information, rushing as I was to get back on the road to make my flight, with no time for appropriate niceties. "Why would you want that?" he asked. I told him I wanted to send him a proper thank you of some sort for his kindness. "Tell you what" he said. "Instead of thanking me you go on and do something nice for somebody else, and maybe it'll keep going."

Yeah, that's right. Colorado Dude was a fucking superhero in disguise. Man, I love that guy, whoever he was.

And then I was back on the road, motoring hard into airport parking, running to catch the parking garage bus to the terminal, running faster and faster into the terminal and up to the ticket counter. I had twenty minutes to spare. I was frantic, breathless.

Me, to US Airways Counterlady: "Hi! I got a flat tire on the way to catch my plane and it leaves in 20 minutes so I'm wondering if I can--"

Counterlady, interrupting: "TWENTY MINUTES? (Rolls eyes) Oh girl, you aren't going to make it."

Me: "Oh no, please, I've just been through... and I ran... and I talked to the US Airways people on the phone and they said..."

Another Counterlady, to first Counterlady: "Did she say twenty minutes? Oh no, you're going to have to get booked on another flight, honey."

Me: (Bursts into tears)

I stood there and openly cried while they changed my flights, checked my baggage, and handed me new tickets. I felt crushed, thwarted, beyond disappointed. Could this day get any worse?

Oh yes, it most certainly fucking could.

While I was feeling sorry for myself and wallowing in the accursed purgatory that is Airportworld, USA, I got a phone call from Jamie telling me that his aunt Carol -- who had been ill for some time -- had suddenly taken a desperate turn for the worse and might not make it through the night. So he was grabbing M and both of them were heading directly to the hospital.

At what point does a "teeny-weeny nervous breakdown" turn into something darker, something perhaps in need of heavy sedation? Oh FYI, THAT POINT WOULD BE NOW.

So I was truly and officially a mess -- physically, mentally, emotionally -- and barely remember boarding the plane that got me to Charlotte, NC. Upon deplaning I promptly entered the Charlotte terminal's Chili's and slammed down a $12 margarita on the rocks (fucking airport highway robbery). And I HATE Chili's.

On rare days like this, there comes a time when you just start expecting shit to go wrong, for everything to be capital letter B Bad. You start, like, bracing yourself. Flinching before the next blow lands square on your jaw. Anticipating the dominos falling, continuing to fall. I was pretty much there I guess, so it didn't phase me much when the following flight -- the one from Charlotte to my final destination, San Francisco -- ended up sitting out on the tarmac for 45 minutes waiting for international passengers who'd gotten stuck in customs. And then, when we'd finally taxied out onto the runway, and the captain announced over the cabin's loudspeaker that there was some kind of weight-distribution issue going on, and that we weren't going to be able to actually take off until they worked it out, I was still fairly OK-ish. And when we continued to sit there for another 30 minutes, buffeted by warm recycled airplane air that appeared to have been drained of all actual oxygen, I was pretty much taking it all in stride.

But when they said that after all of that we were going to have to go back to the terminal and somehow find a new pilot, because the one on-board had "expired" (apparently pilots have an hour-limit per-day that they can spend as a airplane pilot, and after all the delays this one had reached his and promptly turned into a pumpkin)... well, that's when my brain just plain old flat-out EXPLODED. BOOM.

But an hour or so later (who's counting! hahahahaaaa!), we were in the air, headed to California. I drank two tiny bottles of white wine on the flight, if you must know. I also cried openly -- possibly to the point of scaring other passengers -- at the jittery in-flight movie, "Finding Neverland." And when we landed in San Francisco, against all odds, my baggage appeared miraculously in the baggage claim area, though I'd fully expected it not to. I then quickly caught a not totally unpleasant shuttle over to the hotel. The hotel, unbelievably, had not given my room away yet, though I was at least 5 hours late. In other words, Life -- which had been crapping on me voluminously and with great enthusiasm all day long -- had magically taken a turn for the better.

And when I checked in at the hotel, this was waiting for me at the front desk, from Jamie:

I call it The FTD "I Feel Sorry For You" Bouquet.

And what, me worry?

. . . . .
*Nods to Obi Wan.

Comments

[Issa]

How can they not stop a flight for you, but can for someone else? Expired...love that one. This, is why I drive whenever possible.

[Naomi]

See, there are at least two really great guys in the world. Proof.

[Dr. Heather]

And I believe the next line is, "Move along, move along..."
(my inner Star Wars dork couldn't resist.)

Wish I could have been at BlogHer!

[Loralee]

Today should be declared "Jamie and Colorado Guy Day".

Dude. I didn't realize that they were doing audio recordings of that session. Gah! I'm sure the sounds of snotting and spitting into my microphone will be charming. ;)

(Worth it, though. It totally helped and it was amazing meeting you.)

[Snarky Amber]

Oh man. You should clone Jamie. You guys would make billions. BILLIONS, I TELL YOU.

[WhyMommy]

I'm glad you made it there! Wasn't it an amazing weekend?

[Fairly Odd Mother]

If you had told me that you saw wings popping out of Colorado Dude's jean jacket when he turned back to his pickup truck, I would've believed you. What a guy.

We're flying with three kids to Florida in a few months. I'm looking forward to it with the grim demeanor of someone going in for a root canal.

[Dana]

Your man wanted to get LAID. Aside from my crassness, that was a super sweet gesture.

Also, I would've cried about all of that, too.

[slouching mom]

i'm glad your, my, our flight from sf to phil was relatively uneventful, except for that brief period of kickass turbulence near the end.

but my flight from phil to home later that evening? delayed three hours by storms. and when we were finally given the OK to board, the steward told us that the crew couldn't believe we were flying, that they'd been SURE that this flight was going to be canceled for weather. that it wasn't great flying weather, and that was an understatement.

at which point i was like, "get me the F*CK off of this plane."

[veep veep]

yeah! colorado man.
yeah! jamie.

[Christine]

Oh my hell. Reading that just gave *me* an anxiety attack.

You are certainly made of stronger stuff than me. But if you ever want to loan Jamie out for "great guy lessons," I might sign my boy up for a refresher course.

[Samantha]

What. A. Story.
WOW.
And the flowers, such a nice ending to a horrid day. Glad the actual event went much better than your adventure getting to it. :)

[Nothing But Bonfires]

All this talk of crying openly had ME crying openly at my desk for you. Especially when I got to the bouquet part!

And I've wept at COUNTLESS airline counters: just stood there helplessly, tears running down my cheeks and shoulders heaving as some nice granny-type lady has tried to rebook me on another flight while simultaneously rubbing my back. I'm thinking they probably see this behavior quite a lot. Especially these days.

[Elizabeth]

How come they hold a flight for international travelers who are stuck in customs but not for you getting a flat tire? HATE THE AIRPORT.
But flowers, yeah! How lovely.

[Amy]

Holy crap, I seriously just cried when I saw those flowers. I know people say they cry or spit their beverage or roll on the floor laughing or whatever and they don't really mean it, but for real--tears. In my eyes. I have a wonderful husband, but he would never think to do something so sweet(ney! HA!).

[ByJane]

I just read an article in the Sacramento Bee about a guy in San Diego who has spent years just roaming the highways looking for people in need. Charles Kuralt named him the Highwayman. The article was about how the high price of gas was curtailing his good deed runs. Maybe there's a group of them throughout the country....

[Lara]

actually, that WAS the blogher post i was looking for! i'm so glad you found it! i've been looking EVERYWHERE for that damn thing...

okay, but seriously, i'm glad you made it to california, but sorry for all the shit along the way. i hope it was all worth it in the end. :)

[capperoo]

Once again, another of your stories hit me just in the right way so as to produce tears. Glad you made it.

[Karen Andrews (miscmum)]

Sorry your trip over was such a disaster, but? jamie and mr colorado? Awesome.

[Lotta]

It was awesome to stalk you. You go on about "baby weight" but all I saw was a killer blonde bob and sweet outfits. Don't even sweat it.

I'm glad you had a good time after all the chaos of arriving. If I'm brave enough to do it again maybe I'll see you next year.