The Bearded Iris

A Recalcitrant Wife and Mother Tells All

Tag: social anxiety disorder

ERMAHGERD: The Preparing for BlogHer’12 Edition

In 6 days I will be descending upon New York City for the BlogHer ’12 conference.

I will be meeting a lot of bloggers that I’ve gotten to know and love over the past four years and I’m really excited about it.

I mean REALLY excited.

But I’m a little worried that some of the online friends I’ll be meeting won’t recognize me in person. So I just wanted to give you a sneak peak of what I’ll probably look like when you see me at the Hilton…

Just in case you don’t speak “ERMAHGERD,” that’s me saying “Oh my God…the BlogHer Guidebook.” (And if you don’t speak ERMAHGERD, dude…get with the program. It’s like only the most awesome Internet meme in the history of Internet memes, IMHO.)

So about that BlogHer conference guide, it’s pretty freaking awesome. Do you have yours yet? You can get it here if you don’t. I also highly recommend the BlogHer ’12 mobile app. Both of these items are really helping to alleviate some of my stress about the logistics of this enormous conference.

Also, I just want to put it out there that I’m really hoping to meet Jenny Lawson, aka The Bloggess. I’ve heard she has some social anxiety issues though, so I’m mentally preparing myself that she might not be very easy to approach, particularly by a blogger who looks like this:



But maybe if any of you know her and could introduce me, that would be super swell.

I too have some pretty severe social anxiety challenges which is why I used to be such a booze whore. At least when I was drunk, I could blame the hooch when I said really inappropriate things. Now that I’m on the wagon, I have no excuses.

So Jenny, I apologize in advance if we meet and I ask you if my camel toe looks fat or I tell you that you smell really good, like a unicorn in the sun who just ate a rainbow cupcake.

You know, on second thought, I’ll just wave at Jenny from across the room. It’s fine. Really.

If you are going to BlogHer next week, and you’re not too afraid of me dry humping your leg or smelling your ponytail, please do say hello! We can speak ERMAHGERD together and put bags on our heads and dance the night away.

ERMAHGERD, did I just say that out loud?

Maybe I’ll just stay home and read about #BlogHer12 on The Twitter instead.


Special thanks to my daughter Mini-Me for creating my braces out of aluminum foil and a blue Sharpie! That girl has skills. And also, mad props to my husband for being able to take these pics without making them too blurry because he was laughing so hard he was shaking. (Bless his heart…it can’t be easy being married to a hot mess like me.)

And one more thing, my friend Robyn from Hollow Tree Ventures is awesome, and not just because she speaks ERMAHGERD with me (frequently). She cracks me up and her happy avatar makes me smile every time I see it. Go get some of that, wouldja?

WTF Wednesday: The Very Special Halloween Hangover Edition

{ding dong}

You open the door.

Here’s what you see:

Witch, Orca Whale, Skeleton, Halloween 2011.

Immediately followed by the sound of my little Bucket Head singing:

“Trick-or-Treat! Smell my feet! Give me something good to eat!”

Always a crowd pleaser.

But did you know there is a second verse to this classic holiday greeting?

There is.

It goes like this:

“If you don’t, I don’t care. I’ll pull down your underwear!”


Who on earth taught that to my sweet, innocent, cherub-faced four year old son?

Uh, that would be me.

Sorry, neighbors.

In hindsight, bad idea. Apparently, pulling down other people’s underwear without their consent isn’t very socially acceptable nowadays.

But when I was a kid? Shoot. We called that “getting de-pantsed.” It was a classic bully maneuver. Naturally, I rocked at it. Just ask my little brother.

Something else you may have heard if you trick-or-treated on my street was Bucket Head shouting “I AM NOT A SHART.”

Bless his little speech impaired heart.

What he meant was “I am not a SHARK.”

And I totally feel his pain. Really I do.

What the fuck is wrong with grown-ups today?

People, if you don’t know the difference between an orca whale and a shark, you need to spend less time chatting up little trick-or-treaters and more time watching Animal Planet.

We're going to need a bigger boat.

I can’t even tell you how many adults told my Bucket Head, “My, what a scary shark you are!” To which he would always reply that he was not a shark, but an orca whale (duh). As the evening progressed, he became more and more frustrated with having to correct so many people.

And listen, the only thing worse than trying to correct an imbecilic adult who doesn’t know their sea creatures is then being laughed at for your mispronunciation by said imbecile. Thanks a lot, neighbors.

But my biggest WTF Halloween moment occurred when one of my kids received this in their treat bag:

Valentine Candy. To: _______, From: Bridget. On Halloween.

Say it with me, friends:




I know what some of you are thinking. It’s kinda brilliant.


That’s jive. (Says the lady who hands out gently used Happy Meal Toys.)

Even though I’m a huge advocate of being green and frugal, giving out personalized Valentine candy treats on Halloween is just plain shitty. That’s like giving out soy sauce packets and used dryer sheets. Don’t be a douche. These kids are working hard to walk all the way to your door and sing the “smell my feet” song. Eight month old off-holiday candy is a TRICK, not a treat. Save it for the un-costumed teenagers who show up after your porch light is off, not the cute little SHART who still says “gank you.”

And now, to answer all those lingering questions.

Did our house get egged?

No! In fact, I observed The Gatekeeper greet the first few trick-or-treaters and whenever he asked them “Would you like candy or a toy?” they always said “A TOY!!!” So there, doubters. Kids love plastic crap. Told you!

Did I dress up?

Yes indeedy. I did. Well, kinda. A hat/wig, lipstick, tattoo sleeves, and a bracelet count, right?

Semi-Biker Chick with her brood.

Good enough. Or as my stapler-wielding Mama says, “Done is better than perfect.” 

We even returned to our hippie friends’ 2nd annual Halloween Party, where once again, I was the only adult in costume. No, The Gatekeeper didn’t come. He did dress up though…as an Ohio State Fan. Whoop-dee-frickin’-doo. He stayed home and watched football and drank beer while I bravely battled my social-anxieties alone at a dry party. Awesome.

Who did we trick-or-treat with this year? 

We trick-or-treated with Mama Cloud and her kids again and it was delightful, as usual. She and I have similar parenting styles and it’s so refreshing to not have to be the lone bad cop all night shrieking things like “DO YOU HAVE A DEATH WISH? THEN GET OUT OF THE MIDDLE OF THE GOD DAMN STREET, Honey.” (Because tacking “Honey” onto any rant makes it not quite so negative, right?)

Did Nature Boy trick-or-treat with his friends and no adult supervision? 

Aw HAYLE NO. He just turned 12. He and his best friend came with me and Mama Cloud and our combined broods. And it was a good thing, too, because he almost peed his pants at the local haunted house…it was that scary. I ended up going through it twice because he was too afraid to come with me and his best friend the first time. Pussy. Kidding. We held hands the whole time, but it was totally dark, so his best friend couldn’t see what a scaredy-cat he was. Too cute.

Was alcohol involved?

What are you, slow? Of course. I had to make up for the withdrawal I was experiencing after the hippie Halloween party.

So that’s that! I hope your Halloween was a happy one too and that you got only treats and no tricks in your goodie bags! And by goodie bags, of course I mean vaginas.

I’m linking up with Sellabit Mum and Fourplusanangel for Boo in the Blogosphere and Nicole at By Word of Mouth Musings because I obviously need to make some new friends.



with kisses and consensual de-pantsing,


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