I need to get something off my chest today. My very considerable, heaving, panting chest, that is. (Sorry—I’ve been watching too much Skinemax lately. But I can’t help it when the writing and acting in those late night movies is just so amazing. “The Devil Wears Nada”? Pure genius.)
As most of you know, I was just at the big BlogHer10 conference in NYC. I had a fabulous time that I’ll tell you all about once the gag order’s been lifted, but it seems that there was an “issue” that arose among quite a few of the attendees. Like the sexy, super hot issue that arises in the pizza guy’s pants whenever he’s delivering his spicy, hot pepperoni stick, if you know what I mean. Whooooo!
(Okay, fine. I’ll ask my husband to set up the parental controls on our DVR. But not until I’ve watched “The Hills Have Thighs” later tonight with my close friend Tito’s Tequila.)
Anyway, this controversial blogger issue isn’t about whether or not the NYC Hilton nickle and dimed everyone to death (they did) or if Marinka mentioned 2,048 damn times that she’s a “Voice of the Year” (she did) or even if I grabbed more than my fair share of free Spanx from the swag room (oh, hells, yes, I did).
No, the real issue is that quite a few of the women felt like they were outright snubbed by some “big” bloggers when they went up to meet them. Yeah, I know—SNUBBED! At a blogging conference! That’s like not getting into the roped-off VIP section of a PTO meeting. Incredible!
But you know what? The more I thought about it, the more I realized that I may have been the one doing the snubbing action. Yeah, ME. Wendi “Tha Dream” Aarons. In fact, I’m just now starting to remember all of those times women introduced themselves to me and I just stuck my nose in the air like I smelled something bad, then had my handlers Ann and Julie give them a neck punch and steal their Jimmy Dean sausage alarm clocks. Oh, yeah. It’s true. I simply cannot be bothered with the hoi polloi.
But why did I do this? Why did I snub other bloggers? Why was I such a beeyotch?
Well, here’s why I’m better than you:
1. Last year I made over $0.00 from my blog. This year I hope to DOUBLE that.
2. I am currently in negotiations to have banner ads for an adult diaper company on my site.
3. I once got a comment from “Anonymous” that said I wasn’t “that stupid for a dumb jackass.” (Squee!)
4. Because of my huge, incredible blog, I regularly receive perks like half-eaten sandwiches and used tissues.
5. My monthly page views are nearly at the level of Kato Kaelin’s daily traffic.
6. It’s very stressful to constantly write about such hot button topics as Barry Manilow and cat food. I mean, I can’t be expected to smile and greet someone when I’m so emotionally raw, can I?
7. I’m constantly invited to exclusive blogger events, such as last year’s “Boone’s Farm Pity Party In Da Clozet” and therefore must get my beauty sleep so I’m at my very best.
8. Due to my gigantic fan base, I’m always in fear of being stalked. In fact, I’m currently petitioning the FBI to open a case file on me so my life is no longer in grave danger.
9. With a culturally significant blog like mine, I must always protect my online reputation. That’s why the only people I follow on Twitter are Jesus Christ, the Dalai Lama and shirtless teenage werewolves.
10. Finally, just think about it: if your blog has only a few readers, what good are you to me? Please go talk to the cater waiters and leave me alone in my fabulousness. My swollen ego can’t even be contained by my five pairs of Spanx and a rusty socket wrench.
So that’s it. Those are all of my (very understandable) reasons for being a jerk to other people at BlogHer. I hope that I’ve helped everyone come to a better understanding of why someone would ever treat others disrespectfully. Why someone would think they’re better than other women who just want to briefly say “hi” and “I love your writing.”
And so, as you go through this life,I implore you to just remember that some people are bigger, more important and a lot more special than you.
Either that or they’re just complete assholes.