Bullets of How Not to Make Friends and Influence People

  • I went to a conference last weekend, and discovered upon arriving at the hotel, located far far away from any store of any kind, that I brought a wardrobe of white tops and only black bras.  Yes.  I sported a unique look for the weekend.  Thankfully, I had learned how to discreetly cover my boobs while nursing the kiddos and spent the weekend artfully draping my wrap.  To the point that one of the attendees commented on my love of the wrap as an accessory.  Which, of course, forced me to tell her the reason, causing her to laugh hysterically in sympathy and then and share my predicament with others.
  • At this same conference, I arranged a networking dinner for 23 women.  About halfway through dinner, the lights dimmed and raunchy music started playing.  I leave the rest to your imagination.  That’s what happens when you try to plan events with puppy brain, and fail to do due diligence.  In my defense, it got rave reviews on Open Table, and the food was indeed exceptional.  What the reviewers failed to note was that 10pm on a Thursday night there is a “special” show. (And no, there was no nakedness or removal of clothing, just, um, scantily clad).
  • If one were to rate networking events on how well folks remembered each other years from now, however, I bet mine will rank up there.  At lunch the next day, several of the women who attended were chatting happily away with each other and regaling everyone around them with the story of their evening.
  • As you can imagine, by the end of the conference EVERYONE knew who I was.  Unfortunately, it was not for the reasons I had hoped they would.  On the upside, as a result of my “reputation,” I did get an exceptional turnout at the session I led, and it was successful enough that I was asked to lead it at another conference in October.  I was not, however, asked to plan a networking dinner.
  • I promise to wear all black and order room service all weekend.

Post Puppy Depression

I don’t know what I have shared or not shared about this on the blog, but after both my kids (most notably A) were born, I suffered from what upon reflection was a combo of postpartum depression and its lesser known companion, postpartum anxiety.  After C was born, I think it was six months or so before I came out of it (those who knew me then can correct me, it could have been longer but at 6 months I remember being out and about and not quite so frantic).  After A was born, it was close to 18 months before I was somewhat back to my normal self (who is still a rather anxious, but functional, individual).

We brought the puppy home last Friday.  And he is the sweetest, most mild-mannered pup on the planet.  He almost never barks.  He is gentle with the kids.  He is quiet (mostly) at night and loves his crate.  And yet, by Saturday afternoon I was a hysterical, blubbering mess.  I couldn’t stop crying, I had no appetite, and I was going to bed at 8pm.  At least this time I didn’t have the hormones rushing through my system, and since I am clearly not nursing the pup, I was able to thrust him into M’s care for the whole 24 hours M is home this month and try to bury myself under the covers.

By day four, Perry had developed kennel cough and a potential bladder issue.  I feel like I have been thrust back into parenting a baby (except unlike parenting a baby, the trips to the doctor are a hell of a lot more expensive).  I want to love the dog, but all I see right now is another living being that depends on me to keep it alive and throws my (already limited) ability to make things run smoothly under the bus.  Plus, he gets terribly excited to see everyone else in the family, but the hand that feeds him?  I don’t even get a lick hello.  Please tell me it gets better, because right now I am so not seeing the upside of dog ownership besides the fact that as of this morning I was down six pounds and back into my skinny jeans.