DoctorMama Mia, Part I
I am a real blogger now: I have had my first blogger meet-up. Not long ago I got an email in my oralhygienequeen account from the illustrious DoctorMama , completely out of the blue. She would be traveling near my town soon, she informed me, and if I was free, maybe she and I could actually, like, you know, meet up?
My first reaction was to be immensely flattered and excited. My second, to check the date of her email in a panic. Given that I hadn’t looked at my blog email account in a couple of weeks, I could well have missed or bumped dangerously close to the edge of her window. Nope, I lucked out. She had sent the email that very day, and so I pounced, replying forthwith that I would love to meet up. We sent a flurry of emails back and forth, setting up a time and place.
The prospect of meeting DoctorMama filled me with a giddy anticipation I rarely feel in my stable adult life. It was akin to figuring out some amazing person I’d had a crush on liked me back, or learning that my band had landed a gig opening up for a more established band whose music I adored. Of bloggers I regularly read, DoctorMama is without a doubt in the top three I most wanted to meet. She is witty, wise, and a great writer, and I love the perfect balance of bullshit-free self-confidence and humorous self-deprecation she strikes in her blog. She has a powerful voice, full of authority and insightfulness, but because she’s honest about her own doubts and the challenges of her life, she comes off as endearing rather than imperious.
As the date of our meet-up approached, I grew pleasantly nervous. I felt like I was going on a blind date, but with someone I already knew a ton about. The question of what to wear began to itch at the edges of my consciousness whenever I thought of our impending date, and I faced a dilemma that’s quite familiar to me: trying to find a combination of clothes that make me look cute, cool, and like I don’t give a shit how I look all at once. A couple of days before we were to meet, DoctorMama signed off an email saying “Now I just have to obsess over what to wear to create the illusion that I'm really, really hip but never think about what I should wear, just throw on the first thing I see in my closet.” I loved her already.
The day came. Because my in-laws (who don’t know I blog) were visiting, DoctorMama and I had arranged to meet at a park near several good lunch possibilities. I decided to walk, and left myself plenty of time to get there, so I ended up arriving about five minutes early. Anyone who knows me remotely well understands what a feat this is, me arriving somewhere early. I think I’ve been early twice in my adult life. (Five minutes late is more usual. Ten or fifteen minutes late is not unheard of.) So I sat and basked in the glow of being early. I people watched, and no one in the sparsely populated park looked like they could be DoctorMama. Then, five minutes or so after the time we’d arranged to meet, I saw a slim blonde figure approaching in my peripheral vision. I knew it must be her. I got up from my bench and met her halfway, and in the nervous energy of the moment, reached out and clasped her in that sort of bumpy hug that two skinny women hugging creates.
Walking to the restaurant, we made slightly awkward conversation, mostly revolving around parking tickets we’d gotten in various cities. That feeling of being on a blind date was in the air, but I sensed pretty quickly that it wouldn’t last long because we managed to keep the conversation going. It felt just a little bit manic, but we were making each other laugh here and there, and I could feel the social grease of talking doing its work on the gears of our little date. By the time we got to the restaurant, things were starting to feel more comfortable. As soon as we got our table, DoctorMama excused herself to go the can.
Next time: I am inspired to kill for DoctorMama, she lends me her hat, and we get stuck in traffic.
My first reaction was to be immensely flattered and excited. My second, to check the date of her email in a panic. Given that I hadn’t looked at my blog email account in a couple of weeks, I could well have missed or bumped dangerously close to the edge of her window. Nope, I lucked out. She had sent the email that very day, and so I pounced, replying forthwith that I would love to meet up. We sent a flurry of emails back and forth, setting up a time and place.
The prospect of meeting DoctorMama filled me with a giddy anticipation I rarely feel in my stable adult life. It was akin to figuring out some amazing person I’d had a crush on liked me back, or learning that my band had landed a gig opening up for a more established band whose music I adored. Of bloggers I regularly read, DoctorMama is without a doubt in the top three I most wanted to meet. She is witty, wise, and a great writer, and I love the perfect balance of bullshit-free self-confidence and humorous self-deprecation she strikes in her blog. She has a powerful voice, full of authority and insightfulness, but because she’s honest about her own doubts and the challenges of her life, she comes off as endearing rather than imperious.
As the date of our meet-up approached, I grew pleasantly nervous. I felt like I was going on a blind date, but with someone I already knew a ton about. The question of what to wear began to itch at the edges of my consciousness whenever I thought of our impending date, and I faced a dilemma that’s quite familiar to me: trying to find a combination of clothes that make me look cute, cool, and like I don’t give a shit how I look all at once. A couple of days before we were to meet, DoctorMama signed off an email saying “Now I just have to obsess over what to wear to create the illusion that I'm really, really hip but never think about what I should wear, just throw on the first thing I see in my closet.” I loved her already.
The day came. Because my in-laws (who don’t know I blog) were visiting, DoctorMama and I had arranged to meet at a park near several good lunch possibilities. I decided to walk, and left myself plenty of time to get there, so I ended up arriving about five minutes early. Anyone who knows me remotely well understands what a feat this is, me arriving somewhere early. I think I’ve been early twice in my adult life. (Five minutes late is more usual. Ten or fifteen minutes late is not unheard of.) So I sat and basked in the glow of being early. I people watched, and no one in the sparsely populated park looked like they could be DoctorMama. Then, five minutes or so after the time we’d arranged to meet, I saw a slim blonde figure approaching in my peripheral vision. I knew it must be her. I got up from my bench and met her halfway, and in the nervous energy of the moment, reached out and clasped her in that sort of bumpy hug that two skinny women hugging creates.
Walking to the restaurant, we made slightly awkward conversation, mostly revolving around parking tickets we’d gotten in various cities. That feeling of being on a blind date was in the air, but I sensed pretty quickly that it wouldn’t last long because we managed to keep the conversation going. It felt just a little bit manic, but we were making each other laugh here and there, and I could feel the social grease of talking doing its work on the gears of our little date. By the time we got to the restaurant, things were starting to feel more comfortable. As soon as we got our table, DoctorMama excused herself to go the can.
Next time: I am inspired to kill for DoctorMama, she lends me her hat, and we get stuck in traffic.
posted by E. | 8:23 PM
2 Comments:
Doctor Mama is da bomb! Can't wait to read about the rest of your meet-up.
I really, really, really had to pee.
If I'm not mistaken, the main "bumps" in that hug were your lactating thingamabobs.
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