We Met With a Handshake and Parted With a Hug

my 50th post! in honour of it, a tribute to you.

That heading is so not typical me, but aptly describes my feelings about Metro Mama’s Toronto Blogger Cocktail Party Saturday night.

Due to chronic absenteeism, this was my very first time meeting in person many of the amazing women I have known in the blogoshpere for months, and I tells ya, ain’t nothin’ like the real thing, baby.

I was looking to this night with anticipation for weeks, but as the date of the ‘do drew nearer, I started to feel a little anxious. Would I get along with them in real life? Would I have anything interesting or clever, or at the very least coherent to say, or would my words, without benefit of the editing power of blog posts, betray me and have these people wondering just who the ghostwriter at penelope and bumblee is? What would I wear? These (and many others) were questions that swirled about in my head until we literally opened the door to MM’s place and began discovering the answers (except the ‘what would I wear’ question. Luckily for all guests I figured that out beforehand and did not show up in the buff. Next time.)

I was a bit thrown off when we arrived; everybody was slightly more civilized than I am used to (read – our friends are serious losers and do things like belch – why was no one belching!?), and I was afraid that my exhuberance would have no outlet. I made a few stupid jokes about identifying each other by our children’s picture, and saying things like, wow, you’re a lot taller than on the internet (waka waka, I’m here all week. Try the veal.), and then retreated to the corner with chris to make more stupid jokes, guzzle a beer and find a lampshade that fit.

And then I met the wonderful Kitten Pie and her hubs, Mister Pie. And then I met one of my blogging idols, the mistress of Bub and Pie and her husband, master of the squash-o-lantern. And CrazyMumma, who I just want to be friends with, y’know? And Something Baby Blue’s Jana who I loved as much as I knew I would (and thankfully did not come to blows with over a who-loves-darcy tucker-more comptetion – btw, she would have kicked my ass). And then Mamalooper and Lisa B , who are awesome. And the super GORGEOUS Sunshine Scribe , who I laughed it up with real good. And Her Bad Mother, who has eyes and intellect that are electric. And Urban Mommy who was away from her wee babe for the first time, and even though I didn’t get to chat with her or Ali or Mouse as much as I would have liked, it didn’t take long to figure out these are my kind of people as much in 3D as they are in the blogosphere.

Even Chris, who kinda doesn’t get the whole blogging thing, stopped making jokes about me accompanying him to a gathering of on-line halo players (don’t worry; no such animal exists – the gathering, that is), and had fun.

Conversation flowed easily, from talk of blogging and politically-loaded conferences on mothering to raves for babies and home renovation and yes, we talked about you if you weren’t there (with love, with love!) and it took until about midnight before we started talking about our kid(s). By then we were good and liquoured up and became privvy to all sorts of sordid confessions like ‘I’ve seen my fat gay neighbours nekkid!’ and, ‘my kid is kind of mean!’ and, ‘well I let mine perch on precarious objects of questionable height!’ and, ‘I don’t know what a meme is!’ (thank you chris and g. for clearing that up) , and ‘I don’t know what a star is made of!’

And proudly, we stayed ‘til the end, and do you know how long it has been since that has happened? Sure, I see the asshole end of 3am all the bloody time, but when you purposely stay up late? Well, you feel like crap when your snotty, sniffly babe wakes up at 7 and won’t go back to sleep no matter how much you beg, but that is another post entirely.

So, thank you Metro and Sean; you have been great friends and great hosts for years, and Saturday night was certainly no exception.

p.s. ladies of the t-dot that could not make it - next time, next time. there are still plenty of really embarrasing confessions to be made.