What a weekend.

Seriously, I’m so tired that my emotions are a jumbled pile of Iloveyouihateyouwhyareyoubreathingnearmenocomebacknogetthehellawayfromme.

No, I’m not pregnant.

I had an amazing time as an official Energizer ChargeHer. Not only did I get the job of spreading the Target giftcard love around by offering up USBs and opportunities to blog about the new Energizer Charger, but it gave me the chance to do a lot of things and meet a lot of people I wouldn’t have otherwise talked to. It’s not like I could just jet past people, tossing flash drives in their general diretion and hoping that they don’t ask me any questions. I had to offer it up, let them know that they had a chance at some Target cash, and usually I’d launch into some embarrassing story to put people at ease or make them immensely uncomfortable with my knack for TMI. Self deprecation is totally my thing.

So is adding “Captain” in front of any insult I’m about to hurl at you. If you hear Captain, you’re not going to like the adjective that follows it.

But I digress.

This weekend was a 10 on the Richter scale of epic embarrassment. No joke. On Friday, I’m at the Getting Gorgeous party trying on these amazing jeans when Alison comes back behind the privacy partition and tells me that I’ve got to try on the jeggings. I’m weary. As a general rule, I try not to wear anything that makes me look like lycra and I are besties, but we end up being the same size so I take her word for it. I try them on and I’m told they look amazing. I bend over to take them off and the ass that these jeans made look so amazing betrays me and bumps into the partition, knocking it down. I attempt to get out of the way, and end up half falling half tripping my way out of view with these damn jeans around my knees. What does Liz do? Liz acts concerned and then laughs at me. Alison tells me everyone will think it’s her. I get dressed, step out, and am treated to several people asking me if I’m ok and a few, “Cute undies!”

Yes. Most people kill for them, I assure you.

Also on Friday?  A dance-off, courtesy of the Ubisoft team in promotion of Just Dance 2.  The dance contest was, I assumed, in the bag. I’m good at video games (go ahead, challenge me at Guitar Hero. See what happens.) and I was a dancer.

No. Like, ballet dancing. Tap dancing. Not EXOTIC dancing. HA! Can you even imagine that?

No. Don’t.

Seriously.

So I make it to the finals and the four of us are shaking it to Crazy in Love and I’m watching the screen and thinking, “Oh, hello grand prize!” and reminding myself to hug the other girls and tell them great job even though I totally kicked their asses.

I step forward on the stage like a total asshole, all Mary Catherine Gallagher like, down on one knee with both arms raised and the victory signs with my fingers and yell out this obnoxious, WHOOOOO! like a sorority girl that’s had one too many cheap beers.

I didn’t win.
I DIDN’T WIN.

The girl next to me did.

Of course, I try and cover it and make it seem like maybe I’ve started happy hour early or maybe I’ve just got a lot of happy energy and I’m a good sport and I’m cheering her on. .

I was assured it looked exactly like it played out.

I know, right? Such a douche canoe.

Later this same night, as if my social retardation hasn’t alienated enough people, I suck down two mojitos in the span of about 5 minutes (they were so tasty!) and start talking to the bartender about Ohio mojitos and how they just don’t make them like they do here in New York. Casey has the decency to smack me in the back and tell me to shut the hell up. He doesn’t care about Ohio mojitos. I probably shouldn’t either. You see, I’d never had a mojito before. I don’t drink. Like, ever. This probably explains why he shook his head and laughed at me when I asked him what kind of tequila was in it.

The next day, however, is when the real magic took place. Decked out in my beautiful lime green polo shirt that made me look both in the family way and sickly (never, EVER, where florescent tones with pale skin) I took to the stage and once again made it the finals. This time though, something was different. During the first round, I had to pee. Bad. Really bad. With all of the jumping and dancing and moving around, do I really need to explain what happened?

I am a walking abstinence ad. I should be getting paid.

Does Liz help me? No. Liz goes into a monologue from Ricky Bobby about pee pants. Casey laughs hysterically. I start musing about finding new friends and possibly having to undergo some kind of bladder placement surgery so that I don’t piss myself every time I decide to get involved in a public dance competiton. I mean, what if I end up in a Step Up or Starsky and Hutch type situation? No one will take me seriously if I suffer from mommy bladder mid dance-off! There goes my street cred.

Along with my pride…..goodbye pride.

Ok, so it wasn’t that bad. It’s not like a let loose and had a Singing in the Rain situation going on stage. It was still embarrassing though.

The rest of the conference really doesn’t hold a candle to those shenanigans but it was amazing nonetheless. I made it to the 2nd round of the Hillshire Farms sponsored sandwich competition. I made some great contacts and met some amazing women that I hope I keep in touch with for the foreseeable future. I even got to try out the XBox’s new product. I’m not sure what I can say about it. Just know that it’s going to completely blow your mind.

The best thing about the conference though?

Meeting these girls. They were nice enough to laugh when I was trying to quickly tell them I was going back to the “hotel” and it came out “hell.” While I was on the escalator. Going down.

Did you go this year? Are you going next year? Tell me about it!

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