All the Name Dropping You Can('t) Stand

“So, you actually let someone cum inside of you? My mom told me never to do that!” squalled a guy with neo-nerdy specs who claims to have nude photos of his “ass” on his blog. (*10 p.m. Update -- This dude got naked in the hot tub. I always miss the good crap. I left only moments before.)

This was his actual response to my answer to whether or not I have kids. What the Hell has happened to party conversation (or me at parties)? Am I just that old? Honestly, I felt like that Polish guy who just woke up from a 19-year coma and said the “world had turned upside down” while he was out cold.

“Yes, that’s what I said. I have three kids,” I repeated, not really knowing what else to say.

“What? Are you a bottom or something? You bottom-out often?” I asked, flailing to recover from my fuddy-duddy, 30-something shock at his frank reference to how I came to motherhood in the first place, weak pun intended.

Yup, Saturday night I mingled with fellow bloggers at L.A. Daddy’s L.A. Blogger Bash in the Hollywood Hills.

Among other blog-heads I met clumsily carousing at the swanky Mulholland Drive digs belonging to the guy who wrote Shrek (Why not name-drop? Isn’t that what the complimentary name tags were for?) were the faces behind Sink Into the Pacific House of Prince, Frowning of a Lifetime (Sink's best friend) Rattling the Kettle, Tara Met Blog, L.A. Mommy Childs Play x2 JustinSpace The Red Stapler and, well, I suck too hard at social networking to have snatched the cards of anyone else I spoke with.

I think the only blog-ebrity I met by the jalapeno and artichoke dip was Stefanie Wilder-Taylor, former stand-up comedian and TV writer/author of Sippy Cups Are Not for Chardonnay. Her blog is Baby on Bored, which I only started reading after she commented on a bitchy posting I wrote about her appearance on The Today Show’s recent cocktail Playdates/mom-tini segment. So, lesson learned, I can still contract foot-in-mouth disease from the safety and distance of my laptop, tucked safely into the corner of chaos known as my kids’ playroom.

Stefanie and I briefly talked about our blip of online exchange and moved on to bigger, better, more controversial topics (that thrill overly opinionated mamas like me but might bore the childless into having distraction sex and getting knocked up) – breastfeeding woes, the family bed, to cut or not to cut, eh hem, circumcision, home birth, C-sections, breast reductions, fibroid cysts, etc. -- with the intelligent, goateed author of Rattling the Kettle and his naturally beautiful (refreshingly makeup free, I think) wife and her look-alike little sister.

I also learned at L.A. Daddy’s shindig that Tara, from Tara Met Blog, tested out some “horny juice,” with her husband for pay on her blog. How can I get my hands on some Tara-approved Brass Monkey? Motherhood’s blanched all the horny right outta’ me. Seriously, what I want to know is how Tara massaged paying deals with a swarm of retailers to blog her opinion about their products? All this product review talk has me thinking I should start a second blog that actually earns me some keep around here.

One other quirky conversational dangler from last night's L.A. Blogger Party:
A concept designer/architect named Justin went to a fun party a while back where Allie McEel sushi and Michael J. Pot brownies were served. Why can't I get invites to parties like that?

Oh, and you-know-who-you-are, when should we expect HollaBack.blogspot.com to be launched? I could be your first feed subscriber, although that's not much of an incentive.

L.A. Blogger Party

Hey strangers. It's nice to be back. I like to take my re-entry into blog-dom slow and easy, like dipping my feet in the frigid Atlantic before fulling immersing myself in the waves. What the Hell am I talking about? Shoot, I'm just lazy.

Dropping off the virtual face of the Earth two weeks ago without so much as a two-sentence update on my husband's ooze-a-foot condition was a dick move. I realize that now, especially after receiving an email all the way from Kim in Austrailia expressing concern. It's so strange and amazing and flattering that Kim, whom I've never met, in Austrailia cares and worries about my family's welfare. I truly appreciate it, though.

So, yes, Kim, I should have mentioned sooner that the Hubster is on the mend. His battery acid strength antibiotic cocktail whipped his Staph infection, hopefully once and for all. Perhaps this entire event whipped his brazen, the devil-may-care lax attitude toward safety as well. (Sorry, babe, I just couldn't help it. Yes, now you know I refer to my six-foot-two-er as "babe" around our digs.)

The Hubster, at the urging of our "Was'sup my patient?" Orange County surfer primary care doctor, went to see a wound care specialist, one who happens to race BMW motorcycles at 120 miles per hour. Poor Hubster. The speed-freak doctor, his snarky nurse and I ganged up on the Hubster like we were jumping him into our safety gang Crip-style. The doctor lectured on and on ad nauseum while plucking chunk after chunk of skin from the Hubster's bloody wound. I looked away but Pigtails stared straight into the wound, as if mesmerized by the oozing center of a giant raspberry donut.

Long story still to dang long, the Hubster is up and about. He was even well enough last week to let me board a Southwest plane to Manchester, New Hampshire, for a visit to my in full bloom home state (where the kick-ass motto is "Live Free or Die," I'll have you know, even if you didn't want to). What a guy. Seriously. I owe him big time for five kid-free, responsability free days some 3,200 miles away. I even slept in (remember what that is, anyone?) ever single day until 10 or ll a.m. Many massages and home cooked favorite meals are in his future (well, at least in theory, uh ... yeah ... ).

Also, I think I divulge the second reason I'm blogging today: I'm going with my writer/mama friend to the L.A. Blogger Party tonight in the Hollywood Hills (oh, I sound so snooty and name-droppy now ... I might as well admit it). L.A. Daddy and L.A. Mommy are hosting. It's BYOB. I hope I can find it. I'm notorious for getting lost in the Hills. You'd think after living in Greater L.A. for going on 10 years now I'd my way around but ... well, I still get lost in my own neighborhood.

I should also admit that I haven't read ANY blogs in about a month, including the L.A. based blogs.