In pictures W hotels are so nice looking. So modern, so hip, so uber sexy. In person they’re loud, pretentious and  really loud. Walking in the first night I felt sexy, hip, uber cool. Then I realized the bathroom walls were transparent.

As in the mens room looked into the womens room and vice versa.

I started to get nervous. The bathrooms upstairs, while opaque, had rocks in the sink, a metal bead door and colored spotlights above each toilet. The cocktail waitresses wore black minidresses with black hooker boots. It was dark, super dark. And loud, did I mention loud? You can only make so much of a first impression WHEN YELLING AT SOMEONE THAT YOU ARE FROM INDIANA AND YOU WRITE ABOUT POOP ON A FAIRLY REGULARLY BASIS. May I also mention that the guest rooms had windows that looked into the bedrooms? *ahem*

Thinking I had escaped the UNKCHA UNKCHA UNKCHA beat of the bar by entering the elevator I was maddened to find that the elevator felt inspired to play even more rave music even louder for my entire ride. It never got quiet, anywhere, at anytime.

For any of you who feel like you missed out on the crazy rave glow stick days in high school, go stay at a W. It’ll cure you quick.

For any of you who’d rather gouge your ears out with swizzle sticks rather than have your every move followed by a very beat happy DJ WHO DOESN’T KNOW WHERE THE VOLUME IS, avoid the W.

At all costs.

It makes you feel really, really old when you’re only 25.

I wish I could bottle this heroin type oh the joys wow what just happened I feel like I’m floating on little clouds of fuzzy kittens feeling I have after this weekend and my three hour drive home singing at the top of my lungs while dancing a wicked driver booty shake to all things iPod. There’s something to be said about entering a flock of women who already know your imperfections and insecurities. There was no “faking it” this weekend, no backstabbing (so maybe some of the foodbloggers and I got into it) and these people we love through written words really are that loveable in person, and usually they were even better in person. Which makes me even more confident that those of you who were unable to attend this year would make very good partners in crime next year. (I’m looking at you Poot and Jen.)

I don’t know how many of you got the chance to go in Second Life, but what I took away from blogher is that we all love each other so much. A shocking majority of us (me included) have taken down our blogrolls not out of laziness but out of fear of hurting someones feelings. It’s so easy to get caught up in numbers and comments, and it destroys us more than it helps us. All of you are in my reader, and I keep track of all of you like my little chickens. And if you only knew of all the amazing bloggers I’ve found. You are brilliant, you have all touched me in one way or another (Not like that, geesh.) I’m there, I promise, just as I know all of you are out there watching over me even though I don’t see all “the numbers”.

So if how or why you began writing is being affected by these “numbers” take a breath…they’re just numbers. And last I checked real love can’t be measured with numbers.

Here I am. All alone. Self hosted. In charge of my own destiny. (And HTML, and template, and feed and ohmygoshifIkeepthinkingaboutitI’mgoingto giveupcompletelyandcryinacorner.) I have wanted to drop the blogspot.com for a while and when I found myself sitting next to pretty women who promised me the glories and pride of being out on my own I was entranced. I fell for it.

And then I freaked out.

But it will be okay. I learned so much at blogher this weekend that this is a more than perfect point to start fresh(ish). Some of my links may not work. All of my links may not work. I have no Technorati authority, no comments and actually no real readers yet. ISN’T THIS FANTASTIC?

Thanks for coming along with me.