What you are about to read is a tandem post by Patti, aka Insane In The Mom-Brain and RachRiot. It’s never been attempted and probably won’t again. The process was exhausting, yet groundbreaking. It is once-in-a-lifetime shit, people. I think after reading this masterpiece you will understand why. Your eyeholes cannot take this kind of awesome on the regular. Enjoy.
Mom-Brain- Unless you’re living under a rock, you know that I was in Chicago last weekend for a book signing. And if you ARE living under a rock I totally excuse you for not coming to our signing and for not knowing all my bidness, because living under a rock? That’s pretty sucky. It’s like, all kinds of damp and dark and muddy and squishy and heavy and probably pretty wormy and roly poly-ish too. If you’re living under a rock you have other things on your mind and that’s totally understandable. But if you’re NOT living under a rock and you didn’t know about all of this excitement? You can seriously suck a dong.
RachRiot– Jesus… here we go. Get comfy, people. Maybe get yourself a snack. Brevity is not Patti’s strong suit.
Mom-Brain- Brevity is for bores. Remember that song “Your Mind is a Wonderland”? John Mayer wrote it about me. Then Jennifer Love Hewitt showed him her boobs and he changed “Mind” to “Body” and told her that he wrote it for her so she’d let him put his dong in her in-between.
RachRiot- Your mind is a WANDERland.
Mom-Brain- That it is. FO sho.
As I was saying...Since I was already in the city to spend time with my friend Mary Tyler Mom (more on that later), I went to pick RachRiot up at the airport, and guess what? For once in my late, late, always-late-as-hell life, I was on time. Yes. You totally read that right. I. WAS. ON. TIME. But she wasn’t. But hey, that wasn’t her fault. I don’t know if you knew this or not, but she is not a pilot. Yeah, I’m sure she thinks she could fly a plane because that girl is nothing if not cocky as hell, but trust me when I say that she can’t. The thought of her navigating a giant jetliner through the clouds is hilariously un-possible.
RachRiot– I can totally fly a fucking plane. I’m in the Mile High Club! Wait, what? Never mind.
Mom-Brain- She can’t even use a GPS or pump her own gas.
RachRiot- Yep. That part is true. True story. But I believe I can fly. I believe I can touch the sky. Sorry. R. Kelly moment. It’s true I don’t pump my own gas. Gas pumpin’ is for suckers and truckers.
Mom-Brain- I know! True and sad. And please don’t make me think about R. Kelly. Nothing kills my lady boner like an R. Kelly reference. Anyways, I’m still pissed off that the fact that my ass was at the airport feeling super punctual and awesome went totally unappreciated. After I circled the airport 8 times, she finally got her sweet ass out to my car and we hi-fived because we didn’t fuck up Part 1 of our visit to Chicago. Miracles DO happen.
Instead of staying at the official BlogHer hotel (AKA The Estrogen Inn – seriously, I love my blogging buddies but imagine THAT much estrogen in one building and add to that the whole Scientifically PROVEN crap about women’s periods synching up and you will agree that we did the right thing).
RachRiot- Truth. Ain’t no way I’m spontaneously synching up and riding the cotton pony with 5,000 other moody bloggers. Hellz no.
Mom-Brain- I would spork-a-ho for sure. So in order to keep me outta prison, we stayed at a super hip hotel called The James. Hip as in HIPster. Hip as in unless you are under the age of 30 and wear skinny jeans and eyeglasses that you don’t actually need, you shouldn’t stay here.
RachRiot- Hip as in they looked at us like we were gonna BREAK a hip. Effin’ hipsters. Age discrimination: It’s a real thing, y’all.
Mom-Brain- Exactamundo. We should be booked on Dateline 20/20 to talk about our ordeal. They totally didn’t want us to stay there and were being all passive-aggressive about it by effing everything up for us. Our room wasn’t ready when we arrived, so they wanted to store our luggage. Ok. Ok. FINE. But I travel with my own pillow. And I LOVE my pillow. And some hipster dude (after much negotiation and stress) TOOK my pillow. And when I got it back it had some black mystery mark on it, which was most likely the mark of a hipster’s bunghole. I have no proof. I only have my psychotic and overwhelmingly inventive imagination. So basically I’m 99% sure that I’m right.
RachRiot- It was definitely sustainably organic, gluten-free-range hipster bunghole juice. I bet it smelled ironic.
Mom-Brain- Probably. And I was really more concerned about hitting the pavement to find some Italian Beef, so I just shrugged and turned my pillow case inside out and we left to find some meat. Lots of meat. Piles of meat. Mountains of meat. And to make it extra super healthy, we washed it all down with beer.
RachRiot- And cheese! Day-glo cheese. Delicious, neon hued, day-glo prepared cheese food products. Makes your pee orange like fine Corinthian Naugahyde.
Mom-Brain- I think it was your lack of drinking anything but beer that made your pee orange. Don’t blame the cheese, yo! Processed Fake Cheese Product is DA BOMB! I gotta be totally honest and tell you guys that we ate meat 3 times a day for 3 days. We ate meat until it was seeping out our pores. We ate meat until we could actually feel our arteries clogging and our organs shutting down. We ate meat until our bodies reached maximum meat capacity. We ate meat until we had to punch each other in the chest just to keep our hearts from stopping.
RachRiot- It’s a good thing I had my Ron Popeil Pocket Defibrillator®
Mom-Brain- Ok. That’s an exaggeration. We punched each other in the chest just for the fun of it. Our heart’s were fine. We’re just badasses. But my point is, we ate an assload of meat. Then, we drank bottomless margaritas.
Mom-Brain- And the next day we went to BlogHer.
RachRiot- Okay, back up- because I want to tell the good people about our first night together, when we got into our jammies. Aww yeah… *cue the super-sexy porny music* I came out of the bathroom, all shy smiles, wearing my Mom-Brain t-shirt. Cute, right? Yes. But was Patti wearing her RachRiot t-shirt?? Was she? No. No, she wasn’t. (Never mind that there actually IS no RachRiot t-shirt. Minor detail. She could have totally made a puffypaint RachRiot t-shirt.) The point is, that night, I cried myself to sleep, questioning our friendship.
Mom-Brain- Do you guys know what it’s like to share a hotel room with Rachael?
RachRiot- Umm… Fucking Awesome?
Mom-Brain- Yeah. If “fucking awesome” is being in a stalker/slasher film. It’s like Single White Female if your stalker was farty and kept trying to make you look at her naked boobs. Anyways… to continue our whole “honesty” thing, we should tell you that we didn’t actually attend any events at BlogHer. No talks. No conference stuff. No nothing. We only went to the expo. The BlogHer Expo is where you go to get a bunch of free stuff that makes you feel super excited until you realize that the ticket you bought to get into the place to get all of the free stuff actually cost about 50 times more than the free stuff is worth, at which point you feel like a dumb ass. Then you decide that as long as you’re already labeled a dumbass, you might as well go balls to the wall with that label and roam around the expo posing for photos with The Pillsbury Dough Boy and taking a lesbian nap with Rachael.
RachRiot- He put some lovin’ in my oven and now I have a yeast infection. And I guess that nap was supposed to make up for the t-shirt slight from the night before? IT DOESN’T. Also: Where was the Grey Goose booth? WHERE was the Modelo booth?? These people are missing bloggy GOLD with us!
Mom-Brain- I KNOW, right??? Yogurt? Nail polish? Baby formula? SERIOUSLY??? DON’T THEY KNOW WHO WE ARE??? Sheesh. Well, at least while we were goofing around at the expo we met up with my friend Nikki (Mom’s Who Drink and Swear), and after a bit of chit chatting and hugging, we were in a basement.
RachRiot- Yes, we were suddenly in a basement, but ERMAHGERD- I didn’t care, we were with MOMS WHO DRINK AND SWEAR!! And when Nikki (I call her Nikki now) turns to you and says, “Let’s blow this popsicle stand”, you don’t question it- you just go with it. You fucking go with it. Amiright? Total fangirl moment.
Mom-Brain- Yep. Rachael was totally starstruck, which was fine with me. I was actually trying to pawn her off on Nikki so I could finally sleep without one eye open in order to thwart a sexual molestation.
RachRiot- Molestation which you eventually came to enjoy.
Mom-Brain- Yes. I enjoyed like a crack full of hemorrhoids. But as for the basement… I’m not sure exactly how it happened. Details are fuzzy which probably means that she roofied us. Alls I know is that we ended up in an elevator that took us to the deep. dark, depths of the parking garage. And from the deep, dark, depths of the parking garage, we got into ANOTHER elevator that took us to the deeper darker depths. It was at that point that I mentioned that the dude on Oprah always used to say to NEVER get taken to the second location. And it was at that point that I saw that she was taking us to a van and I said “I’ve spent my entire life avoiding murder vans and now I’m getting into one in a dark parking garage!”
RachRiot- When Patti questioned Nikki’s motives, I shushed her. I didn’t know where we were going and I didn’t care. Nikki was dispensing life wisdom and I was soaking in the awesomeness. I wanted to take notes. She’s so wise- like a mini Mike Ditka on helium.
Mom-Brain- See? Starstruck. But that Ditka description is right on. So we got in the murder van and the next thing we knew we were in Wrigleyville eating MORE MEAT, which was when we accused Nikki of trying to fatten us up so that she could make skin suits out of us. Although I was 99% sure my suspicions were correct, that meat was so good I kept eating it. Basement well and skin suit be damned. Totally worth it.
RachRiot- “It puts the beef tallow on it’s skin, or it gets the hose again.” I think I remember hearing that. Then we woke up in the hotel wearing cubbies t-shirts. We still had our skin. Was it just a dream? I tried to snap out of it and get it together by splashing some organic, triple distilled hipster water on my face. I called down for more clean towels and took a loong ass shower. Fuck Mother Nature. I will put a “carbon footprint” in your ass if you try to make me conserve anything while on vacay. Know that, hipsters. Patti never joined me in the shower, btw. HER LOSS.
Mom-Brain- That night was our book signing, and since it was our main reason for being in Chicago in the first place, Rachael and I made big plans to be there early so we could show the rest of our group that it was totally possible for us to be responsible and organized for things. Especially the organizers, Jen (PIWTPITT) and Kim (Let Me Start by Saying), who I’m pretty sure think (know?) that we are hot messes. But since Nikki tried to kill us, we barely skated in to the signing before it began. Imagine that. We probably could have gotten there at least 5 minutes earlier if only we’d known how to work an elevator. Did you guys know that in order to make an elevator move, you have to actually push a button? We didn’t. At least 3 times during our trip we walked onto the elevator and stood there talking only to have it go nowhere. But we made it to the signing and it was great.
RachRiot- Holy shitsnacks- what a turnout! It was more than great- it was incredible soaked in amazeballs wrapped in awesome. We met 14 of our co-authors including Jen, the mastermind behind this whole book crazy-train and we sold out of books that night. We packed the house!
Mom-Brain- True story. It was amazing to meet all the other authors after chatting with them on Facebook for so long. Everyone was so cute and sweet and funny. And we signed a ton of books. A TON. I signed some with heartwarming messages, some with rude obscenities about my co-authors, and some with drawings of Rachael’s giant boobs. You’re welcome, everyone.
RachRiot- Yes, you’re welcome. Some people at the signing didn’t know who Patti was. Never heard of her. That was pretty goddamn funny. But, okay, yeah- a few people showed up SPECIFICALLY to see Patti. Just Patti. Whatevs. Hey, superfans- Patti keeps her Invisalign in a foamy glass on the bathroom sink. I’ve experienced this firsthand. She’s gross.
Mom-Brain- It is kinda gross. I’ll give you that. But at least I clean my mouth. I floss every night too. I don’t think Rachael even brushed her teeth. If she did, she brushed with mine so she could swallow some of my DNA.
Mom-Brain– And those 2 or 3 sad people who didn’t know me will never forget me because I wrote some amazingly obnoxious things in their books. And I think that the girl who skipped everyone else in line just to come to me and said “I’m only here for you. I don’t care about everyone else.” kinda made up for the 2 or 3 poor, humorless, clueless, ding-dongs who didn’t know who I was. At least that’s what I tell myself.
Moving on…The next day we met some friends for lunch (Thanks, Kyle, Dawn and Kate!) then met up with two other bloggy friends, Crumb Diaries and Scarred For Life , to go to the top of Sears Tower. AKA THE JOURNEY TO HELL TOWER. We did have a great cab ride there, though. Within a span of 10 minutes Rachael romanced, courted, and married our cabdriver Alfred. Then after they broke up due to his love of country music, I swooped in and married him.
RachRiot- We’ll always have Michigan Ave., Alfred…
Mom-Brain- Alfred was a keeper. Sure, I’m not crazy about country music either, but there’s much more to Alfred than that. So. Much. More.
Okay, moving on to Sears Tower Hell Quest Sky Deck: Yeah, after a two hour trek up eleventy thousand floors, and some bonding conversation, I had a really cool idea that we should lay on the Sky Deck with our heads together and take a pic. “Best bloggy friends” and all that. Lies. They wouldn’t do it. Bitches totally left me hanging. I am, once again, questioning the friendship…
Mom-Brain- All I can see in this picture is embarrassment, boobs, and Ashley’s feet. Yes, Rachael. It WAS a great idea for a photo. I’ll give you that. But you know what was even a GREATER idea? Telling you we’d do it then leaving you laying there like a doofus for 100 strangers to stare at. THAT was great.
RachRiot- Writing this in my “Serious Hurts” book.
Mom-Brain- FYI, I farted on that book while you were in the shower Friday night. ANYWAYS…On our last night, we were completely exhausted and just hanging out in our room getting ready for bed, when something odd happened:
Rachael and I were in the hotel hallway filming each other doing Karate and dance moves in our bathrobes, ya know, normal Saturday night stuff, when this guy came out of his room, got on the elevator, then held the door open whilst grilling us about what we were doing.
RachRiot- My neck still hurts from the somersaults.
Mom-Brain- My eyes still hurt from seeing inside of your robe. So everyone knows that the first rule of Hotel Hallway Bathrobe Karate Dance Club is you don’t talk about Hotel Karate Bathrobe Dance Club, but this dude wouldn’t take no for an answer. Dude gots no respect for rules. Rachael tried to shoo him off by saying, “Run along now, never you mind” and accusing him of wanting spank bank material, but the dude wouldn’t shut up. He wanted us to go upstairs to his brother’s lame ass bachelor party and pretend we were the geriatric entertainment. Once again, I kept thinking about that dude on Oprah and the whole “don’t go to the 2nd location” thing, and once again, I ignored it. I know you’e supposed to listen to your gut, but my guts (plus everything else inside of me) are very irresponsible and make bad decisions. Plus, Rachael was going with that dude whether I went or not, so I figured if she was gonna die it’s my job as her roommate to die with her. So we went to the “Bachelor Party,” which ended up being nothing like the 80’s movie and more like a bunch of well dressed dudes sitting on sofas surrounded by pizza boxes and beer.
RachRiot- LAME-O. But when they saw us, they perked up. They thought it was gonna be the beginning of their letter to Penthouse, tentatively called GILFS GONE WILD: BACHELOR PARTY EDITION.
Mom-Brain- TOTALLY. They wanted it and they wanted it bad. The dude we followed into the yuppie murder den announced us as “The Entertainment,” and since we were in robes with no make-up, zit cream, and about 10 extra years on all of them, they were all EXTREMELY turned on. SO to make them even hornier, I pulled up my prancercise video and Rachael said “Put that in your spank bank” and said something else about circle jerks and we ran for the hills.
RachRiot- Later the dude came and knocked on our room door and I yelled, “GO AWAY- WE’RE BUSY SCISSORING!” or something like that. Probably shouldn’t have done that.
Mom-Brain- No. You shouldn’t have. But you did. And that’s why I like you. Most people like you for your giant boobs, but I like you for your lack of societal boundaries.
RachRiot- Two of my best qualities. Three qualities. Each boob is it’s own entity.
Mom-Brain- After 3 nights together in a hotel room, I can totally vouch for that.
Here’s what we were doing in the hall. (Excuse the horrible editing. It’s a miracle we even got it recorded an uploaded onto YouTube. Editing is not our thing)
RachRiot- Gawd, that was majestic. *tears* Good times.
Anyway, it was a fabulous trip in my opinion. We laughed, we cried (I CRIED) we ate, we farted and we bonded. But did we learn? Hmm.. About blogging? Well, as evidenced by this long, rambling post, we didn’t learn about editing, that’s for damn sure. I learned Patti drinks eight cups of coffee and can’t poop unless the TV is really loud on the Today show.
Mom-Brain- I learned that even if Rachael sprays PooPouri her poop still smells like poop. And hey, I can’t help it if the combination of coffee beans and the sound of Al Roker’s voice makes my bowels loose. I am not ashamed.
Rach & Mom-Brain- THANK YOU CHICAGO! WE LOVE YOU *drops the mic*