I hate everyone on the internets. Not you. Those other people.

I went to visit Queen of Spain at the hospital yesterday. She is in with a bad gall bladder, the thing that has apparently been causing some of the horrible symptoms that she has been experiencing for almost a year.

She was plainly suffering. Shift change was upon the nursing staff, and Erin's meds had fallen though the cracks. She was also suffering the after-effects of an endoscopy and a colonoscopy where the famous "twilight sleep" wasn't quite sleepy enough to keep her from feeling the various tubes they jammed in various orifices and moved her organs around with.

She was soldiering on, though, and if you know Erin, you know that means she was all over the internet in 1000 places at once. She had blackberry and iPhone at hand and was reading and occasionally pecking out almost-coherent messages.

She told me she had gotten an email (from whom, she did not say) accusing her of faking her health problems in order to garner page views.

Yes, you read it here - some dillhole on the internet actually thought Erin, who has been honest about every single detail of her life for the enlightenment and amusement of readers, would make up a horrible, painful condition to earn an extra $15 a month in ad revenue. Gah.

So we decided that I should take a photo of her all hospitaled up and twitpic it and post it so that the question of Erin's hospitalization, like Obama's damned birth certificate, could be settled once and for all. So we did.

THEN this morning she told me that someone on twitter had chosen this day, as she lay in the hospital waiting to have her surgery scheduled, chose to give her a hard time about Obama's proposed health reform plan, saying she wouldn't have been able to get surgery if it passed.

(I took down the link to her twitterfeed because she deleted the tweets and then claimed I misquoted her - but GeekMommy resurrected the actual tweet for me - "MintCool: @QueenofSpain At least we know you will get it asap. With Obamacare, all bets will be off." Ok, HUGE misquote. Mea maxima culpa. /snark )

Holy cats. I know Erin is politically outspoken. I know this trifling woman doesn't agree with her politically.

But can't people who disagree, in times of crisis, just reach out and say "Hey, I'm sorry you're hurting - I hope you can get better so we can argue again soon," instead of "Hey, let me kick you while you are down?"

I dunno. Maybe I'm extra sensitive because I got to see first-hand how badly Erin was in pain. But usually the blog world seems like a big fun hot tub of love and bubbles. And then someone goes and poops in it.

Embarrassing BlogHer Moment #3

My dear BlogHer roommate Suzanne was kind enough to invite me out to pizza dinner with a big group of people, including her parents.

I told Suzanne I was skeptical of Chicago-style deep-dish pizza, since I am a fan of the thin-crust NY-style pie.

Suzanne arranged the logistics - 11 of us would walk the mile down to Geno's East and meet her folks there, where we would all partake of the glories of Chicago pizza. We had a pleasant stroll through Chicago's Magnificent Mile, chatting and enjoying the perfect weather.

Then we got to Geno's. It is one of those "You have to go there while you are in Chicago" kind of places, and there were at least 100 people standing in line. Suzanne's mother was waiting patiently for us to arrive, and her father not-so patiently (he is a clone of my dad, I swear).

Upon seeing the crowd, I immediately had a flashback to a horrifying 3-hour meal I had spent trapped in the Pope room at a Buca di Beppo, wedged between two of my ex-BFs relatives that I barely knew, screaming pleasantries above the din and eating disgusting, greasy (albeit NY-style) pizza.

I said I needed to use the bathroom and when I walked in, it got even worse. Geno's East is painted black inside, and covered with visual noise of graffiti and it was hot and crowded and LOUD.

Suddenly the past three days of constant sensory stimulation tipped over the edge from fun into *whoop-whoop AAAAUUUUUGAHHHHHH RED ALERT RED ALERT* territory.

I sat on the toilet with my elbows on my knees, thinking about facing that noisy restaurant, pressing my fingertips into my eyeballs, trying not to freak out. Failing. Freaking out. Gasping for air.

My inner introvert came charging out of her closet, and it wasn't pretty.

I finally breathed enough that I thought I could hold it together. I came out of the bathroom after a long, long time. Then I stumbled though the zoo of the restaurant again and went outside to the line.

I walked up to our group and blurted, "Um, I don't think I can do this."

I'm sure my face was all red and blotchy and attractive like it gets when I am upset.

Count Mockula's dear mother grabbed my arm and said gently "Are you ok?"

Oh gah no. That sent me right over the edge. My chin began to tremble and my eyes filled and I started stammering excuses and then everyone said "Oh, it's ok, we understand," and all that kindness and love just made it WORSE. Full-on crying. The ugly cry.

Wiping my eyes on my shirt, I fled down the street alone, taking big gulps of air, simultaneously horrified at my behavior and overjoyed at having escaped Hell.

About 12 blocks later, I was sitting outside at a little wrought-iron table all by myself, sipping French wine and eating a salad topped with marble-sized chunks of blue cheese. Breathing. Relieved.

Here's Liz Rizzo's photo of the dinner. Oooh, scary, right? Oh, I wish I could be normal.

Embarrassing BlogHer Moment #2

Photo by Laurie White, used without permission but with a smooch and a "Please don't sue me, K?"

I was not trying to look like Elvis. Let me repeat: I was not trying to look like Elvis Presley.

Truly, I was going for more of a sparkly 80's Disco Inferno kind of thing. And I thought I looked fine, in a Boogie Oogie Oogie way.

Then about 5 people at the Sparklecorn party called me either "Elvis," or "The King."

I walked out in the lobby to have Heather B. say (I think she mighta had a couple drinks in her) "You look funnnnny, Suebob."

I went in the bathroom and observed: Elvis, OMG Elvis.

And not the young skinny Elvis, either. The horror. Elvis with 37 undissolved pills in his stomach and an impacted colon, ready to keel over.

Next year I'm going all the way and getting a jumpsuit.

Embarrassing BlogHer Moment #1

The scene: The fabulous BlogHer Community Keynote, wherein 21 bloggers read posts to the assembled audience of over 1000 of their peers.

For the intro of each blogger, emcee M. Kennedy would mention a few of the person's favorite things.

Introducing Sheri Reed of Today Is Pretty, Mrs. K said her favorite drink was gin and tonic.

"Woo Hoo!" I shouted. I mean, no one loves the gin and tonic more than me, and I had to represent, right?

Wrong.

"....from which she has abstained for eight years," Mrs. Kennedy continued. The reader is a recovering alcoholic.

Those around me shifted nervously away. I moaned and put my head in my hands. Sheri then took the stage and proceeded to read this beautiful post about making amends.

Never let it be said that I go small when making an ass of myself.


Photo of Sheri by Heather Kennedy.