An Open Apology to The Pioneer Woman or How to make a Complete Ass of Yourself

Dear Ree or as I like to call you Your Royal highness the Pioneer Woman,

I hope you don’t mind that I address you so informally; it’s hard for me to know my boundaries. We’ve been “friends” online for years and everything I know about you is from our contact on social media. You’ve sent me signed copies of your cookbooks, I squeed. I took it personally when that parasite on Twitter was making mean comments about you. I was invested. I needed to stand up for my  “friend!” And I did. You graciously thanked me. When I had my miscarriage last spring, you privately DMed me your condolences. You are good people, Ree Drummond. This is why everyone adores you.

I was ecstatic when I saw that you were going to be the Keynote speaker for BlogHer13. Finally, we’d be able to meet in person. In my defense, it was my first BlogHer and I had no comprehension of what 5000 bloggers in one place looked like. I missed your keynote. I realized that the chances of meeting were slim to none. I spent the day bobbing and weaving in and out of sessions, hugging people and then off to an event in the city.

I got lost in Chicago. Did I mention I grew up there? Well, I did and I got completely turned around when my cab driver dropped me off a mile and a half away from the venue at rush hour. Yes, I was stuck about $13 away from the Sheraton. I walked the mile and a half in my obnoxiously bright J.Lo maxi dress, looking like a complete tourist and developing the worst case of chub rub in the history of the universe. Thighs ablaze and still no venue, I’m sweating, my hair is sticking to my forehead and I am positive I look like a lost child or baby Jane. My make-up is melting off of my face and my eyes are filling with tears, as I am already at least 45 minutes late for this meeting.

Finally, a nice gentleman who looked like he may or may not have been Jeffrey Dahmer in an Armani suit, offered to walk me part of the way. Thighs on fire, and not in a good way, I accepted his help. Walking like a cowgirl who just rode for 8 hours, I hoped he wouldn’t notice. Hell, who am I kidding I didn’t care. He walked me past where the original cabbie dropped me off only to find that I.STILL.COULD.NOT.FIND.The.VENUE!

Thighs chafed beyond recognition and permanently disfigured, I continue walking through the loop like my Diva cup is falling out and still, I am stranded. I make my way over to yet another stranger, who looks at me from above his square framed black spectacles and says, “Yeah, you want to walk a mile and a half in the other direction. Your address is wrong!” and he sauntered off just before I began to sob and my thighs began to bleed profusely at 5 o’clock in the afternoon in a sweltering Chicago summer afternoon.

I hobbled to the corner, threw my arms up in the air (the universal symbol for I give up God) and a cabbie, briefly hitting a pedestrian, pulled in like a white knight on his trusty steed, only the opposite. I got in, never mind the other cabbie who ran to the window and cussed him out for stealing his fare (my fucking thighs were bleeding through my Maxi dress at this point. Thank God it was multicolored and no one would ever know the difference.)

I sobbed quietly as we raced towards the Sheraton because I could not miss VOTY. This was what I came for; to hear the words. These are my people. I exited the cab, with no time to go up to my room, ran (thighs reigniting) to the ballroom and that is when it happened…YOU!

I was clearly running late, as there was no one else in the hallway. But just before I got in line to have my badge scanned, what out of the corner of my eye did I spy but a really tall, beautiful, red head in a reddish/orange chevron top surrounded by what could have been mistaken for bodyguards. With no thought, because believe me if I would have thought about it I never would have done it, I turned, sped towards you (holding back tears as my thighs were engulfed in flames), held my badge up to you ( as to identify myself like I was FBI or some shit) and said ( to the best of my knowledge because honestly this is all a blur to me. I do believe I was in serious danger of fainting from pain and shock), “Hi Ree, I am Debi! TruthfulMommy?” and you, gracious as ever and probably a little afraid, said something like, “OH. Yeah? HI! It’s been a long time.” (A long time indeed because its been forever because we have never met in person and you were just trying to be kind and remember if you had ever met me in person before. You.Are.So.Sweet.) You had that frightened deer in headlights look on your face, probably because a complete stranger, who I am sure looked completely deranged by this point, was invading your personal space and without asking going in for a full body hug and may or may not have accidentally body checked you. For that, I owe you an apology and I am so sorry. Then I turned and ran into VOTY,like a crazy little bleeding thigh Tasmanian devil..if he were a short, little Latina blogger, that is.

I assure you that I am not a deranged fan girl normally but that afternoon in Chicago, after the day I had, I just really needed my Ree Drummond hug. Thanks for obliging and not calling the cops. Next time, I promise you will not be harmed in the making of my BlogHer. So, please don’t get a restraining order against me.

Love, Your #1 Fan Girl,

@TruthfulMommy but mostly people call me Debi