So awhile back, my friends starting wearing leggings and I hated it and thought it was stupid. I was nervous to wear them because I didn’t want anyone to see my front privates. I didn’t think I had the right bod for it and all my shirts were too short. I didn’t get it.
Then, like a year later, I pretty much was exclusively wearing leggings for pants because it didn’t even feel like I had pants on and it was awesome. I’m a late adopter of trends.
This is how I feel like Bloggers in Sin City has bloomed in my heart. Last year, I was nervous. I didn’t want to show my front privates (I mean this as a metaphor for being nervous to meet new people BUT also that I didn’t want to literally flash strangers my vag) and I didn’t put myself out there the way I wanted and I felt weird when I left and everyone was writing sweet and squishy things about each other and I didn’t feel like I was getting it like every one else was.
But a year later, I totally, totally get it. Everything aligned and I felt like my heart and soul were totally pantless the whole time this year.
You know that type of love where you feel like someone should build a statue of you, have a parade in your honor, name a street or school after you because what you are doing, what you can accomplish together is so astronomically ridiculously grand that it has never happened before and must be immortalized for generations to worship? Yeah, me neither, but I think I heard a song about it.
But, that’s sort of how this weekend was. It really doesn’t make any sense that 60 bloggers from all walks of life, all ages, all levels of dancing ability (let’s be honest, people, some of us are not good dancers and we all know that it’s not me!) could come together for three days, many meeting each other for the first time, and just totally rock it out like they’ve be together forever. But, it totally works and you walk away in total love with the experience, ready to shout your hopes and dreams and goals from the rooftops, wanting to never stop laughing, and creating your best life. YES, all of that can happen in 72 hours. Sort of like hallucinogenic drugs, but more legal. Maybe you could find a handful of people who would even have a bananers idea like this, but only one could actually make it happen. If you don’t know Nicole, you need to change that right now because if you want your soul set on fire, she’s got the matches and probably the lighter fluid, too.
I want to say that you can’t understand it until you’ve been there. Not because I’m trying to be a jerk about it or a snob, but because it is beyond comprehension that all these people make such a cohesive group. That I decided to fly into San Diego instead of directly to Vegas so I could drive in with my roommate WHO I HAD NEVER MET BEFORE. My dad was worried that she would kidnap me and/or leave me in the desert for the vultures, but thankfully she was really skinny so I could totally take her. Plus, she’s too nice for that. Seriously, Swapp is the best roommate this blogger could ask for.
From start to finish, there were huge hugs, sparkly bikinis, Mad Men inspired fashion, so many laughs, dancing, winning money from my future husband, going to a bar made COMPLETELY OF ICE WTF?, nakedness (Cirque, not me), buffets, delicious caramels, condoms (not used, hi mom!), water made specifically for travel (what am I, a celebrity?), VIP pool status & my favorite Vegas hotel rooms, new friends, old friends.
See you next year, little biscuits.
(photo by the loverly Terra Bear!)