We got home from MSP late last night. Relatively. It was a decent trip. If you don’t count the mid-level anxiety attack I was fixin’ to have while waiting for Jen Lancaster to speak. This, on the heels of half an hour at Sephora and forty-five minutes in Macy’s looking at shoes. Very, very girly. (I was not the one doing all the shopping…my travel companion is in a wedding this weekend. Expensive things, bridesmaids.) Very, very not what I do when I go to a mall.
In my own defense, I am usually trailed by my gaggle of littles and I’m fairly certain that I saw a “you must be this tall to enter” sign at Sephora. It would be Ella’s own itty bitty corner of heaven though. She has been pointing out to me about every 6 hours that her BFF has *real* makeup. I tell her that she’s beautiful just the way she is. She tells me that she really likes to sparkle. Don’t we all?
It was good to see Jen speak. I was fine once she started her reading. She looked tired. Really tired. Still fabulous. And she must enjoy herself or, publicist be damned, she wouldn’t keep the schedule she keeps. New city every day. Kind of like tour except not on a bus. With a half dozen smelly people. But there is usually a wet bar. So there is that. It was good to see her. I like that she’s a real person. What I don’t like, and I believe I mentioned this last year, is her wonder bread following. By that I mean, every person woman in the room looked exactly the same. White. 18-39 years old. Back fat. Highlights. Pasty. (That part could be because it is Minnesota in May.) I think, though, that this audience is her bread and butter. So to speak. I think she is writing to that audience. Because I’m pretty sure that Jen is dumbing herself down for her books.
I get the feeling that she’s lived a mildly sordid life but that she really enjoys staying home and out of corporate America with her husband and her house and her menagerie. I get the feeling that she has grown up. She’s quick with the snark but she would never hurt anyone’s feelings, wine or no wine. (I would, however, pay big, big noney to get all drinky, drinky with her.) I think she reads. Alot. Maybe more than me. So far, I like her taste in books. I have read several that she has recommended.
But what do I know? I was the one near the back having a minor meltdown because all the big haired, big calved women around me were all speaking at the same time, in the same pitch, telling the same stories that we *all* read in her books and on her blog. Yes, ladies, we are *all* her BFFs. Yikes. Made me feel like I had athlete’s foot, pinkeye and a tooth abcess. All at once. Itchy, irritated and in pain.
My travel companion suggested therapy for the condition. Suggested that it might become dibilitating. Wouldn’t want to limit my life experiences.