There are not a lot of things that make me uncomfortable. I have healthy dose of fear about a few things and irrationally insane fears about other things. The latter has been known to keep me holding a magazine on the toilet, if you catch my drift (wink wink). And yes, I just told you that I get the nervous shits. Which I have right now. Part of the being a blogger is a willingness to expose yourself. And while there is photographic evidence of me doing just that waiting turn up on the day I attempt a run for office, that's not what I am talking about here. No, I'm talking about exposing my heart and my guts (ew) and my thoughts and feelings. And my fears. See I'd rather post a full monty nekkie pic of me than type this next sentence.
I need some help.
Let me back up just a smidgey. When I'm not panicking about asking for help, I am OVER THE DANG MOON because I won a huge honor recently. I was named one of the 100 BlogHer Voices of the Year.
You guys, YOU GUYS! Um...You GUYS!! I won! Remember the post about Mr. Pants and his friend Mr. Bagel-Eyes? Well it was chosen as one of only 25 winners in the Heart category (other categories are Inspiration, Humor and Op-ed). Out of over 2600 submissions. Two Thousand Six Hundred! DUDES!
The big show is the biggest blogging conference there is. At BlogHer 13 in Chicago my work will be read and a reception held in honor of all the Voices of the Year. It's a big giant awesome slice of amazing and I still can't believe it's true. Plus, there are seminars to take that will make me better and maybe even show me a path to getting a book published someday.
I won't beat around the bush any longer. Even though I might barf on my keyboard right now. When I announced on Facebook that I had won but probably wouldn't be going to the conference, I received some loving, albeit strongly worded, advice about going after my dreams and not wimping out because I was afraid of asking for help. Then something else happened. I received a message from a friend who wanted to help. Then another one came from a reader. And then another. It seems it is no secret that the Pants Family is budgeted to the penny to make it possible for me to stay home and raise these crazy babies. I had forgotten that you guys already knew that because of that whole open book and exposing myself thing.
I've been told it's common for bloggers to fund raise for stuff like this. Food bloggers get product sponsors sending them to blog conferences. Review bloggers get sponsors too. The sponsors send the blogger in return for posts about their stuff or advertising space or stuff like that. It's a mutually beneficial love fest for them. But for the writers? We offer a different product. We give our guts to you (Ha! Ew, again!), the reader, and we simply (and sometimes not so simply) write our stories. So our sponsors look a bit different. They are you. And the promises we make to you are to keep writing. To write better. And to learn.
I am asking for your sponsorship (Even though I kind of want to die right now and I have a headache and the nervous shits). Because asking for help (and let's be honest, it's actually asking for MONEY) is hard. I promise in return that I will still be here working hard to write the stories you love to read. Regardless of whether or not you can sponsor me. Because I really love being here. That's why I do it for free.
Now, if you are broke as a joke like me? You just go on ahead and ignore this post. But if you can spare a little bit, I would be more than grateful. My instinct is to now go on and on and on about how I want no one to feel pressure and also about my love for you but I think I will stop. Because if I do that, we will be here all dang day and I've got two sick babies and you probably have things to do.
But I do love you.
Kisses to all of your faces,
PS: If I don't reach enough to attend the big show, all donations will be 100% refunded.
Here's the low down...I need 800 smackers/big ones. That will cover tickets/passes, hotel, gas and food. I'll be keeping track of the progress with this handy dandy thermometer. Also? I still love you.