I just got back from a trip to Manhattan where I attended a writing conference for work. There were oodles of editors from Penguin and I even had the opportunity to spend 90 minutes in a mentoring session with a literary agent. Not everyone gets a chance like this and I spent the the days preceding the conference in diligent preparation.

I wrote a query letter and printed out sample chapters of my novel. I made sure that my business cards were packed, my clothes were professional, but not stodgy, and I practiced my elevator pitch until the moment I arrived at the opening reception. Which is also when I realized that I had packed the wrong Spanx.

If there is one thing that you don’t want publishing greats to know about you, it’s that you have visible panty lines and a bloated belly filled with a nerve-calming Corona and lunch; consisting of salt and vinegar chips from the hotel bar.

But, my array of good impressions didn’t stop there. In my middle-age, I have developed lovely dots of mustache sweat when I get nervous. If you see me wiping my upper lip for the first five minutes of our conversation, this is why.

Ah, but those things? They were nothing compared to my dinner with the former editor-in-chief of Redbook Magazine, Stacy Morrison (now a co-worker at BlogHer), and a couple of power–bloggers from NYC. I looked for pictures of Stacy online, but I couldn’t decide between the one of her with Cindy Crawford or the one with Harry Connick Jr.

That’s right, I was like the Ohio Tweedledum at a Times Square sushi restaurant with three, sophisticated New Yorkers.

Do you know that they don’t even give you forks at authentic, NYC sushi restaurants? I had to be taught how to use chopsticks by Stacy. So, understandably, when I got a nice big chunk of avocado between my sticks I was quite proud of my accomplishment. I quickly took the bite and puffed up my chest.

Only, I couldn’t puff up my chest. As a matter of fact, I couldn’t breathe at all. Because I hadn’t eaten a big bite of avocado, I had eaten a big bite of wasabi.

After the taste hit my tongue and my eyes started to water, I felt my nose hairs spontaneously combust. If you inhaled fire through your nostrils, the sensation would be a lot like eating a half-dollar-sized chunk of wasabi. I could actually feel the fumes entering my sinuses and if I hadn’t been sitting on the inside of the booth I would have made a run for the nearest tub of ice and buried my head. The good news is that the cold I was getting was obliterated within seconds.

My face turned red and I couldn’t talk. I thought, for a moment, that the description of “Spicy Titanic Roll” on the menu had been, grossly, under-exaggerated. New York menu designers are crazy, yo! It turned out, however, that “spicy” and “condiment” mean exactly the same things in New York as they do in Ohio.

And, you know what? So does moron.

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A friend and I recently got into a pseudo-heated debate about what five albums (yes, I said albums…I used to have albums so I’m allowed) we would choose if we could only listen to those five albums for the rest of our lives.

His first choice was The White Album. Or, maybe it was Abbey Road. Wait, no. It was Sgt. Pepper’s. So, yeah…you get the idea.

Here’s the deal. I love The Beatles, really I do. I acknowledge their place as numero uno and that none of the amazing artists that I love today would exist without them. Well they would exist, but their music wouldn’t.

But, hello? I need to be able to sing these songs if I’m going to listen to them forever and there is only so much “Ob-La-Di, Ob-La-Da” that a girl can hear without her head popping off. Though, it’s possible that I could listen to Blackbird for a really, really long time.

I said that my first pick would be Joni Mitchell’s, Blue and my friend laughed at me. What he doesn’t know is that when there is a full moon, I turn into a long-haired hippie who plays a mean dulcimer and sings falsetto. My friend also, apparently, doesn’t realize that Rolling Stone named Blue as #30 on the list of 500 greatest albums of all time. Holla!

Sure, those three Beatles albums I mentioned were in the top 15 and Sgt. Pepper’s was #1. What. Ever. I want to sing.

That’s why my #2 album would be Aretha’s Gold. Because if I’m not a long-haired, Caucasian, Canadian in my dreams, then I’m an African-American soul singer. Actually, I’m pretty much the Queen of Soul. Just ask me.

From there, things get fuzzy. I blame the fact that this conversation took place at an Irish Pub, but honestly I don’t know where I would turn past those first two albums.  Probably Zeppelin, or Michael Jackson, or Pearl Jam, or Justin Timberlake.

I’m proud of the fact that my musical tastes are all over the place, because it shows I don’t lack diversity. Take that, Beatles. Ho-hum. I want to hear what people would pick OTHER than The Beatles.

So, I’ll stop my list right there and ask you, boys and girls. What would be the first two albums on your list?

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Just about four years ago, I joined a social networking site called cre8buzz. It was a place where bloggers could connect, share pictures, videos, posts and ideas. It is where I met my very best bloggy friends.

One of those friends is Melisa. Not only did we connect online, but also in real life when she helped to coordinate and deliver my family a freezer-full of meat. She is all kinds of awesome.

A few months ago, Melisa’s second book was published. It’s called Chicken in the Car and the Car Won’t Go: Nearly 200 Ways to Enjoy Chicagoland with Tweens and Teens. Guess what I have? Mmm hmm…it’s all Tween Central up in here.

After I received a copy, a plan was born. My 12 year old daughter, Ali, and I would make a trip to Chicago and explore some of the places in Melisa’s book and Melisa would be our guide. It helps to know people.

Ali and I settled in with Melisa’s book, and her recommendations, and decided just where we wanted to go.

But then we hit a snag. Airfare is outrageous and we don’t own a reliable car, so the second part of our plan was figuring out a way to get there. Luckily, we were able to hitch a ride to Chicago with our good friends who were going the same weekend. It helps to know people, times two.

Upon entrance to the Windy City, it turned out that our friends didn’t have a reliable car either. Just on the other side of the Chicago Skyway Toll Bridge, the rear axle fell off. But, really, you can’t ask for more excitement at the beginning of your trip than standing on the side of the road, on the south side of Chicago at 10:00pm. We like to start our vacations with a bang! Or a thunk. Same difference.

This did not deter Melisa though. Ali and I, and our luggage, jumped the median and Melisa and her son picked us up on the other side of the road. We arrived at her house, exhausted, and she sent us straight up to her bedroom for a good night’s rest.

It was a good thing we rested.

We awoke early, took the train into Chicago and we were off. Kind of like a rocket.

Our first stop was that which will never be called the Willis Tower, also known as the Sears Tower. Melisa is an Ambassador for Skydeck, which is the name of the CLEAR boxes they have installed on the sides of the building on the observation level. You can, literally, step out of the building, into a box and see the city streets below your feet. It’s about ten shades of insanity. Also, I LOVED it.

My daughter loved it more.

After that, we enjoyed the Riverwalk and a walk along Michigan Avenue, before ending up at the John Hancock Building for lunch. If you want unequaled views of the lake and the city skyline, this is the place to go. The food was delicious too.

From there, we got off of our feet for a while and took a cab to Navy Pier where we enjoyed a beautiful architectural tour on a boat that traveled down the river. It was fun and informative and it was a gorgeous day to be on the water.

Following that, we walked the entire way around Navy Pier before I was forced to climb into a ferris wheel car. I was not pleased.

Now keep in mind, this was all. In. One. Day. And, we were not done.

Another cab ride took us to Millennium Park were we saw the amazing “Bean” and Crown Fountain, before hopping onto the train home and stopping at Portillo’s for Chicago dogs and Italian beef sandwiches. Whew!

I suffer from insomnia, but you can bet that I slept that night.

The next day, we visited the Museum of Science and Industry, before going to Ed Debevics for lunch.

If you’ve never been to Ed’s, you should go, but you need to leave your ego at the door; especially if your ego doesn’t like insults. The wait staff is notoriously rude, but even though they throw the menus on the table, “spit” in your water and call you dirtball, it’s a fun place to eat. It’s amazing how much a 12 year old enjoys watching her mother squirm because she might get scolded by the waiter.

We were told to wear these hats. We obliged.

After a short rest, we took a leisurely stroll around Melisa’s town before enjoying a dinner with fellow bloggers and the world’s best dessert; raw cookie dough (without eggs so it’s safe to eat). I ate the whole bowl. Of cookie dough. Don’t judge me.

Quit looking at my butt, lady!

I haven’t even mentioned the Vietnam Memorial, the Stained Glass Museum, the Tiffany ceiling in that which shall never be called Macy’s (also known as Marshall Fields), Buckingham Fountain, the 9/11 Memorial, the Naperville Bell Tower, deep dish pizza, photo ops in front of the Art Institute, the double-decker trains at Union Station…and MORE.

Melisa’s family was kind, generous and funny, the weather was beautiful and everywhere we went we encountered nothing but the nicest people you could ever meet. My daughter, who lately has been known as “The Surly One” actually smiled and LAUGHED. A lot.

Chicago is a fun, exciting and beautiful city and if you are a tween, teen OR adult, Melisa’s book is an invaluable resource for finding things to do and knowing exactly what to expect. The woman loves her town.

And, you know what? So do we.

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Let’s talk a little bit about social media, shall we?

Mom, I’m going to get into the Twitter conversation now, so go ahead and turn off your computer. Wait…you don’t have a computer. Put down the paper with the blog posts I printed for you.

I have been working in social media for almost seven months now; which pretty much makes me an expert. It’s like that whole dog years thing, but don’t ask me to do the math.

My job is the best job in the world. Just ask me and I’ll tell you. Only, please don’t ask me when my husband is around because he isn’t living his dream of being a mean math teacher and I am sitting on the sofa with my feet propped up on the coffee table, reading the thoughts of brilliant people all across the web, occasionally stopping to hug my kids or pet the dog. This is a day at my office.

But this really isn’t about my job or how I make my husband jealous. This is about how I got here. This is for anyone who doubts the power of Twitter.

Just over a year ago, a childhood friend of mine held a conference here in Columbus for pet bloggers. Have you ever heard of BlogPaws? You should have heard about it. Well, unless you hate puppies and kittens…in which case you need to 1) Have your head examined and 2) Stay away from my children. You and your mean, hateful soul.

Though I occasionally write about my pets, I’m not really a pet blogger. Nor am I a mommy blogger, a tech blogger or any other niche blogger, but that’s another post entirely; title to be “Who the Heck AM I?” My point is that I didn’t know anyone at the conference. I talked to a few people in the lobby and I mingled with some folks in the bar, but I didn’t want to barge in on conversations between people who had wanted to meet each other for years.

Other than my childhood friend, who was kind of busy running the whole thing, the only other person I was remotely familiar with, and that I knew would be there, was the woman who would be giving the keynote speech, Elisa Camahort Page. Elisa is one of the founders and the C.O.O. of BlogHer, Inc. If you are a blogger, you already know that. She’s kind of a big deal.

I had never met Elisa, but I am a member the BlogHer ad network. That makes me kind of like Elisa’s honorary kin. Yee haw! I sent out a tweet saying, @ElisaC I can’t wait to meet you and hear your keynote speech. Well, it said something like that. You can’t really go back and search old tweets with great consistency. (Side note: This sometimes makes my job difficult and I would appreciate if one of you smart people would hurry up and develop something for that.)

After quite a few more tweets, I met Elisa. We had lunch together, I cried during her keynote speech (see above comments regarding puppies and kittens) and sat with her during a cocktail party that evening. I soaked in her brilliance. Then I went home.

Would I have met Elisa without Twitter? Probably. But, before I ever shook her hand, the ice had been broken. She knew what I looked like, she knew bits of my personality and she knew my sense of humor. I knew she was wicked smart, that she was a vegan and that she loved the theater. I was less intimidated meeting someone with whom I had already had numerous “conversations”.

And, a few months after that, when I took to Twitter and mentioned that I was looking for part-time work, saying something like, Looking for additional part-time job. My work history is in the now-defunct mortgage biz, I have a huge gap on my resume and I work in a school kitchen. Call me.

Guess who did?

Elisa.

The amazing C.O.O. of the largest community of women who blog (25+ million unique visitors a month – Nielson NetRatings) is now my boss and, for certain, I wouldn’t have the job without Twitter, because I never would have considered reaching out to BlogHer. Not a chance.

Instead, I put myself out there for the world to see. Okay, maybe not the world, but for my 2500 followers. So, it’s more like I put myself out there for a small, rural town. But, wow, are these townspeople awesome.

So, see…I am kind of a social media expert. I know that you have to be in this space in today’s culture, that you should let your personality come through in your tweets and that you need to put your desires out there. If there is something you want, just ask for it. You never know who is listening.

And, you never know…you just might get exactly what you’ve been dreaming of.

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