Why must the font gods hate me?

Is it because I've been arguing with my mother? Or possibly, because I've been averaging four hours of sleep a night and a diet of hummus and coffee? Is it payback for walking out of that session on interface something or otherings at BlogHer because I really, really wanted a free latte and one of those Leapfrog aluminum water bottles?

I'm pretty sure it isn't my fault and that all the tinkering around in the HTML swamp has made it much better than it was at 2 a.m. this morning. Please just know I haven't dived off the deep end into the much of bold-italic-GIANT FONT purposely.

I was either pushed by some techy 12-year old who desperately wants to redesign my banner or just lost my balance reaching for a gigantor sandwich and the snooze button. Regardless, hang in there with me through my little hell-vetica and soon we will make things all shiny and pretty around here again.

UPDATE: It seems that overnight, most of the font issues have mended themselves.After being up five times in the night with a wet and jet-lagged boy, now I just think the frustrated font gods are feeling sorry for me. I'm so wiped out but at least the bold is gone.

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Apparently, the rule is that you don't have to blog at all when you are at BlogHer?

If that is the rule, then sweet. I am still an ardent A-student.

But if being at BlogHer, with the cocktails and the colleagues and the running into people about whom you know way too many details but cannot remember their name to save your soul....oh! and the sessions, means blogging it all zealously and with the speed of a thousand mojito and swag hangover cures, then damn. I am over, baby. Oh so ovah.

Instead of boring you all with the play-by-play, here are a few photos that capture it best.

Maybe best is pushing it. These few photos that I did take (hey, it is hard to hold a cup of coffee, a Bloody Mary, a BlackBerry and a camera all at once) just capture.

Regardless of what your very polite mama may have taught you about demurely ordering one last white zin spritzer at last call and then leaving long before the servers stare you down until you are telepathically forced from your seats and out the door, this is how my bloginas respond to that last call hooey. And just so you know, if you happen to meet Bad Kitty for the first time in person forty-seven seconds before the lady in the polyester tux disapprovingly tells you, "Umm, LAST. CALL. honey," and Bad Kitty says, "Order two and run to that table in the corner," just do as Bad Kitty says. You might spill a smidge but it will all be for the best in the end. (More pics after the jump and stealthily hidden from my mother's glance at the page).

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This part of the divorce is done

Our unplugged weekend away was the calm before the fury. Before I headed back to court with the Almost Ex and before Lil E was sent spinning in the middle of the plans and arrangements of the parenting agreement his dad and I were trying to negotiate, to get settled and signed.

We had a pre-trial hearing to address the issues in our parenting agreement that we've been disputing. Although we never saw the judge, we spent hours in the hallway, our attorneys shuttling back and forth between us, attempting to resolve those points that were gaping open. The hope was that we would sew it all up to present to the judge so that she would not make the decisions for us. And as lovely as hope is, standing with my lawyer in front of the Almost Ex and his lawyer, defending the merits of daycamp and nap times made the wound feel deeper and even more raw.

Even with that wide open part of myself exposed where I am sure anyone in that hallway outside the courtroom could peer in and see my heart beating faster and fast, hear the blood rushing and notice where the old scars around it have been healing, I felt strong.

Of course, I felt worried. Was I sticking to the most important issues? Was I standing firm enough? Was I thinking clearly enough? Was I making wise decisions?

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