Swagtastic.

The swag. It's big part of the BlogHer experience for many. I am one of those many.
It's not why I go. Actually I didn't even know it was part of the conference until I arrived at my first BlogHer. Once I discovered it - I went whole hog.

I have an excuse. I grew up in want. Not the real kind of want. We had a home and food. We just didn't have room in the budget for much more than the basics. I was the kid in the generic brand clothes - oh the longing for Jordache jeans.
My lunch had no frills and I was envious of kids with candy or Coke.
I didn't have the 'right' bike or shoes and I didn't have the money for luxury items until my mid twenties.

The longing stays with me. Usually I control it very easily, until I walk into an expo hall with five aisles of FREE stuff.
Twelve year old me rushes to the surface. It doesn't help that the vendors WANT me to take their stuff, they are pushing it upon me. It would be rude to say no.

What's the problem? I'll tell you. I cannot get it in my case. You may now picture me sitting, no bouncing on the lid of my case - in vain. Here's the rub, I don't even want (never mind need) half of this stuff. I will never use it. I know this because last years conference bag is in a closet in my home half full of swag.
If you know The Husband, you can imagine how well this goes over.

I came with such good intentions this year. My roomie was enlisted to help me with my impulses (I, of course, did this so I could put the blame on her if my bag(s) overflowed.) I was better this year. I said "no thank you" many times.
In the calm of my room I re-evaluated carefully then visited the swag exchange filled with pride and two bags of unwanted goods. The swag exchange needs to have a swag-aholics table. I left there with many more things than I took in. I went back three times always leaving with something. Sigh.

I could rationalize that I have saved our family a fortune in toothpaste, stocking stuffers, stationary and Glad products. I also alleviated the guilt of leaving my kids for four days by bringing them cute, free stuff. (Thereby guaranteeing they will be future swag lovers.) The checked bag fee and chiropractic care I now need may put a dent in that equation but I *think* I am still ahead.
So here it is - my confession. My name is Joy and I'm a swagaholic.