It’s been three months since I started this blog. I’ve shared tales about: projectile vomits; a ‘hole’ that got me into a spot of bother with my son; corporate bitches (namely me); and women who hide their motherhood at work. I’m proud of my little repertoire that has no common theme, apart from its randomness.

In the past three months I’ve also immersed myself in other blogs. The funny, the sad, the mummy, the bad (as in ‘cool’, sorry, it needed to rhyme) – the blogosphere is brimming with talent. Talent I wish I could emulate.

So, when I was offered the chance to meet some talented bloggers at an evening promising ‘fine wine, cheese and a spot of pampering’, I lunged at the chance like a desperate single at an airborne wedding bouquet.

It was the first time I stepped out from behind my online anonymity to meet some fellow bloggers. But these weren’t just any bloggers. These bloggers were uber-bloggers. I’m not going to name names, because no one likes a name-dropper.

I was running late but hoped I could use that to my advantage by slipping in unnoticed, introducing myself later once I felt composed and confident.

“Be cool, be cool,” I muttered to myself as I checked my chest for a nervous rash in the elevator’s reflective walls.

I knocked on the door and a lady I didn’t recognise opened it. But when I looked over her shoulder I saw the most intimidating line-up of Twitter avatars – except they were living and breathing.

And they were all looking at me.

@mummytime, @JodieAnsted, @Woogsworld, @KerriSackville, and @emmasbrain (Woops, wasn’t going to name any names, was I? Oh well…bombs away!)

I gushed. I hugged. I embraced. I guffawed. I felt myself turn a bright shade of red and felt terribly, terribly uncool. (@MsDovic joined us a little later so she was spared the awkward embrace.)

After accosting the uber-bloggers, I then turned to kiss and hug the woman I didn’t recognise who had opened the door, just in case she was also an uber-blogger I was yet to discover. I found out later she was one of the beauty reps. No wonder she looked a little shocked at my enthusiastic embrace.

I then sat down with the uber-bloggers and the beauty reps. commenced telling us about their products, encouraging me to massage them into my face. I have to confess I can’t remember what the products were or what they did because I was too busy sneaking side-ways glances at ‘the Mrs Woog’.

It was a great night that ended with some of us (this time I really won’t name names) retiring to the local pub for a few too many bottles of wines.  We then said our farewells, and I chose to walk home in an effort to sober up. It didn’t work because I had to phone my husband to let me in the front door – pesky key just wouldn’t get into that lock.

Over the days that followed, my head swirled with the conversations from that night. I revisited the uber-blogger’s blogs, so wanting to emulate their strengths: her humour; her coolness; her knack to say it like it is; and her ability to make us cry with words that move.

I have to admit that my head started to spark. I was overloading and it was starting to feel a bit too much. I had the same feeling you get when you eat too much food. I needed to come up for air.

When I did, I had a moment of clarity. A simple moment of clarity. I can’t be those uber-bloggers because, well, I’m not them. I’m me. I can only write about what I know and if I try to be someone else, well, it just ‘aint going to work.

On reflection, that’s exactly what the uber-bloggers were telling me. “Put up your picture”, “Use your own name, it has a nice ring,”…just be me.

And, that’s exactly what I’m going to do. I’ve started on my own little blog rebranding exercise – the name, the picture, maybe even the URL, if I can ever work that bit out.

My new brand is about just being me – Lisa Lintern, the melodramatic me.