jennsylvania

Yes, I Know How Long It's Been Since I Posted Last...

... so there's no need to remind me. 

Sending me emails demanding I post again doesn't make me write faster. 

It doesn't make the things I have to do after being away from home for a month get done any quicker.

It doesn't make all the work I must complete for the fifth book's looming deadline go away. 

All it does is extend the time between posts because now in addition to being really busy, I'm annoyed.

Listen, I love writing for an audience and I'm happy to share my life with you both online and in print.  I appreciate having each and every one of you as readers and I value your feedback.   

But, seriously, enough with the demands already.

I'll post again after the holiday.

In the meantime, please keep in mind that George R.R. Martin is not your bitch.

You've Got Questions, I've Got Beach Reads

While I was on tour, certain questions seemed to come up in each city.  Often I was asked about how the dogs were (fine), how Barbie was doing (fantastic), and how Fletch was faring without me (feral.)

A lot of folks wanted to know who I'd cast in a movie about my life (Elizabeth Banks since we have the same kind of unfortunate hair), if my new neighbors bug me (they don't), and did my mother ever find out what a "reach around" was (she did.) 

Questions were posed about our move to the suburbs (no, long story, house sank), if I'd sampled the local cupcakes (yes), and if I've been keeping up with the dieting and personal training (shut up.)

But most of all, everyone wanted suggestions on what books I love, thus I present my long-promised Summer Beach Reading List. 

A few of these haven't yet been released, but I'm listing them anyway since they're totally worth pre-ordering them from the bookstore of your choice.  Plus, they'll all be out in time to check out from the comfort of your favorite beach chair.

Here goes:

Bought by Anna David - I read Anna's Party Girl a couple of years ago and dug it because I am all about an imperfect protagonist.  Knowing that a lot of her book about addiction and recovery was autobiographical made the story all the more interesting.  In Bought (which is in no way based on her life) she explores the world of high-priced Hollywood escorts.  There's a definite Washingtonienne vibe to it, which you may recall is one of my favorite reads, even though I have to cover my eyes on the d-i-r-t-y parts.

Hedge Fund Wives by Tatiana Boncompagni - I adore a good chick-lit-y, lifestyles of the rich and flawed, revenge-filled novel and HFW does not disappoint.  Boncompagni also wrote Gilding Lily and her new book is equally glamorous and gossipy.  Read with a crystal glass of chilled champagne at your side.  

A Bump in the Road by Maureen Lipinski- Lipinski's novel is about what happens when a blissfully child-free couple comes home from Las Vegas with a wee bit of extra baggage.  Her book reads like a memoir, which I love, and what's ironic is after writing a book about accidentally getting pregnant before being ready, she found herself in the exact same position.  Plus, the story takes place in Chicago and I'm always a fan of anything local.

At Least in the City Someone Would Hear Me Scream by Wade Rouse- I'm all mad right now because Wade is coming to my home bookstore next week while I'm in New York so I won't get to tell him in person that his book about trying to recreate his own version of Walden Pond (complete with sparkle tank tops and rabid raccoons) made me laugh so hard my dogs hid.  No book has been this fun since last year's Bringing Home the Birkin by Michael Tonello. 

Dogged Pursuit: My Year of Competing Dusty, The World's Least Likely Agility Dog by Robert Rodi - I cannot read any pet books where the cat/dog/whatever dies in the end, so if you're the same way, you'll be very happy with this delightfully self-aware memoir of a year spent on the dog agility circuit.  Rodi's take on the dog people is particularly classy, too.  He could have gone very Best in Show and mocked everyone but instead he takes a higher road and turns the book into a fish out of water story where his own personal growth helps him assimilate.  Funny, charming, and heartwarming!

The Motion of the Ocean; One Small Boat, Two Average Lovers, and Woman's Search for the Meaning of Wife by Janna Cawrse Esarey - To quote, um, myself, this is "the quintessential summer read for anyone seeking an adventure in life, love, or self-discovery."  Basically this book answers the question for anyone who ever asked, "What if we just bought a boat and sailed away?"  Loved this one SO MUCH.

First Comes Love Then Comes Malaria by Eve Brown-Waite - This has the same kind of vibe as the above only in it, Eve finds out what happens when she and her husband move to deepest, darkest Africa to work for CARE.  (How do these gals get their husbands to do this huge stuff, I wonder?)  (I haven't been able to coerce Fletch into finishing assembling all the furniture I bought a month ago.)  (I even threatened him to have to keep his underwear in a drawer I assembled myself, and still, nothing!)  Wait... what was I saying?  Oh, yes, this memoir is pitch perfect and made me want to travel to war-torn Uganda, which is pretty much not going to happen.

I'm Down by Mishna Wolff -You know how funny this book is?  This book is so goddamned funny that Fletch actually read my advance copy while we were on vacation last year, bringing his grand total of all things read since I've known him to this one memoir, two Chuck Palahniuks, three zombie books, and 8,000 gun magazines.  Basically Mishna's story is about a white girl being raised in a poor neighborhood by her white father who refused to believe he wasn't black.  It's not exploitative or mean; it's just genuine and hilarious and I can't recommend it enough.

Hope in a Jar by Beth Harbison - Did you love the NYT best selling Shoe Addicts series?  I certainly did.  In this book, Harbison brings all the snark and wit and style that made her last books such fun PLUS she throws in the elements of '80s nostalgia and an homage to Sephora.  It's like she asked herself, "What kind of book would appeal completely to Jen?"  Well, guess what - she nailed it.  Again.  (Released July 7.)

Notes from the Underwire by Quinn Cummings- Hey, remember the smartassed kid from The Goodbye Girl?  Yeah?  Well, instead of going down the traditional childstar path of drug binges, crotch shots, and dry cleaner robberies, she instead grew up to be one of the most talented writers I've ever read.  Her book debuts later this summer and is too charming to be missed.  (You'll thank me.)  (Released July 7.)

Rage Against the Meshugenah; Why It Takes Balls to Go Nuts by Danny Evans- This is a powerfully honest book about the effects of male depression which doesn't sound funny... yet it is.  Long before we ever became blogfriends, Danny had a post 9/11 experience that mirrors many aspects of my life with Fletch, except he had the added responsibility of children.  I feel so privileged to have had an early look (and a very small hand) in this hilarious and uplifting book.  (Released August 4.)

Spin by Robert Rave - Rave does to the world of PR what The Devil Wears Prada did for publishing.  The only way to describe this book is dark, dishy, and absolutely delicious.  I dare you to read it without trying to figure out who's really who.  A perfect Labor Day weekend read!  (Released August 18.) 

Born Round: The Secret History of a Full Time Eater by Frank Bruni- All I'm going to tell you about this book are the names of the other people who loved it so far... Elizabeth Gilbert, David Sedaris, Curtis Sittenfeld, Nigella Lawson, Michael Pollan, Anne Lamott, Augusten Burroughs, Tom Perotta, and Adriana Trigiani. And, oh yeah, one asshole who didn't read the cover letter closely enough to get her very-lame-in-comparison blurb in on time.  (Released August 20.)

So... that should keep a book in your hands and your toes in the sand until Labor Day weekend when I'll have my Fall Reading List put together.

As for me, I'm stuck reading boring old classics all summer in an attempt to get cultured up for my new memoir.  Don't you worry, though... I may be stuck reading Shakespeare, but I'm sure as hell going to take the Bard to the beach.

Some Wives

Some wives send naked photos of themselves to their husbands at work.

Some wives send shots of their kids.

And some wives send pictures of their artfully crafted lunch.

Can you guess which way I lean?

 

Team Sandwich rules!

Not A Doctor, Nor Do I Play One On TV

Twenty four years ago I started college.

Thirteen years ago I finished it.

(No, I'm not a doctor.)

(Shut up.)

When my college graduation commencement, um, commenced, I watched as all my classmates marched across the stage to shake hands with the university president before receiving the leather-bound book containing their diploma. 

Prior to the ceremony, we were required to practice the receipt of our diplomas, as the grab-and-shake was an orchestrated move.  If we reached with the wrong hands or employed bad timing, the ceremony would appear awkward and ungainly, like when two straight men attempt to hug each other. 

The proper choreography entailed extending ones right hand to the President while the left was open to receive the star of the show, the raison d'etre, the reason we'd all gathered here in the first place. 

I sat anxiously in my seat, mentally rehearsing my take on the grab-and-shake.  Would I get all hammy like the kids who opened the leather covers and then did the Rocky Balboa victory dance off the stage?  Would I be cool and staid like the adult students, giving the President a brisk nod before proceeding back to their seats, only then to peek at the grand prize inside? 

I ended up somewhere in the middle.  Although I flashed the President (and audience) a brilliant smile, I decided to wait to return to my seat to glance at the enclosed document. 

The walk back to my chair was only a few yards, yet it felt like an eternity.  My heart pounded out of my chest and I was breathless in anticipation. 

What would it be like to finally see my name on that document? 

How would I react? 

Would I read and re-read the names of all the trustees who'd endorsed this document?

Would I simply hug it straight to my chest?  

Would I run my fingers across the calligraphy that announced in no uncertain terms that regardless of everything I'd gone through to get here, that I'd finally finished what I'd started? 

I paused in my seat for a moment, soaking in the gravity of what I was about to see. 

This was it.  This was to be my touchstone for all the hard work I'd put in after my initial failure.  This document would sum up everything I'd been working for over the past eleven years.

I opened the cover...

... only to find a small scrap of paper that wished me a hearty congratulations on my achievement and further instructions that if I wanted my ACTUAL diploma, I needed to pay the Purdue parking facility thirty-five dollars for my outstanding ticket.

Motherfuckers.

While everyone else posed with their diplomas after the ceremony, I held up my encumbrance slip.  Granted, I was angry, but moreso, I was amused.  A big part of me thought that this was truly the most appropriate ending of a momentous college career.

As summer progressed and I settled into my post-grad life in Chicago, my parents would ask me when I was going to get my actual diploma.  I said I'd get it as soon as I took care of my parking ticket.  And by "take care of," I meant "get the university to waive." 

You see, the ticket was bogus in my opinion.  I was parked at a meter in the garage with plenty of time left on it.  Purdue had a rule about no student vehicles parking in this particular garage but I happened to be driving my mother's car that day. 

OK, fine, technically I was breaking the rule. 

However, my little Tercel was registered with the university.  My mother's Honda wasn't.  How could campus parking cops possibly know it was me going to my philosophy class and not my mother attending to some pre-graduation business on campus?  Plus, I was working full time and carrying a fifteen hour load.  The only way I was able to get to my class in time from working the lunch shift was to drive.  I didn't see a lot of choice in the matter and for Christ's sake, I graduated with a 4.0 that semester and could someone cut me a tiny break, please, please? 

I documented all this information and set it to my university in hopes of an appeal.

Denied.

So I made a pledge right then and there that I would NEVER pay to get my diploma and that they'd never see a dime from me in donations until I received my diploma.  Every year enthusiastic students would call me during fund-raising drives and every year I'd tell them no diploma, no check, no dice.  I figured with all the money I'd given them over eleven years, they could look past the thirty five damn dollars.

They didn't.

We'd reached a stalemate.

This stalemate continued for thirteen years until some very nice university employees came to my Chicago book signing.  They brought me a bag of Purdue College of Liberal Arts goodies and asked if I'd ever consider speaking on campus.  I told them no, due to my grudge.  They promised to look into the matter.

They were good to their word. 

A couple of days ago I got a note saying if I contacted a certain person she might be able to get me my diploma.  So I did and yesterday, I received confirmation that my diploma is on its way.

I didn't even have to pay thirty-five dollars.

All I had to do was wait thirteen years and write two New York Times best selling books.

So now I'm happy to speak on campus and when the fundraisers call, instead of giving them a piece of my mind, I'll give them a credit card number.

In short? 

I WIN.

And now I'm going to throw the best graduation party EVER.

After all, I've had twenty four years to plan it.

Appearances and Consequences

Apparently hugging 4,000 people in the past four weeks does not come without consequences. 

I now have the mother of all colds and a sinking feeling that I may in fact be Patient Zero in regard to the spread of the swine flu.  So, regular posting likely won't resume until next week as I'm busy drinking juice and shopping for soup.

But before I hide away in my house for the next year (or possibly die due to complications from a scratchy throat and runny nose), I finish up tour season with events at the Printer's Row Lit Fest. 

Here are the details:

Saturday, June 6, 11:00 AM, Center Stage

I'll be in conversation with Anna David, author of Bought.  I adored her first book Party Girl and I can't wait to meet her!  (BTW, since we're outside, we won't have the seating debacle of last year.) 

Sunday, June 7, 1:30 PM, Harold Washington Library Center Multi-Purpose Room:

I'll be moderating a panel discussion on humor between very funny authors Robert Rodi, author of Dogged Pursuit and Amy Sutherland, author of What Shamu Taught Me about Life, Love, and Marriage. 

After both events, all authors involved will be answering questions and signing books, and, in my case, dispersing rhinoviruses.

See you then!

Betty Confidential

I keep forgetting to post links to the interviews I've done recently because, surprisingly, I'm not as good at flagrant self-promotion as I thought.

However, the following is not only one of my favorites, but also includes a contest where you can win a copy of PIP. 

So what are you waiting for?  Go read it.

(P.S. I'll see you in Minneapolis, Milwaukee, and Chicago this week.  And no, I never got my shit together in time to plan a Chicago party afterward.  But next year, totally.)

I Got Your News Right Here

Behold, for I have excellent news! 

And that news is that Fletch can sleep a bit easier tonight.

Here's what happened - yesterday I was in the car in LA and I was talking to Fletch on the phone.  (Side note - fortunately, I wasn't driving, in case you got all concerned that I was in some strange city, yakking away on my phone, not paying attention, and suddenly plowing into a whole sidewalk of al fresco diners.) 

(Unfortunately, I can't say the same for the gentleman who was hired to take me places yesterday.  That his prowess behind the wheel didn't kill any/all yesterday is nothing short of miraculous.) 

(Really, should I have to remind someone fifteen minutes and 9,000 honks and flashes into an evening drive that perhaps he should consider turning on his headlights?)

ANYWAY.

We're driving and I'm talking.  All of a sudden this jackass in the car in front of me catches my attention.  I look over to see an enormous man in a tiny little Mercedes convertible shouting at a bunch of people on the sidewalk in front of a restaurant.  (At first I wonder if he isn't just warning them to scatter before impact.)  But after we pass them and somehow don't commit vehicular manslaughter, I watch him gesture again.  His car is so small and he's so wee that he looks like something you'd see on Cute Overload, as if someone stuck a full sized baboon into a child's toy car. 

Only it's not cute; it's obnoxious. 

Like, a lot.

As he shouts and waves his simian arms around, I have to wonder, "Who is this ape-like asshole and what is his fucking problem?"

Then, out of mild curiosity, I turn around and see his face.

You guys? 

The driver is VINCE VAUGHN.

Whoa.

And judging from all the shouting and posturing, it seems like he's so money and he finally, finally knows it.

Just like that, my ten year old Swingers-inspired crush vanishes.

Poof.

Now all that's standing between me and alifetime of fidelity with Fletch are vaguely unhealthy obsessions with Robert Pattinson, Paul Rudd, and the guy who plays Chuck Bass.  Which is totally good news, you know?  One down, three to go. 

Plus, the driver didn't accidentally kill me, which should also please Fletch.

So that's it from the road. 

I'll be back home for most of next week and regular posting should begin shortly thereafter.  Talk to you then!

P.S.  In other good news, Pretty in Plaid debuts this week at #8 on the New York Times best sellers list.  Thank you all from the bottom of my heart for getting me there!

It's About Goddamned Time

Today's the first day in a week that I've found myself with enough time and a strong enough WiFi signal to put up a post. 

I know, I know, it's about damn time. 

Anyway, now that I have your attention, I'm not entirely sure of what to say, except for THANK YOU.  You all have made the very hectic planes, trains, and automobiles part of this tour worth it.  I love meeting you guys and so appreciate your coming out to the events.  You all rock.

I'm thankful to the point that I'm not even going to bitch about how few of you have shown me your '80s, nor will I mention what an asshole I've looked like, having never considered that I might encounter people who don't know me on the pink plaid path from my hotel room to the event.  (OK, maybe I just mentioned it a little bit.)  (I also understand many of you are coming from work.  I grilled a girl in Boston on why she wasn't in '80s gear and she mentioned that she'd just given a deposition and judges frown on spandex.)

And, oh!  Oh!  Speaking of judges, I just went through security and am now completely annoyed.  I realize how it's cliche to mock the asshats who have no idea about the quart bags or that their dinner-plate sized Texas belt buckle and year's worth of laundry quarters might have an adverse effect on the metal detector. I just stood behind one such gentleman who had to go through the machine five times before he finally got it right.  Normally neither he nor his wife with her enormous bottle of Vitamin Water would have bothered me, but for the fact of what the TSA guard said to Tinny McMetalpants once he was done. 

"Wow, sir, we don't get many federal judges coming through here."

ARGH.

And speaking of Texas, I'm on my way out of Dallas now.  I was lucky enough to stay at a five-star hotel downtown which is a definite upside of all this crazy travel.  Now, I didn't notice this next thing until I was leaving today, but I've been snickering about it for the last hour.  On an engraved plaque right next to the door of my very fancy lodging is a sign that states, "It is absolutely prohibited to bring a concealed weapon into this establishment." 

I figure this means that it was such a problem they had to commission a fancy sign to say so.

I suspect this is why no one messes with Texas.

See you in Houston tonight!

ON SALE NOW!

Are You Ready To See My '80s?

Setting:  My bathroom, post shower, yesterday.

Me: (to myself) Hey... I wonder if I could make these stupid hair extensions curly?  That would look even more'80s than if I used hot rollers.  I'm totally going to try.

(ten minutes and half a bottle of scrunch spray later...)

Me:  I did it!  I achieved perfect '80s hair!  It's huge!  It's just the right combination of big and curly and wavy!  My hair looks just like Tawny Kitaen's!

(runs downstairs)

Me:  Fletch!  Fletch!  Check out my hair!  What do you think?

Fletch:  Wow, you look just like... (long, thoughtful pause) David Coverdale.

* * *

And if you come to one of my upcoming events, you can see it, too. 

If you can't make it, visit my Facebook fan page where I encourage everyone to post their own Pretty in Plaid photos.

Twitterers, you can follow my tweets @altgeldshrugged on and find out more on tour and media appearances @pretty_in_plaid.

See you on the road!

 

Apparently my '80s included these sunglasses.  Shameful.

And Now, Something Completely Non '80s or Book Related

I'm spending the night Minneapolis this evening for business and that entails luggage.

Normally any time I travel, I lose all ability to make packing decisions.  I tend to find myself standing in my closet in my underwear at midnight, crying because I have to get up in four hours and all I've managed to stuff in my bag is a copy of Us Weekly and my two rattiest pair of underpants.

However, somehow I managed to be so organized yesterday that I had my bags packed and placed by the front door at 8:00 PM. 

There was no scrambling... no sweating... no crying. 

I'm not sure if the fates were conspiring or if maybe this is simply a function of having finally purchased a grown-up carry on bag.  Regardless, I was able to relax and enjoy my evening stress-free.

But it really wasn't stress-free. 

Where was that feeling of doom stemming from having packed nothing but three bags of Skittles and a girdle?  What would it be like to go to the airport on more than 45 minutes of REM sleep? 

Despite being completely ready, I felt out of sorts. 

I took a bath, but that didn't make a difference. 

So I took an Ambien.  And that helped a little.

So I had a glass of wine on top of it.  And that helped. 

A LOT.

Thus having achieved a state of perfect relaxation, I got into bed.

OK, that's a lie. 

Instead, I logged onto Twitter. 

Following, you'll find that exchange.  In it, I post a number of responses to questions I don't remember being asked.  And at some point you can see that I decide to badger Ashton and Demi, thus almost assuring I will henceforth be banned from their Twitters.  (I'm particularly intrigued at how I slip in and out of lucidity.)  So now, um... enjoy? 

is so organized that I have time to drink a glass of wine, swallow an Ambien, and trot off to the internet where I'll dispense advice.

Not that anyone has asked, but I'm here at the ready, or at least until the pharmaceuticals toss my ass in bed.

which, letsh be honests, is rapidly approchaing.

@MsKooler1214- I understand all the words in this tweet, but not their meaning. Am I in Cnn? Which this book? Am I the book cococachoo?

I bet @apluskNEVER chases Ambien with wine and then runs to the computer because he's all "professional" and shit. (He has people 4 that.)

@WeesnottDesigns- Within half an hour but more like a few minutes if you go with something sparkly, like Procecco.

Ashton's curing malaria? With what? Eric Foreman's dad's Datsun? Dude and Sweet tattoos? A big bag of weed? So confused.

Ambien might have mentally just tossed my salad. WITH CROUTONS.

@WeesnottDesigns - Purple monkey dishwasher.

@amber_piers- I'd chose me, but only if I were Kelly Talor and didn't want to date old men.

@WeesnottDesigns - You's are lazy? Mine are always "blah blah blah business plans, blah, sustainable growth and solid P&L. My monkeys suck.

I would kill each and every one of you (well, not you jessedup) for a very small cheeseburger with a pickle and mustard on a itty bitty bun.

I keeed! I keeed! I would only rob you for your wee, wee (but not pee-related) itty bitty burgers.

@byflutter- I can stagger like a muthafuckin ninja. (Typed that wroed ninja weong but had the wherewithall the fix it.)

@figgybean- You say it like findifng my shoes (or my feet) is an option right now.

am getting al;l cookied up in honor o0f @moosinindy's biethdyay. She likes it when I gets slurry.

FYI? THis? Right here? Is why I was so poipular in collage.

Having a relazed sense of moreal turpitude didn't hurt either.

@mrskutcher- you're washing cars? Wowie, I guess the economy is hitting everyone harder than expected.

@millarde- Yegatory.

Just lost a bunch of followers. But if they don't like Sauvignon-Ambien Jen, why the fuck where they even hanging around?

@byflutter- I find collage rewarding, too. All those little pictures sitcking on top of each toher.

@HollyGhere- No but last week I orderd $4k of bedroom furniture. They showe d up and I was all SURPRISE! Oh, wait.

@RhiRhi- Neither, you'll end uip with three pole dancers name Tiffany shoing up at yoru place in twenrty minutes.

@kissieme- Pfft, not a rant. This is what I DO. Must remember to save this to end a chapter in some lateR book.

@GridironGoddess- And it's floral. What's supresad is i've had one wee ambien andone wee glass of wine. Fatasslightweight.

Glass emptyee pill digested, peanute btutter bpretzels, tastey, bednowyeskthxbai.

HEY YOU PEPIOLE ARE MOCKING ME... Not undesrrtverd, but still Mocking. I'll go to bed & be unpleasantly surprised whenb I log on in the AM

Internet = 1, Jen's dumb ass = 0

Godspeed, ninja. Am strealing that. Good night. Off to PotteryBarn.com...

 

The good news is there's no evidence of any online shopping last night.

The bad news is at some point after this, I had a run in with a can of spray tan.

This is probably why I never pack early.

Official Tour Schedule (Now With 100% More Times And Dates)

Bubble mini skirt?  Check.

Cut-up Flashdance sweatshirt?  Check.

Leg warmers?  Check.

12,000 neon jelly bracelets?  Check.

Electric blue eyeshadow?  Check.

Case of Aqua Net?  Check (and screw you, Earth Day.)

Times and addresses for Jen's '80s-themed Pretty in Plaid book tour?  

Ahem.

Let's try that again... times and addresses for Jen's '80s-themed Pretty in Plaid book tour?  Check!

Tuesday, May 5 - Borders

34300 Woodward

Birmingham, MI

7:00 PM

Wednesday, May 6 - Boston Public Library

700 Bolyston St.

Boston, MA

6:00 PM (note: the library closes its doors promptly at 9:00 PM, hence the 6:00 PM start)

 

Thursday, May 7 - Barnes & Noble

33 E. 17th Street, Union Square

New York, NY

7:00 PM

 

Friday, May 8 - Barnes & Noble

555 W. 12th St. NW

Washington, DC

6:30 PM

Monday, May 11 - Barnes & Noble

7700 W. Northwest Highway

Dallas, TX

7:00 PM

Tuesday, May 12 - Borders

3025 Kirby (at West Alabama)

Houston, TX

7:00 PM

Wednesday, May 13 - Barnes & Noble 

8725 Townley Rd.

Huntersville, NC

7:00 PM

Thursday, May 14 - Barnes & Noble

1701 Mallory Lane

Brentwood, TN

7:00 PM

Friday, May 15 - Barnes & Noble

2900 Peachtree Road NE

Atlanta, GA

7:00 PM

Monday, May 18 - Powell's

1005 W. Burnside Ave (downtown)

Portland, OR

7:30 PM

Tuesday, May 19 - Third Place Books

17171 Bothell Way NE

Lake Forest Park, WA

7:00 PM

Wednesday, May 20 - Borders (Stonestown Galleria)

233 Winston Drive

San Francisco, CA

7:00 PM

Thursday, May 21 - Barnes & Noble

210 Americana Way

Glendale, CA

7:00 PM

Friday, May 22 - Barnes & Noble

7881 Edinger Ave

Huntington Beach, CA

7:00 PM

Tuesday, May 26 - Borders

866 Rosedale Center

Roseville, MN

7:00 PM

Thursday, May 28 - Barnes & Noble

1441 W. Webster Ave

Chicago, IL 

7:30 PM

Saturday, May 30 - Borders

8705 N. Port Washington

Fox Point, WI

2:00 PM 

And no, you don't have to come in your '80s finest, but come on, how much more fun will that be?

Also, if you see any of the above information in conflict with what's listed at your local bookstore (e.g. event not yet listed for the BPL) or if I'm a dummy who can't properly copy an address, please me know.

Thanks and see you soon... in plaid!

 

Earth Day-Day (Which Has To Do With Seagulls Which Is Kind Of Earth Related If You Think About It)

As promised for all you '80s haters (please note the corrected apostrophe placement, thankyouverymuch), here's a list of every animal that has bitten me. 

Mind you, not all of them have made tooth-on-flesh contact, but if there was at least an attempt or a nip, I'm listing it here:

dog (seven times, all in the face, yet I still try to kiss every one I meet)

cat (Quinn says they're dangerous - how did I never know this?)

mouse (started with two after a high school biology project, ended up with eleventy million, thanks to the kind of biology the class was trying to prove)

rat (high school boyfriend's pet)

hamster/gerbil (aren't they basically the same thing?)

Guinea pig (same as above, only supersize)

Not so bad, yes?  Kind of typical of the bites you'd see if you really love animals and you're always trying to shove carrot sticks into their maw.  But that's just the (finger)tip of the iceberg. 

Moving on:

ferret

chinchilla

parrot

rabbit

Which is probably why they put all those "Do not stick your stupid fingers in the cages, you dumbass" at pet stores. 

Up next, I show my rural roots.  Although the bulk of these took place not in my neighborhood, but in in Petting Zoos.  Which in my case they should probably call Biting Zoos:

cow

pony (OWIE)

donkey (OWIE OWIE)

horse (OWIE OWIE OWIE OWIE)

pig (only mouthed me) (heh! dirty!)

sheep

goat

llama

chicken (more of a peck, but same concept) 

In terms of the great outdoors, there's:

raccoon (only a little baby, captured by another high school boyfriend)

an entire flock of seagulls (they thought my thumb was the Cheeto I was trying to feed them) (also why they post those "Do not feed the birds, you dumbass" signs)

pigeon (ditto, only with popcorn)

duck (ditto, with cracker)

goose (ditto, with breadcrust)

squirrel (ditto, with $11/pound Brazil nuts that I bought specially for him)

chipmunk (no food, he was just an asshole)

Finally, the exotic:

zebra (very similar to a horse bite)

camel (also like a horse bite, only he followed it up with a spit chaser) (I HATE CAMELS)

elephant (again, more of a mouthing thing which happened after I rode him at a very sad local circus and frankly, I don't blame him)

Also?  I've never had a rabies shot.  That probably explains a lot.

Coincidentally, this list encompasses every animal I've ever touched.  You'd think that after the first ten bites or so I'd be content to admire them from afar, but if this website demonstrates anything, it's that I'm incapable of "learning."

My theory is that I must somehow smell delicious. 

The more likely scenario is that I keep invading wild animals' personal space with my sausage fingers and it's miraculous I've not yet lost a digit.

Anyway, you Eighties-phobics can stop reading here. 

For the Eighties-philes, read on.

Have you guys ever been to Demotivateus.com?  That's where I found this poster:

This looks like a recent photo and my guess (hope?) is that the guy is attempting to emulate what made the '80s cool. 

But Polo-man is so very wrong.

You know what made the '80s cool? 

Why, rock and roll fashion paired with Flock of Seagulls hair, of course.

First up, Erin works the wing and the David Byrne-girlfriend-is-better-stop-making-sense-huge-shoulder jacket.

 

Little photo, BIG STYLE.

Next up, Marla (pictured on the left) shows us her swoop.

 

This was taken right before she was about to play her French horn while wearing Madonna gloves.  Bonus points have been awarded.

Shannon does Marla one better.  Not only does she sport a superfantastic swirl, but she does it WHILE DRESSED LIKE BANANARAMA!

"While dressed like Belinda Carlisle" would also have been an acceptable answer here.

So I guess I beg to differ with Demotivateus on one point... while you may be four-popped-collars cool, you'll never be Flock-of-Seagulls cool.

(And if you want to attract a flock of seagulls, bring Cheetos.)

It's Day Whatever I Say It Is, Alright?

A few of you have voiced your displeasure at it being all 80's all month around here, which... OK, I get it.

I don't agree, but I get it.

Not every single one of you thought the 80's were the greatest decade to exist forever and ever, amen.  If you were a toddler back then, or if hearing Duran Duran gives you flashbacks of being thirteen and getting your p-e-r-i-o-d in the middle of geography class, I can see how this month is less "celebration" and more "painful memory."

The handful of you did ask me nicely to cease and desist and I respect that.  Yeah, I write what I want, but I only have an audience as long as I write what you want, too.  So I listened.  (FYI, I deleted the responses you guys put on the website as fights in the comments section make me stabby and I do not want to have to turn this car around, missy!)  

Anyway, for those of you who aren't into it, I'm going to post something random and non-decade specific in front of the 80's entries for the rest of the month.

Today's moment of I-Love-the-Double-Oughts zen is brought to you by my BFF Stacey Ballis.  She has a message for all who voted for her in the cocktail contest.  Plus, she's going to start telling one of the funniest stories I ever heard on her spankin' new blog.  The best part is the story isn't quite over yet so there's a Truman-show "how's it going to end" quality to it which I LOVE. 

You go read and enjoy her funny stories from this decade, while I share a dirty secret with the rest of the class. 

I did something yesterday I swore I'd never do again.

The day started out normally.  Fletch and I indulged in our usual Sunday ritual of hanging out and having coffee.  We sipped and chatted until it was time for me to get ready to attend an afternoon book club.  I always pay special attention to grooming for these things so I spent an inordinate amount of time on my hair, curing and blowing and spraying the perfect style.  All my products have been personally recommended by my salon and leading fashion magazines, so I walked confidently into the inclement weather, steadfast in my belief that my 'do would do.

I went to the book club and had a lovely time.  Between driving and parking in garages, I was only exposed to the elements for approximately thirty umbrella-covered seconds, yet when I glanced in the mirror upon arriving home, I didn't see my artfully fluffed coif. 

Instead, perched upon my head, I saw the pelt of something long dead.

My product had failed me. 

How it is possible to live in an age where a satellite tells my car how to get to book club, yet I can't find a hairspray that keeps my bangs smooth?

I pondered this dilemma while re-doing my hair in bathroom mirror.  As I straightened and fretted, Fletch asked me to bring out another roll of paper towels.  I reached in the bath's storage closet and when I pulled out the towels, I knocked over a bottle of Pine Sol.  When I bent to right it, something caught my eye.

A soothingly familiar white bottle gleamed from the darkness of the closet. 

I leaned in closer and grabbed hold of what had been given to me as a joke at my 80's party in January... an aerosol can of Aqua Net. 

I examined it in the light, turning it back and forth in my hand.  I gave the crusted old nozzle a tentative push and was shocked to see its contents spray forth freely and evenly. 

Hmm. 

I pumped it again with the same results.  A solid mist formed, and interestingly enough, it didn't have that spilled-nail-polish-remover smell that used to twist my stomach.

I squirted it one more time, remembering all the good hair days Aqua Net provided before I got pretentious, calling "hair spray" product and eschewing the drug store for the salon.

I wondered, could the recent butt of all my 80's jokes still have some value?

Shading my face with my hand, I decided to find out.

I sprayed and sprayed and sprayed.

My smooth bangs stayed and stayed and stayed.

Then I went out to dinner and stood in the rain for ten minutes saying goodnight to my girlfriends.  When I got home I went directly to the mirror. 

And you know what? 

AQUA NET STILL WORKS.

So this week (and for those of you who continue to dig the 80's tribue) we're going to honor that which defined us in our... SALUTE TO SPRAYED HAIR!

 

Tiandra loses a couple of points because the sides could be wider, but gains them in length and dedication to curl.

 

Christie's 'do is an idea specimen of the proper length-to-width ratio, however this was shot in 1991 so I can only award partial credit.

In an ironic twist, Dani's hair could cut you.

And today's winner of the Aqua Net Lifetime Achievement Award...

  

Kelly!  (Laugh all you want, but personally I'd have killed for that volume back in the day.) 

Coming tomorrow (for those of you who are into it), a flock of seagulls styles.  And speaking of seagulls (for those of you who aren't into the 80's) I'm going to provide the definitive list of every animal that's ever bitten me.  (It's more extensive than you'd think.)

As for me, I've got a book club to get ready for this evening. 

I'll be using the GPS system to get there... and generous amount of Aqua Net.

Let's Just Call It Day Sixteen, OK?

Sometimes I'm wrong, despite my utter conviction that I'm right.

(I planned on putting clever examples here about times I was mistaken but I just called Fletch and asked him and his direct quote was, "I can't recall a time recently when you were wrong.") 

(Which doesn't do a lot for the idea I was attempting to illustrate, despite this being a valuable admission that I will certainly file away for future use.)

(Or maybe he was just busy when he picked up the phone and cared not to engage me?)

ANYWAY, I was wrong yesterday. 

There IS something more tragic than the garden-variety, puffy-sleeved, lacy, ruffled prom dress.  And I didn't even realize it until I re-read a photo caption from repeat offender Maureen who brings Big Love into the equation.  Here's what she had to say: 

"I'm not sure why we all did the Southern Belle thing—it wasn't the theme. I am in the first row, bottom left. You can't tell from the photo but my dress was pink and white stripped. My friend Michelle, behind me, looks like a she's ready to be someone's Sister Wife."

 

You know it's tragic when Little Miss Red Ribbon Trim doesn't even garner a second look.

Next, here's Lori who appears to be delighted to attend the Joy Book mixer at Juniper Creek.

 

"Golly, I hope Bill Hendrickson's here!"

And then there's Jodi.  She says her area of concern was prom-ing it with her date Napoleon Dynamite.

 

Hey, Jodi, cheer up!  At least he's not Roman Grant.

Point?  I was mistaken. 

Because when I remember specific items from 80's and think, 'There can't possible be a worse look,' there's always a worse look... am I right, Shannon?

 

"Right, Jen."