jennsylvania

And Party Ev-e-ry Day

If you read Bright Lights, Big Ass, you already know how I feel about today so I'll spare you the extended Ctrl+Alt+INSERTOMGIHATEHALLOWEENSOGODDAMNMUCH macro of the annual holiday booby trapping of the yard and the celebratory taping of garbage bags over the windows.

However, during dinner last night I began to question my extensive preparations.  "What if neighborhood children manage to penetrate our festively armed perimeter?" I asked. "It's one thing to be the mean old curmudgeons who encourage their dogs to bark when kids walk on our grass.  But what if we're forced somehow into opening the door?" 

Fletch interrupted to ask, "Why would be be forced into opening the door?"

"Well, like, what if UPS arrives to deliver my new pink track pants and when I go to sign there are a bunch of little Harry Potters standing on our steps?  We can't send them away empty-handed.  That's just shitty.  I'm not going to bark, 'No candy for you!' in a kid's face.  Even I'm not that cold.  So what do we do?  The only treat we have in the house is half an exotic bacon-chocolate bar* from Vosges.  Do we give each of the kids a bite?  Otherwise, what can we offer?"

Fletch chewed his salad and looked thoughtful for a moment.  "There's a whole case of canned San Marzano tomatoes we could pass out.  When the kids say, 'Trick or treat' we'll ask, 'Would you prefer with or without basil?'"

"That seems like a really good way to get the front of our house pelted with cans," I replied.

"But they're San Marzano," he countered.  "They're the Rolls Royce of canned tomatoes."

(The man is dead serious.  Again, this is why we aren't having children.)

"Hmm.  Maybe I'd better run to Target, just in case."

So now if any kid manages to survive the obstacle course leading to our front door and catches us before we head out for an evening of diner food and upscale furniture store window-shopping, he or she will be handsomely rewarded with a fun-size Snickers bar and the affirmation, "Well-played, Harry Potter.  Well-played."

*You might think the combination of Applewood smoked bacon, Alder smoked salt, and chocolate is sick and wrong and not of the Lord.  You would be wrong.  Here's more info if you're curious.   

* * *

Anyway, my whole point is to grudgingly wish you a Happy Halloween (if you're into that sort of thing) and also to inform you the greatest costume in the world was already worn thirty years ago.

 

"I want to Rock & Roll all night - or at least until Donny and Marie come on."

Maybe You Should Let It Go to Voicemail Next Time?

When Fletch gets home from work tonight, we might be having The Talk. 

This is a lousy way to start my gala birthday week, except I kind of have The Talk coming because I keep breaking his "please don't call my BlackBerry unless it's an emergency" rule.  Fletch has a personal cell phone and also an office line I'm supposed to use for the what-do-you-want-for-dinner-no-not-spaghetti-I-already-had-that-for-lunch-type conversations.  He ALWAYS answers his BlackBerry, regardless of if he's in a meeting or at a lunch with vendors or in a seminar. His BlackBerry is his Bat Phone.

I started skating on thin ice last week when I accidentally called his BlackBerry to tell him we didn't get a parking ticket because of my fast thinking.  And then I phoned to cry about how many squats and lunges my trainer made me do and how I could no longer walk down the stairs or sit on the toilet, and I followed it up by telling him the place next door put up the world's ugliest curtains.  (Seriously?  They're a weathered set of psychedelic sheets, circa 1967.) 

He began to show serious signs of annoyance when I redialed again to let him know I ran across my 6th grade boyfriend.  That night, he gently reminded me I should use that number for, "Floods, fires, and felonies, not Facebook."

And this is why I fear my most recent call to inform him, "Maisy just humped your pillow," may well have pushed him over the edge.

 

"Don't hate the player, hate the game."

You Know How I Never Ask for Anything?

UPDATE, 10/29 - Kim won by a margin of over 3500 votes!  Thank you all!!

* * *

Today I'm asking... please vote for Kimberly Klein.

Here's a quick summary of who she is:

She has three kids.

Went back to law school.

Started a blog.

Diagnosed with breast cancer.

Nearly done with treatments, lost hair and is down to 5 eyelashes.

Blog nominated for $10,000 law scholarship.

Could totally use the money. 

(Summary totally plagiarized from an email from Susie Sunshine who thought I might not remember because the day we had lunch with Kim is also the day Susie barfed in the cab.)

Many thanks!

Bringing Sexy Back... And Exchanging It for Store Credit

Setting:  Our bedroom at midnight last night.  Fletch is trying out his brand new sphygmomanometer (which sounds dirty!) (but is actually the polar opposite of dirty!) because his doctor says he needs to monitor his blood pressure due to his stressful job and also because he's getting older. 

(But not me!  I'm not worried about getting older, despite the fact I'm going to be forty in less than two weeks.  I embrace my years and all the changes time has wrought!  Age is just a number!)

(Although I'm going in for a consult tomorrow about Botox, Restylane, and Regenique for an entirely unrelated matter.)

(Anyway, I was saying?)

Me:  You're doing it wrong.

Fletch: (adjusting the cuff) I'm not doing it wrong.

Me:  No, I'm pretty sure you are.

Fletch:  It's fine.  It's supposed to go like this.

Me:  It's not fine.

Fletch:  IT IS FINE.

Me:  Bzzt!  Wrong!

Fletch: (gestures to digital display) Do you realize your 'help' is causing my blood pressure to rise as we speak?  (fools around with some buttons to record his reading)

Me:  Do mine next! (thrust left arm at him and he begins to adjust cuff) Ow!  Owie!  You're doing it wrong again!

Fletch: (deep sigh) You're supposed to feel pressure.  That's why it's a blood PRESSURE monitor.

Me: (whimpering) Is it done yet?

Fletch:  Yeah, you're good. (puts cuff and monitor away)

Me:  Well, how many pressures do I have?

Fletch:  You're fine.

Me:  But how many?  Or how much?

Fletch:  You're fine.

Me:  Give me the damn number.

Fletch: (sighs again) You're 120 over 66.

Me:  Is that good?

Fletch:  Yes, it's good, especially for the diastolic.

Me: Then why didn't you just say so?

Fletch:  Because I figured you'd spend all day tomorrow bragging about your "outstanding" blood pressure on Twitter.

Me:  Pfft, I wouldn't dream of Twittering about it.

I mean, really?  Outstanding blood pressure needs to be noted on my blog.

FACE!

I got talked into putting up a profile on Facebook. 

I've gotten a bunch of Facebook requests in the past and I ignored them because I didn't know what they meant.  (And I figured I was on enough goddamned community networking sites already.)  However, my friend Wendy (who is smart) convinced me I needed to be there and promised me Facebook was WAY less seizure-inducing than MySpace, so here I am.

Anyway, now you can friend me or network me or something me, because I still don't fucking understand what it is or how to direct you there.

I don't really have a follow-up statement here, so, um, carry on?

Edited to Add:

Here's my profile link if you didn't see it in the comments section.  Also, people are sending me sheep, drinks, and triva.  AM NOT RUDE FOR RESPONDING - SIMPLY DO NOT COMPREHEND.  (This has to be why I've been more comfortable with an application for 13 year olds.) 

Edited to Add Again:

I guess the link only works if you're logged into Facebook.  In related news, Facebook ate up 70% of my day yesterday because it's addicting.  In more related news, Fletch and I had to have a chat last night about reasons it is appropriate to call him out of a meeting.  Fire, felony, flood?  YES.  Finding your sixth grade boyfriend on Facebook - the one you 'went with' for 48 hours and never actually spoke to because you were a socially awkward eleven year old?  NO.

Excellent News!

Alternative title to this post? 

Fire Your Creative Director Because the Serious Message You're Trying to Communicate Almost Caused Me to Rear-End the Bus, What With All the Laughing

"If only they'd bring back the McRib, my life would be complete."

Have Drinks with Jen

If a tree falls in a forest and no one's around to hear it, does it make a sound?

I haven't a clue.

What I do know is if I have a couple of book events and FORGET TO TELL PEOPLE ABOUT THEM, then it will be exactly as though they never happened.

So...

Friday, October 19, 2007 - The Book Cellar at 4736 N. Lincoln Ave in Chicago, 7:00 PM - ?

I'll be there as a part of the Chicago's Wittiest Women Writers event with the ever-so-awesome Stacey Ballis, Wendy McClure, Claire Zulkey, and Elizabeth Crane.  The Book Cellar's website promises we'll regale you with quips and wisecracks all night long.  All I know is I'm having drinks beforehand, so possibly slurring, shouting, and sweating Chardonnay should be included in this description.  Also, and this can't be stated too emphatically, THE BOOK CELLAR SERVES DRINKS!  I mean, my God, a bookstore where you can have wine?  Are you kidding me?  Why am I not there every day?

Saturday, October 20, 2007 - Joliet Library Author Fair at 3359 Black Road, Joliet, IL from 11:00 AM - 3:00 PM

Likely still sweating Chardonnay from the night before, I'll be there for a signing and meet-and-greet with Laura Caldwell and Stacey Ballis, who has way more self-control than me and will likely not be sweating Chardonnay.  On her website, Stacey alludes to the promise of free gifts for stopping by our table at the fair.  At the moment, I don't have shit for you.  But perhaps I can cobble together my own free gifts from the Galley of Regrettable Hair Care Products and Old, Thick Nail Polishes currently taking up all the real estate in my bathroom cabinet.

On Saturday night, Laura, Stacey, and I will see Kathy Griffin at the Chicago Theater.  I only mention this on the slim chance one of you can coerce Kathy into having drinks with us after the show.

In other news, still not done editing right now. 

But I will be by this weekend.

Be afraid.

The Audacity of Hate

Who likes hate mail?

I do, I do!

Here's an absolute gem from today's mailbag:

Dear Jennifer,

I enjoyed your first "literary effort" a great deal although the astericks (sic - I think she means quotation marks) (and possibly a different spelling) got a bit annoying, I do realize that's part of your (sic) "schtick."  Naturally, I purchased your follow up and quite frankly was instantly turned off by the Fox "News" and Sean Hannity ("Sean Insanity" as I refer to him) references.  The final nail in the coffin though, was the part where you are on the bus and pull the Ann Coulter ("Man Coulter" imho) out of your tote bag.  My limit with you particular sensibilities was reached and I didn't even bother to use the drop box at the library (as a donation.)  It went right into the garbage compacter (sic) (to make certain it was good and truly crushed and destroyed.)

I feel bad for you.  You seemed like someone cool to hang out with, fun to read, etc...

Mare

My response?

You'll be missed.  "Not."

And then I laughed myself into an asthma attack and made some waffles.

Later, after I finished breakfast, I began to really think about the contents of this note as it relates to my writing.  In Bright Lights, Big Ass, it's true, I do mention I'm conservative.  And I mention I like FOX, Sean, and Ann because I do like them.  Rush, too.  Which in no way implies I hold every single thing they say to be God's Own Truth. 

Why? 

Because I'm capable of critical thinking and drawing my own conclusions based on material presented.   And because I can read and enjoy something without having to be in complete conceptual agreement.

What gets me about Mare's email is I go to great lengths to scrub my writing of conservative commentary.  I respect my readers and I'm well aware many of them have Obama 08 stickers on the back of their cars. 

(And that's pretty cool.  It's exciting to see Americans so damn fired up about a candidate, regardless of whether or not that politician reflects my views.) 

Speaking of my views, I'm extraordinarily careful not to touch on polarizing topics such as terrorism, gun control, Social Security, etc.  Yeah, there are venues where I express my political ideology, but my books aren't one of them.  I'd rather share the stuff that unites us, like our collective fear of taking our pants off in front of medical professionals or why our grocery stores play so damn much Journey.  And, please, the most political among us have been able to set aside differing opinions and enjoy each other's company, e.g. Tip O'Neill and Ronald Reagan routinely getting together for cold drinks and story-telling even after the most bloody battles on the House floor. 

For Mare to have such a violent reaction at my opposing views is just kind of... ignorant.  Especially when she never even heard (a) what that opinion entails or (b) the thought process behind it.  That'd be like me dismissing her because she sells 3M window film (note:  please refrain from using a Google-stalkable address when sending hate mail) or loathing anyone who doesn't eat waffles.

Were I to limit my exposure to those who exclusively shared my ideals, then the only person I'd ever talk to would be my husband.  As much as I love him, I'd be missing out on knowing a lot of great people.

Mare says she feels sorry for me. 

Which... really?

Because I feel sorry for you, Mare.  I'm sorry you feel that opposing (albeit unknown) viewpoints are such an anathema.  I'm sorry your mind is so closed that you can't get past the specifics of a small fraction of the TV I watch and the books that I read.  And I'm sorry you had to burn the time and gray matter this morning to let me know exactly how offensive my (unspoken) views are.

Again, you'll be missed. 

Not.

P.S.  You realize now I'm obligated to take the two dollars I earned from your purchase to buy Ann's newest, right?

Wagging Sanity's Tail

Is the editing process causing me to lose it?

I'm not sure. 

However, I did just take a break for twenty minutes to explain to Fletch how I determined which of our dogs is a liberal (Maisy) and which one's a conservative (Loki.) 

OK, maybe I'm losing it a little.

(And perhaps Fletch is regretting his decision to work from home today?)

"I'm not wearing a flag pin either, bitches."