jennsylvania

This Book Does Not Suck*

OK, seriously?

How do I NOT buy this book?

And yes, it's cute so far and no, it's not derivative.  (Get your copy here.) 

But if her next book is Bright Lights, Big Bite and she follows up with Such a Pretty Fang, I may start to have a problem.

*Get it?  Vampire pun?  What, not funny?  OK, just me then.

Another Quiz!

Here's today's Jen-Point Quiz, Thanksgiving Edition. 

(Hey!  Look at that - when you don't DEMAND content, I post more often!) 

(Also, I finally got a new wireless card and can stay online for more than five minutes at a time, unlike all of last week.)

Anyway, you are the service professional I've hired to clean my house because my parents are coming for the holiday.  And damn it, I may not have given them grandchildren, but I can provide a sparkling home and seven kinds of cheese, especially if I outsource the non-cheese-related tasks.

So, before you attack my hair-covered floors and cobwebby corners, you prefer to change into play clothes.  To do so you:

A)  Go to the bathroom on the first floor and close the door for privacy.

B)  Go to the sun porch and close the door for privacy.

C)  Go to the guest bath and close the door for privacy.

D)  Go to the master bath and close the door for privacy.

E)  After marveling at how many bathrooms two people have in what's really a tiny little house, you go to the bedroom and close the door for privacy.

F)  Go to the guest room and close the door for privacy.

G)  Drop trou IN THE MIDDLE OF THE FRONT HALLWAY, which is the main passageway to all points listed above. 

Not sure how to answer? 

Here's a hint - choose correctly and Fletch and I will spend the rest of the day giggling awkwardly and referring to you as "Olive Herpantsoff."   

The Widowmaker by Crate & Barrel

They say marriages end because of the three big A's - adultery, addiction, abuse. 

I'd like to add a fourth A to that list - ASSEMBLY.

Damn you, Crate & Barrel and your technical writers who clearly stated on the directions the cams were supposed to be inserted before seating the screws on the new bench.  You (and your ampersand) are ALL FIRED.

On the plus side, at least he's not putting together an IKEA piece. 

Because then we'd have to add ASSASSINATION to the list.

(for some reason the photo won't post - here's what he's building while I stay the heck out of the way upstairs)

No, Wait - It Gets Better

I realize it's not December and yet this is too ridiculous to leave dormant.

I received an email from Alyssa this evening with an apology.  She said she was sorry for causing internet drama and maybe she'd spoken out of line and blah blah blah, she's a nice person-cakes.  However, she stood behind her decision to not read my site anymore.  (Apparently  she regrets stirring up shit, yet is unwavering in her demand for a constant stream of free content.)  (And considering I have maybe two more books in me at best, I guess this means I'll have to find a way to make two dollars I'd have gotten from her elsewhere.)

Anyway, this is the part that kills me DEAD about her note - Alyssa would like me to tell all of you that she apologized because you've been saying mean things about her in the comments section of my friends-only MySpace page and it's hurting her feelings and she'd like you to stop sending negative karma her way.

On the off chance that this whole thing isn't a joke, and if it is - well fucking played, people, you got me - my mind is positively reeling right now. 

Again, let me get this straight if I can... Alyssa, a perfect stranger, decided I needed some advice on how to conduct myself as a writer/author.  But instead of simply stating her opinion, and despite having zero experience working in the publishing industry upon which to base said advice, she flat-out told me I was doing my job wrong.  She then accused me of breaking promises I never made.  She turned her note into a personal attack by bringing up the fact that I've recently gotten Botox (which I chronicled specifically for those who might be struggling with signs of aging so they'd know there's a cheap, easy, an effective tool out there to help) and that somehow by achieving a modicum of success, I have been changed as a person for the worse.  And instead of simply emailing me these thoughts in one of the half-dozen private vehicles for communication I've provided, e.g. email, Twitter messaging, MySpace messages, Facebook contacts, etc., she did so in the one public area of my webpage, ostensibly to make sure everyone saw it.

Yeah, I can't imagine why I'd have a visceral reaction, either.

Now, let's be clear on a couple of other things - there's been absolutely no "cyber-bullying" in my previous post.  I didn't impugn Alyssa's character - a courtesy she did not afford me - nor did I offer any way for readers who disagreed with her to contact her and tell her so, even though I could have easily posted her full name, email address, MySpace page, photo, etc.  (Seriously, people - how often do we have to have the IP address conversation?)  In addition, I specifically closed all comments on my Jennsylvania.com site as well as the blog portion of my MySpace page because I didn't want it to turn into a big bash-on-Alyssa party because I'm honestly not a big fan of the dogpile.

A few of you guys found a way to post your thoughts under the general comments area of my MySpace page and apparently this is what's hurting her feelings and Alyssa wants me to make it stop.

Oh, Alyssa, Alyssa, Alyssa... here's where you learn a valuable lesson on CONSEQUENCES.  Do you really feel you have the right to come onto my private property - a place you were allowed to visit, with the caveat that you could stay if you behaved - stir up a bunch of shit, and then have the nerve to be hurt and surprised as a DIRECT RESULT OF THE ACTIONS YOU CHOSE TO TAKE? 

And do you think just because you say you're sorry that everything POOF! goes away? 

Because in my world, it doesn't. 

"I'm sorry," implies regret about something that happened accidentally when the truth is you willfully entered a public forum and maligned me. 

YOU CAUSED THIS ACTION.

YOUR ACTIONS HAVE CONSEQUENCES.

YOU CAN'T UNRING THAT BELL. 

Now people are saying mean stuff about you (again, first name only - they don't know who you are, where you work, or where you live) and you don't like it because it's sending bad karma your way. 

Again, if there's bad karma, YOU CAUSED IT.  THIS IS ENTIRELY YOUR OWN DOING.   

My readers weren't sitting around their computers wondering, "Who can we pick on?"  You started a fight - badly, I might add - and based it on false premises and now you've found fighting doesn't suit your delicate sensibilities and you want it to stop. 

But the place where you want "it" to stop is my private forum for friends.  And you wouldn't even know if this if you didn't SEEK OUT WHAT PEOPLE WERE SAYING ABOUT YOU, thus leading me to believe you knew exactly what you were doing in the first place when you decided to start trouble and therefore your sorries are false and fall on deaf ears.

How about this?  How about I'm sorry you acted like an asshole and I'm sorry you don't like the consequences that have followed your actions.

On the bright side, your ridiculous request got me to post again before December 1, so everyone's probably less mad at you now.

Pretty sure they're still laughing at you, though.

P.S.  Seriously, say you're going to stop reading me and really mean it.  I promise you you'll be happier because of it.

See You in December

From a comment I received today:

Seriously...I think this "author" thing has gone to your head. First you become successful and get book deals BECAUSE of your blog, then only update once or twice a month, THEN say your going to update everyday and don't. Are you too busy botoxing your brain out and complaining? I love reading your material...but think about your audience, and maybe try to keep them around by actually...writing....for free. It seems like you don't want to blog and only want us to go out and buy your books. Which, by the way, I'd be more than happy to do if you actually kept me interested in between them. This is one reader who's done.

-- Alyssa

Let's address this one line by line, shall we?

Seriously...I think this "author" thing has gone to your head.

Totally.  Now I wipe my ass with pages torn from books by Hemingway, Steinbeck, and Faulkner because those punk-ass chumps can't hold a candle to me and my footnotes!

First you become successful and get book deals BECAUSE of your blog...

Absolutely!  This is precisely why EVERY blogger has a book deal.  Publishers don't care if you have a unique voice or a new slant on an old story.  They could give a shit about professionalism or ability to meet deadlines.  And even when your editor says she never bought a book from a blogger before and hasn't since and that your website had zero bearing on her purchase decision, she's lying because we all know the only thing that matters is having a URL.  Duh.

...then only update once or twice a month...

Again, I call bullshit on me because everyone's aware that writing and editing books is so very easy and not at all time consuming and even after twelve hours of staring at your own words on the page (that someone already paid for and you're obligated to make as coherent as you can), the first thing you want to do when you finish isn't A) shower, or B) sleep, it's C) write more stuff because Alyssa says you have to.

...THEN say your (sic) going to update everyday and don't.

I must have been kidding when on 11/11/07 I posted the caveat, "Yes, I'm totally quitting NaBloPoMo.  I made it eleven days.  That's plenty.  I'll be back when I have something - ANYTHING - of value to say."

Are you too busy botoxing your brain out and complaining?

Apparently so.  Because I'm an author, there's no such thing as illness or a faulty wireless card or holiday prep or, you know, LIFE to get in the way of my daily blogging duties.

I love reading your material...but think about your audience, and maybe try to keep them around by actually...writing....for free. It seems like you don't want to blog and only want us to go out and buy your books.

I suck, don't I?  Every other author out there routinely provides thousands of words for free ON A WEBSITE WITHOUT ADS WHICH ACTUALLY COSTS THEM HUNDREDS OF DOLLARS PER YEAR TO MAINTAIN on a daily basis.  I need to get with the program.  Why am I so busy fucking around with a fourth book proposal when there's all this blogging to do?  

It seems like you don't want to blog and only want us to go out and buy your books.

Yep, that's why all my posts are nothing but blatant marketing pitches.  My blogs certainly aren't a way to reach out and connect with friends and family, or to thank readers for their patronage.  Also, I'll be sure and remove the links to purchase my books on the side panel since we agree they're patently offensive.

Which, by the way, I'd be more than happy to do if you actually kept me interested in between them. This is one reader who's done.

Alyssa, please send me your address so that I can return the $2 I earned if you purchased both of my books.

I mean, really?  This is America, and if $2 doesn't buy you an entire lifetime of my thoughts delivered hot and fresh on a daily basis, then truly the terrorists have won.

Jenny Appleseed

Here's the deal:

You can maintain your yard by occasionally having your trees trimmed...

or I WILL TRIM THEM FOR YOU.

Your choice.

(Neighborhood trees = 0, Jen = 3)

This Turf War Is Brought to You by the Walt Disney Corporation

There's a turf war being fought in my neighborhood between rival gangs. 

This escalation has caused both sides to step up their tagging efforts, most of which has taken place on city-owned garbage cans, which... whatever.  If these idiots want to posture over who's really in charge of the mean streets of Bucktown by marking up containers full of used coffee filters, chicken bones, and bags of soiled cat litter, then have it.  (Personally, I'd find it much more useful if they acted like proper neighborhood warlords and I'd happily pay a small protection fee if they'd force service professionals to honor their tree-trimming appointments and got pizzas to be delivered more quickly.) 

(But maybe that's just me.) 

(Yes, the tree-trimmers are three hours late today - how did you know?)

What gets me are the names of these new gangs staking claim.  Gone are the tags from fearsome sounding groups such as the Bloods and the Crips.  (Most often, I see these kids on MTV award shows and on HBO specials, leading me to believe they're off the streets due to landing development deals with CAA.)  Around here, I never see anything from chillingly-named gangs such as the Vice Lords or the Latin Kings or the Insane Gangster Satan Disciples. 

OK, really? 

Insane Gangster Satan Disciples? 

Now THAT'S a gang name!  You could not evoke a more sinister image than a bunch of crazy-ass thugs with no concept of right or wrong running around committing mayhem in the name of the devil!  They sound fucking terrifying, don't they?  That is some Judgment Night shit there, people.  Hey, Insane Gangster Satan Disciples?  Major snaps to your Creative Director. 

Anyway, this is why I have to laugh whenever I see the new tags around here.  Care to know who's duking it out in my 'hood right now? 

The Spanish Lords?

The Insane Orquestra Albany?

The Almighty Imperial Gangsters?

The Insane Deuces?

No.

The Goof Troop and The Loony Birds

Seriously, you can find more hair-raising names in a freaking Harry Potter book.  Ravenclaws?  Dementors?  Death-eaters?  Horcruxes?  Basilisks?  Come on! 

Although, to be fair maybe the Loony Birds and Goof Troopers really are all blood-thirsty and bad-ass and frightening and they chose innocuous-sounding names because of the irony factor.  And yet these names give me a real High School Musical vibe and I half expect them to work out their differences... through dance. 

(I'll keep you all posted if a Michael Jackson video breaks out on my street.)

Opinion?

OK, fine. 

It's possible that not every single box of the Zappos order was Fletch's. 

Maybe someone else in this house has been freaking desperate to find a pair wide-calf boots and she knows she has to get them NOW, NOW, NOW or else all the other better-organized girls with muscular calves with snatch up every damn pair and they won't be available again until next year which she found out the hard way last February when she spent six fruitless hours looking for them online and if she doesn't get them this year it will really suck because she has since determined Crocs simply aren't good snow shoes and this is why she ordered a bunch of Zappos boots to try, none of which fit properly except for the pair below which she is on the fence about because she can't determine whether or not they look like stripper shoes.

Please select from the following:

A)  OMG, so cute!

B)  Cute, but will they really go with your twinsets?

C)  Not cute, but better than Crocs.  Dear God, anything is better than Crocs, and sweet Jesus, don't let her discover those Sherpa Crocs.

D)  Yeah, they'll look cute... ON THE POLE.

The person who lives here and is not Fletch thanks you for your support.

* * *

UPDATE:  All right, all right!  I get it.  You hate them.  You REALLY hate them.  As of this moment, I promise they're all boxed up and ready to be sent back so a more deserving dancer/drag queen can wear them in good health.

Let us never speak of this incident again.

(But they were kind of cute with my long black skirt.)

The Botox Diaries - Less Is More

Holy cats... THIS SHIT IS WORKING!

Seriously, do a side-by-side comparison with Thursday, and... wow!  Poison is the new black!

And in completely random, can-you-tell-how-tired-I-am-of-blogging-daily news, I got a new keychain and it is AWESOME.

Do not do a side-by-side comparison of my photo and the keychain, because, really?  My forehead will NEVER be this smooth.

(This post brought to you by those who value quantity over quality.  And yes, I'm totally quitting NaBloPoMo.  I made it eleven days.  That's plenty.  I'll be back when I have something - ANYTHING - of value to say.)

Quick But Important

Today's Real Housewives of Cook County tip:

When getting a spray tan, either go bare or wear a lined bikini top.

That is, unless you want to spend the next 24 hours trying to figure out why the weird rash on your boobs looks exactly like the pattern of your old lace bra.

(No photos on this entry... you're welcome!)

Jen's List

Can anyone explain to me why I was up at the ass-crack of dawn today to wait for a plumber who never showed up? 

AGAIN? 

It's like waiting for goddamn Godot around here... if Godot charged $150/hour for labor. 

Here's a partial list of service professionals who have failed to honor their appointments in the past two months.  (I'm sure there's more; I just can't remember them all.)

MISSING IN (IN)ACTION:

The tree guys

The OTHER tree guys

The third plumber

The cleaning service who was supposed to be really good

The cleaning service who was supposed to be moderately good, but cheap and efficient

The dryer repairman who technically tried to show up but we told to pound sand after he:

A)  was three hours late

B)  told us we gave him the wrong street address (even though we had an e-copy of the online request and our address was correct) (also, after being two and a half hours late, Fletch fielded the call where the guy told him our "house was missing" and I am deeply sorry not to have witnessed this interaction)

C)  said he was late because he had a flat tire

D) and couldn't call us because he needed a new cellphone battery

E)  which he had to stop and replace before getting to our house

(I can't believe he didn't tell us the dog ate his homework, too.)

Is business so great everywhere that service professionals don't need the income generated from checking our shower for leaks, trimming our trees, sucking hair out of our vents, and fixing the timer on our dryer?  WTF?  We keep briefing our landlords about the various repairs we're arranging so they can budget accordingly and they've got to think we're the biggest flakes for having NONE of them completed yet.

Anyway, am busy for the rest of the day.  Feel free to share your service professional horror stories in the comments.

The Botox Diaries - Day One

Right before I finished the first draft of Such a Pretty Fat a couple of months ago, my editor and I began to talk about author photos for the back page.  The pictures on the last two books were all serious and pose-y and I decided we should do something more funny for the third.

Without going into detail and ruining some of the Pretty Fat surprises, suffice it to say there's more than one mention of Barbie dolls in the book.  Long story short, I thought it would be hysterical to have my author photo taken with a Barbie styling head.  My editor agreed and we moved on to other topics of conversation. 

What with my propensity for procrastination, instead of finishing the book after our call, I thought I'd just take some shots of myself to get a general idea of how a Barbie/Jen photograph might look.

Naturally, this was a BAD idea.

Observe:

What bothered me about this shot (other than the fact I look BATSHIT CRAZY, especially with the dogs wrestling in the background) is how awful my skin looked.  Leathery, spotty, and in need of a serious ironing.  I kept staring at this shot and thinking, oh, honey, the sun is NOT your friend.  The more I looked, the more I wanted to print out this photo and take it around to grade schools to Scare Kids Straight into Sunscreen.

Despite my heroic lack of time management, I managed to finish the book and didn't have the opportunity to dwell on what was happening above my shoulders.  Shortly after that, my manuscript came back for editing and I got immersed again in work. 

And then I finished the revisions and I found myself with nothing but time.

And a mirror.

And an approaching (SCARY) birthday.  So I sought out a solution.

And when I found out procedures like Botox and microdermabrasion cost less than a good pair of boots or one night in a nice hotel, I said SIGN. ME. UP. 

And long story short (mainly because I hope to sell it elsewhere), I had my first session of microdermabrasion last week and this evening, I got Botox. 

And, seriously? 

It was so not a big deal. 

Getting Botox was less invasive than having my teeth cleaned.  (Only, you know, with more poison.)

Apparently it takes two weeks for the Botox to "sink in," so here's me and my Gordon Ramsays (and in all my orange glory) on Day One:

"Let's get this party started."

Quickly Losing My Enthusiasm for This Project, Yet Soldiering On Anyway

Setting:  The little alcove off the bedroom where I write.  Fletch is on the computer, I'm putting laundry away in the closet behind him, and the dogs are wrestling on the bed a few feet away.

Fletch: So they'll deliver the shoes free?  And I can order however many pair I want, try them all on, and then decide which I want to keep?

Me:  Uh-huh.

Fletch:  And I can send back all the rejects for free?

Me:  Yep.

Fletch:  And I never have to deal with a salesperson or go from store to store, digging through sale racks to find what I want?

Me:  That's right.

(a few minutes later)

Fletch:  Check out what I've picked so far.

Me: (scanning his selections) Honey, Zappos.com is going to have to use a dump truck to deliver all those shoes to our house.  Maybe you should narrow your choices a little.

Fletch:  I would but I can't concentrate - the dogs are wrestling too loudly. 

(the entire time he's been online, the dogs have been biting each other, diving over one another, woofing, snarling, and picking pillows up off the bed and shaking them like British nannies)

Me:  Pfft.  Welcome to my world.  They beat each other up all day long while I'm trying to write.  You just have to learn to work past the distraction.

Fletch:  Why do they have to do it on the bed?  We have a whole house they can terrorize each other in.

Me: (shrugging) I guess it's more comfortable so they they can fight longer.  (pause) Hey, wait a minute - I just thought of something.  That's why the floors are all springy when you see people in a boxing or wrestling ring, isn't it?  The bouncy floors cushion their landings.  Did you know that?

Fletch:  Um, yeah.

Me:  Oh, wait - is this one of those instances where everyone was aware of this fact except for me?

Fletch: (thoughtfully) What number is greater than "everyone"?  Everyone and a bag of chips?  Everyone and the horse they rode in on?

Me:  Whatever.  Just promise me you're not going to order 900 pair of shoes.

Fletch:  Promise.

"Technically, there aren't 900 pair here."

If I Don't Have Time Later, This May Count as Today's Post

For those of you keeping track at home, the score is now...

SELF-TANNER - 2

JEN - 0

Please be on the lookout for my next book, Orange Is the New Black.

"Just add pearls, profanity, and a popped collar."

Sweet Jen L's

We need to discuss a very important topic today and the conclusions we draw may well divide us.

"Like what, Jen?" you ask.

"Peace?"  "Politics?"  "Philosophy?"

No... today we need to talk about cupcakes.

(As a caveat, I'm not a cupcake aficionado like either of these gals.  However, I'm a fat person with a serious carbohydrate jones and I know what I like, thus I'm qualified to direct this discussion.) 

After the Whole Foods debacle, I decided to get cupcakes in lieu of a cake proper.  Since I had the time and it was my birthday, I figured I was obligated to purchase the finest cupcakes available.  I did a search on Yelp.com and fellow Chicagoans recommended Sweet Mandy B's, a twee little bakery in Lincoln Park. 

So, I set off on Mission Cupcake and drove about ten minutes from my house.  I pulled up and got to park right out front (bonus points!) and I began to enter the pastel storefront.  However, a jackass dashed in the door right before I was able to grab the knob.  This man appeared to have come directly from the movie Wall Street with his slicked-back hair, shiny suspenders, and manic energy.  While I seethed about his rudeness, he kept bounding back and forth between display cases and offering a constant stream of persiflage. 

"You know, you guys have the best cupcakes in the city.  I mean it.  Yours?  Totally primo.  And you know other bakeries are trying to do what you do?  And you know what?  They're just copying.  You guys are the original.  You guys are the best.  And you know what?  No one else does stuff like this."

I'm not sure if he was high on Bolivian marching powder or sugar, but I do know after two seconds in his presence, I wanted to kick him in the throat.  Also, dude?  They're FUCKING CUPCAKES.  Sweet Mandy B's did not INVENT cupcakes.  Cupcakes existed LONG BEFORE THIS PLACE OPENED.  For God's sake, I clearly recall bringing this exact substance to school thirty years ago because it was my birthday.  And if my mom invented the cupcake, then someone needs to cut her a check.

Anyway, Gordon Gekko bought a giant stack-o-cakes and eventually paid and got out of the way and I finally got a good look at the cupcake selection.  And can I tell you this?

NOT IMPRESSED. 

They appeared to be garden-variety cupcakes, neither large nor small.  They had the homemade look of imperfection - they were uneven, with parts of the baked cake spilling over the sides.  Strike one.  If I'm paying $2/cake, they should be perfectly uniform and I don't give a shit if it looks like they came from a commercial bakery. 

Anyway, I picked out six cakes - one lemon, one orange, one chocolate/chocolate iced, one red velvet with cream cheese frosting, one golden with chocolate icing, and one golden with pink icing.  The whole time I was making my selection, I was also being swarmed by small flying insects.  (I did ask if I could get one "without gnats" and the counter person said none of them had nuts.  Strike two.)

I paid for my cupcakes and the cashier handed me my box.  I ran the rest of my glamorous birthday errands (dropping off dry cleaning, buying dog food, mailing bills) and didn't crack open the box until I got home for I am a heroic model of self-control. Then I couldn't figure out which one I wanted, so I took bites out of the lemon, the orange, and the golden/pink.  (Perhaps I spoke a bit soon about my heroic self-control.)

Again?  NOT IMPRESSED.

Here's my problem - cupcakes should be dense, moist, and richly flavored and the frosting should be light and buttery.  Frosting is supposed to begin to melt when it touches the heat of your lips.  These cakes were dry and airy and they were covered in a thick, super-sugary confection I could use to respackle the wall next to my shower where there's water damage. 

In my opinion, cupcakes should make you ache for a glass of milk, not a toothbrush.  A good cupcake is ALL ABOUT THE CAKE.  The frosting should just be (forgive me) the icing on the cake.  Plus, the taste of these particular cakes wasn't anything I couldn't achieve with a box of Duncan Hines and some flavored extract.  (However, we are talking about cupcakes so it's not like they were bad.  They just weren't what I wanted or expected.)

So, here are my questions for today:

1)  For the local people - where should I go for cupcakes around here?

2)  For everyone else, what constitutes a good cupcake for you?  Is the light cake/heavy frosting what most people want?  Is there a variety I should seek, e.g. "You haven't lived until you tried a coconut/eggnog/Chai tea cupcake."

3)  If I wanted to buy the world's finest cupcake, where would I go?  (And are they available online?)

Discuss.

P.S.  Yes, I did consume a cupcake while writing this post.  I had the red velvet one.  It was better in terms of density and flavor, but again, nothing I couldn't achieve at home.