jennsylvania

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.