jennsylvania

As You Wish

Lotta ground to cover here today, so prepare yourself.

OK, here we go.

RECOMMENDED READING

First, you people want book recommendations?  You got 'em.  Here's everything I've finished in the last month:

Queen of the Road is basically what would happen if you took me, gave me a modicum of maturity and a better education, and then tricked me into living on a (very nice) bus with my husband and pets for a year.  I loved this book and I love this author.  If you want a taste of what I'm talking about, check out Doreen Orion's website; it's probably the best author's site I've ever seen.  Lots of multimedia stuff and you can read parts of the book!

A hidden bonus of going on book tour is meeting bookstore owners and employees.  Such was the case at Good Great Place for Books in Oakland.  (BTW, all of you who warned me about how murder-y Oakland is?  Yeah, my biggest fear in this 'hood was being run over by a Range Rover.)  Anyway, the owner picked out The Book of Joe by Jonathan Tropper and promised I'd enjoy it.  She was so right.  It's a story about an author who wrote a novel trashing the town where he grew up and what happens when he finally returns to that town years later.

Whacked by Jules Asner frustrates me, but only because as soon as I finished it I wanted to send Jules a big, squealing fangirl note and there's pretty much no way to contact her.  No website, no MySpace, no Facebook, no nothing.  (My guess it's because she's married to director Steven Soderberg and probably doesn't need ten billion aspiring screenwriters and actors using her book as an excuse to get to him.)  Regardless, Whacked is kind of dark chick lit where the heroine is a stalker, but you root for her anyway.  And love you, Jules Asner!  Call me!  Don't make me continue to stalk YOU.

Allison Winn Scotch recommended Confessions of a Contractor by Richard Murphy.  (Do you read Allison's blog?  I buy everything she recommends and I've yet to be anything less than delighted.)  What's nice is this book actually explains why the fuck it took eight weeks to finish my bathroom, but more importantly, tells a solidly-crafted story about a contractor getting too involved with the lives of his clients.

The Opposite of Love by Julie Buxbaum is another AWS suggestion.  I picked it up about a month ago and didn't put it down until I was done.  It's a great novel about loss and love and finally figuring out who you are.  Spellbinding, seriously.

And now, for what I'm about to read:

Alison Pace is one of my favorite authors, so her new novel City Dog is at the top of my stack.  She excels at creating well-defined, witty characters.  City Dog is about a serious novelist who takes a segue into writing bestselling children's books -it's sure to be a treat!  Check out her Amazon blog and you can read the beginning!

Joanne Rendell is one of my MySpace buddies and her new book The Professors' Wives' Club just came out.  It's being billed as Sex and the City for the academic set, and how can that not be interesting? 

I bought Sheer Abandon by Penny Vincenzi because I opened it to a random page in the middle of the book and totally wanted to read more.  (That's my litmus test for any book, BTW.)  From what I understand it's about a baby born and abandoned in Heathrow airport and what happens when the kid grows up and wants to know who her mom is.  I totally got a Lace vibe from it and, naturally, that spoke to my 80's-Phoebe-Cates-loving heart.  ("Which one of you bitches is my mother?)

Twilight by Stephenie Meyer - this is my reward for finishing my own book.  NO ONE TELL ME WHAT HAPPENS.  I figure anything that's inspired that much Facebook flair has to be addictive.

Sometimes I buy a book just for the cover.  Check out Assisted Loving: True Tales of Double Dating with My Dad by Bob Morris.  Because 80 is the new 70.

WHAT I'M WATCHING

First, Gossip Girl.  Duh.  But I've also been totally and completely obsessed with the CBS show Swingtown. 

You guys, this is SO GOOD. 

The story takes place in a wealthy Chicago suburb in 1976.  It's about a nice nuclear family on its way up the social ladder.  They move from their bucolic middle class neighborhood to a big house by the lake, across the street from a couple with an open marriage who suck them in to a swinger lifestyle.

Yes, all of the above sounds really cheesy and tawdry, but the writers have done an amazing job making every character complex, like the head of the swingers who secretly wishes to be a regular housewife and the old neighbor who has trouble coming to terms with her friend's family's success.  Essentially the show is a bold look at the fallout from the sexual revolution of the 60's.  And it's available on iTunes if you're interested and you may be able to see full episodes on CBS.com, free.  Watch it for no reason other than to see the role Grant Show was born to play.

WEBSITES I OBSESSIVELY CHECK

If you all aren't already reading Jenny at the Blogess then do so immediately.  Four words for you:  Angry Transvestite Lego Army.

Senior editor Josh Wolk of EW has a blog and his take on pop culture is no less than brilliant.  Enjoy!  (And the next time I hit the bookstore, I'm getting his memoir Cabin Pressure.)

BATHROOM BEFORE AND AFTERS

Here's what my house looked like for eight weeks.

This was actually taken after some of the stuff was moved to the basement.  Please note how I cannot get to my side of the bed, as well as the inch-thick drywall dust.

This is our dressing area.  Do you know how many times I worried Fletch would get up in the dark and just whiz in the available toilet? 

Why I couldn't get to my treadmill for eight weeks.

The tiling that took weeks.  Multiple weeks.

Was it worth it?

The new ceiling in the powder room (that also took this bath out of the mix for eight weeks.)

My magnificent shower.  You can't really see the detail but the little tiles are onyx and are a million different shades of beach-glass green.

You also can't see the sink detail but it's a slab of quartz with tiny slashes of sage green and brown marbling.  You also can't see where Fletch had to shove the bucket because he just discovered that the sink is leaking.  HA, HA, HA, FUCK.

FINALLY, WHAT PASSES FOR HUMOR AROUND HERE

Fletch was shaving off his goatee but insisted I get shots of him with just a mustache first.  He laughed so hard he almost wet his pants when he saw this.  I was all, "You look like a Chicago cop, what of it?"

"I haz a butt."  "I haz a butt, too."

And finally, what I like to call Nature's Own Post-It Notes

Alrighty, I'll be back when the book is done! 

(If you guys have any suggestions for good books, shows, or websites in the interim, put them in the comments.)

The Book (And Record) Cellar

Shit!  I almost forgot to post this!  Tomorrow night (July 16) a group of authors are doing an event at The Book Cellar at 4736 N. Lincoln Ave at 7:00.  They include my buddy Jess Riley, Margot Justes, Libby Fischer Hellmann, and Francine Friedman.  Stacey and I plan to be there in the audience, so why not come out and support local authors at this amazing indie book seller?

Did I mention the bookstore has its own bar?  Books!  Drinks!  How could you not come?

What else?  Oh, yeah, I wrote more than 3,500 words yesterday.  (That's about fifteen book-typeset pages.)  Not sure what kind of roll I was on, but I hope to keep it up. 

Part of what's getting me/keeping me going is music.  I'm writing stories from childhood on up, so I've been listening to stuff that reminds me of those time periods.  It's amazing how one little hook or chorus can bring back so much imagery, like how Celebrate puts me right on the floor of the West Park Roller Rink, awkwardly navigating over spangled skate-laces or how Man in the Moon places me and my flannel/Birk/longjohn-clad self (shameful) at the end of the bar at Harry's, singing along with all the other patrons because we secretly believe REM should have put US in that video instead.

This is all a roundabout way of explaining why Fletch found me watching George Michael's Freedom '90 over and over again yesterday on YouTube.  "I'm working!" I told him. 

While I was thinking about the video later, it occured to me that some of my readers are practically babies (or I'm a dinosaur) and weren't even born until the '80s.  That means some of you were in grade school when this song/video came out.  Thus, some of you may have never even seen what is surely the greatest music video ever made. 

Seriously?  Naomi?  Linda?  Christy?  Cindy?  ELAINE IRWIN, MY VERY FAVORITE?

Your assignment for today is to watch it here on YouTube.  (Sony's disabled the ability to embed or I'd have posted it.)

Appreciate not only the video, but also George's enormous lyrical fuck-you to MTV and the record company.  Discuss.  Enjoy!

 

This Is What Procrastination Looks Like

Yesterday my friend Danny put this up on his blog. 

Everything about the entry made me bark with laughter because it so perfectly captures the essence of an author on deadline.  I was tempted to send him a note and a photo of my garden, saying, "Oh, honey, no.  THIS is what writer's block looks like." 

If I didn't have a book due, I'm sure I'd have thrown down a couple of geraniums and impatiens and called it done.  Instead, I concentrated my efforts, blending a hundred different kinds of plants together with the same singular dedication and precision only witnessed in lovestruck teen-aged boys starring in John Hughes films when they're making mixed tapes to woo Molly Ringwald. 

(Did I just date myself here?  If so, substitute "Nick Hornby book" for John Hughes movie and "Kate Winslet" for Molly Ringwald.) 

(If you have to substitue "Justin Timberlake video" and "Lauren Conrad" you're probably too young for my sense of humor.)

Anyway, my writer's block is a little different from Danny's.  It's not that I can't get out the words; they're there - all I have to do is sit at the computer and let them out.  Rather, when I'm on deadline, I find so many other things in my life that suddenly need to be fixed, planted, organized, and researched, like, right this minute.  Sure, I can work on my book... but not until I've rearranged everything in my bathroom cabinet, grouping hair products by size and manufacturer on the first shelf, face lotions and potions on the second, and body stuff on third, with requisite thinking breaks where I try to determine if an all over self-tanner should be housed on two or three as it's mostly for body but really, I'm only interested in tanning my face although I do get my neck and a bit of my shoulders and I wonder if I shouldn't install a fourth shelf for this very reason?

Occasionally this obsessive work avoidance is a good thing.  Take last year, for example. I found myself working out rather than working on my manuscript.  Yeah, it slowed my writing down, but it sure sped up my metabolism.  More recently, I fell into a bit of an internet rabbit hole yesterday while researching flight miles and I came out with a Gold membership reward level on American Airlines!  I can't really explain how I got the upgraded status, but it has to do with an unofficial Gold/Platinum challenge (that I still don't understand) and also a whole lot of time spent/links referenced to solidify my case.

Point? 

Who cares about the details when my procrastination has made me likely to get upgraded to First Class on my upcoming vacation?  Woo!!  The only down side is that Fletch isn't a Gold member and won't get the upgrade.  He says he's fine with coach as long as I don't get all obnoxious and officious and rub it in. 

(I make no promises.)

Again, point?

I'll be wallowing poolside this Fourth of July weekend and this is the book with which I plan to wallow:

Is there anything better than a deliciously trashy novel, read while sitting in a tepid body of water, frosty tropical drink in hand?

No.  No, there's not. 

Anyway, Tan Lines isn't officially released until July 8, but sometimes you can find books in the store early.  If you can't get one yet, don't fret.  I've been meaning to write up a reading list for a while, so why not do it right this minute in lieu of getting any further on my manuscript which is due at the end of the summer and which I won't get to for about five days while I'm poolside AND THERE'S NO STRESS HERE?

Thus I give you Jen's Summer Reading Series.  (Now with links that actually go where they're supposed to and one more bit of required reading.)

I highly recommend any of the following for all your beach-read needs:

Bringing Home the Birkin by Michael Tonello - I loved this book SO MUCH.  Tonello describes his pursuit of the Hermes Birkin bag in such beautiful places that I actually felt like I was somewhere exotic, and not just stuffed in a middle seat on my way to Cincinnati.  I would also like him to be my gay boyfriend but I suspect I'd feel all untucked and ungainly next to him.  He's completely FAB.

Girls in Trucks by Katie Crouch - I'm obsessed with books about Southern women and this one does not disappoint.  Southern sensibility plus ennui equals a riveting novel. 

Love the One You're With by Emily Giffin - Another great story by Giffin.  I think she's brilliant because she has the ability to make me feel like I'm living inside her character's head.

Chasing Harry Winston by Lauren Weisberger - I ignored the less than flattering reviews and bought the book anyway.  Because you know what?  Sometimes critics are just jealous.  Chasing Harry Winston is big fun and Weisberger does a great job creating three distinct and diverse heroines.  THIS should be the next book made into a Sex and the City-type series.  Loved it! 

Are You There Vodka, It's Me, Chelsea by Chelsea Handler - I bought it for the title alone and laughed the entire way through it.  I'd want us to be friends, too, but I'm afraid she'd be the funny one and I just can't have that. 

Moose: A Memoir of Fat Camp by Stephanie Klein - I inhaled this book like a bag of Cheetos.  Fascinating and raw, I was not able to put it down.  (Except to get more candy.)

Driving Sideways by Jess Riley - This is the ultimate roadtrip book.  Jess busts out the word "shittastic" within the first two pages and that alone makes it worth buying right this minute.  (Available at Target, too!)

Half-Assed by Jennette Fulda - A weight loss memoir where the author not only doesn't hate herself, but also loses half her body weight by working hard.  Read it and be inspired!

The Gatecrasher by Madeleine Wickham - Even though I love me some Becky Bloomwood/Sophie Kinsella, I really dig when Wickham puts out books under her real name.  These novels are often a bit darker and she doesn't tie every ending up with a giant, shiny, very American bow.  Definitely worth a read.

All We Ever Wanted Was Everything by Janelle Brown - Oh my God, this one consumed me for four straight days.  I was so wrapped up in it I didn't even use my iTouch on the plane back from Boston, which is really saying something since I had new episodes of both Denise Richards' and Dina Lohan's new shows.  It is an AMAZING novel of loss, redemption, and, best of all, revenge.   

OK, that's about it.  I have officially exhausted everything else I can do to procrastinate working on the new book. 

So I shall bid you a safe and happy holiday, and leave you with two of the sweetest words ever to be uttered:

VEGAS, BABY!

Do Sour Grapes Make Good Whine?

For the third year running, a certain chick-blog organization has ABSOLUTELY no interest in my participation.  From the schedule of events:

What We Do: Blog to Book Redux  This session rocked the house last year, so we're bringing in more bloggers, publishers and agents to dish about your opportunities to turn your blogging talent into a book publishing dream come true. Ellen Gerstein from Wiley & Sons has published many a blogger's book. Jennette Fulda and Rita Arens represent two different blog to book approaches, one a memoir and the other a blogging anthology. Walk away with some insider info and effective tactics you can employ to get yourself on the published author path.

Was I even invited?   

 

No, don't be silly.   

 

After all, what do I know about turning blogs into (New York Times and USA Today and Boston Globe and Follet's college list and Atlanta Journal-Constitution and something-in-Dallas-but-I'm-too-lazy-to-look-up-the-specifics bestselling) books?   

Seriously.

I Swear This Is a Happier Post

Since Such a Pretty Fat won't be out for another two weeks (woo-hoo!) here are my suggestions for some good reads.

First, my friend Allison Winn Scotch's The Department of Lost and Found, just released today in paperback!

Here's the description from Allison's website:

It didn’t start out as the worst day of Natalie Miller’s life. At thirty, she is moving up the political ladder, driven by raw ambition and ruthless determination. As the top aide to New York’s powerful female senator, she works hard, stays late, and enjoys every bit of it, even if the bills she’s pushing through do little to improve the lives of the senator’s constituents. And if her boyfriend isn’t the sexiest guy alive, at least he’s a warm body to come home to.

Then he announces he’s leaving. But that news is barely a blip compared to what Natalie’s doctor tells her: She has breast cancer. And she can’t cure it by merely being headstrong. Now the life Natalie must change is her own.

All her energy, what little of it she has left, must go into saving herself from a merciless disease. So when she’s not lying on the sofa recovering from her treatments and indulging in a curious addiction to The Price Is Right, she realizes it’s time to take a hard look at her choices. She begins by tracking down the five loves-of-her-life to assess what went wrong. Along the way, she questions her relationships with her friends, her parents, her colleagues, the one who got away, and, most important, with herself: Why is she so busy moving through life that she never stops to embrace it?

As Natalie sleuths out the answers to these questions, her journey of self-discovery takes her down new paths and to unexplored places. And she learns that sometimes when life is at its most unexpected, it’s not what you lose that makes you who you are . . . it’s what you find.

I loved this book because although it deals with a serious and emotional topic, it's ultimately uplifting and I highly recommend it.

Next up, here's what's on my nightstand:

Technically, this isn't my nightstand.  One of the cats threw up on my nightstand (and pillow) (and HEAD) during the night, so I staged this shot outside of the splatter zone.

First, Candy Girl by Diablo Cody, author of the screenplay Juno.  Haven't started it yet, but the opening line totally sucked me in.  "Nobody comes to Minnesota to take their clothes off, at least as far as I know."  From what I understand, she shitcanned her normal job and began stripping to have an experience to write about.  Sounds crazy, but I totally get this rationale.  As someone who writes non-fiction, I'm always allowing stupid and/or bizarre circumstances to continue, just because I want to see how it might end.  This one should be a lot of fun.

Next, I Was Told There'd Be Cake by Sloane Crosley.  This book of essays debuted on the New York Times bestseller list and if I wanted to hate her out of sheer jealousy, I'd be justified.  However... she's just so goddamned charming and clever.  I can't hate her because I'm too busy wanting to be her BFF.  Her writing is subtle and she doesn't go for the huge punchlines.  Her quiet detachment and attention to nuance make these essays dead-on hilarious.

Third, The Time Traveler's Wife by Audrey Niffeneger.  I just brought this one home.  I know zip about this book, except that every book club I've visited has read and loved it.  And that's reason enough for me.

Cooking for Mr. Latte by Amanda Hesser is next in the stack.  It's billed as "a totally lovable book, a kind of Bridget Jones for foodies."  Moreover, Stacey says it's adorable, and I believe her.

I've heard rave reviews on I Love You, Beth Cooper just about everywhere.  This is a high school coming-of-age story by Larry Doyle, who also wrote for The Simpsons and Beavis and Butthead.  Say what you will about the cartoon genre, but my guess is the man knows social satire.

Finally, Losing It: And Gaining My Life Back One Pound at a Time by Valerie Bertinelli.  Honestly?  I felt dirty buying this.  I primarily purchased it in order to mock it.  (I'm sorry - did you not know I was an asshole?  Have you read nothing I've ever written?)  I planned to skim and snicker, but I found myself reading more and more closely.  I'd thought she was being a bit ridiculous about her "weight issues" because 130 pounds in a 5'5 body IS NOT FAT.  I didn't realize the tabloids had been fucking merciless to her ever since her teens, nor I did I know that even thirty years ago, Hollywood had a zero-tolerance policy on weight.  Instead of mocking, I found myself getting a better understanding of her situation.  Not sure I'd read her novel were she to write one, but I'll admit the dive into her life has been pretty damn interesting.

So, that's it for now.  If you've recently read something the rest of the class would dig, post it below!

You All Deserve a Hug

When I started reading the contest entries, I was drinking a diet iced tea.  Five hours, six iced lemon cookies, two mint patties, and one dark chocolate/creme brulee square later (not nearly as good as it sounds), I've finally finished and I've picked the winners. 

However, as it is both my obligation and right to Milk It for a moment, I want to make a couple of points first.

Not to go Miss America all over your asses, but I wish I could send you each a book for participating.  I'm blown away that between all the entries I received via MySpace, Jennsylvania, and email, not one of them was anything less than sincere and brutally honest.  If you guys haven't actually read the entries - which I'll admit I often skip on other people's blogs - I encourage you to do so.  You'll be sucked in for hours.

Also, I loved how I could identify with so many of your stories, like having my pants fall down at Target?  Totally been there.  Waxing poetic over foil-wrapped Ding Dongs?  Oh, hell yes.  Experiencing the aftermath of cabbage soup?  It's an incident I'd prefer not to recall, yet it happened anyway.  Eating donuts out of the garbage?  Technically I haven't been there, but only because the opportunity hasn't yet presented itself.  (What's funny is that I'm such the Paranoid Safety Queen and I won't even look at strangers yet one time when some random person offered me a menu with a bag of cookies stapled on the front, I inhaled them without even chewing.)  (I didn't say it was a proud moment.)

A number of you had entries that broke my heart, like Lisa H. and Boo and JP, yet you found ways to ultimately deliver an uplifting message.  I bet by sharing your stories, you all end up helping more people than you ever realized.  Some of you simply killed me with your humor, like Lindsay Selders, Kelly J., Jennifer Moore, and Gail M. by delivering lines about radioactive sandwiches and having bra cups people could live in.  You all rock.

OK, enough, I need to get to the results.  The winner on the MySpace side of the contest is Shannon who tells this story:

I am nearly 5’9" and in my eyes had struggled with weight all my life, but looking back at old pictures it wasn’t weight, but curves that I had. It wasn’t until I had three children that the true yo-yo of my weight began. Also, having bed rest my entire last pregnancy, add in the fact that I was having an elephant for a baby and my age the pounds never wanted to go away.

Almost 2 years after having my youngest, my husband joined the Marines so I decided not to look like the Stay-puffed Marshmallow Man when he returned. So between diet, exercise and stress I was the weight was down to a respectable 150. We went on to be stationed in New Orleans.

I floated within 10lbs of that weight until October 2003, when a medication I was given to combat anxiety and depression reacted badly with my body. I gained 40 lbs in water in 3 days. You couldn’t see my toes, could put on shoes it was horrible. The doctors are sure what happened but it reeked havoc on my body.

The depression of this and other factors at my life at the time caused me to stress eat. This stress/self medicating eating ballooned me up to 262lbs. I hated myself. I wouldn’t go anywhere without having a panic attack. I was lost on many levels, and all of my own doing. Plus, how can you not eat and drink in a city founded on that very thing! In late 2004, I got a job requiring a lot of walking and dropped to 245 which began to help. On to our next duty station, North Carolina.

John got transferred for training in California. I was alone with a toddler in a town with no family or friends. I stressed but this time I dropped to 215 instead of stress eating I was stress fasting (both are very bad for you). When Katrina hit I stressed to a whole new level, 206.

In December 2005, I was unjustly fired from my job in North Carolina. I didn’t deal with the rejection well, but instead turned to writing to vent instead of as many boxes of cookies. By the time May 2006 arrived and we knew for certain we were moving back to Ohio I had reached 225 and thanks to enjoying one last summer at the ocean.

I never could break the 200’s though, This would frustrate me so I would yo-yo eat. This combined with coming home to John’s family who love to cook I got up to 242. I felt defeated, so I took my self loathing internally. I would dress crappy because I felt I deserved it for being overweight.

Then in December 2007 I had a break through. While watching How to look good naked, I realized that size doesn’t matter, it is the glow from within that speaks volumes. Instead of doing plan to start dieting when the new year approached, I would give myself the best Christmas present: The permission to love myself, not diet, and to live every moment as fabulous as I could. I began wearing makeup again and getting my hair done. I started taking the time to dress nice for work and for play. I just let myself be happy on the inside and outside.

On December 27 I got on the scale at 235, took my measurements then recorded them and decided I am ok with that. If that is weight I am meant to be so be it. I wouldn’t starve myself, but I wouldn’t kill myself with junk and fast fried foods. I would love my body and show it I loved it by stopping the things that were bad for me. This included my diet coke addition, sitting down and eating a giant bowl of brownie sundae. I would hydrate myself with good things like water and vitamins. I would also not deprive myself. If I felt like a piece of chocolate I could eat it, no guilt, no beating myself up.

Which leads me to today, I am 215. Why? Because I stopped the inside hatred of myself. It was like my mind and body had been at a long and hard battle for so long by calling a peace treaty gave immeasurable (and much needed) relief to my system. I let 20lbs of hatred, 15 inches of loathing off my hips, and 8 inches off my waist of fear all go.

Do I still have bad days where I hate my body? Sure, I am human, but I deal with it directly and stop it in its tracks rather then try and mask it with a box of Twinkies. I realize that the mood like time, will pass and life will go on.

Well told, Shannon. 

For the email/website entries, I picked Elizabeth with this story:

My mom was diagnosed with cancer when I was a little girl. And since we belonged to a close knit church and community, any time she was hospitalized, we were overwhelmed with casseroles. And she was hospitalized A LOT. Over the course of several year. These friends automatically sought to please the three kids in the home, so most of the casseroles involved cheese, potato chips, cheese, mayo, and more cheese. Mmmm. I never noticed my weight because my brothers and I were involved in a lot of activities to "distract us." But the problems started when I hit puberty at 9. Suddenly, while my older brothers were trying to gain weight for wrestling, mine was sticking, even with sports and dance. Still, I don't think anyone was worried, and seriously, who is going to stop a little girl who has a dying mom from having a bowl of ice cream after dinner?

My mom died when I was 11, and if I thought we had a "friends bringing food by" problem before, this event multiplied it by 100. Friends and neighbors filled both our fridges, and implemented a plan to keep us fed for 2 months, making sure the widower with little cooking experience could keep his kids alive.

At this time, I also became a latchkey eater...I mean kid. With no one home to supervise my snacking, I'd pour a bowl of doritos, eat them all, pour another and hide it behind a pillow on my bed (those grease stains never came out by the way) so I could munch in secret while I did homework. Occasionally I'd mix it up with a bowl of ice cream, or a large candy bar. I'd decided to take a break from activities for awhile because I wasn't into it. Obviously, I realize now that was eating to mask my grief.

One day, about 4 months after my mom died, my dad looked at me and saw an eleven year old who was already wearing a B (almost C) cup, and whose pudge couldn't be explained by baby fat anymore. Since I was the youngest and the only girl, he didn't know much about raising a girl through through puberty. But he knew enough that he wanted me to be healthy and happy and he had to do something. Although people are kind of appalled at what he did now, I still am grateful for it.

He asked me to weigh myself. And when I told him how much I weighed, he told me he thought I was getting too heavy for my body type and height, and offered me $2 for every pound I lost. And in 1990 when my only income was very sporadic babysitting, that was a huge motivator. (To be honest, when he put the stakes out, my first thought was, "that's a lot of Sweet Valley High books!").

I discovered my bike again, started eating carrot sticks, and switched out my two regular sodas for one diet one. I skipped desserts, and took long post dinner walks with my dad. And it worked! I slimmed down to a weight that was appropriate. And I got to forge a much closer relationship with my dad...one that I still rely on today. I helped him lose weight too, encouraging him to cut out the sugar in his coffee and those big candy bars I used to steal from him.

My weight still fluctuates, but I attribute the healthier lifestyle that I lead to what happened in that difficult time. I give props to my dad, who although he could never fathom taking me shopping for a bra or other "girl" stuff, made a decision about/for me that helped change my life.

In fact, he still makes weight loss bets with my brothers and I. He won big for his own wedding, and we're now setting new stakes. It's $5 a pound now, but the losers have to pay the winner. I'm aiming to get at least $50 from him this time...18 years later.

Elizabeth, is it weird for me to tell you I'm proud of you?

Before I decided the winners tonight, I made a quick grocery run because Fletch has contracted my Pan Asian Death Flu.  And as I cruised the aisles shopping for soup and juice, I couldn't get Jennifer from Tempe's story out of my head.  It goes like this:

If you're looking for some quality self abuse, take the exercise class I did last night.

Innocently titled 20/20/20, this class involves 20 minutes of cardio, 20 minutes of toning and 20 minutes of core training. I figured, Hey, I can do 20 minutes of anything! And since it was held at the local park district, I stupidly assumed that it wouldn't be too bad.

Well, after I met my perky instructor (i.e., The Nazi) Maria, I realized how my assumptions may very well kill me.

She started us off with the cardio. Now, keep in mind, the woman standing in front of me was probably about 60 and there were people of all sizes and ages. But that didn't stop Maria from bringing her A game. Well, I THINK it was her A game, but I'm actually not clear on what happened after the first five minutes because I blacked out. The goal was to quickly get your heart rate up - but it didn't work for me because my heart instantly exploded, popped out of my body and skidded halfway across the shiny gym floor before coming to a stop in front of one of the two men in the class. Luckily, his heart had already burst out of his body as well, so he didn't mind, as he was passed out on his mat. And The Nazi DIDN'T EVEN BREAK A SWEAT. Nor did the 60-year-old. Go figure.

I finally came to when we started on the toning section of the workout. The only good thing about this part was the entertainment value. We used long rubber bands in varying colors (each color offered different tension. I selected an imaginary one, because I don't need any more tension in my life.) And The Nazi didn't tell anyone what the levels were, nor how to properly use them. So as we were going through the 10 different ways to pull a muscle, people were dropping like flies. Even better, as the 20 minutes passed, you would hear SNAP and then "Ow!" throughout the room. Turns out the bands were a little old, and that, combined with our inexperience with using them, meant that the bands were snapping mid pull and hitting people in the face. Great fun!

I must say that my favorite part was the core training section. That's probably because we got to lay down for most of it. If I could figure out a way to do cardio without getting up or getting naked, I would. It was just too bad that every part of my body was shaking from the previous 40 minutes of exertion, so my core work looked more like a seizure than the smooth fluid movements The Nazi was expecting.

After it was all over, The Nazi had the gall to suggest that we eat something when we get home "Have some trail mix, cottage cheese or some yogurt. I'm going to have some delicious salmon myself." Look lady - two people died in your class tonight - I'm going home and eating half a pie and then wash it down with a milk shake. Salmon, my ass.

And this was THE FIRST CLASS. Only nine more to go. I can't wait.

I have one extra book.  And Jennifer from Tempe is getting it because her snapping bands made me snort up and down the aisles.

Shannon, Jennifer, Elizabeth, please send me your mailing addresses and I'll get your books out tomorrow(ish.) 

And the rest of you?  Give yourselves a round of applause (or a cookie if you prefer) because you deserve it.

Tuesday Is the New Monday

Winners will be announced tomorrow as I'm not yet finished reading all the entries because I'm a terrible combination of busy and slow right now. 

Until then, peruse the cool blogs listed in my links section.  You know, the section that only took me nine months to finally populate? 

(And see?  Doesn't a one-day delay seem pretty minor when compared to nine months?  Yes, I thought so.)

Don't Say I Never Do Anything for You, Boston

After all, Rebecca of Boston (and of lesser-evil.blogspot.com) just won the Unpredictable contest with the term "moxie."

Thanks to all who participated both on Jennsylvania.com and on MySpace!

(Rebecca, please email me your mailing info.)

Unpredictable Contest

UPDATE:  IT'S MONDAY AFTERNOON SOMEWHERE, SO THE ENTRIES ARE CLOSED.

WINNER ANNOUNCED LATER, ONCE I FIGURE OUT HOW TO PICK HER/HIM.

No need to remind me I promised to post this contest yesterday - I'm already aware. 

The thing is,I've upped both the frequency and duration of my personal training sessions and that means I've been having my ass handed to me much more frequently and with longer duration.  So, after my session last night I was busy trying not to DIE because a certain trainer got my heart rate up to 180 BPM - which I'm pretty sure is Exploding Ventricle Territory - and I kind of wasn't thinking about contests, unless it was a contest about who was in the most pain and then I'd totally be the winner, so the point would have been moot.

ANYWAY, here's what you're competing for - a new copy of Unpredictable by Eileen Cook.

No, it's not signed by the author because I bought a bunch of copies and I didn't get Eileen to autograph this particular one because I pre-ordered it and left it at home and... well, what matters is this is a free copy of not only a very funny book but also a soon-to-be-major motion picture about a girl named Sophie for whom calamity ensues when she poses as a psychic to get her guy back.

TO ENTER:  Come up with a one-word description of yourself, e.g. how Sophie is UNPREDICTABLE or, say, how I am SORE, and put it in the comments section.  That's it.  Easy-peasy.  I'll leave comments open until Monday afternoon and then I'll do a random drawing of all the one-word entries. 

(Seriously, only write down one word because I am LAZY and don't want to spend all weekend poring over entries.  And I don't care if more than one of you writes down the same answer.)

(Also, next week I'm going to have a contest for a signed advanced copy of Such a Pretty Fat but you'll most likely have to work harder for that one by doing something along the lines of recounting your best/worst weight loss story.  Haven't worked out all the details yet because I thought of it while Barbie was making me run on the treadmill and I was trying not to be EXPLODE-Y.) 

(Yes, you can enter both contests because I am FAIR.)

(Last night I had yet another idea for a contest.  It involves winning an evening of Fletch coming to your house where he would spend the entire time editorializing - loudly - while you're trying to pay attention to American Idol and Survivor.  Which would not at all leave you ANNOYED.)

And now, try to be LUCKY.

Contest Coming Soon!

Later I'm going to announce a contest where you can win my friend Eileen Cook's new novel Unpredictable but I have to think of one that's both fair and that won't cause me massive amounts of work.  I haven't read this book yet but I went to her reading here in Chicago last night and I laughed about twenty times during the first three pages, so trust me, you're going to want this.

However, I probably won't give contest rules or accept entries until tomorrow because now I have to do laundry so I don't get divorced. 

(BTW, when you complain you CAN'T do laundry because you're busy writing and writing is WORK, your husband will feel bad until he remembers you work in the building where your washer and dryer live.  And then he will tell you if said washer and dryer were located in the Sears Tower, then he'd be happy to do a couple of loads during the day.  Until then, can he PLEASE have some clean dress socks?)

OMG PONIES !!!1!1!!1!!!

Why was I not informed of this sooner?

Confessions of a Shopaholic - THE MOVIE

With Isla Fischer starring as Becky Bloomwood!

Feel free to commence squealing now.

Eat, Pray, Sho- Oh, Forget It

THE BIT ABOUT THE CAR

Yeah, I'll admit it.  I kind of lost steam between writing the first post about Eat, Pray, Love and now.  I had plans to document my whole finding-myself-in-my-underpants-in-front-of-a-perfect-stranger story yesterday morning.  Instead, real life intervened. 

I said goodbye to Fletch and made my way upstairs to get dressed so I could work.  But before I got a chance to sit down at the computer, something caught my eye.  I looked past the garage and noticed chunks of snow and ice flying... almost as if having been hurled.  I heard the rev of an engine, over and over, growing more insistent.  And, despite the room's triple-paned glass, I heard obscenities. 

Clearly. 

Oh, so many obscenities. 

Four letter words filled the air in capital letters, with exclamation points, like one of the fight scenes from Batman, the Adam West era.

Our alley had claimed another victim. 

I threw a fleece on over my flannel nightgown, stepped into my woolly Crocs, grabbed my coat, and headed outside where Fletch was in a state of what can only be described as "bitchpanic." 

Fletch had gotten his car stuck in an eight-inch deep ice valley, formed in the perfect storm of snowing, hailing, melting, re-freezing, and non-storm-drain-cleaning-despite-having-asked-the-Alderman-twenty-times-to-please-please-please-do-something.  (To be fair, how can we expect proper neighborhood service when our Alderman is so busy sending us literature on why the Iraq war is evil? )

Unfortunately, I was the one tasked with rocking the vehicle rather than the more desirable job of steering, what with my propensity to hit the side of the garage even when the pavement is dry and clear.  Pajama-clad, I spent the next forty-five minutes throwing my weight against the trunk while the useless back tires sprayed me with a mixture of road salt, ice, and liquefied kitty litter.  (Fortunately, I was able to warm myself with the heat of Fletch's Alderman-inspired epithets.)   

Finally, he stopped swearing long enough to remember we had Roadside Assistance - a service not only included in the purchase price of the car, but also the main argument he'd used to convince me it was fine to get the rear-wheel drive model - and the nice folks at BMW quickly dispatched Sherpas bearing crullers, hot brandy, and a tow truck.   

OK, they didn't bring liquor or donuts, but they did arrive promptly and free of charge.

Point?  Instead of returning to my computer to write a post about inspiration, I changed into dry jammies and went back to bed until 11:30 AM. 

And no, I did not stick my foot up Fletch's ass.  He brought home a big box of pastry last night to apologize for being all shout-y. 

There's not much a nice eclair can't fix around here.

THE BIT ABOUT THE UNDERPANTS

What I really took away from Eat, Pray, Love was the concept of being able to unhook, unwind, and unplug, and I pledged to be better at it. 

"But, Jen," you say.  "You just told us a story about sleeping until 11:30 AM.  ON A WEEKDAY.  If you were any more unwound, you'd be dead."

Here's the deal - I'm either going one thousand miles an hour, or I'm asleep.  There's no middle ground.  Lately, I've been so busy and so stressed that I've not been able to unclench.  So, because I believe in the ELP message to slow down, I had the the bright idea to get a massage.  I thought a massage would address the whole conundrum of calming my body-mind-soul.

But somewhere along I line I forgot that I HATE massages. 

First of all, I think they hurt.  A lot.  I'm generally so tense that even a little manipulation fucking KILLS.  Second, I'd say the least relaxing thing I could do would be to take my pants off in front of a stranger, no matter how professional he or she may be.  Third, I actually thrive on stimulus bordering on chaos so lying in a dark, quiet room, hearing the sound of nothing but whale music and the occasional rippling of back fat is NOT my recipe for unclenching. 

Don't know what I mean?  Then how about I share some of my internal monologue from the massage on Saturday when I was supposed to be "clearing my mind"?

"I wish the masseuse had eucalyptus scented oil.  I hate lavender and my only other choice was lemon grass, which smells nice, but it totally makes me want Thai food.  Mmm, pad Thai... you know what else is good at a Thai place?  The stuff with the big fat noodles.  What is that called?  Tom something?  Lard Nar?  I forget but it's all brown and garlic-y and goes really well with Thai iced tea.  What the fuck is that stuff called?  I'll have to look it up when I get home.  Oh, I also like Pad See Ew.  It's funny that I like a food with "ew" in the title, but I totally do and OW, that fucking HURT and HOLY OW, that hurt even more.  You wouldn't think this tiny little masseuse would have such strong hands, but she does.  Bet she has a hell of a handshake and she would kick so much ass at a thumb-wrestling match.  OK, she's touching my shoulders and OW I don't like that AT ALL and now she's massaging my head and HEY LADY, YOUR HANDS HAVE OIL ON THEM AND I JUST WASHED MY HAIR.  Oh, great, I'm going to be a big, greasy lemon-head for the rest of the day because I am not showering again because I just showered an hour ago and I have better things to do than lather, rinse, repeat all damn day and JESUS CHRIST, you are going to pop my head clean off!  I'm paying a buck a minute for this?  OK, OK, I am not being Eat, Pray, or Love right now.  I need to clear my thoughts and relax and be in the moment but it's really hard to do when this little person is SNAPPING MY SPINAL CORD.  OW!!  And how am I supposed to relax when I'm only wearing underpants and a sheet?  I know this person is professional and sees people undressed for a living, yet THIS IS STILL REALLY UNCOMFORTABLE FOR ME IN EVERY SENSE.  You know what helps me relax?  A shirt.  Some pants.  Maybe FULL UNDERWIRE SUPPORT.  And what's the deal with this music?  It's just one long pan-flute solo?  Is it more than one guy playing?  When does he have time to take a break?  And why does it have to be all new-age-y?  Why can't they play opera?  Opera is very nice and it tells a story that maybe I could concentrate on while this little tiny person is MURDERING ME ONE HANDFUL OF BACK FAT AT A TIME.  I wonder if she'd rather work on a person who's heavier as opposed to a really skinny person?  I bet massaging them would be like gripping a baggie full of chicken bones, as opposed to me who probably feels more like a Stretch Armstrong doll.  Do they still make those?  And what'd they fill them with, anyway?  I remember how mad Donna Gordon was when I bit a tiny hole in her Stretch doll to see what he was made of and if I recall, it was some kind of green goo and MOTHER OF CHRIST, I THINK MY ARM'S DISLOCATED NOW.  You know what I like?  I like when I'm lying on the bed on my stomach reading any my cat Maggie walks on my back.  Sometimes she makes little biscuits and it's soft and sweet and DOESN'T FEEL LIKE TORTURE, FOR GOD'S SAKE WHY NOT JUST WATERBOARD ME WHILE YOU'RE AT IT?"

And it went on like that for the rest of the session.  When we got done, the masseuse told me how tense I was. 

No. Shit.

In quick, cheap, so-not-worth-it summary, the lesson I learned and the point I started to make five days/five thousand paragraphs ago was I need to be better at trying to relax. 

And yet when I say "unhook," that does not include my bra.

THE BIT THAT'S VAGUELY USEFUL

You all seem to like when I talk about books, so here's what's on my bedside table.

First, The Good Liar by my friend Laura Caldwell.  Laura got her start writing chick lit but has since broken out of the girl ghetto and transitioned into legal thrillers.  I haven't started this one yet, but I've completely connected with everything else she's done in this genre and am sure it'll be great.  (FYI, if you're local, Laura does the book club circuit.) 

Superstud by Paul Feig.  People, this is the man who created Freaks and Geeks and directed episodes of Arrested Development, The Office, and 30 Rock.  If you don't like him, I'm pretty sure we can't be friends. 

The Romance Readers' Book Club by Julie L. Cannon.  Mary Kay Andrews blurbed it and that's why I bought it.  Haven't started it yet, but hopes are high.

Me Talk Pretty One Day by David Sedaris.  Yes, for the millionth time - can you see how dog-eared it is?  He never ceases to delight.

Earthly Pleasures by Karen Neches.  I read about this book on Allison Winn Scotch's blog.  Allison has THE best taste so I knew I could trust her recommendation.  I adore this book and tore through it in less than a day.

The Girl I Wanted to Be by Sarah Grace McCandless.  I met her last year and thought she was great.  But it took me a whole year to get around to reading her stuff and now I'm kicking myself for not having done so sooner.  Also don't miss her first novel, Grosse Pointe Girl.  SO good and so real you'll think it's a memoir.

Secrets of a Shoe Addict by Beth Harbison.  Here's where I have the best job in the world - when I get to read books from my favorite authors before they're published.

Scotbom: Evidence and the Lockerbie Investigation by Richard A. Marquise.  Marquise was the lead FBI investigator when Pan Am Flight 103 was bombed and this book sums up the investigation.  (What?  Am I not allowed to read educational stuff once in a while?)

Helping Me Help Myself by Beth Lisick.  Sometimes I buy books because Amazon tells me to.  Plus I heard she's really funny, so what's not to like?

Not pictured but also highly recommended:

Someday My Prince Will Come by Jerramy Fine.  Got to read an advanced copy of this last fall and to quote my own blurb, "Jerramy Fine doesn't need a prince to corner the market on charming."  Read, enjoy, repeat.

and, coming February 26th

Happy Hour of the Damned by Mark Henry.  It's the undead socialite's guide to life!  Manolos AND mayhem?  Flesh eating zombies and artfully applied sparkle powder?  Sign me up.  Mark's book is a  bloody lot of fun.

AND FINALLY, AN ABRUPT ENDING BECAUSE I WANT A SHOWER AND SOME PASTRY, NOT NECESSARILY IN THAT ORDER

Eat, Pray, Shove, Part One

Once in a while, if I'm very lucky, I'll come across a book that totally alters my perspective.  And before you ask, yes, I read all the time and yes, there are plenty of authors I flat-out adore, but it's rare when the written word has the power to change the way I think or behave.

When I read Ayn Rand's magnum opus Atlas Shrugged, it forever altered the way I looked at the relationship between industry and government. (Some of you may argue it turned me into a conservative, compassionless douchebag.)  (Some of you might not be wrong, but we're not debating that right now.) When I read Aldous Huxley's Brave New World, I developed my own concept of Utopia and Catcher in the Rye brought out the foul-mouthed cynic I never knew lived inside me.

Of course, what I read doesn't have to be Classic Literature to cause a change or prompt action. I mean, Bridget Jones's Diary made me think maybe there was a market for stories about chicks just living regular lives so I started jotting down details about my own life for use later.

This brings me to my latest inspiration, Elizabeth Gilbert's beautifully written memoir Eat, Pray, Love.

To preface, let me be real clear that I'm not abandoning my life to live in an Ashram or to study under an Indonesian healer or to eat my way across Italy, although this facet of her journey is fairly tempting.  I'm not about to embark on an around the world soul-search to discover my own connection to The Divine.  Faith is hardly a topic for a blog post, but I will say this - I don't need a miracle or a stigmata to convince me of the presence of God in my life.  I see evidence of Him every day in a million tiny ways in events as simple as watching my fat-assed German shepherd Loki try to walk backwards up the stairs because he's afraid of the cat on the landing.  (Sure, some could argue it's not God highlighting the humor in what would otherwise be a mundane existence, and counterbalancing all that makes me angry, yet that's how I've chosen to interpret Him.) 

I'm about to veer dangerously off-topic, aren't I? 

Anyway, despite not having to go to Bali to find God (because He's obviously already waiting for me in line at Target in the form of the surly cashier's misspelled neck tattoo) that doesn't mean Eat, Pray, Love wasn't powerfully motivating. 

As Gilbert moved from country to country seeking fulfillment in body, mind, and spirit, she began to notice the huge cultural differences between Americans and everyone else. She pointed out how Americans have a terrible time relaxing. We're always moving and shaking, achieving, just going and going. And even when we're at rest, e.g. perched on the couch watching Rock of Love 2, we're still texting and talking on the phone and figuring out how many calories we need to burn to make up for the unfortunate incident with the banana cream pie and worrying about work and folding laundry and mentally repainting the kitchen because, really, what were we thinking with that shade of yellow?, and so on and so on. Even when we go on vacation, we can't seem to unhook, unwind, unplug. 

Kind of sad, right?

One of Gilbert's goals in embarking on her journey was to find a way to rid herself of this trait.  She sought the ability to let go and relax enough to quiet her mind in order to experience enlightenment.  So, ten paragraphs later, I can finally make the point that Eat, Pray, Love inspired me to do the same thing. 

That is, if you substitute "find enlightenment" for "not be so tightly wound I'm going to punch the next asshole I run into right in the throat." 

And that's how I ended up wearing nothing but underpants in front of a perfect stranger.

TO BE CONTINUED

(Next up, Eat, Pray, Shove, Part Two, AKA an important reminder about why I never, ever get massages.)

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.

Things I Have Learned This Week

Now in convenient list form!

*  Mother Nature does not appreciate even the merest implication of fisting and will raise the temperature thirty degrees outdoors to mess with your Shark Week (for Soup) plans.

*  Proceeding with Shark Week (for Soup) anyway and using the oven will also raise the temperature thirty degrees indoors.  And what goes best with roasty vegetable soup with mini-meatballs?  Profuse sweating.

*  Miss Tyra Banks IS going to exploit your pain on national TV.  Count on that.

*  Speaking of pain, if you wrestle with the pit bull and try to drape her around your shoulders, you WILL throw out your back again and your doctor WILL laugh at you.

*  Books you think you are finished writing are apparently not finished being written.

* * * * *

Until I'm done with the editing process and can pay attention to this blog, I highly/happily recommend the following books.

From Alison Pace, author of Pug Hill (also loved!), check out Through Thick and Thin.

From Rajaa Alsanea, I found The Girls of Riyadh completely fascinating.

Finally, my favorite book I read this year, Lost and Found by Carolyn Parkhurst.

(The hardcover has parrots and maps on it and you might think it's a changes-in-attitudes-changes-in-latitudes-Buffett-book.)  (Which it isn't.)

Anyway, read, enjoy, and talk amongst yourselves.  I'll be back as soon as I'm done!