jennsylvania

Cardboard Canyon, Let Me Show It To You

Hey, you know what was a GREAT idea? 

Deciding to move a month before I have to turn in a new book!

Ha, ha, no stress here!

So, until I get through this...

And this...

And this...

I will leave you with this....

(my Trib column that I completely forgot to post earlier this month)

and this....

(deets on how to win lunch with my best friend Stacey and me)

and this...

"Fuck you, Labradoodle."

If you'll excuse me, I'm off to find an IV drip full of Xanax...

Not Dead, Just Pale

Keeping in mind that I'm an asshole for not mentioning it earlier, my friend Stacey Ballis is doing a most excellent contest and entry ends at midnight tonight.  She's been running it since last week and I meant to post the information last week, but I refer you to the part where I say I'm an asshole, a forgetful one at that.  Go here for details!

Things have been a bit chaotic here with travel, events, guests, and attempting to buy a home, so not only am I completely behind schedule with the book, but I've been terribly remiss in posting things.  More importantly, I'VE LOST ALMOST ALL OF MY TAN.  Forget homeless tan, now I'm barely even 9-5 desk job tan.  Try to guess which of these priorities I'm going to address today.  (Hint: it's going to be 84 degrees and sunny.)

So I shall leave you with these two things for now.

First, this is from the event I had the great privilege of doing with Jennifer Weiner on Monday.  People took dozens of flattering photos of us, but the only one I have is extremely menacing. 

Which isn't to say that I don't love it.

"Chick lit is not dead.  But anyone who says it is might die."

And for those of you wondering how our home-buying process is, check out this month's column.

That's it for now.

See you at the pool later!

   

Is Leaving...

... in an hour for the airport.  I'm headed to New York.

If so inclined, set your DVRs for the 10:00 hour of Today tomorrow where I'll be appearing as a reality television show expert with Kathie Lee and Hoda.  Please keep in mind that my being on is contingent on weather, breaking news, rolling blackouts, etc.

But if all the pieces come together, I'll be there.  Wearing Lacoste.  (And not drinking wine.)

For the record, if my witty banter and expansive knowledge of All Things Real Housewives doesn't land me a spot on one of those damn VH1 specials, then I give up.

(And if I come back with bedbugs, all bets are off.)

An Evening of Badassedness - UPDATED

Because I am essentially still a very lazy person, it's just now occurring to me that I should post this event information.

What:  An Evening of Badassedness.

What?:  Okay, it's technically An Evening with Jennifer Weiner and Jen Lancaster.

Really?  Jennifer Weiner?  May I Feel Free to Squeal Here?:  Absolutely, I know I did.

When:  Monday, July 26, 6:00 - 8:00 PM.

Where:  Stevenson High School's Performing Arts Center, 1 Stevenson Drive, Lincolnshire, IL.

Anything Else I Should Know?:  Yes, this is a ticketed event.  You have to either register at the Vernon Hills Public Library District website or call 847-634-3650.  And, prior to arriving at the Performing Arts Center, you must pick up your ticket for entry at the library.  (They'll be available at the Adult Services desk.)

That Sounds Like a Lot of Effort:  But it will be totally worth it for an evening of badassedness.

Too True.

Is That Everything?:  Oh, wait - books will be available for purchase on site by the Lake Forest Books.

So that's it!  Be there or be, um... whatever the opposite of badass is.

P.S.  Spellcheck just tried to change "badassedness" to "blessedness."  See?  Spellcheck knows EXACTLY how badass this is.

P.P.S.  All of which is to say CHICK LIT IS NOT DEAD.  And speaking of, the lovely ladies of chicklitisnotdead.com just posted five things you might not know about me.  Check it out!

Flabby

It figures that the minute I finally have time to sit down and write a post, I can't remember what I wanted to say.  Perhaps that's a by-product of spending the past four weeks speaking of nothing but myself? 

Seriously, as much fun as I had going to interviews and doing events this past month, if no one asks me a personal question for a while, that'll be just fine.  Also, given my recent schedule, I'm finally starting to believe that singers/starlets might not be faking it when they're treated for exhaustion.  Granted, I wasn't doing rail after rail of blow while on tour, unless by "doing coke" you mean "inhaling room service french fries," but the fatigue is similar. 

Anyway, I hate when I get out of the habit of writing because it takes such effort to get back into the swing of things.  I always tell budding authors that the best way to be a writer is to write; the ability to write is a muscle and it's got to be worked daily.  Presently my writing muscles are flabby and weak, chugging along at two point five miles an hour on a treadmill with no incline.

So what I have to offer you until I get the hang of blogging again is a photo with a little bit of back-story.

Two weeks ago I had the opportunity to appear on the Joy Behar Showas part of a pop culture panel.  Other panelists included Carson Kressley and Daisy Fuentes.  As this was my first national television appearance, pretty much my only goal was to not drop any f-bombs. 

(Yes, I was on that one huge show once but since neither my last name nor the title of my book was mentioned, it doesn't really count.  Also, I signed a very scary legal document agreeing to never write about said appearance, so if you're scratching your head right now... sorry for being cryptic.  Maisy was on with me and signed no such nondisclosure agreement, but unfortunately she has terrible handwriting - no thumbs - and thus cannot share her recollections.  If she could, she'd tell you how her mumma made the Queen of All Media laugh both hard and often, but she can't so we'll just have to move on.)

Anyway, the segment went as well as I could hope.  Joy read the entire book title and they showed a big cover graphic.  I was able to deliver a couple of profanity-free zingers and overall I was happy.  I didn't do as well as Daisy or Carson, but they're both actual celebrities with years of media training whereas I'm someone who spends most of her day with dirty hair, talking to her dogs. 

I can't describe how much I loved meeting Carson.  You know how quippy and adorable he came across on Queer Eye?  That's exactly what he was like in real life.  He was sweet and genuine and fabulous.  More importantly, he was nice to everyone in the room and now I'm a fan for life.

As for Daisy, she was friendly and pleasant, but that's not what I'll take away from having met her.  Up close, she's completely stunning.  Her skin's impeccable, her hair's a riot of chocolate and honey, and she's built like a 90s supermodel, back when they were allowed to digest.  She looks like God used an airbrush on her, buffing away any imperfections, leaving everything flawless.

We did our bit on the panel and Daisy and I made our way back to the green room.  (Carson stayed on set for another segment.)  We had a nice chat about our respective books while I craned my neck up at her, shuffling along, taking two steps to her every one.  Seriously, her legs ended approximately where my bra hits.

We got back to the green room and ran smack into Miss USA.  I guess she and Daisy have met somehow through the Miss USA organization, as Daisy's previously hosted the competition.  They laughed and hugged and immediately started taking pictures together.  Now don't get me wrong, I'm never one for self-loathing.  Aside from grousing about the occasional bout of frizzy hair or forehead crease, I'm happy with my appearance.  I'm pleased with most of what I've got going on and I never shy away from a mirror.  However, when I'm standing a foot away from Miss USA as well as the most beautiful woman I've ever seen, it's easy to forget that I rather like me.

Which is why I looked at those two and announced, "Hey!  Let's all take a picture together so I can feel really good about myself!"

And they fucking thought I was serious, so they yanked me into the shot with them.

 

"One of these things is not like the other, one of these things does not belong..."

I guess the good news is that superior physical genetics don't include the gene that detects sarcasm.

And yet somehow that doesn't make me feel better.

Anyway, I'm rusty, but I'm back, so thanks for being here!

In Terms Of Badassedness...

... this ranks somewhere between a Jack Bauer witness interrogation and a Michael Westen double-plus-explode-y rescue operation, which, for those of you who don't watch 24 or Burn Notice, means pretty far up the whole bad-assed continuum.

Anyway, I share a publisher with Dave Barry, who is the funniest writer in America.  (This is a fact, not an opinion.  Look it up.)  The folks at Penguin and Amazon thought a clever way for us to cross-promote our new books would be to interview each other.

So this is what happened next.

Jen’s Questions for Dave

The Pulitzer Prize looks a lot like those gold-colored one-dollar Sacajawea coins.  Do you still have yours or did you accidentally use it in a parking meter?

I actually lost my Pulitzer Prize for several years. I put it in a safe place, then I forgot where that was. My wife eventually found it and put it an even safer place. But your question disturbs me, because it’s NOT a coin: It looks more like a middle-school diploma. So now I’m wondering: Is it really a Pulitzer Prize? Maybe I was the victim of an elaborate practical joke wherein Columbia University gave me a middle-school diploma and just TOLD me it was a Pulitzer. That would make sense, because (a) nobody ever really believes I won a Pulitzer, and (b) in university circles Columbia is known as a big prankster.

Does it indeed take a village?

I actually grew up in a village, specifically the village of Armonk, New York. Everybody in Armonk knew everybody else back then, which meant that if, as a high-school student, you (and here I am using “you” in the sense of “I”) experimented a tad (and here I am using “a tad” in the sense of “way”) too heavily with adult beverages one night in the fall of 1964 and passed out on a lawn that—of all the lawns you could have picked in Armonk—was the lawn belonging to Chief of Police Hergenhan, you would not be arrested; instead, Chief Hergenhan, upon discovering you drooling facedown into his crabgrass at 1:30 a.m., would call your dad to come get you, because he knew your dad, and he also knew that you would spend approximately the next two weeks retching, which was punishment enough. So I would say yes.

If X = Agent Jack Bauer and Y = shooting someone in the thigh, how many perimeters need to be set up to bring Edgar back to life?

It depends on how long it takes Chloe to get a visual on the satellite and upload the schematics.

Children seem to be more delicate than when we were kids. Do you advocate encasing them in Lucite until their eighteenth birthday?

These kids today don’t know how easy they have it, with their iPhones and their iPads and their atmosphere consisting of 21 percent oxygen and 78 percent nitrogen and 1 percent various other gases. When I was a youngster we didn’t have ANYTHING. We didn’t even have HAIR. We sat around naked in the cold, sucking on rocks for nourishment. But you never heard us complain, and by God we licked the Great Depression and won World War II. No, wait, that was our parents’ generation. But we faced challenges of our own. Junior year abroad, for example. That was no picnic. So you don’t even want to KNOW what I think.

Shirts or skins?

You always want to be on the skins team, because that way you’re guarding a guy on the shirts team, which means if you touch him you’re touching his shirt, which is an okay way to touch another guy (for very a brief period). If you’re on the shirts team, you have to guard a guy on the skins team, which means you might come into contact with his actual skin, which is wrong on several levels, not the least of which is that he will be oozing perspiration slime, like a giant eel with b.o. This is the main reason why guys turn to golf.

Will men use GPS or do they consider this the modern-day equivalent of stopping to ask for directions at the gas station—which is to say, an affront to their masculinity?

It’s acceptable to use a GPS because it is an incomprehensibly complex electronic device and therefore manly. But it is NOT acceptable to use the same GPS for long periods of time. Every six months or so you must buy a newer model with more features that you don’t need and a larger screen. Screen size is the important thing. Your goal is to eventually have a GPS with a screen so large that you can’t see out your windshield; when you drive you’re just looking at this humongous GPS screen. But you are still wondering, deep inside, when they’re going to come out with a bigger one.

Bret Michaels’s fans still throw their panties onstage when he performs.  What do Rock Bottom Remainders groupies toss?

We have had panties thrown at us. But they were labeled “MAXIMUM OCCUPANCY 30 PEOPLE.

 

Dave’s Questions for Jen

Which has a higher IQ: gravel or the cast of Jersey Shore?

On the surface, gravel clearly seems to have the edge. Gravel’s managed to exist for thousands of years without ever once having started a bar fight when someone looked at its Ed Hardy T-shirt funny. However, after the episode where Pauly D. went swimming and emerged from under the water with every hair still firmly in place, I’m forced to declare Jersey Shore the winner. The kind of civil/chemical  engineering it takes to hold that ’do in place is nothing short of genius.

What can we, as a nation, do about the Kardashians?

One word: caning.

Do you ever watch Dog the Bounty Hunter? If so, do you agree that he would be a really fun United States senator?

I love Dog and believe he’d be a fantastic senator. He’s clever, he’s efficient, he’s no-nonsense, and he’s not afraid to knock a few heads together if needed. He’s exactly what this country needs. Plus, I’d like Mr. Dog to Go to Washington if for no reason other than to see his wife dressed up like Jackie O while on the campaign trail. (The caveat is I’m from Illinois and most of our living governors are felons, so it’s possible my standards aren’t terribly high.)

How come women are so good at appearing to not be thinking about sex?

Because we’re the ones in charge of doling it out, so there’s no guesswork involved on our part. Ergo, we can think about more important stuff. Like handbags.

Like many men, I have four kinds of shoes: 1) black shoes, 2) brown shoes, 3) sneakers 4) backup sneakers. Do I need more? What should they be?

I reject the premise of this question because whereas most men own four pair of shoes, they own nine different kinds of hammers. Framing? Claw? Tack? Ball-peen? Any woman worth her salt knows that almost all household repairs can be accomplished with one of two tools—a butter knife or the heel of a loafer.

Do you think ketchup has to be kept in the refrigerator? Why?

Yes, but less for food safety concerns and more because we don’t want to damage the self-esteem of the other condiments. (Mayonnaise can be so self-conscious.)

Are cats malicious, or actually the spawn of Satan?

Um, cats are wonderful and loving little creatures who live to make us happy, and they only barf in our shoes and scratch the bejesus out of our new ottomans and trip us at the top of the stairs to demonstrate exactly how special we are to them. They are in no way, shape, or form evil, meaning they would never trap me and both of my dogs in my office, causing me to send out cryptic interview answers hoping desperately the reader will properly interpret them and SEND HELP.

* * *

See?  Totally badass.

Anyway, for those of you in Detroit, Dayton, St. Louis, and Chicago... see you later this week!

What Doesn't Kill Me Makes Me Stronger, Turkey Burger

I'm not dead from food poisoning, although for the better part of the last twenty-four hours it was touch and go.  And by touch and go, I mean unpleasant things happened and I did not enjoy them.

A little note to self here?  The next time I get a turkey burger and it tastes like ass, I should think: "Hey, this turkey burger tastes like ass.  Perhaps I should stop eating it."

Instead of:  "Hey, this turkey burger tastes like ass.  Perhaps that's how it's supposed to taste and I should add salt and continue eating."

This?  Right here?  Is why most people opt for beef.

Anyway, am coming to you from the throes of my infirm to announce some good news. 

Remember that novel I said I was working on? 

There was an announcement about it on Publishers' Marketplace today.

Fiction Debut:
NYT bestselling author Jen Lancaster's APOCALYPSE HOUSE, which follows a couple from the city through the frustrating and hysterical process of buying and renovating their first home in the suburbs, to Danielle Perez at NAL, in multi-book deal, by Kate Garrick at DeFiore and Company (NA).

So that's what I'm doing for the next three years (in addition to writing non-fiction.)

I'll celebrate when I'm back on solids again. 

For now, I raise my Gatorade in a toast to you all.

Hey, What If You Had An Upcoming Event But Forgot To Tell Anyone About It?

Let's not let that happen...

What:  The third annual Witty Women Writers event at the Book Cellar

When:  Thursday, October 15, 7:00 PM

Where:  4736 N. Lincoln Ave, Chicago, IL

Why:  What do you mean, why?  It's an event; it's fun.  Amy Guth and Stacey Ballis will be there, too, and we'll all be doing our best to make you laugh.  I'll even be reading stuff from the not-yet-finished-being-written book My Fair Lazy.

Who:  I think I just covered this above.

What Else:  I'm not saying the event last year was so crowded we all may have died should there have been a fire.  But I am saying that this year attendance will still be free, but seating will be more strictly limited (and decidedly less flammable.)  You must RSVP by calling (773) 293-2665.

'Til then, I'll be hustling to finally finish the new manuscript and likely not showering on a regular basis.

As for you, please take this time to enjoy the shot of a box of kitten scaring the bejesus out of the pit bull.

 

 

The 80's Loves You Right Back

The contest is over and I've finally finished reading all 118 pages of your entries.

The good news is with the caliber of your answers, I could see every single one of you working on a VH1 I Love the 80's special.

The bad news is I could only choose a few winners.  (Also, I completely suck at coming up with any contest that can be considered "quick.")

Anyway, here in no particular order are the five winning sentences...

"Because nothing defines my 80's like six college freshmen readying themselves post happy hour/pre-night out, showering side by side (separate stalls of course) with individual copies of the lyrics to Paradise by the Dashboard Light in Ziploc bags affixed with rubber bands, dangling from the shower head so we can all sing IN UNISON to the cranking boom box... STOP RIGHT THERE!!"  - Margaret Saylor

"Despite the nagging fear someone might "push the button" and annihilate the world as we knew it before I could save up enough babysitting money for a pair of Guess jeans, it was really the only decade where it was OK to fantasize about Scott Baio living in the basement."  - Mary

"At one magical point in the 80's my butt and my head were the same size."  - Kristina

"With two plastic swords and a few Fruit Roll-Ups, my brother and I defended out suburban NJ neighborhood from the likes of Skeletor, Gargamel, and Serpentor."  - Kate

"It isn't just nostalgia that makes me think the 80's were a more innocent time; back then Michael Jackson wore one glove because he was the coolest guy on the planet, not because he was up to something with Vaseline." - Texie

HOWEVER, after I picked these there were a couple more entries I couldn't stop smiling about.  So I'm giving away my entire cache of audio books and the following are also winners...

"If anyone had high cholesterol, ADD, HPV, erectile dysfunction, an overactive bladder, herpes, or restless leg fucking syndrome, we didn't speak of it during commercial breaks in Falcon Crest."  - K.C.

"There is a picture of the Breakfast Club crew on my MySpace page while there are no pictures of my family."  - Anna

"The 80's evolved from a Lacoste-wearing Preppy Handbook worshipper to a miniskirt Go-Go's girl turned into a big-haired Guns N' Roses fan, all in a single decade."  - Julie

Everyone, thanks for playing along - your answers were fab! 

For you eight winners, please email me at jenwritesbooks (at) gmail (dot) com with a full name and an address where I can send these.  (I'll ship Thursday because I'm not going to be the asshole in line at the post office on April 15 tomorrow like I was last year.)  Also, if you have a website you'd like me to link to your name on this post, please include that, too.  (Oh, and I'm planning to remove the plastic outer-wrap so I can sign them.  If you want your copy still in the package, let me know.)

And that's it.

So, until tomorrow when I finally post the damn prom photos... party on, dudes!

118

Audio book contest results will be announced later today. 

They would be sooner today, except I just cut and pasted all the entries onto a Word document and they're 118 pages long... so... I'll post as soon as I finish reading.

Thanks to everyone who played along at home!

While you wait, please enjoy one of my formal dance photos.

 

I love how my dress says 'Scarlett O'Hara,' yet my eyes say 'help me.'"

"It's Called Being Organized"

The Prom II post is coming, but I might not get it up until later as I have a whirlwind day full of exciting stuff like seeing the dentist and eye doctor and buying dirt at Home Depot.

For now, perhaps you'll enjoy this?

You See? This Is Why I'm Not In Charge Of Anything

I totally forgot to create the Greatest! Contest! Ever! before I left for my appointment today, so now that I'm finally home, I'm obligated to half-ass something in order to keep my promise of posting it today.  (Then again, that's perpetually how I roll.)

I thought about implementing my agent's suggestion - having participants make a karaoke video to an 80's song and posting it on YouTube.  Although I love this idea, upon further consideration I would probably snap after watching my 15th Like A Virgin rendition.  In addition, that seems like an awful lot of work for something that retails at $29.99, so possibly I'd be watching nothing and that would hurt my delicate little feelings.

Resolution?  We're going to do this contest quick and dirty, so here are the rules: 

1)  Give me one sentence about why you loved the 80's... or why you didn't.  That's it, just one sentence and one sentence only.  And if you feel like the 90's or the 70's were the superior decade, tell me why in one sentence. 

1a)  Hey, did you notice how I just said "one sentence" like 900 times in a row?  That's because I'm going to disqualify anything over one sentence.  This is pretty much a one-major-rule contest, so if you break the one big rule, I'm not going to cut you any slack.

2)  I will choose my five favorite entries, so the picking won't be random.  Quality counts.  Speed doesn't.

3)  One entry per person, please.

4)  I will only consider entries posted in the comments section on this entry.  No email, no Twitter, no Facebook, please.  And if someone has posted your perfect answer first, then, um... I guess maybe speed counts a little bit. 

5)  Creativity counts, too.  You don't have to follow the rigid format of, "I loved the 80's because..."  Just give me the gist, e.g. "Pop Rocks candy ruled my world."

6)  The deadline to enter is Monday, April 13 at 12:00 CST.  Winners will be announced Tuesday, April 14. 

Ready... set... write!  (Or, for those of you who loved the 70's, right on.)

(I know.  Lame.  I told you this was half assed.  But the prize is full assed, and that's what matters, yes?)  

Going Forward, I Should Also Remember To Sit On My Hands During Interviews

Oh, look, another post.  

Apparently I actually meant it when I said I'd post more frequently.  Hmm.  How 'bout that?

Anyway, I just got a couple of pieces of video forwarded to me and thought you might enjoy them.

First up, a few quick questions on writing process with my friend Jolene.  (Be warned - there's a single stringy piece of bang swimming around the ocean of my forehead.  Look away or else it will make you crazy.)  (Coincidentally, this is the video that made me break up with my salon.)  (Really, should I have had shapelessness and visible roots like this after two weeks?)  (And I think that's enough parenthetical caveats for now.)

 

Next up, a longer piece that's also on The Huffington Post.  This is a segment for The Interview Show with the very funny Mark Bazer that I did back in December.  The interview was really fun, but I can't help but notice the effect that three months of deadlines and a sinking house and moving and not seeing Barbie and having Christmas cookies for dinner have impacted me.  The good news is I'm not mad at myself.  Instead, I'm super-motivated to get my ass back on the treadmill for the next four to six hours/days/weeks.  (I don't care about the numbers on the scale, but I do miss my strongs.)

So, the Lycra is on, the sneakers are tied, and the next time you see me America, I'll be... sporting a better haircut.