jennsylvania

That's Some Bad Hat, Harry (Humor Hotel Column)

First, a little housekeeping...

Apparently If You Were Here is in the running for the Goodreads Choice Awards 2011 in the humor category against powerhouses like Tina Fey and Chelsea Handler.  I'm delighted to be recognized among such authors, especially Laurie Notaro, whose new book is her best yet.

Regardless, I'd like to win, particularly if there's a trophy involved.

Goodread members can go here to vote.  If you're not a Goodread member, you can sign up for a free membership which is actually very cool way to discover new books and discuss old favorites.

That being said, here's this month's Humor Hotel column...

* * *

I don’t see many scary movies, largely because I don’t like to be scared, particularly when the privilege runs about eleven dollars.  And that’s before popcorn, parking, Junior Mints, and bucket of soda that, ounce for ounce, cost more than a gallon of gas. 

I’m more of an “Isn’t Sandra Bullock sassy?” filmgoer, with an occasional side of “Will Smith saves the world from aliens (again!) while tossing out one-liners sure to become part of the cultural zeitgeist.” 

(“Welcome to earth!”)

But in light of everything terrifying happening in the world that Will Smith has so bravely served - suicide bombers, Solyndra, drum circles, debates, etc. - suddenly the idea of voluntarily viewing an old school horror movie doesn’t seem so daunting.

As I thumb through the pay-per-view guide, I brief my husband Fletch on contenders.  “Let’s see… ooh, The Omen from 1976… The Exorcist… The Shining… and, although technically not appropriate for a Halloween weekend viewing, but still a classic, Jaws.  What sounds good to you?”

Fletch shrugs.  “Your call.  I’ve never seen any of them.”

Wait, what? 

The man with an encyclopedic memory of every zombie movie ever made hasn’t seen any classic horror films?  From Army of Darkness to Zombies, Zombies, Zombies!, I’m shocked he hasn’t taken a single foray away from the undead. 

“How’d you miss these?  Did you grow up Amish and not tell me?”

“We didn’t have HBO as a kid.”

“But you’ve had thirty-five years to catch up!  And you quote Jaws all the time!  Do you even know what you’re referring to when you say 'we need a bigger boat’?”

He shrugs again.

After forbidding him to quote anything he hasn’t viewed, I decide his education should begin with The Omen, which is more psychological thriller than bloodbath.  I haven’t watched the film since the early ‘80s but I clearly recall being petrified.  When it was released, all my aunts saw it on the first night of our extended family vacation and for the rest of the week they slept with the lights on.

The movie starts and not five minutes into it, Fletch begins to mock it.  “How did they not know the kid’s evil?  I mean, he’s five years old, yet he’s wearing a leisure suit.”

“This film grossed sixty million bucks in 1976 dollars and it was nominated for an Oscar,” I counter.

“For best film?”

I mumble into my sleeve.  “For best score.”

After Damien knocks his mother Lee Remick off the balcony, killing his unborn sibling and breaking her arm, Fletch quips, “And that’s why we ride our tricycles outdoors.”

The longer we watch, the less Fletch can contain himself.  After Gregory Peck wrestles evil Rottweilers and drags his demon spawn down the stairs by the arm, Fletch notes, “I’m not sure filmmakers monitored child and animal safety as stringently back then.”

Finally, when the photographer is decapitated in a graphic manner - almost unheard of in 1976 cinema – Fletch has to stifle a yawn before asking, “You want to watch The Walking Dead after this?”

But all is not lost because The Omen’s final image is absolutely chilling.  When we see that Damien has survived to fulfill his Biblical prophecy of doom, I can practically hear the collective gasp of the audience from 1976.

As the credits roll, I turn to Fletch for his final assessment.

“What’d you think?”

He looks thoughtful for a moment.  “I think that our next dog should be a Rottweiler.”

The rest of our weekend is booked with other classic film viewing and now what scares me is that the movies will likely inspire him to cook split pea soup and perhaps write a book.

On the plus side, maybe we’ll get a bigger boat.

* * *

In honor of my birthday, I'm doing some book giveaways next week... see you then!

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!

   

The Stories Behind Some Random Crap I Alluded To On Twitter

While I was on tour, people in each city asked if I was going to do a summer reading list.  Since a lot of you seem to want this, I'm happy to oblige and I anticipate posting this by Friday.

In the interim, I've got a couple of stories to update.  I tried to do most of these on Twitter, but apparently sometimes you need more than 140 characters to best express a thought.  So here goes...

Maisy's feeling better after her bout with kennel cough and I thank you all for your prayers and nice thoughts.  She was exposed about three weeks ago at doggie daycare.  I hate that in trying to give her a fun day at her favorite place, I inadvertently contributed to her getting sick.  Argh.  She's now back to her regular schedule of begging, farting, and bed-hogging, so it's all good.

Now, this should be the point where I prattle on about my beautiful new house and its magical Forks-y backyard. 

And yet I do not have a new house. 

When we left on Friday, we thought the inspection had gone well.  The owner was with us for the whole inspection, which, in retrospect, was a bit awkward.  He'd done most of the home's renovations himself and I found myself trying to justify and minimize the deficiencies pointed out by the inspector so he wouldn't feel bad.  (Interesting My Fair Lazy side note - surprisingly, since writing this book, I've actually become fairly empathetic and socially adept.)  (Not surprisingly, it's generally to my own detriment.) 

Anyway, there were little things wrong here and there, but in terms of the big picture, they seemed innocuous.  The roof didn't need to be replaced, the air conditioners were fine, the furnace was in good shape, etc.  Because the house was a short sale, we couldn't ask for credits even if there were problems.  Basically, we just wanted a fair idea of what we'd need to budget before we moved in.

Flash forward to Saturday when we got the formal inspection report.  The minor problems were all documented and each of them on their own seemed just that - minor.  Piddly.  Nothing to worry about.  However, when all the little deficiencies were put together, they told a very different story.  The inspector pointed out instance after instance of what he called "amateur craftsmanship." 

Yeah. 

THAT'S what you want to hear about the biggest investment of your life.

That term caused us to wonder that if we could see a dozen examples of sub-par work, what about all the things we couldn't see? 

On top of that, the house seemed to have more than its fair share of leaks.  Some of the skylights were damaged and they seemed like an easy enough repair, but there were enough instances of unrelated water spots throughout the house that we really began to question the wisdom of this purchase.  In retrospect, we should have hoped for a bad furnace or a shoddy roof because those are tangible fixes, whereas the notion of chasing down the source of the water is far more slippery.  Our inspector's direct quote was, "I'm certainly not impressed with any home that has this many water problems."

Even though we had the budget for the needed repairs, we decided to err on the side of caution.  Having lived through The Great Rental Home Mold Debacle of 2008, we know firsthand that you do not screw around with water and we withdrew our offer, AS WAS OUR RIGHT.

(Notice how I capitalized that last part?  Yes?  Just checking.)

We chose not to renegotiate any repair work or get a second opinion, despite the home's discounted price and all the gorgeous upgrades.  The thermal camera doesn't lie, nor does it have any skin in the game.  We trusted the findings of the skilled professional.  And honestly, we'd rather pay to remodel a smaller, less attractive house than tear down walls in trying to figure out how fix an already pretty one.  All I could picture was our old kitchen with its pre-fab pressboard cabinets stacked up on top of each other in the living room while the mold remediation guys tried to staunch the leaks.  As much as that hurt my heart, I can't imagine how much I'd hate seeing thousands and thousands of dollars worth of custom cabinetry THAT I OWNED AND WASN'T JUST RENTING in the same situation.  Especially having gone into it willingly.

Since we canceled the contract, our poor realtor's been on the receiving end of some... interesting communication from the sellers' end. 

Apparently Fletch and I are big dummies (not a direct quote) for taking the neutral third party's professional opinions as gospel, our inspector is an asshat (again, not a direct quote) for being a big fat Chicken Little, and our realtor's a moron (these continue not to be direct quotes, despite reflecting the spirit of said note) for not being able to properly explain the VALUE (in big, shout-y DOOCECAPS) we'd be getting in the lovely, albeit waterlogged, house.

I'm curious... has insulting all related parties ever been an effective sales tool? 

And if this place is such a fantastic deal, how come we're the only ones who wanted it?

The plus side is we feel like we dodged an enormous, moist bullet.  The down side is we haven't even moved to the damn town yet and we're already disliked by the only people we've met up there. 

So we start over, a little wiser and a lot drier.  There's one place that I'm hoping works out because there's a pool and a pond.  Whereas I'd never buy a place with water issues, I'd absolutely purchase a home on the basis that it allowed me to quote Caddyshack with impunity.

Anyway, I now have a summer reading list to create... and a cool, damp snout to kiss.

Next Week

On Tuesday, four movers spent eleven hours carting all my shit from the old house to the new one. 

That's forty-four man hours of just putting their hands on all my stuff.  And that doesn't include unwrapping and sorting and making aesthetic decisions.

So, until I get this place in order - or at least can find the box with my underwear in it so I don't have to keep washing the same set every night - I'm going to be indisposed.

See you then!

You're Running the Show Today

Busy today, so you guys are going to take over the comments.  Today's topic is "Things you do not want to hear."  Here, I'll get you started. 

Things you do not want to hear the water remediation guy say:

"Then we opened the wall because we were going to start the clean up in your office and OH, GOD THE MOLD, THERE WAS SO MUCH MOLD, OH, GOD, OH GOD, WE HAVE TO SEAL IT UP AND LEAVE RIGHT NOW."

And then they contained the mold first before they dug in their feet and ran away so fast that they kicked up carpet and hardwood, a la Scooby Doo.

Sidebar?  I have a sneaking suspicion that what we have is SUPERMOLD because the writing I'm doing has never been better.  I think it's possibly brain penicillin.  Don't believe me?  Then come to my event next Friday and hear me read a piece from the new book. 

Here are the deets:

What:  The Witty Women Writers Night

Where:  The Book Cellar, 4736 N. Lincoln, Chicago, IL  (773) 293-2665 

When:  Friday, October 10, 2008 at 7:00 PM

Who:  Amy Guth, Stacey Ballis, Wendy McClure, and me.

Wine:  Yes, the bookstore has a bar.  Woo!

If you want another example, how about what I heard from the tow truck guy when my Toyota 4Runner cracked its engine block while in southern Indiana?

"I ain't never seen one-a them cars before."

So, now it's your turn to complete the thought, "Things you do not want to hear." 

Go!

P.S.  I'm asking you nicely not to attack each others' politics.  I'm sure after the debate last night, you guys have a lot to say, but there are plenty of places outside of here to do so.  If I have to referee anything, I will turn this car around so fast...   

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.)

We Have A Winner!

Between the website, MySpace, and email, I had over 400 entries, all of which made me laugh.  (I'm a particular fan of anyone who used sheet as a pun.)  Thank you all for participating!

Here are my top six:

"Maisy vs. Fletch, Tornado Season 2008: Who's the Dumb Animal Now?" by rDogg0807

"Invisibility cloak; you're doing it wrong." by Tracie

"Rumpled-sheet-skin.  Ain't no fairy tale." by Jerri

"I iz not barbie hed. Plz no makeups."  by Holly

"Intimuhdating pit bull... ur doin it wrong."  by Kat

"This toga party sucks."  by Maria on MySpace

And the winner is...

Jerri! 

Please send me your mailing info so I can send your fabulous prize (which is still TBD.)

(And ignore the auto-response - don't worry, I'll get your message.) 

Is This Thing On?

Am writing this on my BlackBerry from the parking lot of the Home Depot. (Cannot deal with shopping for tools with Bob Fletcher Villa.)

Will this actually post? We'll see, provided he ever finishes shopping.

P.S. This message took 20 minutes to type. Apparently my fingers are HUGE.

New Year's State of the Blog Address, 2008

UPDATE:  Thank you all for thinking of my mom - she's gotten over 300 greetings so far and you guys have totally made her day!  I'm taking the link down now because I guess we have kind of overwhelmed the volunteer staff.  Thank you again!

A lot of you guys have been emailing me about what I've been up to as the site's technically been dark since last year. 

But before I get into updates, I've got a request. 

My mom's in the hospital recovering from surgery (short version is she's going to be fine, long version is when your doctor tells you to avoid certain foods for the rest of your life OR ELSE, you should maybe listen) and I found a way for people to send her a quick electronic greeting.*  She's definitely on the mend because she's getting restless, so I thought she'd get a kick out of hearing from anyone who's interested. 

*I'm hoping this hospital has some redundancy/latency built into its network and the act of you guys sending e-greeting cards doesn't cause it to crash or slow down.  I admit I'm slightly dubious because this is the same town where my 4Runner broke down back in 2002 and it took the auto repair shop almost six weeks to fix a cracked engine block.  (I sensed I was in trouble when the tow truck guy showed up and said something along the lines of, "I ain't never seen no car like that before."  Yeah, Toyotas are EXOTIC, ain't they?  Of course they charged us $1500 for a repair that would have cost $5000 up here, so it wasn't a total loss.) 

Anyway, onward and upward.

As for me, I haven't posted because the only thing I would have written was OW OW OW over and over again.  Among other assorted holiday maladies, I had the GENIUS idea to cash out the rest of my 2007 FSA by getting all my dentistry taken care of on New Years' Eve day as I was not about to let that $255 go to waste.

Again, GENIUS, right?

A bit of advice, if I may?  If you ever decide you'd like to shitcan all ten million of your silver fillings and trade them in for porcelain ones because you are vain enough to think anyone cares what the inside of your mouth looks like, keep in mind the process will HURT LIKE A BITCH and that doing them all at the same time is EXTRAORDINARILY STUPID.

Also?

NO ONE GIVES A SHIT ABOUT WHAT THE INSIDE OF YOUR MOUTH LOOKS LIKE. 

So, instead of going to any festive New Year's parties, I spent three days crying every time air hit my teeth and sucking down the Codeine Fletch had previously ferreted away from me because he figured I'd have used it recreationally.  (Strong is the force in that one.)  I have high hopes to begin chewing again this week.

What else?  Oh, yeah, I wasn't even going to address this because it kind of isn't worth it, and yet I've gotten enough email to be annoyed to the extent I have to respond.  People, I don't think New Year's resolutions are a bad thing, OK?  And if you've made resolutions, stuck to them, and found ways to improve your life, that's great!  Good on you!  The point of my post was that everywhere I'd gone that day strangers asked me about my resolutions and I thought it too personal a question to pose as a generic silence-filler.  Period.  So please cease and desist attempting to engage me in an argument about whether or not resolutions are effective and sending me detailed lists of all the things you've accomplished via resolution because I don't care, WHAT WITH YOUR RESOLUTIONS BEING NONE OF MY BUSINESS.  Aarrggh.  (And no, I didn't respond to each of these emailers suggesting they resolve to improve their reading comprehension.)  (I blame the Codeine for taking away my edge.)

Finally, the ratinmyhouse situation... two weeks ago Fletch said there was no way any rodent would still be here, what with the six hungry carnivores we keep.  He swore up and down that nothing could survive the killing fields of our house and that the second the guys caught the scent of vermin, their instincts would kick in and it would be over.  Dogs and cats would work together to circle and trap their prey, snapping and tearing and rending flesh before going all Lord of the Flies, putting the tiny rat/mouse head on a stake as a warning to any other who dared cross their paths.

Fletch sounded convincing, yet when I looked at the five furry mass murderers, all snoozing comfortably together on the guest bed, I had my doubts.  (FYI, the sixth killer was in the guest room closet, curled up on my cashmere sweaters.)  Oh, yes, he promised me again and again over the course of his Christmas vacation, that rodent was long gone, so I returned to eating my room-temperature soup and trying not to cry.

A couple of days ago, Fletch had to access a plug in his little back-porch office.  I heard him moving furniture to get to the outlet before poking his head into the kitchen to ask me, "Hey, why do you think there's a hundred pieces of dog food behind the couch?"

"Hmm," I replied.  "I guess maybe because the ratinmyhouse you promised had left?  Didn't."

The good news, and I use the term loosely, is we've definitely determined him (please, God, let it be a him) to be a mouse based on, um, what he left behind.  The bad news is he's evaded every means/person we've employed to chase/capture/kill him. 

Also, the creature in question is definitely NOT Remy from Ratatouille because he much prefers his traps loaded with plain old Wisconsin cheddar over the more nuanced flavors of artisanal Machego and smoked Gouda.  (Yet another unimportant side note?  I thought watching Ratatouille would make me less squicked out over the idea of having a ratinmyhouse and yet I swear my heart stopped beating every time I saw the vermin congregate.)

Even worse, this goddamned creature is turning me into Carl Spackler from Caddyshack as I try to get him with non-traditional means and by non-traditional means, let's just say there's been more running around the kitchen banging pot lids together than I care to mention. 

Last night I decided the reason we haven't been able to flush him out is because we don't know where he's hiding anymore... so I came up with yet another GENIUS idea.  I spread flour out in front of all the places I thought he might be, thinking he'd walk in the flour, leave little powdery footprints and I could ambush him in his home.

Again, did I mention the GENIUS part?

Here's what I learned from this little CSI: Martha Stewart exercise:

• Although they will leave a slash where their tail trails (thus confirming their continued presence) mouse-feet are too small to pick up enough flour to leave tracks.
• Cat-feet, however, are not.  Would you like a detailed account of every place each of my extraordinarily busy cats walked last night?  Because I can give it to you. 
• Stupid pit bulls named Maisy think raw flour is the most delicious treat imaginable and will lap that shit up until the combination of flour and saliva glues her jaw shut.
• Flour, particularly when having been licked to the point of adhesion, will never, ever completely come out of hardwood.  Or leather.  Or wool.

Aarrggh.

So... that's what's been happening around here.

Aren't you glad you asked?

   

Not Dead; Just Doing Copy Edits

I was tempted to publish this entry with the title alone because it sums up my whole life at the moment, but decided that was boo-shit after I thought about it.  Instead, I'll use this post put to rest some old business and along the way, try to remember if there's anything that's bugging me. 

OK, first, Facebook and Twitter - yes, I removed my profiles from these places.  I dug Facebook but two weeks into it, found myself kind of overwhelmed with requests.  Due to its more personal/interactive nature (and the fact that I over-think EVERYTHING) I got consumed trying to keep up with every sheep thrown and I worried that I was being rude when I couldn't respond by sending a grow-a-gift or writing on their walls or something because it seemed like kind of an insult because people took the time to do something nice for me and... yeah.  You see my dilemma. 

As for Twitter, well, I'm simply too nosy to be on Twitter.  I just can't read 140-characters of teaser without digging for the rest of the story.  Damn all of you for being too interesting.  (And damn you, Twitter, for continually RE-posting my profile, despite my deletion.  Fuck ups like this are NOT going to help you get purchased by Google or Yahoo.)

Point is this site and my MySpace page aren't going anywhere - and I'm flattering myself here - in case you were worried.

What else?  Oh, on Friday Fletch and I returned to Whole Foods for the first time since the moldy birthday cake incident.  (And yes, they gave me a gift certificate, DAMN SKIPPY.)  We shopped without incident until I pulled my purse out of their double-decker-city-shopping cart. 

Apparently one of the geniuses in the back was too stoned to properly apply the lid (my theory, anyway) and when I grabbed my bag, it tipped the open pint of corn-poblano soup which then dumped all over my brand new birthday coat being stowed in the bottom-decker.  After an entirely-too-long wait, a couple of employees straight from the set of Dazed and Confused showed up and stood there all, "Whoa, bummer!" until I barked that I needed paper towels right-fucking-NOW and perhaps they should grab a mop. 

Long story short, the dry cleaner said my coat should be OK but I fear they're never going to get the smell of poblano pepper out of it and believe every time I walk by someone while wearing it they're going think, "Hey, we should have Mexican food for dinner!"

(BTW, here's the birthday cake my mom had made for me after hearing about the moldy-cake incident.  Is this not GLORIOUS?)

(And yes, it tasted even better than it looked.  There were layers of vanilla, red velvet, and mocha with a light buttercream frosting between and under the fondant.  I cut it into pieces and froze them in separate baggies and now have access to magnificent cake whenever I want.  So, again, SCREW YOU, WHOLE FOODS.)

And speaking of birth (this is a terrible segue, but let's pretend it works) did anyone see US magazine last week?  I'm still fuming over this.   There's a little article with pictures of celebs and a clock telling how long each of them were in labor.  Apparently Keri Russell labored for thirty-eight hours, Gwyneth Paltrow for seventy, and Brooke Shields for twenty-four.  However, Keisha Castle-Hughes is the big winner because she labored for seventy-two hours, yet it was OK because she "forgot every single minute of it" once she saw her baby daughter.

Nice little article, right?  Yeah, except the fact that Keisha Castle-Hughes is SEVEN-FUCKING-TEEN YEARS OLD.  Honey, you were in labor that long because you're STILL A BABY YOURSELF.  (FYI, I'm not going to go all moral/political/ethical here ranting about how Keisha isn't married because ultimately, her life has no effect on mine.) 

(My politics can be summed up by the philosophy that you should do whatever you want, as long as it doesn't cost ME anything.) 

(Also, I'm not going to get into the abortion debate because, really, there's a BIRTHDAY CAKE here.)

Castle-Hughes made choices and they're not up for debate.  She may be an old soul and a fantastic mother and everything is just fine.  My point is that I'm pissed off at Us Weekly.  I mean, can we please not have a national magazine glorifying babies having babies here?  Considering half their readers are likely teenagers, did US really have to use Castle-Hughes as an example, thus sending the message that it's totally cool to not only have sex but also to give birth while being a junior in high school?  Did no one else in Hollywood have a drawn-out delivery?  Could they not have found someone else's photo to post?  GOD.

Anyway, I'm out of steam and need to get back to work now.  Later!

"Pfft, this entry sucks.  You'd have been better off just posting the title.  And can I have some cake?"   

P.S. Loki just reminded me comments will re-open when I have time to monitor them again.

Have Drinks with Jen

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

I haven't a clue.

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

So...

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

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

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

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

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

In other news, still not done editing right now. 

But I will be by this weekend.

Be afraid.

This Is What Procrastination Looks Like

Because I have a manuscript due in six weeks, today seemed like the perfect day to organize all my digital photos.  I'm posting not only my favorites here but also stuff you'll recognize from stories in Bright Lights, Big Ass.  (I promise this photo obsession will pass soon.  Or, soon-ish.) 

Enjoy... and thank you for not calling attention to the fact that in so posting, I'm delaying airing the stink out of my house, returning hundreds of overdue emails, paying bills, bathing myself, oh, and writing another ten chapters.

First up, Maisy at eight weeks old on the day we brought her home, looking EXACTLY like she does now, only with straighter ears.

"I will own you, bitch."

Heartfelt emotion in Nowhereville, PA.  Because, really?  Hallmark is for suckers and true love comes in a spray can.

Wait, no.  True love is when you email your wife a photo of the sandwich you made while she's at her temp job because she believes you're incapable of feeding yourself.  (Note:  This is one of SEVENTEEN shots.)  (Bonus points awarded for pickle placement.)

The koi pond/Japanese garden in the enclosed courtyard at a magnificent rental home we considered a few years ago before settling on Loser House.  Had I not Googled the neighborhood sex crime database (30 repeat offenders in a two block radius, WTF?), we'd have taken it.  Judging from some of the stuff on display, we think R. Kelly owned the house.  Oh, the irony.

Tangible proof of the The Holiday Drinking Season, or Why Big Daddy Should Not Hit the Eggnog 'Til After Wrapping Presents.

Check it out - pearls, pajamas, pedicures, pasta, and pets. I'm a cliche of myself in this photo!

Remember when I wrote Rachael Ray was the devil and I described the Frankenmeatloaf Fletch cooked?  Yes.  It was real.  Be afraid because evil never dies and this meatloaf is probably still wandering up and down Racine Ave.

Not Winky.  But likely a close relation.  Not pictured?  Dogs trying to break down the door, SWAT-style.

The view of the city from Fletch's boss's boat.  (Not the night of the two-dollar incident, though.)

The shot Fletch and I staged because I thought sending "Come to My Book Signing or the Dog Gets It" invitations would be funny and not, you know, UTTERLY TERRIFYING.  (BTW, Lindsay Lohan is a big, fat copycat.)

But don't worry - Fletch is also in touch with his feminine side.  Anyone need a button sewn back on?

A party shot from back when we were DotCom Thousandaires.  (Seriously, is that not the best jacket ever?)

Finally, the cover Bitter would have had if I hadn't argued successfully that putting a six-foot tall, 110 lb. model up there didn't quite convey the idea of being laid off and getting fat.  (But if you'd like to think my legs are this thin and that my ass wouldn't expand across the entire suitcase, please feel free.)

Alright, I've got to try and accomplish something today. 

And if it's not a whole chapter, at least I hope it's a shower.

Not Dead! Only in Deep Pain!

I’m not going to apologize for not blogging recently because… dude.  The new book is due in less than two months.  Busy.  So very, very busy. 

 

Technically, I don’t actually HAVE to lose the whole 50 pounds, I’m just contractually obligated to provide 80,000-90,000 words about the process.  However, I don’t miss deadlines OR goals so I’m killing myself right now to make it happen.  I mean, damn, on top of the restrictive diet I’m working with my trainer three times a week and also doing cardio on my own.  Plus, I went to a “freemotion fitness” group class on Wednesday taught by my trainer, which A) was really fucking hard and B) was probably a mistake on my part as my trainer complimented me on keeping up and determined I’d been holding out on her in our private sessions. 

 

Shit.      

 

My trainer then laughed and said she couldn’t hear me complaining over the music, which I imagine was a pleasant change.  Frankly, I was too busy trying not to attract attention from the fit participants during the class, so I kept my mouth shut.  However, our dollar-per-minute training sessions are an entirely different story.  It’s impossible for me to not provide surly running commentary over each exercise.  (I am made for sitting and reclining, not for squatting and sprinting!)      

   

Also, there’s such pain and exertion involved, my body hijacks my brain and invents problems so she’ll take it easy on me, e.g. “These lunges just sprained my prostate, so let’s not complete the set, OK?”   

 

Sadly, I’ve cried wolf one too many times, and now unless we can see bone sticking out, she doesn’t believe me when I beg for a moment to tend to all my “injuries.” 

   

I am so going to buy her a pony when we reach my goal.   

 

That is, if she doesn’t kill me first. 

 

Anyway, until I get back to my regular posting duties, check out any of the following: 

 

My interview with Cindy at Conversations with Famous Writers 

 

Tons of great summer reading recommendations from Trashionista 

 

MamaPop’s new bookclub 

 

Finally, for the Jens and Wendy and Roberta and all the other cool ladies sitting on the east end of the table at the telephone bar after the New York signing, I FINALLY remembered the story I was going to tell you about my friend wearing her neighbors sheets!  Granted, I totally forget how it was a propos to the conversation, but here it is. 

 

Now there’s an elliptical machine with my name on it.  And if I don’t go, I fear my trainer will make my broken ankles go from fantasy to reality... 

 

(P.S.  Just found out the new book will be released in May, 2008!)

Your Two Cents

Next Sunday at 11:00 AM, Stacey Ballis and I are appearing together at Printer’s Row on the main stage. We don’t have a set agenda of what we’re supposed to discuss; rather, we’re simply listed on the program as being “in conversation.”

As Stacey is one of my favorite people in the world, having a chat with her is not exactly a chore. And because of all the traveling she’s done lately to promote her trio of new books, I won’t see her again until that day. So, it’s not like she and I won’t have a zillion things to discuss. The problem I’ve had limited human interaction lately. (Fletch was in Denver for most of May.) Because of this, I’m afraid I will monopolize the conversation with any of the following topics:

• A Shear Genius post-mortem. (Note: I have not yet seen all the episodes; DO NOT tell me who won.)      
• My new trainer and how she’s EVIL because she doesn’t actually end our session right at sixty minutes like any mental health professional would and how last time I was there SIXTY-TWO minutes into our session, she pulled out a giant step and made me climb it, like, a thousand times and the only thing I could think to shout while waiting for my heart to seize up was, “You are a very bad girl!”   
• Fletch and his inability to reuse a bath towel. (That’s why towel racks exist! To dry the terrycloth between uses!)   
• Why every maid-for-hire ad I’ve looked at on Craig’s List only offers “erotic” cleaning services and how if I don’t get help mopping and taking out garbage soon, Adult Protective Service is going to become involved.   
• Homeless people who freaking stand in line to beg at the intersection of Fullerton and the Kennedy expressway. (Perhaps having a number-taking machine like in the deli section of the supermarket would cut down their wait time?)   

Yeah, no one’s coming all the way to the South Loop and paying $20 for parking for this, and that’s why I seek your help. Given the opportunity, what kind of stuff would you want to hear us discuss? The writing process? How we found agents? Fiction vs. non-fiction? What inspires us? Who we read?

Anyway, please let one of us know via email or MySpace what you want to hear. Otherwise, a whole new season of So You Think You Can Dance has begun and I have far too many unexpressed thoughts...

Everybody's So Different, But I Haven't Changed

For those wondering, yes, I will shortly return to blogging regularly here, at Mamapop, and at Snarkywood.  Just give me a couple of more days to catch up. 

As for current events, the best way to describe what's happening here would be to share my task lists. 

Yesterday's To-Do List:

• TV appearance!
• Interview!
• Hair, makeup, nails done!
• Book signing!
• Autograph session!
• Post-signing celebration at Webster Wine Bar with world's most excellent fans! 

Today's To-Do List:

• Kill colony of ants in master bedroom! 

Again, I'll return shortly, and for those of you local, see you tomorrow night!