Hey... look what just arrived!
In case you're interested, this is how my twisted little thought process works:
Hey! Why are these books so small?
They're so skinny! So why did I spend so much goddamned time writing all those words this summer if they were going to make such a skinny book? What happened to all the other words?
Is the type really wee? If so, I'll need some of those bridge-of-the-nose-glasses they sell on the racks at Walgreens.
Seriously, who reads such tiny books? They're the size of a club sandwich! I don't want to read a club sandwich book because I don't want drugstore glasses.
Why are they wrapped in plastic? What is this, the Madonna sex book?
And... huh.
They're not book books.
They're audio books.
Cool.
Cooler if Morgan Freeman had narrated them, but still.
Cool.
How weird is that anyway to have my book on CD? Am I supposed to listen to it in the new car? Are my friends going to get in and be all, "Hey, sweet ride. And who are you listening to?" and I'll be all, "The voices inside my head are now on disc!"
Wow, there's so many of them.
Why do I have so many?
What on earth am I supposed to do with all of them?
Oh, wait...
I'm only getting a new car (see you in hell, dented SUV from last century!) because a lot of nice people made it possible for me to have this job.
And I need to say thank you.
So that's what I'm going to do.
Tune in tomorrow for the official start of giveaway!
(Because my twisted little thought process needs that long to figure out the best way to run a contest.)
TICK TICK TICK TICK TICK
Do you hear that?
It's the sound of the clock winding down to Pretty in Plaid's release. Thirty-five more days!
(OK, typing "thirty-five more days" just gave me a panic attack, but that's neither here nor there. I'm so deeply into Book-Five-mode that I keep forgetting that this one isn't completely behind me.) (Also, Pretty in Plaid has already gone back to print. Everyone whose job it is to care about this sort of thing tells me this is really good news.) (Thank you, book sellers!)
ANYWAY.
More than anything, Pretty in Plaid is a nostalgic book. Although it covers stories from the 70's through the 90's (so, yes, it's kind of a prequel to Bitter) I dig the 80's aspect of it most of all. The styles, the music, the vibe... everything about the 80's makes me happy.
What I love about 80's style is no other decade has been as iconic in terms of fashion and its direct relationship to pop culture. Even in my rural high school, kids defined exactly who they were sartorially. We had the Madonna wanna-bes, the Flashdancers, the Breakdancers, the Headbangers, the Stray Cats Rockabilly Boys, etc. And a little later, once I hit college, we had the Miami Vice Dudes, the Junior Stockbrokers, the Heathers, etc.
The thing is, the 80's make me so happy that... SURPRISE! We're turning my book tour into a big 80's bash!!
The bookstores are on board and they'll be playing 80's music at the events and I'll be there in all my 80's finery. Granted, that means Lacostes with popped collars and khaki walking shorts. Honestly, that's not much of a stretch from my current wardrobe. Lest you think the Lacostes are a cop-out and I won't suffer for my craft, I'll say this: enormous 80's hair extensions will be involved.
Although it's certainly not a requirement, I'd l love it if YOU came to the events in YOUR favorite 80's outfit! Plus, if you guys choose to participate, we're going to get a ton of media because 300 women in plaid ARE going to get noticed.
To get everyone fired up, I need your help. Every day between now and when I leave for tour, I'm going to post one of your 80's photos. I want to see your acid wash and crimped hair and dinner plate sized Fergie bow. Show me your Bermuda bag and add-a-bead necklace. Share your parachute pants and Judas Priest concert tee.
Please send your best (or worst) shot from back then, along with any sort of caption or story you want to add and a link back to your website, if applicable. Email your jpeg or gif to:
Now, before we go back to the past, here are some of my favorite looks from my recent 80's party, many of which I just swiped from friends' Facebook pages. (Thanks, guys!)
Members Only jacket AND a Sports Walkman? Excellent attention to detail!
Speaking of detail, anything "jelly" is key.
As are all things Esprit.
Love the authentic use of stubble.
Neon rocked the house at my high school.
Dear Diary: Heather told me she teaches people "real life." She said, real life sucks losers dry. You want to fuck with the eagles, you have to learn to fly. I said, so, you teach people how to spread their wings and fly? She said, yes. I said, you're beautiful.
This looks exactly like every fraternity party I attended. (Floors were sticky for authenticity, too.)
Indeed, that IS a wine cooler in my hand. I have 40 more of them in my pantry. Want one?
Is this my house or the Delta Sigs? Because I can't tell.
Fletch had a Metal Lounge for VIP guests.
What a feelin'! I am music now! Bein's belivin'! I am rhythm now!
Finally... the REAL 80's...
And now, show me YOUR 80's.
I promised myself I'd sit down to write a long-overdue blog post today.
When I finally did, I realized I have nothing to say, even though I've been plenty busy for the past few weeks.
No, I don't have writer's block, nor am I troubled in any sense. It's just that I've already told all my stories in short bursts on Twitter.
The good news is when you make a living getting paid by the word, it's not too hard to expand upon what's previously been written.
So, because you've been waiting for it - at least that's what I tell myself - here are the stories behind the stories. (With photos and everything!)
* * *
The Tweets About My Stupid Haircut And Neck Punching
wonders how we have the technology to clone a sheep, yet it's scientifically impossible for me to get two good haircuts in a row.
will consider it miraculous if I DON'T end up punching someone in the neck today. My aggravation meter goes all the way to eleven.
used a new anti-aging eye cream last night and now both eyes feel infected. Christian Dior, your neck has a date with my fist.
advises the Neck Punching Threat Index Level has been lowered to yellow, due to a better haircut and a Filet-o-Fish. Proceed with caution.
Now for the rest of the story...
Why would anyone give me this bowl stupid haircut? Why?
FYI, I'm wearing clown makeup here because this is from the day we filmed my Pretty in Plaid video, which is basically shot and cut like a movie trailer, only to promote books. This particular video will include plenty of Breakfast Club dancing and my hope is it will be really funny, except for my haircut, which is obviously tragic.
I had people in town for a few days last week because of the video, which partially explains my absence from the blog. Also, I had to clean for two days prior to their arrival since I spent all my allowance on a stupid bowl haircut and couldn't pay a maid service. (Bit of a false economy, really.)
During the shoot we kept trying to capture a Risky Business-type slide across the hardwood, which Fletch would not consent to do in Ray Bans, a big oxford, and skivvies because he is NO FUN. (Also something about him having a real job and not wanting coworkers to see him on the internet sans pants?) Anyway, he's the worst slider ever, so to grease the skids as it were, I sprayed an entire can of Endust on the floor. For the rest of the night, the dogs kept wiping out every time they got to the bottom of the stairs and I had to spend the whole next day stripping off all the greased skids.
The happy ending here is that instead of just complaining about my stupid cut for the next six to eight weeks, I went back to my stylist and she fixed it for free. No necks were punched. And that brings us to last Saturday.
* * *
The Tweets About The Stink
going all CSI to determine the stink in the family room. Cats are at the top of my suspect list.
has located source of carpet stink. Culprit not identified, but dogs pretty much cleared; not capable of this kind of evil. Cats on notice.
initiating vacuuming and deodorizing sequence.
has informed cats of their rights and advised them not to leave town.
is queasy from Arm & Hammer fumes and currently being mocked by both cats and carpeting. On to the soap-and-water-scrub portion of our show.
is AAARRRGGHH! CARPET STINK IS JUST LIKE GREMLINS! NEVER ADD WATER! RUN! SAVE YOURSELVES!
has gone to DEFCON ONE - carting my lazy ass down all those the stairs to get the Spotbot.
overheard cats by water dish whispering, "Steam cleaner, pfft. She's going to need an exorcism to get that stink out."
gives up. Cats = 1. Jen = 0.
can't believe that even with the aroma of pies baking and briskets... brisketing that The Stink Abides. Maybe something did die in the wall?
Now for the rest of the story...
What's funny is I really thought I'd never need the Oh, Holy Fuck, There's A Rat In My House blog post category anymore after moving out of the old place. But something is clearly amiss in my family room as the stink lingers. Our walls are made of giant, impenetrable cement blocks, but there's an opening to the outside via our stove vent so it's possible something could have gotten in. I'd heard some odd clanging at night last week around the stove area, but I assumed it was the wind.
Now I'm not so sure it wasn't something living.
Also, I presently live next door to this construction (crime?) scene:
Not pictured: the ancient Native American man standing on my porch, a single tear running down his grizzled brown cheek.
Honestly, I'm thankful they've finally stopped jackhammering over there, so the mountain of garbage doesn't bother me nearly as much as you'd think.
As for stink abatement, I'm following a strict course of opening windows and avoiding the family room. The TV's bigger in the basement, anyway. Also, Fletch says there is no stink and I'm just imagining it.
Regardless, I've had bigger (filets-o) fish to fry this week because of the electricians.
* * *
The Tweets About The Electricians And Shamrock Shakes
won't have electric all day tomorrow due to meter repair. I'll be just like Abe Lincoln! I mean, if Abe had a BlackBerry.
already lost my $5 bet with myself on the electrician showing up on time.
has now been waiting FOUR HOURS for the electrician. But I don't need regular electricity because I'm about to go freaking nuclear.
unplugged everything so essentially I'm sitting here being all environmental (and unproductive) (and Bret Michaels-free) AGAINST MY WILL.
On the bright side, I'm sitting outside with Rush Limbaugh playing loudly. Neighbor scowling. Listen, if I'm mad, everyone's gonna be mad.
quivering in anticipation of waiting for the electrician again tomorrow. NECK PUNCH THREAT INDEX RED - proceed with extreme caution.
starting the "how late is the electrician today" clock.
is 14 yrs out of college and no longer has to have green beer today. Is also 29 yrs out of grade school, but still NEEDS a Shamrock Shake.
we went six hours yesterday before cancellation, so I'm hoping for less than that. (Right now we're at 20 minutes.)
is embarrassingly happy to see the electricians. Greeted themlike conquering heroes.
may not have electric right now but I can still boil water for French press coffee! Ha!
well, shoot. How do I grind the beans?
has officially run out of anything to do that doesn't require electricity.
would make a lousy pioneer. My manifest destiny is TiVo.
The city code inspector just announced his arrival by whistling and shouting, "Yo!" This bodes well.
Now for the rest of the story...
When we moved in, we called ComEd to switch the electric bill into our names. Two months into living here, I realized we never received a bill. Turns out our house never had/passed the city's final electrical inspection, thus we had no meter and could not be billed.
In the short term, yay! No electric bills!
But I figured the long term would entail a month-long stretch while our home's owner fought a monolithic utility company and we sat in the dark roasting weenies in a garbage can fire. Best to get this taken care of before there's trouble, you know?
That brings us to Monday when the electricians were supposed to be here to install a meter. Instead, I spent six hours waiting and being told, "Just another half hour and they'll be there."
LIES. DAMN LIES. NECK PUNCHING IMMINENT.
Then, on to Tuesday when the guys finally showed up... three hours after the four hour job was supposed to be complete, I toyed with the idea of switching the breakers back on because THAT would certainly teach these gentlemen a valuable lesson about timeliness and deadlines. In my mind I was all George Bluth, "And that's why you don't keep me waiting!"
But I fought temptation, figuring that flash-frying these guys was technically a felony.
Plus I'd never get the smell out of the family room.
The bulk of Tuesday's problems stemmed from my being too stupid to realize that I own a variety of devices that might have amused me (e.g. personal DVD player, iTouch, powered-up laptop, etc.) and I spent quite a bit of time sitting on the living room couch sighing loudly about everything I wasn't accomplishing.
However, the bigger issue was when someone I follow tweeted that her McDonalds was out of Shamrock Shakes at 11:30 AM, I began to panic. Could that happen here? I feared my 36 year old St. Paddy's Day Drinking-of-the-Shamrock-Shake streak would be broken and if that happened, I knew of two pokey electricians about to get a serious neck-punching.
At 5:30, five hours after the proposed finish time, the electricians left and I was free to pursue the Drinking of the Green (Shake.)
Except every single local McDonalds was out of them.
I know. I checked. (When it comes to Shamrock Shakes, I have that kind of time.)
So I bought a vanilla shake, came home, and added peppermint extract and green food coloring.
It was a perfect replica.
The streak remains unbroken.
No necks were punched.
And now you know the rest of the story.
Still busy with edits and getting ready to move at the end of the month and, ha! Not panicking!
Not panicking at all!
And certainly not wasting time obsessing on how the hell I'm going to cover the SIXTY-TWO bare windows in the new place, either. For example, here's the window situation on the stairs going to the second floor:
What am I supposed to do with this? Right now the only options I've come up with are "newspaper" and "accidentally flashing my neighbors when I run from the bathroom to the bedroom in my underpants." I'm not sure which option might cause more aesthetic distress for all involved. (Perhaps at the holidays I'll go all festive and put up wrapping paper.)
Also, because it may be the most beautiful thing I've ever seen, here's the kitchen:
Please note how it is not raining in this room. (And is anyone else nervous about the way Fletch is eyeing that stove?)
So, I have to finish my edits so I can get paid (and thus afford to move anywhere), but I won't leave you empty-handed.
Many of you became fans in the last year, which means you never heard about the website I used to write for called Snarkywood.com. Everyone involved went on to do other stuff both on the web and in print, but the archives still exist. I didn't create Snarkywood and only started writing for them towards the middle, but from the very first day, this was some of the funniest shit I ever read.
Click here to access the archives.
My favorite is Don't Hassle the Hoff, but really, you can begin on any entry. Enjoy!
And yeah, Maisy's sad I'm busy, too.
"This is what happened when the penguin saw you in your underpants."
