Monday, Monday

I really need to stop sleeping in over the weekend, because then Monday comes and I am so...effing...tired, and all the coffee Juan Valdez can pack over to me on his mule cannot keep me awake.  All day I dream of napping, and it's crazy hectic at work, and then I get home and it's make dinner get OD to her cello lesson take The Son to return the shoes he doesn't like go to the grocery store get everyone showered/homeworked/tucked and pluck George The Superpet's ear hair (yes, I do that) and then one would think I would be ready for bed and SURPRISE!  I'm wide awake.  Sure to be dead ass tired again tomorrow.

I did start this book last night, which is terrific so far:

It's a dog book, so I'm sucked in.  I read these books and I get engrossed, but there's also this voice in the back of my head that says, "You need to write your book" and I say "I don't have time right now" and the voice pesters me until I start yelling at it, "Do you have any idea how fucking hard it is to write a book!?!  And one that is actually good and has a story and proper English that people will read that doesn't have sparkly vampires in it because that is so 2010?!"

I love a good book.  I have been reading since I was four, and I love nothing better in life than losing myself in a book, where I am so obsessed with it that I can't put it down, and when I'm forced to put it down I can't stop thinking about when I can pick it back up again.  I will take a good book, and I mean a REALLY good book that is one of the obsession books, over sex, coffee, wine, pasta and tiramisu.  THAT is how much I love books. 

There are loads of books I've been this obsessive with in my life, but ones that pop into my mind immediately are - Jane Austen books (except for Northanger Abbey, which was okay but I could put it down and live), Cowboys Are My Weakness by Pam Houston, The Good People of New York and Out of the Girls Room and Into the Night by Thisbe Nissen, Cooked Little Heart and Bird by Bird by Anne Lamott, Devil in the White City by Eric Larson, It Happens Every Day by Isabel Gillies, the entire Twilight series, the entire Harry Potter series, Prep by Curtis Sittenfeld, Room by Emma Donoghue, all Jen Lancaster books, the Hunger Games series, and the Dragon Tattoo series by Stieg Larsson.  As a kid, it was Laura Ingalls Wilder, Nancy Drew, The Secret Garden, A Little Princess, The Trumpeter Swan, anything by Judy Blume and of course The Flowers in The Attic series.  Ish.

On deck right now I have A Tale of Two Cities, Portrait of a Lady, Bleachy-Haired Honky Bitch by Hollis Gillespie, It Looked Different on the Model by Laurie Notaro, and am awaiting Stacey Ballis's new book whenever it may come because I did love Good Enough to Eat.  And David Sedaris's Squirrel Seeks Chipmunk.  And With a Little Luck by Caprice Crane.

(I have to stop writing this because I have spent the last 20 minutes going back and adding another book I love to the "obsessed with" list.  Because I'm obsessed.)

But with a Pesky Full Time Job, my work severely cuts into my reading time, and then the Mothering takes over the non-paid-work time, so I find myself reading until all hours of the night and then waking up vowing never to do it again and covering the perpetually deep shadows under my eyes with foundation.  Open Memo to People at Work: I'm not being beaten, I'm reading.

What exactly is my point here?

That I write every single day, and have been writing pretty steadily for 15 years, and I can tell you firsthand that it is DAMN HARD to write a book.  Try it, I dare you.  I'm about 2/3 of the way through my first novel, which is about 60,000 words (the average blog post is about 600-900 words), and I haven't TOUCHED the novel in over a year.  I know how it's going to end.  I just haven't written it down.  And then when you start writing it, it changes.  The book actually takes your thoughts and says, "Bullshit, that would never happen.  THIS is what that character REALLY wants to do!"  I have another book rolling around in my head, and a collection of short stories too.  But guess what?  No publisher is going to pay me to tell them all about the stories and not write them down.  It's that tricky technicality of calling oneself a writer...you actually have to WRITE.

Every week, I say, "once we get through the school year I'll make time to write", then "once we get through the summer, I'll make time to write" and "Once school starts again, I'll make time to write" and now it's "once I finish this freelance project for CH..." and "once we finish the basement..."  One of these days I might actually do it, but honestly people, I'm 42 and I start worrying that I'm never going to purge these words.  It's like John Lennon said, "Life is what happens when you're busy making other plans."

Every time I hear the song, "Unwritten" by Natasha Bedingfield, which I'm pretty sure she wrote specifically for me, I think Get Your Ass In Gear, Girl!  Do you have a lifelong ambition that is unmet?  Do you have something you are just dying to do and just don't do it?  What is holding you back?  Am I alone in thinking my epitaph is going to be "Unfulfilled potential?"  Lay it on me, Wifers, if Blogger will let you comment.  What is on your mind?  If you can't comment here, go to the FB page and do it there.  I want to know!

Jen Lancaster, I am Your Stalker

How do I love thee, Jen Lancaster?  

Let me count thy ways...

First off, let me say that it is nearly 11 p.m. in The House of Wife, and I am leaving tomorrow a.m. for the Erma Bombeck writing conference in Dayton, Ohio.  It is a seven hour drive.  Am I packed?  Negative, ghost rider.  Are my papers in order?  Nope.  Do I have my stuff together to hand to the person who says, "So YOU are Julie!  I've been dying to represent/publish/pay you!"  Negativo.  But I've been teasing you with this Jen Friggin' Lancaster post, and I've been called a lot of things, but never a tease.


Oh, wait.  Yes I have.  Lots of times.  But that's a Whoreticulture Friday-type subject.


A friend of mine told me about Jen last year.  (Thank you, Tricia!)  I went to Jen's website, Jennsylvania, and then immediately ran out and bought all of her books.  They are hysterical and funny and real, and I love that she puts it all out there, bitchy ex-sorority girl and all.  I mean really - swiping a Coach briefcase from a homeless guy?  Invention of the word "asshat"?  Hatred of exercise?  Love of pie and mojitos?   What's not to like?


Then I started noticing all of the similarities between Jen's life and mine, and I realized that bitch had actually STOLEN the life I wanted, except that Jen is Me, and Fletch is CH, and Maisy is George the Superpet and the Thundercats are Oldest Daughter, The Son, and Youngest Daughter.  This is when I decided the most logical thing to do was to stalk her.

I'm not new to stalking - ask any number of guys I dated (or didn't) in high school and college.  I had some, um, how do you say...UNRESOLVED ISSUES...so I would usually pick the guy who was least interested or the worst boyfriend prospect and then beat him into submission.  Very "cavewoman hits him on head with club and drags him to her cave."  My friend and roommate Dippy (this IS what we actually called her) introduced me to Current Husband, and then immediately pulled me aside and said, "He is totally not marriage material."  Hook, line, and sinker.  But the joke was on me, because CH ended up being exactly the kind of guy I should marry.  Funny how those things work out sometimes.


Anyhoo, I started my Jen Stalking in the usual way - I e-mailed her and asked for a meeting.  Because isn't it totally logical that a New York Times Best-Selling author would take the time to meet a complete stranger for drinks and pie?  Here is the actual e-mail I sent:

Hello Jen!

My fellow ex-sorority sister who loves kelly green and pink and Wham directed me to your books.  After the third one, I broke my library habit and actually bought Pretty in Plaid because I felt like an ass reading your work for free.  It was totally worth it, even if it was the equivalent of five Starbucks skinny vanilla lattes.  Totally worth it.

So I am writing my crazy crack whore (my equivalent of asshat) request knowing this will never work, but what the hell.  I SO SO SO want to go to Witty Women Writers, as I live in the Quad Cities and have been DYING to get to one of your events, but I have tickets to David Sedaris in the QC that night and a fabulous outfit already picked out.

SO - (deep breath) - I swear I am not a stalker, but I will be in Chicago on Nov. 12 and wondered if you ever let complete strangers take you out for lunch or pie or fruity alcoholic drinks for an hour (or 30 min!  Or 10!  Or you just yell things out of your window as I drive by!) of brain picking on getting a blog to print.  I know, I am so original, no one else in the world wants a piece of you. 

And I'm aware your time is worth more than pie.

I feel like I just asked you to prom, knowing you will say no.  And I already have my dress.  And I'm totally sober.  Ugh.  Here's my blog, if you aren't entirely creeped out:  www.adayinthewife.blogspot.com

Thanks.  (Sound of cork coming out of merlot.)  Anticipating auto-response.
Julie

 Okay, I can hear you saying, "Bitch, please."  Really.  I already sound psychotic, would YOU meet me?  Without security and a taser gun?  I don't think so.  But Jen, clearly not sensing the imminent danger, actually friggin' E-MAILED ME!!!  And then I had an orgasm and saw Jesus and unicorns and ponies...for a rejection.   But a rejection from JEN LANCASTER!  Here was her response:

Thanks so much for reading and getting in touch .  I really appreciate it!

 

I'm sure you understand that you are not the first person to make such a request, and I just cannot meet everyone one on one and continue to have time to shower and feed the menagerie.  But I hope to see you at a tour event for My Fair Lazy when it is released next year!

 

Best wishes,

Jen

Be careful what you wish for, Jen.  Of course, the tone of this response was very polite, which is not really Jen, so I waited for a few days, checking her blog to see if she would post my e-mail and rip me to shreds - "Can you believe this psycho?" - but she didn't.

Then, in November, she posted this absolutely hysterical riff on New Moon, where she re-creates the ENTIRE MOVIE using the action figure dolls in her kitchen.  Bella jumping off the cliff is the doll jumping in Jen's sink into a bowl, and Edward's apparition is his doll in an upside-down tea pitcher.  If you haven't seen it, here it is - Jen's New New Moon.  Since I am such a Twilight junkie, I felt compelled to comment upon Jen's genius, and it was time for another stalker e-mail:

Okay, I was having a sucky day, and New New Moon completely turned it around.  Really.  Can't wait for My Fair Lazy.

And then I was inspired to write two New Moon blogs, because of you, but I did give you props in the blog, and posted your New New Moon link on my FB page because it should be shared.

www.adayinthewife.com

Thanks for being hilarious.  And REAL!!!  I raise a fruity drink in your honor.
julie

 Holy shit, that's some embarrassing stuff.  And by the way Jen, did you notice my blog address?  Shouldn't you go there and then forward me on to your agent/publicist/editor?  How many times must I suck up to you before you bequeath your publishing life to me?  

Well kids, the answer to that would be ONE MORE TIME.  Because the third time is the charm.  Jen announced on her blog that she had a secret she was going to share later that week.  Most of her fans would read that and say, "I can't wait.  I wonder what my favorite author is up to!?"  Her stalker says, "I literally CAN'T WAIT.  I am going to speed-dial her, go through her garbage cans again, follow her to Starbucks, and e-mail AGAIN.  Because I like to punish myself."  

Jen -

I know!  I know!  You are getting a MOVIE!  And if you are, I want to play one of the people you yell at to get your latte at Starbucks, specifically to yell at me "MOVE MOVE MOVE!!!  A latte doesn't fetch ITSELF!!"

And if you aren't, you should.  Shame on Hollywood!

My book club is traveling from the Quad Cities to one of your Chicago readings in May, can't wait.

Julie, www.adayinthewife.com 

 More sucking up.  And again with the blog address.  Is my book club going?  I don't know.  It just sounded better than "I'll be there wearing your Lacoste shirt and pearls I filched from your dresser while you were out!"  I do know the friend who introduced me to Jen is likely going with me, and clearly needs to bring a tranquilizer gun and the number of my attorney.


But then, it happened.  Jen REPLIED to my e-mail, again:

Julie,

 

No movie yet.  I don't think Hollywood would quite know what to do with me!

Looking forward to seeing you in May!

 

Jen

 Holy shit!  We're friends now!  She loves me!  I understand her!  She's looking forward to seeing me!  She likes me, she really likes me!  And then she responded to my New New Moon e-mail:

Julie,

 

So glad you liked it!

Thanks for writing,

 

Jen

Oh.  So she responds to everything eventually.  Demoted to stalker status, again.  But can you imagine the volume of e-mail this woman gets?  So I was pretty psyched to hear from her.  Of course, I printed her e-mails and put them on my Author Stalker wall, right next to my framed autograph from David Sedaris that says he "looks forward to reading my book someday".  Yes, I forced him to write that, but still.  I think I've come up with the perfect line for Jen to write in my copy of "My Fair Lazy" when I attend the book signing in Chicago:

"Julie -

Cease and desist or I will call the authorities. 
Jen
p.s. Quit sending your damn blog to me, I'm not your meal ticket"

The end.   Or is it?

 

 

 

Christmas Shopping Survivor: Borders. Outwit, Outplay, Outlast

Monday, December 21, 2:37 p.m.
Quad Cities
Borders Bookstore on 53rd Street


I am a forty-year-old mother of three, and I have Christmas shopping to do. I walk into the Borders on 53rd Street, and I see the checkout line with, no kidding, at least 50 people that snakes three deep in front of the registers, around to the back corner of the store, and around the bend toward the children's section. Jeff Probst takes away my shopping list and my skinny vanilla latte and informs me that I am on a new secret reality show...Christmas Shopping Survivor, Borders.

PROBST: "Julie, you are now one of over fifty strangers competing to walk through the exit doors of Borders alive and with your Christmas shopping list item. You have five minutes to find your item and get in line. You are part of the Cooking Section Tribe. Good luck."

ME: "But Jeff, I have to get to Target and buy crickets for the frog and mail my Christmas cards and..."

PROBST: "Your time starts...now."

I am terrified. I'm not a very good shopper in the first place, and I can see already that I will be lucky to get out of Borders by Christmas. I only need one thing. My Oldest Daughter has inexplicably developed a love of the German language, and asked for a good German-English dictionary. Why she loves German, Ich hab keine Ahnung. I know exactly where the dictionary is located, and I have a Borders rewards coupon for 30% off. I walk past the people in line to the back of the store to the Reference section and grab the Barron's Dictionary. I take my place in line with my tribe near the Cooking Section. I meet Trina, from Lindenwood Ave, John from 18th St, Elizabeth from Eldridge, and Steve from the hood in Davenport. We confer as to how we can get checked out sooner. We whisper our strategy.

TRINA: "I think I should announce there is half off of all New Moon merchandise."
JOHN: "No, New Moon is over. I think we should say they are giving away free copies of Blind Side."
STEVE: "Man, no one will believe they are giving that damn book away."
ELIZABETH: "Steve, why don't you pretend to have a seizure."
STEVE: "Oh, I have the seizure because I'm from downtown Davenport? You're a racist!"
JULIE: "Steve, you're not even black. Let's all be rational about this. The Non-Fiction tribe is making everyone angry by being pushy. Let's kill them all with kindness and it will psych them out."

John sidles up to me and offers to remove Steve if I let him use my 30% off coupon. I refuse, and instead I form an alliance with Steve, because he is from Downtown Davenport, so he's tough. Steve tells John that there was a news post that Blu-Ray has been discontinued. John, flustered, leaves Cooking Tribe to get a different DVD, and Steve and I bump knuckles.

I strike up a conversation with Trina, and I tell her that Elizabeth told me she saw Trina stick a Happy Bunny bookmark in her purse. I ask her for tips on shoplifting without being caught. Trina turns to to Elizabeth, furious, and they get into a brawl near the David Sedaris display. Borders security walks over and escorts the women out of the building. Cooking Tribe is down to two players, Non-Fiction Tribe has one and Young Adult Tribe has two.

Probst gives the three tribes a challenge - whoever can use the Borders computers to find a House of Night book located in-store AND get a Seattle's Best Coffee AND a Dilbert 2010 calendar and get back to the Sarah Palin books first will get moved to the front of the line. The others will have to go before the Literary Council to decide who gets to purchase their items. Time is running out. I still have to get my dog from the vet and buy the ingredients for turkey lasagne, neither of which can be found in Borders. Losing is not an option.

The Young Adults beat me to the House of Night books, but nobody can outwit me to a cup of coffee. That's like jumping in front of a crack addict as the rock is being handed out. You just don't do it. The calendars are a challenge because no one is into Dilbert anymore, so they are at the bottom of the stack. It's down to me and Steve. We race through the store, looking for Sarah Palin. Steve goes to the auto-biography and memoirs section, but I know Sarah has most likely gone rogue, and I book it to the skin mags. Do I win the next register checkout? You betcha. Sorry, Steve.

After three minutes from the door to my item, and then 28 minutes in line at Borders, I have my dictionary. I look at all of the sad sacks still in line, looking dejected, and yell, "Auf Weidersehen, suckers!"

Jeff Probst waves goodbye from the Borders doors and yells, "Well played, Julie. Well played."

So if you need anything from Borders, go online. It will get there faster than standing in line, trust me. I hope your Christmas shopping is complete, your packages taped and your sparkling holiday cheer in hand. As they say in Berlin, Frohliche Wiehnachten!

I am Julie, Author Stalker

We interrupt Laura Ingalls Wilder month for a new random posting series:

Julie, Author Stalker

It is much like Walker, Texas Ranger, in that Walker, Texas Ranger is an American television police drama/action show known for its moral values and use of martial arts. Julie, Author Stalker, is an American wife drama/action sideshow known for her depravity and use of domestic arts. And she frightens authors at book signings.

Chuck Norris Facts:
*The chief export of Chuck Norris is pain.
*Chuck Norris doesn't read books. He stares them down until he gets the information he wants.
*In conversation, Chuck Norris often quotes himself, and then laughs about it.

Julie, Author Stalker Facts:
* The chief export of the Author Stalker is awkwardness and fear.
* Author Stalker not only finds authors, she stares them down until she gets the information she wants.
* In conversation, Author Stalker often quotes herself, and then laughs about it.

The big difference? Chuck Norris IS security, while Author Stalker is usually led out by security.

TODAY'S STALKED AUTHOR: Marilynne Robinson

The following information was shamelessly lifted from Wikipedia:
Marilynne Robinson (born November 26, 1943) is an American author. Her 1980 novel Housekeeping (see 1980 in literature) won a Hemingway Foundation/PEN Award for best first novel and was nominated for the Pulitzer Prize for Fiction. Her second novel, Gilead (see 2004 in literature), was acclaimed by critics and received the 2005 Pulitzer Prize for Fiction, the 2004 National Book Critics Circle Award for Fiction, and the 2005 Ambassador Book Award. Her third novel, Home, published in 2008, was a finalist for the 2008 National Book Award, and won the 2009 Orange Prize for Fiction. Also in 2009, she held a Dwight H. Terry Lectureship at Yale University, giving a series of talks entitled Absence of Mind: The Dispelling of Inwardness from the Modern Myth of the Self.

Tonight I attended a reading by Marilynne Robinson. She was lovely, as was the book "Gilead", which I read and had her sign. She is an instructor at the University of Iowa Writer's Workshop and well respected in her field. During the Q&A segment of her reading, I asked her about her process in writing, and if winning a Pulitzer put any undue pressure on her. I sounded sane. She seemed okay with me, until I got in front of her.

Again, when I have too much time in line, I start thinking of weird things to say to people. Anyone who has lived with me for any length of time, which at this point would include my family of origin, my Chi Omega sorority sisters, and Current Husband and children, know that if I have too much time on my hands and am in the right mood, people could end up wrapped like a mummy in toilet paper (sorry Jen), or written on (sorry, CH), outlined like a dead body (sorry Tina), or covered in maxi pads (that was actually Barb, but I helped). Because I am THAT mature.

MR: "Hello."
ME: "Hi. I sure wish I could secret you away from here for 30 minutes and pick your brain."
MR: (Looks up, a little alarmed.)
ME: (Nervous laughter, like 'did I just say that out loud?') "But I'm sure Borders wouldn't let me take you away unwillingly, huh?"
MR: (Making mental note to have Borders employee walk her to car) "Make this out to Julie?"
ME: "SO, I thought about applying at the Iowa Writer's Workshop, but my work is more Erma Bombeck and David Sedaris's love child, if she weren't dead and he weren't gay. But I'm thinking the workshop is more literary...."
MR: "Yes. Yes, the workshop does tend to be more literary."
(Awkward silence. Fifty people in line behind me collectively grumble and sigh.)
ME: "Well, thanks! I really enjoy your books!"
MR: "Thank you." (Smiles relieved smile and turns to next person.)

Authors with restraining orders against Julie, Author Stalker in October: THREE!

1) Jen Lancaster, whom I e-mailed about missing her book signing because of David Sedaris, and actually asked her if she ever let complete strangers take her out for drinks. She sent a lovely reply saying, "Um, thanks for being a fan, but back the f**k off." Well, not exactly like that, but I have printed it, enlarged it, and put it in the Jen Lancaster shrine in my basement.

2) David Sedaris, whom my friend Judy and I insulted and then tried to make him read my blog with the eventual goal of him "discovering" me. I lost my favorite Jesus oilcloth coin purse over that. Why must I be so impulsive? After drinking just a little, tiny bit? I am enlarging his signature page, which read, "Julie, I look forward to reading your book" and putting it in the David Sedaris shrine in my basement.

3) Marilynne Robinson, who is a totally dignified Pulitzer Prize winning novelist, and is walking with a can of Mace to her car right about now. But I won't enlarge anything of hers, because I'm feeling a little guilty about threatening to kidnap her.

Stay tuned! My next scheduled author stalking is Nov. 4, when I meet Alexandra Fuller, author of "Don't Let's Go To The Dogs Tonight". I'm going with my book club, and drinks will be served.

It's Whoreticulture Friday! Issue 2

Whoreticulture: The industry and science of whores and whore-related topics. Whoreticulturists work and conduct research in the disciplines of OB-GYNery, Brazilian waxers and shavers, adultery, personal hygeine mavens and easy women. The word is composite, from two words, whore, from Greek meaning "harlot" or "dear", and the word culture. Like NPR's Science Friday, Whoreticulture Friday exists to educate and spark discussion on the science of Whorology.

Today's topic: David Sedaris wants me stoned

Last night I was a complete whore.

Current Husband and I went with friends to see David Sedaris. He was hysterical, of course, and my favorite part of his show was the "Comb-over Jesus" montage, when Sedaris points out that it's easy to worship someone with perfect skin and a washboard stomach, but wouldn't it show more faith to worship someone with shoulder acne who was so overweight he broke the first cross?

I met David Sedaris last night. Did I tell him he's funny? An inspiration? A snappy dresser? No, because my friend Judy and I were too busy telling him about ourselves, and whoring out my writing to the poor man. Here's how it went down:

SEDARIS: Hello.
JUDY: Hi. I haven't read anything you've written, but I'm sure you're very funny. I'm a virgin to your work.
ME: I brought her! (Sedaris ignores me, because it is not my turn.)
SEDARIS: What do you do, Judy?
JUDY: I'm an attorney.
SEDARIS: And what field do you practice?
ME: Look at me! Stop talking to my friend! I'M the one who reads your books! Can you get me an agent?
JUDY: Employment law.
SEDARIS(eyeing me warily): And how do you two know each other?
JUDY: Our husbands are dating. My friend is a really talented writer...
ME (feigning humility): Judy, once you tell him that he will stop talking to us because he will think we're trying to use him!
SEDARIS: No I won't! I was there once, too...
ME (Interrupting): Okay, my blog is ADayInTheWife.com. I'm the wife.
JUDY: She's really funny.
SEDARIS (motioning us toward the door politely, small smile on his face): Okay.

Judy and I walk into the hall, giggling like schoolgirls. I thought it went well, until I got home, and I realized that I waited in line nearly 2 hours to tell him about me. Not once did I mention his writing, and I just handed over my book without even saying, "Hey, I love your book!" I'm sure he is thinking "Wow, it's so incredible to meet my adoring public, especially the narcissists! They think they're so interesting!"

Everyone else waiting in line got a gift from Sedaris - he handed out the hotel shampoos and soaps to some, chocolate to others, and to the two teachers from Illinois in front of us, he autographed one of the essays he read that night and gave it to them. What did he give me and Judy? His patience and restraint, as he surely wanted to punch me in the giblets. But he's too classy for that.

I did give him a gift - my good friend Nanci in Colorado sent a funny oilcloth coin purse for my birthday, but I could never use it because my son thought it was sacreligious and I would go to hell. I regifted it to David Sedaris last night in honor of Comb-over Jesus. The coin purse had pictures of Jesus on both sides, and it said "Jesus Saves - he'll oogle if you're frugal".

Sedaris accepted my gift, and I'm sure as he gives it away to someone in Birmingham or Phoenix he will remember me, and think it should've had a picture of the whore being saved from the stoning. Because Sedaris? Surely wanted me stoned.