Oddly, every damn guy in my novel is turning out to have blonde hair. That's because, in real life, at least until recently, every guy I dated had hair black as the night.

So, in my oh-so-autobiographical-novel, I've had to go through and turn all these dark-haired beauties (and beasts) into something else, lest they come back and sue my a*s. Blonde, blonde, blonde! The book is full of dirty-blondes, bleach blondes, blue eyes, and hazel eyes, when in fact, the men of Breakup Babe were really raven-haired and brown-eyed.

Oh who cares?

In other news, I sent the revised draft off to my editor today! So tell me, WHAT THE HELL DO I DO NOW? There will be one more round of revisions after this, then the copyedit, but my editor will be on vacation for ten days and...well, I've been working on this book every single day for the last two years so I am rather at a loss for how to fill my time here, people.

I suppose I could also actually try to learn how to play the piano before my big gig in November. Or work on the next book. Breakup Babe the sequel, in which BB becomes a nun.

Seriously, how does anyone ever navigate this mid-thirties dating game? How in the world do people end up getting married? It seems, quite literally, impossible - based on my own experiences of the last few years - that two people in their thirties get it together to stay together - but then again the idea that I might one day be a published novelist seemed impossible not so long ago.

One down, one to go.