OK, so now I am officially hiding out in the Bay Area suburbs. I have pressed the PAUSE button on my life. I am going around in giant sunglasses and a head kerchief so as not to be plagued by the paparazzi. I am actually even going to spend New Year’s Eve here because I have so many gazillions of invitations in Seattle that I am simply overwhelmed by my own popularity and wouldn’t know how to accept any one invitation without breaking someone’s heart. (Besides I have nothing new to wear).

So I am not doing too much of anything. Playing with my niece and nephew, who are now old enough to realize that I am cool and to throw excited fits (screaming, clapping, splashing of bathwater) when I appear. At least these particular fans can't talk yet so they aren't aren’t constantly asking me questions like, “When is the next book coming out BreakupBabe?? Do you have a boyfriend now, Breakup Babe, DO YOU DO YOU?

I am writing a lot. Enjoying the plentitude of my family’s refrigerators, so bursting at the seams, unlike my own sad fridge, containing one shriveled pear, and two nearly empty bottles of flat Pellegrino. Catching up with people I haven’t seen in a long time. Including one ex-boyfriend of mine we shall call the Rock Star, who, as I rediscovered, possesses a pair of extremely luscious lips which also have something to do with my prolonged hideout from real life.

After tomorow I can't put off the moment of truth any longer. I will return to my empty condo, my dying plants, my nonexistent love life, and my driftless employment situation. But it will be a new year and things will blossom once again someday because that's the way life goes.

Happy new year!

bb

A great Blahness has descended upon me.

Although I love my family dearly, every single negative emotion rises to the surface when I return to the family homestead. Here I fight off boredom, memories of my father, the ghosts of adolescent angst, reports that every other person I grew up with has a blissfully happy marriage and 2.5 kids and is rich from some Silicon Valley startup that is now a billion-dollar behemoth.

At times, these feelings cause me to become panicky. I always threaten to flee early. This time they have just made me blah. So blah that I cannot even muster the energy to leave and am staying for two extra days. Of course there is a GIGANTIC STORM coming in which motivates me not to get into an airplane although I flew here in a GIGANTIC STORM too and thank God everything was OK because I was sitting by the emergency exit and would have been responsible for getting everyone out of that damn plane had we crashed, and really, how likely is it that I would have my wits about me in such a situation (although I study the safety card religiously each time I fly and always offer my seatmates Extra spearmint gum as an implicit bribe for helping me put my oxygen on should the need arise).

(But for future reference, I like sitting in the emergency exit row and there is more legroom which means my fellow passengers don’t mind as much when I have to go to the bathroom 20 times during the flight, which is an unfortunate result of my nerves that doesn’t mesh very well with the fact that I also *must* sit by the window).

In news of the non-Blah, I seem to have finally hacked out a plot for my latest writing project and am excited about it. The story is not a slam-dunk sell the way BreakupBabe was (I knew from the minute I conceived that project that I could sell it, even if it did take two years to do), but it is still a good, timely story with cultural relevance and quirky characters. Ha ha. I say that as if I’ve already written the thing, as if it were a piece of cake to take a good idea and put flesh on it.

But at least I’ve got a good idea. Never mind that my mother, when I outlined the plot for her, said I don’t like it at ALL. Thanks, mom! How many novels have YOU sold?! (Actually, she came around a bit when I went into more detail and assured her my main character was not as superficial as she sounded. That was always my problem in writing classes. Your main character is so superficial! my classmates would say. She is NOT! She has a very complicated inner life! I’m, uh, just not enough of a talented writer to show it to you! No one has really complained that Rachel is superficial, however; the main criticism that she gets is that she is “whiny.” Duly noted and my next protagonist not be a whiner! Well, maybe just a little bit of one.)

OK, where was I. Oh yes, I am excited about my current fledgling novel. It has taken me a year to get to this point. It was just over a year ago that I handed in the final copyedits for BreakupBabe and since then I have been floundering in a creative purgatory, but now---perhaps I am emerging!

Back to news of the Blah, I am in severe need of a numerous chiropractic adjustments, a massage, a Yoga class, a life, and someone to kiss on New Year’s Eve, as well as a cleansing fast to rid my body of all the sugar, fat, caffeine, and alcohol so recently ingested. My most vivacious self has gone into hiding and I present to the world a subdued and boring front that expresses my inner Blah, but other than that, oh, I’m surviving the holidays and I hope you are too.

xo BB

Hmmph. Yesterday hit a recent low on the Lame-o-Meter.

Bleh. Let's say it again. BLEH!

Nearly every interaction I had with the male of the species yesterday was pure poison. Boys are icky icky icky! Please get them away from me!

The only exception was my reunion with my bandmates, who are all utterly charming, sweet, and guitar-obsessed boys. They are not icky. Even though they talked about guitars and amps and pedals and pickups the whole time and did not understand a word they were saying, except I did understand that maybe we would regroup in the spring. Yay!

That was one of only a couple bright, twinkling Christmasey lights in the grim purgatory that was yesterday.

As for today, well I guess I just have to try again, because what choice is there?

And by the way, thanks for all your many comments -- I do appreciate them even if I don't respond or reciprocate!

Yours truly,
BB

I had a GREAT morning today, you know why?! I discovered pictures of my ex-boyfriend with his new girlfriend online!

I wasn’t even trying to cyberstalk him, I swear. I have studiously avoided cyberstalking since we broke up because I am EMOTIONALLY HEALTHY AND WELL-ADJUSTED like that! However, today I stumbled - oops! - into a picture of them, arm casually draped around her shoulder as they recover from a day of mountain derring-do that most mere mortals couldn’t even aspire to.

Not that I care, of course. I DON’T CARE. Because as you know, my love life has been so spectacularly successful since we broke up that, I have barely had a spare thought for him! I don’t think of him every day – certainly not! I don’t wonder what adventures he’s having or miss any little thing about him like how affectionate or smart or sexy he was--my God, what kind of loser do you think I am?

I have plenty to distract me like my career as a bestselling author (check out my Amazon rank today – 450,000!), my world travels to Mexico, my exciting and high-paid new job doing absolutely nothing, and a bevy of well-adjusted, emotionally healthy vying for my love, asking me to marry them, offering to support me, ETC ETC ETC.

Yeah. Life is good. Sooooo good. I couldn’t care less that she is some hot shot mountain climber like I could only aspire to be in my secret dreams. Why would I care about such things? Why would I care that as soon as she became available my ex-boyfriend lost all interest in me and went slobbering her way? I tell you, I DON’T CARE. And that feels GREAT!

I absolutely love the Internet. I mean, unless you’re Jennifer Aniston and can see your ex strutting around with Angeline Jolie on the cover of every single magazine, how could you discover the kind of things I did today? The touching beautiful snapshot of them that really just WARMED my heart because obviously they are so HAPPY and ADVENTUROUS and AMAZING together hurtling down those avalanche chutes and climbing those sheer rock faces together! I mean, I am so happy FOR them, aren’t you?

I really am. So. Happy. Now, if you'll excuse me, there are three plates of fudge sitting outside someone's office nearby and I plan to eat it all.

Xo
BB

You will be glad to know I survived one of the worst storms EVER here in wind-whipped Washington. I was sleeping snugly in my bed for most it, the howling winds blocked by all the buildings around me, not a tree in sight that could threaten to fall down and crush me in my sleep.

I did, however, practically go insane during some pre-storm madness, getting stuck on the roads for THREE hours for a journey – that earlier that morning – had taken me twenty minutes to complete.

!@%$#$(*!

Yeah I thought I was being all hot sh*t by skipping work and going skiing, but nooo, that put me back on the east side of Lake Washington squarely at rush hour right before the worst storm EVER, and I paid the price. I have seen Purgatory and it is hundreds of taillights, unmoving, before you, stretching unto eternity. Luckily my ipod and my cell phone both had batteries, and my car had enough gas (barely!) to weather thousands of Seattleites going who the hell knows where at 5 miles per hour on a night they should have been at home!

Now Seattle has reverted to its default pale gray. No wind. No rain. No sunshine. Just gray. A damp, biting gray. I never lost power, lucky me, so the whole thing seems unreal (like most tragedies)-the people drowning in basements and getting hit by trees. I saw the detritus and the blacked-out houses but I floated on by it, lucky and unscathed yet more time.

(Pause respectfully here and in sadness for those who suffered in this weather disaster before moving onto to completely self-absorbed and fluffy topics).

A true romantic prospect eludes me at the moment, but you know what? It feels nice not try too hard. AND PLEASE DON’T TELL ME FROM YOUR PREACHY HIGH HORSE ME THAT I WILL FIND SOMEONE WHEN I STOP LOOKING! It is a horrible, vile thing to say, right up there with “Have a safe flight!” WHY WOULDN’T I HAVE A SAFE FLIGHT?!! Ahem.

In other news, since the novel I wrote in the fall is ENCRYPTED and I cannot open it (thanks, former employers!), I am on to the next one which involves a bevy of lovable and confused characters, who I am very much infatuated with at the moment, though I have no idea what they’re doing or where they’re going. It’s going to be a long haul writing this next book, but I am determined--never fear!

I keep thinking, oh, maybe I should freelance, get my name out there, take my nose of out fictionland, but for now, with a full(ish)-time job, I can’t spread myself too thin and I find that I’m drawn to the pretend world rather than the real. So I’ll stay in the warm, tropical world of my imagination as winter bears down. I might go somewhere else in a while but I don’t know where that is right now and I don’t care that I don’t know.

Actually, I do know where I’m going right now and that’s the gym. My gym, with its badly-flourescent-lit showers, its towels like paper, it’s lack of kickboards at the pool! Hmmph. It does have cable TV at every exercise machine so at least there’s that.

Adios,
BB

There is nothing like getting some stressful news, then dropping your brand new laptop on the street (when it falls out of your unzipped bag), only to then discover that you’ve lost one of your new expensive earrings because you forgot to put the back on it this morning.

I am officially the most careless person in the world. I lose everything, from earrings to snowshoes to hats to expensive dresses. (Oops just dropped a big piece of my scone on the ground!). Lost my hairbrush last night, can’t find that pretty and pricey scarf I bought last winter, not to mention two of my winter coats.

My brain is a big fuzzball. It is good at figuring out things like what should character X say to character Y but try to get it to read a map and it goes blank. Or fix something mechanical. I have breadth but no depth. I can’t focus on details. They bore me. But they are so important! There are many things I want to do that I can’t because of this.

Navigate through the snow. Hang plants from my ceiling. Read the fine print carefully before taking a job so I don’t pick a contracting agency that has the suckiest benefits on the face of the planet. Remember what my family members actually do for a living (something to do with computers?)

I need to reread Zen and the Art of Motorcycle Maintenance; I know it. I am so out of tune with the physical world. I live in the abstract realms of my own head, which is is filled with useless thoughts that get me nowhere and nothing except a dented laptop, lost earrings, lost in the world. There must be something I’m good at. I just can’t think of what it is right now. Hooking up with the wrong guys, maybe. Yeah, there you go, there’s my talent.

There must be something I’m good at. I just can’t think of what it is right now.

So I had a realization this week about myself. And my writing.

My novel, BreakupBabe (WHICH YOU CAN FIND IN ALL THE STORES AND MAKES A GREAT HOLIDAY GIFT BY THE WAY!) is really about one character -- a comic, exaggeration version of moi--and her relationship with herself. A variety of boys move in and out of the story but what it boils down to is one girl's tortured, funny, silly (BUT OH SO-RELATABLE!) journey through her own head.

Anyhoo. It is not surprising I wrote such a book. I am a rather narcissistic and more than usually self-absorbed person. While I am a loving affectionate, I rarely consider the impact of my actions on others. I have a hard time seeing from the point of view of anyone who is not me, me, me. I crave company, am sensitive to social nuance, and good with people, yet...

I don't usually understand what makes them tick. To be a better person, and a better writer, I need to get inside the heads of other people more. I want my next book to burst with fully-drawn characters relating to each other in complex, dysfunctional ways, because those are the kinds of books I love to read. Have you read, for example, Emperor's Children? I couldn't even tell you exactly what this book is about but I was dazzled by the way the author dove fearlessly into the heads of 4 or 5 main characters and made them come alive, each in their own highly specific way.

I want to do that. I'm a little tired of my own head. I want to understand people better and care for them better, both in fiction and in life. The question is, how do I do this, other than just getting older and wiser?

Hmm. In other news, my wild weekend has drawn to a close leaving me with nothing but distant memories and a UTI.

xo
BB

Bizarre week, my friends. It had everything. Tears, laughter, boredom, despair, s*x, drugs, and ROCK AND ROLL.

Oh yeah. Typical week for moi. minus the s*x, drugs, laughter, and rock and roll. Now that my beloved band is on extended hiatus and my own rock star career down the tubes, I still get inspired when I get to see totally killer rock bands like Jet who help me get things right in perspective.

“JET DOESN’T LEAVE THE ROOM UNTIL THERE’S A PARTY GOING ON!” yelled the lead singer to Key Arena on Thursday night, and right then I lightened the hell up. At least for the next hour.

Then the next day I was my even more-than-usually-uptight self due to a variety of things, including the fact that my new insurance carrier does not have mental health coverage and WTF IS UP WITH THAT?!!! Then there was some s*x and drugs and my mental health was just fine. But it was merely an aberration in my celibate, clean-living lifestyle so we won’t discuss it.

Anyhoo. If anyone would like to invite me to any kickin’ New Years’ Eve’s parties, why I’m sorting through my many invitations right now. Everyone could use a quasi-celebrity at their New Year’s Eve party, right? I’ll even sign autographs! Applications for handsome, kissable dates are also being accepted, but let me tell you the competition is fierce. I may be celibate and clean living but I still love a good makeout session more than anything on the planet (except, of course, for a good book).

Xo
BB

Hmm. I am back at Geeksoft now and remembered something about it. Something good.

THERE ARE A LOT OF MEN HERE.

How I managed to work here for four straight years and not find a rich husband is a testament to my man-finding retardation. They are everywhere! In every office! Youngish, cutish, not so cutish, long hair, short hair, frat boyish, nerdy, hipster, mega-dork, fat, thin, hungry for love!!! Hungry for the love of a writer girl who will chew them up, spit them out, and turn them into novel fodder, no doubt!

Anyway. Blah blah blah. It is nice to be out of that seething cauldron of overwork that was my last job. I'm still contemplating dashing off a note to my old Hallway Crush, though he's probably forgotten me by now if he ever knew who I was in the first place. Hopefully I'll get some new Hallway Crushes right now. 'Cause you know what? I'm BORED.

I am really trying to be one with the boredom. To embrace it. To revel in my loneliness and know that if I am not chasing Mr. Wrongs all around town then maybe Mr. Right will show up. But my God. B-O-R-I-N-G. And I refuse to step into that crack den known as the online personals. Because then I will get a million dates and will be very unbored for a short period of time, only to get chewed up and spit out and end up more bored and lonely than before!

So there.

xo
BB

Since I have not much to say today except to whine about how tired I am and how my life feels like it is in utter chaos, what with boxes clothes bathing suits books strewn everywhere, I thought, instead I would put up an old and somewhat entertaining post.

It is in honor of one of my fave ex-boyfriends, The Celebrity, who always complained about his nickname The Celebrity and how I was "mocking" him, because really he's only a quasi-celebrity (though more of one than me!), but anyway, as you can see from yesterday's comments, he now calls himself "The Celebrity" so he must have kind of liked the name after all.

He also had the honor of being the first guy I dated post-losing-my-anonymity, and though I tried desperately to keep it secret from him, discovered my blog before our first date and had a mini-freakout before deciding, ok, he would go out with me after all. Then I promised I wouldn't write about him. Ha.

Sunday, May 08, 2005
( 8:44 PM ) Breakup Babe

Last week, Breakup Babe experienced the fastest, most unemotional breakup of her breakup-laden life. It took all of thirty seconds and went something like this:

The Cute Personals Ad Stoner Guy with Whom She Had, Alas, No F*cking Emotional Connection Whatsoever (CPASGWWSHANFECW) calls her and says: “Hey, how’s it going?”

BB: “Oh, OK. You?” (BB has already decided she will not break up with him over the phone but will wait until she sees him that night, 'cause she's a classy kind of gal.)

CPASGWWSHANFECW: “Oh, fine.”

BB: (Oh my God, we always have the most boring conversations). “So, what’s up for tonight?” (No doubt he'll try to get me to have have sex with him again even though we have no f*cking connection whatsoever. The only reason I did it that other time was because he had such a big c*ck.).

CPASGWWSHANFECW: “Well (hesitates), I don’t think this is going anywhere, so I’m going to bail on tonight.”

BB: (Vastly relieved yet also annoyed, because she should have been the one to do it first!) “Oh really? That’s SO interesting, because I was going to say the SAME thing!" (I mean, you have a large c*ck and sexy eyes and have been perfectly pleasant up til now, but – guess what - we have have no f*cking emotional connection whatsoever! )

CPAGWWSHANFECW: “Cool.”

BB: “OK, well have a good life.”

CPAGWWSHANFECW: “Yeah, you too.”

Click.

So that was THAT. Quick and easy! And thank God, because I have much bigger fish to fry.

However, lest this racy post with its return to old form get your hopes up, don't get your hopes up. Because, while I am dating someone else with whom I actually *can* have a good conversation (and oh so much more) I'm not *!$ing allowed to write about him. Believe me, I would have plenty of racy stuff to say too. I mean, about feelings and stuff. Mmm, feelings. At the risk of getting the boot, however, I will give him a pseudonym: The Celebrity.

And no it's not Brad Pitt. We only went one ONE beach getaway together, and the whole time all he could talk about was: Do I get a part in the movie, do I, do I? Brad - Jesus - if you could act - maybe! I am giving him a bit part, however, because he did do me some "favors," and besides, he has a large - oh, never mind. I'll say this much - Angelina can have him, OK?

In other news, nice weather we've been having lately, dontchya think? And how about those Mariners?!

Yeah, I'm boring, I KNOW. But I must keep my word. Must. keep. my. word.

Oh my gosh but I am TIRED. Very thankful, of course, that no plane crashes occurred. But you know how it is when you arrive back home after a sun-splashed vaction, sleep deprived and smelling like an airplane back in the cold gray gloom. Can you say anticlimactic?

Yeah, it's like that. But let's dwell on the positive shall we? My vacation for one. Superb! For 3.5 days, I did nothing but sit under a palapa in the 80-degree sunshine, plow through books, drink Pacificos and margaritas, swim in the oh-so-warm Pacific waters, snorkel, eat, sleep, and prance about in my new pink bikini - which I put on as soon as I got up and didn't remove until dinner time.

Yeah. It was like THAT. I did not receive any marriage proposals on this particular trip to Latin America, however, my newfound (and might I add, deeply spiritually satisfying) celibacy was, most surprisingly, put to the test when, after my Mexico idyll, I went deep into Bay Area suburbia to visit my family. The last thing I expect to encounter into my hometown is an XXXtra hot guy to kiss, but that is exactly what I found there. XXX! (This, along with one-year old twins who have no respect for aunts that stay out late on dates and start screaming at 7 in the morning, account for my sleep deprivation).

Making it all the more anticlimactic to return home to the gloom where there is absolutely no one to kiss and I will once again embrace my aloneness as my good looks ebb slowly away.

However, I have taken a shower and washed the plane smell off and put on a sparkly barette and now I get to go do some glamorous author events and I'm still on vacation whereas if they hadn't booted me out of my job I would be SLAVING over my computer right now, my looks draining away even faster as I tried to meet a December 1 deadline; meanwhile all my poor coworkers are doing my work for me.

I feel so awful about that. As you can tell.

xo
BB

So OK. I have no Hope. No crushes. No possibilities. No nothing. There was some Hope, briefly, in the form of Hallway Crushes and old friendships that seemed headed for something more, but I quit my job and that flirty friendship proved itself a spectacularly dead end, but it is OK because I DON’T WANT A FUCKING BOYFRIEND, HAVEN'T WE ESTABLISHED THAT ALREADY?

Oh sure it would be nice to have someone to warm me up on these cold rainy nights, but I have a friggin’ down comforter. I also have books, my most loyal bedtime companions, who don’t fart and don’t snore, and don’t wake you up with their squiggling around, and while they might not kiss you, they also don’t leave you until you are done with THEM.

Yeah, some hot s*x wouldn’t be so bad either, but uh, well, The Magic Wand is still cranking away after 12 years. It is making some funny noises lately, so let’s please hope I do not die in a vibrator-related accident (which I guess would be a fitting way for Breakup Babe to die, and better than some other deaths I could think of, but still). I would say I’ve gotten the most bang for my buck out of that thing than any other purchase I’ve ever made, HA HA HA.

Let’s see it would also be nice to have someone to talk me out of my neurotic moments but GalPal #1 is readily available by phone these days, and alcohol and peopl to hang out with are pretty easy to come by.

Plus, in my situation, you learn to appreciate the small things. Like devilishly handsome baristas who puts many hearts in the foam on your latte, and when he presents it to you says, “I’ve never seen so many hearts in one cup.” Whoo. I’m sure every woman who walks into that coffee shop is in love with that barista and I can SEE WHY. He should be aware that I tend to put cute baristas in novels, however.

Other good things. Male Yoga instructors. They are inevitably hot, and it is especially nice when they come around and make “adjustments” to you during your poses. The only unfortunate thing is when your workout garments smell horrible, which mine do most of the time because let’s say, washing my workout clothes is not my forte. Nor is taking a shower which may explain the lack of a boyfriend, not that I want one, but never mind about that…

So I’m going to Mexico on Thursday. It’s unlikely I’ll blog from there but you never know. I’ll probably be too busy getting a tan. Or something. It will nice to see sunshine again as the rain has been absolutely torrential and non-stop here. Not that I’m complaining, mind you. I heart the rain. All’s I’m saying is it’ll be nice step outside in a teeny little bikiniand not a sweater jacket scarf hat gloves that takes me 15 minutes just to put on and off.

So if I don’t talk to you, have a good Thanksgiving. If my plane crashes, and I never talk to you again, well, I'm sure my family will publish all my old journals and those should keep you bored out of your mind for the next few years or until you forget about me, whichever comes first.

Xo
Rebecca

Sooooo. It has been an interesting week. I shall summarize.

1)Quit job. Gave two weeks notice.

2)Came in next day and was told, no need to work two more weeks (never mind that your fellow employees will be saddled with all your work that you could have wrapped up had you stayed), here's two weeks severance and please pack up all your sh*t and get out. NOW.

3)Ahem.

After the original shock wore off, I was all too happy to take the paid vacation and skeedaddle; after all the whole reason I quit was because there was too much damn work to do and I could never get a handle on it because I just like having a life too much. I did, however, adore the majority of my coworkers and felt horrible leaving them with my work since they have far too much of their own; however if certain corporations want to punish their loyal employees that way, so be it.

The next day when I came to collect the rest of my belongings, which were nicely boxed up for me and left in a neutral area where I would not have to come in and see and be seen by my old coworkers because God knows what could have happened THEN, everything went off without incident until I got off the elevator and was about to make an escape to my car when I saw my boss's boss getting in. The nicest person in the world really, and one whom I felt horribly about disappointing, and, because there were supposedly "no hard feelings" in this whole thing (they said!), I looked over at her, prepared to offer a friendly smile, only to find her avoiding my eyes and pretending I didn't exist.

Which I guess I don't anymore. End of story.

Oh, except I was thus left computerless for a few days, since I'd been relying on the company laptop (as my own had expired some time agao) and that, as you can imagine, was a rude shock to my system. Not having a husband of my own, Odious Woman kindly allowed me to Rent-a-Husband from her to help me shop for my laptop. Husbands who consider Fry's their "church" are extremely valuable, and when they are as fun to hang out with as her husband, well, it was worth every penny of the $10 lunch I bought him for helping me navigate the treacherous world of extended warranties and RAM.

So, anyway, back to the boring topic of work, I'm going back to Geeksoft for a bit on a nice, cushy contract that will once again give me room to breathe and think and catch up on my damn sleep.

Meanwhile. My love life. Ha ha ha ha. It is soooooo steamy I can't even tell you about it! Hot hot hot. Yeah. This is how exciting it is. I thought I saw my old boyfriend the other day and I freaked out!

Whoo. I can hardly stand it, people.

I don't want a boyfriend now anyway. Got that. NO. WANT. BOYFRIEND. ME NEED RECOVER FROM BOYFRIENDS.

So stop asking me on dates. All of you. Sheesh.

xo
BB

Hear ye, hear ye, anyone living near the fair town of Renton, Washington, should come drink cosmos with me and listen to me babble about my book tomorrow night. I answer any and all kinds of questions, you know.

Breakup Babe, who are you dating now? Ooh, don’t you wish you knew! BreakupBabe, what is your next book about? Ooh, I can’t talk about that! BreakupBabe, why have you been spending so much time in bed reading Nora Roberts novels and crying a lot? Because I know I’ll never find love as true as the love that Nora’s heroines find! And finally, BB, what are you most excited about at the moment! I am most excited about the fact that in one week I’m going to Zihuatanejo, Mexico, where I can sit my a*s down on the beach in my pretty new pink bikini, bake in the sun, snorkel with fishies, and let the last exhausting terrifying exhilarating overwhelming six months slip through my fingers like so many grains of hot sand.

Shoot. Now I’ve told you everything we’re going to talk about tomorrow night and you aren’t going to come ARE YOU?

Aw hell, that’s OK. I don’t care whether or not you support me in my star-studded, alcohol-spiked, supermall soaked tour of South Puget Sound. It’s YOUR LOSS.

In other news, there is both a little and a lot. Major upheaval is occurring that I am not quite at liberty to disclose. Suffice it to say I am spending a lot of time in bed reading trashy novels and trying to recover from all this chaos. I have embraced my misery whereas a few weeks ago I was trying to push it away. By embracing it, I will get through it faster. Meanwhile, I don’t even have the energy to chase boys around so unless the Hallway Crush gets his sh*t together and pounces upon me in the hallway, he’s fast losing his little window of opportunity. Quel dommage.

One thing I certainly cannot complain about right now is the rain. There is lots and lots of rain. Which is bad for people living in floodplains but good for melancholy types like me.

Over and out.

Yours truly is not in her finest form.

For one, where I used to have an iron immune system, I currently get every cold that goes around. Maybe it’s because I ride the bus to work now, filled to the brim on these rainy days with coughing, ranting, sneezing people.

Or maybe it’s the stress of my job. I can honestly say I have never had a stressful job until now. Unless you count my job right out of college in a place I call Hell’s Butthole (a name I stole from a coworker), where I worked for two fallen angels doomed forever to be secretaries, and who wreaked their vengeance upon me.

My current job is not Hell’s Butthole. In fact, if you had told me, when I was stewing in the pits of Hell’s Butthole (which was, of course, located in a basement), that I would one day have the job I have now, I would have slavered and pulled at my tether and begged you to let me have it. I wanted a hip job with well-dressed coworkers and a view, one-preferably-where I got to hobnob with the literati.

Well, I’ve got it! (Plus, of course, I am the literati, and I hobnob with myself all the time.) It also seems to be killing me, but never mind about that for the moment.

There has been absolutely no progress on the Hallway Crush front. My hallway crush, while he does take notice of me, does not love me in the same way that I love him. I fear for our unborn children. It’s only Monday, however. The week is young. If only he would get in the elevator at the same time as me, we might say something beyond “hi!” But he never does! Why?!! Why is he AVOIDING me this way? Does he think I’m DESPERATE or something?!

If only H.C. knew what a good time I could show him right about now. Yessir. I’m BORED. And I’m LONELY. However, even without the help of General Celexa, I’m not panicking as much over this feeling. I don’t run out and date every attractive male in sight. I don’t compulsively place online personal ads so I will have company – any company! I stay home sometimes. I try to “enjoy” my own “company.” Yeah. I am so much damn fun I can’t stand it sometimes!

I also make glamorous celeb appearances at places like the Auburn Supermall! Now, if you have never sat at a table trying to sell your own book to hordes of big-haired shoppers hungry for Christmas bargains who don’t know you from – uh, someone else totally obscure – then you have not experienced true humility. My pitch went something like this. “Hey you! Person who doesn’t know me from Adam! Come sign up to win this free goody bag. We’re calling it our “Breakup Recovery Kit.” But you don’t have to be going through a breakup to enter haha!” Meanwhile, while unsuspecting shoppers are filling out their slips, say. “But if you DO know someone who is going through a breakup – or about to! - why, my novel would be a GREAT gift for them It’s all about my own horrible breakup, is quite hilarious – or so I hear, ha ha ha - and is all set in Seattle and I poured my heart and soul into it and I know you and everyone on your gift list will LOOVVE IT!”

At which point, some of them ignore you, some of them laugh a polite, fake laugh, and others say, “Oh really?” show a sincere interest, and pick up your book. They don’t buy it, of course. But a few do, and enough seem interested that you feel like a trek to the Auburn Supermall in the pouring rain (a trip which also resulted in three shirts from the “Banana Republic Factory Store”), was worth it, even though you went to sleep two hours past your bedtime, and woke up sick, hardly able to plow through any of the work that has piled up dangerously around your head.

But you know what, I have the email addresses of a gazillion people in Auburn and I am gonna own that f*cking town soon! In fact, I'm goint to to retire there when I get fired.

So it seems a bit early to say this but there is a teeny-tiny chance that I am getting my mojo back.

Because I remembered something yesterday. Something that I’ve forgotten in the last month or two.

I TOTALLY KICK ASS.

That’s right. Oh, certainly, I have my problems. I’m messed up in love, confused about work, insecure about my writing, a hypochondriac, an obsessive-compulsive, a person full of ambivalence and fear and anxiety. But hey, what artiste worth their salt is not, might I ask you? If I weren’t effed up and overly-sensitive to the Great Pain of Life, I would never have been able to bring the world such a great artistic achievement as BreakupBabe: A Novel, now would I?

Mais non.

Now. Down to important matters. Since the world is once again my patisserie when it comes to men, I have a workplace crush. If anyone should know not to indulge in a workplace crush, it should be me. However, as I think I mentioned a while back, another spectacular car-crash of an office romance would make for a good sequel to BreakupBabe, oui?

My Hallway Crush (H.C) and I have not yet spoken beyond a shyly whispered "hi." But oh how my heart flutters when I see him! Handsome yet modest-looking, polite yet with a body to die for, my H.C. wears no wedding ring and has the hungry look of a single male; HOWEVER, his relationship status is unknown. Girlfriend? I hope to hell not or I will kick some serious a*s.

First things first, however. Before we can get married, we need to have a conversation. Any conversation. He is rather shy so I feel it will be up to me. But never fear, I have my opening line all prepared. It just has to be the exact right moment. Will it come today? (Which it should because I am wearing my special SweaterBraBreastEnhancingCombo!) DOUBTFUL. But the longer we put it off, the better, as undoubtedly all my illusions will be destroyed soon as we actually meet.

Which reminds me of a t-shirt my father had in the 80s and that my parents thought was the most hilarious thing ever, and that I never understood back then (even though I sometimes stole it and wore it to 7th grade P.E.) but I certainly do now:

"I have given up my search for Truth and am now looking for a good fantasy."

And, lemme tell you, in my fantasies, this guy is perfect.

Yes, I have been a horrible blogger lately…mostly because every time I sit down to write something it simply come out as whiny, self absorbed complaining. There is not much to say, people, since I can’t write about WORK or LOVE. I mean, what else is there in life?

Yeah, I talk to you about writing, but that’s boring.

Sometimes I think about writing about WORK or LOVE and then I realize I can’t do it so then I don’t write anything, and…

These are the perils of being a celebrity blogger such as me.

To summarize my glamorous life:
-working too hard
-sleeping a lot
-reading a lot
-exercising a lot
-wearing sweatpants a lot
-writing the worst novel ever on the face of the planet
-drinking too much red wine
-fighting the urge to call people I should not call
-dreaming about a life where I write children’s stories in pajamas

OK so I mentioned WORK and LOVE in there but the references are so oblique, so vague, you can’t really tell who or what I’m thinking about right? What my grand plans and my great heartbreaks are? No you can’t! I’m a master of obfuscation.

Anyhoo, after that completely boring blog entry devoid of any real content, I would like to hereby announce that if you happen to be anywhere nearby the lovely town of TACOMA, WASHINGTON on this Saturday, November 4, you can see me! In person! Reading from my book! And talking about it! And shaking your hand and kissing you because I LOVE you so much for coming to see me and for buying my book. And oh, by the way, if you are NOT going to be in lovely Tacoma this weekend, you can always request a signed bookplate from me and I will send you one!

Xo
Rebecca

All through this overly sunny week, the Kasey Chambers song "On a Bad Day" has been running through my head:

“Every time my tears
Have ever fallen
I keep 'em in my pocket
For a rainy day
So when it's pouring
I take them outside
I let the rain start washing
My tears away”

Then it poured down rain yesterday and instead of washing all my tears away, it just got me really, really wet.

Well. I have not much to say on this grayish about-to-turn sunny morning except, uh, bleh.

OK, OK, that is a terrible attitude to have. Must cheer up. Must appreciate life in all it’s fleeting beauty. Must go back to psychiatrist and get prescription of little pink pills.

I was thinking, this weekend, as I strolled around sunny Portland, trying, and at times, succeeding to feel good, and at other times feeling immensely weighed down by the load of nervous tension that sits constantly on my shoulders these days, about all my various male friends and beaux who inhale the green stuff on a near-constant basis.

Just last weekend, I hung out with a male friend (not a beau) who, in his early fifties, pulled out a pipe several times a day—which shocked me, since the last time I saw this kind of behavior was in mid-twenties males. The men I’ve dated in the last year have smoked three to four times a week on average, if not more. Those of you who’ve read the novel know that Rachel has her most enduring relationship of the book with a charming stoner, who, on their first date, proceeds to get high in front of her.

“Sexy Boy... took the bong from Ganja King, settled back in the beanbag, and inhaled. Deeply. He suddenly looked like the fat, lazy caterpillar from Alice in Wonderland, sitting on his big leaf and sucking on his hookah. Grotesque and lethargic, his eyes half-closed as he inhaled.”

I swing between disapproving and semi-tolerant of pot-smoking as a regular habit but then I also wonder, who am I to disapprove? I drink a glass of wine every night, take Xanax when I fly, Trazadone to help me sleep, and when my demons start to crowd in on me, I get the shrink on speed dial for a hit of Celexa. Is that really any “better” than smoking pot – except for the whole legality question?

We all know what my main dependency is, and that is men in all their stoned glory. But never mind about that. I’m tired of discussing such topics. What you really should know is this, and that is my Hugo House appearance has been postponed until further notice. It will definitely happen in the next couple months, but it’s not happening tonight. So stay tuned for info on that.

Oh, and if you are just dying to have me sign copies of your book and can’t wait for the international tour, I do have bookplates I can sign and send you! Simply email me with your address and I will sign it for you with my illegible signature and have one of my army of assistants, paid for by the gobs of royalties that are pouring in, stuff it in an envelope and mail it your way.

Xo
BB

Finally we have a little rain around here! Sheesh. No doubt it will turn to sun later today, as Seattle has suddenly become a sunny sort of city. Sun, sun, sun, every f*cking day. I want my money back! You can’t even wear a wool sweater around here because by early afternoon, it’s summer all over again.

Except, wait, in the summer I was actually in a good mood. A deluded good mood, it’s true. But now that my favorite season has arrived, I’m in a slump. An overworked, underslept, tension-laced, under-caffeinated slump.

Whatever. Some new shoes would help. So would a stay at a good old fashioned sanitorium/spa somewhere. I swear, if I were Lindsey Lohan or Winona Ryder, I would be checking myself into the hospital for exhaustion right now, looking very pretty yet wan as hot young doctors came by to pump me up with vitamins and hot muscley Yoga instructors gave me daily private instruction so that I could recover my peace of mind.

In writing news, I am nearing the end of a rough draft of my “camp novel.” “Camp” not in the sense that it is campy funny, because really this novel is anything except funny, except in how bad it is, but “camp” in the sense that it takes place at a summer camp, or was supposed to. The story only really took off once I started writing flashbacks that take place in New York City between the heroine and her hunky non-committal (ex)boyfriend, so who knows where it will end up. Probably in the virtual trash can of my computer.

But, as we all know, National Novel Writing Month is coming right up, and this year, I am going to finish, damn it! I was a winner back in 2002, when I wrote the first draft of BreakupBabe. Each successive year I’ve attempted but failed because of book-related business that got in the way. But now that I have no book business to attend to (except watching BreakupBabe climb the charts, ha ha) and appearing at the Auburn Supermall, I can write another novel for Nanowrimo. Perhaps a sequel to BreakupBabe, sans the blog?

Speaking of which, if you have ideas for a sequel let me know! What should happen to dear old Rachel anyway?

For you Seattleites, just a reminder that I will be appearing at Richard Hugo House next Monday, October 23rd, along with my pal, the wise and witty author Diane Mapes. See you there, RIGHT?

Xo
BB

My struggle to be a “morning person” continues.

Typical morning in the life of BB: Alarm goes off at 6:45 a.m., awaking me out of deep slumber and peaceful dreams about hearts in paper bags, etc.

Think, I should get out of bed immediately so as not to waste precious writing time, because if I do, I will never get next novel written, and will die unfulfilled and broken.

Lie there anyway. Think, I’ll skip a shower this morning. It will save 20 minutes. But then my hair will look like crap all day. Debate merits of shower. Think, It is pointless to get up and write anyway, I am such a hack. Look at clock. 6:51 a.m. Six minutes of precious writing time waster. Drag self out of bed in predawn dark feeling like regurgitated dog food.

After shower, stand in front of closet staring at clothes that are hanging higgledy-piggledy. See nothing that I want to wear. Want to lie back down. Slowly take one shirt off hanger. Sniff armpits. Put it on. Realize I want to wear other shirt. Look for it. Don’t find it. Dig through laundry hamper. Find it. Sniff armpits. Ugh. Throw back in hamper. Keep original shirt on. Search listlessly for pants to go with it. No, wore those yesterday. No, the butt looks like a diaper. No, no, no. Put on different shirt entirely. Repeat process until suitable non-smelly, non wrinkly outfit is found, doing everything in near-dark because I can’t stand to have overhead lights on, especially in the morning when they reveal far too much.

Sit on floor and blowdry hair because have no energy to do so standing. Once hair is blow-dried start to feel somewhat better. I am sort of cute. Now feel like dog food, only not regurgitated. Once I leave condo and have coffee, will feel better. But only half a cup of coffee so not as good as I used to feel. Grr. Remember, maybe, to make piece of toast. Finally. Leave condo, hair blow dried, makeup applied, outfit on (perhaps inside out), to get my 1 hour and 10 minutes of writing in.

Drink coffee. Write. Feel somewhat better. Maybe.

Go to work. Slave away. Drink a bunch of alcohol in company of cute boys. Forget problems. Force self into bed at 10 pm so as to be able to get 8.5 hours of sleep and get up before 7 a.m. again.

Repeat.

Well, yours truly is still funkified, but whatever. Enough whining pour le moment.

On the positive, let’s get high on life side, the fan mail still keeps roaring in like a tidal wave! OK, more like a tiny trickle that comes from your broken faucet, but HEY, it’s great and it slakes my thirst for ATTENTION. Here is my latest favorite.

Hi there. I just finished reading your novel. I purchased it a few months ago as it was recommended to me from amazon.com, however, I just haven't had the time to start reading new books yet. I started it yesterday and now just one day later I've finished it just completely overtaken by the joy I received from the small book. Everything you wrote in the book was captivating. I can't wait for your next book. You are definitely going on the list of one of my favorite authors! Please keep it up.
Your newest fan,
Elizabeth

That’s right, mofos, I am spreading peace and joy around the world and don’t you forget it! Perhaps BB should go to Iraq and "entertain" the troops.

Hmm.

In other news, I have some appearances coming out so please check out the Appearances page of my author site to get the deets. You won’t want to miss my star turn at the Auburn Supermall either, Lord no. For you Seattleites, I’ll be doing a talk at Richard Hugo House on October 23 all about how you can get rich and famous writing chick lit just like me so BE THERE.

Now it is time to go sell my soul to the man, you know which man. The short one who wears the same shirt every day. Zoe wrote in to ask about my coworkers and whether they were cute. Why YES, Zoe, they are! There are many do-able honeys at the most successful e-tailer in the world and as soon as I get my chance to dive into another ill-fated office romance and get another bestelling book and more more more fan mail out of it, I will do it, I promise!

Xo
BB

Dead people keep showing up in my dreams. The literally dead and the figuratively dead. My father, for example, who died eight years ago. My best friend from childhood who has fallen off the edge of the earth in New Mexico somewhere. My ex boyfriend(s).

Speaking of dreams, I had one not long ago where I cut my own heart out of my body and carried it around all day in a paper bag. Later I put it back in—badly—but well enough. As I carried my beating little heart around in it’s flimsy paper bag, I alternated between matter-of-factness: “Oh, no prob, I’ll just put it back in later,” to horror: “How am I surviving without a heart? What if I lose it? What if it gets infected somehow and I die when I put it back in?”

My father had a heart attack when he was 33and a heart transplant when he was 44.

I haven’t had a heart attack yet, thank God. But I do tear my heart out of my body and hand it out in a paper bag to to every damn cutie pie who walks by. HERE HAVE IT.

Then when it all ends, I stuff it back inside my chest, somewhat the worse for wear but still beating. Miraculously. There’s a new scar, a few years off my life, and one more ghost to haunt my dreams.

How's that for a cheerful start to your day?

Let's see, I am still only drinking half a cup of coffee a day and the trowel is still locked up in a cabinet somewhere.

I am an uptight bundle of nerves and miss old General Celexa. C'est la vie. I'm in a funk and this, too, shall pass.

xo
BB

Let’s get one thing straight. I am not giving up men! That would be like…I don’t know, insert your own creative metaphor here because I haven’t had enough f*cking coffee. (I haven’t given that up either, by the way, I’ve just drastically cut down).

I am simply taking a break from digging them up. Usually I’m out there in my clamdiggers, trowel in hand, unearthing them from dark, dank places from which they should probably never be removed.

I just temporarily put the trowel down, is all’s I’m saying. If some cute boy comes chasing after me, begging me to go on a date or get involved with him despite the fact that he’s oh, bitter, emotionally unavailable, too young, too old, insane, obnoxious, loutish, stonerish, bipolar, bisexual, hell, all he has to be is bipedal, I’ll probably say yes!

Does that clear things up for you? Just a little?

xo
BB

It has not been the easiest of weeks because I am trying to cut two major addictions in my life: men and coffee.

Now I don’t want to get rid of them completely. That would be ridiculous given that I like them so much. There is nothing better than a delicious cup of Peet’s coffee on a chilly morning when you are cranking out your bound-for-the-besteller-list novel. There is nothing better on a chilly night than a nice, big—um, ok, never mind.

The thing is, neither are that great for my health. Coffee is OK in moderation but once I start drinking more than one cup a day it has certain ill effects of which I shall not speak. So now, instead of the big, tall cup of strong drip coffee I have every morning, I’ve taken to drinking half milk, half coffee and then drinking fake coffee (yum!) or herbal tea the rest of the day. Whoo. Hoo.

As for men, well, one can’t live without them. But I can, at least for a brief while, try to tone down my hunger for them. So for one week, I am attempting not to flirt with/chase/ask my friends to set me up with/othwerwise make any overtures to any men. Of course, I always have a number of flirtations going on during any given moment of my single life. But they are usually Level II-III flirtations, meaning they are with ex-boyfriends or friends I am attracted to who I will never get involved with for one reason or another.

This doesn’t mean I cannot respond to overtures. I can – and will! I’m just not going out in search of any new meat. Men. I’ve got too many of them circulating in my head right now anyway.

One week. It's not so long, right? At the end of one week, perhaps I can renew my efforts for another week but for now I must have realistic goals. As a friend once told me, I would "flirt with a fencepost."

Mmm, fencepost.

So I think I am in training for my next novel. I have been writing every day, at least a thousand words. I get up early, drag myself out of bed, go through the motions, because I know that one day – soon – I will have found another story and will be writing for real again.

I don’t know, exactly, what I’m writing right now. I’ve got a situation, some characters, and some very, very bad dialogue. Actually I’ve got several different situations and several different characters and lots of very, very bad dialogue. And one day, one of them is going to be my next novel. Maybe all of them will be. Perhaps they will all merge into some delectable literary creation! More likely not they will all be discarded and deleted someday but for now they live their imperfect lives – falling in love with the wrong people, working in crappy jobs, dealing with their disapproving family.

The most important thing is, that like an athlete, I have finally started getting back in shape. Although I don’t yet know what marathon I’m going to be running, I know there is one in the near future. It would be easier, of course, to drag myself out of bed if I did have a more clearly defined goal. For example, if I already had a book contract in hand and a deadline, and a decent draft to work off. Instead I’m at that stage where I’m creating something out of nothing and all I can do is have faith it will go somewhere. Sometimes, if I’ve had a bad night (and lately I’m not sleeping well), I first sit down in front of that computer and feel despair.

I think, “What’s the point? All I’m doing is writing shit. It’s not even a real novel. It doesn’t have a real plot. It’s not funny, it’s not interesting, it’s not anything, I’m nothing but a poser hack loser nobody.” But then I drink some coffee and I start to write, and even if it is some of the worst writing in the world, it’s writing nonetheless and it takes me away to the Speical Place. And after I’ve written my 1000 words I feel better about everything (that is, until the caffeine wears off), and know that the workout has served its purpose. It has given me at least an hour in my day that's good. And it’s getting me in shape so I can get another book to you before the millenium is over.

xo
BB

OK. Since I am getting a million hits from Sam and the City, I'll put my maudlin summer posts back up. FOR NOW.

And since my author site seems to be down temporarily, check out ye old mighty Amazon.com to check out my book and read an excerpt that will HOOK YOU and not let you go.

xo
BB

BOOM!

I am cutting off ties with summer. I was getting whiny there as the seasons changed, but now – with one day to go! – I am ready to let that fluffiness go and drink in the swirling leaves, embracing darkness, and endless red-wine tinged possibilities of fall.

(If you are a new reader and feel desperate to see the archives, drop me a line and I *might* take pity on you. I might not. We’ll see. )

Buh-bye, summer. RIP.

xo
BB

This just in from the south! Christina from Charming but Single writes:

"I just got back from my some evening shopping at my local Barnes and Noble and your book was on my shopping list. I was about to comb through the section of paperback fiction looking for it, but I didn't have to -- because it was on the "Staff Recommends" shelf right in front of the section. Apparently I'm not the only one in town who reads your blog. Anyway, it was really cool. The recommendation card that says who recommended it and why wasn't up, but it was definitely front in center right when I got off of the escalator."

I just want to head down to that Barnes and Nobles and throw a big old party for them, complete with champagne and cupcakes.

xo Barnes and Noble in the south somewhere I heart you.

OK now it is ninety-million degrees and I just want to take off my turtleneck. Why must the weather be so fickle. I ask you, WHY? If you are going to start out rainy, STAY rainy. Why do you have to lead me on this way? You know how much I love rain, and. YET. You must love mocking me more. You love getting my hopes up and knocking them down and watching me sweat the day through in my stinky f*cking turtleneck while those who left the house at a more reasonable hour than SEVEN AM were able to wear the slinky tank top that is appropriate for this ridiculously sunny travesty of day.

Today I am wearing a turtleneck, thereby I officially declare it Fall.

(Alas, it is the same turtleneck I wore all through Patagonia. You know how it is when you go on a long trip and wear the same clothes all the time and then swear that once you get home you will never EVER wear that piece of clothing again? But you do it anyway because it is your only black turtleneck.)

It is still, officially, Rebecca Week until Tuesday but you know what? It was so not Rebecca Weekend. I was not perky. I was not happy. I was morose and glum and tear-splashed, certain that 1)I will hit old age alone and unloved (and wearing the same turtleneck until it is so crusted with food stains that the nursing home attendants will have to pry it off my body) 2)I will die a corporate wage slave 3) other stuff.

This is what happens when my Demons, Loneliness and Boredom get ahold of me. These desperate thoughts are also usually accompanied by stupid, weak actions. Call Boy X. Email Boy Y. Pretend that everything is just fine if I hang out with Boy Z.

The problem (a problem), I believe, is this. I went through that big(gish), sad, breakup in June and promptly proceeded to date my way effortlessly through the summer. The boys were just there. I didn’t have to deal with my feelings from the breakup. I just moved merrily along, but now that summer is fading like the flowery mirage it was, I gotta face facts. I still miss my ex. And I am fucking alone. Again. Forever. Until they pry the turtleneck shirt off me etc etc.

(The sad thing was, I got my hopes up about one of those summer flings. I started out so detached and carefree – like the wind! – only to end up feeling dangerously happy around this person. How could I have forgotten? HAPPINESS=DANGER).

Thusly I am just generally SAD, grieving over everyone and everything I have lost. Boys, earrings, that beautiful $300 dress I wore to my sister’s wedding (how the hell could I have lost a $300 dress?), my black cardigan, my pink, striped cap, youth and innocence, etc.

Maybe I will try to spend MONEY to make myself feel better. Too bad it doesn't buy love ha ha. Ha.

Xo
Rebecca

Rebecca Week continues! Today, while purchasing my coffee at 7:40 a.m. in preparation to write, fully dressed and blow-dried (I’ve become such a morning person that I now even fit showering into my routine!), a beautiful and fashionable young woman comes up to me and says excitedly, “Do you write books? Are you BREAKUPBABE?”

I nod, ever so modestly, because I am nothing if not a superstar who knows she owes it all to the fans, and she tells me who she is – we’ve already exchanged e-mail in which she told me how much she loved the book – then says “I recognized you from your picture! It’s an honor to meet you!”

Bonus! I actually look like my author picture today thanks to that bleary-eyed 20 f*cking minutes of blow-drying my f*cking hair, which has to be the most boring f*cking task on the planet but anyway, as if all that flattery weren’t enough, she then tells me how she tried to read “The Devil Wears Prada” after reading my book and thought it was complete CRAP. “You are so talented!” she says as she departs the coffee shop in an outfit much more stylish than mine but of course I didn’t care because she makes me feel like a goddess.

Ah yes. The fans. I do so love them. In other news, I had a fabulous time at the Salon of Shame the other night (note you can even see a picture of me in the montage on the web site), at which I read from the first novel I ever wrote, entitled “A Life to Love.” It is all about a girl named Lanna who loves horses – one in particular named Huggy Bear – but then gets in a horrible riding accident during which she gets bitten by a rattlesnake, awakes in the hospital to be told by her parents she’ll never ride again, almost dies, but then not only recovers but rides again AND her parents buy her Huggy Bear! The Salon of Shame featured the best audience any kind of performer could ever ask for, liquored up and ready to laugh at EVERYTHING.

Hmm, I wonder what flattering thing will befall me next during Rebecca Week?

OK! Thanks for the love, people. In continuing celebration of National Rebecca Week, here are some more Rebecca Raves.

you're book is soooo good! it's so different than any book i've r ead since, dare i say, Bridget Jones. it's chick-lit, but smarter. none of that Bergdorf Blondes bullshit. More melissa bank than plum sykes. anyway, it being Rachel Week and all, just thought i'd send you some props. You're the new wind beneath my words!
--from Sarah of Crazyvirgo

Brilliant job last night at Queen Anne Books. I'm glad I could make it. Your talk was lively, funny, and really captured the spirit of the book.
--from a coworker

I loved your book. I identified with your book, and it will go on my bookshelf with many of my other favourites! It was very reassuring in a time when I am searching to find my own way in this relationship world!
--from Tina of Life as a Single Parent

You are the most beautiful, intelligent, sexy, fun, and all around amazing woman I have ever met. Not to mention, you are adventurous as hell, independent, creative, affectionate. I can't imagine spending my life with anyone else.
--from my imaginary boyfriend

In an effort to boost my currently-flagging morale, I herewith dub September 12th “Rebecca Day” and offer you some of the nicest things people have said to me recently or (not-so-recently.) Hell, I might make this whole f*cking week Rebecca week! If you've got anything to add about how great I am in, why chime in and maybe I'll quote you!

***Begin Rebecca Week Comments!!***Oooh, I love Rebecca!***

It was wonderful to see you again. I felt really good this morning, no doubt a result of your visit I always feel like the luckiest guy in the restaurant when we go out to eat!
-email from a friend

Last night I served the "Breakup Babe" (Rebecca Agiewich), who had a basil blueberry mojito and some tapas. She is just as pretty in person as her picture on her blog. :)
-from Two Cents & Frivolous Spending

-Your book was referred to me by Amazon.com when I requested other humorous books and I can't thank them enough. When you're not totally serious you are absoutely hysterical…Not to sound maudlin or anything, but my husband John passed away on April 8th - so very suddenly - and then you and your book came into my life. I needed you and God made sure I found you. It helps so much to laugh. You are a writter and a damn good one too!
-email from a reader

-I've read a lot of books in my time and I have to say, BB is the first book to ever make me cry. You have such a way with words. Can't wait till your next one!
-email from a reader

As an on again/off again fan of Ms. Agiewich's blog, I couldn't help picking up her book after hearing of her many promotional appearances all around the Northwest where she's been winning fans during Q&A with her real life wit and charm. With so much positive feedback circulating through local bookstores about the warmth and humility in her live appearances, my curiosity in the life of Breakup Babe was piqued once again!
--from an Amazon.com customer review

-You have magnificent breasts.
--Anonymous ex-boyfriend

***End Rebecca Week Comments!!***Oooh, I love Rebecca!***

Oh, and by the way, if you're looking for something fun to do tomorrow night, I'll be reading from something hideously embarrassing tomorrow night at The Salon of Shame. Come down, have a drink, and tell me how f*cking great I am. I need your love.

xo
Rebeccca

This has been quite the spring and summer. Let’s recap shall we? A quick list of events:

• Go on month-long trip to Patagonia.
  
• Quit job.
  
• Start new job.
  
• Become published author.
  
• Break up with boyfriend.
  
• Go on book tour.
  
• Date more than is good for me, trying to fill void.
  
• Try to refrain from sleeping with any of my summer boyfriends.
  
• Fail.
  
• Know it will come back to bite me in the a*s.
• Work my a*s off in new job (yes, the same a*s that is about to be bitten off).
  
• Learn to become “morning person” so as to write next novel (which has absolutely no plot and the whiniest protagonist ever, yes, even whinier than Rachel).
  
• Etc.

Phew. Is it any wonder I am tired? That I crave a beach vacation -- sun, sand, margaritas, a snorkel mask, and little tropical fishies?

Now that my favorite season is nearly here, perhaps I can relax. Slow down. Learn to be alone, as GalPal #3 is always telling me to do. As Sensible Girl is always telling Rachel to do in the novel. Unlike my protagonist, unfortunately, I have not been able to learn that lesson. A Gemini and an extrovert, I crave companionship all the time. It is my downfall.

WHATever. I am currently taking applications for companionship. If you are 1)male 2)smoke pot less than ten times a day and 3)are not so laden with emotional baggage that you are unable to move 4)willing to travel and climb mountains and perhaps support me one day, please apply within. As usual, a certificate of mental health will be required. (But, remember, I am easily bribed by compliments and caresses.).

xo
BB

So I was supposed to have some sort of kick-ass day on Aug 29, according to Astrologyzone.com:

"Your very best day of the month will be Tuesday, August 29, when Jupiter and Uranus will be in gorgeous angles. The only way to describe this is that it will be a cosmic gift, and news should hit when you least expect it. Your career will bring the kind of news that will make you over-the-moon happy, and in the light of what might happen earlier this month, with the tension and uncertainty, this news might seem almost miraculous when it occurs. Nothing similar to this will happen again until 2008, although you did recently enjoy this aspect in late November 2005 and early May 2006. The third time may be the charm!"

Now it’s true my memory is going but I can’t remember any “cosmic gifts” being bestowed on me that day beyond those I already have my (youth(fulness), drop-dead good looks beauty, prodigious talent, charisma, abundant personal wealth, etc.)

I do remember that day being a motherf*cking b*tch at work. I do remember my publicist in NYC telling me she wouldn’t set up a reading for me in New York because it wasn’t “worth it.”

I don’t exactly remember feeling “over-the-moon-happy” except for five minutes or so during lunch, when I was one-quarter of the way through a margarita (yes I drank a margarita at lunch, take THAT), and laughing so hard I cried. Then the margarita wore off and the witty lunch companion went back to work and I just became over-the-moon tense again, which just doesn’t have the same ring to it at all.

Nothing “miraculous” occurred that I can recall, except that I got something halfway practical done in the evening, which was to shop for furniture. I believe I also put a few things away in my condo, and gained a little ground in the war against the utter chaos of clothes, backpacks, dishes, books, unmade bed, messy closet, unpainted walls, etc etc, that is always threatening to overwhelm me.

I guess those are all miracles enough. Jupiter and Uranus probably just went to find a Gemini who needs those cosmic gifts more than me. But you know. A teeny-tiny one wouldn’t hurt. Just to tide me over to 2008.

[Note: Do you have a funny, crazy, dating or breakup story? Post it here or send it to breakupbabe@msn.com ASAP 'cause there's this TV producer from a big-time TV show looking to put together a show about "funny dating stories." Yes, I know, dating is not really funny. It is tragic and pathetic, which is why I had to make all my stories up and put 'em in a novel, but hey - we can dig up some funny dating stories for the sake of being on TV right? Send me your good ones and I will forward on to Mr. Producer Man.]

Now for your regularly scheduled self-centeredtainment...

I have always possessed a talent for having daydreamy fun and not getting much of anything practical done.

As a child, when I was supposed to be loading the dishwasher, I took all-too-frequent breaks to pirouette around the living room as a pretend ballerina. Or I would engage in a spoken-word melodrama, with all parts played by me, talking out loud in a variety of accents as I shoved dishes into the wrong parts of the dishwasher.

To this day, I am a miserable failure at loading the dishwasher, probably because I am too busy thinking about boys, or what my next novel is going to be about (boys, probably). Ask anyone who has ever been a guest at my house and pulled a piece of "clean" tableware out of the cabinet, only to find it crusted with food relics or smeared with an unidentifiable substance. (Blame it on boys!)

My impractical and fun-loving nature is perhaps the reason I have not “settled down.” Why would I when there are so many cute boys out there to be had, so many dramas yet to be played out? Why, I wake up every morning and still wonder, “What exciting thing might happen to me today?” Oh, one day I’ll be so old and decrepit that no drama will befall me anymore and then I’ll rue the day that I never settled down and had resentful children to care for me. But that day is not coming for at least three years.

My impractical and fun-loving nature is also the reason I was able to produce a novel while working full-time. Believe me, a lot of chores were left undone during the writing of that novel. Groceries were not bought; bathrooms were not cleaned; new sheets were not purchased; husbands were not found.

I am in love with possibility and always have been, so much more than with mundane reality. I’ve managed to find a job and become a homeowner but I’ll be damned if I could tell you – two years post-purchase – what my interest rate is or how much I’ve paid off or even what the life of my loan is. (Five years? Seven years? Certainly not 30, I know that much.) I can tell you that I have one square of bright, Candyland blue painted on my bedroom wall. It has been there for a month, waiting for me to sample other colors. To make a decision and settle down with something just a little more practical.

But of course I haven’t had time to make my decision. I’ve been far too busy chasing boys, writing my next book, running around outdoors where my unpainted walls can't close me in, and loading the dishwasher very, very poorly.

Reminder: before I start this self-indulgent post: I am reading tomorrow night at Queen Anne Books at 6:30 p.m.!

This has been a summer full of fun and flirtation with a current of sadness underneath. It’s been a summer of worry and tension headaches and trying to settle into the identity of published author. What does that mean? How do I promote my book and write another one at the same time? Hold down a demanding full time job?

Many new things have started, which are exciting, but transition is hard. Even when the new things are better, you long for the old, comforting things.

I am thrilled my book is out in the world but this birth has brought with it a whole slew of worry and insecurity. Let’s not even talk about the jealousy that comes with being a writer (Anne Lamott says it all so much better than me anyway) and the way you hyperventilate with each of your writer friends’ successes. (Soon they are going to be fabulously succesful bestellers sipping margaritas on their own private island while you waste away in a dark office like Bartleby the scrivener, returned unto the obscurity from which you barely emerged after writing your first -- and only -- book.).

I miss, just a tiny bit, the days when all I did was work and write and hope – when I wasn’t a published author and didn’t worry constantly about how my book was doing, and when would I write a next one, what is my Amazon ranking, how is so-and-so’s book doing compared to mine (though of course thank you LORD or whoever for letting me get published, don't think for one moment I take it for granted, NO!) I miss, a bit, the lazy days at Club Geeksoft, where my schedule was flexible and my mornings relaxed. My new job is so much better for me – so much more interesting, and dynamic, and glamorous, and fun – but still. I have to hustle and my writing suffers for it.

I miss, too, my ex boyfriend. His intelligence and his power and grace. The way he wrapped himself around me in his tiny bed on cold nights. The way his smile cracked the world wide open. Yet I always struggled for what to say to him (and I am not a person who likes to struggle for words). I could never quite be myself with him, and so I knew, eventually it would end though I tried to believe otherwise because it was so sexy and happy and fun (that last doomed month aside).

I am a person who seeks out change and variety but I'm thrashing through it right now. I could use an anchor. For now, my friends and family and my friend's kids anchor me. Barely. And so does my writing (my next book is 15,000 horrible words in the making.)

I think I can hold on till things calm down in my head. But just in case, check for fragments of my brain lying around tomorrow. They might be worth a lot of money someday -- if my book does well, that is.

So my head has been off in the stratosphere, worrying, spinning, trying desperately to balance everything that is going on – workbooknewbookboysshouldIpaythousandsofdollarsforapublicistetcetc-meanwhile a mean old tension headache has wrapped itself around my head and won’t go away. Either that or a brain tumor.

At least I’m writing every day. I appear to be writing a novel that takes place at a camp. So many of my most vivid memories come from camp, be it the hippy dippy camp I went as a youngster, where I felt “cool” for the first time in my life or the camp where I worked as a drama counselor, furiously writing a plays every two weeks for the campers to perform, and falling much too madly in love with another counselor.

I have constant fantasies of escape these days. My Patagonia trip, now five long months ago, has receded into the distance. I can no longer call up the feelings of peace and relaxation that I got from slogging up snowy passes and staring at giant glaciers. There I didn’t define myself by the usual things. My identity fell away – I didn’t have to brag about my hot boyfriend or my book; I couldn’t make myself up or blow-dry my hair; no one knew who I was and no one cared, so really, I was just me – unadorned and unencumbered by all the things I usually tried to define myself by.

So I’m dreaming of escape again. Moving to a cottage in the Cotswolds where I’ll write children’s books and tend my roses. Becoming full-blown travel writer like my friend Amanda, who is always off on another trip – to Norway, Alaska, South Africa. Getting a writing residency somewhere cool, with my own little cabin to write in. At the very least, going to a beach somewhere where I can lie in the sand and my headache will go away. All these things are possible, at least, which makes me happy. If there’s one thing I’ve always thrived on, it’s possibility.

Right now I can only escape in my head, for about an hour a day, to this fictional camp full of confused but lovable characters whose souls are soothed by sleeping in the trees and seeing the stars, by singing songs around the campfire, by falling in love and sneaking off to treehouses. For now, it will have to do. That and the mountains.

Hello Darlings.

For those of you that live in the following cities:

Chicago,

Vancouver

New York City

Washington DC

Los Angeles

Do you have favorite independent bookstores that you think might be a good place for yours truly to come speak? (And thanks for the offers to let me come stay, you do know I’m going to take you up on them, don’t you? )

In other news, I have no life anymore. My “social life” consists of drinking myself into a red wine stupor and watching movies on what was formerly the Little Red Couch O’ Love, then getting into bed at 10 p.m. so I can get up “early,” write, go to work all day, actually work, (sometimes write again after work), drink myself into red wine stupor, go to bed at 10 p.m. etc.

Consequently I have written thousands of words written lately – thousands of horrible words – but that’s not what matters because they are all horrible when they first come out. The trick is sticking with it until they become less horrible.

OK OK I guess I’m managing to fit in few things here and there – bike rides, backpacking trips, dinners in swank restaurants, television appearances, etc. etc. But it's not easy!

Oh – speaking of appearances, take note! I have the following readings coming up:

Thursday, August 24, 6:30 p.m.
Reception & Booksigning (with mocktails!)
Queen Anne Books
1811 Queen Anne Avenue, North
Seattle, WA

Friday, September 8, 7:30 p.m.
Village Books
1200 11th Street
Bellingham, WA

For your further entertainment, check out this interview with me on Conversations with Famous Writers.

OK I am sick of myself for now and I am sure you are too.

xo
BB

Sometimes I go a few days without checking my mailbox because, yawn, what is in there except boring junk mail and bills?

Well yesterday I received a beautiful pair of earrings in the mail and all I had to do to get them was write a novel!

Yes, I have to thank the talented Ruth Avra, who wrote me a while ago and offered to give me a piece of handcrafted jewelry just because she liked my book so much.

Now that kind of reader love I can really get behind! Jewelry - whoohoo! If there are any designers out there who would like to start loaning me dresses for the red carpet - please, I have room in my closet (since everything is in a ball on the floor). Or, you know, anyone who wants to give me any kind of gift.

In other news, I am extremely tense and neurotic at the moment - not for any one reason, but because everything in my life is in transition, and I have not been on a tropical vacation in far too long. Snorkeling is is one of my top five favorite activities, up there with reading, writing, eating, and kissing. I've been doing plenty of the other four - but no snorkeling! Anyone like to donate a tropical vacation?

xo
BB

I have come to the unsettling realization that my new crop of coworkers are much more stylish than my coworkers at Club Geeksoft. Not that this is hard to manage - the favored attire at C.G. was a fleece vest bearing a Geeksoft logo over an extra-large t-shirt bearing a Geeksoft logo, with perhaps a baseball cap with a Geeksoft logo to top it all off.

No wonder that for four years I felt like a fashion queen without even trying!

Now, however, when I show up to work with unwashed hair and my stained shirts (at least they don't bear Geeksoft logos!) and sensible sandals, I'm forced to realize I no longer reign supreme.

Oh sure, I can bring it when it matters, 'cause after all, I am Breakup Babe! But on weekday mornings, I now sacrifice my looks for Art. I sacrifice good hair for an extra 20 minutes of writing. I sacrifice a nice outfit for an extra 20 minutes of writing. I'm sacrificing (what's left of) my youth for an extra 20 minutes of writing!

Ahem.

Tonight, at least, I am going to a swank wedding wearing a very sexy dress. Of course I don't have the right jewelry for it, but at least, in my early-summer spending frenzy during which I spent a million dollars on a single suit that I wear for every single television appearance, I purchase some shoes that go with the dress. No doubt the dress is stained somewhere and I will discover that as soon as I go to put it on.

Once I become rich and famous, I will hire a stylist. For now, I remain stained and wrinkled, and oh so superficial -

Yours,
BB

I am trying to become a morning person. So far it is not really working out but it is early in the campaign. I have determined that the only way for me to 1)promote this book 2)write a new one and 3)keep my current job is for me to go to bed at some ridiculously early hour and arise with the sun.

Note that I did not include "have a social life" on that list. I no longer work at Club Geeksoft, where I could party all night, rise late, write, roll in whenever, and get paid an astronomical salary. I now work harder, get paid less, and won't have time to write unless I take draconian measures! Not that I'm complaining mind you, I'm just SAYING.

In more positive news, I am hiring a new publicist and plan to go on a star-spangled U.S. tour in my glittery pink tour bus! OK I don't have the tour bus yet and I don't know how much of the U.S. I'll hit, but it will be a few of the big metro areas. And if you offer me a place to stay, I might even come to your town! I'm also gonna get on Oprah! Or Dr. Phil! Or Northwest Afternoon! Oh wait - I AM on Northwest Afternoon or I will be!

I already taped the show; it airs August 24. I sunk to new levels of degradation with this appearance by providing them with a photo of me and Loser (as requested)- each one of us standing on either side of the equator. I instructed them not to show his face because Lord knows he will sue me at the slightest provocation - and so they blacked out his face! Cheese. O. Rama. But I know you would sell your soul in a second for celebrity too, don't say you wouldn't. Or at least your ex-boyfriend's soul.

Thank you all once again for your comments, notes, and praise for the book. If I have not responded to your e-mail, your request for a free book (there are still a very few left!) or a *signed bookplate* (plenty of those too!) rest assured I will get to it.

And now, can we please have a moment of silence to mourn the passing of my favorite hat - a present from GalPal #2. I do believe it is finally lost and gone forever. It's a miracle that I was able to keep it this long (3 years!) without losing it. Here is a picture of my hat (and me) in front of some big old glacier in Patagonia, which is famous, but I forget the name.

(F*ck. The Blogger photo software is not working. I will insert the photo later. Picture me in a charming pink, striped cap here.)

RIP hat.

I have not gotten to kiss the construction worker much in the last few days, except in my head, that is. In my head, his lips are soft and his abs are hard -- just like in real life. Sometimes you don't need a lot of imagination.

Speaking of imagination (and I know this blog entry just goes on and on), I realize that by being a writer I am simply continuing to do my favorite childhood activity, which is pretend. When I don't get to write (pretend) for at least a couple hours a day, the world seems so drab. I remember saying to my mom once, "Isn't it boring to be an adult - you don't get to pretend!"

Well, lucky me, I turned out to be a writer. It's just now I'm gonna have to start getting up at the crack of dawn to get my two hours of pretend in. Poor me!

xo
BB

So I slaved over this article for months, made it nearly letter-perfect, and sent it off to the New York times for publication in their Modern Love section. I mean, of course they were going to publish it – I gave my life to that article, I finished it despite all odds! With an intervening trip to South America and a change of jobs and the publication of my novel and a breakup, and the fact that I had to write more drafts than I’ve ever written of anything before - and besides – I’m a famous author now! They will all leap out of their chairs when they see it and dance around for joy! Finally, finally, the author of BreakupBabe has sent us an article! Break out the champagne - our useless rag is SAVED!

Now it’s been nearly two whole weeks and I haven’t heard a word.

HMMPH. I am a writer, I’m used to rejection. Two weeks isn’t that long. Maybe there’s still hope. But they were supposed to get back to me IMMEDIATELY because damn it, that’s the first thing I’ve really managed to write since I finished my freaking novel and I told everyone I knew how I was writing an article for Modern Love, and oh – the heartbreak!

Time to send that f*cker somewhere else. Meanwhile I am one cranky bitch this morning due to a variety of things including lack of sleep and the conviction that I am a complete loser nobody who will never write another worthwhile thing again (and you know it wasn’t like my first book was To Kill A Mockingbird or anything! I still have something to prove!)Thank God for Brooke buying me some coffee this morning after I forgot my wallet because things would have been Very Bad without it.

Life is not all bad. Oh no, it’s f*cking dandy most of the time, just not when I’ve had less than eight hours of sleep. I got to make out with a super cute boy last night and yes, maybe he’s a construction worker, maybe not, but I’m under strict orders from my doctors not to blog about my love life anymore so that’s all you’re gonna get. He’s a really good kisser. OK, there’s a little more for you. And, um, he’s got one of the best smiles I’ve ever seen, and that is it for now because I have to go be a corporate wage slave.

YOURS TRULY,
REBECCA J. AGIEWICH

So I slaved over this article for months, made it nearly letter-perfect, and sent it off to the New York times for publication in their Modern Love section. I mean, of course they were going to publish it – I gave my life to that article, I finished it despite all odds! With an intervening trip to South America and a change of jobs and the publication of my novel and a breakup, and the fact that I had to write more drafts than I’ve ever written of anything before - and besides – I’m a famous author now! They will all leap out of their chairs when they see it and dance around for joy! Finally, finally, the author of BreakupBabe has sent us an article! Break out the champagne - our useless rag is SAVED!

Now it’s been nearly two whole weeks and I haven’t heard a word.

HMMPH. I am a writer, I’m used to rejection. Two weeks isn’t that long. Maybe there’s still hope. But they were supposed to get back to me IMMEDIATELY because damn it, that’s the first thing I’ve really managed to write since I finished my freaking novel and I told everyone I knew how I was writing an article for Modern Love, and oh – the heartbreak!

Time to send that f*cker somewhere else. Meanwhile I am one cranky bitch this morning due to a variety of things including lack of sleep and the conviction that I am a complete loser nobody who will never write another worthwhile thing again (and you know it wasn’t like my first book was To Kill A Mockingbird or anything! I still have something to prove!)Thank God for Brooke buying me some coffee this morning after I forgot my wallet because things would have been Very Bad without it.

Life is not all bad. Oh no, it’s f*cking dandy most of the time, just not when I’ve had less than eight hours of sleep. I got to make out with a super cute boy last night and yes, maybe he’s a construction worker, maybe not, but I’m under strict orders from my doctors not to blog about my love life anymore so that’s all you’re gonna get. He’s a really good kisser. OK, there’s a little more for you. And, um, he’s got one of the best smiles I’ve ever seen, and that is it for now because I have to go be a corporate wage slave.

YOURS TRULY,
REBECCA J. AGIEWICH

OK I want you all to know I am not one bit upset that today Stephanie Klein's book, "Straight Up and Dirty" is #337 on Amazon, while mine is #94,000-something or other.

Not at ALL, do you hear me? Nor that she got some huge book deal plus a TV show and is now writing full time and is fabulously successful and happily married. I mean WHATEVER STEPHANIE KLEIN! WAS YOUR BOOK HAULED UP TO THE TOP OF MOUNT RAINIER BY A LOYAL FAN? I THINK NOT!!

All that matters to me is that you, my small but select crowd of readers, love the book, which you seem to do. Take this comment, which was posted on my last entry.

"Your book arrived from AMAZON yesterday. Once I started it, I could NOT put it down. THANK YOU, BB! Having recently lived through a quite similar Great Unpleasantness (my live-in boyfriend cheated and lied about, even to this day), your book has given me strength to carry on. I dealt my revenge metaphorically through your actions. The lonliness and boredom were transported as I held your book in my hands. But, now what am I to do? Read it again? Maybe I will. I have already recommended your book to many of my gal pals, but I will not share my copy. I cannot part with it. Thank you for giving me hope."
- On the Mend

This about made me want to weep. When people say things like that to you, it makes everything worth it. All the hours spent slaving over your keyboard, wallowing in self-doubt; the years spent as a temp receptionist dreaming of being a writer; the thousands of dollars spent on a publicist (who probably had nothing to do with On the Mend buying your book from Amazon); and just the all-around angst of trying to be a writer with a full-time job struggling to carve out the time to write.

Anyway. I know I've been going on and on about my readers like a broken record but I'll say again: this kind of response dazzles and overwhelms me in the best possible way. So thank you everyone, for letting me know how you feel about the book!

In other news, summer rushes along. I'm even tempted to tell you that it's now OK for you to ask me how my summer is going, and that if you did, you probably would probably not be subject to acts of violence; however, if I did that, I would undoubtedly jinx everything. So let's just keep the old rules in place for now.

xo
BB

Because I seem to be creatively bankrupt these days, instead of writing my own damn post, I’m going to offer you a hilarious take from Southern Comfort on the most DIFFICULT question I have to answer these days.

She writes,

...Another sticky wicket of a question is “How is your book doing?”

When my first novel came out I was bombarded with this question. And being an utter newbie I relied on Amazon for my answers and assumed my book was tanking like the Titanic. (Not by a mile, honey chile.)

I’d get all flustered and defensive as if they’d asked me “How’s the book doing… you pathetic wannabe?”

“ I don’t know how it’s doing. I won’t know until I get my royalty statements. QUIT HASSLING ME!”

Now if I’d made it to the bestseller list with my first novel I would have walked around wearing a sandwich board that said, “ Ask me how my book is doing.”

But there really is no good answer to this question. What can you say? I moved five hundred units last week? My mom and all my cousins bought multiple copies? I’m selling as many copies as the author of Seventy-five Recipes for Homemade Cheese.

After a while I finally understood that people were just being polite; they weren’t out to interrogate me. Now when asked this question, I just give a wink and say, “Not too shabby. Let’s put it this way. If I see a penny in the gutter, sometimes I won’t bother to fish it out.”

I am still in the defensive stage. I don’t KNOW how my damn book is doing. No one has told me and that is probably because it’s doing TERRIBLY and I am about to become persona-non-grata in the publishing world! I usually default to, “Well, lots of people are emailing me and telling me they like the book. I’m sure it’s about to become a word-of-mouth-favorite.”

I do have to say, that in lieu of any hard numbers, which are probably just depressing, that the reader response is the best thing that's been happening to me. It's kind of like the old days when I started this blog and all sorts of people wrote to say how much they loved it. The best part of being a writer is feeling like you've reached people. It's the most unexpected part too, 'cause you spend so much time toiling by yourself, you almost forget people are actually (if you're lucky) going to read what you write.

Oh! Here is an exciting tidbit. I have bookplates that I can sign for you. So, just in case I don't do that international tour, and you want a signed copy of BreakupBabe, e-mail me your address (breakupbabe@msn.com) and I will send you a signed bookplate. (Be patient because I am mailing-impaired.)

P.S. There are also still free books available for those who put up a banner ad or a blurb linking to my book on Amazon!

Love,
BB

Despite the frantic pace of the California leg of my book tour, and the cold which oh-so-conviently gripped me right before I came down here, I am enjoying my 15 minutes of fame. My reading at the venerable Black Oak Books last night was quite the good time, especially because 30 or so people showed up - the biggest turnout since my book launch party!

I also was extremely fond of the blurb that Black Oak Books put for my book on their Events page. I'll quote my favorite part here.

"By recasting her story as fiction, Rebecca Agiewich has created a fascinating admixture of autobiographical sincerity leavened with self-conscious, almost camp irony, a cri du coeur that peers over its own shoulder with a note of smiling post-modern glee, an honest novel of heartbreak and disappointment that is also the story of its own strange transformation from confession to literary confection."

I don't know what it means exactly, but it sure sounds good!

Besides the friendly staff, the great turnout, and the blurb that makes my book sound really fancy, I was also quite excited when - hanging around nervously before my event - I saw Frances McDormand walking out of the store. There is nothing more I love than a good celebrity sighting! I rushed back in and asked if she had bought my book (which she would then give to the Coen Brothers to turn into a darkly humorous cri de coeur looking over its shoulder or something) but no such luck.

I also appreciate this comment from Cristin, which you can see in the Comments section of the last entry, but which I thought I'd post for you here. Cristin notes a couple of the more "colorful" characters who were at the reading.

Just thought I would drop you a line to say you did a great reading in Berkeley tonight ( was was the girl who briefly mentioned to you I never comment on your blog - first time for everything eh?). My friend and I both thought you were very well spoken (but of course!), which is hard with a homeless person walking back in forth in front of you in the middle of your talk. Oh, and the guy who didn't know about blogging? He stores his chewing gum behind his ear as we in the audience were priveleged to witness.Great talk though!

Then at the crack of dawn, I hauled myself to San Francisco to be on CBS's "Weekend Early Edition," where I yukked it up with the anchors surprisingly well - considering it was 8 a.m., I was sick, and had had only fours hours of sleep, AND they didn't give me the questions beforehand. Usually for these 4-minute live TV dealies they at give you the list of questions a few minutes beforehand if you ask for them, but despite asking repeatedly this time, I did not get them. I thought about throwing a tantrum then thought better of it. In the end, I my level of witty banter was good. Ah yes, Xanax, thou art holy.

Signing off from the sunny South Bay,
love,
BB