You know that movie Blast from the Past with Brendan Fraser and Alicia Silverstone? Brendan Fraser spends his whole life underground in a fallout shelter after his prepper dad mistakenly thinks a bomb goes off in the 1960’s.
So it’s now the 90’s, and he comes back above ground all WTF? What is this world?
That just happened to me.
Only instead of a fallout shelter, I was in a writing cave and then immediately transported via covered van to adult summer camp three hours away.
If you write in any capacity, you may relate to the following things:
- It is impossible to not eat like a teenage boy with endless buckets of metabolism.
- I’ve been sitting at a desk in an office by myself for 3 solid weeks.
- I don’t respond to any texts, calls or emails because I’m too busy trying to write thousands of words- OMG stop contacting me unless you have a synonym for the word “amazing” because I’ve already used it 40 fucking times.
So I finished my book. It’s called The Clothes Make the Girl (Look Fat?) and it’s out December 26th.
I began this book with every intention of giving you fashion tips, but then realized I’d much rather sit on the couch with you and drink beer and eat Pringles and talk about all the crazy ass shit we wore. So that is what I am doing instead.
This is why it’s important to work with an editor that “gets” you, and truly know where you shine and where you stumble.
Buh bye how-to book, hello hilarious memoir #2!
My editor accepted the finished version of the book 40 minutes before I got into my car and drove south to host the final Camp Throwback of the summer.
What better way to celebrate than to head into a cabin with 100 new friends and drink all day and eat square high school pizzas, hot dogs cooked in butter, and s’mores all weekend. Let’s take stock of my week really quick.
I wore shorts because it’s August and my legs are hot, and since they don’t get mad at me when I dry shave them in the sink before sex and then slather them in self tanner, I am going to go ahead and not be mad at them for being dimply and veiny.
I put on a bathing suit with a few of my favorite girlfriends and did things like: swim, pee next to a tree by pulling my bikini bottoms to the side, and not immediately run for my towel the second I got out of the pool.
I lived my best body life.
I made new friends and didn’t have to wear make up and listened to The Bangles and made a dress out of size 5X men’s t shirt and had so much fun.
One thing I didn’t do? Poop.
I always share a cabin with my friend Rachel, and she brings bottles of Poopourri and pretends to not pay attention when I go into the bathroom with my phone and turn on the shower for white noise, and yet… nothing.
Guys, it took like, a week for me to finally poop.
I carried around junk food in every tube inside of me for days.
I got home last Sunday night, and thought I’d come right back here and tell you all about stuff, but it turns out, I was tired of talking about myself. I had just spent a whole entire book talking about myself, and I needed a break from me.
So, instead, I spent a week off the grid doing a whole bunch of shit that had absolutely nothing to do with me.
1. I read every news article I could get my hands on, watched every painful moment of video I could consume, upped my political donations to ACLU and Southern Poverty Law Center (I’d love to hear of any organizations you are donating to, please leave them in the comments!), began barraging my congress people with daily faxes by texting RESIST to 50409 (check out my post about this free service here), and then tackled the really fun task of removing people from my social networks.
I mean, if I can’t convince a dude from Northern Ohio why the Confederate flag has nothing to do with his heritage, then bye.
2. I signed up to coach Gigi’s soccer team, and spent 5 hours of my Saturday going through all the required training.
I am really nervous about this.
Andy has been coaching our children in soccer and basketball for four years now, and it’s the biggest turn on ever.
I don’t know what it is, but when I see him on the sideline, pacing around with a clip board and a whistle looking all hot… it’s like I have some sort of unresolved gym teacher fantasy or something.
I’ve always avoided coaching because, frankly, I’m competitive as fuck, and I am scared I won’t be able to reel that in to an appropriate level for 3rd and 4th graders. I am not an “everyone gets a trophy” kind of girl, but I’m going to try really hard.
Plus, I get a whistle!
3. Wyatt is 10 years old, and obsessed with horror movies.
He’s never actually watched one, just trailers for them on youtube. On the contrary, I loath horror horror movies and refuse to watch them.
The first scary movie I watched was Watcher in the Woods at my cousin Parris’ birthday party, and refused to walk down my wooded driveway for months. Then in junior high my friends made me watch April Fools Day, and I was done.
No horror films for me.
So, I am trying to inch my way into this with him, so we’re starting with one of my favorite series ever produced, a weird little show called Dead Like Me. Wyatt can be weird about death, which is why his fascination with the idea of scary movies shocks me.
We were in the theater once and a trailer for Heaven Is Real came on, and he ran out of the theater sobbing and hyperventilating. He slept in my bed for weeks after that.
He is terrified to die, he is terrified to be sick, he get’s very anxious about something happening to Andy and I, so this will be my attempt to gauge where we actually is with this whole death thing right now.
If Dead Like Me goes okay, we’ll tackle Stranger Things, and then anything beyond that Andy will have to deal with because ghosts are real and I’m already afraid to go into our bathroom alone at night because I walk by this giant mirror and what if I can’t stop my brain from accidentally saying Bloody Mary three times in my mind?
4. I have been spending lots of time reconnecting with the friends I’ve been cut off of over the course of the last month due to work.
We’re going out to eat, and sitting on porches outside without cell phones, watching our children run around together while we chat with drinks in our hands.
I call this act my “natural xanax.”
5. I’ve started packing up my house. I know there’s all this vagueness surrounding this whole house selling thing, but it’s really just because I’m insanely superstitious and want to wait until everything is final before I say, hey guess what we’re doing next!
But trust it’s all super positive, and exciting, and I’ve let go of the sadness of leaving something I’ve loved working on months ago, and now I’m putting shit in boxes. It’s cleansing.
I’m also going through all the boxes of the kid’s school papers that I’ve accumulated over the years.
The boxes started out very big, keeping every sheet of paper they so much as scrawled their names on, and they get progressively smaller each year until the boxes merely consisted of school pictures and one or two art projects.
I’ve condensed eight boxes of school papers into two.
I mean, I love my kids. But I don’t need to Baby’s First Vocab Flash Card/math test scrap paper love them.
Narrator: She kept all the macaroni art, though.
Of course I did.