In Celebration of Roxane Gay’s BAD FEMINIST

I wrote this piece for Roxane’s LA book party at the Last Bookstore on August 18th. It was an incredible night — people were packed deep into the store, on every floor, sitting in corners, hidden between stacks of shelves — so many men and women who stayed the entire time, despite the intense heat from all those bodies waiting to hear Roxane speak. It was a blast. Thank you again to Roxane for inviting me. Roxane’s books are making all kinds of year-end lists, and it reminded me that I meant to post this here.
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Is It Friday Yet?

I’ve started a new screenwriting job that has me working at an office.

It’s been a long time since I’ve been a part of corporate culture. I worried it had been too long since I worked business hours with normal people, having co-workers who didn’t have tails or wear diapers. I worried not for me, but for them. It’s been a very long time since going to work means I have to put on pants.

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Found in Old Notes to Myself

I think I wrote this while on an airplane.

“i am working on an essay about nail polish while the lady to my right is editing her documents that attempt to change the FBI’s definition of rape in order to get more rape kits ordered.

… i have done something wrong w/ my life.”

postcards from topeka

I woke up this morning with the joke I should have fit into last night’s late-night blog about Dr. Inappropriate. (“Less Talkin’, More Doc’in.“)

Meghan has posted parts of our Topeka pre-reading podcast. I’m just going to do myself a favor and not listen. But you can. She had to cut the coffee-fueled dirty parts where I talked about Johnny Depp and fingerpainting, and somehow I think that’s for the best. Read more

Self-Absorbed Like Bounty.

Maybe less than a year ago I was the kind of person who rolled her eyes as she passed the self-help aisle of the bookstore. They all seemed like the same: “Why Don’t I Feel Normal?”: A Guide To Helping You Feel Normal.

Now I’m that girl grabbing those books. Reading them. Using a pen. What?! I don’t write in any book, and now I’m doing self-help homework? Like a total girl.

[Pamela is exhibiting negative behavior about herself. She has recently learned that she’s not supposed to do that, like when she calls herself a dork, a klutz, a spaz, a geek, a nerd, a loser, a freak, a weirdo, or scrunches up her face after receiving a compliment. But if she stops doing that, who will she become?] Read more

best blurb ever.

I don’t want to ruin it by telling the joke over here, but Irwin has written a line about my book that should be on the front cover. Go read. Then come back.

(Ned-Voice) First of all (normal voice), that’s a very flattering essay (so thank you, sir).

But to give you an example of this fragile head I’ve got, when Irwin said to me that night, “There’s a lot of jokes,” here’s the rapid-fire dialogue my brain had in the three seconds between when he said that, and I said, “What does that mean?” Read more

bad night. (warning: not for the squeamish or sympathetic.)

So we hosted a small party last night, mostly comprised of people we’ve never met before. Five minutes after the first group of guests arrived, I was bleeding into the kitchen sink.

This was not one of my better parties. Well, I can’t speak for the people who attended, but I wish I could send apology notes to them. I guess that’s what I’m doing here, since many of them seemed familiar with this website. Read more

well, it’s another entry about my boobs.

Just got back from seeing Inside Man, or The Inside Man, or whatever it is. It doesn’t matter. I wanted to see it because Clive Owen is amazing, and if the entire movie was him doing that first monologue straight to the camera I would have been much more entertained.

Consequently, about half an hour into the movie I started thinking about writing this entry.

There’s a scene that’s in the trailer, so I’m not spoiling anything, where the bad guys make everybody in the bank strip to their underwear. This taps into something I’ve never talked about here, mostly because it hasn’t come up. I recently confessed my this confession to a co-worker, and while he did give me the, “Every day I learn something weirder about you” look, he didn’t suggest I keep this neurotic fun fact to myself, so I’ll blame all of this on him.

The scene confirmed my fear, and let me know that it was a perfectly normal, rational thought to have each morning.

When I get dressed, I always think, “Is this what I want to be seen in when the bad guys bust into the building and force us to strip down to our underwear?” Read more

the perks.

The first pass pages just arrived of Why Moms Are Weird. This is the first time it really looks like a book, with justified margins and special fonts for the chapter headings, and a dedication all in bold.

This is when I somehow get even more nervous, because that means it’s only a few short months now before someone like you can hold it in your hands, take it into your bed, and judge me. Read more

office mates

I used to be very shy. A quiet girl who liked to read books and stay out of the way. I wrote a lot of stories to entertain myself, and I wrote them from inside a walk-in closet because I’m a dork. I avoided making new friends because I knew I’d end up moving, and I didn’t want to lose more friends. Read more