Authors: Jen Lancaster
Tags: #Authors; American, #General, #21st Century, #Personal Memoirs, #Popular Culture, #Humor, #Jeanne, #Jack, #Literary, #Biography & Autobiography, #Social Science, #Biography, #United States, #Women
Or a Lohan family publicist.
Right?
As evidenced by today’s sit-down with Candace.
The nice thing about having such a small living room is that the television looks HUGE!
Wait. You don’t go around quoting
Stripes
twenty-six years after its release?
Apparently our house has a tendency to sink without proper support.
Yes, we tipped them big. But they still hate us.
Or gal.
What is he, on the rats’ payroll or something?
FYI, the sixth killer was in the closet, curled up on my cashmere sweaters.
I refuse to acknowledge the possibility of it being a female.
Read: will.
It was awesome!
And fourth Diet Coke.
I don’t actually know the difference, but I’m guessing a soiree includes cheese made by someone other than the Kraft Corporation.
Also, “explodes in your mouth” is not really a selling point.
Speaking of glass tables, ever notice that all the tables in the Ryan household were glass? Weird.
RIP, sir. And thank you for making the kind of films that defined my entire generation.
Yeah, there’s accidental spittle.
Hi, I’m forty years old. (Ask me about my Barbie collection, too.)
After getting Raspberry Cliché’s number. D’oh!
WINNAH!!
Together we are Stennifer.
Which is far inferior to its previous iteration.
Technically, I gained a lot of weight while unemployed after the dot-com crash and not because I had children. (Besides, with the amount of burgers, steaks, and barbecue I used to eat, I’d have birthed a calf, not a kid.)
I’ve yet to make any great strides intellectually, which will become evident when I meet Candace Bushnell for the first time a few weeks from now.
Ahem, Madonna, I’m talking to you.
RIP, Johnny Castle. Also, can everyone good please stop dying while I write this book? Thanks.
Whopper with cheese, holla!
Scofflaw!
Or maybe Colonel Tom.
Good Enough to Eat
, available September 2010. Buy it!
Team Jacob!
She pays me back in the morning by making me watch Olbermann.
A McDonald’s caramel sundae—I love those! And they’re only a buck!
Probably.
Her generation’s version of “ridiculous.”
I stifle the urge to shout that smoking is now considered a hate crime in the city of Chicago.
Possibly giving hints on preparing a perfect paella?
Watermelon!!
Who says I can’t write fiction?
Some might say bitter.
Unless they involve addition, subtraction, or God help me, fractions.
You can add Jon and Kate’s spectacular crash and burn to this list at the time of writing. Won’t someone please think of the children?
And yes, they grew up into fine adults, but it was rocky there for a while.
Which, coincidentally, tend to occur in the same place.
I try to be extrasensitive now after a reader got mad at me for making fun of a kid who had to wear a helmet in the apartment beneath me in one of my first books. Shit, I didn’t know that meant autism! I didn’t even know what autism was back then. I just thought helmets were funny. I mean, come on. Picture a helmet on anything else, like a cat or a pumpkin. It’s hilarious! But still, I’m totally sorry.
And if I wore one, you’d be allowed to laugh. See? It’s only fair.
Scored an upgrade, woo!
First is the original
Paradise Hotel
.
If they do, I bet the Europeans roll their eyes, too.
Which I didn’t watch at the time but eventually caught up on with the DVD series, coincidentally after I finished my last book.
And I mean EVERY.
Hermès.
Yes, frozen blueberry mojitos were involved. Is that a problem?
The second rule of WASP Fight Club is the martinis must be as dry as Cheever’s wit. Why? What did you think it was?
We’re probably the only people in here who aren’t from, like, Kansas or something.
In my mind, everything kind of leads to
Survivor
.
Shame Rattle, Shame Rattle, Shame Rattle.
Never been there.
Never tried it.
Never seen them.
Or funny.
I mean attending, not talking down to them, even if they are trying to pass off Vaseline barbells as art.
But admit it, he did.
Some of you may argue it turned me into a conservative, compassionless douchebag. Some of you might not be wrong, but that topic is not currently up for debate.
Although I’ve yet to understand why that damn dog happily kills outdoor rats, but couldn’t lift a paw in opposition to indoor rats.
The first person who asks, “Why didn’t you start writing it in January when it sold?” gets a solid kick in the teeth.
Kind of puts that whole ratinmyhouse thing into perspective, doesn’t it?
WHEW!
Again, wouldn’t be an issue if he’d just let me have a gun.
Fine, that’s exactly what I was about to do, so perhaps it’s for the best.
Okay, that was fan-freaking-tastic. Here’s the thing—you can get your rotten old tree trimmed so its falling limbs don’t crush my garage, or I will convince the City that it’s a nuisance and needs to be removed. Your choice.
Correction, having BRAGGED about studying O’Neill in college.
Also, you might want to check with the O’Neill estate before you swipe that name, too.
Because she was on
Top Chef
, I grudgingly tried her fois gras dish. And you know what? Two thumbs up—it’s like meat butter!
Paltry as it may be.
At least, anymore.
Although I’d be hard-pressed to find something I prefer.
Ten bucks says the Bard allowed popcorn in his shows.
Or perhaps it’s just my hobby.
My familiarity with fancy theater-speak comes from years of watching Bugs Bunny cartoons.
Movies-1, plays-1.
Perhaps they’d learn their lesson if I were to throw PETA paint on them.
Or how come we never saw a damn elm tree.
Team Beverly rules!
And a lot of a buzz.
Even though that sounds kind of awesome right now.
They serve wine!
I am not writing out their whole name, as the “Co” does not stand for “company.”
Fletchaissance? No, that’s pushing it.
He says I can resent him for not starting soon enough or simply be happy that he’s extended his life. My choice.
Definitely.
This is where I’d like to be all snarky and describe how Miss Tyra should never be seen that big/in such high definition, but she’s flawless up close. Argh.
Stacey was right. He’s hilarious. (Oh, settle down. I kid. I kid.)
Share, why don’t you?
I mean, if I don’t first.
I know he’s a character played by Ed Westwick, but I don’t love Ed Westwick—I love the character. The opposite applies to Pattinson as I find Edward Cullen creepy. Do you see the difference?
Hey! Two points for Jen!
Although, seriously, if I recited this litany of excuses to Jillian on the
Biggest Loser
right now, I’m pretty sure she’d ram her foot up my ass. I guess it’s best that I never made it onto the show.
It’s a real word. Just ask
The Simpsons
.
The non-Ty Pennington version.
And chicken.
I call her an armpit bull for a reason.
Undercoating? Yes, please!
This is why I answer every call breathless and panting and sounding like a reverse obscene caller.
People, enough with the dying while I’m writing this damn thing already.
Now I’m much more likely to be annoyed—a far more natural state for me.
Altgeld is my old street, and I love Ayn Rand. Get it?
And here we are.
Although I may or may not have three DVRs, and they may or may not all be preprogrammed.
By someone who found it appropriate to snap her gum for six straight hours, and my God, do you know how hard it was not to smack the Dentyne right out of her?
Bless their hearts.
See? I’m stealing made-up words from
The Simpsons
again.
Calgon?
Yeah, I bought more than one donut.
Strangely, my publicist does not consider canceled interviews “miraculous.”
To get the full effect, he’d really need to smell them. You may think creatures who spend their lives in water wouldn’t stink so much. You’d be wrong.
Bet they’ve never heard that before.
Or spend time with my brother.
Serving coffee, maybe. But not tea.
Laugh if you want, but
ANTM
Cycle Eleven is all about petite models. Old and fat is coming, mark my words.