I have a dirty little secret. I have no middle name. My mom explains it to me thusly: “My mother, your grandmother, gave me the middle name ‘i.’ which is humiliating. i-what? i-robot? i-likey? No. just i, period. This is why, you, darling, have been saved from the humiliation of a horrible middle name. Consider it a blessing.”
Okay. Got it. But just in the past few months I’ve been coveting. Middle-name-envy, if you will.
1. “Bombshell.” Is this a crazy-great middle name or wha? It sort of sets the stage. Puts it out there. Gives you a goal to reach for. I don’t even think you need all the tattoos to support a name like that. “Bombshell” says all you need to know.
And 2. “The Situation.” I don’t watch the show so I don’t know to what “The Sitch” refers, but I like it! I mean, who doesn’t want to be, not just a, but the situation? It looks like it requires a lot of ab work to be The Situation, but with a middle name like that, it’s worth it. …Jennifer The Situation Solow. I’m liking it!
Are you like me? Sitting in the library in your JLo’s, not really thinking about much else other than your current manuscript, the fact that your car is parked in the 20 minute zone and you’ve been there for 6 1/2 hours, wondering if the library lady will catch you sneaking Zone Bars and dried apples out of your backpack simply so you don’t pass out from lack of caloric intake, not thinking ONE IOTA about the guy sitting behind you staring at your visible gluteal delineation, aka butt crack?
Well, then this product is for you. A modesty “sticker” apparently, for those who both defy gravity with their pants AND care if someone notices. Me? Well, I prefer the booty to the sticker.
So, it’s been a while since I’ve said bonjour and I wanted to let you know what’s all happening. I was in the middle of my next book and my agent came to me with an idea I jumped on.
Here’s the dealio: I’m writing a new series called THE ARISTOBRATS.
The first is due out in 2010 and, if I can learn to type a whole lot faster than I do now, I should have another one out about 6 months after that.
It’s about a group of popular Eighth Graders at the prestigious Wallingford Academy whose lives at the top of the populadder are all but ruined when they’re assigned to produce the school’s lame-o webcast.
I’ve been having a marvelouz time writing these girls: Parker, Ikea, Plum and Kiki. I adore them and I hope you will too. Fans of ‘The Booster’ will not be disappointed.
And BTDubs, that’s me on the far right —>
Okay, so Candace has a few New York Times bestsellers…AND a few movies and television shows under her belt…AND she is WAY skinnier than I am…AND married to a ballet dancer with really hot buns…AND maybe you can’t really see it from the photographs, but I am wearing P-R-A-D-A and I think that must count for something.
So seriously, Candace is, as Jane Green says, brilliant, and she cups her buns when she poses, which wins her big points in my book.
If you missed our evening on stage together, tant pis! it was one night only at The Lark Theater.
I’m finishing book 2 and book 3 and my future is in the hands of my capable agent — until then, I will buy no more shoes and finish (I swear) Candace’s new book.
It’s that special time in a writer’s life: The new manuscript is done and has been turned into the agent. The agent will not be done reading said manuscript for at least a few days, possibly an entire week!
For these delicious, yet fleeting moments, life couldn’t be better. There are no revisions that need revising, no writing that needs to be written and no sorrows that need to be drowned in Bombay martinis, straight up, VERY cold, extra olives. Martinis need only to be enjoyed, not needed.
I’m going to enjoy these perfect days. Sit in the sun. Try on some wigs. Wrap some boas around my neck for my own amusement. Eat some chocolate.
Ah, if only all of life could be this grand.
Move over Eva Gabor, Green Acres is the place to be! I’m not sure if this is very cool of me or slightly weird and kind of old-lady-ish, but I’ve taken up all sorts of farm-girl stuff at my new house in upstate Podunkapalooza.
I’m 1. gardening 2. baking bread 3. making my own (yes, for real) goat cheese and 4. wearing Carhartts and work boots and completely ignoring my 5-step Obagi face care routine!
Oh, but check out those squash blossoms. Nice, right?
Do you think I’ll ever recover? Do you think I’ll ever wear my Pucci heels again?
Every girl needs a break. Mine was Thailand and a yummy little hotel called Sala Samui. It was hot and gorgeous and I braved the beaches in something they call a micro-tini, a thing a woman of my age and buttock jiggle shouldn’t be caught dead in. But that’s me – always pushing the envelope for the paparazzi. But don’t worry, I’m home now…hard at work on finishing not one, but TWO manuscripts. One has gotten very naughty and the other is downright intellectual (if I can spell it) — hmmm…which to finish first?
I do not believe a party is truly a party until the go-go dancers get the cage a rockin’. (Remember my 30th birthday in Tribeca?!).
Saturday night was no exception. The gorgeous party at the over-the-top home of Jillian (no relation to The-Booster-Jillian) Manus and Alan Salzman would have simply been another million dollar black tie fete had it not been for the groovy gyrations, talking Nixon holograph, Brain Drain cocktails served out of the ears of an ice sculpture of George W, the Romneywitz Bar Mitzvah room, the afro-clad band and Melissa Rivers wearing that same-ole-same-ole dress she wore to the Golden Globes.
I donned a delightful, one-shouldered Marc Jacobs number. I believe it was from his pre-rehab 2007 resort collection. In any case, it was as fabu as a baggie full of coke. In fact, it may be the most fabu piece of clothing I own.
And…I’m also getting more and more inquiries as to my what’s, when’s and where’s…so, okay: I’m writing, I’m rewriting, and re-re-writing, I’m sword fighting, doing ballet, kickboxing, pole dancing and organizing my eye shadows. Somebody’s gotta do it, right?
Milan > Lake Como > Lagano, Switzerland > Copenhagen > Paris…all in 10 days! The dollar is pathetic so shopping had to be kept to a minimum. As usual, I made a stop at Frederic Malle and this time bought the entire set in mini form. Each morning I try a new parfum instead of just sticking with Therese, which is still the most gorgeous scent on earth. The highlight was meeting my French editor. She made me promise I wouldn’t put her photo on my blog but I just love it too much to hide. Instead, I have made the pic as tiny as a door-mouse. The Metro sign! The Eiffel Tower! My book in French! So sorry, D.D.! I hope you will forgive me…and merci buckets for the tasty steak tartare!
Milan was oh-so-Christmas-y. It was also as cold as a witch’s tit. (I had to go to Switzerland and buy a warmer coat. I just HAD to!) I found my hardback in a number of bookstores. It was also the opening night at La Scala. How fab is that? I stayed in this really grand hotel with lots of little gold bits and everyone spoke ITALIAN! It was very glamorous.
I gained about a zillion pounds, which is not funny at all, but I drowned my sorrows with a beautiful new handbag from ABACO. It was less expensive than the Louboutins I almost bought and way more comfy.
In keeping with my shameless promotion of things I adore, people I admire or just stuff that I wish I had thought of first, I have to plug the absolutely jaw-dropping documentary The Great Happiness Space by filmmaker, Jake Clennell. I think you can only get it on Netflix at the moment (yes, I wish they paid me to say that) but I think you need to have it.
Here’s why: I dare anyone not to fall in love with Issei, the hottest thing since, well, something else really hot. He’s a shameless heart breaker with death-defying charisma and fantastic hair. The screen hasn’t sizzled like this since Warren Beatty blew out Julie Christie in Shampoo.
The movie came out in 2006, which means Issei is probably driving his kid to soccer practice by now but for me he will always be the ultimate bad boy. If you need to know more before diving in (yes, Bryanboy, I know you’re already sold), www.thegreathappinessspace.com.
God, I need to go to Osaka.