Breakup Babe

( 9:44 AM ) Rebecca
Halleleujah! You can now see the complete archives of Breakup Babe here - in Breakup Babe Collector's Edition.

I was not able to restore them here due to some weird, fiddly things I did with the template years ago, but I exported the blog to one of Blogger's new templates - and voila! - they all reappeared.

Now I just need to get Super Brother In Law to help me restore the vintage Breakup Babe graphic that should be a the tope of the page.

Enjoy!

Rebecca
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( 6:06 PM ) Rebecca
Hello darlings, as of the beginning of 2011, my website and blog are now here.

See you there!
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( 12:28 PM ) Rebecca
Hmm. I just realized that all the Breakup Babe archives are NOT available on this single page as I originally thought.

You can only see through part of 2006, which, my God, is certainly not the heyday of Breakup Babe! No, she was really getting her groove on from 2002-2004. So you'll have to be patient until I can get those pages to show up again.

They certainly still exist. Why look at this!
I will ponder this. Meanwhile, happy May.
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( 1:52 PM ) Rebecca
Ha! I did it. You will now see *all* Breakup Babe entries once again in their sad twisted glory! All entries are here on this page. I could not figure out how to recreate the nice archive links in the sidebar so this solution will have to suffice for how. Hopefully it will not make your page load too slowly. Enjoy!

xo
BB
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( 5:37 PM ) Rebecca
Shortly, darlings, I plan to restore all my archives so you can read them in their entirety when you are 1)bored, 2)in the throes of a horrible breakup and desperately in need of comfort, or 3)want to voyeuristically enjoy the misadventures of a highly neurotic dater so that you can feel smug and superior.

Hopefully this is within my technical powers. We shall soon find out.

The blog Breakup Babe (two words) is very different from the blog of the same name as it appear in my novel BreakupBabe (one word, yes, very confusing I know). So don't go thinking that if you get to see all the archives that you don't need to buy the book, ohhh no! The blog of Rachel, the protagonist of BreakupBabe, is much more detailed than this blog ever was, and -- it's fiction! So, while you might recognize a few characters here and there from the real Breakup Babe blog, there are also a slew of made-up and composite characters - plus all sorts of wacky events that never happened in real life - whoo hoo!

Meanwhile, for your reading pleasure, here is a post from the distant year of 2003, when meaningless flings and broken hearts abounded, chased with a potent mix of Cosmopolitans and Celexa. You can find this post here and I've also reproduced it for you below.

Wednesday, October 08, 2003
( 7:23 PM ) Breakup Babe

Ok, people. I know you want to live vicariously through me. I know you want me to regale you with tales of lust-filled nights and love gone wrong.

I mean, the stupider the situations I get myself into, the more I have to write about, right?

But listen. I am now about mature. I am about practical. I am about screening. And making smart choices from the BEGINNING, when they're easiest to make. I am about not getting swept up into the moment, unless that moment has a future.

Oh sure I might get desperate again one of these days. I might let myself have a little fling if circumstances become dire.

But IRD was supposed to be a little fling, and look what happened with that?

So maybe, just maybe, you can think about my unborn children for once instead of your entertainment-starved little selves. Help me make the good choices, people!

Yeah I know. BORING, right? Well, so is living in the nursing home without anyone to visit me, OK?!

And meanwhile, I will help myself too. I am formulating a little questionnaire to hand out to potential...uh...whatevers. Questions will include these, and some others I haven't thought of yet.

What medications have you taken in the past?
Why are you not taking them now?
Do you hear voices?
How long did your first marriage last?
Why did you even marry that chick?
Are you less than 15 years younger than me?
Can you fix my computer?

Sugestions are welcome.
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( 5:25 PM ) Rebecca
Hello Breakup Babies old and new. How farest ye as nonexistent Seattle summer becomes beautiful, sparkly fall? Let's dig up a post from almost exactly three years ago, when I was in full-fledged Breakup Babe-o-rama mode. Ah how those Celexa-dazed days seem so far away. Funny how we can miss the traumatic times in our lives, isn't it? But those are the times we often feel most alive. At least the drama queens among us.

Monday, September 27, 2004
( 5:37 PM ) Breakup Babe

Egads. Remind me never to come back from vacation again, would you?

I am currently on Day 2, post-vacation, otherwise known as when-everything-fell-apart-at-work-and-in-my-personal-life-and-why- didn't-I-just-buy-a-house-on-the-Oregon-coast-when-I-was-down-there-where-it-is-actually-affordable Hell.

OK,OK, I exaggerate.

Things did not completely fall apart with Library Boy (who still has not trimmed his nosehairs by the way, despite me giving him a nosehair trimmer, and I don't CARE if he reads this, so THERE!) He merely told me last night that after some "soul-searching," he's decided he does not want to have children. This was after I put a wee bit of pressure on him several weeks ago, by blurting out, apropos of nothing, "I don't wan't to fall madly in love with you only to find out you don't want children!"

Ahem. Granted, this would be enough to make most men run screaming. But it had to be said, people!

Maybe I only want children because I have been brainwashed into thinking I do, because, after all, who wants to be awash in diapers and poop and vomit and drool for years on end when you could live in a nice home with nice furniture that isn't covered in strained peas, but damn it, it has nonetheless been in my general life plan since I was oh, two years old, and swaddling my teddy bears in diapers!

OK, maybe I didn't actually do that. It's just that I saw J. and A's superstar three-year old putting diapers on her Elmo doll and I thought it would make a good example of how we females are PROGRAMMED FROM BIRTH to put diapers on!

While we're on the topic of the superstar three-year old, I'll add that the high point of my vacation came with her. It was lunchtime at yet another beautiful empty Oregon coast beach, oh somewhere halfway down the coast. While the other adults milled about on the bluff above, we wandered to the beach to check out the scene.

Of course what does she want to do but take off her shoes and run in the waves? I, jaded and weary as I was, tried to resist the taking-off-shoe-plan, but when it was clear that she was hell-bent on touching that marble-green oceanwater with her toes, I was forced to.

Well! Never, I tell you, never have I seen a person be so happy or laugh so hard as did Superstar Child as we ran in and out of that water, which chased us and retreated like some crazy animal on that sparkling beach.

Those peals of laughter so packed with joy just broke right through me, people, and lo and behold I was happy too! Pure and simply happy to be there in that perfect moment. Feeling like I, too, was being chased for the first time by that big blue thing called the ocean.

So there you have it. One reason I want to have kids.

And now I have used up all my creative energy on that digression so let's forget about the rest of this dilemma til tomorrow, shall we?

Oh except to say that after that lovely discussion with LB, I then proceeded to have the best s*x of my life with him. Go f*cking figure.
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( 11:07 AM ) Rebecca
It's been a while since I provided you with a everything-that's-old-is-new-again gem from the archive. Let's look back in time almost exactly four years, when Breakup Babe was at the height of her post-breakup boy craziness, heading out on a fourth-of-July backpacking trip with no less than three guys at a time. (Scroll down to the July 3 entry).Oh, those were the days.

xo
BB
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( 5:29 PM ) Rebecca
Darling readers -- pulled from my archives yet another delightful description of a going-nowhere date. Those of you who've read the novel note that I lifted some things from my real-life blog (for example, listing the prices of clothing and acessories, a humorous little touch if I do say so myself), but that in other ways, my real-life blog is very different from its fictionalized counterpart. If Rachel were blogging about this date, she would have gone on and on and ON about it. In a witty way, of course. Whereas I used my blog to give a pithy, high-level overview of things, always making sure to get in a good dig at the guy who was about to break my heart/dump me/not call, or say LJBF! (Which happened shortly after this date).

Monday, May 17, 2004
( 9:50 AM ) Breakup Babe

After our date on Saturday, I still think CBW is the Cutest Boy In the World. He did show up for our date, however, wearing flip-flops and reeking of garlic, which I did not take to be a good sign. Especially after yours truly had just spent a good hour showering, blow-drying, pouffing, smoothing, brushing, flossing, rinsing, and attempting different outfits.

I smelled, if I might say it, delicious, freshly scrubbed with Origins Pomegranite Shower Gel ($16) and generously spritzed with Christian Dior's "J'Adore" ($53), my hair gently tousled with some other overly expensive product that I can't remember the name of ($17). I had on a *new* and fetchingly low-cut shirt from Anthropologie (on sale at $35!), my size 4 Banana Republic jeans (they still fit!), and sexy black boots from Nordie's ($100).

I was in a word, one hot customer.

Anyway, despite CBW's rather weak start, we proceeded to have one of the most fun dates in recent memory, first taking in a fabulous improv show at the Pike Place Market Theater, then heading next door to that swank temple of hipdom the Alibi Room, where we dined with friends of his and I made numerous witty remarks while CBW nodded approvingly at my intelligence and my low-cut shirt.

After dinner (by which point his two martinis had neutralized the garlic smell) he and I headed downstairs where we danced feverishly for the next hour to the sounds of an Aryan looking DJ who dropped his glowing Apple in the middle of the whole thing, but was nonetheless quite proficient.

Dancing was mostly PG-rated (the low-cut shirt taking it out of the "G" range) except for the time when I whispered to him that we were alone on the dance floor, at which point he grabbed me and whirled me across the floor in a parody of "Strictly Ballroom," ending the maneuver by clutching me close to him for three precious seconds. Then, in our last ten minutes of dancing, he moved noticeably closer to me, bringing the rating up to a PG-13.

Then he drove me home and I rushed nervously out of the car, no doubt giving the impression that I wanted to get away from him as quickly as possible, when instead I just wanted to avoid any awkward moments, waiting to see if he'd kiss me (because I knew he wouldn't), or waiting to see if he'd suggest another date, or worse yet, suggesting another date myself - even though, of course, I wanted all that.

And there you have it. My PG-13 date with Cutest Boy in the World. Stay tuned to see if I get to go on another date with this guitar-playing, rock-climbing, bespectacled hottie in the next year or so.
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( 12:29 PM ) Rebecca
*Newsflash* *Newflash*

BreakupBabe: A Novel is a finalist for the 2007 Lulu Blooker Prize!

Check out the shortlist here.

If I win that 10K, I could finally buy myself that mail-order husband I've been dreaming about!

But I must not get greedy here. Even if I just won in the fiction category, why I could at least buy myself a new pair of shoes. But no, no. It's not about winning, it's all about ~~gloating!~~ being grateful for the impeccable taste of the Blooker judges who had so many other fine blooks to choose from.

I am so ~~hot~~ humbled.

Thank you, dear judges.

xo
Rebecca
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( 11:13 AM ) Rebecca
Hello Breakup Babe-ettes,
Here we have another oldie but goodie from the archives. Here we see Breakup Babe emerging from the throes of her broken heart to become - well - Breakup Babe, eager pursuer of mountain climbers, musicians, and all kinds of other pot-smoking, hard-living, loverboys.

Friday, September 13, 2002
( 8:08 AM ) Breakup Babe

Muscle Bound Climbing Boy (MBCB) walks into foyer where I am innocently getting my mail. I glance over, see who it is, and go into FlirtAlert®.

"Hi!" I say. Friendly yet cool. Opening my mailbox. "You’re H., right?" Turn away from mailbox and smile. He is looking stubbly. Tres masculine.

"Hi," he says, processing. His tone is neutral. As in, Who is this girl? Have I met her?

"I’m BB. We met just as I was moving in."

"Oh, right!" Light clicks on in his glacier-blue eyes. "You know, I’m sorry I missed your party, but I was climbing in the Cascades that weekend."

But of course.

"Really?" I say, very interested, but turning back to my mailbox so as not to appear too much so. “What did you climb?” As if I am an expert on the myriad summits of the Cascades.

"Mount Forbidden." The name of this precipitous peak trips off his tongue. He waits to see what kind of effect it will have, and I do not disappoint.

"Ooh," I say. "I’ve heard that one is really hard." Voice goes down a register on the final word.

"Do you climb?" There is a hint of eagerness in his voice.

"Yeah," I say, casual, modest. Perusing my one piece of mail. So what if I haven’t climbed anything in a while? Look up at him, and, just perhaps, the eyelashes bat. "But nothing that hard."

Then MBCB launches into a description of just how hard Mount Forbidden actually is, with its many thousands of feet of exposure. As he talks, look directly at him and shake my head a few times to indicate incomprehension of how a person could accomplish such a manly feat. Meanwhile, am sending subliminal signals. "You want to ask me to coffee…you want to take me climbing…you want to..."

"Well," I say, when he is finished, "It sounds much more exciting than coming to my party." Turn towards the stairs to indicate that I am ready to exit. Mustn't overstay my welcome.

"Yeah," he says, rueful. He is regretting – just a little– that he missed my party now. After all, he would have seen me in a backless dress.

"Well I was committed to it anyway." He starts heading down the stairs to his basement apartment. "But next time you have a party, be sure to invite me…"

But of course.
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( 8:59 AM ) Rebecca
Hello! I hope you are all suriving OK without that party girl Breakup Babe. I am hanging in there though I can't say that I don't miss her and that I'm not tempted to just open up and let it all out to you once again. I do believe that one day soon I will find a way to write about dating for the masses again, but until now, I offer you this post from the very early days. Note how I "swear" never to go to Ambiguityland at the end of this post, and of course, I did it over and over again over BB's four-year history, giving you plenty of juicy stuff to read about.

xo
BB

Sunday, September 22, 2002
( 2:14 PM ) Breakup Babe

NEXT STOP: AMBIGUITYLAND

The Dating Express has now stopped at my most feared and hated destination. That wasteland exactly between Friendship and Love: AmbiguityLand. Not only has it made its regular stop here, but the train appears to have stalled.

Some people love AmbiguityLand. You can see these weirdos walking around in their visors, cameras in hand, reveling in relationships that are not quite platonic, but not quite sexual, or relationships that are sexual, but not quite committed.

I am not one of these people. I stay inside the train, cowering. Headphones clamped over my ears. This is because I am, as Sexy Boy put it recently, in that quaint Alaskan way of his, “a straight-shootin’ son of a gun.” I do not like ambiguity in any form, but most especially when it comes to matters of my overly-tender, overly-optimistic heart.

When the train breaks down (as it has before) I’m forced to step outside sometimes for fresh air. But every time I do, I get smacked upside the head and knocked down in the gutter. Or I do it to someone else. Or maybe both at the same time.

Like last night, for example. Which, by the way, was not the first official night of fall. Because this year, I declare that fall begins TODAY, September 22. I have been waiting for fall for the last two months. For the beautiful, honeyed Seattle fall to carry away the heartbreak of this summer. Autumn is the time when my life starts turning bright jewel tones, like the leaves.

And so the stupid, stupid, heartbreak I felt last night when I made my misguided venture into AmbiguityLand was, I’d like to say, for the record, not indicative of how my fall is going to be. Because I am not stepping foot in that godforsaken place again, even if this train stays broken, and I have to sit my ass onboard forever.
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( 9:38 AM ) Rebecca
Now we go back a few years to Breakup Babe's prime to revisit a night with the Doctor. Remember him? Oh yes, how could we forget. One of the best characters ever to grace this blog, and he made it into the novel too.

You know, I am much more mellow nowadays, but sometimes I miss those melodramatic ecstasies and agonies of early, Celexa-fueled Breakup Babe.

Oh! You can now see my book as an offical entry in the Lulu Blooker Prize contest. Wish me luck!

xo
R

Sunday, December 01, 2002
( 4:13 PM ) Breakup Babe

OK, I know you’re all desperately waiting to hear what happened on my last date with the doctor. You can’t sleep, you can’t eat, you’re constantly on edge. What happened?, you cry out to anyone who will listen. Why won't she tell us?!

Well, the moment you’ve all been waiting for has arrived. I’m going to tell you what happened on that fabled last date. NOTHING, OK? Nothing! Jesus, I wish you people would leave me alone.

In fact, I’ve got much better stories to tell about Silent but Deadly Boy (SBDB), whose been “watching videos” with me a lot lately, but since you people can’t get enough of that damn doctor, here it is:

1)Doctor comes over to my house. Looking. Utterly. Drop-dead. Gorgeous. Exclaims over the great beauty of my apartment. Of my APARTMENT. Talks about himself. Lets me get a few words in edgewise. Alternates between obnoxious superficiality, which makes me want to boot him out the third floor window, and kind seriousness which makes me want to curl up in his lap and stay there forever.

2)We go to dinner at intimate restaurant. We act intimate. I get a thrill pretending I actually know this stunning specimen of manhood.

3)Get st**ed in Seattle back alley. Doctor teaches me extra-special technique learned in medical school for getting super-duper st**ed .

4)Go to to Doug Martsch (musical god) show. Doctor immediately becomes serious. Every single song is heartbreaking. Turns to me, when D.M. starts another crazy-sad cover, and says “I might actually cry.” Finally, FINALLY, wraps his arms around me. At the very end. The last two songs to be exact. I love the doctor.

5)We leave show. Doctor loses serious aspect and immediately becomes fount of obnoxious superficiality, made worse by the fact that he is super-duper st**ed , and I can’t follow a thing he is saying. I hate the doctor.

6)We approach my apartment. The eternal debate begins. Do I invite him up? Will he come up? What if I invite him up and he says no? Wouldn’t it be best NOT to invite him up? I invite him up. He says yes. I love the doctor.

7)He comes up. We drink water and eat ice cream and sit on opposite corners of the red Couch o' Love. Doctor talks about himself. Doesn’t let me get a word in edgewise. Alternates between obnoxious superficiality and kind seriousness, but focuses on the former. Feel myself carried along on a conversational wave that I cannot control and do not want to participate in. This is not me, I’m thinking. He’s not getting to know me, and I’m not getting to know him. I hate the doctor.

8)At one point, doctor looks at me with that LOOK. That shy, sparkly-eyed look that says “Gee whiz, you are so pretty and great and I want to kiss you!” I love the doctor.

9) The moment passes. He doesn’t kiss me. He leaves and gives me a long, warm hug. Says “see you later.” I have a big ache in my gut. I hate the doctor.
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( 5:20 PM ) Rebecca
So, here for your archival reading pleasure, we reminisce about a crush I had two years ago on a cute boy called the Charming Canadian who cruelly and oh-so-stupidly rejected me for some Canadian chick. I remember one reader writing in and telling me ecstastically how this was the best blog entry he'd ever read. I don't know about THAT, but it is sorta fun IIDSSM (if I do say so myself).

Also, note that I've made a lot more entries available on this page now - why you can read back over a year now! Of course, that's just about when the blog got dull, but hey, you've got quantity here OK?

Enjoy!

Monday, July 12, 2004
( 11:19 AM ) Breakup Babe

So. Thus beginneth the next two weeks of knowing those two canoodling Canucks are toodling their way around MY FAIR STATE OF Washington, no doubt falling madly in love as a cheesy montage plays to the tune of "I'm on Top of the World."

Here they are at Pike Place Market, laughing as a big fish flies right towards them and hits The Other Girl (TOG) on the head, and knocks her unconscious! Oops, ha ha ha! There goes that romantic dinner they had planned at Campagne!

Oh, there they are at the water's edge in Olympic National Park, heads bent over a tidepool as sunset streaks the sky, when TOG playfully teases a sea urchin,and OH MY GOSH it grabs her finger and won't let go, meanwhile injecting a paralytic poison! Oh ha ha ha!

Better yet, there they are at Mt. Rainier - MY Mount Rainier - which TOG, with her out-of-shape, untoned, pasty white legs, - would never be able to climb, not in a million years. Holding hands among the wildflowers, alone in their own little world, when OH NO! - an exhausted climber returning from the summit accidentally takes out the TOG when she swings her ice ax into TOG's kneecaps! An expensive helicopter rescue ensues and the rest of their romantic week is ruined as TOG is stuck in Harborview Hospital with the victims of gang warfare, oh ha ha ha!

Meanwhile, yours truly will continue to rip through the cluster of suitors that has suddenly swarmed around me in my drunken, scantily-clad state.

And I won't be thinking about them at all. NOT AT ALL.
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( 6:10 PM ) Rebecca
If you are a new reader who has come here from my novel, or discovered this site by typing something like "awful breakup heartbreak want to die" etc. in Google, then welcome!

However, here is the scoop: Breakup Babe is no longer an active blog. I will be recycling gems from my "hidden" archives here on a regular basis, which I know isn't nearly as exciting as hearing about my actual wild and kahrazy sex life, but unfortunately, as a major literary figurehead, I can no longer blog about that stuff. But you can visit me at my author blog and at Sparkly Sparkly, where I blog about the same old stuff I used to blog about here, minus the salacious details.

You can still e-mail me at breakupbabe@msn.com.

xo
Rebecca
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( 9:41 AM ) Rebecca
OK darlings, we're going to make this short and sweet.

I have been saying for years now that I need to take Breakup Babe off life support. I’ve kept her hooked up for way too long now. Don’t get me wrong. She is great. She made me who I am today (famous author, glamorous, rich, etc etc).

When I went through the Great Unpleasantness in 2002, she saved me.

For years after the Great Unpleasantess (a couple anyway), I really was Breakup Babe.

Frantic, needy, dating every messed-up attractive guy in sight.

But I don’t think I am Breakup Babe anymore. Not like I’m all happily settled down or anything like that, ooh no. I’ve been in my fair share of stupid dating situations, even to this day!

Yet I have grown up a bit since that period of my life. I’m still frantic and needy and frightened but less so. I achieved my lifelong dream of writing a novel, and that has given me confidence that I didn’t have before. I’m also just older and wiser and ready to stop having a nickname like “Breakup Babe” hanging around my neck.

But I love blogging way too much to stop. So you can still find me blogging at my author web site and on my new blog, Sparkly Sparkly. (Some of you diehards may remember I created a blog with this name way back when I was going through “secret” blog-creating phase.).

I always liked that name so I resurrected it. I like to think of myself as a sparkly person even though a lot of the time I probably am not. But I do wear sparkly eyeshadow sometimes!

In memoriam, I give you the very first BreakupBabe entry ever. Perhaps I'll make all the archives available here once again, but I haven't decided about that. Meanwhile, let's throw some flowers on her grave and go party.

xo,
BB

Saturday, August 10, 2002
( 1:58 PM ) Breakup Babe

Had a great time at a big, sensational party last night (except for my bout of uncontrollable, drunken crying ). Unfortunately, part of what made it fun is that I was hanging out with F. I KNOW! I swore up and down I wouldn’t do it, and really I didn’t do anything except let myself be hugged and touched and made to feel generally desirable.

If only it could stay like that. If only we could go out occasionally and flirt and fondle while the lights flash and the music plays, and that it could make me feel good and warn and forgetful, and then we could go our separate ways and the night would just vaporize into pleasant memories.

But of course today, I keep replaying all the pleasant memories in my head, because after all the rejection I experienced from M. in the last two months, it felt so good to have someone actually want to be close to me. And to have someone put their arm around me. I mean, maybe his motives were bad, and maybe he is a “wolf,” like S. used to say, and maybe he’s a wolf who’s preying on me in my most vulnerable time. But I don’t care, when someone puts their arm around you as you walk down the street, it feels loving and protective and it’s all so easy to forget that maybe all they want to do is fuck you and that once you do that, they’ll never put their arm around you again.

And it’s not even a question of whether he’s a good person or not, of if he can be, or he can be a good boyfriend or not, because even if he could be, he wouldn’t be a good boyfriend for me, despite this f***** physical attraction, which has endured over the years. Which is the whole reason I shouldn’t have let it get this far, but WHATEVER. At least I’m aware that I’m doing is silly and dangerous, which is more than I can say for myself the last time around with him five years ago.

But anyway, it was one of those nights where I could pretend (except when I was crying uncontrollably) that everything was all right, when I could --with the help of an attractive boy putting his arms around me and a good friend in a tight red tube top dancing nearby, and too much electric blue alcohol--dance the night away and feel young and glamorous and like the world was my oyster. Ha.

But I know from experience that the feeling of well-being stretches into the next day, even through the hangover and maybe because of it – everything is too fuzzy for you to really face yourself – and lasts maybe until Sunday night, when you go to bed knowing that you have to work the next day, and that work will be a series of anticlimaxes (waiting for e-mail from cute boys that never arrive), and that every moment in the hallway will moment braced for confrontation and laced with grief.
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( 12:27 PM ) Rebecca
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
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( 12:00 PM ) Rebecca
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
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( 9:54 AM ) Rebecca
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
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( 2:50 PM ) Rebecca
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
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( 12:03 PM ) Rebecca
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
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( 10:57 AM ) Rebecca
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.
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( 9:19 AM ) Rebecca
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
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( 1:32 PM ) Rebecca
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
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( 4:18 PM ) Rebecca
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
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( 5:09 PM ) Rebecca
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.
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( 3:23 PM ) Rebecca
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
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( 6:53 PM ) Rebecca
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
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( 8:17 PM ) 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
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( 11:04 AM ) Rebecca
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.
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( 8:47 AM ) Rebecca
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.
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( 9:04 AM ) Rebecca
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.
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( 9:04 AM ) Rebecca
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
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( 8:58 AM ) 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.
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( 8:43 AM ) Rebecca
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
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( 9:03 AM ) Rebecca
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
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( 2:39 PM ) Rebecca
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.
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( 9:03 AM ) Rebecca
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
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( 9:03 AM ) Rebecca
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
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( 12:37 PM ) Rebecca
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
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( 9:00 AM ) Rebecca
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.
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( 1:14 PM ) Rebecca
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
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( 5:58 PM ) Rebecca
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
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( 8:52 AM ) Rebecca
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
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( 1:08 PM ) Rebecca
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.
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( 4:15 PM ) Rebecca
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.
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( 8:22 AM ) Rebecca
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
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( 8:58 AM ) 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?
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( 8:59 AM ) Rebecca
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
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( 8:57 AM ) Rebecca
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
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E-mail Breakup Babe

( 8:49 AM ) Rebecca
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
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E-mail Breakup Babe

My novel BreakupBabe is out! You can buy it here.

Check out my author blog here, and my new personal blog here.

Photo by Bradley Hanson

This blog was the inspiration for my novel. It helped me get through a horrible breakup and kept me entertained for years. But all good things must come to an end. I will recycle oldies but goodies from the archives here, but will blog about about writing here, and about all kinds of other stuff here.

The Nice Peeps Who Link to Me