Breakup Babe

( 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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( 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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( 8:51 AM ) Rebecca
So I was supposed to have some sort of kick-ass day on Aug 29, according to Astrologyzone.com:

"Your very best day of the month will be Tuesday, August 29, when Jupiter and Uranus will be in gorgeous angles. The only way to describe this is that it will be a cosmic gift, and news should hit when you least expect it. Your career will bring the kind of news that will make you over-the-moon happy, and in the light of what might happen earlier this month, with the tension and uncertainty, this news might seem almost miraculous when it occurs. Nothing similar to this will happen again until 2008, although you did recently enjoy this aspect in late November 2005 and early May 2006. The third time may be the charm!"

Now it’s true my memory is going but I can’t remember any “cosmic gifts” being bestowed on me that day beyond those I already have my (youth(fulness), drop-dead good looks beauty, prodigious talent, charisma, abundant personal wealth, etc.)

I do remember that day being a motherf*cking b*tch at work. I do remember my publicist in NYC telling me she wouldn’t set up a reading for me in New York because it wasn’t “worth it.”

I don’t exactly remember feeling “over-the-moon-happy” except for five minutes or so during lunch, when I was one-quarter of the way through a margarita (yes I drank a margarita at lunch, take THAT), and laughing so hard I cried. Then the margarita wore off and the witty lunch companion went back to work and I just became over-the-moon tense again, which just doesn’t have the same ring to it at all.

Nothing “miraculous” occurred that I can recall, except that I got something halfway practical done in the evening, which was to shop for furniture. I believe I also put a few things away in my condo, and gained a little ground in the war against the utter chaos of clothes, backpacks, dishes, books, unmade bed, messy closet, unpainted walls, etc etc, that is always threatening to overwhelm me.

I guess those are all miracles enough. Jupiter and Uranus probably just went to find a Gemini who needs those cosmic gifts more than me. But you know. A teeny-tiny one wouldn’t hurt. Just to tide me over to 2008.
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( 7:48 AM ) Rebecca
[Note: Do you have a funny, crazy, dating or breakup story? Post it here or send it to breakupbabe@msn.com ASAP 'cause there's this TV producer from a big-time TV show looking to put together a show about "funny dating stories." Yes, I know, dating is not really funny. It is tragic and pathetic, which is why I had to make all my stories up and put 'em in a novel, but hey - we can dig up some funny dating stories for the sake of being on TV right? Send me your good ones and I will forward on to Mr. Producer Man.]

Now for your regularly scheduled self-centeredtainment...

I have always possessed a talent for having daydreamy fun and not getting much of anything practical done.

As a child, when I was supposed to be loading the dishwasher, I took all-too-frequent breaks to pirouette around the living room as a pretend ballerina. Or I would engage in a spoken-word melodrama, with all parts played by me, talking out loud in a variety of accents as I shoved dishes into the wrong parts of the dishwasher.

To this day, I am a miserable failure at loading the dishwasher, probably because I am too busy thinking about boys, or what my next novel is going to be about (boys, probably). Ask anyone who has ever been a guest at my house and pulled a piece of "clean" tableware out of the cabinet, only to find it crusted with food relics or smeared with an unidentifiable substance. (Blame it on boys!)

My impractical and fun-loving nature is perhaps the reason I have not “settled down.” Why would I when there are so many cute boys out there to be had, so many dramas yet to be played out? Why, I wake up every morning and still wonder, “What exciting thing might happen to me today?” Oh, one day I’ll be so old and decrepit that no drama will befall me anymore and then I’ll rue the day that I never settled down and had resentful children to care for me. But that day is not coming for at least three years.

My impractical and fun-loving nature is also the reason I was able to produce a novel while working full-time. Believe me, a lot of chores were left undone during the writing of that novel. Groceries were not bought; bathrooms were not cleaned; new sheets were not purchased; husbands were not found.

I am in love with possibility and always have been, so much more than with mundane reality. I’ve managed to find a job and become a homeowner but I’ll be damned if I could tell you – two years post-purchase – what my interest rate is or how much I’ve paid off or even what the life of my loan is. (Five years? Seven years? Certainly not 30, I know that much.) I can tell you that I have one square of bright, Candyland blue painted on my bedroom wall. It has been there for a month, waiting for me to sample other colors. To make a decision and settle down with something just a little more practical.

But of course I haven’t had time to make my decision. I’ve been far too busy chasing boys, writing my next book, running around outdoors where my unpainted walls can't close me in, and loading the dishwasher very, very poorly.
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( 10:26 AM ) Rebecca
Reminder: before I start this self-indulgent post: I am reading tomorrow night at Queen Anne Books at 6:30 p.m.!

This has been a summer full of fun and flirtation with a current of sadness underneath. It’s been a summer of worry and tension headaches and trying to settle into the identity of published author. What does that mean? How do I promote my book and write another one at the same time? Hold down a demanding full time job?

Many new things have started, which are exciting, but transition is hard. Even when the new things are better, you long for the old, comforting things.

I am thrilled my book is out in the world but this birth has brought with it a whole slew of worry and insecurity. Let’s not even talk about the jealousy that comes with being a writer (Anne Lamott says it all so much better than me anyway) and the way you hyperventilate with each of your writer friends’ successes. (Soon they are going to be fabulously succesful bestellers sipping margaritas on their own private island while you waste away in a dark office like Bartleby the scrivener, returned unto the obscurity from which you barely emerged after writing your first -- and only -- book.).

I miss, just a tiny bit, the days when all I did was work and write and hope – when I wasn’t a published author and didn’t worry constantly about how my book was doing, and when would I write a next one, what is my Amazon ranking, how is so-and-so’s book doing compared to mine (though of course thank you LORD or whoever for letting me get published, don't think for one moment I take it for granted, NO!) I miss, a bit, the lazy days at Club Geeksoft, where my schedule was flexible and my mornings relaxed. My new job is so much better for me – so much more interesting, and dynamic, and glamorous, and fun – but still. I have to hustle and my writing suffers for it.

I miss, too, my ex boyfriend. His intelligence and his power and grace. The way he wrapped himself around me in his tiny bed on cold nights. The way his smile cracked the world wide open. Yet I always struggled for what to say to him (and I am not a person who likes to struggle for words). I could never quite be myself with him, and so I knew, eventually it would end though I tried to believe otherwise because it was so sexy and happy and fun (that last doomed month aside).

I am a person who seeks out change and variety but I'm thrashing through it right now. I could use an anchor. For now, my friends and family and my friend's kids anchor me. Barely. And so does my writing (my next book is 15,000 horrible words in the making.)

I think I can hold on till things calm down in my head. But just in case, check for fragments of my brain lying around tomorrow. They might be worth a lot of money someday -- if my book does well, that is.
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( 6:42 PM ) Rebecca
So my head has been off in the stratosphere, worrying, spinning, trying desperately to balance everything that is going on – workbooknewbookboysshouldIpaythousandsofdollarsforapublicistetcetc-meanwhile a mean old tension headache has wrapped itself around my head and won’t go away. Either that or a brain tumor.

At least I’m writing every day. I appear to be writing a novel that takes place at a camp. So many of my most vivid memories come from camp, be it the hippy dippy camp I went as a youngster, where I felt “cool” for the first time in my life or the camp where I worked as a drama counselor, furiously writing a plays every two weeks for the campers to perform, and falling much too madly in love with another counselor.

I have constant fantasies of escape these days. My Patagonia trip, now five long months ago, has receded into the distance. I can no longer call up the feelings of peace and relaxation that I got from slogging up snowy passes and staring at giant glaciers. There I didn’t define myself by the usual things. My identity fell away – I didn’t have to brag about my hot boyfriend or my book; I couldn’t make myself up or blow-dry my hair; no one knew who I was and no one cared, so really, I was just me – unadorned and unencumbered by all the things I usually tried to define myself by.

So I’m dreaming of escape again. Moving to a cottage in the Cotswolds where I’ll write children’s books and tend my roses. Becoming full-blown travel writer like my friend Amanda, who is always off on another trip – to Norway, Alaska, South Africa. Getting a writing residency somewhere cool, with my own little cabin to write in. At the very least, going to a beach somewhere where I can lie in the sand and my headache will go away. All these things are possible, at least, which makes me happy. If there’s one thing I’ve always thrived on, it’s possibility.

Right now I can only escape in my head, for about an hour a day, to this fictional camp full of confused but lovable characters whose souls are soothed by sleeping in the trees and seeing the stars, by singing songs around the campfire, by falling in love and sneaking off to treehouses. For now, it will have to do. That and the mountains.

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( 9:02 AM ) Rebecca
Hello Darlings.

For those of you that live in the following cities:

Chicago,

Vancouver

New York City

Washington DC

Los Angeles

Do you have favorite independent bookstores that you think might be a good place for yours truly to come speak? (And thanks for the offers to let me come stay, you do know I’m going to take you up on them, don’t you? )

In other news, I have no life anymore. My “social life” consists of drinking myself into a red wine stupor and watching movies on what was formerly the Little Red Couch O’ Love, then getting into bed at 10 p.m. so I can get up “early,” write, go to work all day, actually work, (sometimes write again after work), drink myself into red wine stupor, go to bed at 10 p.m. etc.

Consequently I have written thousands of words written lately – thousands of horrible words – but that’s not what matters because they are all horrible when they first come out. The trick is sticking with it until they become less horrible.

OK OK I guess I’m managing to fit in few things here and there – bike rides, backpacking trips, dinners in swank restaurants, television appearances, etc. etc. But it's not easy!

Oh – speaking of appearances, take note! I have the following readings coming up:

Thursday, August 24, 6:30 p.m.
Reception & Booksigning (with mocktails!)
Queen Anne Books
1811 Queen Anne Avenue, North
Seattle, WA

Friday, September 8, 7:30 p.m.
Village Books
1200 11th Street
Bellingham, WA

For your further entertainment, check out this interview with me on Conversations with Famous Writers.

OK I am sick of myself for now and I am sure you are too.

xo
BB
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( 7:40 PM ) Rebecca
Sometimes I go a few days without checking my mailbox because, yawn, what is in there except boring junk mail and bills?

Well yesterday I received a beautiful pair of earrings in the mail and all I had to do to get them was write a novel!

Yes, I have to thank the talented Ruth Avra, who wrote me a while ago and offered to give me a piece of handcrafted jewelry just because she liked my book so much.

Now that kind of reader love I can really get behind! Jewelry - whoohoo! If there are any designers out there who would like to start loaning me dresses for the red carpet - please, I have room in my closet (since everything is in a ball on the floor). Or, you know, anyone who wants to give me any kind of gift.

In other news, I am extremely tense and neurotic at the moment - not for any one reason, but because everything in my life is in transition, and I have not been on a tropical vacation in far too long. Snorkeling is is one of my top five favorite activities, up there with reading, writing, eating, and kissing. I've been doing plenty of the other four - but no snorkeling! Anyone like to donate a tropical vacation?

xo
BB
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( 2:10 PM ) Rebecca
I have come to the unsettling realization that my new crop of coworkers are much more stylish than my coworkers at Club Geeksoft. Not that this is hard to manage - the favored attire at C.G. was a fleece vest bearing a Geeksoft logo over an extra-large t-shirt bearing a Geeksoft logo, with perhaps a baseball cap with a Geeksoft logo to top it all off.

No wonder that for four years I felt like a fashion queen without even trying!

Now, however, when I show up to work with unwashed hair and my stained shirts (at least they don't bear Geeksoft logos!) and sensible sandals, I'm forced to realize I no longer reign supreme.

Oh sure, I can bring it when it matters, 'cause after all, I am Breakup Babe! But on weekday mornings, I now sacrifice my looks for Art. I sacrifice good hair for an extra 20 minutes of writing. I sacrifice a nice outfit for an extra 20 minutes of writing. I'm sacrificing (what's left of) my youth for an extra 20 minutes of writing!

Ahem.

Tonight, at least, I am going to a swank wedding wearing a very sexy dress. Of course I don't have the right jewelry for it, but at least, in my early-summer spending frenzy during which I spent a million dollars on a single suit that I wear for every single television appearance, I purchase some shoes that go with the dress. No doubt the dress is stained somewhere and I will discover that as soon as I go to put it on.

Once I become rich and famous, I will hire a stylist. For now, I remain stained and wrinkled, and oh so superficial -

Yours,
BB
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( 8:19 AM ) Rebecca
I am trying to become a morning person. So far it is not really working out but it is early in the campaign. I have determined that the only way for me to 1)promote this book 2)write a new one and 3)keep my current job is for me to go to bed at some ridiculously early hour and arise with the sun.

Note that I did not include "have a social life" on that list. I no longer work at Club Geeksoft, where I could party all night, rise late, write, roll in whenever, and get paid an astronomical salary. I now work harder, get paid less, and won't have time to write unless I take draconian measures! Not that I'm complaining mind you, I'm just SAYING.

In more positive news, I am hiring a new publicist and plan to go on a star-spangled U.S. tour in my glittery pink tour bus! OK I don't have the tour bus yet and I don't know how much of the U.S. I'll hit, but it will be a few of the big metro areas. And if you offer me a place to stay, I might even come to your town! I'm also gonna get on Oprah! Or Dr. Phil! Or Northwest Afternoon! Oh wait - I AM on Northwest Afternoon or I will be!

I already taped the show; it airs August 24. I sunk to new levels of degradation with this appearance by providing them with a photo of me and Loser (as requested)- each one of us standing on either side of the equator. I instructed them not to show his face because Lord knows he will sue me at the slightest provocation - and so they blacked out his face! Cheese. O. Rama. But I know you would sell your soul in a second for celebrity too, don't say you wouldn't. Or at least your ex-boyfriend's soul.

Thank you all once again for your comments, notes, and praise for the book. If I have not responded to your e-mail, your request for a free book (there are still a very few left!) or a *signed bookplate* (plenty of those too!) rest assured I will get to it.

And now, can we please have a moment of silence to mourn the passing of my favorite hat - a present from GalPal #2. I do believe it is finally lost and gone forever. It's a miracle that I was able to keep it this long (3 years!) without losing it. Here is a picture of my hat (and me) in front of some big old glacier in Patagonia, which is famous, but I forget the name.

(F*ck. The Blogger photo software is not working. I will insert the photo later. Picture me in a charming pink, striped cap here.)

RIP hat.

I have not gotten to kiss the construction worker much in the last few days, except in my head, that is. In my head, his lips are soft and his abs are hard -- just like in real life. Sometimes you don't need a lot of imagination.

Speaking of imagination (and I know this blog entry just goes on and on), I realize that by being a writer I am simply continuing to do my favorite childhood activity, which is pretend. When I don't get to write (pretend) for at least a couple hours a day, the world seems so drab. I remember saying to my mom once, "Isn't it boring to be an adult - you don't get to pretend!"

Well, lucky me, I turned out to be a writer. It's just now I'm gonna have to start getting up at the crack of dawn to get my two hours of pretend in. Poor me!

xo
BB
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( 9:04 AM ) Rebecca
So I slaved over this article for months, made it nearly letter-perfect, and sent it off to the New York times for publication in their Modern Love section. I mean, of course they were going to publish it – I gave my life to that article, I finished it despite all odds! With an intervening trip to South America and a change of jobs and the publication of my novel and a breakup, and the fact that I had to write more drafts than I’ve ever written of anything before - and besides – I’m a famous author now! They will all leap out of their chairs when they see it and dance around for joy! Finally, finally, the author of BreakupBabe has sent us an article! Break out the champagne - our useless rag is SAVED!

Now it’s been nearly two whole weeks and I haven’t heard a word.

HMMPH. I am a writer, I’m used to rejection. Two weeks isn’t that long. Maybe there’s still hope. But they were supposed to get back to me IMMEDIATELY because damn it, that’s the first thing I’ve really managed to write since I finished my freaking novel and I told everyone I knew how I was writing an article for Modern Love, and oh – the heartbreak!

Time to send that f*cker somewhere else. Meanwhile I am one cranky bitch this morning due to a variety of things including lack of sleep and the conviction that I am a complete loser nobody who will never write another worthwhile thing again (and you know it wasn’t like my first book was To Kill A Mockingbird or anything! I still have something to prove!)Thank God for Brooke buying me some coffee this morning after I forgot my wallet because things would have been Very Bad without it.

Life is not all bad. Oh no, it’s f*cking dandy most of the time, just not when I’ve had less than eight hours of sleep. I got to make out with a super cute boy last night and yes, maybe he’s a construction worker, maybe not, but I’m under strict orders from my doctors not to blog about my love life anymore so that’s all you’re gonna get. He’s a really good kisser. OK, there’s a little more for you. And, um, he’s got one of the best smiles I’ve ever seen, and that is it for now because I have to go be a corporate wage slave.

YOURS TRULY,
REBECCA J. AGIEWICH
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( 9:04 AM ) Rebecca
So I slaved over this article for months, made it nearly letter-perfect, and sent it off to the New York times for publication in their Modern Love section. I mean, of course they were going to publish it – I gave my life to that article, I finished it despite all odds! With an intervening trip to South America and a change of jobs and the publication of my novel and a breakup, and the fact that I had to write more drafts than I’ve ever written of anything before - and besides – I’m a famous author now! They will all leap out of their chairs when they see it and dance around for joy! Finally, finally, the author of BreakupBabe has sent us an article! Break out the champagne - our useless rag is SAVED!

Now it’s been nearly two whole weeks and I haven’t heard a word.

HMMPH. I am a writer, I’m used to rejection. Two weeks isn’t that long. Maybe there’s still hope. But they were supposed to get back to me IMMEDIATELY because damn it, that’s the first thing I’ve really managed to write since I finished my freaking novel and I told everyone I knew how I was writing an article for Modern Love, and oh – the heartbreak!

Time to send that f*cker somewhere else. Meanwhile I am one cranky bitch this morning due to a variety of things including lack of sleep and the conviction that I am a complete loser nobody who will never write another worthwhile thing again (and you know it wasn’t like my first book was To Kill A Mockingbird or anything! I still have something to prove!)Thank God for Brooke buying me some coffee this morning after I forgot my wallet because things would have been Very Bad without it.

Life is not all bad. Oh no, it’s f*cking dandy most of the time, just not when I’ve had less than eight hours of sleep. I got to make out with a super cute boy last night and yes, maybe he’s a construction worker, maybe not, but I’m under strict orders from my doctors not to blog about my love life anymore so that’s all you’re gonna get. He’s a really good kisser. OK, there’s a little more for you. And, um, he’s got one of the best smiles I’ve ever seen, and that is it for now because I have to go be a corporate wage slave.

YOURS TRULY,
REBECCA J. AGIEWICH
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( 3:13 PM ) Rebecca

OK I want you all to know I am not one bit upset that today Stephanie Klein's book, "Straight Up and Dirty" is #337 on Amazon, while mine is #94,000-something or other.

Not at ALL, do you hear me? Nor that she got some huge book deal plus a TV show and is now writing full time and is fabulously successful and happily married. I mean WHATEVER STEPHANIE KLEIN! WAS YOUR BOOK HAULED UP TO THE TOP OF MOUNT RAINIER BY A LOYAL FAN? I THINK NOT!!

All that matters to me is that you, my small but select crowd of readers, love the book, which you seem to do. Take this comment, which was posted on my last entry.

"Your book arrived from AMAZON yesterday. Once I started it, I could NOT put it down. THANK YOU, BB! Having recently lived through a quite similar Great Unpleasantness (my live-in boyfriend cheated and lied about, even to this day), your book has given me strength to carry on. I dealt my revenge metaphorically through your actions. The lonliness and boredom were transported as I held your book in my hands. But, now what am I to do? Read it again? Maybe I will. I have already recommended your book to many of my gal pals, but I will not share my copy. I cannot part with it. Thank you for giving me hope."
- On the Mend

This about made me want to weep. When people say things like that to you, it makes everything worth it. All the hours spent slaving over your keyboard, wallowing in self-doubt; the years spent as a temp receptionist dreaming of being a writer; the thousands of dollars spent on a publicist (who probably had nothing to do with On the Mend buying your book from Amazon); and just the all-around angst of trying to be a writer with a full-time job struggling to carve out the time to write.

Anyway. I know I've been going on and on about my readers like a broken record but I'll say again: this kind of response dazzles and overwhelms me in the best possible way. So thank you everyone, for letting me know how you feel about the book!

In other news, summer rushes along. I'm even tempted to tell you that it's now OK for you to ask me how my summer is going, and that if you did, you probably would probably not be subject to acts of violence; however, if I did that, I would undoubtedly jinx everything. So let's just keep the old rules in place for now.

xo
BB
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( 8:22 AM ) Rebecca
Because I seem to be creatively bankrupt these days, instead of writing my own damn post, I’m going to offer you a hilarious take from Southern Comfort on the most DIFFICULT question I have to answer these days.

She writes,

...Another sticky wicket of a question is “How is your book doing?”

When my first novel came out I was bombarded with this question. And being an utter newbie I relied on Amazon for my answers and assumed my book was tanking like the Titanic. (Not by a mile, honey chile.)

I’d get all flustered and defensive as if they’d asked me “How’s the book doing… you pathetic wannabe?”

“ I don’t know how it’s doing. I won’t know until I get my royalty statements. QUIT HASSLING ME!”

Now if I’d made it to the bestseller list with my first novel I would have walked around wearing a sandwich board that said, “ Ask me how my book is doing.”

But there really is no good answer to this question. What can you say? I moved five hundred units last week? My mom and all my cousins bought multiple copies? I’m selling as many copies as the author of Seventy-five Recipes for Homemade Cheese.

After a while I finally understood that people were just being polite; they weren’t out to interrogate me. Now when asked this question, I just give a wink and say, “Not too shabby. Let’s put it this way. If I see a penny in the gutter, sometimes I won’t bother to fish it out.”

I am still in the defensive stage. I don’t KNOW how my damn book is doing. No one has told me and that is probably because it’s doing TERRIBLY and I am about to become persona-non-grata in the publishing world! I usually default to, “Well, lots of people are emailing me and telling me they like the book. I’m sure it’s about to become a word-of-mouth-favorite.”

I do have to say, that in lieu of any hard numbers, which are probably just depressing, that the reader response is the best thing that's been happening to me. It's kind of like the old days when I started this blog and all sorts of people wrote to say how much they loved it. The best part of being a writer is feeling like you've reached people. It's the most unexpected part too, 'cause you spend so much time toiling by yourself, you almost forget people are actually (if you're lucky) going to read what you write.

Oh! Here is an exciting tidbit. I have bookplates that I can sign for you. So, just in case I don't do that international tour, and you want a signed copy of BreakupBabe, e-mail me your address (breakupbabe@msn.com) and I will send you a signed bookplate. (Be patient because I am mailing-impaired.)

P.S. There are also still free books available for those who put up a banner ad or a blurb linking to my book on Amazon!

Love,
BB
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( 10:41 AM ) Rebecca
Despite the frantic pace of the California leg of my book tour, and the cold which oh-so-conviently gripped me right before I came down here, I am enjoying my 15 minutes of fame. My reading at the venerable Black Oak Books last night was quite the good time, especially because 30 or so people showed up - the biggest turnout since my book launch party!

I also was extremely fond of the blurb that Black Oak Books put for my book on their Events page. I'll quote my favorite part here.

"By recasting her story as fiction, Rebecca Agiewich has created a fascinating admixture of autobiographical sincerity leavened with self-conscious, almost camp irony, a cri du coeur that peers over its own shoulder with a note of smiling post-modern glee, an honest novel of heartbreak and disappointment that is also the story of its own strange transformation from confession to literary confection."

I don't know what it means exactly, but it sure sounds good!

Besides the friendly staff, the great turnout, and the blurb that makes my book sound really fancy, I was also quite excited when - hanging around nervously before my event - I saw Frances McDormand walking out of the store. There is nothing more I love than a good celebrity sighting! I rushed back in and asked if she had bought my book (which she would then give to the Coen Brothers to turn into a darkly humorous cri de coeur looking over its shoulder or something) but no such luck.

I also appreciate this comment from Cristin, which you can see in the Comments section of the last entry, but which I thought I'd post for you here. Cristin notes a couple of the more "colorful" characters who were at the reading.

Just thought I would drop you a line to say you did a great reading in Berkeley tonight ( was was the girl who briefly mentioned to you I never comment on your blog - first time for everything eh?). My friend and I both thought you were very well spoken (but of course!), which is hard with a homeless person walking back in forth in front of you in the middle of your talk. Oh, and the guy who didn't know about blogging? He stores his chewing gum behind his ear as we in the audience were priveleged to witness.Great talk though!

Then at the crack of dawn, I hauled myself to San Francisco to be on CBS's "Weekend Early Edition," where I yukked it up with the anchors surprisingly well - considering it was 8 a.m., I was sick, and had had only fours hours of sleep, AND they didn't give me the questions beforehand. Usually for these 4-minute live TV dealies they at give you the list of questions a few minutes beforehand if you ask for them, but despite asking repeatedly this time, I did not get them. I thought about throwing a tantrum then thought better of it. In the end, I my level of witty banter was good. Ah yes, Xanax, thou art holy.

Signing off from the sunny South Bay,
love,
BB
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( 5:12 PM ) Rebecca
Did you know that only 12 people came to hear Dan Brown read from the Da Vinci Code when he appeared at Third Place Books in Bothell, WA? Well, neither did I until the guy running my reading there last night told me. And guess what? I had 14 people! So THERE.

In other news, my pal Christy wrote in with the following funny anecdote:

“I climbed Mt Rainier this weekend and thought it would be funny to have my picture taken while reading your book on the summit. I packed your book and hauled it up to Ingraham Flats and decided at the last minute (1am yesterday morning) to leave it in my tent and not carry it up to the summit. To my utter amazement, I ran into a guy named Jim on the summit who had your book with him!!! On the summit!! I ran over to him and asked him if he knew you...told him I, too, had brought a copy of your book with me, but didn't haul it up to the summit. Long story short, I had my photo taken at the summit with a copy of your book, that actually belonged to a guy named Jim. I thought you might like to know that Breakup Babe has reached the summit of Rainier!!!”

A little background for those of you who haven’t read the book (and pray tell, why haven’t you?), there is a pivotal scene that takes place on Mt. Rainier, which is why (I guess) all my fans appear to be hauling it up there. Thanks guys! It’s so flattering to know you will hump that extra weight up the mountain to get your Breakup Babe fix. For those of you taking the book exotic places, for God’s sake, send me a picture and I’ll post it on the blog!

Um, in other, other, news, there is a bunch but I forget.

Oh YEAH. I’m going to California this week. If I don’t die in a plane crash before I get there please tell EVERYONE YOU KNOW IN CALIFORNIA to please come see me read, because I gotta keep up the Dan Brown-beating STREAK.

Cali Schedule
Friday, July 14, 7:30 p.m.
Black Oak Books
1491 Shattuck
Berkeley, CA

Sunday, July 16, 3 p.m.
Books, Inc.
301 Castro Street
Mountain View, CA

Monday, July 17, 7:30 p.m.
Books, Inc.
2251 Chestnut St.
San Francisco, CA 94123

xo
BB
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( 8:44 AM ) Rebecca
Upcoming Readings

Hello Dear Everyone,
Just want to make sure you know about my upcoming readings. I have two more in Seattle this summer and *three* in the Bay Area! Oh please come! Please bring all your friends. Please buy my book. I am contemplating doing a little midwest/east coast leg of the tour later this summer although I am rather afraid of what might happen to me in the heat. If you are from one of the following cities 1)Chicago 2)New York 3)Boston 4)DC, drop me a line and let me know if there's a good bookstore near you and if you think you could help me get oh, at least five people to a reading.

Monday, July 10, 7 p.m.
Third Place Books
17171 Bothell Way NE
Lake Forest Park, WA

Friday, July 14, 7:30 p.m.
Black Oak Books
1491 Shattuck
Berkeley, CA

Sunday, July 16, 3 p.m.
Books, Inc.
301 Castro Street
Mountain View, CA

Monday, July 17, 7:30 p.m.
Books, Inc.
2251 Chestnut St.
San Francisco, CA 94123

Thursday, August 17, 6:30 p.m.
Reception & Booksigning
Queen Anne Books
1811 Queen Anne Avenue, North
Seattle
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( 8:00 PM ) Rebecca
So. We are ripping through the first third of July and the weather here is gray, gray, gray! That is all good.

Reader love continues to pour (ok, trickle) in via e-mail and I've posted some of your comments on my author web site. This week I also got a fabulous placement in the Seattle Weekly as the Read of the Week. I like the review, even if it isn't 100% glowing. Hey, I know my book isn't perfect, OK? But this writer made some good points about the novel that even I hadn't thought of. And now EVERYONE IN SEATTLE IS GOING TO BUY MY BOOK!

In "love" news, which is what all you vultures care about, well...

I hesitate to tell you anything, because damn it, I thought I'd left that all behind me. But f*ck if I'm not torn between just going back to my old ways because I was all good for six months when I was dating that, um, guy, and look where it got me?

I know that unless I dismantle this blog competely, I will always be tempted to tell all. And telling all is just not healthy. Too bad it's so f*cking fun.

Why just last week I denied you all a good bit of fun when the Cute Construction Worker (CCW) posted a witty comment upon reading my breathy little post about him (who knew he was reading it?). Oh, maybe some of you saw it. I put it up his comment for a few hours then freaked out and took it down remembering that grim day last November when "Anonymous" commented on the blog for all to see (before I learned how to moderate my comments) that the guy I was dating was still f*cking his ex.

This was a much more fun and lighthearted interaction but spectacle is spectacle. Do I really want to make a spectacle of myself? (Yes.)

Anyway, the CCW has proved himself to be quite a witty and charming sort but somewhat on the elusive side so...we're not holding our breath on that one. Perhaps if we're lucky he'll post another well-written comment and this time I'll publish it because it's summer and I have to get through it somehow.

Meanwhile, I need an intern. If you would like to do menial tasks such as clean my car, pay my bills, install blinds, e-mail my ex-boyfriend and tell him he no longer needs to mail me that key because I made a bunch of copies, and also establish a viral online marketing campaign that will rocket my book to bestsellerdom, apply now! No pay but glamous entree into the world of publishing!

love,
bb
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( 4:08 PM ) Rebecca
All righty. I am hurling my myself off into the wilderness again this weekend because it is the only place that the demons don’t get me. There is no possible way I could spend a weekend in Seattle right now without falling into a horriferous, self-pitying, sun-dazed funk.

Never mind that I almost DIED last weekend on Mt. Adams in one of the less fun trips in recent history. Why I bothered to climb Mt. Adams again, I do not know, except that I wanted to test out my fledgling ski mountaineering skills and I didn’t have anything better to do (except oh you know, clean my house, write my next novel, relax, and stop running around like a f*cking maniac). It wasn’t that fun last time and it certainly wasn’t that fun this time what with hauling all that gear up there, my “technical difficulties” with my skiis, and our ridiculously late summit hour, which gave us no room for error. Too bad we made so many errors, the biggest of which was following the one remaining party besides us on the mountain the absolute wrong direction into the woods.

Yeah well. Thanks to J’s altimeter and cool head we got out of there at 11 pm, to make it home Monday by 8 a.m., at which point I put on a miniskirt and low cut shirt and went to work because what else are you gonna do?

There was about 45 minutes worth of fun on that trip, including summiting and skiing off the summit but the rest was just plain wrong. It’s a big mountain and all that (12,000-something feet) but it isn’t even that scenic. Now my feet are completely mangled yet I’m going backpacking for four days in the Olympics because, well, see above.I guess the mountains are better than some other drugs out there.

I have a feeling I won’t settle down til fall. Is it here yet?

Xo
BB
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( 6:05 PM ) Rebecca
Dear Cute Construction Worker In My Building ,

I’m so glad that when I made my totally unnecessary and ridiculous detour through the garage to get out of the building this morning, that you were actually there – hence, making it an extra two minutes well spent!

Not only that, you walked away from your cute little construction worker mini-project to come talk to me even though we really have no more construction-related business to discuss. After all, the construction is almost done. Only four more days!

You’d think I’d be happy that the infernal hammering will be over – but no! This means I don’t have an indefinite amount of time to make morning detours and keep flirting with you! Nor do I have time to “casually” mention that I broke up with that hunky guy you always saw me with and that that other guy you saw leaving with me that morning was just a “friend” – really! (Well, mostly. But that’s a long story!).

I know I missed my little window of opportunity this morning. The flirting was going so well and there was that nice little "whoosh" feeling in the air, but then your boss came along and it was gone. Oh well. I’ve been out of the dating scene for six whole months so I’m not quite as smooth as I used to be.

Anyway, you probably have a girlfriend. We probably have nothing to talk about. You’re probably too young or too stoned or too-something (or else not-something enough) even though you are super adorable and also hip and intellectual-looking with your cute glasses, pierced nose, and blue cap. So obviously we are completely wrong for each other and any activities outside construction-related discussion can only lead to heartbreak. I therefore conclude I must definitely ask you out.

BB
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( 6:00 PM ) Rebecca
Lately I've been getting loads of charming e-mail from a variety of people. Since I don't have time to blog today, I'll instead post some e-mails from friends and readers.

The first is a note I I received from the obviously-quite-intelligent-and-literary Zoe. Here is what Zoe had to say:

Don't cry, Breakup Babe.
...and these are three reasons why:

1. You're adorable! That polka-dot dress you wore in Portland is totally fetching, and your new haircut screams "summer fun."

2. Because of the handy "A" in Agiewich, your book is prominently displayed on the top right new books shelves at the Brooklyn Public Library.

3. Because, as Breakup Babe, you are at your bloggy best when broken up. What better promotional opportunity for your increasing fame as a writer? This is all to say...

PLEASE, PLEASE spill the beans on this dope who broke up with you (for someone else!? Impossible). Post an expose! Tell all!

With great hope,
Zoë

And one from a dear (non-Native-English-speaking) friend (who has clearly been reading the novel and noting my worship of the "holy pink pill" - a.k.a. Celexa, which by the way, I am no longer on, not that there's anything wrong with it.)

Eh, Rebecca, you know - it's painful watching you go on a rollercoaster
from one man to the next, but then again I realized that you actually
like it this way. Nevertheless, it's not easy to watch; it's me who may
need a holy pink pill :-).

That's it from the e-mail bag today!
BB
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( 2:09 PM ) Rebecca
My friend J. just came up with an premise for my sequel: “Break ‘em up Babe,” in which Rachel goes around busting up every marriage and/or long-term relationship she can find only to get gunned down by a posse of vigilante wives and die a lonely death mourned by no one except, of course the sex-starved husbands whose lives she so greatly enriched for a short, enchanted time.

Jeez. I’m sounding like the glib Breakup Babe of yore. Yessir, that’s how you know I feel like shit – when I start pretending I am cool and in-charge and don’t give a flying f*ck about men. Ha.

I am certainly not cool and in-charge right now, especially when it comes to men. Why here are just a few things I’ve been doing.

Crying!
Deliberately going out of my way when leaving my condo in the morning to see the cute and flirty construction worker I have a crush on, only to become extremely nervous when I see him and not know what to say!
Hanging out with adorable and completely unreliable men from my past when I am at my most emotionally vulnerable!
Resisting adorable men who might actually be good for me because I am too busy doing all the above!

OH and now that it’s summer, please remember never EVER to ask me how my summer is going or I will have to kill you.

Love,
Rebecca
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( 8:05 PM ) Rebecca
Damn, I can sure write one sad blog entry, can't I? I write like a mo' fo' when I'm sad. UNFORTUNATELY.

Is this why I constantly seek out hot but inappropriate men? Or, as I've called them here before, HBIBS? Because in the end, all I want is to feel pain and channel it into my Art?

Lord only knows.

At least I was adored for a full six months - an eternity in BB time - or six months minus however long ago it was he fell for someone else. I think it was the exact moment I wrote on my blog that I was "happy." That my love life was going "well." (Believe me, I'll never do THAT again).

Yeah, so the future started to open up for me just a little, and bam - it slammed shut again.

I was just deluded. It happens all the time.

But it was nice to be adored for that amount of time. I get easily carried away by the adoration of sexy men. I lose sight of what's best or what's wise and I live only for that next adoring gesture.

Adoration is one reason I became so addicted to blogging, and one reason I am so loving being an author right now. Because I am getting a lot of LOVE, in capital letters, from my readers. (Oh please keep sending it!) Here are just a few of the comments I've gotten:

"Hi, I just wanted to let you know that I finished reading your book and LOVED it."

"What a GREAT joy to read!"

"hell girl! i loved your book!...it came at a very opportune time in my life. it's helping me figure out what the hell to do with a relationship i am currently in. word!"

"you are a terrific writer and I love your book!"

"it's a beautiful book, and so unlike a lot of those chick-litty books, (which I do love most of them, but some... ewww) yours felt so real to me, with none of the fake shit to try and get a laugh out of the reader. THe laughs I had during BB were pure and glad ones, completely believable of the story. That's the sign of an amazing writer!"

"I read it straight through to the Hemingwayesque last line & enjoyed it very much."

Thank you thank you thank you. My life is one bittersweet mixed up mess right now. But just keep adoring me and I'll be OK.

OH! And did I mention? As a teaser for my oh-so-brief appearance on Fox's "More Good Day Oregon," they kept showing my author photo again and again and AGAIN?

Jesus. A narcissist could get used to this.

Good thing the attention will be short-lived and I'll fade into obscurity soon or else I could get really full of myself. And my comments are turned off so you can't tell me how full of myself I already am - ha ha ha!

xo,
BB
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( 12:56 PM ) Rebecca
A quick snapshot from my triumphant reading at a Portland Barnes & Noble where eight whole people showed up! But what an enthusiastic eight they were. Earlier in the day I'd done my triumphant three-minute turn on Fox TVs "More Good Day Oregon," fresh (or rather, not so fresh) from the previous night's triumphant turn at a reading in Kirkland to which six people came!

I'm going to brainstorm with you soon about how to get TONS of people to come to my (soon-to-be) triumphant Bay Area readings. Maybe I could get 10 whole people to show up!

Anyway, no matter who and who doesn't show up, I heart being an author.

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( 1:35 PM ) Rebecca
So do you want to hear something really sad?

No of course you don’t, you want me to be "funny" like I was in the "old days" when I wrote about men or whatever.

But today I’m sad so too bad.

Two nights ago my ~~boyfriend~~ ex-boyfriend was at my house. In the middle of the night he gave me the longest, sweetest kiss. It woke me up and surprised me and thrilled me because my ~~boyfriend~~ ex-boyfriend hadn’t kissed me like that in a long time and I’d been dying inside because of it.

And I thought, maybe he hasn’t really gone away. Maybe he is still here in spirit as well as body even though it doesn’t feel like it most of the time. Maybe that affection of his that was so bright and hot and blinding like the sun - will come back.

The next morning, I told him, stupidly, how much I'd liked that middle-of-the-night kiss. I knew I was taking a gamble when I held it out for him like that. I knew he could take it away. And he did. He looked at me, raised his eyebrow, and shot me a suspicous look from those brilliant and beautiful blue eyes. “What?," he said. "I don’t remember that.”

So then my heart broke just a little more. I thought to myself "He was kissing someone else in his dreams." Then I thought, "That is ridiculous."

But it wasn’t so ridiculous as I thought.

And that is my sad story for the day. I can only hope someone is kissing me like that in their dreams.

I am turning my comments off now because I am in a bad mood.

Love,
Rebecca
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( 8:41 AM ) Rebecca
OK, so here's a tip. Not to bitch or anything, but when you're writing to congratulate me about my book it's best not to say something along the lines of "I hope you are SO THRILLED with your life right now."

I am thrilled I finally wrote a novel yes, and thrilled that my readers seem to love it, but HELLO OTHERWISE I AM A BASKET CASE.

Sheesh. So you might say something more along the lines of "Gee BB, congrats on the book and I know where you can get some great deal on Xanax and Vodka, cause guess what, we understand how hard it is to publish a novel start a brand new job where you have to get up early drive all night to Portland so you can be on TV for three minutes the next day" etc. etc.

So perhaps I'm whining just a tad. Excusez-moi.

But I always knew that the best time in my life would be *before* the book came out and not after. And it was good. Especially when I ran off to South America and put everything in perspective. Now that I'm back, everything is looming crazily big and out-of-whack like the mixed up pieces of a person in a Picasso painting.

And now, pardonnez moi, but I have to go work for a living, which is a shock after my years at Geeksoft. So that's it for today's little whinefest! I'm so glad to hear you're all enjoying my navel-gazing little novel.

xo
BB
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( 8:07 PM ) Rebecca
Well I had the greatest book launch party a girl could ask for last night at Elliott Bay Books, with all my friends in attendance, and the perfect dress, and just the right amount of nerves to be sharp and not stupid, and oh my goodness, the adoring looks from the crowd sure didn’t hurt either!

They laughed appreciatively in all the right places, and in many places I did not expect them to laugh, and overall my lovely audience made me feel like a STAR, which is all I’ve ever aspired to be in life, that a good, caring person, of course.

Everyone should get a night like that in their life.

Meanwhile, I would never wish my MORNING upon anyone, what with the TWO HOURS it took me to get home after driving my mom to the airport, and which, combined with the hangover and lack of sleep, caused me to have breakdown right there on Highway 99 North.

Ok not a breakdown exactly but let me tell you: I cried.

I was, perhaps, a tad overwrought. Being a celebrity is not easy, you know. I have a lot on my plate right now, with the new job, the new book, Johnny Depp calling CONSTANTLY! However, seeing there was no personal assistant and no Xanax in sight, and my only alternative to just driving through it was to get out of the car, wander around pulling my hair and yelling “Hello, I am a published novelist and and I SHOULD NOT BE STUCK IN THIS TRAFFIC,” and then get put into an institution, I grimly perservered. (If a gun had been handy, it would not have been a good thing.)

When I finally did get back to Seattle, a mere shadow of my former self, at least the hungover boyfriend had not yet gotten out of bed and I could momentarily be comforted by crawling into his arms where he laughed (lovingly) at the fact that I had cried because of traffic.

So back to the positive, it was the world’s biggest thrill to talk at Elliott Bay and now I wish I could relive the whole thing and I don’t think anyone videotaped it so it will have to live on in my memory and I’m sure it will til I’m old and in the nursing home – and oh wait – that’s what I was supposed to say when someone asked me what I was working on next:

“BreakupBabe: The Nursing Home Years,” in which BB and her coterie of pals – you know them all, Sexy Boy, GalPal #1, Henry, Jane – all go live in the same nursing home in Tukwila where more hijinx ensues as BB raids the local community college for boyfriends (forgetting that she is 85) and her pals vow to help her hook a man before her Alzheimer’s gets too advanced!

Love,
BB
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( 6:06 PM ) Rebecca
Hello all,
My first week as a published author has thus far been stellar - thanks largely to those of you who have been writing to tell me how much you love the book. Also - much love to to Mr. Helpful and Odious Woman for giving me my first reviews on Amazon and five-star reviews at that! May you all follow suit!

Speaking of suits, I had to spend the entire advance for my novel on a new suit as I will be appearing on television both this week and next - ACK. Then of course I couldn't buy a new suit without buying new shoes, and I'm going to have to buy another shirt to go with the suit so I'm not wearing the exact same outfit NEXT time I go on TV, and...well, clearly the book will need to become a besteller merely for me to afford all the clothes I'm going to have to buy for my ~~international~~ west coast book tour!

For those of you in Seattle, you'll be able to see me at my bright and shiny best at 8:15 tomorrow morning on KING 5. Ha ha ha. I barely speak that early in the morning so it will be interesting to see what comes out of my mouth. If anything. At least I will look stylin' in my new outfit, please pray I don't spill coffee on the pink silk shirt first thing in the morning.

Otherwise I will have to take out a second mortgage on my home to purchase further shirts, not to mention having to appear on television topless.

xo
BB
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( 10:28 AM ) Rebecca
Happy Published Author Day to Me!

Hello Darlings,
Just a note to say thank you thank you for all the phone calls, e-mails, letters; the limos, the champagne! As for the paparazzi, well, I even like you, but I'm gonna get pretty damn sick of you soon, I can tell you that! But for now, snap away! My hair is washed, my underwear is clean, and I'm looking oh so sparkly on this - my special day!

OK. Really it's just the day after a holiday weekend during which I fled town for the mountains, returned late at night, and am now underslept, overtired, and the only person who's called is my mom.

I'm about to take a bus - not a limo - to work and I will probably have to work until such time as I am old and can't wear miniskirts and uncomfortable boots anymore but instead will be dressed in polyster pastels and beige orthopedic shoes.

Nonetheless, today represents the culmination of my biggest childhood dream. The dream I was no doubt dreaming when I demanded to sleep with a sharpened pencil in my bed as child. Perhaps even the dream that my parents were dreaming when they subjected themself to allegations of child abuse by sharpening that pencil for me and letting me embrace it as I slept.

I am a published author! I don't need champagne or flowers (I mean, if you insist!), I don't need adulation or million-dollar sales - though of course I won't turn them down! - all I need is the knowledge that I did it. And I did it.

Finally.

Now go buy it!

xo
BB
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( 5:59 PM ) Rebecca
I heart my readers. The positive reviews are flowing in! Who cares what the New York Times says, when reader Amy says this?

"OK so I was up wayyyy too late reading Breakup babe and I LOVE IT!!! Of course, with my recent Great Unpleastness, I can totally relate."

(Capital letters not put in by me).

In other news, I am strung out and underslept and generally riding a rollercoaster in all sorts of ways but my life is a damn fun (if exhausting) adventure right now.

xo
BB
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( 8:28 AM ) Rebecca
Good Lord, forgive me for abandoning you. I have started two entries in the last week, only to discard them. Just like I have started a zillion books in the last few months and not finished them.

I am, shall we say, distracted. I am not sure how to approach the upcoming book launch. Just another day? The greatest day of my life? A reason to go back on the little pink pills?

Meanwhile, life plows forward in all sorts of ways, including - a birthday and a brand-spanking-new job in a swank office tower in downtown Seattle. Words cannot express my relief at escaping the clutches of that gentle giant, ye olde mighty Geeksofte. Oh the joy at not having to drive to sterile Redmond every day, but to jump on the bus with the smelly, hallucinating masses! The ecstasy of having a job where I write and think about BOOKS - beautiful, wondrous, hardcover, mass market, trade paperback BOOKS and not PROGRAMMER DOCUMENTATION! Hallelejuah!

My birthday was a brief affair, filled with too much tequila in a short amount of time, lots of boys, (Girls, listen, I know a lot of single guys if you want one! I can't vouch for their 1)sanity 2)emotional availabilty or 3)sexual prowess but they are cute and ready to roll so please e-mail me if you want one!) and a delicious German chocolate cake. The next day I was thoroughly hungover and miserable but isn't life too short not to be hung over and miserable?

It has been a bit of a shock having to get to work at a "normal" hour after years of rolling in to the mothership in the 11 to noon timeframe.It's hard, specifically, to get up and "write" before getting in to work, and even though I might not be actively "writing" right now (although that next novel is in the works I SWEAR), but I still reserve the morning for writing-related activities such as preparing my Academy Awards speech, etc.

Oh wait, that's acting. Did I ever tell you about the time I dreamed I won an award for Best Supporting Actress but was super stressed because I was at the Oscars in only a bathrobe, only then I decided to go onstage anyway beause Elijah Wood was also there in his robe and just as I was about to give my speech my teeth started falling out?

Yeah. Anyway.

Can I just say, on a parting note, that 1)THERE ARE STILL BOOKS AVAILABLE IN THAT DAMN CONTEST BECAUSE REALLY NO ONE EXCEPT A FEW DIEHARDS READ THIS BLOG ANYMORE BECAUSE IT IS SO NOT JUICY SO DAMN IT, JUST SEE THE PREVIOUS TWO POSTS AND THEN POST A LINK AND WIN A BOOK! AND 2)I so dearly appreciate comments like the one dear Jennifer posted yesterday, and also the e-mail I received from Anthony the day before telling me how they love my book.

I tell you, their is nothing more a writer craves than to hear how an individual person loved/related to/got off on your writing. The world can be damned. Personal praise is the best thing ever.

From the front lines of hysteria,
xo,
BB
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( 12:06 PM ) Rebecca
I still hear things from this like readers and it makes me happysad:

"I can't wait to read [your book] because I'm going through BreakupBabe withdrawal now that you don't write the witty tales of your love life."

I've been focused a lot on the negative side of the blog because I'm working on this article about how I got addicted to blogging about my love life and got over the addiction. I spend a lot of ink in the current (19-millionth) draft of the article talking about how the blog turned me into such an awful person and how I "stomped all over unsuspecting men."

This is true to some degree, but I couldn't have been all that bad, right? I must have written stuff that was funny and relatable and true or you wouldn't have liked me. It's been easier to make it all black and white - to talk melodramatically about how blogging brought out my most selfish qualities and drove me to rock bottom until I had to stop before I destroyed my life and the life of anyone who might mistakenly get involved with me. The truth, as usual, is more grey than that. So, on to the 20 millionth draft of the article!

In other news, even if I were writing a dating blog right now it would be boring. These days, for the first time in forever, my love life is going well. And I have never been a good writer when I'm happy. I write uninteresting sentences with lots of exclamation points. Through most of the year that I wrote my novel, I was on the lonelysad side. Especially during the summer. There were days last July when I'd drag myself feeling to the coffee shop like the takeout that time forgot, and writing was the only thing that could make me feel halfway better. And the blog, as you recall, was born out of utter heartbreak and despair.

Of course, I'm always a bit on the lonelysad side even when I'm happy. So I think (hope) that's why I'll be able to keep writing even if by some miracle, love manages to lodge itself in my life again.

So what was my point? Oh yeah. I'm happysad now. Happy that I don't have any drama to blog about, happy that I have an amazing boyfriend, sad that I don't keep you all entertained the way I used to, happy that the book is coming out so you can get your fix, sad that we all die and turn to dust and get our hearts broken one way or the other in the end. Happy that's not right this second.

By the way, you can still win free books! See the last two posts for more info!

XO,
BB
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( 11:37 AM ) Rebecca
Ho hum, 18 more days until my book comes out.

YOU CAN STILL WIN A FREE COPY.

Either host this nifty banner ad or post a link to my Amazon page with a little blurb about the book.

Preferably you would do this on your sidebar or at the top of your page where it will *stick around* for a while.

SO GO AHEAD. JUST BE ONE OF THE FIRST 50 TO SHAMELESSLY PROMOTE MY BOOK, THEN E-MAIL ME TO TELL ME ABOUT IT AT breakupbabe@msn.com.

Love,
BB
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( 11:06 AM ) Rebecca
So! The moment you've all been waiting for - the chance to win free books!

Here's how it works: All you have to do to win a free copy is be one of the first fifty people to host a banner ad for my novel and/or a link to my Amazon page with with a little blurb about the book.

You can get the banner here and it is guaranteed to look super cool on your site.

Once you've put the banner and/or the link up, e-mail me at breakupbabe@msn.com to let me know and I will check out your site toute de suite. Include your name and address so I can forward the information to my publisher and they can send you your *free book* - if you are one of the first fifty, that is.

Ready. Set. Go!
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( 6:11 PM ) Rebecca
So. This is the month my book comes out. I am going to go crawl under a rock somewhere. Because just how to do you handle having your biggest dream come true? It's gotta be some major kind of anticlimax, right?

Yeah. So I think I'll just avoid it. Meanwhile, forward all royalty checks to my mother, who bless her little soul, works in non-profits, unlike my sister and me - the high-tech sellouts - and needs the money. Bad reviews you can keep. Good reviews, well...my agent will hold on to those until such time as I feel it safe to emerge from underneath the rock.

This is probably a good time to introduce you to my author web site. It is still not completely ready, but hey, it's good for now! 'Tis there you will find an excerpt from my first chapter.

I'm going to try to blog here and there as much as I can between now and the book launch because under the rock there won't be any Internet access.

Love,
BB
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( 6:44 PM ) Rebecca
Back when I was a wee youngster of 22, I worked as a drama counselor at summer camp in Northern California. Mostly I was there trying (and failing) to relive the halcyon days of my own summer camp youth where I spent the best days of my entire adolescence singing touchy-feely songs, riding horses, sleeping on beds strung up in trees, and generally feeling like a superstar - in direct contrast to the utter loserdom that enveloped me when I was at school.

My experiences as a counselor in most ways did not live up to my experiences as a camper, mainly because the people who ran this camp were militaristic frat boy as*holes who knew nary a thing about touch-feely songs about the campfire or making kids feel like a million bucks, though to their credit, they did offer exciting activities such as waterskiing and rock-climbing, which my own humble summer camp never offered. (Not that we needed it, of course, since we were so busy getting in touch with our feelings, but still).

As a counselor there, I first made the mistake of falling in love with a rock climber (who later went on a climbing trip, discovered "god" with a lowercase "g," and dumped me) but never mind about that. I was about to graduate from college, had no f*cking idea what I wanted to do - or rather I wanted to be a writer but had no confidence whatsoever that I could do it - and had hoped this summer would be a respite from my ever-increasing stress. Ha.

I spent that summer in a sleep-deprived, ulcer-ridden, lovestruck haze - constantly fighting with the camp directors and in conflict with many of the counselors who viewed me as some hippieish layabout because I preferred not to wear a bra, and got sick all the time because I was so stressed out and dehyrated in that sunbaked hellhole.I'll never forget how the waterskiing counselor (aka the camp director's thick-necked, dimwitted son, who was f*cking the rich horseback riding counselor and referred to her as "the bitch" when he talked to his friends on the phone) accused me of "not doing any work."

Ha! The reason I was perceived as not doing any work was because I had to spend most of my days INDOORS WRITING. My job as drama counselor was not only to teach drama a few times a day, but to write, produce, and direct an original play every two weeks. Despite the various miseries of that place, that particular task was one of the best that could have befallen me at that time in my life.

That's because found out a few things that I needed to remember for a long time afterwards: I was creative. I was funny. I could finish a piece of writing when I needed to.

Oh I had known those things a long time before, when I was a child producing bright, bold masterpieces of art and literature and dreaming of future as a great artiste. But college and impending adulthood had drained me of all my creative confidence, and now, on the verge of becoming a working adult, all I wanted to do was be a writer but I had not produced much in the way of writing since fourth grade. Nor did I ever produce anything worthwhile again for a long time after that hot heavy summer.

But I rose to the task at hand. I wrote four witty plays in eight weeks that the kids loved, and, per instructions from the camp director, included numerous occasions for them to lip synch to the bands du jour (Aerosmith, Guns and Roses, Madonna). And, besides my broken heart, that is what I took away with me from Snow Mountain Camp: the fact that I could DO it. That I could write. Because for years afterwards I was blocked as a writer. As I entered the world and started a series of horrible jobs, I couldn't write. I started things and couldn't finish them. Over and over. It took years to get to the point where I COULD finish something. Hell, it took til NOW.

The funny thing is I'm terrifed all over again now. I've published a novel and am afraid I'll never be able to write another one. I know better, of course. I know that sometimes you just gotta believe when you don't believe, or, like George Michael says, that you gotta have FAITH. It's easier said than done, of course. Having faith and writing a novel. But I can do them both. And I will.

(Maybe).
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( 2:21 PM ) Rebecca
As you know, I don't believe in doing things halfway. When major life changes occur, they must occur all at ONCE. Therefore, in the next month, not only will I become a published novelist, I will leave ye olde mighty Geeksofte!

I know! Now, like the rest of the world, I will actually have to work for a living. I will have to pay copays and deductibles like a commoner. No free membership to a swank health club, in which gleaming rows of machines await and banks of hot tubs beckon. No! I'll have to go sweat it out at the Y like everyone else, where the hot tubs (if they exist) have diseases and you have to wait in line for the machines, which do not have fawning, white-garbed attendants disinfecting them every five minutes.

No more discounts to all sorts of venues around town. And cheap software? Uh-uh. I can also kiss my discounted stock purchase plan goodbye - the one that gave me a true savings account for the first time in my life, and helped me become a respectable, indebted citizen with a niceish car and a nicer condo (currently emerging from its giant condom).

But more on that (and my new job) later. In other news, I seem to have become a mass of nervous tics as the book launch approaches. My legs twitch, my arms twitch, my face twitches. Alcohol consumption has increased. By the time you see me on the podium at Elliott Bay Books I'll have no motor control left but will be so drunk I don't realize it anymore.

Meanwhile, very soon, there is going to be an opportunity to win free books. I know you can barely contain yourself at the thought of this but please, try. I am out of control enough for all of us right now.
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( 4:36 PM ) Rebecca
Sigh. There is something about a combination of sleep deprivation, gray weather, and utter boredom that just f*cks with me.

Don't get me wrong. I heart gray weather. Sleep deprivation has its time and place too, especially if it's for a good cause. Boredom, however, is one of my worst enemies. Boredom is even a character in my book - a poorly dressed and pimply one, I might add - who is usually accompanied by his jabbering sidekick Anxiety - and together they wreak all kinds of havoc for my poor protagonist.

These two, combination with aforementioned factors, can seriously kick my a*s.

Never mind that I've been complimented at least twice on my outfit today. There I was, wandering around the Geeksoft grounds in my bored anxious gray haze, when some random Geeksofter startled me by saying "Smokin' outfit!"

I was like huh, who me? I mean, I'm wearing the same damn outfit I was yesterday (deduce what you will from that) and I felt a little more smokin' then but for just one brief moment I felt smokin' today too. Then the smoke drifted away.

So besides complaining, what else can I tell you? I'm making progress on that ~~stupid~~ article. If writing yet another draft with a whole new spin that still sucks is progress. I've gained back nearly all the five pounds I lost in Patagonia. OH. Did I mention I wish I were still on vaction when I never got bored or anxious?

Ha ha ha ha. Isn't it funny how vacation always become so idyllic in retrospect? There WERE a few times I was bored on vacation and there were PLENTY of times I was anxious (oh let's see, I worried about having a heart attack while out in the middle of nowhere; I feared blowing off a cliff in the wind; I was certain the plane would crash, etc. etc.), and there many of times I desperately missed people at home. But once you get back it's like oh, my vacation was SO perfect I was SO relaxed I didn't worry about a THING! What a lie. But hey, it was still good. And it would be completely honest to say I didn't worry about as MUCH stuff.

I mean, how could you worry about all the petty crap you usually worry about when you're just hanging out in the mountains, sucking in fresh air, and looking at views like this?

In other news, oh, my first novel is coming out in a month or so. I am so ~~excited~~ terrified. (Can you tell I just learned how to do the strikeout command?). I will be doing bookstore events in Seattle, Portland, and the Bay Area, and will be making the schedule available shortly. So if you live in any of those cities, *lucky you!* I'm contemplating a little east coat jaunt too, but that's speculative at this point.

OK. You've heard far too much from me already. Momentarily, I will stop complaining and do something productive. Yeah, any second now.
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( 9:24 AM ) Rebecca
OK I am totally blocked on this article I want to write.

Blocked is perhaps the wrong word. I've written several drafts of it and they all suck. Not only that, I *outlined* it according to the tried-and-true outline format that got me through Breakup Babe the Novel and it didn't work!

I mean, why is it that now that I'm a soon-to-be-rich-and-famous novelist that I can't even write a f*cking 2000-word article? You'd think the words would simply flow from my pen. That, with the new reservoirs of self-confidence that come from getting a novel published by the world's mightiest publishing house (oh Jesus, stop bragging, would you?) that I could generate a few paragraphs of crystalline prose about a subject near and dear to my heart but NO. YOU WOULD BE WRONG.

I'm trying to write about how I got addicted to blogging about my love life (no thanks to YOU PEOPLE) and then got over it. To write such an article, I need to show the psychological and emotional journey I've been on since I started this damn blog, including my infatuation with being a blogebrity, to the first pricks of my conscience, to the deleterious effect my blog had on my relationships once I wasn't anonymous anymore to the EPHIPHANY that finally made me stop (whatever that was).

Yeah. You'd think I could write this baby in my sleep. Maybe the problem is I'm still an addict. Any time I make any oblique reference to my dating life, everyone flies into a frenzy begging for the details and I go through two days of the DTs. Maybe I'm not far enough away from this subject to analyze it clinically.

Motherf*cker.

But I'm going to write it. I swear I am. Even if I did procrastinate all morning by writing on the blog. Because if there is one thing I have learned in the last couple years is that it takes ten million drafts to get something right and the only way to finish something is to persevere long past the point you think you should be perservering. Yeah, great f*cking career.

In other news, my very talented friend M. has made this luridly hilarious short movie that you should watch. He owes all his future show biz success to me for complicated reasons that I won't go into having to do with our high school production of the Music Man, during which I made a star turn in the small but pivotal role of Amaryllis. (He played a lowly townsperson but has come a long way in his career since then).

Oh yes, and before I sign off, let me tell you that there are big opportunities coming your way in the very near future to win a copy of my book! Seeing as I'm obviously never going to produce another word of publishable prose again, this book might will probably become a valuable collector's item! But just try to contain your excitement and I will have more information soon.

xo
BB
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( 9:51 AM ) Rebecca

So I have returned alive from the land of majestic mountains, grand glaciers, and stupendous steaks.

Yes, I, BB, ate more steak in a month than I have in the last five years, but when you are in Argentina, what are you going to do? Eat tofu? I think not.

I am tanner, thinner , and far more relaxed than when I left, although the relaxation is quickly slipping away. I hardly worried about a thing while I was there, except whether I was going to get swept off a cliff ledges by the famed Patagonian wind (I didn't), or whether I would have to sleep in a wet tent night after night when it seemed the rain would never end (it did).

Occasionally I despaired of ever eating anything besides Mountain House (TM) dehydrated dinners or wearing anything besides smelly polypro and hiking boots. At times, even I, Breakup Babe - was forced to wear hiking boots and fleece out to several restaurants, while my hair had not seen a blow dryer in weeks! But the great thing was, I didn't care. Much anyway. Or if I did, I just drank more Malbec and forgot about it.

I wasn't striving for anything. Wasn't trying to get stuff done or impress anyone or make plans. I was simply putting one foot in front of the other while looking around at some of the most stunning mountain scenery on the planet. After being cooped up for so many months in a shrink-wrapped condo and a windowless office, I on being outdoors every single day, even if it was raining, windy, or snowing - which it usually was.

I remembered too, how much I love the very act of traveling. Getting on a bus in some faraway country to head to a town I've never seen, as a new world rolls by outside the window. In Patagonia, the scenery between mountain ranges was endless brown rolling hills, punctuated with the occasional guanaco or condor. A vast, empty place, good for dreaming. Then the mountains would start to make themselves known again - granite spires crowding each other against the sky or glaciers that cracked and heaved in plain sight. If it was raining, the mountains kept themselves hidden, and you could only sense them there around you. Giant, hulking things that became glorious in sunlight.

I did think about the "big picture" while I was gone - or some of it, anyway. I thought a lot about the people I love and was happy when I thought about them. I thought about people I didn't love so much anymore, or people who have made me unhappy, but those thoughts just floated away. I thought about some of the big changes I want to make in my life and some of the little ones too. But mostly I just lived.

Now that back, of course, all the minutiae of daily life has started to press back upon me again.

But hey, I still have my jet lag to remind me of what was.
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( 2:45 PM ) Rebecca

Breakup Babe Is On Vacation from February 25 to March 27

So!

I’m departing for Patagonia tomorrow. I am due to arrive at my destination, El Calafate, Argentina, sometime Sunday evening in a Xanax-drenched, sleep-deprived haze.

The last couple weeks have been a frenzy of packing shopping running errands freaking out getting drunk calming down working freaking out again.

Should I arrive safely, which is always a dubious proposition, I will embark on a ten-day trek and then some possible mountaineering adventures, if my innate wussiness does not overcome me.

Though I crave such adventures and seem to need them on a semi-regular basis, leaving is always so painful. I resist. I hold on. I have to be torn away, my fingernails leaving marks as I’m lifted off the ground away from everyone I love and the places I know, and my routines – which however boring they’ve gotten, are at least comforting.

But I know if I don’t go, I’ll droop and wilt. I’m already doing it. It’s been too long since I’ve pushed myself into unknown territory.

So here I go.

I may post from there; I may not.

Should I perish, my book will at least be published so you have that to look forward to. Perhaps Li’l Sis would be willing to sign autographs in my place.

For now, farewell.
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( 6:15 PM ) Rebecca
So I go around thinking I'm, like, the hottest thing at Geeksoft today because I'm wearing my tight low-rider "makeout" cords and then happen to notice - late in the day - that not only is a good inch of my underwear showing above the pants, but that aforementioned underwear are on inside out and the tag is sticking up!

So. Sexy.

Yeah, that's me. So, by chance, I have a date tonight but as a recovering dating blogger I can no longer provide details. Hell I shouldn't even be telling you that much. Because once I provide one detail...well, we know where THAT leads. To me pouring out my HEART and SOUL and telling you EVERYTHING and then getting lots of LOVE from all my readers and a BOOK DEAL, and -

Oh, wait, never mind.

ANYWAY.

That is all the non-news that is fit to print for now.

Yours from fashion faux-pas land,
BB
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( 5:48 PM ) Rebecca
So I guess I'm just not having it in me to do this dating advice column. At least not right now. Or at least not until someone pays me a bunch of money for it! It was a nice experiment and I'm flattered that y'all thought I had enough wisdom to give you advice, but the bottom line is I just don't got the oomph for it.

And now, since since I'm not writing about your love life or mine, that begs the question what shall become of ye olde BB?

Well for now she's hanging on. A mere shadow of her former self, I know. Oh, those were fun days when I dished to my hearts content without a care for who I might be hurting - which, in the end, was mostly myself. In fact, I'm in the middle of writing an article that I hope you will read in the not-to-distant future in an illustrious publication (or at least a paying one) about how I got addicted to writing about my love life and stayed that way until I realized how dangerous it was.

Like a true addict, I can't even do it just a little bit. I envy those who can.

Anyway, pretty soon I'll be rolling out my offical author web site - yee haw. I'll have a blog there too. Meanwhile, I'm putting in my time for the Man, waiting until 1)the book becomes a bestseller or 2)I find a rich husband or 3)my band hits it big.

More soon,
xo,
BB
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( 10:02 AM ) Rebecca
Dear Breakup Babe I'm a man in my mid-20s, and I'm finally figuring out who I am. I've been on lots of dates, but haven't found any sparks, I'm alright with that. When the time is right things will work out. In the interim, I was wondering if you could publish a list of things that men should or shouldn't do to maximize the fun (not necessarily the likelihood of getting laid) on a date.
Sweet Chuck

Dear Sweet Chuck,
I’m so glad you asked! I’m sure plenty of readers will want to weigh in on this one. (Oh, and we girls appreciate the parenthetical insertion of "not necessarily the likelihood of getting laid" – although hey, I’d be happy to answer that one too). If you want to "maximize the fun" - it all comes down to one thing, and that's planning.

Of course, no no amount of date-planning on anyone’s part can substitute for actual sparkiness. If your dynamic is sparky, you're going to have fun no matter what. If not, even the sexiest date is doomed to fail. But all this doesn’t mean that a guy can’t do a few things to spark things up and score a few points (and who knows what else) by planning a kickass date.

It was our friend Virginia Belle who advised men (in her post of January 20) to be the “Man with the Plan.” A girl likes it when a guy puts thought into a date and presents an idea:“What do you think if we go to X restaurant, then walk over to Y club to see Breakup Babe’s band play? ~~That Breakup Babe is so hot!~~” We (OK I) like it occasionally when I don’t even need to contribute to the plan, or better yet, when it’s a surprise. Make a reservation somewhere and don’t tell me where it is. Exciting! Take me on a trip somewhere and don’t tell me where it is! (All right, maybe that's a bit advanced but you get the picture).

Also, a guypal of mine who is oh-so-successful with the ladies makes this contribution about how to plan a date: "A guy needs to think of dates where there can be interaction between him and his date - so noisy bars or movies aren't good cause you can't talk, flirt, etc. So something that has a physical element to it is good, even if it's just walking from painting to painting at a museum or bowling, dancing, or pool."

This is not to say a girl can't plan dates too. She can - and should! But if you really want to make a first impression, plan a thoughtful first date and you're well on your way to happy-ever-after or at least happy-for-a-month-or-two until someone turns out to be 1)psycho 2)still sleeping with their ex-girlfriend /boyfriend 3)otherwise emotionally unavailable, etc.

A few other first-date quick tips
Do try to kiss me on the first date if you like me; Do pay on our first time out (unless I asked you out in which case I'm happy to foot the bill!) Do tell me you want to see me again (if you do). Do call or e-mail me the next day and don't listen to whatever stupid "rule" it is that guys have about waiting three days or a week. Self-confidence is much sexier than playing it "cool."

My outspoken readers no doubt have something to say about this so I'll pass the torch to them. Good luck Sweet Chuck!

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( 5:48 PM ) Rebecca
Well the latest news bulletin is that publication of my book got pushed back a month. It will now be available May 30 instead of April 25. But don't despair! This just means you'll have something to read on the beach, 'cause let's face it, "Breakup Babe" is going to be the beach read of 2006!

And damn it, I'm proud of that. Which is not to say my little oeuvre is complete fluff. No, it is not. It is just smart enough that you might not want to imbibe too many margaritas while reading it but not so heavy that anyone is going to be writing a PhD thesis on it anytime soon. (Although you never know about that kind of thing. I wrote many a paper in grad school on more unlikely things; the preponderance of evil twins in soap operas, for example, or the sociological implications of vibrating dildos).

Meanwhile, the broken-hearted letters are pouring in. Most of them follow the lines of: Love HURTS how can I make in not HURT and the answer, of course, is you CAN'T so SUCK IT UP SISTER/BROTHER, but of course I'll try to answer more articulately - and kindly - than that.

xo
BB
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( 5:29 PM ) Rebecca
OK I've finally admitted this to myself and it's time to admit it to you:

There is going to be no dating advice column this week.

I'm sorry! I know I've let you down! My God, I've let myself down. But you know, vacation yadda yadda, work yadda yadda, book yadda yadda, all kinds of other stuff yadda yadda. But next week we'll be back on track! I promise!

In other news, I purchase my tickets for the big "P" today. Yes, I am officially South America bound on February 25.

Whoohoo!

In other other news, ~~I've been hanging out with this really sweet, sexy, smart guy lately.~~

Oh crap, that just slipped out. Ignore it, please.

More soon,
xo
BB
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( 10:31 AM ) Rebecca
Apologies for this week's late column. I neglected to mention I would be on vacation until yesterday! Now I am dealing with some book-related madness, but you'll get your dating advice by Thursday!

xo
BB
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( 5:21 PM ) Rebecca

My life is going strangely well at the moment. Undoubtedly things will all come crashing down (literally) when I fly to f*cking Patagonia next month, which requires about 20 billion hours in the air and small South American aircraft. I will have to pack so much Xanax I won't have room for anything else.

Sometimes I ask myself why I must choose such a difficult vacation? Why, with my fear of flying, must I choose to fly to the southern tip of the world? Why, when I could go sit my a*s on a beach somewhere, must I choose the most logistically daunting option of traveling a world away to some unknown mountains where (although it’s summer), I will undoubtedly get caught in snow and fierce wind and probably fall off a glacier? Ah yes, can you feel the relaxation?

But I figure this is one of the most spectacular places in the world and
I better get down there before I become 1) enfeebled, 2)boring and married, or 3)too timid to fling myself to the southern reaches of the world.

Ye olde mighty Geeksoft gave me a month off and for that I am eternally grateful. I hope to “recharge the batteries” as they like to say in the travel biz! Especially because soon after I return, I will become a published author and well – all the fans and the paparazzi are gonna want a piece of me. I’ll have no rest whatsoever.

Ha ha ha.
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( 9:55 AM ) Rebecca
In this week's advice column, BB pretends to know a thing or two about heartbreak.

Dear Breakup Babe,
I started seeing a guy who was a trusted friend for years about a year and a half after my husband died. Bad timing -- he was in the midst of divorce and of course I was still not over my husband's death.

Anyway, we moved along pretty fast and then his almost-ex accused him of being "as bad as" her and we shut down until after the divorce because he felt so guilty. Now, post-divorce and 3 months later he still feels we were wrong to be together sexually during that time and wants to be casual friends, not dating or seeing each other, and has taken someone else out to dinner a couple of times. He thinks we can't go out without progressing to the sex.

I can't find the words for this pain. What now?
Lost

Dear Lost,
Pain sucks. Not only are you dealing with the pain of being rejected by this confused dude, you are still dealing with grief from your husband’s death. The problem with grief is that it hurts so bad we sometimes do stupid things make it go away, like date alkies and druggies and divorcees and lunatics, which in the end, of course, only makes the pain worse.

So, how to deal with the pain in a healthy manner? I have a question for you: (Tom Cruise will smite me down for this, but f*ck him.) Have you thought of antidepressants? They completely RULE. Now mind you, they don’t make the pain go away – they just turn it from a pounding jackhammer into a distant drone so that so you can get on with the business of making yourself even *better* and *hotter* and *more successful* than ever before! (Sheesh. I should get Celexa to be a corporate sponsor for Breakup Babe’s international book tour!) Of course, antidepressants go hand-in-hand with therapy – which I also highly recommend.

In any case, it also helps to remind yourself that pain is not forever. We, as adults, know that. Even if we forget it sometimes, because we are in such excruciating pain that we feel we can’t bear it, we know that we can bear it and we will bear it, and it will get better – with time. But there is no way around it – pain just has to be gotten through. For the worst moments, when time slows to a stop, and all you can do is think about how bad you hurt, try thinking to yourself: “This is one more second of pain I won’t have to live through later.” “This is one more minute of pain I won’t have to live through later.” Sooner rather than later, time won't weigh on you so brutally - but when it does, this technique is *BB-proven-and-tested!

Meanwhile, also know that grief can be one of life’s greatest catalysts, which is something I learned not so long ago. Right now, of course, you are down in the dumps and not expected to be out there conquering the world. But when the pain becomes more manageable, through drugs or therapy or time, or whatever - it can also become a powerful force for change. Hell, if I hadn’t gotten my damn heart smashed to bits three and a half years ago, I wouldn’t be the almost-rich-and-famous-novelist I am today! Instead I’d be probably be unhappily married and f*cking the gardener (hmm, that part might not be so bad) and wondering when in the world I was ever going to write my novel but feeling too frightened by the disaster of my impending and inevitable divorce to do anything about it.

So, Lost, right now, the answer for you is learning to manage the pain. Soon enough you’ll find out what it can do for you and what doors it will open. One day again you’ll be on top of the world. Oh, it won’t last of course, but nothing does. But that goes for pain too.

Good luck,
BB
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( 6:49 PM ) Rebecca
Darlings,
This week's dating advice column will be ONE DAY LATE due to the, um, holiday. Yeah, that's it - the holiday. Tune in tomorrow for more of my brilliant insights into YOUR dating problems!

Love,
BB
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( 8:03 PM ) Rebecca
Hello little Breakup Babies. Here are some news items for you:

*The cover of my book is now displayed on Amazon! Doesn't it make you want to preorder that book NOW! I mean, c'mon, there's bound to be a Harry Potter-like mad rush come publication date and you wouldn't want to end up empty-handed would you? What will you read when you go to the beach next summer if not Breakup Babe the novel?!!

*I am not blogging about my love life ever again. Yes I have been saying I'm going to stop for ages, and then not actually doing it. Sure I don't dish as much as I once did but I still manage to get in plenty of references to ye olde love life. I know I'm already disappointing some of you, and I'm sure I will probably disappoint you even more to know that I'm ACTUALLY going to stop this time.

*See here, the problem is, that I, Breakup Babe, am still looking for love. And while I do dearly enjoy writing about it all - as I have done ever since I was thirteen years old and blathered on in my first journal about how cute Mike Robinson looked in his white carpenter pants (not much has changed, obviously)- the time has come for me to get over this addiction.

*Because it is had a negative effect on pretty much every relationship I've been involved in post-blog, and especially post-losing-my-anonymity. (Not that losing my anonymity is a bad thing. I once thought it was loads of fun to write about people without them knowing about it. I still think its loads of fun but I no longer think it's right.)

*And it's hard enough to find a relationship without a big strike against you already. Sure, any guy I date is gonna have to deal with the fact that I wrote a very dishy book that decapitates a few exes (in a nice way, of course). And whatever guy I end up with will be able to handle that, of course. But we don't need the extra liability of a kiss-and-tell blog to weigh down our relationship from the start.

*So what am I gonna write about, you ask?

*That is a good question. There are sooo many things to write about in this world, as my dear friend GalPal #1 has often pointed out to me. And just because I happen to totally kick ass at writing about relationships doesn't mean I can't write about other stuff.

*So we'll just have to see, won't we? I'll keep the dating advice column 'cause it's fun and besides that - well, who knows. Meanwhile, there are plenty of people who will still dish about their love life. God knows I sure love to read that crap. Here's one of my favorites.

*But don't you fear, I'll still be around, dishing about...um...stuff.

*Love always, Breakup Babe

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( 7:47 PM ) Rebecca
In this week's dating advice column, we explore the cold, hard world of closure and how you go about getting it.

Dear Breakup Babe,
I need advice. I have been dating someone for 2 months and I fell in love, way too fast. The only reason why is because I slept with him way too soon. I wouldn't care that much if I hadn't.

Anyway, I know I need to end it because this guy is no good for me. We are intimate, and then he disappears for days. I know I need to walk away, but at the same time I feel I need closure. So what is best, to talk it out and get closure? Or just disappear and not return any of his phone calls?

Unfortunately he lives and works nearby so I know I will run into him. Argh. I hate feeling so "unresolved".

Fell In Love Too Fast (FILTF)

Dear FILTF,
Oh my darling, we have all been there. I know very well well both the pain you are feeling, as well as the desire for “closure.”

However, much as you want things to be “resolved,” I think you need to resolve them within yourself rather than trying to involve him in this process. I know that when I’ve craved “closure” in the past, it’s really been a secret desire for me to see (insert name of unavailable guy) one last time and give him a final chance to say “But wait – never mind all the evidence to the contrary – I really DO want you! (Beg, beg, grovel, grovel, self-esteem all restored, birds singing, sun shining, O glorious future!).

You already “know” that you need to end it. So I say end it. NOW. It doesn’t mean you have to disappear in the cruel way he does. It means you could write him a letter and tell him why it’s over. It means you could answer the phone next time he calls you and tell him why it’s over. It means next time you could run into him, you could politely tell him get the f*ck out of your life (preferably while looking extremely hot).

The important thing is not the letter-writing or the phone call, though – it’s that you believe it yourself, right now. Just end it: in your heart and in your head. Do something symbolic – like delete that voicemail message of his you’ve been saving on your phone for months or the sweet e-mails he wrote you when he was feeling h*rny.

This is a unilateral decision and the sooner you make it, the sooner you will find a guy who is better for you. Oh sure he has the right to appeal when you hand down your verdict. In fact, it’s likely he will try to woo you back in some fashion, because after all, he’s gotten a good deal up until now.

But don’t take him back unless he swears up and down that he wants a serious relationship (because that’s what you want, right?), and even then you probably shouldn’t take him back. Unless he begs really hard.

I can hardly believe I'm saying this (me!) but there are lots of wonderful boys out there who will seek out intimacy rather than flee from it. They may be hard to find, but you will find one eventually. First, though you need to back yourself out of this dead end at full speed.

Good luck!
BB
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( 11:52 AM ) Rebecca
In this week's dating advice column, Cindy navigates the eternally troubled waters of staying friends after a breakup.

Dear Breakup Babe,
Hey there!I've always enjoyed reading your highly entertaining posts :) [Good job kissing up, Cindy!]

So a lot has happened to me this year. I broke up with someone in February of this year, and I went through a rebound phase where I dated sleazy pond scum boy, and went to study abroad in Barcelona where I met the nicest boyfriend ever on the trip. Unfortunately, NBE and I started dating after the trip, and we only dated a semester because he had to graduate from school, to work at his father's company in Florida (I live in Georgia which is just inconveniently far away for us to almost never see one another again).

The problem is, this was a circumstantial separation, so, if he didn't have to leave, we'd still be together. After his graduation, we took a 6 day road trip to Texas and broke it off when we drove back to Georgia and he had to drive home to Florida. Before we broke up, he made me promise to stay his best friend forever.

This is our first week separated. He calls me without fail every night, sometimes two or three times, and we talk long into the night. My friends tell me that he's still hung up over me, because no guy calls every night unless he still thinks he has a chance (which he doesn't).

He still says things like "I miss you terribly" and ends conversations with "love you". I've already emotionally disengaged myself for the most part, I think, I'm ready to be back on the market for next semester, and I think I'm just keeping my 'best friend' promise by continuing to talk to him every night. Is this the right and proper thing to do? Because I certainly didn't talk to my ex bf's on a daily basis after I broke up with them.
Sincerely,
Ambivalent Cindy

Dear Cindy,
I would agree with your assessment that NBE is still “hung up” on you. But I would disagree, on the other hand, with your statement that you are “emotionally disengaged.” Girls who are emotionally disengaged do not talk “long into the night” every night – even with their best friends forever! (Heck, I get 10 minutes every other day tops with GalPal #1 and GalPal #2 won't even talk to me on the phone!).

So either you are still hung up on him, or you are enjoying the power you have over him. It all amounts to the same thing: neither of you have “disengaged.”

But what are ya gonna do? When you break up, you grieve, and the first step in grieving is denial. Lots of people never make it through that stage of the grieving process, which is why they get back together (and then break up again). So, to answer your question as to what is the the “right and proper” thing to do here: if what you really want to do is move on, than yes, you need to wean yourself from these long, drawn-out conversations that end in declarations of love.

The bottom line is it’s nearly impossible to transition immediately from a romantic relationship into a close friendship. If a friendship is truly going to rise from the ashes of a relationship, you need to step back and let the embers of romance die out. Otherwise, one person is going to suddenly pull back from this pseudo-relationship when they meet someone else, and the other person is going to get burned.

OK, that was not the world’s most original metaphor. My brain has been dulled by too much fattening food and alcohol. But you get the picture, right Cindy? Talk to NBE about why you think these conversations are counterproductive. The more proactive you are now, the better chance you have of saving your friendship later. Easier said than done, but what isn't?

Good luck,
BB
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( 9:18 AM ) Rebecca
So, Peter asks, what would Trixie do about a guy she has no chemistry with?

Trixie would dump his sorry a*s in a heartbeat, of course, because she is all about excitement and chemistry!

Clearly I have the same issue or I would be long married and saddled with 2.5 screaming kids by now. Only, unlike Trixie, I'm all ambivalent about it and stuff. I want the excitement of a gazillion flings and endless possiblity yet I want the security of knowing someone is there for me, and will change my diapers when I get too old to change them myself.

Which desire is controlling me? HMM. I WONDER. Well, I have a little while to get my act together because according to our insightful friend Mr. Helpful, Breakup Babe has "at least ten good years left before she finally sinks into a desperate swamp of unrealized dreams and poisonous desire. "

MEANWHILE. A miracle has occurred at BB World Headquarters. I have a date for New Year's Eve! Never mind who, exactly, because we all know I don't talk about that kind of thing anymore. Let's just say he's got brains and beauty and serious stud appeal all wrapped into one 6'2" package. And he's a nice guy on top of that. Now. Moving on...

SAD NEWS. OK I know some of you have been wondering: whatever happened to Dangerously Delightful Boy? I haven't spoken of this up until now because...well, it's been difficult.

But the fact is, he recently drowned in a mysterious accident in Lake Washington. The cause of his drowning is not really known but officials suspect that DDB, who was out for a bracing morning swim, suddenly sunk due to the weight of all his emotional baggage.

Said Detective John Arnold, of the Seattle Police Department, "DDB really was trying to move on with his life and get to a better place. Unfortunately, he was stuck in a Groundhog Day sort of situation and even the abundant charms of BB weren't enough to lure him out of it. Too bad too, 'cause she really liked that guy despite his multiple red flags." Well, he's out of it now and we hope he's gone to a better place. RIP DDB.

That's all the news that's fit to print for now. Happy New Year's my little darlings.

xo
BB
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( 8:59 AM ) Rebecca
He's a Nice Guy, But...

In today's weekly dating advice column, "Wondering" wonders how long to wait to see if chemistry kicks in.

Hi there - I am one of your long term fans - 29 years old, female. So I finally broke down and tried online dating for the first time. On the site I met this guy who is really great and very compatible with me in many ways. He is smart, successful, very kind, generous, multi-dimensional, well-traveled, and has a good sense of humor! And he really wants to get married and have kids!!!

Problem is, I am not sure I am attracted enough to him. When I first saw him my immediate gut reaction was that, while he was fine, I was not attracted to him, but then he was such a nice and interesting guy that I kept on dating him thinking maybe those feelings would evolve.

I have been out with him about 5 times now. We have kissed which was fine, but not "magical" for me in any way. He is not an unattractive guy, and I suspect that his body may actually be rather nice, but I don't know -- I just don't find myself looking at him and thinking "Oh he is so cute".. I feel really badly abut it and I am disappointed because he is so great; if only I could just get into the physical side of things!!

I mean, the man has already invited me to travel with him to schmooze with Nelson Mandela in Africa and skiing in Colorado, etc. (for real - I am not kidding). How long can I keep trying before I know for sure that I am just never going to 'feel it'? He is a good guy and I want to be fair to him...Should I just try hooking up with him and see how it goes? Or will that just make things worse?
-Wondering

Dear Wondering,
This is a tough one. I have polled a few (male) friends of mine to see what their advice would be, and they have said, without hesitation, "Dump him. Chemistry is too important, blah blah." (Men! Always thinking about s*x!)

I agree that chemistry is important. However, chemistry is not always instantaneous. In three out of the four long-term relationships I've had, I was friends with the guy for a good couple months before I really fell for them - and then when I did fall, I fell hard.

But if I had met them under some high-pressure dating situation - oh, let's say ONLINE DATING for example - where you're on a mission to meet THE guy, and you've got candidates waiting in line I would probably have dismissed them and missed out on a lot of great experiences. (Including getting cheated on and lied to but never mind about that 'cause I got a novel out of it!)

So. That said, how do you handle this situation? What I would probably do (and what I have done in similar situations) is to tell him how you feel, and ask him if you could try being friends to see if chemistry develops.

He might just tell you to f*ck off, because after all, men get sick of the "friends" line (who can blame them?), and there are plenty of other babes on the Internet to choose from. To be honest, when I have tried this backing-off tactic myself (not coincidentally, with people I've met online), it hasn't worked out romantically.

The upside of Internet dating is that there is a cornucopia of men out there just waiting to meet you. The downside is most of them are wrong for you.

So I say don't force it with this buy. Be honest with him and see what happens. It could be he splits. It could be that you become the best of friends and you get to schmooze with Nelson Mandela anyway. It could be that he's the love of your life but the relationship needs room to grow. That's what I'm hoping anyway.

Good luck,
BB
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( 9:42 AM ) Rebecca
Due to the holiday, this week's long-awaited dating advice column will be posted TOMORROW (Wednesday) instead of, um, yesterday. Thanks for your patience and meanwhile send me your dating questions at breakupbabe@msn.com. Answering them will give me something to do on New Year's Eve as I have NOT BEEN INVITED TO ANY PARTIES!

xo
BB
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( 12:29 PM ) Rebecca
All right, time to stop pussyfooting around. I gotta get started with a new book. I already have three partially-written books to choose from!

It’s just that once you lose momentum on a project, it’s hard to get it back. Especially when it sucks, as all first drafts inevitably do. So I’ve got two partially written Nanowrimo drafts – this years and last’s – both of which I had to put down because of my little darling novel. Besides those two, there is my unfinished “first book,” but it’s really like Breakup Babe, the Early Years. I’m thinking we don’t really need a prequel to BB.

So, as you can see, I’m full of excuses. But it’s time to just take one of those ideas – or a brand new one – and just bash out a VERY BAD first draft. Because, the truth is, even though I fully expect to become a bestselling author toute de suite, and for Leonardo diCaprio to invite me to live on his own personal island with him to help him get over Gisele - even if I never have to toil in the innards of Geeksoft again – the sad fact is that if I’m not writing, I won’t be happy. Even with Leonardo and all our combined millions.

Now there are things to write other than books, it’s true. I’d also like to become a writer for glossy magazines, jetting off on assignment to Tahiti or the Yukon whenever I feel like it. I’m working on that. But I think I thrive on the sort of sustained creative effort it takes to write a book and I think that by the end of next month, I need to have a VERY BADLY WRITTEN FIRST DRAFT of something. Anything.

I also thrive on love, just like every other damn person on the planet, and – despite some run-of-the-mill “issues” – am actually pretty lovable! Yet love eludes me, time after time. These days I have a new song to sing in the band – a Maria McKee song (recently covered by the Dixie Chicks) – that I get to belt out very melodramatically. It starts out like this and continues in the same self-pitying vein:

There is no good reason I should have to feel so alone
I’m smothered by this emptiness, Lord I wish I was made of stone…

Blah blah blah

Another night surROUNDS me, And it POUNDS me like a wave
God HELP me, am I the only one who’s EVER felt this way!

At which point I fall down on stage and put a knife through my heart. Now I’m no Natalie Maines but she’s all happily married and stuff now. I think I bring a little more feeling to the song, if not quite the same vocal styling.

In still more non-love-news, what do you know but the object of all those slo-mo dreams unexpectedly extends an offer to spend more time with me. Gulp. Though I can still say there is only a 96.8% chance we will never have a lasting relationship, I now rate my chance of throwing myself at him in a fit of love-starved passion as about 39%.

But enough of me and my self-pity. It’s time to check in with Trixie and see what she’s got on deck for this holiday weekend, during which I, Breakup Babe, am ORPHANED and SAD.

BB: Trixie, what’s the latest in love?

Trixie: (Impatiently). What’s love got to do with it? You know I’ve given up on love for a while and am all about s*x.

BB: Really? I wish I could be that way! I mean, I used to sleep around a lot but now I don’t even sleep with someone until I know the relationship is going somewhere, which means, well –

Trixie: Yes, BB, we know what that means. Why don’t you give yourself a little break this holiday season? You know, take a “vacation from implication” and just f*ck some hot guy. (Takes a sip of her Cosmo and looks at BB with clear and sparkling eyes. She looks suspiciously fresh for getting only four hours of sleep last night.). I mean, no wonder you’re so uptight.

BB: Well…like who?

Trixie: Oh, you know, what about that hot stunt pilot you’re about to go on a date with? I mean, the stuff he does is so f*cking dangerous he’ll be dead soon anyway; you don’t really have time to wait around, if you know what I mean.

BB: (Shocked. Then thoughtful.). Hmm. Well – I don’t – I mean -

Trixie: (Drains her drink and stands up. All heads swivel at the sight of her long legs encased in the clingiest corduroy.). Listen chick, I gotta go get a bikini wax. Think about it anyway, OK? You’re looking a little – I dunno – tense.

BB: (Feeling a bit self-conscious in her baggy-at-the-butt jeans, wondering if she too, should get a biking wax.). OK, I’ll think about it. See ya. (Trixie breezes out of the bar without a care in the world, leaving BB behind, even more loaded down with worry than she was before).

But never fear, my darlings, with the help of alcohol, I shall survive this holiday season! May your own holidays be full of presents.

Toodles,
BB
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( 9:12 AM ) Rebecca
Dearest Readers,
In today's weekly advice column, I answer a question from "Jo," who - like so many of us - seeks to solve the mysteries of the male brain.

Dear Breakup Babe,
My question isn't exactly relationship related. It's more quasi-relationship related. There's a boy I like, but I've never met him in person. This is a blog crush. We've chatted for hours and hours and HOURS and we get along really well.

We get along so well, in fact, that when I needed to decide in which city I would take a review course I need, I decided to take it in his city so that we could meet up. Now I really like this guy, and as I'm incapable of being mysterious, he knows that I really like him. And sometimes he seems to like me too, but on several occasions (after I've said something that is particularly charming to him), he has said something along the lines of, "How is it that I'm not crazy about you?"

My response is typically, "Because you're a bleeping moron??", but what I'm wondering, is why does he ask? What does that mean?? Does it mean that he's honestly confused as to why he doesn't have feelings for me? Or does it mean that he does have feelings but doesn't want to admit it? Is he trying to push me away, or bring me in closer? Be a challenge or take himself out of the picture? WHAT WHAT WHAT???!!!???

By the way, the last time he asked me that, I told him to QUIT because it was super annoying. So he won't be asking anymore, but I really do wonder why he ever asked in the first place.
-Jo

Dear Jo,
In this case, you could either do as I would do or do as I say. If it were me flirting with this bleeping moron, I would probably ignore the major red flags he’s waving right in my starry-eyed face, fall in love and end up flat on my ass a few months later when he’s still saying “Why is it that I’m not crazy about you?”

In fact that phrase gives me the shivers because of its eerie familiarity. As to what it “means” exactly, who knows? Is he confused? Undoubtedly. Is he trying to push you away or bring you a closer? Probably both. But in the end, he’s probably a loser who’s either 1)not over his divorce, 2)still f*cking his ex-wife 3)forgotten to take his lithium 4)all of the above. But I digress.

I will give you the advice that a very wise GalPal of mine always gives me when I attempt to “analyze” something a guy says. Her oh-so-sensible advice is: “Take what he says at face value.” In other words, don’t try to read behind the lines. Men usually aren’t thinking anything more complicated then: “Me must have s*x. But me no want commitment! How get sex with no commitment?”

So, if we take Mr. Blog Crush at face value, we deduce that he likes you but is not into you romantically. Perhaps the poor guy is even upset and confused about this given how well you get along. My heart bleeds for him. But even though it’s very confusing to hear him say he’s not into you (after all, he spends hours chatting with you!), you would be wise to take him literally, cut your losses and run - before you head down the Breakup Babe road to ruin!

That doesn’t mean he can’t prove you (or me) wrong. After all, you guys haven’t even met yet! But I advise you to seriously back off on the flirtation with this guy. If he comes back begging for more; if he makes an effort to come see you; then you know that he’s sincerely interested. (Sad but true fact of human nature: people always want what they can't get). Right now he’s just f*cking with you - probably unintentionally - but still: I say wean yourself from this dead-end virtual relationship if you can, and make yourself available to men in your own zip code!

Good luck.
BB

In next week's advice column, stay tuned for a question from Kawaii, who writes, "How long can I keep trying before I know for sure that I am just never going to feel "It." He is a good guy and I want to be fair to him...Should I just try hooking up with him and see how it goes? Or will that just make things worse?"
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( 4:35 PM ) Rebecca
Do you ever have recurring dreams about a person with whom you are 96.8% sure you will never have a relationship?

We're not talking s*x dreams here .No, I'm talking dreams full of romantic longing! Feautring the two of you (tortured artistes both) - wearied and weak from love's ruthless battering- reaching out across the void to comfort each other as melancholy music plays and you embrace on a train hurtling through the dark Hungarian countryside?

Yeah. Well I'm having variations on this damn dream all the time. Then I see this person and have the most stilted conversations known to mankind. After which I go and have some sepia-toned dream about how we're all madly in love again.

LOVE. Does such a thing exist? I think I've known it once or twice but it's been so long I forget what it's like! I keep having dreams about it and in my dreams it feels SO. GOOD. Sigh.

Meanwhile, anyone wanna go trek this baby with me in February? Otherwise I'm gonna pay $2000 to some hot young guide to take me 'cause I like to throw my money around like that. Maybe if I pay a little extra he'll pony up some additional services if you know what I mean.

Before I wrap up, I must extend a word thanks to Sexy Blue-Eyed Boy who is constantly out there on the front lines, trying to find dates for me when I'm home sleeping. He solicits the e-mail addresses of numerous rugged young men and even lies about my age for me. What a pal!

Lastly, don't forget to send your most burning dating questions so I can answer them on Mondays.

xo
BB
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( 9:29 AM ) Rebecca
Well people, I have to say this: it's lonely at the top.

How many times have I heard this in the last year from men? "Oh BB, you're too beautiful/successful/adventurous/ brilliant for me! And while I would love to f*ck your brains out, I'm afraid I cannot commit due to the fact that I am only (35-45) years old and not "ready" for a relationship! "

Sheesh. I tell you, men my in my age group are whacked. Their emotional baggage (not to mention those extra pounds they're packin' on) appears to cause paralysis. Let's check in with Trixie, shall we? Never one to care for such things as "the future" and her "unborn children," I bet she's been having more fun than me!

BB: Trixie - while I have been chasing age-appropriate men around in circles, what have you been up to?

Trixie: (tosses long, blonde locks and takes a sip of her Bloody Mary.) Met a hot twenty-something guy a few weeks ago. Spent last weekend with a brooding, broad-shouldered kayak racer. Oh yeah, and finally asked out that outdoorsy writer guy I've been eyeing at the coffee shop.

BB: Jeez. Twenty-something, eh?

Trixie: Yeah. I highly recommend it. They've got way less baggage than the old dudes. They don't worry about the future and all that sh*t. They just go for it. Plus they're more adventurous and spontaneous and will usually stay up past 9 pm and will do things like dance all night long and fool around with you on swingsets in the fog. (Smiles dreamily into her drink).

BB: (Shocked. Then disapproving.) I dunno, Trixie, one of my pet peeves about guys my age is that they're always looking for younger women! I wouldn't want to be a hypocrite.

Trixie (Bored). Well whatever. I'm not telling you what YOU should do. You asked me what I was up to. Now is this interview over? I think you're late for work and I gotta work on my latest assignment for Glamor Magazine.

BB: Wow, what are you writing for Glamor?

Trixie: Oh it's a piece about the most eligible bachelors at Geeksoft. People can't get enough of that damn company. I don't know why. They're so...1995.

BB: (Morose) How did you get that gig? I want to write an article for Glamor about the most eligible bachelors at Geeksoft! Maybe one of them would marry me!

Trixie (Pityingly) Yeah well. Next time you come up with the idea. (Her glacier-blue eyes rove the place like a predator's, then turn back to me) Later, Babe. Good luck. You need it!

And there you have it. Trixie. Not so nice, is she? But she sure has lots of fun and doesn't mope around like some people we know.

Meanwhile, you've read my writing, you've seen my face. Now all that's left is to meet me in person and hear my voice. Well you can hear me now - on WrimoRadio! At the bottom of the WrimoRadio page, click the "Listen Now" link. When the player appears, you can choose to listen to the whole dang thing, or skip to minute 14:35, where the short interview with yours truly starts. I'm talking - of course - about my soon-to-be-born baby, Breakup Babe the novel!

[Quick note about the comments: if Haloscan appears to "eat" your comment - it's not - even if a blank screen appears after you post it. (Grrr.) I'm now moderating the comments which means I get to read/approve all of them before they get published. This is a "beta" feature of Haloscan - hence the wonkiness. We here at BB World Headquarters appreciate your patience in allowing me to filter out the meanies.]
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( 9:31 AM ) Rebecca
OK all, today is the day you've all been waiting for. You haven't been able to sleep. You haven't been able to eat. Christmas? Eh, who cares! Global warming? Whatever! You have been living only for moment: the inaugural Breakup Babe dating advice column!

Today we have a question from that sassy southern sweetheart, fellow blogger Virginia Belle. Congrats to Virginia for being the first one to get "official" dating advice from moi, which will no doubt send her spiralling down the road to romantic ruin.

Read on.

Dear Breakup Babe,
I can't wait for your book to come out. I bet it will be awesome. Then I will finally get to hear all of the great stories you and others allude to. I am so excited to get dating advice from you! You're a blog celebrity for pete's sake. [Note to readers: kissing up to me will get you everywhere.]

Anyway, here is my dating dilemma: I go out, I see guys, I try to flirt/make eye contact, etc. But I get nothing. I try to be approachable by smiling a lot, not going out w/a large group of girls, being relaxed and friendly. Now, I am kind of shy sometimes, which my guy friends have told me makes me come off as snobby. But I really am open to being approached, I swear!

So, until I started on Match.com, I had not been asked on a date in a year. Yes, a year. But now, I get asked out A LOT. So apparently, virtual Virginia Belle is really appealing, while the real-life version of myself is not. Grrrr..... What am I doing wrong?? (Oh, and please don't tell me to approach guys. I have done this before and it's just not my style--it makes me insecure in the relationship.) Any tips you can provide would be very helpful.
-Virginia Belle

Dear Virginia,
First of all, V.B., though I am allowed to wallow in self-pity on this blog, my readers are not. So let’s focus on the positive here. In your own words you get asked out “A LOT.” So, please, take a moment to breathe in deeply and appreciate this fact. Say it to yourself ten times under your breath. “I get asked out A LOT. I am a goddess! I get asked out A LOT. I am a goddess!”

Now, with a little perspective, we can take a look at your so-called “problem.” But first, let’s talk about me. I can count on one hand the number of times I’ve been approached by men in bars or clubs. Like you, I am oh-so-approachable looking, yet shy(ish). But most men, I happen to know, are just as shy as we are! They are scared of rejection just like us! (If only they KNEW how many of us would give up our phone numbers just like THAT, if they asked!) Which is probably why they’re not swarming all over you in person like they are online: Not because you're not a hottie but probably because you ARE, and because virtual rejection is so much easier to take than real-life rejection.

So here’s how I’ve dealt with this “problem.” I don't expect to meet men when I got out to bars. There are so many other ways to meet them! Through friends, at parties, via my blog, on the high-priced gigolo hotline!

But. If you are really hell-bent on meeting men at nightspots, I will proffer up the following meager words of wisdom:

1)Go with one girlfriend to a bar where you can play pool. Undoubtedly you will be two of only a few women playing and it will give you the chance to interact naturally with males. Be sure to spend lots of time bending over the pool table in your tight jeans. A friend of mine met the man of her husband this way, so I know wherefore I speak.

2)Wear much sluttier clothing than you do now.

On a final note, it is true that my sister met her husband in a bar. HOWEVER. He was way too shy and/or drunk to ask for her phone number after flirting with her, and had it not been for the fact that she hunted him down afterwards - knowing only his first name and the company that he worked at – that my darling niece and newphew are alive today!

So there you have it, Virginia Belle. May the Force be with you. And if not the force than a very tight shirt and a push-up bra.

(Perhaps, if we are very lucky, Kissing Slut – the master of fearless flirtation, and Dating Dummy, former shy guy turned lovable ladies man – will chime in with some advice of their own!)

Next Monday in BB's advice column: Jo writes in about an infuriating blog crush: "Is he trying to push me away, or bring me in closer? Be a challenge or take himself out of the picture? WHAT WHAT WHAT???!!!???"

For now, back to regular programming.

Xo,
BB
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( 4:32 PM ) Rebecca
Today we have a guest blogger, Mr. Helpful, who was generous enough to provide this detailed update as to my whereabouts. (Trixie will check in as soon as she returns from Milan, where she has been partying with the Italian soccer team.)

****

Dateline: Whistler Mountain, Great White North Tuesday, December 6th HNN (Helpful News Network)

Amidst great sighs of relief from the general public, Whistler Mountain skier Breakup Babe was found yesterday, unharmed, after a massive search.

"Hey guys, how's it going?" BB said as she was pulled from a giant snow drift. "Anyone wanna pre-order my book?"

BB was discovered upside down in the snow bank with only the tips of her skis sticking out of the white powder.

"Geesh, we thoot she was a goner fer sure, head down in the snow like that, eh?" said Martin Levesque, a full, red blooded Canadian with French overtones. "But then we saw her wiggle her ski tips in a really cute fashion and we knew she was ok, eh?"

"Ya, and after we got her oot of the snow, she told us to go away and send some really hunky ski gods to save her, eh?" added rescuer Frenchy Le Pew.

"Then she jumped back into the snow drift and began wiggling her ski tips really fast, eh? So we did what she said because, you know, she's American and all of that, eh. We went and got Ben and Hank. They used to be lumberjacks in the Great White North. Now they lift rail cars up by hand for a living. She seemed a lot happier when them two showed up and they dont even know how to ski, eh?"

When asked how she ended up in the snow bank in the first place, BB had one word.

"Paparazzi. I was running from the paparazzi, those bastards. My book isn't even out and they're camping outside my hotel room, bugging me at dinner and chasing me down the sides of great big mountains. I tried to offer them a million dollars Canadian to leave me alone and they threw it back at me, saying that's only like two dollars American so dont make them laugh, eh? So I had to jump into that snow drift in order to escape from them.

Sergeant Pierre Boulanger of the Royal Canadian Mounted Police smiled as he admired BB's cute ski bunny outfit and listened to her tale of woe.

"Yeah, it's a story we hear often up here in the Great White North, eh?,"
he said. "Heck fire, there was one time when famous Canadian actor, Martin Short, actually had to pretend he was a man to escape the photographers. Sure was funny, watching him butch up like that."

Reporters tried to get a final comment from BB but she was too busy being lifted up by Ben and Hank to say anything other than "Get lost, losers, can't you see I'm busy?"

You are now up to date via HNN (Helpful News Network).
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( 2:18 PM ) Rebecca
Hello from Whistler! Can someone get me out of here please?

Oh wait, this is the premier ski destination in North America! Right. OK! Only two hours til I leave!

Oh just kidding. Sort of. I can't complain, seeing as I got to stay at the Four Seasons on Geeksoft's dime, in an executive suite, no less! I got lots of other free stuff, too - a lift ticket, ski rentals, and some pretty kickass free food.

But the bottom line? I am not much of a downhill skier. For one, I do not have the right clothes. Instead of looking like a sleek ski bunny, I look like a red balloon. Two, I do not like crowds. Or corporate resorts. Three, thanks to parents who also didn't like crowds or corporate resorts, I never really learned to 1)downhill ski very well or 2)like it very much. (Though, with some private coaching from a studly ski god, I'm sure I could tear up the slopes. Mmm. Remember the Jewish Ski God? I would have been a damn fine skier by now had that been more than just a hot little fling).

Anyway, I do love mountains and I do love snow and there is plenty of that round here. So I am not complaining. Really!

In other news, I think it would be fun to have a weekly Breakup Babe advice column. We all know I'm the last person anyone would want advice from, yet people ask me for it all the time anyway! So, I say let's try it. Once a week, on Mondays, I'll answer your dating-related questions. Take my advice and you'll be certain never to find a lasting relationship again! E-mail your questions to breakupbabe@msn.com.

OK, fleeing the crowds and the ski bunnies now.
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( 9:47 AM ) Rebecca
Greetings, poor neglected Breakup Babies. Because I have been such a bore lately, stuffing my face with turkey, sulking about the fact that I CAN’T BLOG ABOUT ANYTHING INTERESTING ANYMORE, worrying (though not actually doing anything about) about my next book, talking (though not actually doing anything about) my escape to the southern tip of the world, that, starting soon, I’m going to have a guest blogger in here occasionally to liven things up.

That’s right. My more free-spirited, uninhibited, alter ego, Trixie. Now with a name like Trixie, why would you worry about anything? Especially when you’re young(ish), successful(ish), popular(ish), adventurous, fun-loving, and blonde, blonde, blonde? She doesn’t mope around because she’s not tied down by some pot-bellied, middle-aged, overworked, cheating husband – no! Or that her biological alarm clock has been going off for a good two years now– oh no! She just hits the damn snooze and goes back under the covers with that oh-so-cute 20-something Lothario she met at Aspen! (Or was it Vail?)

But since Trixie is sleeping off a big night, you’re stuck with me today. And I have a few updates for you before I myself disappear to Whistler for the weekend.

*I am now quitting my day job because as of last month, I made – brace yourself, people $23 as a professional musician!

*In other music-related trivia, the great tragedy of my youth was redeemed the other day, when I wrote a fan e-mail to the brilliant Devin Davis, who actually answered me! (The great tragedy of my youth, of course, being the time my sister and I penned heartfelt love letters to Mickey Dolenz (me) and Davey Jones (her), only to have them RETURNED to us by the record label because of course the Monkees had long since middle-aged obscurity by then because no one saw fit to inform us poor, innocent little souls (Mom?!!!) that, in 1975 what we were watching was reruns. Anyway, buy Devin's album because it is pretty and happy and poppy and sad and because it would make the perfect soundtrack to BB the movie (coming to as Cineplex near you in 2007!).

Now, I believe it is time for me to go pack. Alas BB (unlike Trixie) has no cute ski bunny clothes to wear! It’s just as well, I suppose, since my alpine ski skills are spotty and best and if I looked too sleek, I would appear even more ridiculous when I went tumbling down the slopes. So I will remain low-profile in my puffy jacket, plastic pants, and brain bucket, and will simply have to shine in my après-ski attire. That is, if I don’t die falling off a ski lift.

Your truly,
BB
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( 5:11 PM ) Rebecca
All right. I am back from another sojourn to baby, cat, and dog-land. As usual, when visiting my family, I turned into a passive, overfed slug. My light-speed life slows down to such a degree that I become almost completely catatonic, while simultaneously regressing to a state of junior-high-school-esque insecurity. In other words, I am *lots* of fun.

Then, of course, there is the whole flying part of the equation. This, as you know, is extremely treacherous. Especially, when, like today, due to some unspeakable snafu, I was forced to sit in a middle seat! The flight becomes 50% more dangerous when I cannot sit by the window, where I must vigilantly look outside at all times to ensure the flight is not plummeting to the Earth! I thought about informing my seatmate of this so she would trade with me, but she did not look as if she would welcome such a suggestion. In fact, she looked like she might cause a big, fat scene. So I took more Xanax and somehow managed to keep the flight aloft from my middle seat, though I tell you it was MUCH harder.

Meanwhile, that canned airplane air killed any creativity I might have so I will sign off. You might notice the comments are back, though I will now be moderating them. That is, I will only publish you if you're nice to me.

Xo
BB
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( 8:55 AM ) Rebecca
It is always a great way to start the day being awakened by twenty men stomping across scaffolding right outside your windows destroying your walls with the loudest power tools known to man. It is especially delightful when the demolition party starts at 7 a.m. and you've been up until 3 a.m. the night before (and suriving on minimal sleep before that).

Oh, exhaustion doesn't really kick in until my first caffeine high has faded and I'm in my office spellchecking the most boring documents known to mankind. That's when the world becomes the dimmest shade of gray. When my self-confidences morphs into self-pity. When what appeared to be my rising star reveals itself as just a cheap neon sign at an abandoned motel on some stretch of sad and lonely highway. When my metaphors become ridiculous.

Last night was not my finest hour as a musical performer. Oh my friends all smiled and said I sounded great, but I practically fled the stage during the first set due to a panic attack. Me! Who gets up and sings karaoke at the drop of a hat for complete strangers. Who, as a youngster, played Chopin nocturnes, Beethoven bagatelles, and Mozart sonatas to largeish crowds for years with only one major flub-up (which we shall not discuss at this point in time). Who usually loves nothing more than to get up and regale adoring crowds with my wit and wisdom.

I don't think it was stage fright so much as just plain old panic due to 1)sleep deprivation and 2)stuff. I came in late on my first solo, completely effed up my second one, then screeched more than usual in my first song. My nerves calmed for the second set, luckily, or I would have had to resign the band right then and there, which would not be a good thing given that major label contract we just got offered!

Anyway. Moving on. Isn't it great when you see ex-boyfriends who, seemed, when you dated them to be emotionally unavailable and incapable of settling down, only to find out that immediately after you they found the love of their life who tamed their bad boy ways?

Yeah. Well this has never happened to me, but if it HAD, I would surmise this: whatever it takes to be a bad boy tamer, I don't have it. Making a general and very damaging extrapolation from that, which my therapist would never let me make, I will say this: whatever it takes to get someone to fall in love with me, I don't have it anymore.

Oh I have what it takes to get ten million admirers (and they seem to have multiplied this week) but love? I don't even know what it feels like anymore and I wonder if I ever will.

Says sleep deprivation.

xo
BB
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E-mail Breakup Babe

( 1:35 PM ) Rebecca
Darlings,

You may have noticed that my comments are down. I’m not exactly sure why. All I got was an error message saying: “System overloaded with bitterness, pettiness, and catiness. Start paying the price of fame, yo. "

Wow! Who knew Haloscan possessed such functionality! No doubt when and if the comments re-open they will do so with the moderation feature enabled. I tell you – I’m not sure I’m cut out for this celebrity thing. While most of my readers are adoring (thank you!), there is a small but vocal contigency of bored, broken-down people who must not only use me as a punching bag but track my every move and the moves of my various beaux. “BB seen snorting coke in the back room of the Dubliner! Modeling contract with Dior cancelled!” “BB’s BoyToy #1 caught in the act with Paris Hilton – BB turns to Vince Vaughan for comfort!”

Good God, people, have you really nothing better to do? Tweeze your eyebrows? Procreate with your relatives? Besides, Vince and I are just friends. FRIENDS. Got that?

In other news, I have completed the slog through my copyedited novel and am about to send all eight million pages of it back. Can we believe it is done? CAN WE BELIEVE I HAVE FINALLY COMPLETED A NOVEL? Much as I complain about feeling blah, and bleh, and blue, I just have to say that about this I feel good. Real good. I feel light as a feather! This book is off my back! My baby is almost out in the world and I am now free to shackle myself with another!

In still further news, I am (sort-of) busy planning my great Patagonian escape. Of course, for me, “planning” usually entails telling everyone I know, “Hey I’m going to Patagonia!” then not reading my guidebook or making any plans until the very last second, but so it goes. In a few months I will lose myself among the windswept peaks and valleys of Torres del Paines National Park – often referred to in hushed tones by veteran world travelers as the “best” place they have ever been.

I am hoping that a magazine editor for say, Outside Magazine will hear that I am “planning” this trip, call me up, and say “BB – we want you to write a feature on your Patagonian adventure! Kind of a Carrie Bradshaw meets hot South American mountaineering guides – type thing!” But alas, even with my oh-so-minor celeb status, if I want any big-time editor to notice me, I am going to have to start cranking out query letters and coming up with actual ideas and for some reason, I am feeling a bit tapped. Not up to the task of cranking out query after query.

I think, however, that I am up to the task of buying shoes. Which I will proceed to do momentarily.

xo ,
BB
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( 10:06 PM ) Rebecca
Let’s see. It’s Tuesday. I do not have much more to say than that. I wore a dorky outfit today, ate too much cake, had bad hair, got a big needle poked into my arm, and cannot see out my living room window because it is now covered in plastic wrap.

Not only is it covered in plastic wrap, I paid my condo association a whole lot of money for this plastic wrap and not only that, when I bought this place I knew I would have to pay a whole lot of money for plastic wrap that would obscure my view.

But never mind that. Let’s look on the bright side, shall we?

Umm.

Our debut gig went well. I have a novel coming out in a few months. I appear to have no horrible diseases – yet. My home may be shrink wrapped but it has not recently been hit by a hurricane, tsunami, earthquake or terrorist bomb.

I even – gasp! – have an idea for my next novel!

As for the blog, well, I’ll probably just keep it as it is.

But who cares right at the moment. The main thing is I get to go to bed soon and read a book and slough off the semi-lameness of the day in somebody else’s imaginary world.

Yes I know, the GLAMOR!
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( 9:14 AM ) Rebecca
Darlings, I am abuzz with anxiety these days. Buzz, buzz, buzz! Book, buzz, boys, buzz, work, buzz, band buzz, what's next in my life now buzzzzzzz!

It's ridiculous, really. I should go back on the little pink pills or smoke a bowl or start going to Yoga again. I hardly breathe anymore. Or when I do, it's certainly not deep, cleansing breaths. We're talking short, hyperventilating little puffs!

But enough about me. Let's talk about me. I mean - you. We've all noticed how I don't dish about boys anymore because I'VE BECOME CELIBATE. But I do so like writing about boys that I was toying with the idea of making stuff up. Turning this into a sort of fictional blog where I could write about racy dating adventures to my heart's - and your's - content! Since you can't read about my "real" love life anymore, would you like reading about a made-up one? Just checking.

Someone suggested a while back that I turn the site into a dating advice column. I've toyed with that idea too. Not a bad one. I might yet do it at some point. Because clearly I have so much wisdom to share about healthy relationships and how to find one!

The bottom line is, this blog is the best marketing platform I have for my book. So tell me, aside from posting naughty pictures, what is the best way to get and keep new readers? What can I do to get you all whipped up into a buying frenzy?

In other news, the copyedit slog continues. Today's favorite edit from Miss Copyedititrice.

Sentence: "The phrase 'up-and-down' fails to do justice to my emotional state about as much as the word 'hot" does to Benicio del Toro's physical state."

Comment: "Author, Benicio isn't actually hot, he appears hot or or has an aura of hotness."

OK missy! Fine! From now on I'm not going to say "Dangerously Delightful Boy is hot," I'm going to say "DDB has an aura of hotness! Especially when he takes off his shirt. "

In still other news, I have recently reconnected with a delightful high-school friend of mine who is now a glamorous screenwriter in L.A. She is going to adapt BB the novel for the screen and we are both going to become rich and famous. At which point I can buzz with anxiety about a whole bunch of different stuff. Money, buzz. Swiss bank acccount buzz. Botox, buzz. Paparazzi, buzz buzz.

Buzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz.
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( 9:53 AM ) Rebecca
Oh poor me, I have been forced to drop my Nanowrimo novel to address the one-ton pile of paper that is the copyedited version my novel, "Breakup Babe." Oh, but if I could only get up a few hours earlier I might be able to do both but we have already established that nine hours of sleep is crucial to my well-being so sleep-deprivation is not an option!

If I ever thought I had copyediting skills (and I am an editor, remember) this copyeditor puts me to shame. I can see just see her now in her cramped Manhattan apartment, hip little glasses perched on the end of her pointy noise, addressing the less-than-brilliant-but-perfectly-functional-sentence: "My voice sounded high and quavery.": "Author: quavery means tremulous; wavery means to wave." Yeah OK fine. Whatever. Or this bit of overwrought prose. "But of course he died anyway, the bastard, without any parting words for me other than a gurgling death rattle." "Author: death rattles are gurgles." Right. Well I knew that - I was just testing you!

(Heh heh, bet you didn't know there were people dying with gurling death rattles in my book, DID YOU?)

Well it's been fun chatting with you for a few brief moments. But now it is time for me to go slither into my technical editor hole - the deep dark place where a little bit more of my bloom fades every day and there is no one to appreciate my shiny hair except tie-dye-clad developers.

Asta la vista.
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E-mail Breakup Babe

( 9:13 AM ) Rebecca
Well I really should not be writing to you: I should be working on my Nanowrimo novel, but, can I just say – bleh! I’m a failure as a novelist! A one-hit wonder! Or rather, a one-idea wonder.

Let’s all hope my first novel goes bling-bling because it’s all downhill after that. The well will run dry, the pen will run out of ink, (insert other clichéd metaphor here) and I’ll end up a housewife in Bellevue with 3 kids, a minivan, and a serious Xanax addiction.

Oh. Wait a minute. I already have a Xanax addiction. (OK, not really. Just because I carry it with me everywhere I go doesn’t mean I’m addicted!) And a husband sounds awful nice right about now. A hot, sexy, intellectual husband who loves nothing more than to jet off on international adventures together yet doesn't mind supporting me while we’re home so I can keep writing my going-nowhere-novels in style and taking care of the three kids on my lunch break.

Wait – three kids – that’s too many. One kid – yeah, that’s pretty civilized. Easy enough to pack up in the carry-on bag when you jet off to Tahiti or wherever, along with your Valu-Pak of Xanax and your copy of "Breakup Babe" the novel!

In other news, I’ll get back to that Nanowrimo novel any minute now. I just have to say, thank you to Wyn for telling me I’m too cute “to be indoors and being a technical editor.” Hallelujah to that! If anyone has more suitable employment for me, please let me know. Meanwhile, I’ll slowly just wither and die in my windowless office.

I didn’t put my picture up just to get your compliments, by the way, though they are much appreciated! I just thought that now that you know who I am, and can find my damn picture on the Internet anyway, I might as well put up a good photo of me – one that involved a hair stylist, a makeup artist, and an expensive photographer, and the dewy youth that I still possessed back in May.

Plus, did you notice, I finally took down the original blurb that had been there for three and a half years?! The one that described as “broken-hearted?” Ha. Broken-hearted my a*s. I’m hard-hearted now!

Just kidding. My heart is cracked in a few places, that’s for sure. Maybe hardened in a corner here and there. But soft and sweet and ready to love the right person, should he ever come along, which is starting to look more and more dubious as time goes by, but never mind about that.

Back to the crap second novel.
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( 5:00 PM ) Rebecca
There’s nothing like coming back from a trip where you felt like a kickass goddess to knock you down back where you belong.

First of all, there’s the jet lag, which makes you feel about as glamorous as an earthworm. Then there’s the windowless office, that ensures that your world shrinks back down from a sun-splashed, autumn-dappled east coast adventure, complete with skyscrapers, starstruck fans, and one-martini lunches to a backlog of boring, work-related e-mails.

There’s the first draft of your second novel, up to 5,000 words now, which is possibly the most boring, most trite, most clichéd thing ever written.

So one must live in the past. Ah yes, I remember so long ago, on Wednesday night…when I got to have a beer with the Kissing Slut! Now, whether I become a famous writer or I vanish into obscurity, it really doesn’t matter because all it takes is one person telling you how much they love your writing to make your entire writing career worthwhile. I felt like a celebrity, I tell you! Plus, she was a blast to hang out with. If you ever go to Boston, hook up with the Kissing Slut. She will show you a good time for sure.

Oh yeah, and then there was later Wednesday night when I got to go out for drinks with not one, but two cute Bostonian guys all by myself! Plus Wednesday and Thursday, which I spent wandering around Boston in the fall sunshine with my long-lost friend M, discovering things like the amazing Boston Public Library, charming Hanover Street, and chocolate-chip cannolis. Mmm.

Now, well. I’m certainly glad I survived my flights. That is a minor miracle. But it is pouring down rain outside and gray and cold* and I am now about to go park myself in traffic for God knows how many hours-on-end. Now I’m no longer a celebrity, just a girl who is tired and melancholy.

Welcome home!

*Ok, it's true. I actually like this kind of weather. I just put that there 'cause it sounded good.
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( 6:37 PM ) Rebecca
Well, my darlings, my one foray into writing about Dangerously Delicious Boy or Dangerously Delightful Boy or Dangerously Dangerous Boy or whatever his name is– has so traumatized me that I think I shall stay away from it for a while. Like a little seedling that one nurtures indoors before putting it outside, this relationship needs to be protected from the elements for the time being– namely the proclamations and pronouncements of my oh-so-opinionated readers!

So let’s forget I ever mentioned him and move on to the news of the day: moi. I am enroute from New York City to Boston in a glorified bus called the LimoLiner, complete with food, movies, and Internet access. Slow Internet access, but whatever. I have spent the last few hours hard at work on what may or may not be my next novel, but whatever it is, it sure sucks! Nonetheless, it is National Novel Writing Month, which is all about writing a sucky novel in a very short amount of time.

I’ll be doing a podcast for “WrimoRadio" later in the month; stay tuned for the details and you’ll get to hear my perky voice reading inspirational words about how to write a sucky first draft and then sell it to a big-time publisher!

Speaking of books. Now, I know you are hardly going to be able to contain yourself at this news. BUT. You can now pre-order my book on Amazon.com. That’s right! I recommend you do it too, because if you do, I will make out with you. I’m going to go pre-order 10,000 copies right now myself.

Anyway, my meetings in New York went well. (All except the part where I had to take an elevator up 52 floors and found I had some previously undiscovered “issues” about elevators and skyscrapers). Everyone at Ballantine was friendly and enthusiastic and made me feel like a Relatively Important Person. I loved the lobby of the Random House Building, which was a shrine to all the books that have been published there, and lined nearly floor-to-ceiling with glassed-in bookshelves. Pretty soon I'll be one of those authors too, I thought to myself, and that, as you can imagine, was one of the best thoughts I could ever have.

In other news, during my limited time in New York, I also lunched with the delightful and beautiful TeaHouse Blossom, saw a couple college friends, checked out the Frick Collection, tried on a $500 hat in Bergdorf-Goodman (it looked really good on me too!), and totally forgot to eat a real New York bagel – doh!

I have a full day and a half left in Boston now so if you feel like telling me your favorite spots to go (including cool coffee shops to write in), hurry up and tell me already!

Love,
BB
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( 8:53 PM ) Rebecca
So I am in Boston in the bland hotel bar of the Hyatt Regency. To my dismay, they are playing muzak over the sound system and football on the TV and there is nary a hot guy to be seen. What did I expect from the Hyatt? Hmmph. At least I can look out at the Charles River.

Luckily, I am *mostly* too damn tired to care that the rest of the youngish world is out celebrating Halloween, including Dangerously Delightful Boy (as I have at last dubbed him), who is off at a party in Seattle with the five thousand attractive women he apparently works with, including his ex-girlfriend! Whatever. Clearly, I am so secure that it does not bother me one bit.

The real news of the day is I survived my six-hour flight, though we had to circle Logan airport for what seemed like hours before landing because of backed-up traffic or some such thing that I knew was really a THUNDERSTORM or something REALLY DANGEROUS down below.

Apparently it wasn’t, because we landed just fine after about a year and I’m still alive. Luckily the woman in the seat next to me was only about 2 feet tall, which made it easy to slip by her the 10 – and I kid you not – times I went to the bathroom during the flight.

So I’m here for a day to visit friends, then off to New York City, where I have I’ll be lunching up a storm. I get to meet my great editor for the first time, as well as some of the other people at Ballantine who will be involved in the publication of my book. I hope to impress them with my vivacious wit and charm so that they can do a really good job of selling Breakup Babe!

Now well. I guess I’ll go check out the cable in my hotel room, read a book, and go to bed. ‘Cause I’m cool like that.
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( 9:34 AM ) Rebecca
So no doubt SOMEONE has asked this question before, but is it really fair that only married people have to wear rings that signify their status?

For those of us who have not yet bought into the whole have-sex-with-the-same-person-for-the-rest-of-your-life=bliss phenomenon, there are many fine gradations of relationship status and/or emotional availability that remain completely invisible to us until we make fools of ourselves.

Here, forthwith, are a few other helpful accessories thatI suggest.

Married People - Yeah, keep your gold bands and stupid sparkly diamonds, ok? But do us a favor, WEAR your damn ring if you are married, OK? Unless, of course, you are a cute male rock star, in which case please take it off while you are on stage.

Recently Divorced People - A giant chain and padlock around your neck for which the key has been either temporarily misplaced or forever lost.

On the Rebound People - A string of Mardi Gras beads (which they can use to lasso their unsuspecting victims; however, if we are alerted to their status by the Mardi Gras beads, we won't be so unsuspecting, will we?).

Single but Emotionally Unavailable for Whatever Reason (pick one: I'm just not ready for a serious relationship; I have to get my life together before I can date anyone; I really need to focus on work right now ; I only like girls who aren't interested in me; I'm a manic-depressive, alcoholic, pot-smoking, as*hole) - A plastic tarantula ring from a bubble gum dispenser.

Completely 100% Emotionally Available, Just Like Me, No Issues, None Whatsoever: A choker with a bright red flower on it, wide open and in bloom. (In other words, the necklace I wear every day.)

I'm sure there is much that I'm missing here; please feel free to suggest your own status signifiers!

(Oh and I will be gallivanting about Boston and New York from October 29 through November 2, shaking hands and reveling in my status as soon-to-be-published-author girl so if you don't hear from me, that's why.)

XO
BB
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( 9:44 AM ) Rebecca
Oh wait, I forgot to include a few words from one of the most beautiful rock ballads ever written:

"Comes a time when you're driftin'
Comes a time when you settle down
Comes a light feelin's liftin
'Lift that baby right up off the ground"
-Neil Young

I am so drifting right now! I'm drifting and lifting and it's scary and exhilarating and sad all at once. Scary because I don't know where I'm going next. Will anyone buy my book? Will I manage to write a next book? (Is something wrong with me that I haven't started my next book?) Will I actually jet off to Patagonia as planned to lose myself in the windswept peaks and valleys of Torres del Paines?

Exhilarating because I could do almost anything I want. I could jet off to Argentina this very moment if I wanted to. Why, thanks to the payout from the recent Geeksoft class-action lawsuit, I am a gazillionaire! (OK, a gazthousandaire). There's nary a thing tethering me to this earth but a mortage and a job.

But that's just a little sad too, isn't it?

Moving on. While we're on the music theme, it IS true that my band' s first real gig is fast approaching. If you're anywhere near this bar on November 12, come on in and join the par-tay! I will be signing autographs and sleeping with cute groupies after the show.

In preparation for that, my carpool buddy and I sang songs all the way into work today. The Beatles. Neil Young. Hank Williams. The Carpenters. Captain and Tenille. Of course, we could never finish a single song or stay on key, but still - it was the most rockin'est way to start the day ever.
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( 11:33 AM ) Rebecca
Good Lord! I spent all yesterday writing this maudlin piece-of-crap post about my life being in transition, BLAH BLAH, about yellow leaves on a forest floor, BLAH BLAH, about falling in the "rabbithole" of love and how you can never predict what will happen once you fall down it. Wow, how PROFOUND, Breakup Babe!! And that metaphor -- brilliant!

Then Blogger obliterated it when I *finally* tried to post it so I think think the Gods of the Internet are trying to tell me something. Which is, that I should stop trying to write anything, and let some of the great songwriters of our day tell you how I feel instead. So with that, a few choice song lyrics to communicate to you the oh-so-rich and varied tapestry of my overactive INNER LIFE this weekend.

And there's nothing short a' dying
That's half as lonesome as the sound
Of the sleeping city sidewalk
And Sunday morning coming down.
-Johnny Cash

Sundays just f*cking suck sometimes.

Love feels good when it sits right down, puts its feet up on the table and it
Sends a bowl around.
-The Old 97s

Yeah but when was the last time that happened?

You were wrong when you said
Everything's gonna be alright.
-Built to Spill

Hmmph.

With so much drama in the L-B-C
It's kinda hard bein Snoop D-O-double-G
But I, somehow, some way
Keep comin up with funky ass shit like every single day
-The Gourds version of the Snoop Dogg classic.

Yeah bitches.
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( 10:50 AM ) Rebecca

Breakup Babe's Miscellaneous Fashion Notes

It is a great day when your arch-enemy wears very unflattering pants and you look like a s*x goddess.
On the days you look like a s*x goddess, you will not have a hot date.
Since you look like a s*x goddess most of the time, this could pose a problem.
Just kidding.
I received no less than six compliments on my over-the-knee pink-and-red-striped socks yesterday (that I was wearing with a miniskirt).
I would post a picture of my socks for you, but unfortunately, in that photo I am not wearing much else.
No I will not send you that photo.
If you want to see good photos, look at GalPal #2s Web site. She kindly lends me many cute clothes including the famous "make-out" cords.
Actually, they are not famous, I'm just saying that.
It's just that once I wore them to a party before which Sexy-Blue-Eyed Boy predicted I would "definitely make out with someone" because of the pants.
Lo and behold I did. He was cute too.
Maybe I should wear those cords more.
Then again, he was very flaky.
Maybe I shouldn't wear them any more.
Oh, whatever.

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( 9:40 AM ) Rebecca
Boy, what is with me? I keep starting blog entries than not finishing them, meanwhile keeping all you people DESPERATELY AWAITING the next installment of family-friend BB!

So let’s see, what can I tell you that won’t get me in trouble? Not much, that’s for damn sure. I can tell you this: my life is family-friendly at the moment! There ain’t much that’s naughty going on around here unless you count wearing a dress that one needs to be taped into, and falling out of it discreetly a few times due to poor taping job.

Yeah, that’s kind of exciting, isn’t it? Let’s see I’ve been eating healthily and exercising a lot, and sleeping well, and – oh wait, scratch that. I have NOT been sleeping well. I have INSOMNIA lately, which is so unlike me! I usually sleep a solid nine hours a night, which is how I maintain my dewy youth.

Perhaps because I’ve been contemplating some *dramatic* life changes, which I can’t, of course, talk about. (And no, I don’t plan to become a man or a scientologist!) All I can say is I better start sleeping again soon, because I might start to look my age. (Which really isn’t that old? Is it?)

Meanwhile, the dangerous shopping spree appears to have stopped, though I’m no more “fulfilled” than I was before it started – I just ran out of money. Prospects for fulfillment are looking oh-so-marginally better since the (insert acronymn here because I haven't thought of a good one yet) has risen from his deathbed. Yet, due to various circumstances that have nothing to do with actual libidos (at least I don't think they do) we seem to be conducting a Victorian-era romance.

While this is far superior to say, jumping immediately into bed with someone only to realize three weeks later you have not a single word to say to each other (not that I have ever done such a thing, of course!) it is – however – a big tease to a lusty lass such as myself who is – I might add – a tad excitement-deprived right now.

Yes, dear readers, it is true. I am bored. BORED! Though I adore my life here in Seattle, it is time to SHAKE THINGS UP. Soon, of course, I’ll be a bestselling author with loads of groupies but that’s still months away. I gotta make some sh*t happen lest I remain a jaded cynic who just can’t get excited about anything anymore. I realize that being bored is a luxury and that I am supremely lucky for everything I have: health, happiness, book contract with major publishing house, cool condo, great friends, cushy job, good health, comfort, happiness, ease, and even the promise of s*x!

But I have my little plans for getting my joie de vivre back, don’t you worry. I am just not at liberty to discuss them quiet yet. Aren't I MYSTERIOUS?
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( 11:41 AM ) Rebecca
My love life has a been a bit, um, frustrating lately. Promising yet frustrating due to various factors outside my control. My patience is being tried. And remember - I don't have any patience!

But I'm trying to cultivate some. Impatience has caused me to make many a mistake in the past so I'm trying to channel my frustration into productive pursuits.

Like shopping.

In the last couple weeks, I've bought:

-a sexy orange dress (that got a hole in it on first wearing)
-a pair of brown textured tights (that got two runs in it on first wearing)
-a pair of tall, high-heeled brown boots that are really not that comfortable, but hey they were cheap
-a sexy backless, cleavage-baring dress that ate up half entire bonus. OK, only a quarter of it.
-a pair of "Spanxx" (special, girdle-like underwear for no panty lines and extra control) that ate another tenth of my bonus and goes up my b*tt crack
-a sexy pink nightgown (no damage yet but then again I haven't been getting much action)
-two pairs of sexy underwear on sale, one of which also goes up my b*tt crack but at least it was on sale
-a variety of other overpriced hosiery items, including two pairs of knee socks (hard to damage, thank God, but I'll probably lose them soon).

Today I am wearing my new dress with the hole in it and my new tights that have runs in it and that I couldn't seem to put on so that the "textured" part goes in the right direction - i.e. instead of going straight up and down, it is twisted every which way - along with my old scuffed boots because my new ones are really not comfortable enough for a Sunday schlumpfing around town in the rain.

You know, back to the whole s*x thing (and you weren't even aware we were talking about s*x were you ?), it's almost worse to have the promise of it, then to just have none of it whatsoever, you know what I mean?

ANYWAY. According to my horoscope, I'm an unstoppable force this month:

This month you'll have so many admirers, it will be crazy! If you could bottle your brand of charisma now, you'd be a millionaire! .. Single or attached, you'll soon feel adored and pampered.

Yeah, uh-uh. We'll see about that. At least I'm dressed for it, holes and runs and misbehaving underwear aside.
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( 10:18 AM ) Rebecca
Oddly, every damn guy in my novel is turning out to have blonde hair. That's because, in real life, at least until recently, every guy I dated had hair black as the night.

So, in my oh-so-autobiographical-novel, I've had to go through and turn all these dark-haired beauties (and beasts) into something else, lest they come back and sue my a*s. Blonde, blonde, blonde! The book is full of dirty-blondes, bleach blondes, blue eyes, and hazel eyes, when in fact, the men of Breakup Babe were really raven-haired and brown-eyed.

Oh who cares?

In other news, I sent the revised draft off to my editor today! So tell me, WHAT THE HELL DO I DO NOW? There will be one more round of revisions after this, then the copyedit, but my editor will be on vacation for ten days and...well, I've been working on this book every single day for the last two years so I am rather at a loss for how to fill my time here, people.

I suppose I could also actually try to learn how to play the piano before my big gig in November. Or work on the next book. Breakup Babe the sequel, in which BB becomes a nun.

Seriously, how does anyone ever navigate this mid-thirties dating game? How in the world do people end up getting married? It seems, quite literally, impossible - based on my own experiences of the last few years - that two people in their thirties get it together to stay together - but then again the idea that I might one day be a published novelist seemed impossible not so long ago.

One down, one to go.
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( 6:41 PM ) Rebecca

Oh my. I just returned from a visit to my sister's, who has:

two (brand-new) kids
a house in the suburbs
a dog
a cat
a husband
Tivo

So different from my own urban life! A condo awash in city lights but empty of life except for my own and the occasional unsuspecting male that I can lure onto the Red Couch O' Love. Plenty of time on my hands to fill with nothing but me me me. Lots of uninterrupted sleep, cocktails, and nights on the town. And a TV that gets three channels.

Hmm. One is more "exciting," but one has lots more love in it.

Not that I feel jealous. I don't, really. Maybe I'm misguided but I still have hope I'll figure out my way in the world of love and family to end up with the configuration that suits me best.

The surprising thing was, I really liked those babies and I am not a baby person. Throw me in a room with toddlers and I'm happy as a clam. But babies are too small and mushy and bendy and I don't know what to do with them. They also don't know my name and don't clap when they see me like GalPal #2s darling daughter.

But I didn't break either of them and I didn't even mind getting up in the middle of the night to help feed them! Maybe that was because of the Tivo we watched at 2 a.m. or maybe it was because it was nice to take care of someone other than myself for once in my life.

In any case, it put a bunch of new love in my heart, which, I have to say, was getting just a little bit cold from lack of use.

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( 11:45 AM ) Rebecca
Finally! I will have my rock star debut here in November! Now I must decide to wear. It is a very important decision since I must choose a sexy outfit that will distract from my lack of skill! I could take Mister Hand's suggestion in the last round of comments to "get naked" but, even so, I couldn't exactly start out that way or that takes all the guesswork out of it. Audience members need to be kept in suspense. "Will the keyboard player strip or won't she?!"

In other news, me and my little book are trying to end our codependent relationship. We are quite sick of each other yet can't seem to part. After all, we've been together for more than two years now! We still get up and go to the coffee shop every morning together. We eat dinner together at nice restaurants when there's no one else to eat with, laptop in front of me on the table. We are still the best of friends. But the passion is gone.

It's just so hard to let go! It's been my reason for living for the last three years! Writing this book has seen me through myraid breakups and Scary Medical tests; bouts with despair, euphoria, uncertainty, fear. But I'm going to have to let go, sooner rather than later, and tell me - THEN what will I do with my life (besides work, play music, climb mountains, chase boys, and travel around the world?) I have no f*cking clue. Write some more, I know. But WHAT?

In other other news, I've recently engaged in some rather stellar kissing activity after a little dry spell. Oh. My. Gosh. I love kissing. I think it officially rates #2 on my list of all-time favorite activities, with reading being #1, of course. (Not that I would choose a good book over a delicious kiss, it's just that reading has no deleterious effects while kissing usually leads to trouble.)

Perhaps if the corporate drone/bestelling author/famous rock start gigs don't pan out, I can set up my own kissing booth. Or - even better - a kissing and bookselling booth - you buy my book and I'll give you a kiss. Buy more than one and I'll make out with you. Man, what a deal.

As it is, Dating Dummy has already earned one since Empire Corporation appears to be the winner of that little contest we had a couple weeks ago! Hey DD, when ya comin' to Seattle?
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( 10:21 AM ) Rebecca
Hmm, I should not have mentioned that word "happiness."

No sooner did I mention it than I have a mini panic attack about Chapters 25-27 of my book which really do not represent my finest writing. Those were the chapters I wrote during the brutal months of April and May. The months of Writers Block. I got them done but was never happy with them. When I handed them off I thought "I'll fix these in the revision stage!"

Well guess what. It's the revision stage. And I don't feel like fixing them. I think I'll just have a few more panic attacks and maybe a whole lotta cocktails. After all, my editor liked them well enough and she should know, right? Right.

But at least it's cold and rainy and I finally got to break out the black boots and sweaters again - yes! No more pressure to get pedicures or be blissfully happy.

Plus my band might finally have a real-life gig. If I have not said this before, my band is the best thing to happen to me in my whole life. (Oh wait. Except for selling my novel!) Sure, we play in a garage most of the time, but it's me and four boys and I get to totally pretend like I'm a rock star.

And rock stars get even more leeway than writers to be pains-in-the a*ses!
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( 6:28 PM ) Rebecca
One of the reasons I like being a writer is not all the fame, money, and adoring fans it brings me.It's because I have an excuse for a lot of stuff.

Do I indulge in just a little too much red wine sometimes? Yeah well, I'm a writer. Hello.

Does my family consider me self-absorbed? Narcissistic? A pain in the a*s? I hope so. If I wasn't "difficult," I wouldn't be a writer!

Do I ever come across as antisocial? Moody? Depressed? Possessed of a few strange phobias? I'm a writer - cut me some slack!

Meanwhile, in a very unwriterly manner, I seem to be rather lighthearted lately. Almost happy, one might say. But it's such a strange feeling, I hardly recognize it?

Is it possible for a writer to be happy? I'm not so sure about that. Probably just a virus. I'll be over it soon, no doubt.
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( 8:56 AM ) Rebecca
Oh Good Lord. I'm revising the most, um, racy section in my book and it's really embarrassing me! I can barely even read my own words much less my editor's comments.

Do you know how hard it is to write about s*x? (no pun intended!) Everything I write sounds like a cross between a porno and a Harlequin novel. Lucky for us all, there's a lot more flirting and emotional angst in my novel than actual s*x. Just like real life!

Moving on. I've heard people bitching about how it's September now and to that I say, yippee! Bust out the turtlenecks and the champagne because this summer practically killed me, I swear. All through July and most of August, I wanted to hide under a damn rock. Nonetheless, I managed to finish my book and hang in there without the help of the little pink pills despite all that sunshine demanding I be happy happy happy!

Oh I wish I could be one of those people who cavorts around in a carefree manner all summer in a bikini, dancing and drinking and flirting and not obsessing about life's deep, dark nastiness (the one time I DID go dancing, as you might recall, my shirt fell off!) But alas, I'm much too uptight.

After this summer's dip into depression, I do feel older. And wiser. I don't mind feeling wiser but I sure as hell don't like feeling older. But what are you gonna do? Sh*t happens. And I'm now certain that all this emotional trauma has a lot to do with finishing this book, which is one of the greatest - and scariest - things that has ever happened to me.

Now, as summer wanes and my mood improves, I'm getting out there to enjoy every last bit of it. Maybe, just maybe if a person were to ask my how my summer is going right now, my answer might be something other than "F*ck you."
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( 2:12 PM ) Rebecca
So last night I met a delightful boy but we all know I don't talk about my dates anymore so I can't provide any details.

(Sigh).

But of course part of me is trembling in fear, because even though I don't dish about boys anymore, the mere presence of a blog named Breakup Babe could (and has!) sen(d)(t) good prospects running for the hills. I, er, didn't happen to mention the blog last night but Mr. Google will tell him all he needs to know.

So if you see a cute and charming boy running as fast as he can towards Mt. Si - well, you know who it is.
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( 9:02 PM ) Rebecca
Darlings,

For now, we are not going to discuss my FRIEND (friend!) the Man of Steel. I know you've got your panties all in a twist but just calm down OK?

The most important thing is, I survived, thanks to a raging river that was too scary for even the Man of Steel to cross. Or, rather, too scary for this *dog* to cross. If he'd asked me too, I would have forded it, and been swept away to certain death in the process. But lucky for me his dog has been a bit lame of late. Man of Steel worried the dog couldn't handle it. Therefore I did not have to make excuses on my own behaf but instead, agree, sympathetically, "Oh yes, this would be too hard for the dog."

We then hiked an easy trail to a pleasant lake, where we sunbathed and swam in complete Blue Lagoon-like isolation. It was all so much mellower than the original death march he had planned. The dog was rather relieved.

In other news, it could be that I'm emerging from my pre-midlife crisis or it could be that I've merely been distracted from it, but somehow in the last few days I've felt less horrible than I have the previous month. A little bit less like that takeout that time forgot and a little bit more like...me again.

Perhaps its because I'm getting out more. Now that I've finished my book, I can go away for the weekend without fearing that I won't meet my deadline. I can bike and hike and do all those things that make me feel good.

I'm still frightened as hell, don't get me wrong. I'm going through a major life transition in which I'm leaving a part of my life behind. That childhood self that wanted nothing more than to publish a novel. Well, now I've done it. So what's next?

I don't know. I have to finish saying bye-bye to the young, innocent me. And then, God only knows. A change is coming, I feel it in my bones, I just haven't figured it out. Yet.
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( 4:40 PM ) Rebecca
You know things are grim when you look forward to going to your chiropractor because he's cute and touches you and takes items of your clothing off.

Correction: he took my shoes off. But still. It was more items of clothing than anyone has removed in a while. In my waking life, that is. Too bad he's married. I mean, I know he wants me. How can he not? He even said to me today: "Your hair looks longer and darker than it did before."Now tell me, is it really appropriate for a chiropractor be making such comments to his female patients? God, what a flirt.

He's married. Of course. That is because every one is married. EVERY ONE do you hear me? It's those married ones that like me the best too. In my building is a married French man who I've had coffee with a few times (I didn't know he was married when he first asked me!) and who continues to look at me in the most adoring way even though I long since stopped having coffee with him because what was the point? Just because the French think it's all fine and dandy to have mistresses doesn't mean I want to be one!! Just the other day I had lunch with him though, because a girl needs some adoring gazes once in a while, OK?

In other news, I'm off to Bellingham this weekend where I'm going to be dragged into a trailless wilderness for two nights by a man of steel who is used to hiking miles alone with his dog and probably sleeps on a rock and doesn't need to eat or drink coffee to survive. If I never make it back, the married men of the world will mourn, I'm sure.
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( 3:15 PM ) Rebecca
I yet live! I have returned from my biking vacation on the Canadian Gulf Islands, tanner and fitter after battling precipitious hills, massive banana slugs, and the many demons that are trying to take control of me now that I have temporarily sworn off the little pink pills and compulsive dating.

I almost ran off with 60-something yacht owner named "Cap'n Pinky" then came to my senses. We'll save that one for "Breakup Babe: The Nursing Home Years!"

Meanwhile, it's back to working on the revisions of my book and holding my breath til summer turns to fall and the light gets golden again.

Not that I don't try to love *every single day* that I am above the ground, mind you, and I wouldn't want to rush time forward, but still. Summer is hard work for me. It's hard to be a sensitive, melancholy artiste when the sun shines down and the pasty Seattleites all crawl out of their holes to revel in that strange thing known as light.

I do seem to be in a mourning period of sorts, having to do with 1)a cumulation of breakups 2)fulfilling my biggest childhood dream and 3)realizing I am now, actually, an adult - and not such a young one at that. I dreamt about my dad three nights in a row - a sure sign that I am sad and grieving.

But still, I'm doing my best. Look at me - going on vacation! Biking around in the sun! Jumping in the lake in my bike clothes! Eating ice cream! It's a tough job but someone's got to do it. And one day soon I'll be through this bittersweet little moment and ready for the next one.

Oh yeah, and one day very soon I'll be a published novelist. If only Dad could see me now.

xo
BB
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( 2:36 PM ) Rebecca
Now that my archives are unavailable and you can no longer waste long work hours perusing them, I will remind you of something I wrote back in April.

"I have had such a surplus of [male attention] lately that , when it dries up, as it inevitably will, you're going to find me stealing televisions and ipods to pay for more. F*ck, I might even have to sell my greasy Inspiron and then there would we be?"

Oh I'm such a prophet! The problem is I can't sell my damn computer because even though I SAID I'm done with book I'm NOT really because now I have to go back and revise the WHOLE thing starting from Chapter ONE, which I wrote in 20 B.C.

I am going out to steal a television right NOW. Look for it on Craigslist shortly. That is, if I can escape my rehab facility.

p.s. If you don't hear from BB next week, it is because I am in solitary confinement after trying to escape the facility. (Either that or on vacation.)
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( 3:23 PM ) Rebecca
Speaking of birthdays, today is Breakup Babe's third birthday. Happy birthday, BB!

Who knew when you were born, in A. & J.'s sweltering upstairs bedroom, where they so kindly let me stay during the Great Unpleasantness, that you would have such an impact on my life!

Who could have guessed that you would provide such catharsis? That you would help me find readers around the world? And last not but not least that you would help me get a book deal with a major publishing house? I am so proud of you!

You've even tried to find mommy a boyfriend, though in the end you drive them away. But we won't dwell on that right now.

In other news, a special thanks goes to photographer extroardinaire GalPal #2 (without whose bossiness this blog might never have started) for drinking champagne with me last night and soon-be-famous novelist Odious Woman, for informing me that the correct answer to that most inane of questions, "How's your summer going?," is "F*ck you!" Oh, and to mom for being the one person I can still have a weeping fit around being without being embarrassed.
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( 2:59 PM ) Rebecca
There have been three births in my family this week:

1)my first niece
2)my first nephew
3)my first book

My goodness but I'm tired. And weepy. But I still have my figure! If only I got to take three months paid leave from work now. Damn!

More soon.
BB
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( 6:22 PM ) Rebecca
So yes, I am a few days behind on my book deadline, but what writer worth their salt gets a book in on time? Sheesh. And yes, I was out getting drunk the night before my deadline, but again - I ask you - what good writer wouldn't be?

Meanwhile, I need your suggestions. So I think you're all aware that I work at a megalithic software company in the Seattle area, oui? (And there is only one megalithic software company in the Seattle area.)

I have fictionalized aforementioned company in my novel, but have yet to come up with its fictional name. It can be humorous but should also be fairly realistic. You are a creative bunch so let me know if you have any sizzling ideas.

The winner gets my undying love (and a cocktail if I ever happen to hop on over to where you live).
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( 10:59 AM ) Rebecca
Egads. You know what I feel like these days? Like the leftover Thai food you forgot about while you went on vacation for three weeks and left in your refrigerator to rot.

Yeah, that's me. Is summer over yet?

Meanwhile, despite feeling like a mess of rotted, moldy, disgusting leftovers, I manage to limp towards the finish line with my book. Just now I had to change seats in the coffee shop where I'm working, because a an obese, lonely-looking, depressed-looking, 40-something female writer keeps sitting directly in my sight ever time I come here as if to say: "Hey, look, it gets worse! Try writing your damn book while you have to look at me and see how depressed I am!"

I hope I'm at least covering it up better by wearing skimpy clothing and looking like a hottie even though I feel like the take-out that time forgot.

P.S. In other news, there has been a slight change in plans and the blog is not going away quite yet.

xo
BB
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( 6:56 PM ) Rebecca
Darlings,
I was busy composing my farewell post today when the orders came from People Who Matter.

Do Not Retire Breakup Babe. Yet.

Apparently, the news of my death has been greatly exaggerated. Our lovelorn purple darling is still on the road to retirement, but I guess it's not happening today. Lucky us! (And just remember, when I *do* go away, I will not abandon you but take you with me somewhere new. Somewhere better! Somewhere the men are hot and intellectual and adventurous and want to settle down!)

Meanwhile, my writing powers seem to be in full force. But my charisma is at an all-time low. My friends have been doing their best to fix me up with anyone single, but here are just a couple of excuses I've gotten lately:

I'm too busy having a meaningless fling with a 23-year old
I'm not allowed to date at this point in my 12-step program
I can't get a pass out of the home for the weekend

Etc etc.

But whatever. Someday I will find someone who says, "You are the smartest, funniest, most beautiful, adventurous, amazing person in the world and I cannot believe no one has snapped you up before this!" (here I must, however, offer a word of thanks to BB's Greatest Fan for telling me this on a regular, though not frighteningly stalkerish, basis).

So what does that mean exactly? That I get to break up a few more times? Well, one might imagine so, but since it looks unlikely I'll ever find anyone to date again, perhaps not.

Of course, I could always go online. I always do go online! But I do it out of boredom and fear and loneliness. Like, oh my God I haven't had a date in two weeks, bam, refresh ad, find boys to date, date them for two months, breakup. Lather. Rinse. Repeat.

Well this time, I'm just going to gut out this period of post-breakup relationship despair without rushing to the Internet for a quick fix that doesn't fix anything. It's just one little thing I can do to try to break my destructive patterns.

Meanwhile, I'll be working on that farewell post. It'll be a real tear-jerker.
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( 9:32 PM ) Rebecca
Wait! I spoke too soon! I do have a prospect! My friend F., who shall heretofore be known as The Boss, is setting me up with a "mountain-climbing, world-travelling [name of country deleted to protect the innocent]-an" who will be in town for a while starting Monday.

Sounds like great husband material, doesn't he?

Right.

Just like any day now I'm going to stop writing this blog.
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( 9:10 AM ) Rebecca
A prospect. That's all I want. A PROSPECT!

You know, just so I have hope - however remote - that I am not going to die old and alone!

It's been a full five minutes since I've had one and I'm getting *very* impatient.
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( 7:55 AM ) Rebecca
So nice of you all to write and BEG me not to leave. BB likes begging!

But seriously, I'm in a pickle. Ever since I lost my anonymity, this blog just hasn't been the same. For one, I can't dish as nastily as I used to, which is probably a good thing. And even when I don't dish, I still dish. Witness the Celebrity. I swore up and down I wouldn't write about him and I still did. Just in a half-a*ssed sort of way.

So now, all my future husbands can log on read and about my fast times with the Celeb (lite on details as they may be), and get themselves all tied up in a knot. At least now that I've hidden my archives, you can only get about one boyfriend deep, but it's enough to make a lot of men think twice.

The problem is, I'm seriously addicted to writing about my love life. Hell, I've been doing it since I was thirteen years old, it's just that up until three years ago, I was doing it in a journal, which now seems impossibly staid and boring. I mean, what would I do without the Greek chorus (that is, you?) to comment on every little thing?

(For the record, I did not have a love life at age thirteen. My entries went something like this: "Oh my God, Mike Robinson looked sooo cute in those white carpenter pants he wore. It would be toto cool if he asked me to dance at the dance on Friday night!)

I also seem to be addicted to having a crazy love life as much as I'm addicted to writing about it. I could chalk some of it up to bad luck and bad choices, but I think there's some secret part of me that is deathly afraid to settle down. I now associate "settling down" with betrayal. Also, for the first time in my life I have a stable job and a mortgage and a book to write so that kind of limits me in the adventures I can have - so voila - I find my adventures in the dating realm!

Since this blog seems to be a key part of my addiction - date, write, date, write - I figure that silencing BB for a while might help. But she really does not want to be silenced!

I figure all dating blogs are meant to self-destruct, though. Dating is supposed to help you find love, and once you find love, you don't need a dating blog anymore, right? In the meantime, you play a dangerous game when you write about people without them knowing it. Or you try, unsucessfully, like me, to be open about your dating blog and still keep it lots of fun. But what guy (or girl) is gonna say sure - go ahead and write about all the stuff that's f*cking lame about me!

So my plan of the moment is to start another blog, where I don't write about dating. But I just write about stuff. I'm gonna start it someplace brand new and once I've got it established, I'll tell you about it. This is not the final Breakup Babe entry, but I'm getting close. I swear it.

Must. Stop. The. Addiction.
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( 2:56 PM ) Rebecca
Here are some things that don't go together:

pants that are too tight
Monday
not enough sleep

Sigh. But I am trying (rather unsuccessfully) not to get cranky, because really. Are those things worth getting cranky about when terrorists are bombing buses and Seattle will soon be a tropical country?

I think not.

In other news, I am continuing my rampage in nightclubs about town. After flashing the twins at the Mirabeau Room a couple weeks ago, this last weekend, I nearly got thrown out of another hipper-than-thou Seattle bar for calling the hostess a bitch.

The problem, see, was that she was one. After I nicely explained that to the manager, as well as apologizing in a sh*t-eating tone, I was allowed to stay in the bar and they excused the butch lesbian security guard from the task of throwing me out. (I could have taken her).

What can I say? I am normally sweet as pie and very polite (really!), but I had low blood sugar at the time, and I can't stand it when people to whom I am giving money speak to me in snotty tone! Plus, as you might recall, I am a celebrity-in-training! Like Russell Crowe, I have thrown telephones, not just directly at anyone. But be careful what you say to me - especially when I haven't had dinner and my pants are too tight!

In other news, I'm not going to discuss my date last week because we all know I don't do that anymore. Last time I checked, however, I'm still single.

Which is why I had to bribe a series of no less than three men into my condo this weekend to help put together disassembled furntiure and stereo parts that were the result of getting the place painted last weekend. With the result that everything is now reassembled, except my stupid remote control doesn't work. Helllooo, anyone like to take on that challenge?

Finally, the moment we've all been dreading. This site is going to have to come down sooner or later. BB has certainly served her purpose - and more! She got me a book deal, after all. But it's time for me to move on to a new phase in my life that doesn't involve me breaking up with someone every two months just so I have something to write about. After all, I can't freakin' write about it anymore anyway!

This is an early warning. I'm not quite ready to do it. Yet. As we all know, breakups are hard.

xo, BB

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( 10:00 AM ) Rebecca
Hello, hello! I just came back from a whirwind trip to Hollywood where four different directors wined and dined me for the opportunity to direct the film adaptation of my book, and I conducted private interviews with the hottest males stars today (including Jake Gyllenhaal and Johnny Depp) who are dying to play one of the various amours de Breakup Babe.

Aw just kidding. Really I just came back from idyllic Whidbey Island, where I spent many hours tearing through the rough draft of Breakup Babe - The Final Section, biking beside blue water, and eating chocolate chip pecan pie. I also went to bed at 10 p.m. every night, and shamelessly devoured chick lit, the chocolate chip pecan pie of the literary world!

Only to return to a condo, with books all over the floor, furniture pointed every which way, and the walls painted strange, pale orange and yellow colors that make it look like some cushy spa in the Carribbean.

Oh wait. I chose those strange colors. I paid someone to paint them on my wall and tear the place apart. Right. Duh. That is right, after months of procrastinating; after months of sampling colors on my wall (8, 9, 10 different colors!), I finally, FINALLY chose some damn colors, ultimately ignoring the advice of my interior designer, and the results are.. I'm not sure yet. Perhaps when the place looks like less of a disaster zone I'll be able to figure it out. In any case, at least it's done now.

In other news (the kind of news you all love the best), I have a date tonight with a boy who really sounds too good to be true, so no doubt he will be. My big dilemma for the evening is not what to wear but whether to tell him upfront about my blog or let him discover it.

Because all it takes is one little Google of my name to find it, and for all I know, he might have done that already. Hmm. I will have to play that one by ear. But I have decided that from now on I won't write about someone unless I get their permission. Yes, BORING, I know! We've established long ago that I'm boring, though, so let's move on to other subjects. Like how much gray hair I have.

Eegads! I've been in the rather expensive habit of coloring my hair every couple months for the last year or so, and now that I' m overdue, there are all of a sudden a whole bunch of gray hairs that were not there before! Let's have a somber moment, shall we, as BB really faces for the first time the fact that she has actually started to age. Waahhh! Never mind the lithe body and the face the looks, oh-mid-twenties, and the fact that she is the same age as many of American's hottest and most beautiful female stars - Nicole Kidman, Julia Roberts, Katherine Zeta Jones!

Well. I may be moving into the ranks of the middle-aged, but my life seems to hold more possibility than ever before.

So there you stupid gray hairs!
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( 7:24 PM ) Rebecca
Bleh. Nothing like being trapped in the office on a lovely summer evening. These are the days I fantasize about being an intrepid freelance journalist who jets off on a dime to write articles like: "Alaska's Hottest Bachelors: Breakup Babe Looks for a Husband Among the Fabled Hunks of the North" or some such fluff that would involve 1)travel 2)hot men and 3)outdoor adventure.

Well, just you wait. I'll be doing it some day soon. Because the ascendancy of Breakup Babe is coming!

Not because I have illusions that I am suddenly going to be transformed into a bestelling author when my book comes out. I have hopes, of course. But most of the time when I'm at work on it, I'm just praying that the critics won't tear me to shreds. Actually, I'm just praying to finish it. Especially because I'm back in that rough-draft-phase of writing where I'm thinking, "Why is anyone paying me to do this? I CANNOT write! And soon the whole country will know it!"

No, the ascendancy of BB is nigh because this phase of my life is ending. Whatever "this" refers to (I'll let you figure that one out). This phase is ending and I'm busy figuring out what the next one will be about. It will, of naturally, involve being a published author, and all the opportunities that brings. It will have include hot but AVAILABLE guys because I have made it a point (in this "figuring-out" sort of period) what the h*ll has caused me to go after the unavailable ones time and again. It will involve travel and journalism, and, of course, my next book.

In other news, I started my newly-single-yet-again lifestyle with a bang last weekend, or should I say, a flash. Since, true to my promises, I donned the slinkiest tank top I owned, threw back some cocktails and hit the dance floor at the Mirabeau Room. Things were going fine until I engaged in some up-close and dirty-dancing with a male friend, who enthusiastically gripped my shoulders as we danced, therefore causing my skimpy tank top to balloon open in two strategic strategic spot and reveal my braless treasures to the sweaty crowd for a good five minutes or so.

Thank you very much, ladies and germs! For the rest of the summer, I'll be wearing turtlenecks.
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( 9:30 AM ) Rebecca
Sigh. They don't call me Breakup Babe for nothing.

Have I doomed myself with this name? (Some of you astute readers have suggested that before). Maybe I need to call myself "Will Soon Find True Love" Babe or "Bound for the Altar Babe" if I'm *actually* as serious as I say I am about meeting a guy who is right for me.

Because, seriously, I have never gone through so many breakups as I have since dubbing myself Breakup Babe. Granted, I also have a publishing contract, a first novel on the way, and boy-related material that could supply sequels. I have learned a lot (too much!) about dating in your thirties (the men are all married, mentally ill, or emotionally unavailable.) I've dated everyone from unemployed stoners to Microso*t millionaire stoners to doctor stoners!

And what do you know? Here is it is, summer, and I'm single again. Wonder what kind of stoner I'll date next?

Time to don that skimpy clothing and get drunk.

Cheers. I guess. (Picks self up off floor, pretends to feel OK, because isn't this all in a day's work for Breakup Babe?)
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( 4:59 PM ) Rebecca
What a grey and lonely day outside!

Perfect for my mood.

What is with me these days? Lonely, lonely, lonely, even though I've got all the friends in the world.

Is it because I'm dating someone who's in absentia most of the time? Is it because I'm off my meds (three months now!)? Is it because most of my friends are married? Am I just a person who's prone to feeling this way? A melancholy artiste? A writer whose a solitary profession is at odds with my extroverted personality? Am I spending too much time in the city and not enough in the mountains? Is it just another form of post-birthday depression? Is it because my family lives far away and I must ride a plane to see them?

I don't know. Probably some combination of all these things. What I do know is I have no friggin' reason to feel sorry for myself whatsoever. Does that stop me? NO.

But you can help. That's right! Just participate in the Adopt-a-Breakup Babe program, which means that on a given Saturday night, I come over to your house, eat a home-cooked meal ( take-out is fine in a pinch ), entertain your children (because BB always forgets her own woes around children), then you tuck me into bed with a good book, assure me I am lovable, and be there in the morning when I wake up (preferably with breafast ready) so I do not get my Sunday-morning sadness!

I got this idea from listening to this DJ today, who was suggesting an Adopt-an-Artist program, wherein you take in depressed artists, give them some TLC, and reassure them that everything is going to be OK. The goal being that they ultimately they keep producing great art and don't off themselves.

I'm certainly not about to off myself, don't worry about that. And most of my friends are doing pretty well at the inviting-me-over and feeding me dinner part. But, you know, I just thought I'd extend the invitation to all of you are serious about helping support great art.

Or at least great chicklit.
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( 4:25 PM ) Rebecca
My goodness but my brain is tired. I am slogging through a bunch of revisions right now so that - within a day or two - I can start writing the final section of my book. That's right. The ending! I hope it won't be as hard to write as the section I've been working on, but my guess is it will be. If not harder. This is the section where the crisis/climax/ephipany and resolutions have to happen in one fell swoop. But never mind that. I will start panicking about it soon enough, especially since my deadline is August 1.

Ha ha! August 1!

Meanwhile, must. finish. current. section.

To boost productivity today, I did, unfortunately feel suddenly "ill" and was not able to go to work. I've been "resting" at the Seattle public library. Remember that place? That big, inspiring, light-filled structure where almost one year ago I met Library Boy, looking all cute and scholarly across the table from me, and was therefore launched on a stormy eight-month journey?

Yeah well. Luckily I didn't see him here again, nor did I encounter any attractive men. Just as well. They are distracting. I was also able to write just fine on the 10th floor Reading Room, which is where we met, without getting all weepy or anything. So there!

In other news, the wedding gig went smashingly well. We had the best audience you could ask for, because they were tipsy and happy and hopeful and danced to every single song! Even the songs about shooting heroin in basements! In addition, my keyboards were drowned out by the other instruments, so no one could hear my f*ck-ups. On the flip side, no one probably heard my sweet little solo either, but whatever: there's always next time.

I sang a couple numbers too, and while I suspect I went off-key once or twice, everyone was too busy dancing to notice. Gotta love that.

No real flirting occurred, but I was occupied enough by my own butterflies that I didn't get bored. Nor did any guys fling their underwear at me, but I'm hoping that happens next time. Now if only we could find another gig. Getting married soon? Call us! We love weddings!

I am slowly getting into the swing of this summer thing. At times, I am quite a grump about summer. I hide from the sun, pray for rain, think everyone else out there is having a smashing, romantic time strolling by the lake with their beloved while it's only me who feels unloved and alone. But that's only on Sundays, my all-time worst day of the week. And usually only on Sunday mornings.

Today, however, on a hot, sunny Monday when I'm "sick", and the rest of the world is at work, and I'm doing what I love best in a big, airy place filled with books, I can get with the program.

Summer ain't so bad.
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( 10:12 AM ) Rebecca
You guys are such good sports to stick with me even as I become so deathly dull in my dotage and my celebrity-dating phase. But what celebrity would that be? NONE! Because this is now a Celebrity-free zone. He's out of the blog for good, because that's a promise I made way back when and I have to keep it because - well, he wants me to. And I gotta respect that. Even though it makes my blog so....zzzzzz.

So say bye-bye to the pretty celebrity. Bye bye! We could have said so much about you!

In other news. My coffee-shop-writing experience has been greatly marred this morning by two obnoxious theater types talking loudly at the next table. Can't they see that there is a GENIUS AT WORK here (or at least a talented hack) and they need to shut the f*ck up?

I am almost ready to hand off the section of the book I've been slaving and sweating and writinging my hands over for the last 2.5 months, and start working on the final section . Yes, that would be the ENDING. Now that is exciting. Exciting but frightening as it will mean another two months of increasingly anguished effort, but my - after two years of working on this book - it is exhilarating to glimpse the end. Because it's there. I know it is. No matter how elusive it might prove to be in the next two months, no matter how I whine and tell you I'm never going to finish it or it's going to be horrible, my ending is there and I'm going to find it, and it's going to rock.

Maybe.

Meanwhile, my rock star debut approaches. I hope I do not embarrass myself or my band. I hope the spaghetti strap of my dress does not fall down while I'm playing to cause a Janet-Jackson-like moment. I hope I do not get drunk and morose because I do not have a date. I hope I get drunk and happy and flirty and escape the dangerous double-edge of champagne unscathed.

Wish me luck.
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( 9:51 AM ) Rebecca
Darlings, you can stop your begging now because I am never going to tell you who the Celebrity is. I have probably revealed too much already! Though I can tell you no, he is not a rock star and no, he is not married. At least, I don't think he's married.

*I* am the rock star here, let's remember that. In fact, my band will be making our debut next weekend with moi on the keyboards. We're performing at a wedding however, so you won't be able to come see me play. It also means I won't be able to wear a really rock-star-like-outfit, which is really the whole point of playing in a band, but I'm sure I'll be able to dig up something sexy.

Gotta run.

xo
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( 9:48 AM ) Rebecca
My God. Every time the Celebrity blows through town, I feel as if I've been hit by a tornado. These days, he's usually only here for one night at a time (most often a weeknight) and he inevitably has to get up at some ungodly hour, so there is always a lot of action - and very little sleep - packed into those short hours of his visit.

That is because the Celebrity is a one-man drinking, f*cking, partying machine. On the days after his visits, I am always in an exhausted daze and my condo looks like a war zone. I have usually had more s*x in a few hours than I thought possible with a man over age 18.

I've also gotten a truckload of compliments and affection and attention - because the Celebrity may know how to party like a rock star (for the record, he is not a rock star), but he is nonetheless focused on me like a laser when we're together. So even though he runs me ragged (yours truly is not a partying machine), that kind of attention - from someone who lives everything to the hilt, from work to adventure to relationships - is addictive.

If not exactly restful.
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( 1:36 PM ) Rebecca
Sigh. I am so close - yet so far - from finishing my book. I approach the end like train pulling into the station. Moving. Halting. Groaning. Screeching. Then moving again, oh-so-slowly.

This morning started out promisingly. Fresh and optimistic from a miraculous 12 hours of sleep, I bounded up to my nearby coffee house to rewrite (for the fifth f*cking time), the final ill-fated date scene of a book packed with ill-fated dates. One couldn't blame me if I am, perhaps, a bit tired of writing about ill-fated dates - but I started out with a good attitude today.

But I forgot - conveniently! - how hard it is to write a rough draft. How discouraging it is to be writing a rough draft of anything so late in the game! But this scene had to change. Because up until now, the final ill-fated romance of the book has been boring as hell. And it needs to be funny, damn it! It needs to be the crowning glory of ill-fated dates. This guy has to be the biggest loser of them all, yet charming enough to make the heroine fall for him, until finally, finally - he proves himself SUCH a loser that her common sense kicks in. And she learns how to stand on her own two feet at last. (Until the next guy comes along!)

But that's a lot of pressure, people. Writing this whole final section of the book, where everything picks up speed, gets more serious yet also funnier, where everything is at stake, where the heroine has to learn from her mistakes - it's hard! MY LIFE IS SO HARD.

There. Do you feel sorry for me now? Can you tell I'm just procrastinating from writing the final-ill fated date scene? It's actually going better now than it was half an hour ago. I do say, I pity the boy that this character is based on (I won't tell you who it is.). It's going to hurt his manhood just a little. He was almost going to escape my book unscathed, but he has many too inspiring comic traits. Perhaps he'll be happy just to be famous.

Meanwhile, the Celebrity if off on tour and I miss him. That's the problem with celebrities, they do things like go off on tour. Once upon a time, I thought my life was fast-paced but no more. I've seen fast-paced. And it scares me. Mostly because I wonder if it leaves enough room for me. Me me me! Though as GalPal #3 just pointed out, "If this guy had enough time for you, you'd probably be bored by him."

Hmm.

Time shall tell, I suppose. Meanwhile, I'm never going to be a celebrity myself if I don't finish this f*cking scene.
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( 5:40 PM ) Rebecca
I had this nightmare last night that I was being terrorized, and ultimately, possessed, by Pee Wee Herman. (I like Pee Wee Herman and it was still a terrifying dream!)

I've been thinking about this dream all day and it finally hit me. It's a metaphor for how some of the anxieties that grip me are, in the end, ridiculous. They are no less terrifying for being ridiculous - for example, how many times have I known, without a doubt, that my plane was going to crash? - but still.

Or maybe it was just a mistake to watch Pee Wee's Big Adventure while on acid when I was 19.
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( 1:01 PM ) Rebecca
Well you'll be glad to know I survived my adventure. The storms. The routefinding challenges. The pitting of oneself against nature in a remote, savage wilderness. The ill-fated decision to let my friend buy all the provisions, thus ending up with a food supply that contained no chocolate and no coffee.

Just kidding. All except for the last part. The most stressful and dangerous part of the trip involved getting out of Seattle alive, what with F. being three hours late to pick me up, and the roadways clogged with Seattleites spurred into SUV action by the startling confluence of sunshine and a holiday weekend. God save us!

Lucky for us, despite a seven-hour drive to the trailhead, where we arrived at a bright and early 8 p.m., the trail is one of the easiest and fastest in all of Washington State - 3 miles on a flat boardwalk to the beach, which we managed to reach before dark. This being the easiest trail in all of Washington State, the beach was, of course, filled with people and children. But that was OK. It was still nice to be outside, listening to the soothing roar of the ocean. Even if there was no chocolate.

Now I'm back in the less soothing environs of the city where my worries - unfounded and not - crowd around me again. I feel sleep-deprived, insecure, vulnerable. I'm going out on so many limbs right now - personally, artistically, careerwise, it seems impossible I won't fall.

Though I guess if I do, I just get right back up again and keep going, don't I? At least I have my author photos to keep me company. I have to say it was money well spent, because five out of those seventy photos are the most flattering pictures ever taken of me. Even if my book is the worst piece of trash ever written, at least the picture will be good. That's all that matters, right?

Yours in sleep-deprived pessimism,
BB
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( 2:57 PM ) Rebecca
Gee whiz. I have so much, yet so little, to say. My life is the usual whirlwind of writing and work and music wondering what dire thing might befall me now that everything seems to be going my way.

My birthday was, as most birthdays are, bittersweet. There was eating. There was drinking. There was dancing and more drinking. There was karaoke, and there was definitely a hangover. There was also tragedy - in the Celebrity's world - on the very night of my, as we were supposed to be celebrating the night away.

It put everything in perspective in a strange sort of way. How lucky I am to be here and how fragile everything is. Not really the kinds of thoughts you want to have on your birthday but the kind you (or I) have anyway. My father first got sick when he was 33 years old, so I'm ultra aware of how you can be skimming along in your prime when tragedy suddenly strikes you down.

It makes me both more anxious and more adventurous than your average soul. I'm always afraid of something horrible happening, yet I'm always out there trying to have as much damn fun as I can.

To that end, I'm off again for yet another birthday celebration with F., old pal and traditional birthday travel partner, to go backpacking here.

It's from my father I got my love of adventure, and my love, especially of the outdoors. After his first heart attack, he realized that he wanted to spend as much time in the mountains as possible. So, starting at age 8, I was strapped into a heavy backpack every summer, pushing my way up steep hills up to sparkling lakes and granite domes.

I complained as a kid, of course, but I also loved it. My mind was free in the mountains like it was nowhere else. I have a butterfly tattoo on my back to remember all the butterflies I chased in the vast Sierra meadows where we'd stop for lunch, where life the world turned into sun and streams and wildlflowers.

Now it's a gift I have with me always. These memories, and the sense of adventure that's taken me far and wide. The sense that life is short, but sweet if you live it the right way. Adventure can be dangerous, of course. But life is dangerous anyway.

So here I go. See you when I get back.
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( 1:38 PM ) Rebecca
Ah yes, the day of my birth approaches. In two days, I will be 83 years old! And I have to say, people, I look pretty damn good for my age.

Not only that, my first novel will be published by the time I'm 84! Yes I know it's taken me a long time to get here, but it just goes to show: persistence pays off. It's going to be the Worst Book Ever Published, but hell, I'll probably be senile before the first reviews come out so who cares.

Meanwhile, thanks to my youthful good looks, I also have a hot young Friend-that-is-a-Boy who is 48 years younger than me. And whoo man, lemme tell you, that youngster has some stamina. When you're used to dating octegenarians, things get a little out of shape, if you know what I mean!

So let's hope I don't plunge into depression like I usually do this time of year. Even without my panopoly of pharmaceuticals, I got stuff to keep me happy despite my advancing age.

Let's not forget about tequila either. Which I plan on consuming tonight! In a slinky dress! At a party chez moi! 'Cause I might be old but I still know how to party when the occasion demands it.
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( 4:58 PM ) Rebecca
There are certain times, especially when one has had a bad bout of insomnia, that one feels particularly out of control of one's life.

Or say, when one has reorganized one's closet. Even though the end result will be - hopefully - a closet that is a model of efficiency and order - meanwhile, clothes and shoes and random musical instruments are strewn hither and thither about one's bedroom.

At the same time, one might be trying to finish a novel, and instead of ending with a bang, as a funny, whip-smart novel should, it's insisting on ending with a whimper. The authoress herself should most defintely not feel bored while writing. Now that is a bad sign! If she feels bored, how are you - her dear readers who are going to shell out $22 for the hard-cover copy going to feel? (At least the author photo will be good - or it better be, because she shelled out far more than $22 for it!)

Meanwhile, as one is wondering what the hell happened to one's comedic writing skills, one is, perhaps also feeling out of control because of things that are happening in real-life romance.

For example, perhaps one is starting to really like a certain someone, and yet one - literally having (almost) written the book on relationships gone south - remembers, quite vividly now, how terrifying it is to develop those feelings towards someone because all of a sudden one is not one's own self-sufficient unit anymore. One is not as lonely, but one is not as safe. And that is because one finds oneself wanting to hand one's heart over on a platter, but just as one starts to do that, one recalls how last time, it got sliced up and served it for brunch.

So what does one do? One tries to hand it over s-l-o-w-l-y, though such a thing is hard, and one tries to accept - as one often has to do, that one is usually not in control of one's life anyway. But that one will definitely feel better when one catches up on one's sleep and puts everything back in one's *ultra-efficient* new closet, and finishes one's novel.
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( 8:07 AM ) Rebecca
Today is the day I've been dreaming of since I was ten years old - I'm getting my author photo taken!

Now, since I am doomed to die a spinster, think of this as my Big Day. I've got a hair stylist onboard. A makeup artiste. And, of course, a professional photographer who is getting paid big bucks not to make me look a like a chinless blob. Unfortunately, I have failed mightily in accomplishing the major task for my Big Day: I don't have a thing to wear!

Even though I spent my life savings at Banana Republic last week, buying four items of clothing at full-price, I still don't have the right thing to wear. And even though I've been on an extended shopping spree for the last three years; it's just that no items of clothing I own conveys just the right look: the casual glamour, sexy intellingence, brainy beauty. It's either too pink or too boring or too trampy or just not...bestselling author enough.

Oh, if only I had a stylist! But alas I do not, and so I've decided the best thing to do is this: rather than wear the wrong thing - something that conveys an impression of oh, jaded urbaninte, or aging sex kitten, or technical editor with literary aspirations, anything other than bestselling author - I've decided to wear nothing.

So if you're bored, come on down to Seattle's lovely and historic Pioneer Square where this afternoon, I wil be posing in my birthday suit. And how appropriate, since my 3xth birthday is fast approaching - Good Lord! Might as well flaunt my svelte body before it all goes to hell, right?

Aw, just kidding. I did find a semi-sophisticated, only sort-of-slutty shirt to wear; the problem is it requires a strapless bra. Which I do own, however, it is The Worst Strapless Bra Ever (TM). Meaning, it constantly slips down to reveal that which it should not reveal. So if you're lucky you might a glimpse of my naughties anyway!

In other news, I have become rather enamored of The Celebrity. He is smart and funny as well as hot and sexy. But, since I'm not allowed to talk about him and my Big Day is about to start, that's all I'll say about THAT.

xo
BB
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( 8:44 PM ) Rebecca
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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( 12:51 PM ) Rebecca
Not that you'd know it from how little I post these days, but things are never boring around here. That's because the minute I get bored I cook up some drama!

Oh - dating life a little slow? Refresh your personal ad and meet TWO hot guys at once! (Not to mention that long-distance hottie who recently rocked your boat). Make things even more complicated by liking them both!

Feeling a bit too healthy? Rush to the doctor and ensnare yourself in a two-month ordeal of waiting to see if that little lump is harmless or evil. Find out, at last that it is harmless.

(Oh no, what will you stress about now??)

Well there's always global warming! Or you could go on a PLANE RIDE! I'm sure if you look harder, you can find another suspicious lump!

Or- how about this - worry (with no evidence whatsoever) that you're going to get kicked out of your band you now love so much because, you were a nerdy Beethoven-playing child and while you can read music like a mo' fo', improvising still comes slowly to you (though you can sure do it better than you did a year ago).

The book is going too well? Your editor likes it a little too much? Cook up some writer's block! Sit in coffeehouses and write drivel - day in and day out. Worry about how you're going to disappoint all your fans because your book is not going to be nearly as well-written as your blog!

Because God forbid, you could just take it easy for once without agitating like a washing machine to make things happen. But what would there be to write about then??
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( 8:26 PM ) Rebecca
With a little help from my editor, I've momentarily sidestepped my writer's block. I'm writing pure drivel, mind you, but I'm filling up pages. I do know, however, that writing drivel now is the first step to writing slightly-more-polished trash later, and then - halleleujah - brilliant prose!

It's just so painful to write drivel! Ouch! And I only have about a month to turn this drivel into brilliant prose. So far, I've been one of those rare writers who turns everything into her editor on time. Will my amazing run last? Tune in later and see - my next deadline is June 1!

Moving on. My brief foray into the online personals three weeks ago has been more fruitful than I thought possible.

Yes, I BB, am getting down again. The hardest part has been narrowing my choices. Because if I've learned anything from the last two years is that juggling men is, in the end, dangerous. I end up dropping them all. I end up strung out, confused, and always, in the end, alone.

Which is fine. I mean, boyfriends take up a lot of writing time. But it would be nice to have something work out.

For once.

But if it doesn't fine. There are lots of books to be read and lots of sleep to be had. And I write so much better when I'm h*rny anyway.
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( 6:07 PM ) Rebecca
You will be happy to know that I have reached a milestone in the writing of my book: writer's block.

Yes, I, who have been writing at a furious, inspired pace since November, earning nothing but accolades from my (obviously very brilliant and tasteful) editor, has come to a dead, f*cking stop.

OK, that's not strictly true. I have been typing. My fingers have been moving. I have dutifully sat myself down every day with my increasingly greasy Dell Inspiron -- which any day now will give way from the coffee spilled on it and the food particles it has ingested, thus ridding the world of my pathetic little oeuvre -- writing myself into circles.

But now that I am at the crux of my story, I find that the plot is not working. I don't know why. It sounded so good when I said it out loud after three glasses of wine, but things have gone awry. I think I'm forcing too many crises on my poor little character. Trying to make her f*ck up one too many times. I'm writing scenes I don't believe in. And yet, I can't see my way out. I keep banging my head against the same wall, too freaked out by my impending deadline to step back and say hmm...how can I do this another way?

Thus, today, I have written a plea for help to my editor. As of yet I have not been a high-maintenance writer. There are plenty of those, I hear. Neurotic, drunken, depressed, dependent, calling their editors at all hours of the night and day. But not me! I have been a little angel! That's because I have a blog on which to reveal my most neurotic, drunken, and manic-depressive states. But I need help NOW! Ring, ring, ring, oh editor, please!

Meanwhile, I have been sick as a dog, and mainlining male attention to boot. I have had such a surplus of it lately that , when it dries up, as it inevitably will, you're going to find me stealing televisions and ipods to pay for more. F*ck, I might even have to sell my greasy Inspiron and then there would we be?

The problem is, I seem to have stumbled into a gold mine of men. It always happens this way, doesn't it though? Doesn't rain, but pours, right, let's get that tired cliche out of the way. Not only that, these men - all of whom are attentive and accomplished and f*cking hot - seem genuinely interested in me.

I am trying not to be greedy. Trying to remember, how, when I've been in positions of "power" before, that I got crazy with it. Made bad choices. Lost my supply and ended up on the street again.

I don't know how things will end up this time. Probably the same way it always has. Just me, alone with my laptop at the coffee shop.

But someday you know, this cycle is going to have to end. Breakup Babe is drawing close to the end of her life already - can't you feel it? She's tired of creating drama for drama's sake. She's censoring herself way more than she ever has in the past, for fear of hurting the people she might be interested in, but it's a half-assed solution.

She doesn't want to be an addict, exploiting men for their attention and their dramatic potential. She wants to love someone again. But how is she going to do that if her name is "Breakup Babe?"

But first things first. I gotta get through this writer's block.
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( 5:39 PM ) Rebecca
Yes I know, poor me: I'm being paid to write a novel! My life is sooo hard!

Excuse me for that whinefest yesterday. I am feeling somewhat more on the ball today after getting up at the crack of dawn (7 a.m.) and writing for two full hours before work, during which time I drank two cups of my own lethal coffee (one cup = 4 cups of "normal" coffee) got a decent (yay!) draft of one chapter written, tried out a creepy flesh-colored paint on my wall (it was called "pumpkin seed" so how was I to know?), shaved my legs (not very well I might add), and blow-dried my long-lustrous tresses (one of the world's most boring tasks).

I have to apologize for being so elusive about my dating life. At last there is one, but my newfound Googleability has made me a bit gun shy. Maybe I'll get over it.

xo
BB
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( 9:05 PM ) Rebecca
OK, OK, things are under control - NOT!

Suddenly my life is Date Central, and not only that, I have a friggin' novel due in 3.5 months and guess what, everything I'm writing now is UTTER CRAP.

Yes, crap. That's because I've gotten to the part of my book I haven't written yet! Up until now, I was working off a rought draft, but now - now, my darlings - I am faced with many blank pages, and not only that, they have to be the most exciting pages of the book - the *crisis*, and - drumroll please, the *climax!*

Excuse me, but I don't know how to write a f*cking novel. I've never written one before! Why in the world would anyone pay me to do such a thing?

If all that weren't anxiety-producing enough, there are possibly still more Scary Medical Tests ahead, because apparently, when the certain Scary Medical Tests I took three weeks ago show nothing - absolutely nothing! - they put you through some more just to make double sure there is nothing - absolutely nothing! - wrong with you.

Sigh.

One day this book will be written, and one day there will be love in my life and not just adrenaline and anxiety and one day I will either be healthy or dead. But jeez, this limbo, is for the moment, bone-jarring. So get ready, get set, and hold on for the ride.
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( 8:23 AM ) Rebecca
I must have tried at least five times to post something yesterday but $#%! Blogger wouldn't let me!

Anyway, I know you're all just jonesing for you Breakup Babe fix, so in short order, here's the latest:

First and foremost, yours truly is no longer anonymous. Any would be suitor can now Google me and discover that I am the author of a seemingly man-hating (yet undeniably entertaining!) blog.

So I am off to Montana to live under a rock because I clearly have no chance of finding a husband anymore - except as GalPal #3 pointed out - one who doesn't have Internet access, and they are all living in Montana under rocks as well (writing anti-government propaganda in longhand.)

It's too bad because the Breakup Babe of yore seems to have re-emerged, if only temporarily, shaking her booty in bars around town and meeting attractive, high-quality (!) men.

If anyone is aware of a good rock, please let me know. Close to a stream would be good. Close to a coffee shop would be even better, but I know that's a bit much to ask.
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( 12:32 PM ) Rebecca
Darlings,

Just a note that I will be on vacation for a few days. Yes, I know, with how little I post, it would seem I am on constant vacation, but really I am just working on that little novel of mine.

Plus, there hasn't been much to write about datewise, though I did (gasp!) go on a date this past weekend. As for that one, I ran through the entire range of emotions, from: "hmm, not as cute as I thought he would be" to "hmm, he's really cute" to "wow, this guy is so funny and smart and outdoorsy and I bet we're going to get married" to "hmm, i don't know if we have much to talk about" to "Hmm, I would go out with him again." So it seems we will go out again, should I return from my vacation without dying in a fiery plane crash.

And I have another date lined up next weekend with a local-hot-stud-quasi-celebrity (how's that for a noun stack?) Not that I care about celebrity or money or looks any such thing! No - all I care about it - how large is their - I mean, I care about the inside! The heart! The soul!

That's it for the personal ads. I got a crop of respondents, picked a few promising ones, then hid my little cleavage-baring self away for now. We'll see how these boys play out.

It feels odd to be dating again. I am creaky and out-of-practice. But one small step away from my ex-boyfriends is one giant step from mankind. I shall return Monday evening, barring fiery you-know-whats.

XO
BB
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( 11:33 AM ) Rebecca
OK, I am coming out of my dating slump. Not that you would know it by the amount of time I spend clinging to ex-boyfriends, with whom my relationships are - if not dead -- then in a persistent vegetative state. But this, too, will pass. Spring is in the air and so is s*x for Breakup Babe! I mean love. Well I mean if I can't get love, I'll take s*x. You know what I mean!

Becuase you just can't keep me down for long. I have an unquenchable thirst for boys. And I've been down for long enough! Three months regretting this, mooning over that. It might take me a bit longer to adjust to a drug-free life, but once I do watch out.

As for the personal ads, they yielded their usual mixed bag of sleazoids, old dudes, bad hair, and remote possibilities. But I have to thank my applicants for responding to me yet again. For looking at that picture of me and my perky cleavage and thinking, "Yeah, I gotta have me some of that!" You've quasi-restored my ego.

(I do have to say that yesterday I looked like I'd just tumbled out of bed with Jake Gyllenhall. It must have been my fluffy shirt and my tousled hair, but my goodness, the men couldn't keep their eyes - or hands - off me. So what if I'm reaching my golden years! I still got it! )

Anyway. There is a boy who has been like a little rosebud in the desert of my love life. The thing is, he lives far away and I've only ever talked to him on the phone. But every time I do, it reminds me that sweet, considerate, unf*cked up men exist. Men whose mission it is to make me feel good every time they talk to me.

How rare is it to talk to a boy and have them want to know all about you, rather than blabbing about themselves? It is rare, I tell you. How rare is it for a boy to say I'm going to call you this weekend, at exactly this time, and then do it? How rare is it to find a boy who does all that, and has a good job, and does fun stuff, and is happy with his life and not in need of anti-depressants?

I hope, someday, to meet him. Until I do, he's a reminder that all the most beautiful flowers are waiting to bloom.
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( 12:59 PM ) Rebecca
Oh. My. God.

I know I said I would never be cranky again but that is before I remembered I was going off my drugs! @#$!*^%

There is not even a quarter-dose of Celexa floating around in my little brain, and lemme tell you something. I am crazed!

Crazed as in a lionness pacing her cage wanting to get the h*ll out and go somewhere, f*ck someone, eat something, buy sh*t, climb a mountain, run, move, POUNCE, anything but SIT IN A LITTLE CUBICLE AND EDIT THE MOST BORING STUFF ON GOD'S GREEN EARTH.

Ahem. I am restless. Yes, that would be the word. Restless. It doesn't help that there is nary a romantic prospect in sight on which to unleash my tremendous energy. Hellooo boys! Can't you see me here? Cute as a button and hot to trot? What is the MATTER with you all? What's all this BAGGAGE you're dragging around? Don't you know we've got one life to live and I'm in heat. NOW?

So I "unhid" my personal ad. Because what's a girl supposed to do when the men in her life are ex-boyfriends? MOVE ON, that's what. I can't look at the ads myself because all I see is this - "I'm a 36-year old guy looking for women ages 20-21!" - but I can let them find me and see what happens. It's always good for a laugh or two, a way to dull the sharp edge of boredom.

My demons are on the loose, people - boredom and loneliness and anxiety - all fighting for a piece of me. They won't win, of course, because I can always go back on the drugs. Meanwhile, I'm gonna battle them myself, but that noise in my head is awful loud. Excuse me while I crank the Green Day to DROWN IT OUT.
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( 10:49 AM ) Rebecca
Darlings, I am back among the living!

The Scary Medical Test is behind me now, and not only was it nothing serious, it was nothing at all. Except yet more proof that I am (and always have been) talented at imagining the worst.

Because I have survived, I now must live up to my oath that I will never, ever be cranky another moment in my life. I will be pure joy and lightness all the time, because what, really is there to be upset about when you have your health? So don’t expect any more whining from me! Ooh, it’s sunny. Boo hoo! Ooh, I don’t have a boyfriend and I’m going to die old and alone! Smack! I mean, I am young and successful and the world is my playground, and isn’t this frighteningly sunny weather we’re having just dee-lightful? Now pass the champagne, s’il vous plait!

Speaking of the boyfriend issue, however. I relied just a little too heavily on certain ex-boyfriends during my most recent trauma, and am now paying the price. That is, in the face of my mortality, I grabbed for comfort where I could find it, and oh my, was it comforting. It made me feel like a whole person again, connected to the earth, connected to my body, connected to someone else, the way it should be – and then, in a shimmering instant, it was gone. But life, as I’ve realized, is mostly about moments anyway. They come and they go, the happy and the sad, and there’s no point trying to hold on, because before you know it, the next moment is there.

I had another moment on Wednesday. The day I went outside to ruin my Good Hair in the glorious rain and hail. I walked around company grounds, lined by corporate buildings and parking lots. Let the rain penetrate my soul and tried not to feel scared about my upcoming Scary Medical Test, no less scary because it was set to occur on March 18 - the day my father died 7 years ago.

Then I saw a hummingbird. He lit on a flowering tree to drink from a magenta flower, heavy with rain. And he drank and he drank, letting me watch him. But then he did something I’ve never seen a hummingbird do. He sat his phosphorescent, trembling little body down on a branch and looked at me. Not only did he look straight into my eyes, he talked to me. Without speaking, he cocked his head this way and that, “It’s OK, little girl. I’m here to take care of you, just like I always have been. Don’t worry. It’s OK.” For a full ten seconds, he spoke to me. Reassured me. His tiny body shivering in the rain, a heavenly being not used to sitting still. Then he took another drink and was gone.

I wished he would stay, of course, but I knew he couldn't. I also know he'll come again, because that's he way life is. Moments come, moments go, people come, people go. Comfort is usually just a memory, but mostly that's enough.
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( 5:33 PM ) Rebecca
Two miracles occured today.

It rained. Finally! Not only did it rain (is still raining, oh thank you Lord) it hailed. Hard! Even in my unquenchable thirst for precipitation, even I couldn't stand outside in it for too long.

Gosh. Do you remember the days that playing in the rain was just something you did? Running around with your friends, splashing through the gutters, getting as wet as can be? Without a care for what it might do to your hair, your clothes. Which brings me to Miracle Number Two.

I am having a good hair day. Otherwise, I would go run around in that beautiful, wet weather. Hmm. Maybe I should anyway.

What could possibly be next on the list of miracles? A hot boy to make out with. NO! I am pushing my luck. Thank you, o powers that be for the rain and the good hair, I dare not ask for anything more!

Love, Breakup "All I ever talk about is the weather" Babe
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( 9:21 AM ) Rebecca
Darlings, I have to commend those of you who are sticking with me in this period of draught (literally and figuratively), When all I do is talk about the weather and Scary Medical Tests (Did you know I'm really 77?) Perhaps I should start updating you on bowel movements too!

So here's what I have to say today. It's cloudy. Yay! The sun seems to be sneaking in, though. No!!

I had a dream last night in which Vince Vaughn was my boyfriend and we cuddled on the couch. It was the best dream I've had in a while next to that hot s*x dream I had about Sexy Boy the other day. Yay!

My friend M. is here from Taiwan for a week and life is better when he's around. Yay!

GalPal #1 is moving into a big house with The Professor where I can go over for dinner all the time - yay!

My editor told me that if everyone was as "easy to edit" as me she would be "vastly overpaid." Yay!
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( 8:49 AM ) Rebecca
Ode to a Half Cup of Coffee

My favorite time of day is halfway through my first cup of coffee. At this point in the day, I have usually been writing for half an hour, and as I hit that halfway mark in my coffee cup, I am also struck dumb by what a brilliant writer I am. Damn!

My mood is further improved, when, checking the weather forecast, glumly expecting more blinding sun - what do I see but clouds and showers for the next ten days! Of course, the forecast is probably wrong, and soon we'll see pasty Seattleites busting out the shorts and tank tops for more 80-degree March weather, but a girl can dream of some comforting clouds, can't she?

At this point, she also feels optimistic about a dashing, literate person she's been set up with, who's been writing her oh-so-well-written and funny e-mails, and who finally - finally! - got around to asking for her phone number. Because a girl can dream, can't she?

Ah, coffee.
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( 9:02 PM ) Rebecca
OK, I could really use a boyfriend tonight. Not only to finish the gigantic onion rings I just ordered, to put together the furniture I just bought, to watch a movie with me, but to just generally provide comfort at the end of another stunningly sunny Sunday in March. (MARCH. SUN. Is something wrong with this picture?)

But I am not going to complain about the weather. All weather is good when you're alive, right? Right. Which leads me to the next item.

You'll have to excuse me if I'm a bit stressed out this week because Friday I have to get one of those scary medical tests that assseses where certain things are perfectly harmless - as my doctor assures me -- or whether, despite feeling perfectly healthy, I am on the verge of expiring before ever getting to meet Jake Gyllenhaal. "Ninety-nine percent of these things are benign," says my doctor, breezily, writing out the referral for aforementioned scary medical test.

This week will be like an extended plane flight for me. Certain, at any second, that I am about to plunge earthward, when, really, what are the chances? Low, low, low. And even if it is something evil, my chances of surviving are better than a plane crash! But can I see that possibility! No! All I can see are fireballs and flames!

In any case, some good s*x would take my mind off my mortality for at least five seconds, if you know what I mean. Sometimes being mortal is awfully hard work.
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( 6:26 PM ) Rebecca
You poor things! You must be deathly bored if you have resorted to commenting on my spelling.

But who can blame you? My (lack of) love life is deathly boring these days. Have I even the remotest of remote hot action to report to you? Except for overly long hugs with ex-boyfriends, and flirtatious phone calls with long-distance cutie-pies - not a single thing. Even the setups are running away in droves.

You know what, though? I don't really care. I mean, I'm kinda lonely, yeah, and I'm kinda h*rny defintely, but I got sh*t goin' on, you dig?

Besides, as the magical pink pills dwindle , I've convinced myself that I'm suffering from yet another terminal disease (never mind which one), and while it would be nice to have someone nurse me through my wasting illness, finding blissful love now would only make a mockery of me since I have, oh, maybe six months left to live! (There is an entire section in this very interesting book devoted to why writers are so neurotic.)

Don't worry, though, I will finish the book! It is due in less than six months, so we should be fine. If worse comes to worse, I will dictate with my eyelid, as described in that amazing memoir, The Diving Bell and the Butterfly.

Strangely, for someone with a horrible disease, I am feeling quite fine (except for the remnants of the Bird Flu I caught on the bus). Meanwhile, my friend's cat has a much funnier blog than me.
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( 5:36 PM ) Rebecca
You'll be happy to know I survived the Day O' Little Sleep without falling into a deep trough of despair, but I do appear to have caught whatever that disgusting drip on the bus was passing around - we can only hope it's not the Bird Flu! Thanks, mister!

In other news, I picked up some photos yesterday, which I will guiltily admit to you was my first round of attempted author photos, taken by the talented photographer GalPal #2. Yes I know publication is still a year away! But I want pictures taken of me before I age any further! While I still have flowing tresses and a slender body and a look of deceptively dewey youth about my eyes!

And besides, can you blame me? I've been waiting to take this author photo for 25 years now.

I ripped them open, impatient to see how glamorous I looked in black and white. How hip and authorial and alluring. I had blow-dried my hair for the occasion, put on lipstick, and a dab of eyeliner, maybe even some eyeshadow.

And alas, despite GP #2's relative skill with the camera, I am in desperate need of a stylist. When photographed from the side, my hair looked like a layered quasi-mullet straight out of my 9th grade yearbook, and my chin was nonexistent.

As much as I would like to be photographed au naturel, outdoors with little makeup, hoping that my natural beauty will shine through, I now know this: it won't. It needs help. And much as I'd like this to be a family affair, I'll probably hire a professional photographer, too. One who can shine the rightlight on my face and make it look like I actually have a chin. And beforehand, I will have my hair done by someone who actualy knows how to wield a blow-dryer.

I admit, I'm a vain person. Vain enough to think that I have just enough glamor - if photographed correctly - to help sell a book. To strengthen my marketing campaign. I'm no Catherine Zeta-Jones but I'm cute! My mommy told me so! But even Ms ZJ, I'm sure, doesn't appear on the red carpet without spending several hours with her style professionals.

Besides, most women my age have been married at least twice by now, which means I've missed out on getting made-up and photographed (yeah, I'm one of those people who like getting my picture taken, if you haven't guessed by now). So here I go to find me a stylist!

What? What's that you say? Shouldn't you finish the book first? Is that what you're saying? What - are you my mother? I'm trying, OK? I'm working at it. It's just that getting my author photo taken is so much more fun!
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( 9:37 AM ) Rebecca
I Am Tired
I got up at 5:30 today, I will have you know! Every once in a while I have to be at some completely unreasonable hour such as 9 a.m. The nerve! Not only does that require me getting out bed 4 hours earlier than usual so I can get a piddly amount of writing done it also requires battling traffic and other commuters on the Highway to Hell (aka Highway 520).

Dude, Take a F*cking Cough Drop
Because I am a Good Person who Cares Deeply about the world, I took the bus to work today. And of course, the one day I'm not carrying my headphones in my bag (which contains everything else I might need to survive a nuclear holocaust - including pharmaceuticals, make up, book manuscript, sheet music, laptop, cell phone, wallet, keys, and a complete printed set of Encyclopedia Brittanica) is the day I take the bus and the dude sitting next to me hacks and sniffles the whole. way. there. Through traffic. HACK. Past stunning views of Mt. Rainier in the mist presiding over a calm blue Lake Washington. SNIFFLE. Through the plastic suburban wasteland of Bellevue. COUGH! SPLUTTER! The guy probably has the Bird Flu, and now I am going to get it, all because I tried to make the world a better place!

Soon It Will All Be Over
Once my first cup of coffee wears off, my lack of sleep will start to wear on me. It will manifest itself first as a general malaise. Perhaps I will look at my uninspired outfit, thrown together at 5:30, and think eegads, could those pants you thought were sooo cool when you bought them, be any more unflattering to your butt? Could your hair be any more boring? And why don't you have more pairs of cool shoes like Carrie in Sex and the City, not to mention matching sets of lingerie?

As the afternoon drags on, a more existential type of angst will set in. Good Lord, was I put on this earth to be a corporate wage slave? I'll probably die in a plane crash before I get to be a bestselling author. Or catch a horrible disease. Hell, the horrible disease has probably already insinuated itself in my body. The Bird Flu! From the guy on the bus!

Clearly, I am destined to die before finding true, lasting, meaningful love. Is it possible I could at least have lasting, meaningful s*x before I die? Or at least hot s*x? Please? Given my boring hair, unflattering pants, and lack of sexy lingerie, not freaking likely!

That's Just Today
Last night, I was on top of the world. I thought to myself: I'm exactly the person I wanted to be when I was growing up. Not only am I about to achieve my lifelong dreams of becoming a published novelist and playing in a rock band, I am a sexy, single girl with a Sex and the City lifestyle (minus all the shoes, lingerie, and girlfriends who have time to brunch with me).

But There's Still Today
Now that I am limiting myself to a two measly cups of coffee a day, I'm not sure I'll be able to get back to my clear-eyed appreciation of life's bounty. And now, for the most petty vent of all time: Perhaps if I weren't trapped out here in the sterile strip-mall land, I could hit a nice Happy Hour in Seattle, but noooo! I am trapped on the uncool side of the lake FOR EVERY HAPPY HOUR BETWEEN NOW UNTIL THE DAY I DIE! WHICH IS PROBABLY VERY SOON GIVEN THAT I ALREADY HAVE THE BIRD FLU.

I hope you got more sleep than I did.

XO,
BB
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( 4:52 PM ) Rebecca
There is rain in the forecast for the next few days, so at least I have that going for me! Although on the news last night, they were forecasting even more freakishly sunny weather for next week - in the seventies! - which made me immediately want to jump on a plane to a rainy locale. Sheesh.

Ya know, I have to say, balmy weather would be easier to handle if there were a romantic prospect in the greater Seattle area - but even with all the bright light provided by TOO MUCH SUN - I don't freakin' see one.

You'd think that, now that I am surviving on a mere quarter-dose of my beloved Celexa, I would enjoy the SUN but no! Give me some stormy weather to match the moods that are currently making their way through my serotonin-starved synapses.

Despite the numerous weather and romance-related obstacles I currently face, progress is being (ever-so-slowly) made on The Book, and my rock-star career is shaping up too - having just gotten into a country-rock band! Yes, thank you, thank you! Don't look for us to be headinling the Tacoma Dome any time soon - but perhaps I'll be onstage at one of Seattle's great clubs someday. Or coffeehouses. Or food courts. Or streetcorners.

In any case, music is back in my life and I couldn't be happier, because we all know I need a backup career in case the bestselling author thing doesn't work out!

If only I didn't feel like the only person in the world without a significant other right now. (That ridiculous thought, my friends, is called a "cognitive distortion." It's clearly false but feels true.)

O, Celexa, where art thou?
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( 1:31 PM ) Rebecca