Chic Lit Shit
I live in a pretty spacious house that has four apartments. There's me, the grouchy guy below me whom I've managed to win over, the eldery woman Pat who loves me so much that she regularly bakes cookies for me and my kids, and the young couple across from me who have a little girl that I always pay special attention to.
I'm just a darn good neighbor-it's not always easy, since it often requires me to engage in a lot of superficial chit-chat before I can get from my car to my apartment when I have to pee REALLY bad. But it beats having neighbors who hate you.
The other day I noticed my neighbor Cindy from across the hall (remember HER, Nooprah?) outside reading a book. So, being the Good Neighbor, I asked her what she was reading...not that I really cared...and she told me it was a REALLY funny BeachRead escapism book that she was totally enjoying. So I said something stupid like "We all need those kinds of mindless books to get lost in." I thought my neighborly duty was done.
But I'm not THAT lucky. This morning I opened my door and there was The Book...with a post-it note saying "ENJOY!" And it's one of those "Chic Lit" books (new genre created and peddled by the folks in publishing who think all women across the country will empathize with rich women whose husbands' done them wrong by ditching them, after years of enduring facelifts and Botox and tummy tucks, for younger perkier less high maintence wives).
As a Good Neighbor, I now feel obligated to actually READ this book. And I'm trying. But after two chapters of reading about upscale designers I've never heard of, famous plastic surgeons and $2000 pairs of shoes, I wanted to stick my head in my gas oven. And it's not even FUNNY-it's just pathetic.
I'm no literary snob. I think I've been pretty upfront about the fact that I dislike most fiction and believe that every book should start with a dead body. I'm not sure I can bear plodding through this chic lit shit book written by a "Hollywood Insider." I've never even BEEN to California, and if I never end up going there, I'm pretty sure I'll die peacefully regardless.
But I'll do my best-being a Good Neighbor and all. And if I make it through without slitting my wrists, I'm going to insist that all of you read it too.
What are Blog Friends for, afterall.
I'm just a darn good neighbor-it's not always easy, since it often requires me to engage in a lot of superficial chit-chat before I can get from my car to my apartment when I have to pee REALLY bad. But it beats having neighbors who hate you.
The other day I noticed my neighbor Cindy from across the hall (remember HER, Nooprah?) outside reading a book. So, being the Good Neighbor, I asked her what she was reading...not that I really cared...and she told me it was a REALLY funny BeachRead escapism book that she was totally enjoying. So I said something stupid like "We all need those kinds of mindless books to get lost in." I thought my neighborly duty was done.
But I'm not THAT lucky. This morning I opened my door and there was The Book...with a post-it note saying "ENJOY!" And it's one of those "Chic Lit" books (new genre created and peddled by the folks in publishing who think all women across the country will empathize with rich women whose husbands' done them wrong by ditching them, after years of enduring facelifts and Botox and tummy tucks, for younger perkier less high maintence wives).
As a Good Neighbor, I now feel obligated to actually READ this book. And I'm trying. But after two chapters of reading about upscale designers I've never heard of, famous plastic surgeons and $2000 pairs of shoes, I wanted to stick my head in my gas oven. And it's not even FUNNY-it's just pathetic.
I'm no literary snob. I think I've been pretty upfront about the fact that I dislike most fiction and believe that every book should start with a dead body. I'm not sure I can bear plodding through this chic lit shit book written by a "Hollywood Insider." I've never even BEEN to California, and if I never end up going there, I'm pretty sure I'll die peacefully regardless.
But I'll do my best-being a Good Neighbor and all. And if I make it through without slitting my wrists, I'm going to insist that all of you read it too.
What are Blog Friends for, afterall.
posted by Bemisdown at 11:51 AM
6 Comments:
Motheragawd....
Shall I start?
"Cellulite massage is not for the faint of heart. Which is what Gracie Pollock was thinking as her thighs were pounded by the Russian woman who left her bruised, swollen, and otherwise disfigured every other Monday at three o'clock for the last five years...."
Would you like me to continue? Or do you have a gas stove available too?
http://tinyurl.com/m5unv
Read the last item.
>>>>>>But after two chapters of reading about upscale designers I've never heard of, famous plastic surgeons and $2000 pairs of shoes,<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<,
Sounds like something Hoagy might enjoy.
>>>>>>>>>>>and the young couple across from me who have a little girl that I always pay special attention to.<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<
This sounds wicked creepy. Even for you.
HA! I was just going to post exactly the same thing!
I think it was the phrase "special attention."
(I'll never read a chick lit book, btw...NEVER. I just broke out in hives thinking about it. Shudder...)
OOPS...watching too many of those Dateline specials I guess.
I DID sound creepy though. Thanks for bringing it up. (She was sick recently and I brought her some gifts and stuff..Oh. Nevermind. I just sound even creepier the more I try to explain it)
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