Book Signings Don’t Suck

I’m always happy to do a book signing and was quite pleased when Borders called me.  When my first book came out, I tried everything I could do to schedule a signing but no one would have me.  I felt like Jennifer Grey after having her nose fixed.  In the literary world, you have to be a celebrity to warrant a book signing which doesn’t seem right since they already get all the good seats at restaurants.

Never the less, last week I drove down to Borders in South Coast Plaza .  In case you’ve never heard of it, South Coast Plaza is the Rodeo Drive of malls.  The shops are first rate, the visitors could pass as Ford models, and the place is so huge, everyone walks around with a thick guide book as if they’re visiting a foreign city. After walking miles around the mall, I finally found Borders and took my place behind the table they had set up for me. I had my trusty black marker in hand, a stack of Dieting Sucks books by my side, and my delicious free latte (They say they give one to every author.  Not exactly a seat at Spagos, but I’ll take what I can get).  I spoke with some wonderful people, and the hour flew by quickly.  Okay, I didn’t sell millions of books.  In fact, I spent more money on a new blouse I bought while I was there than I’d make on future royalties, but all in all it went okay.  I had my new blouse, my free latte, and my bigger calf muscles due to all that walking.  So, when push came to shove, it turned out to be a really good day!  Thank you, Borders. 

Jury Duty Sucks

I tried to get out of it, really I did. When I got that dreaded jury request slip in the mail, I did what I did for the past eight years: use my daughter as an excuse to get out of it.  Don’t get me wrong. I think it’s important to serve, but not when you have to pick up your child at 2 o’clock everyday from school.  But now it seems the rules have changed and the excuse of having a young child to care for no longer flies. What’s the point of having a kid and dealing with all its tantrums and whining if it can’t get you out of jury duty?  

When I arrived at the courthouse, I was faced with my first frustration: getting inside the place. There was a line to get through security that rivaled any Star Wars opening. Once inside, I was sent to the holding tank with three hundred other jurors who nervously awaited their names to be called.   To the naive, they looked like a room full of patients waiting to be called for a colonoscopy.  

When I finally heard my name, I was taken to a courtroom where a three month murder trial would begin. When asked who had time to commit to the long case, only thirty of the two hundred jurors raised their hands. The other 170 of us formed a line to speak to the judge. Four hours, two bathroom breaks, and one new varicose vein later, I stood before the judge to plead my case. I stammered and stuttered and rambled on, about what I do not recall. You see, I have an enormous fear of the authority figures and was convinced that the judge would sentence me to prison for the mood ring I stole back in Jr. High. Luckily, not only wasn’t I sentenced , I was excused from the case!  I hadn’t felt this relieved since Donald Trump fired Omarosa from The Apprentice!  

Although I can recount my tale in only a few paragraphs, my day as a juror lasted eight and a half horrible hours. On my way home, I made a decision. I would forgo my dream of one day living in a quaint New England town, and instead move to land ruled by a dictator. Sure it would be repressive and I could be pillaged at anytime, but at least I would never again have to serve jury duty. I think the move would be well worth it.

Martha May Want Me!

Got a call from my publicist.  I may be on the Martha Stewart show!  They’re doing a segment on dieting soon and my book may tie in well for it!  Still waiting to hear back from the Today show, but adding Martha to the mix really is a good thing!