Long Beach

Crisis of Geography By Lisa

Throughout the years, Liz and I have had our share of crises. First there was our identity crisis.  (Ask Liz about her meltdown in college when everyone called BOTH OF US Lisa.)

Then there was our quarterlife crisis. (Don't EVUH buy one of those close-up lighted vanity mirrors after age 35. Trust me on this one ladies.)

And now, I'm in the middle of  a geography crisis. A major one.


I can't decide where I live. Chicago, IL or Long Beach, CA?

Seems like a no-brainer, right? Well....

As many of you know, about six months ago I "shmoved" to Chicago be with my soon-to-be fiance.  I chose to use the word "shmove" over "move" because it was, well, less "I no longer live in California" sounding. After all, I still had a car and my furnished condo in Long Beach , my driver's license still said Cali and, c'mon, could I ever really be a Midwestern girl?

Don't get me wrong, I have nothing against Midwestern people. In fact, they're nicer than most. But, when you technically have two residences, you can pick and choose where you want to live based on who's asking.  And most of the time, you're going to say California mostly in order to avoid the weird, squinty look people give you when they try to process why on God's green Earth you'd ever choose to go from the West to the Midwest. So, I'm not really lying when I say Long Beach... even though all my Hanky Pankys are in Illinois and my Long Beach condo has now been rented.


But since it's a New Year and I'm about to marry the man I've been shmiving with for the past six months, it's probably time to make a few confessions:

1. I confess: I'm still using a California driver's license. Okay, so here's the deal. I went into the DMV and I was ready to bite the bullet, I swear. Well, that is until I started sweating through my "I love California" t-shirt. As I looked around at the long line of wool coat and scarf wearing people, I knew that if I went through with my application for a driver's license that I'd officially be an Illinois resident. Which meant...

I could no longer hand my California ID to the lady at Target and have her "ooh and ahh" over the great, warm life I must have back there.

I could no longer get comments from the cute boys behind the counter at Cubs games when they saw my ID. I'd officially be a Midwesterner.

So, I turned on my North Face snow boot heel and walked out of there faster than you could say Go Cubs!

2.  I confess: I still watch TV on West Coast time! I still watch the Bachelor at the time my West Coast friends do. Half the fun of watching shows like these is the sideline banter I have with Liz during the show.  And now, even though I have to wait TWO FULL HOURS  so we can write on each other's walls about the 24 year old with fake ta-tas who's only known Jake for 11 seconds but is ready to marry him and have his babies, it's worth it.

3. I confess: I'm f***ing freezing my ever-expanding ass off! In order to keep my Midwestern cred with my new Midwestern friends, I LIE about how the cold is affecting me. I tell them that this Cali girl is A-okay and that the cold isn't anything a North Face coat and a good pair of gloves can't handle! But the truth is, I'm freezing my ass off! It's not like I haven't been around cold before...I love to ski and snowboard. But...this is ridiculous.  It was NINE degrees here on Sunday. And when I checked the weather in Long Beach on my Iphone (something I do at least once a day I guess to torture myself) it was SEVENTY TWO!  So, to warm myself up, I've turned the thermostat up to 75 and gone through an entire forest of firewood trying to turn "brutal cold" nights into "warm hearth" evenings.  But I'm still cold...And the only thing I've actually succeeded in is making my fiance's head spin off each time the heating bill arrives in the mail.

4.  I confess: When I fly back to Cali, I  tell the person in the seat next to me that I'm "on my way home." The minute I buckle myself into my seat and head to Cali, I'm often asked "do you live in California?" And I usually say, "Why, yes I do!" Then the person will say "what part?" and I'll happily respond "Long Beach" and they'll nod with approval. What can I say? I get homesick for the sun as soon as I make sure my Louis is stowed away properly and my tray table is in its upright position. I know that when I land I'm going to remember what I've been missing. How glorious it will be when I'll be able to walk outside to the taxi line WITHOUT needing thermal underwear and a face mask.  How people will be wearing flip flops in the seventy five degree January weather.

Don't believe me?  Want to see my ID?!

xoxo, Lisa

Road Rules By Liz and Lisa

img_7119Our first book signing tour was this past weekend in the Midwest. First, we'd like to give a big thank you to all of the WONDERFUL ladies who hosted us. Laurie and  Jacki; Kristin and the women of Serendipity; And Jamie and Cathy. And we'd also like to give a shout out to all of the AWESOME Chick Lit loving women we met--and instantly friended--on our mobile Facebooks. (Hey, we're whores, we don't waste any time!) Well now that we're home, we decided that after you embark on a journey that mixes poorly caffeinated airport travel, the uncanny ability to sit next to multiple non-hint taking Chatty Cathys in every terminal, drunken public speaking and the inability to remember the name of a person who has your own name, that we should establish some rules of the road for next time.



There are certain times you should probably never talk to me.

Before coffee. Before coffee. And, um, Before coffee.

This is one of the many "lovely" things Liz and I have in common. So you’d think that knowing this…that understanding if ONE of us can be a bee-yotch face before Starbucks that the TWO of us together could, well, be f***ing bee-yotch faces…that we’d NEVER, EVER, under any circumstances skip our Venti Americanos….especially before a four-hour flight.

Not so much last week.

The morning of our trip to Chicago, Liz was frantically trying to get everyone what they needed before she left for the weekend (A husband, two kids, two dogs and some prima donna guinea pigs!). And I was at Ride-Aid buying her every shape and size of the 3-ounce size travel containers and a box of the FAA approved quart-sized Ziplocs for her moose, perfume, shampoo, conditioner, hairspray, toothpaste, two moisturizers and four different lip glosses. (I had to bribe her to carry-on because there was no way in HELL I was stepping foot in that O'Hare baggage claim! ) So I didn’t see her desperate Facebook message on my wall.

Rough morning! Please stop at Starbucks and tell me I look like I've lost weight the minute you see me.   Thank you!

Because the thing is, if you properly caffeinate us, we can handle anything… A ridonckulously long security line, a pervy TSA agent with a foot fetish and even a loud talking Boston accented seat-mate with body odor.

IF you properly caffeinate us.

So there we were at the Long Beach airport that we usually heart so much because it's so small that they board the passengers old-school by leading them out to the tarmac and rolling out a makeshift staircase. Usually so easy. But it's amazing how an airport experience can change when you realize your only option to turn your day around is a pot of coffee that was probably brewed eight hours earlier by a woman in a hair net. Let's just say even after I dumped six bags of sugar in mine and Liz filled hers to the rim with cream, it still tasted like ass in a cup.



DON’T BE A FLAT STANLEY You know how celebrities talk about their "good side" and their "bad side" when they pose for photo shoots? Well, I always thought that was a complete load of bulls**t. I mean, how different could someone really look if they faced the camera from the left v. the right?

Turns out, pretty damn different.

My photographic light bulb moment happened before our first book signing while Liz and I were posing for pictures. We were ready to roll, wearing our sassy dresses and Liz sporting her curly hair. I stood on the left and Liz on the right. Behind the camera, Matt was snapping away with a concerned expression as he checked the LED screen after each shot.

WTF? I asked.  Then I grabbed the camera and gasped.

"OMG. I’m a f***ing Flat Stanley!"

Liz and Matt pulled the camera away from me and evaluated the pictures. And through maniacal laughter, they agreed. "You look like you, but one off. You are a cardboard cut out of yourself!"

So, after much practice, we discovered that my left side is really pretty damn bad. If I angle it toward the camera, I look like a Flat Stanley. And if I open my eyes a little too wide, I look like Flat Stanley, The Runaway Bride. Apparently if I want any chance at a good photo, I have to be on the right side, tilt my head to the left and my chin downward. And then, as if that's not enough, I still have to angle the right side of my face toward the camera. (WTF?)

The anti-Stanley solution seemed simple—I’d just switch sides with Liz.

Not so fast, she said.

Because just like our major in college, our choice of sorority and even our affinity for Midwestern men, we also have the same f***ing good side!

And so began what we like to call The Fight for the Right! Stay tuned for more pictures to see who won...


KNOW YOUR LIQUID COURAGE COCKTAIL OF CHOICE I was pretty nervous about talking in front of the groups at our book signings. To put it mildly, my past public speaking attempts had been disastrous-all involving a red face, huge sweat rings and the inability to form a sentence. I was pretty sure if I attempted to utter a word about our book, It would go something like this:

Buy our book. It's real good. Thanks for coming. Bye!

When I confessed my fears to Liz, she gave me her crooked smile. "You don't think we're going to do this sober, do you?"

"Er, I'm on the wagon, remember?" (A story I'll save for another post--but I had been alcohol free for 29 days.)

She knowingly pointed her finger at me. "Blondie, I’m going to let you in on my secret recipe for public speaking success. Cocktails plus no food equals great entertainment!"

I was off the wagon faster than you can say dirty martini.

And let's just say that after two, er, three and a half of them, I was very comfortable in front of a group. Maybe even a little too comfortable...Turns out, as a buzzed public speaker, I'll tell you which characters in our book are incredibly thinly veiled and how much of the book is autobiographical!

Liz's secret recipe also had another side effect...You run the risk of being unable to remember a name--even if it's the same as your own. So Liz and I would like to take this opportunity to give an extra special shout out to the other LIZ...whose name our own Liz could not remember...

Even after talking to her for twenty minutes.

But at least when Liz puts her foot in her mouth, she's wearing a really sassy shoe!


We've been friends for so long that we pretty much have the same brain and we think a lot of the same thoughts. We actually have mental telepathy...and it really comes in handy in social situations. Like when you can't exactly say what's on your mind because you might, well, offend-EVERYONE.

We can talk serious shit with a simple eyebrow raise, the ever so slight narrowing of an eye or a partial smirk. So, as I'm sure you can imagine, this superpower can be incredibly helpful when we want to scream to each other that the chatty Carl sitting next to us in the terminal is a DOUCHE BAG who needs to shut the f**k up! Or when we want to scream that the guy in the skinny jeans with a male version of a camel toe SUCKS for blocking the aisle as he tries to stuff his over-sized suitcase in the overhead bin.  And when you meet two stuffy women at one of your book signings.

Usually when people ask us what  I’ll Have Who She’s Having is about and we tell them it’s the story of two sisters who fall for the same man—and one of those sisters just happens to be married, the response is usually along the lines of  That sounds juicy! or What a fun read!  Or if it's not their cup o' tea (which we totally understand!) they politely move on from our table.

Well here's how it went down when two ladies (let's call them "Mrs. Stick Up My Ass" and "Mrs. Even Bigger Stick Up My Ass") approached us at one of the signings.

Mrs. Stick up my ass: "What's your book about?"

Liz: "It's about two sisters who fall for the same man. And one of those sisters is married!"

*cue crickets*

Mrs. Even Bigger Stick up my ass with scowled expression finally speaks: "Married. Really. Hmm."

Liz: "Yes, but she just had her first baby and she's lost and she doesn't feel connected to her husband..."

Mrs. Stick up my ass: "Hmm..."

Lisa: "We also have a blog. Why don't you take one of our cards and you can read more about us and our book..."

Mrs. Even bigger Stick up my ass picks up the card and holds it between her pointer finger and thumb as if it's covered in swine flu germs.

*cue more crickets*

Liz and I look at each other and smile our, we'll definitely blog about this smile.

*cue mental telepathy moment*

Liz: WTF?

Lisa: They both need to get f***ing laid by Tim Fortune.

xoxo, Liz & Lisa