Should You friend your EX on Facebook? By Liz & Lisa

LISA SAYS: HIT IGNORE! I come from the dating school of thought that once you're done, you're done. If I eat bad sushi at a restaurant, I aint goin' back for more. If I get smashed on Whiskey Sours, dance on the bar at Coyote Ugly and make out with some one-eyed Jack-HYPOTHETICALLY OF COURSE ;) --It's pretty damn safe to assume I'm not going to drink Whiskey Sours--EVER AGAIN!

So, why on Earth, after ending my relationship with you, would I even be remotely interested in being your Mafia Wars partner? Or give me a good reason why I need to see that you became a fan of  In N Out?

I'm sorry, but there's a reason we broke up. And last time I checked, our relationship didn't exactly end with a high five.  So forgive me if I'm not super amped to join you in the cyberworld version of shooting the shit over a no-foam latte.

But to every rule, there are always exceptions...

And I think IF we're going to be Facebook friends, there should be a statute of limitations that expires first.

Like how 'bout a decade?

Did we share a sloppy smooch behind the monkey bars? Sure, I'll accept you!

Were you my junior high prom date who said I looked pretty in my blue taffeta? Okay!  I'm anxious to see what you look like without acne anyway!

Did I date you in high school and drink Strawberry Boons in the back of your pick up truck?  Alright! Because I'm curious to see what you look like without that mullet!

For the record, I am Facebook friends with an ex...or two...

Because our only conflict was arguing over whether or not we should show PDA in the cafeteria. So, I'll support your cause to get the thumbs down sign added to Facebook; And I'll give you a thumbs up when your status report says you're remodeling your kitchen; I'll even comment on the photo of your adorable kids in the school play! Because the worst thing you ever did to me was ignore me when your buddies walked up to your locker.

But if we broke up in the last few years, I think it's better to just forgive and forget. Because although our relationship may have seemed like high school at times-- it did end over something more complicated than you writing a different girl's name on your Trapper Keeper. Or me wearing another football player's letterman jacket.

So, look me up in ten years and if there's still a thing called Facebook by then, I definitely won't hit ignore!

LIZ SAYS: HIT ACCEPT! Come on, you know you're curious what's he's been up to and if he's traded up or down.  And the fact of the matter is that if I ignored every guy that I've swapped spit with, I'd have a lot less friends.  You see, I was quite the kissing bandit back in the day, especially after a few shots of Brass Monkey up at the Water Tower.   And I think it's just plain mean to ignore someone just because they cut my lip with their braces and used their tongue as a WMD.

Like Lisa, I'm dying to see if you had a late growth spurt and finally ditched that Nissan Sentra and your love for Steve B.  And it's so much less awkward than waiting for our um, *cough* twenty year reunion, where you're sure to get hammered and grab my ass during the group photo.

But I won't turn away the more recent exes either. Like childbirth, I've conveniently forgotten how painful our relationship was. And by the time I see your friend request, I've even convinced myself that you have enough redeeming qualities to enter my Facebook sanctuary.  And maybe, just maybe, I'm dying to know if you married that chick you dumped me for or if you ever got your snaggle tooth fixed.

So, I play nice on Facebook.

Dating for four months and you decided not to show up to my college graduation party?  No problem!  I was planning on drinking so much I blacked out that night anyway.  Oh look, we're both Susan Boyle fans!  Hurray!

Had anger management issues and tried to strangle my cat?  Merlin and I are so over it!  Oh, and thanks for letting me know you just became a fan of the middle finger and beer, just in case I was questioning my decision to kick you to the curb!

Asked out my best friend the week after we broke up?  It's cool!  I feel better after I saw the picture of you frenching your bulldog and the fact that you listed "hooking up with hot chicks" under interests.

So unless you've heard through the grapevine that your ex is a major shareholder in Starbucks and/or is dating a supermodel, I say just do it!  Trust me, It will only make you feel better about the one you're with.

xoxo Liz and Lisa

Flying The (Un) Friendly Skies By Lisa

There are certain things that baffle me.

Decaf coffee drinkers.

Jorts.

And those who lack the travel etiquette gene.

You’d think that most people on their way to Maui would be happy (give or take a crying baby or a cranky flight attendant that you make the unfortunate mistake of calling stewardess); perma-grins plastered across their faces; visions of Mai Tais dancing in their heads; their biggest anxiety over how early to wake up to claim the much coveted umbrella-covered pool chairs or figuring out which drink would cause less bloating– a beer or a Bloody Mary.

Or maybe that’s just me?

On the morning of our flight to Maui, I had a pep in my step even as I bounded *gag* barefoot through security and then spent the next five minutes frantically searching for my ID that I thought I’d lost for the SEVENTEENTH time that morning!  Sorry, Matt! (See anal traveler disclaimer, below.)

As I maneuvered my way through LAX, I looked around through my Maui colored glasses and all of the usual airport drama was lost on me.

So what if it took the cashier at Hudson News six and a half minutes to ring me up for TIC TACS!

Oh well if the Starbucks line was wrapped around the corner, they were out of sugar free vanilla AND they forgot to give me my apple bran muffin!

Too bad that a whitehead somehow popped up on my face between the walk from the airport shuttle to the gate!

Because in five and a half short hours, I’d be belly up at the Hula Grill bar inhaling coconut calamari. I was going to Maui, baby! And nothing, I repeat, nothing, was going to get me down!

Well, until I boarded the plane.

Those aforementioned glasses started to fog up just a wee bit as I was bombarded with airplane colleagues who seemed quite a bit less happy to be on team “bound for Maui.”

WTF?

Exit Row Nazi  a.k.a. The Angry Guy OMG- Last time I checked, you didn’t own the bulk head/exit row, dude. And maybe it wasn’t your problem that I read the airplane map wrong and poor 6’2” Matt and I ended up crammed in the row directly behind the exit row instead of in it.  But when, by the grace of the travel gods, the seat next to you remained empty after we were told to turn off “anything with an on/off switch”, I took it as a sign. Matt could sit there! And I didn’t have to spend the next five hours obsessing about my mistake and instead could focus on far more important matters like immersing myself in my Bride Wars iTunes rental.

Not if the Exit Row Nazi had anything to say about it.

I kindly asked you if Matt could move into the empty seat next to you (more as a formality, than as an actual request-BTW) and you snidely replied that you “liked your space” and your answer was “no!”  WTH crawled up your ass? You were already in the Holy Grail of economy class seating. You already had four freakin’ feet in front of you–more leg room than someone in first class.  You really wanted more?

Ever the negotiator, I didn’t give up. I decided to appeal to your height. Surely you’d feel bad that another tall guy had his knees shoved up under his chin?  Not. The tall plea was absolutely lost on you. You were just bound and determined to be angry guy.

Well angry guy, you f***ed with the wrong girl.

Because somehow you managed to IRRITATE me while I was trying so hard to bask in my Hawaiian, euphoric glow. And nobody f***ks with my glow!

And I was more than done with you because saying NO to giving us that seat was not the first time your angriness had reared its ugly head.

Remember when you crammed your tattered, brown leather bag into the overhead bin and shoved my new, sassy Tory Burch beach bag to the back– annoyed because somehow I didn’t get the memo that the space was reserved for you? And need I remind you of when I tapped your shoulder and said, “sir, sir, excuse me sir” simply to let you know that your pillow was jammed in my tray table–and you acted as if I was asking you to hold my tampon box?

So, when you told me that my man could not move into a seat that–incidentally–you did not own, that was it. I decided to go over your head and I told on you! I asked the flight attendant if Matt could take that seat and she said, “yes!”

So, nah, nah, nah, nah, nah!!

The Barefoot Guy

The fact that you could walk into that airplane bathroom without even so much as socks on your feet, made me want to pull out my barf bag and puke my six dollar, pre-packaged turkey and pesto sandwich into it. For the love of God, my friend, couldn’t you have at least put on a freakin’ flip flop, if not for your own sake, then for mine?! No one should have to even THINK ABOUT what you were stepping on in there. No one. I wish I had your address because I’d send you a vat of antibacterial gel. Although I’m not even sure a case of Purell would help anyone after that.  I feel like I need to be hosed down like a prison inmate after just walking in there.

The Chatty Cathy

Remember when I mentioned my Hawaiian euphoric glow? Well, that didn’t mean I was so happy that I was going to be your in-flight entertainment. Watch a movie. Play Solitaire. Count Sheep. Anything. Because there was no way, especially after angry guy, that I could even fake interest in the story of how you were supposed to go to Mexico and stay in a five star resort, but changed your trip because you were petrified of contracting the swine flu. You made me want to put on surgical mask and start coughing just to get you off my jock.  Didn't you understand that Anne Hathaway and Kate Hudson were waiting?

The Frustrated Flight Attendant

Maybe I shouldn’t have pushed the envelope and asked you for a pen to fill out my agricultural clearance form after I’d already  asked you to take sides in my battle with angry guy. (Although, for the record, you chose very, very wisely!) I kind of get why you’d have a short fuse because you probably have to deal with so much shit on every flight that this blog post represents every day fodder for you. I can’t imagine how, flight after flight,  you put up with the call button whores; the “I’m going to get drunk on little bottles of booze” boozers; the people who put TWO bags in the overhead bin; the people who refer to you as stewardess.

Or maybe those things just bother me?

But I mostly can’t understand how you can physically deal with that much air travel because (TMI alert) just ONE flight can completely jack me up–for days. So, I wouldn’t want to share my pen either… if I had to use that bathroom and then couldn’t use that bathroom, if you know what I’m sayin’…

ANAL TRAVELER DISCLAIMER: Because I got up on my 30,000 foot high soap box, it’s time for full-disclosure.  I have a major case of traveler’s OCD. I definitely bring new meaning to the word anal when I travel.

Imagine a Type A, overly caffeinated, Aries on crack.

I have many "day of" travel rules. I must print my boarding pass at home. On the way to the airport, I can’t have a conversation about anything un-airport related because I have “I must make my flight” tunnel vision until I get to the gate. Until I’m on the plane (and sometimes, even after), I check, re-check and check again that my ID is in my wallet. (Again, Matt, sorry about when I almost turned the car around because I thought I’d left it in my wallet–on top of my car!) I must stop at Starbucks on the way to the airport AND after I go through security because I love my coffee and I read somewhere that you should never order it on an airplane. (Although I’m not sure if that’s even true & if it is, I can’t remember why you shouldn’t.) I have to be at the gate one hour before departure. (I have access to the Admiral’s Club, but can’t really relax when I’m in there because I’m worried about losing track of time!) And those are just the MAIN rules.

But at the end of the day, if something isn’t going right on the morning of my flight,  I’m not going to make you pay if I’m cranky.

That’s what my travel partner is there for!

Just kidding! (Sort of!)

xoxo

Chick Lit is not Dead presents: 25 Things Liz and Lisa want to know about Sarah Pekkanen

If you love chick lit as much as we do, you're going to love author Sarah Pekkanen. Her debut novel, titled The Opposite of Me, will be published  early next year by Atria, a division of Simon and Schuster (we can't wait!). If you're a fan of writers like Jennifer Weiner and Emily Giffin (who will be featured on our site next month- woo hoo!), we think you'll adore Sarah's novel about the tangled relationship between two very different twin 29-year-old sisters (and you know how we love sisters!)

We adore Sarah and are so excited to feature her in the inaugural edition of the 25 things Liz and Lisa want to know series.  Regularly, we'll be asking our favorite Chick Lit authors 25 "hard-hitting" questions that inquiring minds want to know!

So big props to our girl, Sarah.  And I think after you check out her answers you'll see why we heart her so much!

Chick Lit is Not Dead presents....

The 25 things Liz & Lisa want to know about Sarah Pekkanen

1.  Inside my purse, you'll discover: My all purpose tool from Sephora -- a rosy-colored smudge pot that can be used to give color and glow to lips, cheeks, eyelids...; a wallet with Starbucks cards and expired coupons I swear I had every intention of using; a crumpled juice box; a cell phone I'd die if I lost because it has a bajillion numbers programmed into it; a hairbrush, breath mints, hand cream and other emergency grooming items; a random sock, and a pacifier (not mine, I swear).

2.  My secret talent is: Solving puzzles on Wheel of Fortune before any of the letters are turned. Why couldn't I have a useful talent?

3.  If stranded on an island, the five things I could not live without are: Assuming I can't name people, I'll say 1) a big friendly mutt; 2) sunscreen (I'm whiter than a sheet of paper and I'd burn to a crisp); 3) a fishing pole; 4) a grape vine with grapes suitable for eating AND turning into wine; 5) matches (I was a terrible girl scout -- only in it for the Thin Mints -- and I just don't get the whole rubbing two sticks together thing).

4.  On my nightstand you'll find: Haphazard piles of books; a glass of water, and a jar of overpriced face cream that lied when it said it would make me look just like Angelina Jolie. Damn you, overpriced lying face cream!

5.  When I grew up, I wanted to be: A writer... some dreams do come true!

6.  My worst job: During the summer between junior and senior year of college, I waitressed at a pizza joint where the owner made his employees pay if people ran out on the check (which happened more often than you'd think). Plus the owner's son snorted coke and picked fights with customers, which didn't inspire big tips. And possibly led to lots of people running out on the check.

7.  My comfort food: Chocolate and a glass of crisp cold white wine

8.  The location where I write: My bedroom, my car, and, more than once, a table at Chuck E. Cheese! (Hey, I've got three little kids. I swear I didn't go there for myself...)

9.  Three songs on my IPOD's most played list: It changes, but now it's Alicia Keys' No One, Coldplay's Vida la Vida, and Andrea Bocelli's Romanza

10. If I was on the cover of US Weekly, my headline would read: Ordinary, Minivan-Driving Woman Turns Down Proposal from Brad Pitt; Her Grateful Husband Vows to Take Over All Laundry, Cooking and Cleaning

11. The three books that make me think of my childhood: Go Dog Go, anything Nancy Drew, and Little Women

12. My favorite Chick Flick: Sleepless in Seattle

13. My favorite Chick Lit book: Bridget Jones' Diary

14. My "must see" TV: The Office and American Idol

15. My Starbucks order: Grande Chai if it's cold out. A coffee frap if it's hot and I need a little extra tickle of caffeine.

16. My favorite curse word: Freaking, if that counts. If not, the other f-word will do in a pinch.

17. My celebrity man crush: Ooh, so many to choose from... John Cusack. No, Taylor Kitsch from Friday Night Lights. Wait, wait -- Johnny Depp. No, actually, I suspect Johnny doesn't shower enough for my liking. Definitely John Cusack.

18. My celebrity girl crush: Jennifer Garner. So fresh and wholesome! And those adorable dimples!

19. My writer crush: David Sedaris. He is brilliant and original.

20. My last meal before execution: Tranquilizer-laced chocolates. First I'd generously offer to share with the guards...

21. Three words to summarize my book: Perfect beach read!

22. It took me _____  to write my book. Nine months -- and a lot of chocolate, one God-awful early draft, a few revisions, more chocolate, a little whining and procrastinating, a firm talk to myself about meeting my goals, a promise to myself that I'd meet my goals after I checked out PerezHilton.com ...

23. My book's original title: Way Beyond Compare

24. Right now, I'm working on: Book number two, which doesn't have a title yet. But I promise it'll be juicy and fun and satisfying. Er, the book. Not just the title.

25. Chick Lit is alive & kicking because: It never really died -- it just faked being dead so George Clooney would give it mouth-to-mouth!

If you want to read more about Sarah, Click here to check out her awesome website!

I'm a (book) swinger By Lisa

My name is Lisa Steinke and I'm a swinger. A "book" swinger, that is...

I'm ready to face the cold, hard reality that I no longer believe in book monogamy.

I just can't seem to commit to just one novel anymore. I can no longer live in denial as the Jenga-like stack of reads on my nightstand stares me down each night...Each book calling out to me that it should be the one I choose.

I've got saucy books-- Lisa, pick me I have really.. big... WORDS.

Needy books--Lisaaaaa, you haven't held me since last Tuesday....!!!

Arrogant books--Lisa, I'm on the New York Times Best Seller List-- as if this is really a hard decision for you.

But the book I'm going to crawl into bed with is completely dependent upon what kind of mood I'm in. I might need a little romance one night. But the next, I might need a hardback...if you know what I'm sayin' *wink* *wink*

So, that's why I'm currently reading several, er, ten different books.

Yup, I'm seeing ten books at the same time.

But it wasn't always this bad...Really, it wasn't.

In the beginning, it was two, maybe three tops. But before I knew it, I was in double digits...

And now I'm a full-blown book whore.

I read around. I do. I can't help it. I want to be with them all... I'll be in bed with one but I'll be distracted, thinking about the other. It's not that I don't LOVE book "X", it's just that book "Y" is new, exciting, different...

And my whoreyness has never been more evident than while I've been trying to pack for my trip to Maui this week. I haven't been facing the usual packing dilemmas like how many pairs of espadrilles to bring, how many sundresses are absolutely critical or if I really do need aviators and Jacki O's. My true struggle has been deciding which lucky books get to travel with me to a romantic and relaxing vacation in Aloha land.

My instinct is to grab four or five so I can have options, but realistically, I'll probably only read two or three because I plan to be doing *cough* other things with my very human lover.

And although this space issue is a problem a Kindle could easily solve, I just don't think I could whore out with Kindle the way I do with my books. Call me old school, but I'm a gal who needs a little foreplay...who loves to hold and caress her book, to bury her nose deep within its pages and inhale that glorious new book smell. I just don't think I could go all gadgety even if it came down to not having the room for another pair of wedges or needing to forgo that lime green Banana Republic sun hat, even if it was an impulse buy...

So you'd think that knowing I have this problem... Knowing that I'm already juggling ten different stories from ten different books (just keeping all the names straight is a full-time job), that I'd stop adding to my fictional and nonfictional harem. If only it were that simple. If only I had the will power to avoid that place called Barnes & Noble.

I imagine asking a book whore to stay away from Barnes & Noble is like trying to convince an alcoholic to stay away from the bar. Aint .gonna. happen.

So, I pull into the parking lot and tell myself that I am allowed to go inside but I'm not allowed to buy anything. Not even a bookmark. I'll just see what new books are out. No harm in that, right? Just because I'm on a diet doesn't mean I can't look at the menu...

But once I'm inside and all the books are surrounding me-- New fiction, Best Sellers, Recommended Reading, Bargain Bin (actually, I never stop there--even I have limits...)-- I can't help myself.

And before I know it, I'm picking up a book and reading the back cover. Then, the first page.

That's not cheating, right? Books A, B, C, D and E will never have to know. But then...

I. want. it.

I. must. have. it.

I. am. going. to. buy. it.

And as I walk out of the store with my green, plastic bag (I know, I know... I need to go canvas) I vow that I will NOT read the new guy. I'll take him home, put him on my shelf and only after I finish the other books will I even dare crack him open.

But that's never what happens.

I get home and somehow he ends up on my nightstand, staring at me. Begging me to open him. Taunting me with his promises of new and different protagonists and exciting plot twists.

Until finally, I cave.

And that's exactly what happened after my most recent "browsing" excursion to B&N. Even though I obviously had plenty of books to take with me to Kaanapali, I couldn't resist the urge to see what else was out there.

And as I exited with Laura Dave’s, London is the Best City in America (hey, I didn’t have it in paperback & after devouring The Divorce Party, I decided I have a total writer crush on her!), Cathy Yardley’s, Turning Japanese (it sounds so fun!), Alison Pace’s, City Dog (one of the narrators of the book is the dog-- how clever is that?!) and *throat clear* Candy Spelling's, Candyland (c'mon, who isn’t curious about that mansion?), I tried not to feel guilty for being unfaithful to the books faithfully waiting for me at home.

So which books made it into my brand spankin' new Tory Burch beach bag?

A true book whore never reads and tells...

Although please let me know if you come across any books that could help with my disorder. Anything along the lines of…

Book Whores Are People Too!

Don’t Turn That Page! An Addicts Guide To Faithfully Reading

or

Confessions of a Book Swinger: How One Just Wasn’t Enough...

xoxo, Lisa

RULES OF THE POOL by Liz

I'm currently on an exhaustive, fattening, frustrating, yet joyful adventure, otherwise known as the family vacation. I've actually started to relax a bit, although it was hard at first. Upon arriving, I realized that although I had managed to fit the entire contents of my house into my minivan, I had forgotten tone crucial thing.

The kid's bathing suits!

It's hard to break the news to toddlers that although Mommy packed fourteen pairs of flip flops and 30 DVDs for a seven day trip, she couldn't be b0thered to pack a bathing suit for the pool. *cue angry crying*

But don't fret.  Although Lisa talks a lot of shit about my close relationship with Raj, my Mailboxes Etc guy, he really came through. One frantic call to him at 6pm and those suits were sitting on my doorstep early the next morning.  I'm not quite sure who he had to blow to get them here but I'm not complaining!

So now that the swimwear had arrived, we were ready for eight-hour days at the pool.  And I must say, my fellow vacationers are quite entertaining.  Especially after a few Pina Coladas.

So I've made a list of a few favorites that have caught my attention.

1. The Inappropriate Uncle I wanted to give you a pass because  you told me you liked my bathing suit when I walked up.  But I couldn't ignore the fact that you made out with your trashy girlfriend on the next chaise over and were taking kamikaze shots while you were supposed to be watching your 6 year-old nephew.

2. The Creepy Grandpa Um, if you think I'm going to let you take my four-year old over the bar to get a smoothie after we chatted for five minutes, you're smoking crack!  She is way too young for her first roofie.

3. The Hot Bitch Okay, Hot bitch.  I just want to go on record to say that I don't think you actually gave birth to that baby you're holding.  Your body is smokin' and there's not a stretch mark in site.  And you're even drinking DARK beer!  Why do you have to be so cruel?

4. The Looker Upper Downer Please stop. You keep making me look down to make sure I'm waxed in all the right places and that my boob hasn't popped out. I've tried to convince myself that you are looking me up and down because I'm so fabulous but I think we both know better.

5. The Splash-me-nots I'm sorry that you thought you were making a smart decision by moving over to that "small pool in the corner" to get away from the drunk coeds.  Because if you hate loud noise and don't want to get splashed, you've just entered Hell, otherwise known as the toddler pool.

6. Social Butterfly, Pool Edition Yep, that's me!  Just can't help myself.  Move away quickly if you don't want to talk.  Especially after my second Pina Colada.

7. The "It takes a Village" couple The fact that I'm actually sitting in the water watching my kids does not mean I've become your pool nanny.  How many times to I have to save your 18 month-old from drowning in a foot of water before you get your ass in the pool?

8. The Chatty Grandma Please stop talking about the sensual 90 minute massage you got from a man named Hans this morning.  It's too much, even for a social butterfly like myself.

9.  The Judgey McJudgersons Yes, I'm aware my daughter looks red.  Yes, I've applied sunscreen in the last 90 minutes.  And no, I don't want to borrow that lame-ass UV protective hat your kid is wearing!

10. The Bully Your daughter just bitchslapped my son and took his floatie and you're not going to say a thing?  It's on whorebag!

xoxo

Ghosts of Boyfriends Past By Liz & Lisa

The May 1st release of Ghosts of Girlfriends Past got us thinking about how the world is getting smaller and smaller.  Remember the good ol' days when you could just speculate about what all your exes were up to?  Now you can find just about anybody in two clicks on Facebook and, for us, it kind of takes the romance out of it.  I mean, how can we fantasize about the one that got away when we find out that instead of becoming a physical therapist he’s been delivering packages for FedEx for the past ten years?

So, in tribute to what we hope will be a wonderful movie with a happy ending, here are Liz and Lisa's Ghosts of Boyfriends Past... Disclaimer: Dates and certain events have been changed in an effort to protect the identity of our ghosts.

LISA'S GHOSTS

The Husband

I was married once, sort of.

I got a long-term boyfriend practically the second my UGG boots hit the pavement of my college campus. Apparently this guy didn’t mind my unibrow or the twenty-five pounds I packed on as I single-handedly kept Carl’s Jr. in business. Already showing signs of becoming a serial monogamist, (dated the Mullet Man for a year in high school) I jumped at the chance to be in another relationship.

Sure! I’ll give up all opportunities to make out with young, hot, frat boys with rock hard abs and stamina so I can “settle down” at the age of 19!

WTF?

At least my "hubby" had a great body. Well, a great body that, allegedly, he was sharing with others…

According to sources, he may have been doing a lot more than guzzling beer bongs at his fraternity mixers. And although his indiscretions were never confirmed, I did find a wonder bra in his closet once. And panties under his bed that other time. (A fraternity prank, he swore!) Oh, and there was also that day his other girlfriend called.

And even though we could put some Jerry Springer guests to shame with the way we argued, we thought it would be a fantastic idea to move in together!

I even bought a leather chair and matching ottoman. *cue gag sound*

I became the consummate nagging wife. Why weren’t you home right after class? You never do the dishes! You need to stop seeing your other girlfriends!

When it ended, I vowed that it was finally time to be the sorority slut I never got the chance to be! I was free!

Well, until The Egomaniac commanded my attention.

The Egomaniac

It was a short, but loving relationship. Oh so loving.

The egomaniac was incredibly devoted. He really  knew how to love, praise and worship…

Himself.

So when the egomaniac left me, I wasn’t surprised about the person he left me for…

Himself.

After the egomaniac told me he was no longer in love with me and madly in love with himself, I cried…

Tears of joy! (And Bob Steinke danced a jig!)

What a relief! My arms hurt like hell from holding him up on that damn pedestal. I was exhausted! Turns out, it was a good thing I took a year off from dating, because I was going to need all my energy for flying around in Never Never Land.

Peter Pan

It would be so much easier if men told you exactly who they were on the first date. If Peter Pan had done that, our date would have gone something like this:

Peter Pan: “Hi, I’m 35 and I never want to grow up; I play Nintendo during all of my free time; I have a weekly (even if I’m on my death-bed) date, not with you, but with my man-boyfriends; I’m still best friends with all of my ex-girlfriends who, BTW, are all still madly in love with me; Oh, and I have a slight Oedipus complex. So tell me about you…”

Me: “Check please.”

But that’s not how things went down. I found him handsome and charming. He was smart, had a sexy job and was a homeowner. He seemed so grown up and ready to settle down! How did I get so lucky?

Well, I gambled on the wrong man-boy. In my armchair psychologist opinion, he was a textbook commitment-phoebe. He wouldn’t admit to being afraid of commitment, he was just really picky; He kept all his broken-hearted exes at arm’s length (Liz called it his menagerie) just in case. In fact, the framed picture of his most recent ex was still sitting next to his bed until I kindly asked him to take the f***ing thing down!

I finally told Peter Pan our “fairy tale” was over after he freaked out when a drunk, homeless guy slurred that we looked very much in love as we walked by his shopping cart.

Then I bought the guy a forty and gave him twenty bucks for saving my life.

LIZ'S GHOSTS

Wannabe Romeo I met Wannabe Romeo at a training class for my first real job after college.  He chatted me up while I checked in and faster you could say 401K we were completely hammered in the hotel bar. It was a whirlwind week and by the end of it I was convinced I had met someone really special.  Too bad he lived on the other side of the country.  Oh well, right?

Fast forward to three months and three visits later when we made the BRILLIANT decision to move in together.  Because it’s meant to be!  Kismet!  Not only do I have a real job, now I’m going to play house too!  I’ve officially arrived!

Six months later… Um…we don’t have as much in common as we thought.  And I found a girl’s number in his pocket last week.  But I’m sure it will be fine.

Six months after that…  Yeah, I don’t know about this.  Why didn’t he mention his affinity for Medieval swords and his passion for history?  And he’s really friendly with other women, especially my mom. It’s kind of creepy, even though my mom is a total Coug...

Nine months later…  Made the walk of shame out of a party last night after wannabe Romeo almost got his ass kicked last night at a party for fondling someone’s wife.  And I’ve been starting to spend a lot of time with BFF and think about Boy Toy.

Two weeks later…It’s over  The only thing I’m sad about is that I waited so long to leave.  But I’ll be okay.  I’ve got the BFF and Boy Toy to comfort me.

The BFF aka The Safety Net

He was always there for me. I cried on his shoulder about Wannabe Romeo and he helped me move my stuff out of the apartment.  And okay, I guess I knew the BFF wanted to us to be BF/GF. And while there was no one else I’d rather spend time with (except for Boy Toy!)  It just didn’t seem right. And not even his high-paying job, beachfront apartment or super sweet family could change the fact that kissing him felt like kissing my brother. I even tried getting completely smashed and tried again.  Nope, then it just felt like kissing my brother while drunk.  Even a crazy trip to Mexico didn’t bring me on board. I’ve never tried so hard to love someone in my life.

Letting go of The Safety Net was one of the hardest decisions I’ve ever made.  But I think we both knew it was time for me to take a leap of faith.  Too bad his super sweet family STILL hates me for it!

The Boy Toy

Watching your boyfriend hit on other women constantly can really get a girl down. But I give Boy Toy full credit for putting the swagger back in my step.  Boy Toy was super-easy on the eyes and never said no to a midnight drunk-and-dial. And although he wasn’t going to create cold fusion, he served his purpose well. I didn’t even mind that I had to explain what quirky meant and who Jane Austen was.  I’d never felt so smart and sexy in my life!

But even though our random rendezvous gave me something to look forward to, I soon grew tired of watching Beavis and Butthead incessantly and his inability to be on time.  It was time to say goodbye so I could concentrate on finding a man that understood the difference between your and you’re and could spell Mississippi.  But I’ll always be thankful to Boy Toy for helping me get my groove back.

xoxo

Liz and Lisa

Road Rules By Liz and Lisa

Our 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.

NEVER, EVER, EVER UNDERESTIMATE THE POWER OF A VENTI AMERICANO

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!

PRACTICE HIDING YOUR WTF FACE

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

Watch Two episodes of Sex and The City & Call me in the morning By Lisa

A) Martini B) Xany

C) Box of thin mint Girl Scout Cookies

D) Sex and the City

A, B, C or...D?  How do you deal with stress?

I've been known to toss back a cocktail, or six, to escape.  On more than one occasion, I've poached a few xanys off friends who are "afraid to fly." And at the end of a really, really stressful day where I've been over-thinking the shit out of everything, I've straight up gone to town on an entire box of thin mints. (BTW--I highly recommend removing the two rows of cookies and immediately discarding the box--and its shameful calorie count-- into the trash can. Out of sight, out of thighs, right?)

But my first choice to take a "brain vacation" is not necessarily A, B or C....because as good as they all make me feel "in the moment"... it's the next day that aint so perty.

So, in honor of the one-man show I used to perform as a child, Dr. Steinofsky,(long story, but I will tell you it involved a white lab coat, my mom's reading glasses and monologues about psychology?!), I'm going to give you Dr. Steinke's, er, Dr. Steinofsky's, number one stress cure-all. The best part about this remedy? You won't feel like ASS ON A STICK the morning after!

My prescription for pain is to watch at least two episodes of Sex and The City. Sorry, my beloved Grey Goose, but I prefer a dose of Carrie, Miranda, Samantha and Charlotte to get me through.

Put simply, I'd much rather empathize with Carrie's latest Big drama than think about my own big drama. I can get lost in the funny one-liners (Samantha: "The guy I'm dating has the funkiest tasting spunk" Carrie: "Excuse me, can I cancel my rice pudding?") and am no longer obsessing about the fact that the interest rate on my credit card "suddenly doubled".

I love the entire series (well, with the exception of Berger-sorry was just "not that into him"), have worn the shit out of my DVD collection and have watched the movie more times that I can count (even twice in one day recently while I was writing)...but even the most die hard fan has her favorites. So here are mine. If you need an escape, I advise you to watch at least two and call me in the morning!

Season one, episode one- Sex and the City. Disclaimer: Sex and the City premiered 11 years ago (um, yeah you read that right!) So, if it's been a while since you've watched that first episode, you need to brace yourself for a few things. Carrie's hair is pretty bad (short and way too dark), there are a lot of boxy blazers (and Miranda's not the only one wearing them) and there's also that whole "talking to the camera thing" (thank God that stopped), but it's still Sex and the City! And this episode is a classic because it's when Carrie and Mr. Big first meet! So, is this a must-watch that will make you feel better? "Absofuckinglutely!"

Season two, finale- Ex and the City. Can you be friends with an ex? That's the question Carrie asks in this episode. And it's a question I think we've all asked. I'll admit it. I've failed miserably at trying to be friends with an ex. Let's just say I learned the hard way that it's not a good idea to hang out with your ex in London while trying to pretend you're not still in love with him...even when he tells you his "other" ex is also in town. (True story!) So when Carrie and Big have their lunch and he drops the bomb that he's engaged, I feel her heart break. And when Charlotte asks Carrie how "she's not in a hospital or something" after hearing that news, I can empathize with how, even when your heart physically hurts, you have to keep going. And it's your GIRLfriends who you can always count on to help you through. (Xoxo!)

Season four- Ghost Town. I'll admit it, I was on Team Aidan for a while. So I love when Carrie starts to admit she wants him back. (He did get really hot after he cut the hair, lost the tummy & those turquoise rings!) This is also the episode where Steve and Aidan open "Scout", Samantha breaks up with her lesbian lover and Miranda (and her cat, "Fatty")  think there's a ghost in the apartment--which, for whatever reason, I find really funny... (Well, it could be because, in a particularly desperate single woman moment a couple years ago,  I came dangerously close to custom-ordering a cat. ) Hence my favorite line: Charlotte: "When I lived alone, I used to get scared. But now that Trey and I are back together, I feel so safe." Miranda: "What are you saying, Charlotte, I have a ghost because I'm single? That's discrimination!"

Season four- Baby, Talk is Cheap. I'm picking another episode from season four because I like so many of its story lines... Steve only having one ball and wanting to get a ball implant that's not FDA approved (Miranda: "Do you want a pinto next to your penis, Steve?"), Miranda getting pregnant from her mercy f**k with Steve, Carrie and Aidan try to make it work but then realizing they don't work...This particular episode also hits especially close to home--yet again. I, like Carrie, might also be guilty of throwing rocks at the window of an ex-boyfriend I was just slightly desperate to get back together with. I'll spare you the gory details and simply say, "That was the last time I opted not to ring the doorbell!"

Season six finale- An American Girl in Paris, Part Une & Deux. I'm all about the happy ending. It's why I read chick lit, write chick lit and love romantic comedies. So, naturally, I love the ending of the series because all the ladies get who and what they want. And even though they experience very real struggles along the way, everything is tied up in a perfect bow at the end. Just how I like it. (Favorite parts: When Big meets the girls in the coffee shop (his first time there) and tells them they are the three loves of Carrie's life and a guy's just lucky to come in fourth. When Miranda says to Big, "Go get our girl"... And then of course when Big goes to Paris and tells Carrie she's "the one"... Hey--even though I'm a robot, I'm still a total sucker for all that romantic love stuff!

So, Dr. Steinke's bottom line? If you're feeling stressed, watch Sex and The City, go see the latest romantic comedy (only one year 'til the next SATC movie!) or read a good Chick Lit book.

I have one I can recommend...

xoxo

Alma Mater Matters by Liz

Who says you can't go back?

Lisa and I were honored to be recognized last week by our Alma Mater, Cal Poly Pomona as part of the Golden Leaves library program. We were proud to be included with many other distinguished alumni authors!

We were told to prepare a little something to say, but with Lisa was out of town,   my limited public speaking skills and I were left to fend for ourselves. So I put on my naughty librarian suit and dragged my husband along to take pictures.  And as we walked through the newly remodeled Library, I tried in vain to remember spending time in there as a coed.  But besides recalling one all-night study session with someone I was crushing on and an odd Lexis-Nexis flashback , I couldn't even remember checking out a book!  My husband was very perplexed by this.  How did I graduate?  And I told him that I did what I always do.

I winged it!

That's right, people.  I don't like to over-prepare.  Outline, schmoutline!  Test?  Let's skim the material and see what sticks.  Giving a speech at the library for published alumni authors?  Just get up there and see what comes to mind!

And so that's what I did.  I told myself not to be intimidated that I'll Have Who She's Having was sitting on a table next to In Sputnick's Shadow: The President's Science Advisory Committee and Cold War America.   Or that the lady before me was reading about Chaucer.  Or the fact that the Dean of the Library kept talking about pedagogy and I had no idea what that was.

When my name was called, I took a deep breath and made sure I had appropriate cleavage showing. Don't judge, I was just playing to my strengths.  And what I may be lacking in vocabulary, I make up for in boobs!

Then I sauntered up to the podium and told them about our journey to publication.  How every agent out there, said, Like this manuscript a lot but sorry, Chick lit is dead, maybe take out some pop culture references and call it Women's fiction?...That Lisa and I looked around at all our educated women friends that were DYING for a good book with a happy ending and said SCREW THAT!  CHICK LIT IS ALIVE AND WELL!  That's right, I told them.  Get ready people, because women want to read GOOD books about other women.  And we want movies made from these books!  And no, we won't call it Women's fiction so you can feel better about reading it!  IT'S CHICK LIT, DAMNIT!

Okay, so maybe I didn't say it quite like that.  But I did say screw.  And crap.  But not f*ck. I didn't think it would be cool to drop an F bomb when the President of the University was sitting five feet in front of me.

And then, because I hadn't really um, *cough*, prepared, I just starting saying stuff.  I  told them that sometimes my brain likes to go on vacation. And when my brain packs up and heads out on vacation, it doesn't want to read about someone's kid dying or molecular biology. My brain wants to have a margarita, a happy ending and some chips with guacamole.  In that order.

And after that, I proudly held up I'll Have Who She's Having and said they should pick up a copy if their brain wants a vacation too!

And while I'm sure that some in that room just dismissed me as a dumb blonde with a fluffy book, there were others who came up to me after and told me they agreed.  And in that moment, I knew that I made the right choice to take a stand for Chick lit. To show them who I really am...

A thirty-something girl with too much shit going on that sometimes just wants a good book and a glass of wine.  Oh, and liposuction.  But that can wait.  For now I'll take the wine and book.

xoxo

Lisa Steinke Aka Sally Jesse Raphael By Lisa

The year was 1987. Walk Like an Egyptian topped the charts; Ollie North defended his role in Iran-Contra; Platoon won the Academy Award for best picture and Lisa Steinke knowingly and willingly got big, f***ing, honking, red glasses that made her look like Sally Jesse Raphael.

Why the f**k would she do that?

Well, like any good, respectable daughter, I'm going to throw my dad under the bus on this one.

Good ol' Bob Steinke who simply did NOT give a rat's ass about my teenage angst and awkward phases. Bob Steinke, who didn't seem to care that I was struggling with major drama like pads vs. tampons; Sun-In vs. bleach and Corey Haim vs. Corey Feldman.

My dad's only focus was figuring out how to keep his teenage daughter with raging hormones as far away from boys as possible. Hmm...now that I think about it, he definitely didn't encourage anything that would make me LOOK better. Some of his "rules"...

Couldn't date 'til I was 17!

Couldn't get my drivers license 'til I was 18!

Couldn't shave my legs 'til I was 16! (Don't worry--although I clearly wouldn't have known what tweezers were if they'd stabbed me in the freakin' eye, I DID get my mits on a Bic Razor and secretly shaved my hairy ass legs a long time before that.)

So, there I was...15 years old...a freshman in high school and feeling awkward as all hell. My boobs were growing so fast rumors swirled that I got implants; I had questionable fashion sense (even though I still really, really want to believe that my L.A. Gear high tops and matching L.A. Gear jean jacket were in style?!) My hairstyle was, well, a perm. And apparently I had a strange desire to place a barrett on the very top of my head.

Late at night as I'd listen to my Tiffany tape (Could've Been was a personal fav) and cry about my terribly hard life, I'd think, "At least I FINALLY got my braces off!"....

And then I went to the eye doctor and received the news that apparently I was blind as a bat. But there was NO WAY I was going to wear glasses! I was going to get contact lenses instead!

Not.

Not if Bob Steinke had anything to do with it. I was wayyyy too young, irresponsible and immature for those, he said with a satisfied smile on his face.

In front of the optometrist, I screamed that I didn't want to go from "brace face" to "four eyes!" I'd walk into doors and walls before I'd be caught dead in glasses! I didn't need to see the letters E, C, D, F or Z! He was ruining my life!

But dear ol' dad didn't flinch. His answer was an unequivocal NO. And when Bob Steinke said, "NO"-- let's just say he meant it.

So being the fifteen year old "rebel" that I was, I said f**k it, If I'm going to wear glasses, I'm going to wear glasses. I'm going to make a statement!

But it wasn't until I stepped foot on campus the next day, that I put two and two together.

"Hey Sally!"

"I want to be on your talk show!"

"Look--Sally Jesse Raphael goes to Vista High now!"

I ran into the bathroom and stared at my reflection in the mirror.

F**k. I did look like Sally Jesse f***ing Raphael.

And then I remembered what my dad said to me as I stubbornly tried on glasses. "Yes, you should DEFINITELY get the red ones."

I couldn't deny it. The game had a clear winner.

Bob Steinke- 1.

Lisa Steinke- ZERO.

A nod to my iPod by Liz

I've found one of the benefits to getting older is that you start to accept who you are.  You don't apologize anymore for being anal about being on time or obsessed with expensive sunglasses. You just get to the point where you say, Here I am!  Take it or leave it people! So I was surprised to learn something new about myself last week! I discovered that there's a part of my life that I'm still pretty damn sensitive about.   And you'll never guess what it is...

My iPod playlist.

I never realized until recently that many people actually look to the contents of one's iPod to determine their worthiness.  Did I miss something?  Did bad music taste actually makes someone a bad person?  If so, I was screwed.

I never had iPod sensitivity before.  I need music to write and use mine constantly. It wasn't until the day my friend(who considers herself something of a musical expert) hopped in my car and began scrolling through my Top 25 Most Played that I realized that there was yet another parameter on which we could judge one another!

There was silence for a moment as she pondered my playlists.

Then she said hmmmm.

I held my breath and waited for her verdict.  Will she understand that I have no choice with the HSM soundtrack?  That I've been beaten into submission by the marketing team at Disney?

She started laughing.  Loudly. "Um, I don't know how to tell you this, but, you have terrible taste in music!"

I was pissed.  I tried to argue that taste is subjective, who was she to go all Simon Cowell on my downloads?  I never say anything about the fact that she still watches All My Children! (PS, 1988 called, thay want their television viewing habits back.)

But in the end, I knew she was right.  I have the music taste of a 13 year-old girl.  And not even a cool 13 year-old girl.  I'm talking about the nerdy girl who sits by herself at lunch every day and picks her zits.

So it's time to come out of the closet and celebrate my inner teen. And here it is, my Top 10 Most Played. (I didn't want to bore you with all 25, I only play the same 10 over and over again anyway!)

Liz's Top 10 most played

1. Light on by David Cook

I. Love. This. Man.  And I'm leaving my "light on" for him if you get what I'm sayin'.

2. Fly with Me by Kari Kimmel(Tinkerbell soundtrack)

Um.  Okay let me explain.  My "daughter" really likes this song.  I mean, she really, really likes it. And she plays it. A lot. And really loud.  And she may sing along.  I'm sorry but this song makes me *cough* I mean her, very happy!

3. I Can't Hate you Anymore by Nick Lachey

Believe it or not, I wrote the last ten chapters of I'll Have Who She's Having with this on replay.  At least back then I was 4 weeks out after giving birth and completely postpartum.  I have no excuses for liking it now!

4. HOT DOG(aka the Mickey Mouse Clubhouse song) by They Might be Giants

Not for me.  I swear this time.  Although it is pretty catchy after the billionth time you hear it...

5. Over it by Katherine McPhee

Obviously, I have a addiction to former AI contestants.  Yes, David Archuleta, Jordin Sparks and even Clay Aiken have found their way into my iTunes shopping cart.

6. Umbrella by Marie Digby

This is actually one of the cooler selections on the list.  Girls with guitars get me every time!

7.  Gotta Go My Own Way by Gabriella and Troy(HSM2 soundtrack)

Something about Gabriella angst after she hands back Troy's necklace really speaks to me.  Just kidding!  I don't know why I like this song.  But I do.  A lot.

8. Don't Fall in Love With A Dreamer by Kenny Rogers and Kim Carnes

Let's be honest here...you know you have Kenny's greatest hits hidden in the back of your old neoprene cd case too.  And you have to admit this choice is just a tinier bit cooler than Scarlet Fever, right?

9. Soulmate by Natasha Bedingfield

Okay... So this one is respectable. I heard this song on an episode of "The Hills" when LC was bumming about Brody...or that French guy...or that guy that went out with Spencer's sister after her...Whatever!  You get the idea.

10. Someday by Nickelback

OF COURSE I like Nickelback.  Aren't they like the poster children for people with bad music taste?  I even like that lame-ass song they have about being a Rock Star!

Can you top this list?  Tell us what's on your Ipod!

xoxo Liz

Ass Kicker or Ass Kisser? By Liz & Lisa

We'll be the first to admit that we're polar opposites in many ways- especially when it comes to our conflict resolution tactics.  Lisa takes pride in her ability to *cough* persuade people to do what she wants.  And Liz prefers a gentler approach--coddling her subjects into submission. And even though we'd been friends for twenty years, we never really thought about how different we were until we went into business together.  Let's just say that nothing brings out personality differences like negotiating contracts or designing a web page!  Liz's answer to getting what we needed always involved some form of "sweet talk" paired with a non fat latte... and Lisa's first choice was to run in, guns blazin' and flat out demand it.

But it wasn't until we had several botched attempts at conflict resolution with one particularly frustrating individual (so stressful that we both sought out acupuncture after) that we decided it was time to embrace our differences and use them to our advantage. Now when a problem needs to be resolved, we strategize like we're CIA agents headed out on a mission. Who should we send to the front lines of the battle? The fast talkin', Ass Kickin' Aries or the sweet talkin' Ass Kissin' Libra?

Lisa: ASS KICKER

I'm a natural born ASS KICKER. I'm an Aries.  Need I say more?

I don't sugar coat and really, really suck at it when I try (Liz can attest to this).  I don't have a problem saying that one little word that can make any ASS KISSER cringe--No. My desire to get something off my chest can often win out over things like when I confront you. (Sorry about the times I've had a Come to Jesus with you before you've had your coffee, or worse, before I've had mine.)

I don't like conflict, but I won't go to the ends of the Earth to avoid it either. Especially if someone I loved has been wronged! So because I'm fiercely loyal, this "fiery ram" will often be the first in line to offer to kick ass for you. I'm not a physical person, so don't expect it to be a literal ass kick... but you can definitely count on me to drop the bee-yotch to her knees with words. (They don't tell me I should've been a lawyer for nothing!) My ass kicking services are also often called upon by friends. Need a disputed credit card charge handled? I'm your man. Wish that guy would get the hint and stop calling? Give me his number. And need to tell that friend she can't bring her annoying cousin to the party? I'll handle it.

So you might find it ironic that I surround myself with ASS KISSERS/PEOPLE PLEASERS. Maybe it's because I'm so envious of their way of life. Their ability to make friends with anyone is amazing! (The barista at Starbucks! The owner of the local shipping store! Their neighbors!) The word "yes" rolls off their tongues with such ease! And they care if people like them!

Recently, I was bitching to Liz about someone I planned to confront the next day and she suggested that I "freeze them" instead.

"You know that's not my style," I said to her matter-of-factly, as we ass kickers tend to do. If someone pisses me off, I generally tell them--to their face. I don't say it to a piece of paper and then stick it next to the ice cubes. But I admit I was intrigued. Could I really resolve conflict without confrontation? So, because I'm a girl who likes to get the most bang for my buck, I asked Liz if I could freeze three other people at the same time (Figured I'd try to knock a few peeps off my s***t list while I was at it).

"Freeze the world if you want!" She said with a lightness in her voice. (Her own recent freeze had gone really, really well, she explained.)

So I did. I froze the s**t out of those four people and I'm happy to report that my non-confrontational conflict resolution was a smashing success! A Ziploc freeze is probably the closest I'm going to get to crossing over to the other side--- for now. But hey, baby steps, right?

Liz: ASS KISSER

Although I much prefer the term "confrontation challenged",  I'm not afraid to admit that I want you to like me.  As a Libra, I'm always striving for harmony, whether it be at work or home.  That's not to say that I can't stick up for myself!  It's just that if I'm calling and confronting you that means the shit has really hit the fan and you should run for cover immediately.

And Ass kissing is an art, my friends.  It must be subtle and effortless, like a beautiful ballet.  Lisa likes to throw around the term "people pleaser"  and I know she's talking about me.  And it's true, I don't want you hatin' on me.   I don't want to go through life with my fists up like Popeye, waiting for the next battle.  I LOVE to give the benefit of the doubt.  I NEVER stay mad for more than 24 hours.  I care what Raj over at Mailboxes Etc. thinks of my new haircut.  And although I realize a small dose of skepticism would do me good, I still like to believe that the homeless guy on the corner is really going to start a new life rather than buy drugs with the five dollars I just handed him.

But the reason that the ASS KICKER/ASS KISSER relationship works is because they need each other.  The ASS KICKER will act as bulldog for the ASS KISSER should a "situation" arise. (And by situation, I mean yell at someone when the ASS KISSER is too scared to do it herself.) And she always makes the ASS KISSER think twice about just whether she should really just "let something go" because she'd rather avoid confrontation than stand up for what's right.  Most importantly, I've never met an ASS KICKER that wasn't an incredibly loyal friend. (Well, until you piss them off...)

But the ASS KISSER comes through in the clutch too.  She will often talk the ASS KICKER down from the ledge and make her consider the other side of the story. Maybe that person was having a bad day when she called you a bitchface and threw an iced latte in your face? And the ASS KISSER is also a fantastic wingman in any social situation!  She can have an enlightening conversation with a brick wall if she has to.  Because it's a total score if she can get that brick wall to like her too!

So ASS KICKERS and ASS KISSERS, we think you really do need each other.  So stop your bickering, unite and celebrate your differences!  *group hug*

xoxo, Liz  & Lisa

FREEZE! by Liz

Some people may find this cold, but I froze someone today.  But don't worry, they didn't feel a thing... I've always had a tendency to over-think.  I've gotten better with my analysis paralysis over the years, but I'm not gonna lie.  Every now and then I will still stew the hell out of someone while blowing out my hair.  For some reason that's my "crazy time".  I'll tell someone off in my head while round brushing and accept their apology gracefully while straight ironing.  By the time I'm done, I've worked myself into such a frenzy that I'm ready to kick someone's ass! (Btw, do NOT attempt to email me during the short window between the pretend-fight blowout session and my daily trip to Starbucks.  It always ends badly!)

But as I mentioned, I don't do it much anymore.  And it's because I learned to FREEZE.

One day last year, I popped in to see my psychic. (Yes, I have one!  Don't you?)  She saw that I was having some drama with someone coming to visit and suggested that I freeze them.  Freeze them, I asked?  WTF?  She said I had to freeze all the negative energy that this hateful bitch(her words, not mine!) was sending my way. Apparently, I needed to write her name down on a piece of paper, put it in a Ziploc bag filled with water, stick it in the freezer overnight and throw it out the next day.

Um...okay.

I thought it was a little crazy but I decided, what the hell?  My psychic had never led me astray before. And, the dreaded visit was getting closer and closer so I was desperate!   Oh well, I thought.  What can it hurt?

So I took out my sharpie and wrote her first, middle and last name down. Even though my psychic told me a first name would suffice, I had to be sure the powers that be knew exactly who I was talking about! The next morning, I took it  to Starbucks and threw it out.  I know, I could have thrown it in our home trash but it was a hot day and I wanted to make absolutely sure that this bitch's bad energy didn't come back to get me when the ice melted.

And maybe it was all mental, but I did notice a change right away.  All of the sudden, I could read her emails without screaming at the computer or needing to count backwards from ten before replying.  And I didn't even pretend-fight with her in my head while doing my hair the day they arrived!  And while their visit wasn't perfect, I was able to get through it without reaching across the table at dinner and stabbing her with my fork after she asked me how in the world I could finish the salad I ordered.  It was so huge! Could she put half of it away for me? Really, how could I eat the entire thing?

For the first time ever, I was able to smile and say, no thanks, I was going to eat every single bite.  And I did.  And even though I felt like throwing up at the end, (it really was a big salad!) it was worth it.  Her bad energy just bounced off me like ball off a tennis racquet.

It was then that I realized this freezing shit was no joke.  The really interesting thing was that the people that you freeze continue on with the same bad behavior.  It just doesn't get under your skin anymore!

Quick disclaimer to my friends...Before you read this next part...of course I didn't freeze you!  I love every sweet word uttered from your mouths!  xoxo

I became like a kid in a candy store.  I was freezing everyone!  I froze people at work, relatives and even people I really liked so I was covered on the off chance they started to bug me.  Every morning I would open my freezer door, take out my bags and drive to Starbucks.  And btw, the service at that Starbucks got really bad around this same time....maybe the energy was breaking out of the trashcan and onto their employees?  Who knows.

I began to preach the benefits of freezing to all my friends. And they saw a big difference too!  Although I do notice that the effects begin to "thaw" out after a couple months for the really nasty ones so you might need to re-freeze if you catch yourself pretend-fighting with them again .  Just FYI for those of you trying this at home...

So judge all you want, but I'm proud to be a psychic-loving freeze machine.  And if you get a little shiver today, who knows, you just might be getting thrown in the freezer!

xoxo

Wo-Man By Lisa

First, we are so happy about Brian's improvement! Caring Bridge

Disclaimer: I love my GIRLfriends. Many of us have been friends for 10 plus years. We shit talk, we bitch and we like to ditch our MEN and get our flirt on during GNO's. They are my friends until the end and I'd kick anyone's ass to protect them. So, the following post is not a reflection of how I feel about hangin' with my LADIES.

Man, I feel like a woman....

I think Shania has it backwards.

My song would be Wo, I feel like a man...

I like to believe I'm a sheep in wolves clothing. On the outside, I'm sure I could be described as somewhat of a girly girl. I get a regular mani -pedi, I love to wear a fun party dress & heels and I've even started a new love affair with my curling iron. (BTW--so much easier than a self blow out & you don't have to wash your hair for THREE to, er, FOUR days!)

But on the inside, I think I fall more on the man side of woman. No offense to females, but it seems like it can be a hell of a lot easier over there! (Minus ball scratching, junk adjusting and communal urinals!)

I'm always bragging to Matt about how cool I believe I am to date... because I think like a MAN :)

I love to watch sports with or WITHOUT him!

I encourage him to go to Vegas for March Madness or JUST BECAUSE!

I tell him to go on more man outings with his boyfriends AND encourage him to flirt!

The list goes on and on...

Until...

The WOMAN inside of me forces her way out!

I f***ing hate it when that happens!

Recently, Matt and I were talking on the phone (Rare because we BOTH hate it--another point in my man column) and out of nowhere I went all chick on him. I started crying about everything-- how I felt lonely, was exhausted and wondered if so and so was mad at me. And instead of supportive words on the other end of the line, I heard a semi-muffled chuckle. I immediately snapped to attention.

"Are you laughing at me?" I questioned as I wiped a tear away.

"Hell yeah! Because you want to be a dude so bad but you can't deny your inner chick!"

F**k. He was right. Crying about nothing. About to start my period. Bloated. Female things I simply could not deny.

But...

I hate shopping.

I burp loudly.

I watch 60 Minutes.

"Sorry GIRLfriend", he said. You are really, really cool and super beautiful and amazing and I'm head over heels in love with you... (OK, he didn't really say all that!)  "But as long as you use a tampon, get bitchy and listen to Barry Manilow, you're a WOMAN."

He had a point-- not about the tampons or the bitchiness... but, I did heart Barry-- a lot. Could I give up "Mandy" or "Copacabana" or more importantly, did I even want to? No and No.

But...

I think Heidi Klum is smokin' hot!

I watch old Bulls games on ESPN!

I'm visual!

But despite my man-like behavior, my damn ovaries and boobs sell me out every single time!

Like this past weekend when Matt was in town for my birthday. (YEAH!) After my emotional breakdown just days before,  I was determined NOT to cry again-- overanything. So I didn't...

Not when I watched the video his kids made me.

Not when I opened my Elton John- Billy Joel tickets.

Not even when Elton & Billy sang Candle in the Wind.

But then when I was driving him to the airport my eyes started welling. I tried to distract myself by talking to him about the weather, a work meeting, ANYTHING! When we pulled up to the curb, I gritted my teeth, gave him a closed mouth kiss and practically threw him out of the car. (Sorry, babe!)   I was, victorious! Ha!

But then I couldn't help it. I looked in the rear-view mirror and saw him walking through the double doors and suddenly I could feel the tears burning in my throat...and then my eyes filled up.... and then before I knew it, I started gushing like a freakin' geyser!

Suddenly, even in my own watery eyes, I was losing my self-proclaimed man cred. I could no longer deny it.

Maybe I was a f***ing chick after all.

But they have it so freakin easy over there in Manland.

If only I had a penis...

* I'd never have to remember anyone's birthday! Yet, my name would always end up on the gift & card!

*I'd never have to wear a bra! (Although those of you with MOOBS need to seriously figure something out)

*I'd never have conflict with female family members because my wife or girlfriend would handle it for me!

*I'd never have to multi-task simply because I COULDN'T.

*I'd get to say, "This is the way I was when you met me" all day long!

*I'd get to constantly fondle my junk!

But despite my ta-tas, other female parts and my OCCASIONAL meltdown, I still say I'm more of a MAN at heart.

Well, at least until Matt reads this and completely blows my cover!

xoxo 

THE (MIS)ADVENTURES OF TEAM TRI-TIP by Liz

There's no place like home, there's no place like home.... After spending most of last week in Central California, I'm actually feeling hopeful again that Brian might pull out of this.  He was responding a bit before I left, and the progress reports I have been getting from Laura since I've left are even better.  I'm thinking I might actually be able to exhale.  Whew!  Thanks again for all your thoughts and prayers!  It is truly a miracle that he will survive this.

And while I was so happy to get home to see my husband and kids, there is a part of me that wishes I was still holding 12-hour daily vigils in the ICU waiting room  with my sister-in-law Laura and brother Bill, aka Team Tri-Tip.

Team Tri-Tip has stayed behind both times Brian started going downhill.  When the accident first happened over three weeks ago, Team Tri-Tip stayed for five days.  And when we were told to get our asses up there again because things were looking bad, Team Tri-Tip stayed on an additional week.

Why Team Tri-Tip?  Well, for those of you who have been following this blog, you know that my mother cooks her ass off when times are bad.  So on that Friday, after we were told to "gather the family", my mom was so stressed out that she went to the store, bought as much Tri-Tip as her skinny ass could carry and then proceeded t0 cook her little heart out.

So when the masses departed back to their lives on Sunday, Laura, Bill and I were left with shattered nerves and a shitload of meat.  And so we ate.  We had Tri-Tip for breakfast, Tri-tip for dinner.  And when we got take-out, Billy would add Tri-tip to it . We sauteed it, slow cooked it and  just ate it with our bare hands at times.

Needless to say, I don't think I'll ever look at Tri-tip the same way again.  Especially after watching Billy tear into it night after night like a cougar who had not eaten for days.  It wasn't pretty!

But, if I'm being totally honest, I really enjoyed the time I spent with Bill and Laura these past few weeks. Bill moved to Virginia a few years ago and I didn't realize how much I missed him until this happened.  Things like this remind you not to get so caught up in the daily grind that you forget to spend time with all the people you love.   Just sayin. Okay, that's enough with the life lessons. Don't worry, I'm not going soft on you!

Team Tri-Tip had a surprisingly good time together considering the circumstances and I thought I'd share the highlights...

The strange but true (mis)Adventures of Team Tri-Tip

Team Tri-Tip...

• Became potential witnesses in a civil lawsuit.(long story!)

• Thought they had met the country version of Dr. McDreamy, but he turned out to be Dr. McDickhead.

• Shamelessly sold 5 copies of I'll Have Who She's Having and promoted this blog to other families in the ICU waiting room.

• Ganged up on Liz because she doesn't drink soda and then tried to peer pressure her into getting cheese on her tacos.  What part of "I have a slow metabolism" do you not understand!

• Watched a porno together. (Well actually, it was Zack and Miri Make a Porno but same difference when watching with your older brother.  Awkward!)

• Would have secret shit-talking text sidebars about each other while in the same waiting room.

• Played a brutal game of Monopoly that ended badly when Liz threw the game board across the room after she had mortgaged all her properties and was refused an IOU from the bank.

• Uncharacteristically began to have potty mouths after listening to Liz use the word f*ck in every other sentence for three days straight.  Sorry!

• When not selling the benefits of reading books with happy endings, would depress others in waiting room by discussing child prostitution and slavery in foreign countries. (Billy was responsible for this one since he works for a human rights organization that helps these children.)

• Was not warned not to watch Desperate Housewives on that Sunday and almost lost their shit when Edie crashed her car into a telephone pole.  Then was consoled by the fact that she died from electrocution, not a car crash.

Occasionally, a spoiler alert is appreciated!!!

xoxo Liz

Moons Over My Hammy By Lisa

Brian update: He is getting a little better!!!  To get the latest updates, go to Caring Bridge.

With my birthday looming tomorrow(March 30th- Hint, Hint, Hint!), I started wondering if Denny's still offered a free meal on my special day. As I started to do research, (unfortunately, they discontinued this offer 6 years ago- BOO! HISS!) I began to daydream about foods of my past, the grub of yester-year.... the meals I needed at a certain time, from a certain place, to get me through a certain situation. Not surprisingly, most of my fondest memories of pigging out are from my college days. Can we say Freshman 25? I'm NOT kidding & have the bloated pictures to prove it! And if you still don't believe me, Matt can tell you about the first time he saw a picture of me sporting my mom jeans. It wasn't pretty & he's still not over it.

1.  Moons Over My Hammy

Ah Denny's....where to begin? You were always there for me... through the good times and the really, really bad.  When I was drunk off my ass...your booth was always a soft place to fall-literally. Somewhere around 2:00AM after some frat party, Liz and I and many others, would rush in the doors like wild animals seeking out their prey. We'd flip through the large, colorful, plastic menus trying to decide... what went well with the twelve Pabst Blue Ribbons we'd already ingested through a beer bong? Breakfast, lunch or dinner?  Hmm...

In my sloppy state, I was usually a breakfast gal; a big fan of "Moons over my Hammy" but also incredibly fond of the "Grand Slam Breakfast".  Occasionally,  I'd take a walk on the wild side and also order a side of fries with a vat of ranch dressing to dip them into. And sometimes I'd top the meal off with brownies a la mode. And to think that there was a time when I couldn't figure out how I got so big?

Denny's, although you are partially responsible (more culprits of the fast food and fat free persuasion are about to be revealed) for causing my waistline to expand about THREE SIZES and making it really, really hard to squeeze my gut into my mom jeans, it was worth it. You were worth it. And I'm sorry that I dumped you after college, but a girl's got a rep to protect.

2. Western Bacon Cheeseburger with a large fry, a side of ranch, an order of fried zucchini and an extra large regular Dr. Pepper

Carl's...ah Carl's... you were always there for me--the morning after. As I'd wake from my drunken coma at noon, you were my first sober thought.

Need. Carl's. Now.

It's amazing how fast a group of girls can rally when they need to get their fried food on! We'd jump in Liz's mint green Acura Integra and whip through the drive- thru at mock speed. As soon as I held that warm bag in my hand and shoved a fried zuchinni down my throat, I'd already be planning my outfit for that night's party. Which pair of high-waisted jeans would I wear with my leotard top and brown braided belt?

And BTW Carl's... you did NOT need to make changes to your menu! After a recent GNO, I tried to recreate my collegiate hangover meal and was shocked to find out that the junior hamburger NO LONGER EXISTED and the fries had changed. WTF?

3.  One Large Angel Food cake with a side of Natural Light

FAT FREE.

They were the two most glorious words any of us had heard since Natural Light !  I'll never forget when Liz's aunt told us we could eat ANYTHING we wanted as long as the label said it didn't contain fat. Despite the fact she probably warned us otherwise, all we heard from her speech was that calories didn't matter, nutritional value didn't matter, nothing mattered....WE COULD EAT AS MUCH AS WE WANTED... as long as the food we were consuming was sans fat.

For some reason we were all thinking about health and fitness around that time (no clue why!). We joined L.A. Fitness and could often be spotted sporting bike shorts with thong leotards over them (that's a whole other story I need to write!) as we danced awkwardly around our step class. After our "work outs" we'd of course be REALLY hungry.  One of our roommates, Kristi, would make a large angel food cake ("no fat!" she exclaimed)....and we'd all dive in and all quickly devour it. (And since I'm laying it all out on the table, I know there were times when I ate the entire cake myself).

And our trips to the grocery store were suddenly so fun and exciting! You would've thought we'd won the lottery as we gleefully pushed our cart around Albertsons. We got fat free cheese, fat free bagels, fat free cookies, fat free mayonaise, fat free fat.  And then we'd turn our cart down the alcohol aisle.....and high five each other because our beer was also fat free.

Too bad we weren't.

THE ROLES WE PLAY WHEN THINGS GO ASTRAY by Liz and Lisa

Update on Brian:  After a very close call Friday morning, Brian is holding at critical but stable.  He's been transferred to a bigger hospital in San Luis Obispo so he has access to more procedures.  So the waiting begins again... For the latest updates on Brian from Dr. Ken, you can head over to  Grape Radio.

When Brian's wife hit the panic button Friday, our family(including BFFs Lisa and LaSundra, who are like family) dropped everything and rushed to convene together. 

Lisa left straight from her colonic appointment(btw Lisa, that's gross) and LaSundra had left from work so they shared an olive green Juicy Couture sweatsuit all weekend. LaSundra would wear the pants and Lisa would wear the jacket and then swtich.  Between that and the fact that Lasundra used my scarf  as a do-rag and her big ol' purse as a suitcase, I had plenty to laugh about!

But when things were going south quickly, it was interesting to see the different roles that people played as they arrived at the hospital.  I guess everyone wants to feel like they are helping out in any way then can.  And some of us are simply trying not to lose our shit in front of everyone. 

And by now, you have surely realized that I love to make lists.  So Lisa and I put this together as we sat in the waiting room over the weekend for your reading pleasure!

1. Billy and LaSundra:  The "faux-bots"

For those of you who follow this blog, you know that over-emotional people have no business crashing our impromptu family ICU party.  Most of the Clarks thrive in this situation, but we discovered my brother Billy and best friend LaSundra only pretend to be emotionally unavailable after we caught them sneaking out for a teary embrace.  From then on, they were nicknamed the "faux-bots". 

2. Mike: The Tall Fall Guy

Oh, my poor sweet husband.   Never complained once when he got run over by The Bus Driver. (see number 3)  Whether I was blaming him for accidentally dialing my father's cell and waking him up at 6am or hitting my brother in the middle of the night when he was snoring his face off, Mike took it like a champ.  And yes, we were all sleeping in the same room.  And that issue is a whole other blog in itself.

3. Liz:  The Bus Driver

Apparently, I like to throw others under the bus when upset.  Who knew?  My sincere apologies if I left tire tracks on anyone's back.=)

4. Mom:  The Iron Chef

Unable to don a surgical mask and scalpel, my mom, being the true Italian she is, grabs an apron, a paring knife and starts chopping vegetables when in crisis.  I somehow always end up as the unwilling sous chef and dishwasher in this situation.  WTF?

5. Dad:  The Food Critic

This is one man you don't want sitting down in your restaurant unless you have mastered the perfect plate of egg whites and bacon.  Because no other meal will please him and no one in your family will have a moment of peace until he is satisfied.

6. Ken and Lisa:  Dr. and Mrs. Roboto

Brian's close friend and family physician, Ken rushed to his side on Friday.  Everyone looked to him to interpret the physicians reports stoically and participate in endless family Q&A sessions.  Between his comforting  updates and the fact that his wife Lisa coined the term "faux-bots", how could we ask for anything more?

7. Steve:  The Professional Bystander

My Step-dad has perfected the art of standing around and observing.  Seriously, I don't think the guy said two words all weekend.  But he was reading I'll Have Who She's Having the entire time so I gave him a pass.

8.  Jay: The Shrink

If you have extra down time on your hands and would like be  psycho-analyzed as to why you chose Ruffles over Cheetos at the cafeteria and what says about you, Jay's your man.  Very useful when you have ten hours a day to kill in a waiting room!

9. Laura:  The Wife 

A pillar of strength, she has been given a free pass. The crazy part is that she hasn't really used it except to boss me around a bit here and there and to tell Lisa the end of Big Love with out so much as a spoiler alert.  I don't want to get all sappy, but Laura is my hero.  I've never seen someone so gracious in such a terrible situation.

10. Seth:  The Know-It-All Navigator

Laura's brother Seth loves to give directions.  Heading to Taco Bell? He knows where it is.  Need gas?  He's got your back.  A commercial pilot by day, he loves to act as a human GPS in crisis.  But Seth, do we really need to take side streets everywhere?  Freeways can be your friend.  This is isn't the clear, blue sky.  We have stoplights down here!

11. Lisa: The Concierge

Lisa took on the challenge of finding six hotel rooms during "Zin Festival" weekend in Wine country.  Not an easy task, people.  And the restraint she showed while dealing with a complete asshole at an unnamed hotel(hint: it rhymes with Schmoliday Schminn Schmexpress) was unprecedented for her.  I think the fact that they were holding LaSundra's credit card hostage may be why Lisa did not unleash her beast within.  Either way, I think we can all agree that the hotel manager dodged a major bullet.

xoxo by Lisa

Xoxo. It means hugs and kisses or kisses and hugs depending on whom you ask. It was made popular again by Gossip Girl. (BTW-how much do we love Darota?) And it's often the way both Liz and I sign off when we're blogging, posting and emailing. So you might assume that because we use this tag line that we're affectionate people who are effusive with our emotions. Well guess again.

It's time for a confession. We may be xoxo'ers but we're not huggers and kissers by trade. In fact, Liz and I haven't truly hugged each other in, well, um, er, ever?

Not when we graduated from college.

Not at her wedding.

Not when our book was published.

Well you get the idea. Big events don't equal physical affection between Liz and Lisa.

And we don't need some $200 an hour shrink to tell us that our mechanical ways can most likely be traced back to our childhoods. Emotionally unavailable fathers much?

Case in point: Recently, Liz's 2-year-old son, Shane, hit me in the mouth with a toy golf ball and I started to cry (In my defense, the kid's got a serious arm.... and it was GNO the night before so I was also a wee bit hung over) and her daughter, Riley, was staring at me in disbelief.

Turns out, she'd never seen an adult woman cry; Her mommy, the robot, had never shed a tear. Well, except for when Chris Daughtry was unexpectedly voted off American idol.

But the funny thing is, we may be The Tin Man meets Short Circuit with each other, but with the men in our lives, children and most animals--we have no problem saying I love you and giving kisses and hugs. Maybe we do need that shrink after all?

To illustrate our stiltedness even further, I'll allow you to be a fly on the wall for a recent conversation about Liz's brother, Brian.

LISA:  "How's Brian?"

LIZ:  "Okay, um, yeah, well we're taking it day by day..."

LISA: "Ok, well, you don't have to talk about anything you don't want to talk about..."

LIZ: "Um, yeah, well, okay. Let's change the subject..."

LISA:  "Om, well, okay then... Did you see that crazy Top Model stampede footage on Perez?"

So I'm sure you can understand my surprise and confusion when after TWENTY-TWO YEARS of robotic communication, Liz recently xoxo'd--me.  I mean, I never even get as much as a "best" and now she's xoxo-ing me? WTF?

I emailed her back and jokingly asked if she meant the xoxo for someone else but I already knew the answer-clearly she'd made a mistake. And I had my next blog topic!

But had it been a flub or was it more of a Freudian slip? Suddenly it all came crashing back...like the morning after you hook up with a one-eyed Jack. (True story that I'll save for another post!)

On New Year's Eve she'd left me a message and said she *gulp*  loved me.

But the next morning, when I logged onto Facebook and saw the  bleary-eyed pictures of her escapades on the Queen Mary (BTW, Liz, the Queen Mary, really?) I chalked it up to the fact she was hammered.

But still, I didn't think I'd ever heard those three little words from her before...were we, um, ready for that?

Was she getting soft on me? I thought about possible explanations. She did turn 35 this year...was that it? Or could it be all that spiritual enlightenment sh** she'd been yapping about lately that I prayed was a phase? Was she "changing" our unsaid arrangement that had been working really well for us?

Because the thing is, it's not like we're a couple of stone cold beyotches. I'm proud to say that our friendship has lasted over two decades. And in that time, there's only been one girl fight. (If a bent thumb even qualifies?)

So in honor of almost a quarter life of knowing each other, here are some of our unwritten rules of how our friendship works and how we show each other we care.  (They're all kind of back handed & sarcastic, but hey, that's how we roll.)

As long as I don't call or text her after 11PM, she's always there for me :)

As long as she doesn't call me at work, I've always got her back.  (Work Lisa isn't always a walk in the park!)

Pre-coffee discussions of any kind are only in a case of an emergency.

We're like family. (Well, if you don't count the fact my dad asked her who she was when she tried to friend him on Linkdin.) Bob Steinke's real sorry, I promise.

Her kids call me Auntie Lisa. (Well, me and like 25 others, but hey, I'll take it.)

Liz has logged enough hours counseling me after my many, many break ups that I think she could qualify for an MFT. (Let's put it this way-- I know she's thanking one of those spiritual enlightenment people of hers that I FINALLY met Matt!)

The bottom line is that when you've known someone since they had a unibrow and thought it was cool to drink Strawberry Boones in the back of a pick up truck, it goes without saying that overt affection or not, we are BFF's.

So, in honor of getting older (My 36th birthday is March 30th-hint, hint, hint everyone!) and hopefully wiser, Liz, I accept your xoxo and I raise you an xo!

xoxoxo!

IF I GO-GO THIS IS A NO-NO

Quick update on Brian: Still in ICU, still sedated, still waiting for breathing tube to come out.  Unfortunately, patience is not a virtue in my family so we feel frustrated with the lack of progress but still feel hopeful that he'll pull through.  Thanks again to all of you who have reached out to our family! Brian's accident got me thinking.  Well, actually, if I'm being totally honest, it was The Bachelor finale that sparked this idea and then my brother's brush with death really got the ball rolling.  While watching After the Final Rose, I turned to my husband and told him that if I die and he decides to become the next Bachelor to find a new Mommy for our kids that I will come back and haunt the f*ck out of that Bachelor house.  He then reminded me of a few other "if I die" threats that I've made over the years.  Hmm, he was right, I did use that threat occasionally.  Then my brother got in his accident, reminding me how fragile and random life can be.

That's when I decided it would just be easier if I put all my "if I die" rants  down on paper so Mike knows what's up if I drop dead anytime soon.

Liz's If I go-go this is a no-no List:

1.  Do not go on The Bachelor or any other lame dating show and be billed as "the single dad".  You'll just end up looking like a douche-bag.  Ask Jason.

2.  But...Don't be a martyr.  Find someone else!  Just make sure she is a little less hot then me and weighs at least 5lbs more. And has a big nose. And horse teeth.

3.  And..Don't hook up with any of my friends-everyone will think that you secretly wanted them when I was alive. And I will definitely see that sh*t, no matter where I am. Just think of me as "always watching..."

4. Don't go on American Idol and use me to get votes, even if you do have a pretty good voice.

5. Don't Facebook about me.  In fact, just don't Facebook.  You've gone this long without it, why start now that I'm dead?

6.  Don't try to cook.  The kids have been traumatized enough.  Why not use all that life insurance money to hire a chef?

7. Don't fall in love with above-mentioned chef, unless she fits criteria listed in number two.

8. Don't forget that your belt needs to match your shoes! Brown with brown, black with black.  Why is it so hard to remember?

9. Don't blow all the insurance money at Sportsbook.com. Or playing 32 at Roulette.

10. And never, under any circumstances, are you allowed to go back to having John Tesh hair or wearing jean shorts and Birkenstocks, like you did when we first met.

xoxo Liz

Facebook Faux Pas By Lisa

First, we're so happy that Liz's brother, Brian, is doing a little better.  I'd like to give a  big shout out to Facebook for helping Liz and her family pull through.  As we saw in her hilarious posts, Facebooking in the ICU was essential to Liz's sanity! I even dubbed her the Queen of Facebookwhoreland because of course I support Facebooking anytime, anywhere!-- I Facebook on the toilet for crying out loud! So, I've now been on this fabulous social networking site for just about four months. And I pretty much went from being a Facebook virgin to a total whore overnight.  (It's funny how easily the slutty side came out- or maybe it's not?)

I laugh now as I think back to the beginning; when I thought this whole Facebook thing was going to be solely about reconnecting with childhood friends and keeping up with "real-life" friends' pregnancies, babies, etc... I remember making ridonculous claims like "I wouldn't accept any co-workers" (sorry to say it out loud y'all but you know you considered it too) or I wouldn't send ANY friend requests. Instead, I'd wait for "them to come to me". Or Liz will recall when I professed that I wouldn't accept anyone I couldn't remember. Ha! Those were the days...days of such sweet naivete. Before I unleashed the Facebook ho bag inside!

And now, I'm a slut.  Friend slut, that is. I used to spend a painstaking amount of time crafting my "pitch" to get you to accept me.  Now, more times than not, I don't even include a message. I just send blindly. You don't know me, I don't know you. But I'm banking on the fact that maybe you're a whore too. (Or sleep around just a little).

But please let me clarify. I do like you. Maybe only because you're on Facebook, but still, I like you (isn't it good for friends to have things in common?) And I do want to be your "friend", really I do. But because friends shouldn't lie to friends, I'll be honest and tell you that I do sort of think of you as a conquest... another notch on my Facebook belt, if you will.

I'm on my way to 500 friends (I'm proud to say this includes some recently recruited moms, including my own! Hi mom!) and some of you might consider that a big number, but not me. Not when there are people with thousands of friends. Oh how I envy them!

Recently, someone suggested that I start a group for Facebook whores. And being the whore that I am, I formed Facebook Whores United! six and a half minutes later. But silly me didn't think to check if someone else had already claimed that name (only about two dozen others). So, then I changed it to  Facebook whores on Fire... but  after saying it out loud three times, it sounded a bit risque- even for me. And as I was looking for another name I discovered that some of the groups are literally

Whores. On. Facebook.

Oh... even I hadn't considered that. But that's ok- no judgement here. There's room for all kinds o' slutty in these parts.  (Warning: shameless solicitation coming) But if you want to join our group, I'll  make it easy for ya. Just click here: Facebook Whores & Proud of It!

So in celebration of my four-month anniversary, let me get on my soapbox (so hard for me!) and rant about what I consider to be some Facebook Faux Pas. You might wonder why I, who's probably committing several just by writing this post, would be pointing out others' faux pas? All I can tell you is even a floozy has to draw the line somewhere. Consider this my line in the Facebook sand.

1. TOP FRIENDS --WTF is this and how do you think it makes me feel when I'm not one of the "highlighted" people? Hey, you're my friend, but you're simply not as important as everyone else. I may be a friend whore, but at least I'm not going to rank you!

2. QUIZ NO-NO'S Why? What on Earth compels you to take a quiz and answer questions about whether or not you think I'm the type of person to contract an STD? Or am into porn? You do realize I get these notifications, right? Ewww... is that why you're doing it?

3. STATUS REPORT ABUSE I think a status report is a privilege, not a right. So why must you abuse it? I've already mentioned how nauseating it is for me when you write inappropriate things on my wall. But now you're taking it to the status report where everyone has to suffer?   Just yesterday, you updated your status that you didn't understand why you're husband wasn't signing his divorce papers? Really? You're really going to bitch about that on Facebook?

4. STATUS BREAK UPS My real-life friend 's Facebook friend recently announced his breakup in his status report--just to get a rise out of his ex. Another of my "friends" constantly posts status reports about breaking up, getting back together, breaking up. People, I beg you, stop abusing Facebook in this way....the status reports and switching between single & in a relationship aren't supposed to be used to retaliate against a significant other...because then we are all caught in the middle! Please don't fight in front of your Facebook friends! (Also please see #3- status abuse)

5.  SHAMELESS SOLICITATION STATUS You constantly use your status to plug your blog or your book or your this or your that....oh wait, that's us! Oops...  On that note, Liz and I would like to use this opportunity to thank all of you who are following our blog on Facebook... but if you're not, let me make it easy for ya. Just click here. Wink. Wink.  Networkedblogs Chick Lit Is Not Dead

xoxo