February 24, 2010

Told There Would Be Cake

My husband has abandoned me. Again. This time for North Carolina. What does Ms. Carolina have that I don't? Besides mountains. Wait... um. Okay, so I am not abandoned. Just dramatic.

Anyway, upon the gleeful book recommendation by my friend, Mandy, I ordered a copy of I Was Told There'd Be Cake by Sloane Crosley. I put the kids to bed, hauled six old dining room chairs to the curb, praying that the garbage men will take the chairs and the forty bags of poopy diapers tomorrow at pick up and not choose to take the chairs and leave the diapers... and then I sat down on the patio (yes, it's 34 degrees outside, but it's so blimy hot in my house and after hauling the chairs...well, I was just sweaty). I sat with my shiny new book, in the freezing cold, and began to read. Within seconds, I was rolling. This book is a hot mess, and I love it. Within three pages, I realize that Ms. Crosley is really my twin incarnate. Of course not because we are twin writers (I dearly wish I was a real writer), but because she is a mindreader.

For instance, her book starts out how she is horrified if she were to randomly die, just on a given day, and people would see the state of her house. Not that she was dead, but the horror of her housekeeping: the bed gone unmade and the dishes unwashed..the day before laundry Sunday...before I decided to clean out my closet, got bored halfway through, and opted to watch sitcoms in my prom dress instead. For me, this is my wedding dress, but still. Drinking wine, watching the wedding dress episode of Friends, whilst actually wearing an actual wedding dress... that cannot be beat. I think about this all the time on my drive into work: Please dear Lord do not let me die in a fiery car crash, I left my dirty drawers on the sink. My mother would die (and is probably dying at present from the sheer fact I mention drawers, poop and death in a blog, anyway).

Ms. Crosley talks about her horrid collection of plastic toy ponies she keeps beneath her sink, saying: "I don't even like ponies. If I made one of my throwaway equine requests and someone produced and actual pony...I would run very fast in the other direction." At this point in the book (ah-hem, page 3), I am losing it. Tears are streaming down my face. Me too! I am seventy-five percent certain that I have a plastic bin of My Little Ponies, and I too hate horses but "love ponies in the abstract." My boss said she had a present for me last Christmas. I too asked the question: "Is it a pony?" And I don't like ponies either. Me too! Me too!

Okay, so this fab new book is hardly National Book Award stuff. Although it would be, if I were in charge of said book award. I used to read. I mean, really read. All of you stop laughing. I really did. Somewhere between a degree in English with a ridiculously strong minor in Comparative Lit and two years of Latin, followed closely by the beating that is law school, and reading and writing stupid messes on a daily basis in my life such as "equity intervenes where the intention of the parties was to create a contract but some dumb fool forgot to actually include the language that creates the kicker where someone can actually do something about said intention"....I used to read.

Now, at the end of a cross-eyed day, I need nothing more than a hot bath and a silly book. Good lawd, this is a good one. I mean, I could spend my time reading Dostoevsky and having to look up every word (since I have forgotton how to really read), or cleaning out my junk drawers. But I choose this book. Afterall, this book makes junk drawers make sense. There's no harm in a junk drawer. Preach it, sister. Preach!

Anyway, I could quote this whole book and brandish it from the rafters, as it appears to be a biopic of my non-biopic worthy boring life. I love it. Even though I'm not even finished with Chapter One: The Pony Problem, I think I will be calling Ms. Crosley for a lunch. I wonder if she would go with me... that lunch is going on my Bucket List.

Dear Ms. Crosley,
I love you, but I swear I am not a stalker. I too have a My Little Pony bin under my kitchen sink and am scared that my house is too messy to die. But I swear, I'm not weird. I just want to have lunch. With you. And talk about how we are twins. Well, not really twins, but abstract twins. I'm sorry, really, I'm not stalking you.... Ms. Crosley? Please have lunch with me. Please??!? Wait, why are you calling the cops... it's not like that..... I swear...

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