My Fair Lazy: One Reality Television Addict's Attempt to Discover if Not Being a Dumb Ass Is the New Black, or a Culture-Up Manifesto by Jen Lancaster
Authors: Jen Lancaster
Tags: Humor, United States, Literary, General, Social Science, Personal Memoirs, Biography & Autobiography, Biography, Authors; American, Women, 21st Century, Popular Culture, jack, Jeanne
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Fortunately, Stacey notices Carla’s making fraidy-cat-get-this-weirdo-away-from-me eyes, which neatly coincide with my what-the-fuck-am-I-doing-and-why-can’t-I-stop expression, so she interrupts to tell me it’s time to go. For good measure, Stacey yanks me away by my coat pocket, which is fortuitous because my paw, completely of its own volition, was starting to snake up in the direction of Carla’s hair.
So I end the night with a little bit more culture and a little bit more perspective and a little bit more knowledge. 87
Best of all is that out of a whole theater full of people at this posh event, only one of them might believe I’m a dummy.
I’d definitely say that’s progress.
To: stacey_at_home
From: jen_at_home
Subject: S-a-t-u-r-d-a-y Night!
I’ve dined out on my theatergoing frequent-flier status all week.
“Oh, sorry, I’m busy that night with a premiere.”
“You wanted me to drop it off when? Nope, can’t. Theater tickets. You know how it is.”
“Listen, I’d love to, but I’ve got another opening night and cast party. I hope you understand.”
Okay, pretty much I’ve just said this stuff to Fletch, but still, it sounded cool. (The polite thing would have been for him to at least pretend to be impressed.)
See you at 6:00?
CHAPTER EIGHT
The Biggest Winner
I ’m all decked out in my theatergoing outfit and I’m on my way to tonight’s artistic endeavor. Stacey and I are in her car, headed to a play in the northern suburbs. I feel like quite the sophisticate, even though our glamorous après-theater plans include heading to the Four Moon Tavern for grilled cheese sandwiches.
“This is twice in one week I’ve stolen you away from your husband for an evening. Is he going to miss you?” Stacey asks. She steers her car expertly through the steadily falling snow. I’m helping her by occasionally punching the imaginary brakes on my side of the car and second-guessing her navigation.
Given tonight’s inclement weather, I’d have preferred to stay home, wrapped in blankets, quaffing hot chocolate, and parked in front of Survivor . Instead, we’re plowing through a wealthy suburb. With the abundance of snowcapped trees and adorable storefronts and antique streetlamps, this would resemble a Currier and Ives scene if it weren’t for all the Star-bucks.
“Are you kidding? He’s got the big TV all to himself for the whole night. No one’s going to make him watch anything in which roses are accepted or torches are extinguished or top models are sent packing for only showing Miss Tyra one look. 88 I’m pretty sure his plans include his special-occasion small-batch bourbon and a German death metal concert video. He’s thrilled.”
Despite the weather, I’m glad for another opportunity to work toward my Jenaissance. I couldn’t have started this whole process of self-improvement at a more fortuitous time because I’ve got to get my fat mouth in check soon. It’s not just that people think I’m a jerk; that’s nothing new. But lately my thoughtless chatter has cost me serious cash. Case in point? The new television. We didn’t get it because we both wanted it or planned for it or, for that matter, even agreed on it. Nope, I kind of had to buy it for Fletch because I said something dumb.
My favorite indie book store, the Book Cellar, 89 arranged a rock-and-roll book event, and my friend Jolene was in town to participate. She wrote a memoir about being a Goth girl in the eighties and how music helped her through a desperately dark time in her life. A few other authors were included—one woman who wrote a YA novel about how punk rock led her back to her mother and another guy with the best title ever— Hairstyles of the Damned . The last author at the event was Chris Connelly.
According to Fletch, if you don’t have the musical sensibilities of a strip club DJ, you’ll recognize his name. Should your memory need refreshing, Chris played with Ministry, RevCo, 90
Fortunately, Stacey notices Carla’s making fraidy-cat-get-this-weirdo-away-from-me eyes, which neatly coincide with my what-the-fuck-am-I-doing-and-why-can’t-I-stop expression, so she interrupts to tell me it’s time to go. For good measure, Stacey yanks me away by my coat pocket, which is fortuitous because my paw, completely of its own volition, was starting to snake up in the direction of Carla’s hair.
So I end the night with a little bit more culture and a little bit more perspective and a little bit more knowledge. 87
Best of all is that out of a whole theater full of people at this posh event, only one of them might believe I’m a dummy.
I’d definitely say that’s progress.
To: stacey_at_home
From: jen_at_home
Subject: S-a-t-u-r-d-a-y Night!
I’ve dined out on my theatergoing frequent-flier status all week.
“Oh, sorry, I’m busy that night with a premiere.”
“You wanted me to drop it off when? Nope, can’t. Theater tickets. You know how it is.”
“Listen, I’d love to, but I’ve got another opening night and cast party. I hope you understand.”
Okay, pretty much I’ve just said this stuff to Fletch, but still, it sounded cool. (The polite thing would have been for him to at least pretend to be impressed.)
See you at 6:00?
CHAPTER EIGHT
The Biggest Winner
I ’m all decked out in my theatergoing outfit and I’m on my way to tonight’s artistic endeavor. Stacey and I are in her car, headed to a play in the northern suburbs. I feel like quite the sophisticate, even though our glamorous après-theater plans include heading to the Four Moon Tavern for grilled cheese sandwiches.
“This is twice in one week I’ve stolen you away from your husband for an evening. Is he going to miss you?” Stacey asks. She steers her car expertly through the steadily falling snow. I’m helping her by occasionally punching the imaginary brakes on my side of the car and second-guessing her navigation.
Given tonight’s inclement weather, I’d have preferred to stay home, wrapped in blankets, quaffing hot chocolate, and parked in front of Survivor . Instead, we’re plowing through a wealthy suburb. With the abundance of snowcapped trees and adorable storefronts and antique streetlamps, this would resemble a Currier and Ives scene if it weren’t for all the Star-bucks.
“Are you kidding? He’s got the big TV all to himself for the whole night. No one’s going to make him watch anything in which roses are accepted or torches are extinguished or top models are sent packing for only showing Miss Tyra one look. 88 I’m pretty sure his plans include his special-occasion small-batch bourbon and a German death metal concert video. He’s thrilled.”
Despite the weather, I’m glad for another opportunity to work toward my Jenaissance. I couldn’t have started this whole process of self-improvement at a more fortuitous time because I’ve got to get my fat mouth in check soon. It’s not just that people think I’m a jerk; that’s nothing new. But lately my thoughtless chatter has cost me serious cash. Case in point? The new television. We didn’t get it because we both wanted it or planned for it or, for that matter, even agreed on it. Nope, I kind of had to buy it for Fletch because I said something dumb.
My favorite indie book store, the Book Cellar, 89 arranged a rock-and-roll book event, and my friend Jolene was in town to participate. She wrote a memoir about being a Goth girl in the eighties and how music helped her through a desperately dark time in her life. A few other authors were included—one woman who wrote a YA novel about how punk rock led her back to her mother and another guy with the best title ever— Hairstyles of the Damned . The last author at the event was Chris Connelly.
According to Fletch, if you don’t have the musical sensibilities of a strip club DJ, you’ll recognize his name. Should your memory need refreshing, Chris played with Ministry, RevCo, 90
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