I’m in a slump.  A writing slump.  After working like crazy on the The D Word and then battling our way through the query process I find myself a bit, um, unmotivated while we wait patiently for our dream agent to realize that we’re the next big thing in publishing.

So rather than pitching articles and brainstorming ideas in my spare time, I’ve been Facebooking with reckless abandon.  And RTing my face off on Twitter. And I even downloaded that Oprah tell-all biography to my Nook last week.  It was clear- I had officially hit my diversion rock bottom.

So when it came time to write about writing, I was perplexed.  Because besides this blog and a few other things, I haven’t been doing much writing at all this past month. (Unless you count Facebook status updates. I’ve been killing it over there!)  I picked up my trusty journal, dusted it off and opened it up to find only empty pages.  Where, oh where, had my inspiration gone?

So I did what any self-respecting blogger does in this situation.  I decided to write about why I’m not writing. My editing downfall.  My own version of internet crack.

Facebook.

Since spending so much time over on “The Book”(that’s what I like to call it), I’ve noticed a few things.  Or rather, a few types of Facebookers that make me shake my head, LOL, LMAO, ROTF or hit the “Hide” button.  Have you seen these people? Are YOU one of these people?  It’s okay if you are.  As a self-proclaimed Facebook whore, I’ll be friends with ya anyway.

1. The Facebook Bulimic

It’s all or nothing for this person.  You won’t hear a peep from them for two months and then BAM! They throw up all over your page, your pics and your status, then disappear as quickly as they came- not to be heard from until their next purge.  A “like” or even a “ha!” in between would go a long way. Consistency please!

2. The Embarrasser

I personally think there’s a little bit of this one in all of us.  I’ve posted my fair share of junior prom and GNO gone wrong pics.  But there are some people that won’t rest until every single picture from the 80′s and 90′s has been posted and tagged.  Until every bad fashion decision and aqua-net inspired hairstyle has been revealed. How many times do I have to defend my pre-tweezed eyebrows?  For the last time, I was going for that whole Brooke Shields look!

3. The Debbie Downer

I felt real bad the first time your kids got sick.  And it really sucked when you got that flat tire.  And when your flight was delayed I still was hoping you were just having a run of bad luck.  But when it never ended I realized you were Debbie Downer: Facebook edition and hit the “hide” button faster than you could say Farmville.

4. The Politician

Left, right or in the middle, I don’t want to talk politics on FB. I’m just there to check out if my exes moved on with someone hotter than me, not to watch “Meet the Press“.  And the ensuing political comment battles that go on?  Ugh. I’d rather be subjected to a million Mafia Wars posts. And that’s saying a lot. Can’t we all just get along?

5. The Non-Responder

I’m sad to say that my husband falls squarely into this category.  In fact, maybe I even over-Facebook in a misguided attempt to make up for his non-responsiveness.  Tag him in a old picture back when he had a mullet?  Never gonna say a thing.  Write a sweet nothing on his wall?  It will forever sit there untouched.  Give him a poke?  Nada.  Nothing.  Well, in Facebookland anyway.  It goes over much better in person at home. =)

What divine diversions do you indulge in? Leave a comment to be entered to win one of three copies of Chelsea Handler’s latest, CHELSEA CHELSEA BANG BANG!

xoxo, Liz

©2010 Chick Lit Is Not Dead. All Rights Reserved.

I love Barry Blackberry.  Or rather I’m obsessed.  I think about him when he’s tucked away in my purse while I’m working and cuddle him close to my chest to keep him warm when it’s cold and rainy.  He’s the first thing I grab in the morning and I never forget to blow him a little kiss before heading off to bed each night.

But like many others who take their loved ones for granted, I was careless with Barry’s love, refusing to buy him that shiny case he’d had his eye on for months.  You don’t need it, I told him. You look fine just the way you are. And each time I dropped him on my tile floor, I would gingerly put him back together and swear this was the last time I’d ever hurt him.  That I’d never again place him next to my three-year old’s cup of milk.  That I’d find a appropriate place in my purse to store him where he wouldn’t get all sticky.

All Empty Promises.

Then, last Sunday, Barry had enough.  He’d taken it like a man when I splashed some fresh-squeezed lemonade on him at the carnival and didn’t miss a beat when  my daughter spilled sugar from her pixie stick all up in his parts.  But when I dropped him on that damn tile again, that was it.  After putting him back together, his (lcd) light just wouldn’t shine again.  Barry was gone.

*Cue panicked run to Verizon store and angry tantrum when clerk informed me that I would have to wait TWO DAYS to get a new phone*

Hanging my head in my hands, I thought, How the f*ck am I going to survive two days without a phone? My sales job requires me to be in the car all day, and Barry Blackberry had always been my window into the world.  Now I was going to have to *gasp* listen to music, or God forbid, my own thoughts!

But what struck me the most in my two days of radio silence was how much I’d changed since getting Barry.  How distracted I had become in my daily life, how little I paid attention to others while I was replying to a text that I thought just couldn’t wait. Now I wondered why it had been so urgent.  How often I chose to Facebook on my phone between appointments rather than preparing.  That I was so addicted to my phone that I kept reaching for it even though it wasn’t there.  All in all, I felt pretty lame and promised to try to make some changes when my new Barry Blackberry arrived on my doorstep.

And since re-entering the land of the communicative, I have to admit that old habits die hard.  But I’m trying.  I even bought him a shiny pink case, although he feels it strips away his masculinity. I told him he’ll get over it-it’s better than having your battery case ripped opened every day, right?

The best part of my two days of silence? My productivity. I even had time to make a list about it!

During my Radio silence…

• Actually listened to myself think. Think I may have solved that whole cold fusion thing.

• Went to the car wash and *watched* my car get washed.

• Endured more crunching and smacking sounds than any one person ever should.

• Gave that guy at Starbucks the wrong idea when I stared at his Blackberry. (I may have drooled a little bit .)

• Decided that I was too good and started judging everyone else talking on their cell phone to make myself feel better.

• Eavesdropped on some really interesting conversations.

• NEVER knew what time it was.

xoxo, Liz

©2010 Chick Lit Is Not Dead. All Rights Reserved.

Don't Watch!

As much as I love my children, I must admit there’s one aspect of my pre-mommy life that I miss so much it hurts sometimes…

Sitting on the couch for hours watching bad TV.

These days I’m lucky if I can keep up with Project Runway (forget about that Models of the Runway show) and usually just have the hubs give me his dramatic reenactment of that week’s Amazing Race. (Which, btw, he never quite seems to do it justice…)  My Tivo is constantly erasing my fave shows in favor of Hot Wheels, Battle Force 5 and I’ve had to re-prioritize my priority manager more times than I care to mention.

So, I had to learn the hard way how to become a more discerning TV watcher. And because I know many of us have the same problem, I’m happy to help ya out a bit by cutting through all the bullshit and letting you know to Watch this, not that!

Watch The Good Wife

There’s a reason that EW chose The Good Wife as one of the ten best TV shows on right now. I was originally drawn to this show hoping to get my *Mr. Big* fix but ending up staying because of Julianna Marguiles. It’s a story about a woman who stands by her man through a political scandal and finds herself entering the work force after staying home for fifteen years raising her two children.  The storyline is so layered, so well acted, that my stomach does a little flip each week when I see that Tivo has recorded it.  And the best part?  It’s got enough criminal procedural stuff going on that your hubby won’t feel like he’s emasculating himself by watching it with you each week!

Watch The Millionaire Matchmaker

With less time to watch TV these days, I think this is the kind of show I miss most.  The Millionaire Matchmaker kindly runs marathons constantly, just begging you to sit your lazy ass on the couch and watch as Matchmaker Patti cuts through any and all BS. She. Is. Genius. From the way she handles the enormous millionaires’ egos or catfights with a drag queen, she is fantastic.  Whether she’s telling the real estate developer that cuff links are so 1987 and that his haircut channels that guy from Greatest American Hero or she’s telling off an NBA player for mistreating one of her girls, she has the balls to say exactly what we’re all thinking.  If you only have time for one guilty pleasure on your Tivo, I highly recommend this!

Not Cougar Town

I really wanted to like Cougar Town.  It sounded right up my alley-alums from Scrubs, Friends and Dawson’s Creek (don’t judge!) and also featuring the ridiculously hot Josh Hopkins.  Not to mention the fact that, at age thirty-six, I’m *gulp* entering cougar territory myself and was hoping to relate to some of Courtney Cox’s antics.  While watching the pilot, I told myself that it was just a fluke that it seemed, um, awkward and forced.  But since I was determined to become a Cougar Town fan, I gave it a few weeks to get it together.  But I then returned to discover that they were STILL trying too hard.  And while it may still have a place in my Tivo, (right next to the twelve episodes of Desperate Housewives I can’t bring myself to watch) Cougar Town lost it’s place in my heart.

Not Tool Academy

Wanna feel better about your own relationship?  Then Tool Academy may be right up your alley.  It’s about women(and a few good men) who, in a last ditch effort to save their relationship, bring their bandana-wearing, fake tanning, cheating significant others to the Tool Academy. After spending thirty minutes with Neander-Tool, Looney-Tool and DoubleTalking-Tool, I didn’t blame that girlfriend one bit for screaming I’ll cut your ass! at the therapy session.  I felt like screaming too.

For those of us who loved bad boys back in the day, this show will make you squirm, remembering what it was like to date a complete DOUCHE BAG and rejoice in the fact that you pulled your head out of your ass before it was too late.  New favorite quote: You can’t turn a ho into a housewife~Daniel a.k.a. Glow Stick Tool

What are YOU watching this week?

xoxo, Liz

©2010 Chick Lit Is Not Dead. All Rights Reserved.

Truth be told, I’ve never been much of a “runner”.  While my friends were off running track in high school, I could usually be found up on the tennis court flirting with boys in my short skirt and favorite orange and green Nikes.  Even when it came to exercise, I demanded that there be some sort of social component.

But part of me has always envied those joggers as I sat at the stoplight, sipping my Starbucks, watching them run in place while impatiently waiting to cross the intersection.  And each time we would cheer on my brother-in-law in his latest marathon, part of me would think, I could do this!  Even though I get winded after walking up three flights up stairs, I COULD complete 26.2 miles without any body parts breaking and/or falling off. And because I also tend to be a bit lazy, I also thought, And you know what? I probably wouldn’t even have to train that much!

So when my Brother-in-law announced his intention to run the  Surf City half marathon, I jumped at the chance to do the 5k.  I mean, everyone’s got to start somewhere, right?  I formulated my training plan, bought that thing that holds your iPod on your arm and the only flattering pair of runners shorts this side of the Mississippi. I even purchased a choke chain so my unsociable German Shepard could train at my side without traumatizing every cat and small dog in the neighborhood.  I. Was. Ready.

But then something strange happened.  It began to RAIN in Southern California.  And for those of you familiar with the weather patterns out here, you know how rare it is to get more than a few inches per year, let alone a few inches per storm.  And by the time it finally stopped, my 5k training schedule, much like that show, Conveyor Belt of Love, was just a distant memory.

So, on race day, I decided to do what I do best-fake my way through it.  I pushed away the memory of getting winded walking to the registration tent the day before and did my best impersonation of someone who knew how to stretch their muscles by lifting my leg repeatedly.  And with my iPod firmly secured on my arm and bib fastened on my shirt, I was pretty damn sure that no one knew my secret. That I was going to FAIL MISERABLY.

Well, except for my husband.  I didn’t miss the small smirk on his face as we ran in place waiting for the race to start.  After all, I was the one who dragged him over to the “Twelve minute Mile and WALKERS”  section.  And at the time, I mistakenly thought they were referring to people WITH walkers, not people walking.

Although I literally did not jog ONE STEP before the day of the race, I did finish, thanks to my plan to WOG. (walk and jog, emphasis on WALK.)  And while I will admit to *thinking* about taking the kids 1 mile U turn because my lungs felt as if they would collapse, I didn’t do it. Even though my end time was a completely shiteous 38 minutes, a part of me was really proud of myself.  Because as I heaved and gasped did that arm thing that people on  The Biggest Loser do when they’re forced to run a mile on the first show, I knew that all my humiliation would provide excellent blog material!

YOU KNOW IT’S TIME TO HANG UP YOUR RACING BIB WHEN:

1. An overweight guy wearing jorts and Converse passes you like you’re standing still.

2. When you stop all conversation around you by shouting that your going to “kick all the people with walkers asses” at the start line. (Note to self: take headphones off before speaking!)

3.  When Adam Lambert and Lady Gaga just aren’t providing the inspiration you’ve hoped they would.

4. When you realize that if you double the time it took you to run the 5k, it almost equals your brother-in-laws’s HALF-MARATHON finish time.

5.  When you dramatically tell your husband to “save himself” at the two mile marker when you realize a nine-year old just lapped you.

6. When you are unable to bend your legs for THREE DAYS after completing a 3.2 mile wog.

See you in April at the Seach Beach 5k!  Hopefully this time I’ll actually break in my running shoes before hitting the course!

xo, Liz

©2010 Chick Lit Is Not Dead. All Rights Reserved.

Welcome to CLIND’s first ever MOMMY MONDAY! And to celebrate, we’re giving away three copies of Kristin Hannah’s latest release, WINTER GARDEN, a story about mothers and daughters.  Just leave a comment to enter!

Today, I’m going to be bitching discussing how gender roles come into play when parenting.  Or in simpler terms, Why Daddy always gets to be the good guy.

I’ve always known that my husband was higher up on the fun-o-meter than me.  His willingness to act as a human submarine in the pool and ability to hold the children on his shoulders for hours were constant reminders.  And for the most part, I’ve always kind of accepted the fact that, well, the kids seem to like him better than me.

Photographic evidence that Mommy DOES go in the pool.

I’ve learned the hard way that cooking their food, purchasing their clothes and, oh, what was the other thing?  Oh yeah, GIVING BIRTH TO THEM just didn’t hold the same weight as playing Chutes and Ladders twenty times in a row. Or that I didn’t go on the pool slide as much as Daddy while vacationing in Maui.  Hmm, is this where I bring up that we WOULDN’T be on vacation if it weren’t for Mommy?  Should I mention the hours Mommy spent scouring the internet for those legendary yet impossible to find internet travel bargains? (Well, I *might*  have squeezed in a little Facebook time too. But you see my point.)

Not that I don’t spend quality time with the kids-I do.  In fact, nothing makes me happier than taking them to the Farmers market or reading their favorite books at bedtime.  But I’m never going to build structurally sound tent cities or Lincoln log houses the way my hubby does.  Just in the same way that he can barely operate the microwave and starts sweating the minute he’s tasked to purchase items unsupervised at the store. (He learned the hard way why you don’t purchase the fruit with the “manager’s special” sticker on them!)

Don’t get me wrong -I’m incredibly thankful that my husband is a wonderful father. I just wish we could share the glory from all of our hard work. Now I know how the Vice President must feel. Or that guy that only got to host American Idol the first year. Or the people who actually sang those Milli Vanilli songs.

So the next time my daughter tells me that I’m not fun like Daddy because I won’t play Memory a third time, (Which, btw, is more due to an actual lack of memory than playfulness…) I’ll show her this.  I like to call it my Mommies needs love too list.

• I’m so happy that you and Daddy had fun playing superheroes all morning. It’s too bad that Mommy’s the one that needs to be burning  calories.  But the only running Mommy seems to do these days is into Starbucks when she’s late for work.

• I understand that you love playing  tee ball with Daddy in the backyard, but does he let you stir the cupcake batter or let you roll the homemade pizza dough like Mommy?  On second thought, Does Daddy even know how to turn on the oven?

• Yes, it’s so fun to play with Daddy in the pool for hours. But isn’t it nice to have a Mommy doesn’t look like a HOT MESS with her air-dried hair? And on that note, Did you see Mommy’s belly button last time she wore a bikini? Not. Right. At. All. Mommy loves you so much that she was willing to give up ever feeling comfortable in a bathing suit ever again.

• Thank you so much for reminding me that Daddy is PERFECT when I put you to bed last night. I’ll try to keep that in mind the next time we receive a “special gift” for being such loyal customers to Sportsbook.com.

xoxo, Liz

©2010 Chick Lit Is Not Dead. All Rights Reserved.

Throughout the years, Liz and I have had our share of crises.

First there was our identity crisis.  (Ask Liz about her meltdown in college when everyone called BOTH OF US Lisa.)

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

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

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

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

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

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

Right?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

xoxo, Lisa

©2010 Chick Lit Is Not Dead. All Rights Reserved.

2010? Really? How did another decade pass so quickly?

It seems like just yesterday that we were LOLing over Janet Jackson’s wardrobe malfunction at the Superbowl and shaking our own heads full of hair when Britney Spears shaved hers. Do we even need to bring up that fake British accent?

When the clock struck midnight on New Year’s Eve last week, Lisa grabbed her iPhone and kept up our yearly tradition of ringing in the first minutes of the new year, no matter how far we may be from each other.  And after a few awkward moments of slurred screaming, Liz drunkenly declared that 2010 was going to be OUR year.

The year we land an awesome agent!

The year that we get our just-finished manuscript published!

The year we TAKE OVER THE WORLD!

Okay, so forget that last one.  It was probably the Champagne talking.  But the other ones?   So. Happening.

So being the Type-A bitches that we are, we decided to set up some serious resolutions to make sure our dreams come true in 2010.

LIZ’S RESOLUTIONS

I couldn’t WAIT to say sayonara to 2009.  Between my brother’s brush with death to the stress of trying to finish our manuscript, it was a crazy year!  I woke up January 1st with a feeling of peace (and not just because I was still buzzed from my bellinis!) and a feeling that 2010 will be the year that we attain our goals.  Here  are the things I’m resolving to change in 2010…

1. Lose the *gulp* six pounds I gained this holiday season. I promise to never again stand at my kitchen counter and devour 1800 calories of Costco lobster spread and  stale baguette while the Say Yes to the Dress Christmas marathon blares in the family room.

2. Refuse to even crack a smile the next time my husband makes a Jersey Shore joke when the words “The Situation” are used in normal conversation.

3. To start jogging at least three times a week in preparation for the Huntington Beach Superbowl Sunday 5K.  Related Resolution: Stop letting the kids use my unused Bosu ball as a trampoline.

4. Resist making multiple embarrassing references about Lisa’s dating past during my Matron of Honor speech at her wedding next month. And make sure to get official MOH dress properly fitted so that my cleavage is not the main attraction at the reception. Related resolution: To control urges to repeatedly request Lady GaGa songs while intoxicated.

5. To try to figure out a better cursing system since my five year old seems to have developed an affinity for spelling.  Damn you California public school system!  I was counting on your low ranking to buy me at least another year.  What the F-*-C-K?

LISA’S RESOLUTIONS GOALS:

I’ve never been the kind to make a vow on New Year’s Eve that I’ll do “this” or “that” the following year. That’s probably because every year my resolution would’ve pretty much been the same.

FIND A MAN Or: Related Resolution: Find a man that’s not a jerk. Or: Related Resolution: Find a man who’s not AS MUCH OF a jerk as the last. Or Related Resolution: Find a decent vibrator.

Well, now that I’m proud to report I’ve not only found a great man but he can also confidently co-exist in the same house with certain said paraphernelia, I’m in a resolution kind of mood.

1. Lose five pounds. Damn you, Knot.com! You just won’t back off. You keep sending me emails that the wedding is less than two months away (BTW- I know that!) and that I’d better get. in. shape.  I can’t help that during the holidays I gave into that extra piece of pie or that, er, third helping of mashed potatoes because I knew my big, bulky, Midwestern sweaters would hide the weight! Related Resolution: Simply stop eating meat and potatoes for breakfast, lunch and dinner.

2. Stop wearing sweatpants and bulky socks to bed. I preface this by saying that it’s 15 degrees DURING THE DAY here. Don’t even talk to me about the night. But, yes we have a heater and a humidifier. (I only just learned what the latter was). So, there’s really no excuse for how incredibly unsexy I’ve been this winter (sorry honey!). So, in the words of Justin Timberlake, I vow to bring sexy back! (Or at the very least to lose the socks)!  Related Resolution: Stop canceling on my bi-weekly wax appointment!

3. Stop buying cute winter clothes. I can’t help it. When it’s cold as balls and you’re face is red and your skin is dry, you at least want to dress in a cute outfit to try to offset all the winter-induced ugliness. This California girl used to happily live in a world where UGGS were worn only on nights that dipped below 60 degrees.  So once she discovered the many, many styles of cute boots and coats, it was ovuh.

4. Get over my burning desire to do the Macarana at my wedding. Matt’s said it won’t be funny. My mom threw her arms up in disgust. Even Liz gave me the eye.  So, I know I can’t tell my DJ to play it now because it won’t be any fun to do the dance by myself. But I refuse to give up Bel Biv Divoe, Rob Base or Shout! (Yeah, you read that right!) Related Resolution: Keep Liz from the DJ so she can’t request Lady GaGa. Nothing ruins a buzz faster than her rendition of Paparazzi!

HAPPY NEW YEAR From Chick Lit is not Dead!  Now, tell us- what are your 2010 resolutions?

xoxo,

Liz & Lisa

©2010 Chick Lit Is Not Dead. All Rights Reserved.

We swear we never hung out here!

We knew we needed to get crackin’ on finishing our second book and let’s just say that it’s been incredibly challenging to stay on track when you throw in distractions like wedding planning, shmoving and day jobs into the mix. So, we did what any self-respecting writers who feared the public humiliation of not meeting their December deadline would do. We planned a weekend away from all those distractions! 48 hours where we’d bury our noses in our laptops and barely come up for food or water.  Lisa had set a lofty word count goal of 25,000 and was ready to do just about anything to ensure we hit it . (Don’t worry, we did!)

Knowing that Liz is a self-professed hotel snob, (Let’s just say if the sheets are less than 500 thread count she’s outta there!) Lisa saddled her with the task of booking somewhere nice and quiet for what they decided to call their writer’s retreat.

Well at least she got the nice part right.

When we pulled up to The Parker Palm Springs, Lisa, an obsessive Bravo reality TV show junkie (is there anything better than The Real Housewives of Whatever or Top Chef ?)  exclaimed, “This is where they shot that reality show!”

“Oh yeah,” Liz replied. “That’s right… Well, I’m sure it will still be low key.”

When we walked through the jumbo double orange doors and walked inside, it looked like 1975 threw up all over it (in the retro chic-est “anti-Brady Bunch” kind of way). And when we approached the front desk, Lisa almost peed her pants when Oscar, who starred in the reality show, greeted them.

As they crossed the beautiful grounds and caught a glimpse of all the sexy people lounging pool side that they were sure had to be famous, Liz looked at Lisa and pleaded, “I brought my suit. Maybe we could take a quick dip?”

Lisa, definitely in the role of drill sargent for the weekend, turned to Liz and said, “Sorry, we have a deal, absolutely no distractions!” Then, seeing the pained expression on Liz’s face, added, “But if you write 5,000 words by lunch, I’ll let you take five minutes and spy on that wedding I know you want to crash later!“

Well, we may have hit our word count goal (yeah! ) but admittedly, there were distractions all around us that even the drill sargent couldn’t resist!

Beware of hot men with accents Hey, they might have been wearing tight peach pants and were barely understandable as they talked about the boys club they were going to hit later, but we chose to ignore those minor details because, they were muy caliente! And when Liz suggested we go write by the lobby, Lisa suspected she had an ulterior motive but she said yes anyway. Let’s just say hot men + romantic accents = majuh writing inspiration!

Lisa will never know I'm secretly on Facebook!

Free wireless isn’t always an advantage Between Liz’s secret status updates to Lisa’s search for long lost loves (she found one!), it was very easy to get distracted from the task at hand!

Don’t book the boom boom room When Oscar was telling us about our suite, we  heard the part about the beautiful view of the valley. I guess we weren’t paying attention when he told us the that from our vantage point, there would be not one, but two weddings going on each night. Hey, maybe our room did physically thump all night, but at least Lisa got her entire wedding playlist handled. A big thank you to whatever DJ was in love with Bell Biv Devoe, Rob Base and Kriss Kross.

Poor Mac Macbook

Make sure Mac Macbook is up for the trip. Um, so maybe it wasn’t the smartest thing to take a laptop on its last gigabyte to a writing retreat. And next time Mac begs her to take him to the Genius bar, she promises she’ll listen. We’d like to take a moment to say thanks so much to the front desk staff that didn’t bat an eye  (or fear we were about to commit a crime) when we asked for duct tape and a knife. Way to keep your hospitality game faces on guys!

Bring your dancing shoes It’s always good to be prepared. You never know when a 100K wedding will be going on, just begging you to crash it and grab a Grey Goose at the bar and chat up the Best Man.  No one ever remembers their third cousin’s name, right?  But considering the fact that the dressiest thing we brought was a taco sauce stained juicy sweat suit, we decided that maybe we should pass.

Makes sure you tip your Bell Boy Tank of gas to get to Palm Springs: $65.  Two large pots of coffee to stay awake via room service: $30 Look on Liz & Lisa’s faces when they arrived back in Long Beach and realized THEIR LUGGAGE WAS STILL AT THE PARKER: Priceless!

And the fact that Liz’s husband jumped in the car and drove four hours roundtrip to retrieve Liz’s makeup and Lisa’s Snuggie: Worth a million dollars!  Thanks MF!  We hope the combo burrito and chocolate shake we drove a quarter of a mile to get for you made your TWO HUNDRED AND THIRTY MILE drive WAS worth it! Xoxo

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©2010 Chick Lit Is Not Dead. All Rights Reserved.

Sunday night, Liz texted Lisa the same message she’s sent her every Sunday for the past three years.

Dude, we should try out for the Amazing Race! It would be soooo fun!

And Lisa’s thumbs couldn’t type fast enough as she responded the same way she has every Sunday for the past three years.

F**kkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkk Nooooooooooooooo!!!

But …thank you for giving me an idea for a blog post!

I'm sorry to tell you, Liz & Lisa, that you are the last team to arrive~Phil Keoghan

Liz says:  Come on, Let’s race!

Oh, Amazing Race, How I love thee! And even though my current idea of adventure is staying at a three-star hotel, I think I would love schlepping around the world with nothing but a passport and the three nasty outfits that I shoved into my backpack.  I mean, what better way to lose weight than to run through the streets of Dubai in 130 degree heat?  Nevermind the fact that I usually start sweating the second the barometer breaks 85 and that I consider a trip to the Bahamas an international vacation.

And even though Lisa and I sometimes spend thirty minutes arguing over sentence structure, I’m sure we’ll get along famously!  If we survived the bad fashion of the 80′s and 90′s together, we can surely herd some Japanese tourists and ducks like nobody’s business or eat a wasabi bomb in thirty seconds!

While I’m sure Lisa will make a strong case against our Amazing Race union, I’m here to plead my case for an appearance next season.

1. We get to hang out with Phil, who is smokin’ hot AND has an accent! I’m sure that we’ll look awesome after jogging through the streets of China in our underwear or taking a dip in the crisp, clean waters of Vietnam.  And although I can’t leave the house without burning my hair into submission for thirty minutes with a flat iron, I think our new au natural look will be a big hit! Isn’t it time for frizzy hair and thick eyebrows to make their well-deserved comeback?

2. Free Publicity for Chick Lit is not Dead Admit it, we could really use the exposure. No publicity is bad publicity, right?  Plus, it’s either this or tying a chair to some mylar balloons and sending my five-year up for a ride. And this way I don’t have to break any laws or be ridiculed on CNN. Because, admit it, we all know I’ll be edited as “the nice one”! Sorry, Lisa.

3. Endless Blog fodder and Facebook status updates My only concern is that many of Lisa’s updates would start with Lisa is ready to kill Liz because…

4. What a great workout! There’s nothing like springing through foreign countries in extreme weather conditions to get your ass in shape!  Nevermind the fact that we both will become crazy beyotches if we skip lunch or don’t drink water every five minutes.  I’m sure it will all work out fine! (And make for great TV if it doesn’t…)

Lisa says:  Are you F’ing kidding me?

For the record, I’d like to state that I’m in love with The Amazing Race. One of my favorite pastimes is sitting back and WATCHING the teams of two nearly kill each other as they try to find a one inch snowman in a twenty five foot pile of snow. From the Newly Datings (oh the poor, innocent things) to the We’ve been engaged for nine years but aren’t sure if we should get marrieds (what an iron clad way to strengthen your relationship!) to the requisite We’re freakishly hot and SWEAR we don’t have sex couples. (Well, if you weren’t having it before, running through the streets of New Dehli aint gonna help the mojo!) I love them all! (The angry/violent hearing impaired guy and his freakishly strong mom were my favorite!)

And even though I also heart Liz and think she’s incredibly talented and creative, trying out for The Amazing Race is, hands down, one of the worst ideas she’s ever had! (Well, if you don’t count her recent decision to mix Tequila and Smirnoff this past weekend.) So, here’s my case for why our only “Amazing Race” should be meeting our December book deadline.

1. Um, Phil, is it against the rules for me to strap a GPS to my camel? My idea of following a map is inputting an address into my car’s navigational system.  I’m quite confident I would have an easier time finding a Starbucks in Bakersfield than I would trying to track the lady in the purple scarf in a busy square in Bangkok. I still have to confirm directions to O’Hare and Liz expects me to try to find a yodeler at the base of the Swiss Alps? WTF?!

2. There’s no bottled water in Zimbabwe? Considering my constant dehydration even if the best conditions, I could easily be the first AMAZING RACE contestant to murder her teammate over lack of H2O. So if Liz wants to live to see her 37th birthday, she should probably just continue to lust after her boy Phil from afar.  Maybe stalking him off-season would be easier?

3. Do you think I can pop my enzymes before I eat a cricket in Cairo? Um, Liz knows I can barely consume a perfectly made American hamburger without digestive aids. So the fact that she wants me to consider downing a wasabi bomb with a side of scorpion tail is more than upsetting. Constipation +bloating = distended belly, bad TV and, did I mention bad TV?

4. I don’t do alliances! I know my people-pleasing friend, Liz will want to team up with the cute guys or help the requisite hillbillies that can barely read the signs in English. (Let alone Japanese!) And all I can say is Hells to the No’s. I’m not sharing my ladle, my internet cafe location or my Gas-X with anyone!

xoxo, Liz & Lisa

©2010 Chick Lit Is Not Dead. All Rights Reserved.

Not on my watch, Beyotch! -Liz Lemon

I was watching 30 Rock last season when my hero, Liz Lemon, uttered what I was sure would become my new catchphrase. And after laughing so hard I snorted,  I immediately grabbed my journal and wrote these five glorious words: NOT ON MY WATCH, BEYOTCH! I then declared to my husband that I was determined to say it at least five times the next day.  At the time, he just laughed and shook his head, probably just hoping and praying I wouldn’t be saying it to him!

So, the next day, I ran out into the world, anxious to find a situation to unleash my new favorite phrase.  Until… I forgot. Like my daily resolve to log all my Weight Watcher points and to say the word “Fudge” rather than “F*ck”, it was forgotten faster than you say Khloe Kardashian and Lamar Odom.

Fast forward to yesterday.  I was perusing my journal, desperately looking for some blog inspiration when I came across this rhyming, cursing, genius phrase I wrote down over four months ago. And I fell in love all over again. Because it just so happens that for me, Rhyming + Cursing= Love.

So I resolved right then and there to use it five times.  And as I set out into the world the next morning, ready to lay the best line EVUH on some unsuspecting clerk/friend/client/teacher, I remembered one important thing:

I am a total, utterly hopeless, people-pleasing ass kisser. Or as my more vulgar friends would say, a total p*ssy.

Hmmm…so what to do?  Well, I’ll have you know I did what any self-respecting brown-noser would do.  I thought it in my head and then ran out and wrote it in my journal.

But if I had the balls to actually say it, it would have been AWESOME.  And here’s where I would have casually inserted it into conversation…

• What?  You think you can just cut in front of me in the express lane at Target?  With TWELVE items in your basket? NOT ON MY WATCH BEYOTCH!

• Seriously Lisa?  You don’t “really care” if we drink at your bachelorette party in January?  You just want to “relax” and “enjoy” everyone’s company? NOT ON MY WATCH BEYOTCH!  (MAID OF HONOR EDITION)

• Really Loehmanns?  You won’t take back the overpriced Coach wannabe Uggs  that I bought on a whim before I remembered the temperature only drops below 65 degrees one week a year in So Cal? NOT ON MY WATCH BEYOTCH!

• Come on, 22 year old server at Benihana knockoff, you could at least ask for my ID when your sign says you card everyone that looks under forty. So. Not. Cool. And I didn’t appreciate your eye roll when I pulled it out anyway! NOT ON MY WATCH BEYOTCH!

Come on, promise you’ll use it in conversation tomorrow.  Or better yet, tell us where you wish you had used it! The two best NOT ON MY WATCH BEYOTCH situations will win a signed copy of I’LL HAVE WHO SHE’S HAVING!

xoxo,

Liz

©2010 Chick Lit Is Not Dead. All Rights Reserved.