The Bride

Some might say the President of the United States is the most powerful man in the world. Others might argue its celebrities like Madonna, Elton John or Brad Pitt who dominate. I say there’s no doubt those people are all important, but there’s someone with a lot more influence and authority. Someone who red carpets roll out for, champagne constantly appears for and anyone will do anything for.

The bride.

For one day, more important than any other uniform in the world is the white dress and veil. And more exclusive and powerful than even the elusive black American Express is another card. A card you only get to carry for one day. A card that you can milk for access to anyone and anything. A card that gets you a yes to any question you ask. A card that allows you to act however you want and still get whatever you want.

The bride card.

Even my award-winning Matron of Honor, Liz, (more on that in a minute) used it. In fact, I might even argue she became drunk with power as the words bridal suite rolled off her tongue with such ease you’d think she’d lived in the 650 square foot space all of her life. If I so much as blinked or even slightly furrowed my brow, Liz was on the phone faster than you can say bridezilla expertly using some combination of the words, “the bride wants”, “the bride needs” or “the bride is REALLY, REALLY thirsty and will ONLY drink White Star champagne.”

The Bride & the MOH

Or even when the bride card wasn’t being used for me, but was not so secretly being used for her (um, like rush ordering a hamburger the night before my wedding because the “bride was hungry”) as far as I’m concerned, she was entitled to use it. She deserved to whip out the card because she blocked and tackled like there was no tomorrow. Forget that dude from The Blind Side, Liz may as well have been 6’7″ and 350 pounds of rippling muscle as she watched my back.

Like when she offered to kick the asses of certain people who got a little over excited about the concept of an open bar or when she promised to personally rip the wildly inappropriate ensemble off a certain someone and replace it with something far more acceptable like a burlap sack or when my photographer asked us to “dolphin kiss” (not Matt and me—Liz and me!) for the second time (the first was traumatic enough) and she whispered through her toothless smile, “if he even infers we should hold hands, I’ll shove his camera where the sun don’t shine.”

And all the while, I got to float along behind her with a huge toothy smile on my face- wondering if this was what the Queen of England or a mob boss felt like- having someone else to do their dirty work for them.

I’d like to take a moment to give Liz the Matron of Honor of the Year award and thank her for:

• Wearing four-inch heels during the ceremony even though the highest she ever goes is 1.5.
• Reminding me to keep things in perspective. Most notably when I called her in a heated panic over a mysterious rash that had appeared on my back and she sternly yet softly warned me that I’d better get it together and realize there were people out there with real problems- like in Haiti.
• Telling me it was okay that I cried with joy when I saw and loved myself in my wedding dress.
• And also that it was okay to say out loud that as a producer I thought my wedding was a damn. Good. Show.
• Sticking her entire head under my wedding dress to put on my “something borrowed” garter and smiling bravely as she got more up close and personal than even my Russian bikini waxer, Tatiana, and saw things she should’ve never had to see. In. Her. Entire. Life. (We’re close, but not that close!)
• For doing her bride proud and giving a kick ass, laugh out loud MOH speech. (Hilarious highlights include, but are not limited to, the reminder of the pure bred cat I came dangerously close to ordering in the height of my singledom, the list of former metrosexual boyfriends including the Ryan Seacrest wannabe and the very astute and simultaneously frightening observation that my husband, Matt is practically Liz in a wig.)

Thank you, MOH!!!!

Well, I’m happy to report that my wedding day was the best day of my life. And it’s not because I got to play the bride card (okay maybe that was a tiny part of it) but because I have the best friends and family anyone could ask for! And I married the best man I could ever ask for.

Oh, and I wore the best. damn. dress. evuh!

On that note-would it be weird if I arbitrarily decided to wear my wedding dress, say, out to dinner or even to run errands? The thought of packing her away makes me too sad for words and the thought of not being the bride anymore, well, I can’t even talk about it!

xoxo,

Lisa

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

Mommy, why aren't the presents wrapped?

People often ask me how I get anything done. With two kids, two dogs, two guinea pigs, and two jobs , life can get a little crazy.  But what they don’t know is that all along I’ve had a secret weapon.  Something that saves me from jumping off a bridge when my “to-do” list spans two pages.

My husband.

I’m not gonna lie, I *might* let some people assume that I  do it all by myself.  And in my defense, Hubby has always been a low-profile type of guy. So, he doesn’t want the credit anyway, right?  Well, at least that’s what I tell myself so I have a good reason to keep my secret weapon “secret”.

Well, at least until he went out of town for a week.

When a business meeting and death in the family came back-to-back, (RIP Grandpa Fenton, this one’s for you!) I found myself Mike-less for a full seven days.  And while I kissed his cheek and bid him safe travels, I was slightly worried, knowing that I was now in charge of his daily chores, aka “all the things Liz HATES to do!”

Take out the trash!

Clean up dog poop!

Do the laundry!

Change that ginormous five gallon water bottle!

Get two children to two different schools in two cities by 8am!

And the thing I hate most:

WRAP THE CHRISTMAS PRESENTS!

Let’s just say that this week gave “bad hair day” a whole new meaning.  I’ve always taken advantage of the fact that Mike takes exactly 15.5 minutes to get ready each morning and load him up with the morning chores while I primp for the day.  Now I was up at the crack of dawn, just so I *might* have the chance to run the straight iron through my hair for five minutes after I fed all the demanding children, dogs and guinea pigs. (Who knew those pigs could scream louder than the kids?)

And each morning, at 8:05am, I walked in to the nearest Starbucks and ordered an extra shot Americano with a satisfied smile on my face.  I did it!  Everyone was clothed, fed, and reasonably happy. (Well, except for those damn guineas, but those f*ckers are impossible to please!)

This week had given me a true appreciation for all the things the hubs does each day.   It had been so long since I taken out the trash that I had no idea where to even find the key to our gate.  And where did we keep the detergent again? So it made me feel good to know that I could do it on my own, if push came to shove.  And btw, this is where I give a HUGE shout out to single Moms and Dads everywhere who do it on their own each day-you have my utmost respect!

But Mike, just so you know, I F’ing ROCKED the TO DO list in your absence.

I got those ridiculously heavy trash cans to the curb even before our anal 80-year neighbor!

I did not one, not two, but THREE loads of laundry. (But do I have to fold and put way too?  I know you have a “system” so I left that part for you.)

I changed the Sparklett’s bottle with minimal water damage to the kitchen floor. (Too bad I can’t say the same for the cashmere sweater I was wearing at the time!)

I wore out the pooper-scooper. (Remind me again why I’ve been begging for a third dog?)

BUT

I left all the Christmas present wrapping for you.  Even I have my limits. And since you’ll be home in plenty of time for Christmas, there’s no reason to tarnish the Fenton name with my lackluster wrapping skills, right?

They say absence makes the heart grow fonder, and now I know why!  Thank you, Hubs, for all that you do each day.  And please know that although I was a totally awesome Mom/Dad hybrid all week, I’m giving all your chores back to you the minute you walk back in the door!

xoxo, Liz

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

It was the best of times. It was the worst of times.

It was painting time.

What do you get when you combine 3 gallons of paint, six walls and two Type-A fiances?

A near disaster.

In the Stannenfeldt household anyway.

It all started when Matt innocently asked if I wanted to join him on a trip to the man’s Tarjay (Lowes). Since I pride myself on my woMANly ways, I happily obliged.  And I’m not sure how it happened exactly (my cart had a mind of its own!) but on the way to the faucets, we somehow found ourselves in the paint aisle, comparing swatches and finishes (satin or eggshell?) and discussing painting our living room and dining room. (Because for those of the Type-A persuasion, one room just wasn’t enough.)

And the next thing I knew, our cart was piled high with rollers, brushes, tray liners and drop cloths.

And as we paid for the supplies and paint–one gallon of Dusted Bronze and two gallons of Bees Wax– I wondered, were we really going to do this?

Weren’t we breaking one of the cardinal couple rules?

Never move something together!

Never assemble something together!

And never, under any circumstances, paint together!

As we prepped the rooms, I thought to myself, we can do this. And as I taped the crown molding and looked over at Matt as he covered the furniture, I repeated the same mantra in my head.

I won’t be Bossy Betty.

I won’t be Bossy Betty.

I won’t be Bossy Betty.

Well, let’s just say that sometimes, even though you can repeat something over and over in your head, it doesn’t always come true.

The good news is, the rooms look amazing—warm and inviting.

But in hindsight, there are a few things I’d do a wee bit differently should there ever be a next time. (You never know, Hell could freeze over!)

1.  Not agree to accompany the hubs to be to Lowes. (Especially with an ulterior motive in mind!)

2.  I’d let someone else use a roller brush–like maybe the 6’2″ painter by my side. (Even if I didn’t exactly approve of his brush stroke!)

3.  I’d get down off the step ladder long enough to fill my own paint tray. (Even though asking him to do it every time was so much easier!)

4.  I’d remember to get my painter “partner” a cold beverage, like, um, 7 hours sooner!

5.  I wouldn’t ask or expect my fiancee to shop for pillows or rugs after 5 hours of painting! (Even though the couches and floors were begging to look as good as the walls!)

6.  I’d learn to love white walls!

xoxo, Lisa (A.K.A. “Bossy Betty”)

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

Although many may disagree, I’ve  kind of always thought of myself as a low-maintenance kind of gal.  Well…except for that whole “have to be punctual or I’ll kill you” thing.  Or the fact that if I don’t eat every three hours I may rip off your arm and beat you over the head with it.  Oh, and did I mention that I also tend to be a bit High Maintenance on my birthday too?

I’ll be the first to admit that it’s virtually impossible for the Hubs to find the perfect gift.  And the fact that he has limited shopping skills isn’t helping his case at all. (I’ve always felt that I shop enough for both of us!) But the biggest problem is that if I  want something, well, I usually just go buy it! (Did I mention I have impulse-control issues?)

So after many years of awkward gift opening, I have asked the Hubs, no make that begged him, to STOP buying me gifts.  I mean, how many times can you fake enthusiam for household appliances?

This year, I thought we had the system down.  He buys me nothing, I buy myself something fabulous, we go to dinner without the kids, I get buzzed, eat some free Lava Pie and and we all go home happy.  Right?

Wrong!

Instead, I came home on my birthday to find a red velvet box on the counter with a card.  And I knew from past experience that this could mean only one thing.  He had snuck over to see Kim Po.  Kim Po was our jeweler, and the hubs always went to him in a time of need.  Kim Po could always be counted on for beautiful jewelry and astrological readings.  A great combination!  Where else could you get your diamond ring fixed while finding out if this is the year of the Ox? (Btw, it isn’t.)

I went over and grabbed the box off the counter and slowly opened it to reveal a beautiful sapphire pendant and chain. Wow, I thought, how beautiful! I’m sure that most women who weren’t SEVERLY ALLERGIC TO METAL would really enjoy wearing this.  I’m sure it would look lovely on my neck for that one hour before I developed a NASTY WELT  where the chain touched my skin.  And I’m sure he wouldn’t mind when we went to dinner that night that I was blinded by my SWOLLEN EYES.

*Big sigh*

Oh, Hubs.  I know he meant well. I guess the fact that I haven’t worn so much as a watch in the past year has escaped his memory. Or that the entire year before when I went to five doctors trying to figure out why I had crackwhore eyes for three days every time I wore my sassy sparkly MAC eyeshadow. I could just imagine him, panicking a few days before my birthday and running to Kim Po’s, his gift-giving safe place.  So yes, part of me understood. But it didn’t mean I wasn’t pissed!

And maybe, just maybe, I acted a little bratty about it. (Don’t judge!  I already told you I was HM about this shit!) But let’s just say I found a way to forgive him when he surprised me with a waterfront suite later that night.  And after a few drinks at dinner, we made a pact that he will nevuh, evuh, buy me anything ever again.  And he also agreed to let me share with you his top three birthday blunders…

1. A LANDLINE

It was a phone that plugged into the wall. For our bedroom.   For our first Christmas together after we got married. Need I say more? I made note to never again complain about any household appliance within two months of my birthday or Christmas.

2. A THREE HOUR TOUR

Welcome to your wonderful getaway to…CATALINA!  Now for those of you unfamiliar with this tiny island off the California coast, let me just tell you that it could quite possibly be the most boring place on earth. None of the “motels”(yep, MOTELS!) even have pools. Or spas. Or room service. Has this man not been paying attention for the past ten years?  I am the. Biggest. Travel. Snob. EVUH!

3. GIFT CARDS

Public service announcement: Dudes, Don’t ever get your wife gift cards.  Just don’t.  And if you do, don’t buy the same one for every birthday and Christmas gift for three years.   Your wife may begin to think you lack imagination…

After reading that, it’s probably clear why my poor Hubs threw in the towel on a high maintenance birthday beyotch like myself.  And that’s okay.  Because he gives me the best gift every single day that doesn’t cost a thing…his love, support and respect!  Love you Hubs! xoxo

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

Before I “shmoved” to Chicago, I lived alone for a really, really, really long time.

Did I mention it was a long time?

Well, when you’re the only one under your own roof, you take certain things for granted. Like…

• When you get home at the end of the day, the last half of your cheesecake is exactly where you left it.
  

• Your clean clothes can sit in piles on your bedroom floor for as. long. as. you. want.
  

• The DVR records all of YOUR favorite programs WITHOUT FAIL.

Well, let’s just say #1 & #2 I can live with but #3, well, that’s not negotiable. Because to put it mildly…

Momma needs her f***ing TV!

Back home in Cali, my DVR was a well-oiled machine, like a fine wine–aged to perfection. I’d spent a painstaking amount of time and energy getting it just right. From prioritizing my programs to making sure there was padding at the beginning and end of my favorite shows “just in case” there was a supersized episode-I’d done it all. I never missed a show. Not even a Jersey Housewives reunion. Until…

I cohabitated.

And since I shmoved in with my beloved future hubby, my DVR situation has become

one. hot. mess.

So far, I’ve missed..

• The season premiere of Brothers & Sisters (Sally Field is like a mother to me!)

• The premiere of Grey’s Anatomy (Yeah, I’m one of the six people who still watch!)

• Several episodes of Project Runway! (Life just isn’t whole without a weekly trip to Mood!)

The reasons for this DVR dilemma?

• The definition of “important” television is a debate in our house. (I say anything that ends with a cliffhanger. He says anything that ends with ball.)

• Before my time, the most action Matt’s DVR had seen was the time it accidentally recorded Wizards of Waverly Place.

• We have a pretty majuh problem that I like to call Saturday, Sunday and Monday Night Football.

So cut to this past Sunday night.

All was right in the world. The kids were in bed, the refrigerator was cleaned out (don’t ask!) and I was sitting comfortably on the couch ready to immerse myself in my own, little television world. A world where…

• I see Matt’s lips moving, but there is no sound.

• My biggest stress is whether or not it will be an elimination round on the The Amazing Race.

• I have complete control of the remote.

Not so much.

Matt wanted to watch the Chargers game.

And my beloved future hubby’s eyes glazed over when I tried to explain why he couldn’t just switch over to channel 187. I had two programs recording at the same time! But wanting to be a good wifey-to-be, I dumped Melrose (I only wanted to find out if Ashley was a better actress than lip syncher anyway) so he could watch his ballgame. After, the TV karma gods would be looking out for me and all would be right in the world as I watched my shows, right?

Not so much.

When I turned on The Amazing Race, Instead of Phil Keoghan, I saw Andy Rooney!

WTF?

According to Matt, who very patiently tried to explain this injustice as I cradled my head in my hands, the end of 60 Minutes had recorded so that meant I wouldn’t get the entire episode of The Amazing Race!

But how would I know if those professional poker beeyotches made it through?

Matt slowly explained that this could be an ongoing problem because The Amazing Race may never fully record.

What???

Because of the Central Time Zone. Because of football. And because of 60 Minutes. Long story short, football almost always runs late. 60 Minutes must run in its entirety.

No. Matter. What.

Or, as Matt put it, a bunch of blue hairs (and him) would revolt. So, even if I add padding to the end of The Amazing Race, if a football game goes into OT, I could be screwed. And forced to watch the show, the next day or online. Or worse…

in. real. time.

Gag. And screw you Andy Rooney for ruining my life!

But this is all part of saying, I do, right? Learning to be flexible and to deal with new situations. And learning to, er, compromise.

Um, not so much.

Well, at least not for now.

Not when it comes to my precious TV.

So in the meantime, while I come to grips with reality, I’m going to propose my form of a compromise.

A second DVR.

xoxo

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

I was checking out at my new Tarjay the other day when the salesgirl asked for my ID. (Woo hoo! *Does cheerleading kicks and hurdles inside her head*) But as great as that feeling was, that’s unfortunately not my story. (I must also begrudgingly note that after doing ridonculous mental cheerleading routine, I spotted a sign that read: Card anyone who looks under the age of FORTY). But I digress.

My story actually goes a little something like this:

Me: With overly excited expression plastered on face, hands salesgirl ID. Tries to calculate just how young she might think I am. Simultaneously decides that I need to get a f***ing life.

Salesgirl: Looks at driver’s license and face lights up. “California? Oh! You must be VIS-I-TING!”

Me: Looks past salesgirl out the window at the dark, ominous sky and reluctantly sets the record straight. “Um, no.”

Salesgirl: Not skipping a beat as she bags the red wine and the bulk toilet paper.”Well, then what are you doing here?”

Me: Rubs thumb gingerly over the word California as places ID back in wallet. “I just moved here.”

Salesgirl: (Insert confused expression- think Forrest Gump meets George W.) “Why?”

And that’s the million dollar question I’m asked more than any other.  Some of my favorite variations are:

“You did WHAAAAT?”

“Um, don’t you think you went the WRONG direction?”

“Did you miss a turn somewhere?”

“What bet did you lose?”

But most commonly, It all boils down to that one-syllable, unmistakable word.

WHY?

Well, after fifty-one days, 18 hours and 22 minutes, (but who’s counting?) my “shmove” has ever-so-slowly become more of a “move” and threatened to catapult me to an official resident of The Land of Lincoln. And therefore, I suppose I must explain. So, without further adieu, here are my reasons why:

#1 Life-long desire to give up boring, routine 72 degree weather.

#2 Long walks on the beach really are so cliche’!

#3 I was getting really tired of having all those championship sports teams around me!

#4 Celebrity sightings at your regular coffee shop can be such a distraction to your daily routine!

#5 Flying four hours to get to Vegas is AWESOME!

#6 Off! mosquito repellent has new, fantastic scents! Who needs Burberry Brit when you can wear Tropical Breeze!

#7 When you wish as hard as I did for a MAN IN MY BED, when you finally get him, you’ll damn near follow him anywhere!

xoxo, Lisa

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

One store. One hour. One majuh love affair.

In a nutshell, I found my perfect wedding dress in less time than it takes Heidi Klum to say Auf Wiedersehen.

WTF?

As I handed over my credit card, (and tried not to think about the price tag- O.M.G!), I wondered, was it supposed to be this easy? Wasn’t I meant to try on dress after dress after dress, always wondering if a better one could be around the corner?

I called Liz to tell her I’d found the dress of my dreams at my first appointment on my first day of shopping and asked her if she thought that was that okay. She didn’t skip a beat. “Lisa, you worked your f***ing ass off to find the perfect man. You shouldn’t have to work that f***ing hard for your dress too.”

And she was abso-f***ing-lutely right.

The search for your dress is exactly like the search for your husband. When you know, you know. So why keep looking when you’ve already found him? Or why stop looking when you know in your heart you haven’t?

I could win some sort of contest for spending years trying on more than my fair share of ill-fitting, uncomfortable, “one-off”  men. They weren’t a fit, but I kept them in my wardrobe anyway. Eventually, I would realize most of them were like skinny jeans– a really bad decision.

Until I found Matt– who is like my favorite, most comfortable jeans. He is the perfect fit. (I know, I know… gag me with some harp strings!)

And now I have the perfect dress to marry him in…

Marilyn was dress number two and yes, she’s so amazing she has a name.

When Jane, the, um, actual DESIGNER, brought Marilyn into the dressing room, I had a gut feeling that she was the one.  Then I stepped in, pulled the dress up around me and looked in the mirror.

It. Was. Love.

Marilyn is a show stopper. Marilyn is the really good kind of drama. Marilyn will make your mother cry and your groom thank his lucky stars he found you. Marilyn knows how to command a room. And, well, she’s just pretty damn unforgettable.  Marilyn is so awesome she makes you forget how much money you paid for her.

But then I met Cate.

Cate is another gorgeous dress. She’s amazing. She’s beautiful and the really good kind of subtle. She knows how to work a room and charm you. She’ll also make your mother cry (but face it-even a potato sack could probably do that) and your groom might just cry too!

And for a few minutes, I was torn. There was something about Cate that I really, really loved. I felt romantic and light and the good kind of bride-y.

But in the end, I chose Marilyn for the same reason I chose my fiancee. When you know, you know.

Oh, and because, as Rachel Zoe would say, Marilyn is BANANAS!

Tell us YOUR wedding dress story!  How did you find “The One”?

xoxo, Lisa

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

During our Labor Day weekend at a friend’s lake house, Matt and I decided to go for a ride on a waverunner.

But when we both tried to sit in the driver’s seat, I looked at him and said with a deliberate air of authority, “I need to drive. I want to be in control of how fast we go.”

And then Matt said, “Well, you’re going to have to give up some control, Lisa. That’s what marriage is.”

I looked down at the sparkly engagement ring that he’d slid on my finger only days before (BTW–I was wearing it in the lake–was I supposed to take it off?) and I wondered, when I said yes, just how much control did I really agree to give up?

Up until my “shmove” to the Chicago ‘burbs six weeks ago, I lived alone for SEVEN years. The only chance of a roommate was when I ordered (but later cancelled) a Toyger cat in a moment of desperation. To think I actually thought FIB (fur in bed) could actually replace the lack of MIB (man in bed)! And during all that time living with me, myself and I, I was in control of everything.

Matt proposed last Tuesday night and it was the happiest one minute and thirty eight seconds of my life! (According to the time stamp on Liz’s Flip video cam.) But when I said yes, was I agreeing to let him do things like drive the waverunner?

I ended up agreeing it was okay to relinquish control and let him take the lead on the lake that day.

But as I sit here tonight, looking ahead at my exciting life, I need to level with myself …and my future hubby—that there are a few things that this LA girl just can’t give up control over:

1.  THE REMOTE

I’m sorry honey, but reality TV will dominate. I don’t expect you to understand why Rachel Zoe and Tim Gunn are so important to me. I just Thank God my favorite shows aren’t on at the same time as college football or this relationship might never work.

2. THE MENU

Move over beef-stroganoff-in-a-can and sloppy joe mix (had no idea that still existed!) there are some foods that don’t contain 1,000 milligrams of sodium per serving in town. And some mornings, even though I still see a flicker of sadness in Matt’s eyes as he longs for a strawberry pop tart that’s no longer there, I hope he’ll understand that I had to get rid of them for his sake as well as my own. Enjoy your oatmeal with fresh fruit honey. I promise you and your favorite 35 inch waist pants will thank me later!

3. THE BED

Um, sorry baby, but the mattress you’ve slept on since you were in the frat house just isn’t going to cut it. Even if I didn’t have a herniated disc in my neck, I’d rather go back to sleeping on my futon from college than your lumpy bed. *Cue sound of credit card swiping machine* at mattress store. A big thank you to Ted Tempurpedic for saving our relationship.

4. THE TOWELS

Ahh Matt’s towels. For two years, I dried my face with his brillo pad-like, twelve thread count towels that I’m quite confident doubled as car wash rags on the weekends I was in L.A. My Egyptian cotton towels and wash cloths have now arrived via FEDEX priority overnight and even Matt has to admit that after a hot shower, 100% cotton sure feels better on his ass than burlap.

5. THE BATHROOM

Poor Matt. Even when I forewarn him that there’s a curling iron, flat iron and a blowdryer plugged in in the bathroom, he somehow manages to burn himself or melt his bottle of contact solution because he can’t see. And I’ve been wildly unsuccessful at making him understand that when he throws open the shower curtain at the end of a long, hot shower, the steam wreaks absolute havoc on my hair. I love Matt very much but a few cold showers and lost layers of skin on his finger tips are far better than me having a bad hair day. Deep down, I know he understands and loves all of my idiosyncrasies.

Because to me, that’s what marriage is.

xoxo, Lisa (A.K.A. Mrs. Stannenfeldt)

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

As writers, we do a lot of reading! (And we’re not just talking about Us Weekly!)  We’ve devoured everything from Patricia Cornwell to Candy Spelling.  From memoirs to mysteries…bestsellers to bombs.  And our favorite thing to do after reading the words, The End, is to dish about it with each other. It’s our book club for two (*cue sappy music*) where we discuss how a book made us feel.  Did we discard it after the third chapter or savor it like a delicious meal?

And was it so yummy that we might have even developed a little crush on its author too?…

For us, when we read something we REALLY LOVE, we don’t just fall in love with the book, we fall a little bit in love with the person who wrote it. We can start crushin’ pretty hard on that author who put fingers to keyboard, who created the plot and the characters and then mixed it all together to make a story that each time we read it, just keeps getting better…

And that’s exactly what happened when Lisa discovered Laura Dave.

It was love at first read when she found LONDON IS THE BEST CITY IN AMERICA on a New Fiction table at Barnes & Noble a few years back. She inhaled three chapters while sitting in the bookstore and finished it just a few hours later. And after Liz borrowed and read it, it’s not surprising that she fell for her too. (BTW–Lisa never told Liz, but she knew there would be a girl fight before she’d ever really share Laura Dave with her!)

So fast forward to this past May when Lisa was again back in Barnes & Noble. But this time, she wasn’t just shopping for books.

She sat there. Palms sweaty, heart racing, cheeks flushed.

She was about to meet someone she was really crushing on. No, it wasn’t a first date with a man or a chance encounter with Justin Timberlake. It was even better!

She was about to come face to face with her #1 writer crush! She was at signing for Laura Dave’s second and equally amazing book, THE DIVORCE PARTY.

But as she sat front and center (literally), 45 minutes early, she began to see the scene as Laura might. Lisa knew she must look like a crazy person as she white-knuckled her tattered copy of the DIVORCE PARTY for dear life, a perma-grin plastered across her face and sweat rings forming under her arm pits. Suddenly, she feared Laura might think she was some kind of book stalker and have security escort her out and promptly unfriend her on Facebook.  She began to beat herself up for not taking a seat in the back and playing a little hard to get.

After the reading (fell in love a little more) and the Q & A (too nervous to ask a question–but had so many!), Lisa waited in line trying to come up with the perfect words that would sound breezy and non stalker-like when she finally got the opportunity to have Laura sign her book.

But the magical words never came to her. And even though Lisa was a hot mess when she reached the front of the line, Laura was absolutely lovely. (No doubt, she’s seen it all!) And she even humored her and accepted a copy of Lisa and Liz’s book, I’LL HAVE WHO SHE’S HAVING!  But the icing on the cake was when she gave Lisa a giant hug and thanked her for giving her the copy of her book. Who does that? It was then that Lisa knew there would never be another author who could win her heart the way Laura Dave had.

So you can imagine our excitement to have Laura at our LA book signing as our special guest!

So come down and join us on this Saturday the 25th at Metropolis Books in downtown LA from 4-8pm. Bring your favorite bottle of wine to share with your girlfriends in the comfy sitting area!

In addition, the fabulous folks over at DXG USA have loaded each of our beach bag giveaways with the MOST fashionable and trendy high definition video camcorder you have ever seen. DXG’s new Luxe Collection (retail value $149.99) merges fashion (Chick Lit fans love fashion!) with technology. Designed with patterns and bling, and with matching cases, they look and feel like your favorite fashion accessory.  And each bag is filled with books from your favorite chick lit authors!  A big thank you to eBags for donating the SUPER CUTE bags by Saltbox and Make Love Not Trash!

Each person who has their book signed will be entered in a drawing to win these awesome bags! The drawing will take place at 6pm, and you must be present to win! Good luck!

So grab your girlfriends (blondes, brunettes, and cougars!) — and boyfriends (we love men who dig Chick Lit!) — and head over to Metropolis Books in downtown L.A. (440 S. Main St. L.A. 90013) for a fun night out. And join us for drinks after to continue the Chick Lit Fan Night Out. Details at the event.

See you there!

Xoxo,

Liz & Lisa

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

She’s already answered our 25 questions, but…

Have you ever wondered what inspired Jennifer Weiner to write GOOD IN BED?

Want to know what her favorite color is or who she’s rooting for on Big Brother?

Well, here’s your chance!

Starting Monday July 20th, the faboosh Jennifer Weiner will be available all week to answer your hard-hitting questions at Barnes & Noble’s online book club, CenterStage. Each week on CenterStage they feature one bestselling author with a new release — but the conversation will include all of that author’s books, not just the new one. It’s a great opportunity for you to ask your favorite authors any question, but it’s even more perfect if you have a “big picture” question about how they write, what ties their books together, who inspires them, and much, much more. 

Click here to check it out and register!

And Lisa and Liz will be there too, bantering with our girl Jen and asking all the questions that we were too scared to ask the first time! Hmm…do you think she will tell us who her favorite cougar bait is?  Or what she would like to do to people who pronounce her last name as “Weener”?

So join us July 20-24th at B&N’s CenterStage to chat up the fabulous Jennifer Weiner.  Be there or be square!

xoxo

Liz & Lisa

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