BIG NEWS!

No, I'm not pregnant, I'm just fat. 

The news is that I've finished writing my first full-length book, Confessions of a Recovering Cynic! 

For those of you who enjoy this blog, you won't want to miss the book. Over 300 action-packed pages of debauchery and cautionary tales, including exclusive content never before published for my readers.

I've launched a project on Kickstarter to raise funds for the initial editing and printing run. The first editions will be used to shop agents and publishing houses in the hopes of getting published for realsies. Kickstarter, if you aren't familiar, is a secure online platform that people use to raise funds to output creative projects, such as a book or film. 

http://www.kickstarter.com/projects/tershbango/confessions-of-a-recovering-cynic

Why would you pledge to support my project? I'm glad you asked. Here are the Top Ten reasons to back this print run:

10. It's risk-free! Kickstarter is ALL OR NOTHING funding. This means that if you pledge to support my project but I do not get enough backers to hit my number, your pledge is null and void. If my backers DO pledge enough to hit my number, then on March 31st, your credit card will be securely charged (through Amazon) in the agreed pledge amount.

9. By backing my project you are eligible for incentives and rewards! Get a copy of the book! Get tix to the book release party! Get a signed print of the cover artwork! Get a ginormous red butt plug, as made famous in the soon-to-be-famous book, Confessions of a Recovering Cynic! 

8. This book will probably make you pee your pants.

7. This book contains all the dirt you'd ever need to blackmail any member of my family.

6. Pledge because you believe in supporting the arts.

5. Pledge because you believe in curling up on the couch with a book - not a Kindle - a BOOK.

4. Pledge your support in order to earn Karma point with the universe.

3. Donate because you love my parents and would like to see me earn enough money to NOT have to move back in with them. Again.

2. Donate because you believe in my writing and believe in helping others achieve their dreams.

1. And the number one reason to pledge your support? Someday, on the teeny tiny chance that my book gets picked up officially and becomes a bestseller, you can say 'I knew her when she was just another broke loser with a dream'...

So PLEASE visit my Kickstarter page. PLEASE pledge any support you can, and most of all, PLEASE share this information with your network.

Thank you so much for your love and support!

My Crystal Ball

I've glimpsed the future and it's terrifying. I stumbled across a website that lets you upload a photo of yourself and then run an age progression filter on your face. Let's please pray I don't go missing because ain't nobody sending out a search party for this:

Tonight I got excited because I made plans with a girlfriend tomorrow - to get up early on a day off to go grocery shopping together. My giddy anticipation is dampened a smidge with the realization of just...how...banal...my...life...is. I'm gagging on ordinary.

To top the evening off, a trending article on Yahoo told me I'm suffering from preclinical Alzheimer's. Turns out research shows a link between my perpetual tossing and turning and my flakiness, and it's only going to spiral downward. By the time I'm 50 I won't recognize my husband.

It explains so much. I forget my lunch at home a minimum of twice a week and I generally have at least one of my shirts - and sometimes my underwear - on inside out or backward without realizing it. I lose things all the time.

SHIT.

I'm inarguably preclinical.

There's always a silver lining, though - since the Alzheimer's will make me forget who Mark is, it will be far less traumatic when he divorces me after I turn into Mrs. Potato Head as indicated by In20Years.com.

My VD Threesome

So we had a threesome for Valentine's Day.

With a redhead.

The neighbor.

Because we had a Groupon.

For dinner! What the fuck is wrong with you!?

Anyway, the evening started out delightful. Leslie met me at the door with a drink, leading me to wonder if perhaps I should have married her. Happy hour commenced and then off we went to the divey Mexican joint down the road.

Did I mention that I had to sit in the back of the car? My husband's car. On Valentine's Day, while the redheaded neighbor sat up front. All I could hear back there was my husband commanding another woman to reach between her legs...to adjust the seat.

Why was I sitting in the back seat, you ask?

Because I'm not doing so well at quitting smoking and now we've initiated CONSEQUENCES. If Leslie sees me smoke, she turns down my thermostat two degrees. And she figured that since I'd already be cold, she may as well get the buttwarmers on the way to the restaurant, too.

The table was candlelit which was nice, as it's clearly the only romance I'll be getting. My husband ate a burrito the size of a labrador puppy.

So now he's on the pot and I'm blogging.

Rock on, Cupid...rock on.

Hot Dish, Ya



Orrie Hitt, 1958

 Our friend Leslie is from Texas so when we went next door to watch the Superbowl with her she made a lot of meat.

I'm from Minnesota so I turned her leftovers into hot dish, doncha know.

When did I turn into this person?

I clip coupons and make suicide hot dish. I go to bed at nine o'clock and I'm more likely to be toiletscrubbin' than barhopping on a Friday night. I talk way too much about the cat.

...MOTHERFUCKER!

I'm a suburban wife.

Technically we live in the state capital, but really? We all know St. Paul doesn't count. It may as well be a suburb.

If I'm not in the office I'm in sweats and the only time we've gone out lately is to visit his Grandma in the hospital and eat dinner with my mom.

We need a Date Night immediately - but not on a weeknight because we go to bed early.

ACK.

And also?

I need to never say something as suburban as Date Night again.

I'll say I need a wild night out with my urban husband and self in the Twin Cities. In February. Our current budget is zero.

I'm stumped but we need to get our boring asses out of the house. I need ideas, people.

A little help?

Tattle Tales

Growing up, our close family friends had a son my age. When he was small he was obsessed with diddling himself - as many boys are. He was a little compulsive about it, though, and his mother had to step in and suggest strongly that he keep his hands out of his pants. He probably got the speech about it being a 'private' touch, who knows?

All I know is that after the intervention, he would go stand behind the recliner in their living room, stick his hand back down his Underoos and announce indignantly that he was not standing behind the chair touching himself.

My lying skills are no less transparent than his.

I don't have trouble keeping my hands off my penis, but that's probably merely because I don't have one. Nope - my fondling urges are triggered by Marlboro Ultra Lights - but the results are the same. I find myself standing behind the recliner announcing to all my friends that I'm not smoking a cigarette, I swear!

I could provide a laundry list of excuses and justifications for each time I run behind the chair to not have a cigarette, but I won't - because they are all bullshit, and they all boil down to this:

I'm fighting this addiction every single day. Some days I win and some days the siren song of the Underoos is just too strong.

Yesterday the Underoos won, so you can imagine how great I felt this morning when I opened the front door to find a bag of truffles on our doorstep...

With a card from our sweet friend Leslie...

A card reading "Congratulations on doing so well at not smoking!"

So, dear Leslie, here I stand behind the chair. My hand is down my pants and I'm tattling on myself. I don't deserve those truffles.

Yet.

But I'll get there. Every time I fall off the wagon, it hurts a bit more. Turns out that egos sting when they break.