Friday, November 09, 2007

Miss Funke At Your Service

I just got home from an unexpectedly lovely afternoon in which I met a blogger who has a book published and who is wildly famous to the extent that, well she got a book published, and that she could do a post about cleaning out her junk drawer and still manage to get 375 comments on it.

A while ago someone emailed me and told me I'd really like
Crazy Aunt Purl and whoever that was ended up being right and now I read Laurie Perry's blog all the time. It's funny, southern and has pictures of cats, and I really don't need much more than that to be happy. I don't know what it is with me but I just love looking at pictures of other people's cats. Not so much their kids though, but cats can hold my interest for hours.

Laurie got a book deal and her book Drunk, Divorced & Covered in Cat Hair came out so I was excited to go get a copy and then I learned that she was coming to my part of the world so I made plans to go see her tomorrow at the Bookfair since I was going to be there anyway. Then I found out she was doing a mini-signing at a yarn store with her publicist and I thought that might be a better setting for me to say hi.

Now let me preface this by saying that her blog often deals with knitting and that although her book is about her divorce it is also about how she healed by learning how to knit. I always skip the knitting posts. I can't knit.

Many years ago when I was a teacher's aid at one of those schools for rich, white, vegan children of women who have hairy underarms and breastfeed their kids until they're in the second grade, I had to learn to knit. I was quite enthusiastic about this although the five year olds were all knitting afghans while I was just trying to get the stinking yarn on the stinking needles. I imagined all the beautiful and useful things I would knit and after a year the kindergarteners had all designed entire collections of couture knitwear, and I had what amounted to a seven foot long strip of knotted-up yarn.

Then I had my horrible breakup and moved to Florida and while Evil-Ex stole my cats, most of my clothes, not to mention my entire house and all of my pride, he let me keep my knitting basket, so I dragged it down to Florida and imagined once more that I would learn to knit better and again thought I would knit beautiful and functional pieces, but now I also imagined that they would be so beautiful that I could also sell them and make a fortune. Seeing my seven foot long strip of knotted-up yarn, my sister got in on the act and bought herself a knitting basket and all the crap that went in it so that together we could change the world with wool.

A few months later my sister went away to school and she had her own seven foot long strip and mine had grown to nine feet. When she returned from school she had both a twelve foot long strip and a pierced tongue, but she swears the two things are not related. She did not accidentally stab herself through the tongue while trying to remove the twelve foot strip from the needles.

It was Thanksgiving and I had a thirteen foot long, scarf-like object. My sister and I had hoped to knit beautiful sweater dresses - floor length, maybe with trains at the rate we were going, but we just couldn't figure out how to get the stuff we knitted off of the needles. We tried everything. We even got one of those Dummies books, but it turned out not to work either so we figured we probably needed Knitting for Total Flipping Jackasses which wasn't available. Eventually we just gave up.

I haven't knit since, but I figure I'm ok because I do all sorts of other things.

Today I saw some women who really take knitting seriously and I felt like a very awkward moron who does not know how to remove a knitting project from the needles. I call it de-casting. I have no clue what it's actually called.

But Laurie Perry is a real-live-get-paid-for-it-writer and she was there in a tiny knitting store, in a questionable neighborhood where outside, next to the astrologer shop, teenage gang kids were showing off their babies and teaching them how to do gang signs. She was lovely and friendly and extremely funny, and I have to tell you that in real life she is really, really pretty and she also kept complimenting my hair so I was really glad I washed it this morning and decided to blow dry it and actually comb it to go out in public. And she took my picture, which caught me by surprise, but I like getting my picture taken so this was fine by me.

I thought to myself, thank God this woman is a sweet, decent human being (with cool patent boots) because if she ended up being like some other book deal bloggers, I would be really sad. She was gracious and humble and introduced me to the unusually good combination of cheet-os and white wine. I neither drink nor eat cheet-os but in the spirit of the moment I had to have some and they were a truly delightful pairing.

Laurie mentioned to me that she wanted to stalk some celebrities in Miami and that she would love to see Ricky Martin so this was the perfect segue into my Ricky Martin story that I have just been dying to tell the world since it happened.

Last Spring, Cousin (you remember her) and I were in a restaurant having lunch and we realized that we were seated in a booth across from Ricky Martin, who is truly beautiful in real life. He is beautiful like a girl and he is so obviously, blatantly a bottom (if you know what I'm saying here) that he makes Michael Jackson look masculine. Ricky Martin was also so gentle and soft-spoken that he seemed like a joy to his server. And he was eating a chicken salad sandwich.

Cousin and I went back and forth for a while about "Oh my God is that Ricky Martin? Oh yeah it totally is, right? That's Ricky Martin and he is eating a chicken salad sandwich wow." At the same time we were trying to be very cool about the whole thing because we didn't want to A. seem like we were some crazed females who couldn't recognize a gay man when we saw one. B. annoy a famous person who was just trying to eat. or C. seem like we would actually be Ricky Martin fans because both of us are way too cool and obscure to like something as commercially 1998 as Ricky Martin. Sorry Ricky Martin. La Vida Loca is as cheezy as some ball park nachos.

And then it happened. Ricky Martin and I both got our leftovers wrapped up at the same time and I accidentally got the other half of his sandwich and he got the rest of my salad. I opened up the box and noticed immediately that there was a mistake. So Cousin and I debated for a long time how to remedy the situation. If it had been anyone other than Ricky Martin I would have gone over and traded boxes, but I was trying to be too cool again and I didn't want him to think I was some wack-a-doodle fan who couldn't get that he was on a date with another man, and I also didn't want to bother him. In the end I made the waiter do it, but now I regret it and wish that I had just gone over and given Ricky his sandwich myself.

So that is my fairly anti-climactic Ricky Martin story for you. I know. It's not some of my better work.

I wish I knew a celebrity for Laurie to stalk. I only know one celebrity in Miami, but, well I won't even get into why she can't stalk this person. Just nevermind that whole thing. Maybe she could try to stalk J-Lo and get some pregnant pictures to sell to the Enquirer for millions of dollars.

Things were going well. Then I made an ass of myself to her publicist. I mentioned to the publicist that I'd love to work for her publishing company, which is local and I didn't realize that she wouldn't realize that I was actually qualified for that type of work and that while I look like I am 20, I am far older than that and far more experienced than I may initially seem and I'm also very well educated. And in my real life I have had stuff published and have actually gotten paid for it. I swear. I really have.

Maybe I can blame the wine and cheet-os on this one, but it next occurred to me that I knew the answer to the question people have asked me all week. I knew what I wanted for my birthday and it was a publicist. I want a publicist for my birthday. And an agent. I'm still not entirely clear on what they would do for me or exactly what a publicist even is, but I just really think I'd like to have one, just like I would very much like an Alpaca and just like I would very much love to knit sweater dresses with trains (not choo-choo, trains like on a wedding dress). So my stupid ass jokes to the publicist that she could be my publicist because I need one and she really didn't get the joke and said to me that she was really busy and didn't do much publicist work and I had a moment where I felt like
Dr. Tobias Funke.

I spend a lot of time trying not to be like Tobias Funke, who was my favorite character on Arrested Development, the greatest TV show of all time. Tobias wanted to be an actor and he was always doing all sorts of tacky, taboo, naively self-promoting things that actually ruined his chances of ever being cast in any roles because his actions showed how unprofessional and corny he really was. It's very important no matter what your chosen field that you never engage in Tobias-like behavior. Just today I saw a perfect example of
career-ruining Funke activity, on Gawker, via Nathan Bransford's blog and I thought, bless bless bless this poor girl's heart because it was obvious that she didn't know what she was doing and now she has destroyed her chances at ever being a writer. So while my faux pas wasn't as bad as that girl's, I still felt like an idiot, and mostly because I was joking but failed to actually make another human being laugh, which is the purpose of joking last time I checked.

With that, I shall go read my newly signed book and start putting together my audition tape for the Blue Man Group.


Saipanderson said...

Thank you for the commitment to posting everyday! I'm 8 months knocked up in Honolulu and aside from eating, resting with my feet up, eating, obsessively cleaning, and eating there's not much I can do besides sit on the beach and live vicariously through others via their blogs. I just wanted to drop a little love. You are hilarious.
Much Mahalo!

Eric said...

Just dont get blue paint all over the house.

And stress not the publicist. They take themselves far too seriously. Your writing speaks for itself

Wide Lawns said...

Kristina good luck with your baby! I'll be here to entertain you all month long. Mahalo to you as well.


Natalie said...

As long as you don't start handing out "Analrapist" business cards I think you'll be o.k.

We all have those moments, actually, I probably just had one.

Oh well :o)

Anonymous said...

it's called casting off. this site:>

is pretty useful, if you're interested at all

Anonymous said...

Check out this site for cute kitten action.

I go there on days when I'm really stressed out and my actual cats are ignoring me. (Which, they are cats, so that is a daily thing!)

Miriam said...

If you want to embody Tobias Funke by all means. Just please, whatever you do, don't turn into an "analrapist" however funny it is to say...on paper it just sucks.

Also, if I were I dream of Jeannie, I would fold my arms and blink you your very own, very awesome publicist. Becuase you deserve it :)

Leonesse said...

Here is sending Publicist Vibes your way. And it is hard when people think you are younger than you are in a professional setting. I hate it.

Sauntering Soul said...

I love Laurie and her blog! I've been reading her for a couple of years and I think we may have been separated at birth or something. I'm happy to hear she's sweet in person. (I'm not a knitter either and skip those posts too.)

I don't know if Laurie's publicist will work out, but you definitely deserve a book deal. Your writing is incredible. I'm also happy you signed up for NaBloPoMo. I don't know why, but as worried as I was when I signed up for it, it seems to be getting easier as the month goes along.

ditzymoi said...

I've been reading your stuff for a very long time and I can't believe you don't already have a publicist!
You are a fantastic writer and you tell some of the funniest damn stories I have ever had the pleasure to read. You crack me the hell up.

Bolstermummy said...

thanks for the post. had a ruff morning myself and reading your story took my mind off all that for a moment.

and yeah, i know painfully well the feeling when someone doesn't get the joke, or even worse: doesn't realise it was a joke in the first place.

Anonymous said...

Ooooo, Miami is home to the hottest celeb in the world - Matt Damon!

I may be an old bat, but I'd love to catch a sighting of him.


Anonymous said...

I love Laurie's blog as well - she's brilliant and funny and I just love her to pieces. She's an EXCELLENT writer, as well. She wrote a piece about the death of her cat, Roy, that I STILL cannot read without breaking down in tears. It's just so well written, and she's such a sweet woman, that it just breaks your heart.

Sorry for the plug on someone else's blog - you and she are both bookmarked, I promise!

Robin said...

This is obviously quite dated but I just have to say..... I got all kinds of excited to see that you love AD as much as I do. Best. Show. Ever.

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