Last night I had to go on the radio from 12 to 3:30 in the morning and it was one of the most excruciating experiences of my life. The host played a song and then, with no warning, pointed at me, and I had to read a section from
my book. He did this over and over again and by the end of it I had read almost the whole book. I was tempted to finish it off and read the last three pages of the book just for the hell of it. The station was filled with freaks and then freaks started calling in, including my husband, pretending to be "Eugene from Staten Island," who corrected my pronunciation of
epistolary and said something about how I take so long to write each book and shouldn't they come out more regularly like bowel movements. I couldn't believe what I was hearing. Usually I love going on the radio because it's always some nice, funny fat guy and that's exactly the kind of guy I get along with best. I laugh a lot like Robin Quivers and there's a lot of chemistry and then ten or twenty minutes later I'm on my way.
So this is it, my last Powell's blog, and from now on you'll have to find me on my website. But I believe I have some questions to answer, some loose ends to tie up, or as Chris at Powell's so nicely called them, "cliffhangers," but he was just being kind.
My Mac computer is still broken and now so is my printer, so after I leave the Mac store I have to further humiliate myself by going to Kinko's like a homeless person.
Arthur did finally return my calls this morning; he is still totally unaware of the blog about his beard. He said he is going to shave it in two weeks, but he wants it featured in his author photo for the new book, because he really does think his beard is what's going to make the book a best-seller, not the fact that it's brilliant. So you'll actually be able to see it yourself on the cover of his book, The Swing Voter of Staten Island (Akashic Books), when it comes out in the Fall.
My friend, the cook, got $15,000 of his $25,000 back, with a promise that he'll see the remaining $10,000, thanks to my tremendous sex appeal.
I still don't know if the psychic was right and I'm having a girl. The doctor couldn't tell, which makes me worry it's some kind of middlesex situation, which I guess wouldn't be the worst thing.
And, finally, the pressing question that's on all of your minds: who is the naughty author I wrote about in 'Escorted Through Hell'? I want to tell you and I will tell you, but you have to contact me privately at [email protected] or on MySpace so I don't get sued. Let's just say I hope you found this week's blog De-packed full of interesting information and Chop-rad up like one delicious salad.
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Jennifer Belle is the author of Going Down, High Maintenance, and Little Stalker. She lives in New York