Writing Wednesday- Query Quandary

Some might say climbing Mt. Everest is an accomplishment. Others might argue that a true victory is winning a gold medal or being awarded an Oscar.

And although we salute all the incredible people who fall into those categories and agree that those would be amazing achievements, we're not athletic or skilled enough to join them in those ranks so we'll settle for believing that writing a query for our manuscript The D Word is one of the toughest challenges we've ever faced. (Liz would like it duly noted that she deserves a close second for giving birth- twice!)

And to celebrate not only finishing our query, but making it through the process alive (more on that below), we're giving away two $20 itunes gift cards (because music helps us write) and six autographed books by authors who've inspired us-Sarah Pekkanen (THE OPPOSITE OF ME) and Kristin Hannah (WINTER GARDEN). Just leave a comment (you know the drill--we're fabulous, you love us, love the blog, blah, blah...) and you'll  be entered to win.

So back to the query quandary...Condensing the plot of our novel into two paragraphs was only half the battle. Agreeing on what the content of those two sections should be was the other. And although we feel we have an incredibly successful writing partnership, that doesn't discount the cold hard fact that we're both Type-A control freaks who always want to be right.

Let us take you back to the day we decided that we'd each independently take a stab at the query and then reveal our work to the other. In Southern California, it was an El-Nino-esque rainstorm that included a hurricane. In the Chicago 'burbs, it was eighteen degrees, gloomy and included a "delightful" present from Mother Nature- Eight. Inches. Of. Snow.

Cut to Lisa holed up in her house, wrapped in an afghan blanket, tears of sadness spilling down her cheeks as she cried for the sun (okay, so maybe that's a wee bit of an embellishment- there was no afghan). She put in her ipod headphones and typed away as she imagined she was in Maui as she listened to Bob Marley belt out Don't Worry, Be Happy (alright, so maybe she was actually listening to Party in the U.S.A.- don't judge!). When she finished, she smiled broadly. "This is damn good," she said to her fountain of prosperity in the corner. It was time to send it to Liz who was going to be so pleased!

Open email form, attach query, add self-congratulatory quip to Liz, send. Wait....

Two thousand miles away, Liz stared out at the pouring rain, part of her ecstatic that she finally had an excuse to wear her new Burberry wellies, the other half of her semi-panicked that, as a result of the hurricane in SEAL BEACH, her daughter's school was on lockdown. As Jordan Sparks sang in her ears, she wrote fast and furiously, taking the time to pat herself on the back along the way because she was still able to crank out such great content on such a miserable day. It was time to send it to Lisa who was going to be so pleased!

Open email form, attach query, add self-congratulatory quip to Lisa, send. Wait...

I'm sure you see where this story is going. Well, it's safe to say that neither of us were as in love with our partner's work as we were with our own! Lisa got up on her soapbox and actually said the words, "How do you not LOVE this?" and Liz retaliated with, "Um, because mine is So. Much. Better!" For an hour we debated everything- including the true definition of divorce. There was even a particularly ugly moment when someone threatened that both queries should be sent to an "unbiased" party who would decide which one should "win". Finally, exhaustion took hold and the right-fighters agreed to sleep on it.

The next day, with much-needed perspective, fresh attitudes and plenty of caffeine all around, we decided to merge our work.  Over the next week, we methodically deleted, rearranged and reworked until we were as close to satisfied as we were ever going to get. Then, we were lucky enough to have brilliant authors including Allison Winn Scotch, Laura Dave and Sarah Pekkanen agree to review our query and give us invaluable feedback. Thank you, ladies! We are forever indebted to you!

And now as we write this blog post, our query for The D Word is complete and sitting in the inbox of our dream agent.  And now we wait. And wait. And wait some more. And it will probably be harder than when Lisa waited by the home phone (literally) to find out if she'd made the junior varsity cheerleading squad (she didn't-and they FORGOT to call-long story!) or when Liz waited at her graduation lunch for her date  to show up (he never did- even longer story!). But many moons and hopefully more maturity later, we're all about positive thinking- affirmations, fountains and the whole nine yards. And because of that, we know find the right agent to rep us. (That is, if we don't kill each other trying to perfect our synopsis-but that's a whole other blog!)

xoxo, Liz & Lisa

Crisis of Geography By Lisa

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

DVR Drama by Lisa

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

When you say "I do" what are you agreeing to? By Lisa

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)

Road Rules By Liz and Lisa

Our first book signing tour was this past weekend in the Midwest. First, we'd like to give a big thank you to all of the WONDERFUL ladies who hosted us. Laurie and  Jacki; Kristin and the women of Serendipity; And Jamie and Cathy. And we'd also like to give a shout out to all of the AWESOME Chick Lit loving women we met--and instantly friended--on our mobile Facebooks. (Hey, we're whores, we don't waste any time!) Well now that we're home, we decided that after you embark on a journey that mixes poorly caffeinated airport travel, the uncanny ability to sit next to multiple non-hint taking Chatty Cathys in every terminal, drunken public speaking and the inability to remember the name of a person who has your own name, that we should establish some rules of the road for next time.

NEVER, EVER, EVER UNDERESTIMATE THE POWER OF A VENTI AMERICANO

There are certain times you should probably never talk to me.

Before coffee. Before coffee. And, um, Before coffee.

This is one of the many "lovely" things Liz and I have in common. So you’d think that knowing this…that understanding if ONE of us can be a bee-yotch face before Starbucks that the TWO of us together could, well, be f***ing bee-yotch faces…that we’d NEVER, EVER, under any circumstances skip our Venti Americanos….especially before a four-hour flight.

Not so much last week.

The morning of our trip to Chicago, Liz was frantically trying to get everyone what they needed before she left for the weekend (A husband, two kids, two dogs and some prima donna guinea pigs!). And I was at Ride-Aid buying her every shape and size of the 3-ounce size travel containers and a box of the FAA approved quart-sized Ziplocs for her moose, perfume, shampoo, conditioner, hairspray, toothpaste, two moisturizers and four different lip glosses. (I had to bribe her to carry-on because there was no way in HELL I was stepping foot in that O'Hare baggage claim! ) So I didn’t see her desperate Facebook message on my wall.

Rough morning! Please stop at Starbucks and tell me I look like I've lost weight the minute you see me.   Thank you!

Because the thing is, if you properly caffeinate us, we can handle anything… A ridonckulously long security line, a pervy TSA agent with a foot fetish and even a loud talking Boston accented seat-mate with body odor.

IF you properly caffeinate us.

So there we were at the Long Beach airport that we usually heart so much because it's so small that they board the passengers old-school by leading them out to the tarmac and rolling out a makeshift staircase. Usually so easy. But it's amazing how an airport experience can change when you realize your only option to turn your day around is a pot of coffee that was probably brewed eight hours earlier by a woman in a hair net. Let's just say even after I dumped six bags of sugar in mine and Liz filled hers to the rim with cream, it still tasted like ass in a cup.

DON’T BE A FLAT STANLEY You know how celebrities talk about their "good side" and their "bad side" when they pose for photo shoots? Well, I always thought that was a complete load of bulls**t. I mean, how different could someone really look if they faced the camera from the left v. the right?

Turns out, pretty damn different.

My photographic light bulb moment happened before our first book signing while Liz and I were posing for pictures. We were ready to roll, wearing our sassy dresses and Liz sporting her curly hair. I stood on the left and Liz on the right. Behind the camera, Matt was snapping away with a concerned expression as he checked the LED screen after each shot.

WTF? I asked.  Then I grabbed the camera and gasped.

"OMG. I’m a f***ing Flat Stanley!"

Liz and Matt pulled the camera away from me and evaluated the pictures. And through maniacal laughter, they agreed. "You look like you, but one off. You are a cardboard cut out of yourself!"

So, after much practice, we discovered that my left side is really pretty damn bad. If I angle it toward the camera, I look like a Flat Stanley. And if I open my eyes a little too wide, I look like Flat Stanley, The Runaway Bride. Apparently if I want any chance at a good photo, I have to be on the right side, tilt my head to the left and my chin downward. And then, as if that's not enough, I still have to angle the right side of my face toward the camera. (WTF?)

The anti-Stanley solution seemed simple—I’d just switch sides with Liz.

Not so fast, she said.

Because just like our major in college, our choice of sorority and even our affinity for Midwestern men, we also have the same f***ing good side!

And so began what we like to call The Fight for the Right! Stay tuned for more pictures to see who won...

KNOW YOUR LIQUID COURAGE COCKTAIL OF CHOICE I was pretty nervous about talking in front of the groups at our book signings. To put it mildly, my past public speaking attempts had been disastrous-all involving a red face, huge sweat rings and the inability to form a sentence. I was pretty sure if I attempted to utter a word about our book, It would go something like this:

Buy our book. It's real good. Thanks for coming. Bye!

When I confessed my fears to Liz, she gave me her crooked smile. "You don't think we're going to do this sober, do you?"

"Er, I'm on the wagon, remember?" (A story I'll save for another post--but I had been alcohol free for 29 days.)

She knowingly pointed her finger at me. "Blondie, I’m going to let you in on my secret recipe for public speaking success. Cocktails plus no food equals great entertainment!"

I was off the wagon faster than you can say dirty martini.

And let's just say that after two, er, three and a half of them, I was very comfortable in front of a group. Maybe even a little too comfortable...Turns out, as a buzzed public speaker, I'll tell you which characters in our book are incredibly thinly veiled and how much of the book is autobiographical!

Liz's secret recipe also had another side effect...You run the risk of being unable to remember a name--even if it's the same as your own. So Liz and I would like to take this opportunity to give an extra special shout out to the other LIZ...whose name our own Liz could not remember...

Even after talking to her for twenty minutes.

But at least when Liz puts her foot in her mouth, she's wearing a really sassy shoe!

PRACTICE HIDING YOUR WTF FACE

We've been friends for so long that we pretty much have the same brain and we think a lot of the same thoughts. We actually have mental telepathy...and it really comes in handy in social situations. Like when you can't exactly say what's on your mind because you might, well, offend-EVERYONE.

We can talk serious shit with a simple eyebrow raise, the ever so slight narrowing of an eye or a partial smirk. So, as I'm sure you can imagine, this superpower can be incredibly helpful when we want to scream to each other that the chatty Carl sitting next to us in the terminal is a DOUCHE BAG who needs to shut the f**k up! Or when we want to scream that the guy in the skinny jeans with a male version of a camel toe SUCKS for blocking the aisle as he tries to stuff his over-sized suitcase in the overhead bin.  And when you meet two stuffy women at one of your book signings.

Usually when people ask us what  I’ll Have Who She’s Having is about and we tell them it’s the story of two sisters who fall for the same man—and one of those sisters just happens to be married, the response is usually along the lines of  That sounds juicy! or What a fun read!  Or if it's not their cup o' tea (which we totally understand!) they politely move on from our table.

Well here's how it went down when two ladies (let's call them "Mrs. Stick Up My Ass" and "Mrs. Even Bigger Stick Up My Ass") approached us at one of the signings.

Mrs. Stick up my ass: "What's your book about?"

Liz: "It's about two sisters who fall for the same man. And one of those sisters is married!"

*cue crickets*

Mrs. Even Bigger Stick up my ass with scowled expression finally speaks: "Married. Really. Hmm."

Liz: "Yes, but she just had her first baby and she's lost and she doesn't feel connected to her husband..."

Mrs. Stick up my ass: "Hmm..."

Lisa: "We also have a blog. Why don't you take one of our cards and you can read more about us and our book..."

Mrs. Even bigger Stick up my ass picks up the card and holds it between her pointer finger and thumb as if it's covered in swine flu germs.

*cue more crickets*

Liz and I look at each other and smile our, we'll definitely blog about this smile.

*cue mental telepathy moment*

Liz: WTF?

Lisa: They both need to get f***ing laid by Tim Fortune.

xoxo, Liz & Lisa

A DIRTY MARTINI WITH A SIDE OF FACEBOOK By Lisa

I guess you could say my "signature cocktail" is a slightly dirty Grey Goose martini with extra olives. Made right, it can make you swoon with delight as you savor the taste of the perfect blend of vodka and olive juice in your mouth. So, at a party over the weekend I thought to myself, "What better to pair with my favorite drink than my favorite conversation topic--Facebook?" I've obviously made no secret that I'm a total Facebook whore who's now made a hobby out of collecting friends. My latest offense was just yesterday when I was sent a friend request by someone I'd never met and with whom I had no mutual friends. An automatic "ignore" for most, but not for me. Instead of rejecting this prospective friend, I made an inquiry. Had this man from South Africa meant to friend me? It turns out, he hadn't. He was looking for another person with the same name.

You might be thinking, "Yeah, right, like there's another Lisa Steinke out there that he meant to friend?  Please. This guy probably just wanted to get in your pants!" (Well at least that's what my boyfriend would say!) Well, it turns out that there is in fact another Lisa Steinke out there. She lives in the Midwest and I happen to already be friends with her. A few weeks ago, I thought it would be funny to friend someone of the same name. Since it's always about the status report, I could see it in my mind...Lisa Steinke is now friends with Lisa Steinke.

Well apparently the other Lisa Steinke liked the idea because she swiftly accepted me and even beat me to the punch with her own status report. I was curious now that I knew we shared a name and a sense of humor. Did we have more in common? I went to her page to find out. I discovered that she belonged to a group called, "You Know You're In The Steinke Family When..."

Oh, how exciting, I thought. I wonder if other Steinke families are like mine.

But after reading the first point, "You can't leave a family reunion without hugging and kissing everyone twice", I laughed. It wasn't an LOL situation like many of you are so fond of. It was more of an outward chuckle--more of a COL, if you will. In MY Steinke family, we're lucky if we even smile at each other when we accidentally pass on the street! And we certainly would never have a,*cough*, family reunion.

But I really digress.... So, back to the man in South Africa. Even after discovering he wasn't intending to friend me, I friended him anyway. Afterall, I didn't have any friends on that continent yet.

And these are the stories I was thinking of as the conversation at the party inevitably turned to Facebook. There was an article in last week's Time Magazine about how the boomers are all over Facebook. Damn right! Although not a boomer myself, I'm certainly no spring chicken. I'm rounding the corner to 36 so of course I'm going to defend the "older" folk who want to be part of a social network. There's plenty of room for everyone- even you Mom- I'm waiting!

So, when a 49-year-old woman began to tell me a story about Facebook, my ears perked up. I took a sip of my glorious martini and gave her my undivided attention.  She explained that recently some of her high school classmates had found her. She didn't understand why, after thirty years, they now wanted to see what she was "up to"... In fact, she wrote each of them a note that said if they were REALLY interested in forming a connection with her, they could call her on the phone. What a novel concept.

I was surprised to hear that 3 out of the 4 classmates did in fact call. I stood there in shock and took a bite out of my olive. I certainly wouldn't have called had I been one of those classmates and I told this woman as much. I said, "I have to be honest, that although I respect your position, I feel the complete opposite. I enjoy getting notes from former classmates and people I haven't seen in two decades... but would NEVER want to hear their voices!"  That would just be taking it entirely too far.

I knew I sounded like an a-hole, but it was the truth. The best part of Facebook is the fact that you can keep up with people without having to write more than a sentence or two on their wall. It doesn't mean I don't give a sh** about them, it just means I give more of a sh** about my own time.

Throughout the night, I heard myself saying to the other partygoers, "I'll be sure to tag you in that photo" and "I'm going to friend you tomorrow!" Sentences I would never have put together before I lost my Facebook virginity three months ago. Sentences that are completely part of my vernacular now.

The day after the party as I was uploading the photos to Facebook, I thought about the woman who told me the stories about her high school classmates. Suddenly, I desperately wanted to be her Facebook friend. Not only because she clearly played hard to get, but because I liked her style. She wasn't going to accept just anyone. If I could get into her exclusive club of friends, I would be cool. So, I sent her a message and told her how nice it was talking with her and getting to know her and I left it at that. (Honestly, I promise you that, a-hole or not, I really did like her and meant what I wrote). A few hours later, that little red notification symbol popped up and, wah lah, a friend request!

The perfect martini coupled with a new Facebook friend.

That, my Facebook and non-Facebook friends, is what I call a successful night.