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

Shame on You, Bachelor! By Lisa

Jason, Jason, Jason... Or should I just call you Douche Bag?

WTF? Really? Follow your heart... no regrets...my ass!

I'm not sure why, but I expected more from you. Sure, you're a reality TV contestant in a contest to find love on a completely unrealistic show where the number one way of getting to know each other is through the sport of hot tubbing, but still, I expected more. From. You.

Now don't get me wrong, I heart the Bachelor (the show, not you). I love the psychoness of the chicks as they get kicked off . I enjoy watching the cattiness of the girls as they fight with each other while also fighting for the Bachelor's love. But if you ask me, the women are just insecure and competitive and don't really want the Bachelor as much as they want to win or be won.

But I love it all. Even the hottubbing. Especially when the Bachelor is hot and as much as I'm annoyed with you, seeing you with your shirt off wasn't the worst thing that's ever happened to me.  But what I didn't love about you, Jason Mesnick, was that you became a Douche with a capital "D".

I felt for you when DeAnna broke your heart, I really did. I thought you seemed genuine and legit. So when I heard you were the next  Bachelor, I was happy for you. I knew you'd have your pick of "25 ladies" who would find you cute and sweet, just like I did.

But then the show started and you just couldn't stop crying. Dude, is it really that sad to say good bye to a girl you've known for five minutes? WTF with all the waterworks?

And then the kissing that went on? It seemed like you never knew what to say back to every poor girl professing her love so your answer was to kiss her? It became incredibly annoying, but still manageable and certainly not cause to stop watching. I'm proud to say that in all the seasons of the Bachelor, I've never thrown in the towel... even when guys almost Douchey-er than you were the Bachelor (and there were a couple).

And anyway, you didn't fully turn me off until "The Bachelor: After the Final Rose.

I'd seen the promos for the Most dramatic Bachelor ending ever and there you were, crying again... on that balcony. I thought WTF happened now, did he slice his finger on a thorn?

Even after I'd heard on Reality Steve that you were going to dump Melissa and go for Molly and that you knew it all along, (Jury's still out on that BTW because I can't believe that even you'd be that gross- Although now after possible emails between you and Melissa have been uncovered by Access Hollywood, you seem to be anything but accountable--Bachelor Emails), I watched the show anyway. Because I'm a romantic who's had her heart broken many times. Plus, I hoped that the rumors weren't true. Even though my preference was Molly all along. I prayed that you wouldn't break Melissa's heart--especially after what happened to you.

But you did. And not only did you rip her heart out, but you did it on national television. Sure, there wasn't an audience in an effort to "keep it as intimate as possible", as Chris Harrison said, but it was still in front of millions of people. And it was just gross dude. The way you did it, what you said, everything. And yes, I'm totally judging you. Because. I. Can. You put yourself on TV so you are opening yourself up to it, plain and simple.

And for the record, Melissa, you handled yourself with dignity (even when you were told there was a limo waiting outside *gag*) and when you called him a bastard, I sort of did a little cheer for you on my couch. Good call on not appearing on The Bachelor: After the Final Rose, Part 2 and putting yourself through further humiliation. I have no doubt you were asked, begged probably.

So last night, I watched The Bachelor: After the Final Rose, Part 2. And you and Molly, after six weeks, say you're still madly in love. Good for you. Because everyone deserves someone. And if Molly can fall for a Douche, more power to her. And I know you both said that it's been hard because you've been judged (Molly too) for how you acted. But the truth is, we don't know the real story and we may never. I just cross my fingers that you didn't plan to do what you did to Melissa (as the rumors claim) and that you don't do it again to Molly (if simply for the reason that three versions of a proposal in one year would just be wrong, sorry).

There's one more thing I really want to say to you but I won't- believe it or not, I can bite my tongue. Because as judgmental as I feel and as fired up as I am, I'm not going to go there. I think you're douchey enough already without me pointing out another thing that I didn't like. I'll simply say this, I hope you can now focus on your family when the cameras aren't rolling.

PS: You kept the big-toothed, dental hygienist, stalker around for longer than the first rose ceremony why again? Actually, don't answer that because I really don't care.