24 Hours: A lesson in thankfulness and a giveaway by Liz

Life is busy.  So busy, in fact, that I often find my self rushing from task to task, never stopping to stop and smell those freakin' roses everyone is always talking about, never stopping to even BREATHE.  I often worry, am I racing through life so fast that I'm not enjoying any of the things in it? Do I work my ass off to achieve things,  not taking a hot minute to bask in the satisfaction?  Do I ever take a minute to be THANKFUL? This past Saturday, I had to work. (Remember, when I told you about my day job?) The forecast predicted 80 degrees and my close-to-mid-life crisis convertible purchase was going to sit in the garage, unused, as I sped off at 5:30am to work a booth at a conference in downtown San Diego, missing my son's first baseball game.  I was NOT feeling thankful.  But as sped down the freeway, I had a thought.  What if I WAS?  What if I found something to be thankful for in every situation for 24 hours?  And not just the obvious stuff, like losing two pounds for no reason or when someone tells me my shoes are cute.  What if I spent the day turning every negative into a positive?

So, that's what I did, yo!

Waking up at 4:45 on a Saturday?  Finally!  No line in the Starbucks drive thru!  And were you aware that calories consumed before 6am don't count? #hellocrumbcake

No one is stopping by the booth that I'm giving up my Saturday for?  That's okay--I'm thankful they have free wi-fi.  I now know more about Channing Tatum than I ever thought possible. (Don't judge! #buddingcougar)

My suit feeling snug from those extra 8 pounds that just won't come off? I'm thankful most of the fat seems to have gone to my boobs. #majorcleavage

Missing the kid's softball and baseball games? I'm thankful the hubs is blowing up my phone with a play by play of the action, even detailing their snack bar purchases. #snackbarTMI

Not outside soaking up the rays on the warmest day in months? I'm thankful that I won't get hat hair from shielding my face from all that gorgeous sunlight. Plus, isn't ghost white skin the new tan? #letsstartatrend

Stressed about all the writing I need to get done? But, I get to write!  And I get to do it with my best friend. These are problems to have! So STFU and be thankful.

You see? It's not that hard if you put your mind to it. They say being thankful brings positive energy your way--and who couldn't use a dose of that?  Even if you are having what you think is the worst day EVEH, try not to wallow in the negativity--find little ways to find happiness. Like maybe you're having a horrendously shitty day at work, but hey, you're thankful that job pays your bills.  Or if all the crazy political people on Facebook are driving you crazy with their tirades, try to be thankful that we live in a country where everyone gets an opinion without getting thrown in jail.

Sometimes, I have so many balls in the air that I forget how hard I worked to get all the balls up there in the first place.  And I never want to look back at my life and realize that I never took the time to be thankful for the things in it.  As I get older, I'm finally understanding that things don't have to be perfect--that it's in those moments where it's most important to find the good.  To put down our phones, log off our computers and take a deep breath.  Ahhhhh.  Now, didn't that feel good?

And you know what? My 24 hours of thankfulness turned out pretty good-the conference got out earlier than expected and I was able to race home and enjoy a slice of the sunlight-I even had time to test out my mom's new chi machine(long story!) and watch a movie with my husband that didn't star an animated character or a animal or Selena Gomez.  That was easy to be thankful for.

Tell me one thing you are thankful for and I'll enter you to win a MYSTERY stack of  15 books!  (And you don't end up liking all of them, you'll just have to be thankful you won, okay? lol)  Leave a comment here and you'll be entered to win.  I'll choose the winners on Monday, March 11th after 8am.

Breaking and Entering by Liz

That Monday started out like any other day.  My daughter and I ran out to run a few errands for an hour.  I was sipping on my green iced tea from Starbucks.   I thought about sneaking over to buy that cute scarf I had been eyeing at Loehmanns.   But then I came home.

It took a minute to process the empty space where our TV used to sit and the broken pieces of my side door sitting on the floor. And as I grabbed my daughter by the hand and ran back into the garage and into the safety of my car, I just couldn’t get over the fact that we had been robbed.  That shit only happened to other people, right?

Later, as we walked through and took inventory of our house, I mentally took an inventory of my feelings.  Knowing that someone had been watching, waiting for us to leave left me speechless.  The fact that they had taken my beloved Macbook and every piece of jewelry that I owned besides the wedding ring I had been wearing seemed like a side note.  Because in reality, they had taken so much more. 

They had stolen my sense of well-being in a neighborhood I had felt safe in for years.  There were a ton of things I could have done to make their job so much harder. But my misguided belief that those types of things didn’t happen in my community basically handed them my belongings on a silver platter. 

After that day, the world looked a little different.  The dark corners seemed a bit scarier, the noises that went bump in the night felt a bit louder.  It reminded me of the time right after I had my daughter, when all the many things in the world I had to protect her from overwhelmed and terrified me.  I felt pangs of that same fear now.

But like with all bad things that happen, a silver lining appears if you’re willing to look for it. Like the fact that I’m highly allergic to almost all of my jewelry and wasn’t able to wear it anyway. And after the break-in, the hubs gave the green light on getting a big ass dog, something I had been begging for. (Although this wasn’t how I planned to get my way! I swear!)

 And from the moment we found Sasha at the shelter and brought her home, we were in love with her.   And we thought she loved us too. 

 Until that bitch ran away. 

She ran past me like a bolt of lightning when I opened the door and took off immediately to the busiest road (of course!), where one step off the sidewak would turn her into doggy kibble. 

 I dropped my purse and phone in the driveway and sprinted after her in my paper flip-flops(I had just come from a man-pedi with extra massage!) About a half-mile into my chase, I ditched those shitty paper shoes and started running barefoot.  But it was to no avail.  She wouldn’t come to me, and now that I was aware that I lived in the kind of neighborhood that gets robbed, I knew I had better hightail it back to my Loius Vuitton pronto. 

So my out-of-shape ass sprinted Amazing Race style all the way back.  Tears in my eyes, I grabbed my purse and keys.  How the f*ck was I going to explain to the kids that Mommy lost the dog?  The only damn dog we had looked at that hadn't thought the kids were Scooby snacks?  How were we going to find another one? And what the hell was wrong with her anyway?  I bought that bitch a seventy dollar bed and massaged her paws! So now a homeless rescue dog was too good for us?  WTF? And why hadn’t I started that P90x I bought from that creepy guy on Craig’s List last month?  I was heaving  and coughing like I was about to have a heart attack. (And I have the broken blood vessel in my eye to prove it!)

 I had told myself that I wouldn’t let the robbery make me feel like everything was going wrong, but this whole dog breakout thing was going to seriously hamper those efforts.

 I began to back out the driveway, ready to comb the neighborhood. I still had a few hours to find her before the kids got home.  Then I heard a honk and saw a car pull up behind me.  Jumping out, I immediately saw Sasha smiling in the backseat.  The sight of me chasing my dog down the street in paper shoes had compelled this woman, this angel, to stop what she was doing and follow us.  When I gave up and turned back to get my car, she continued following Sasha until she could coax her into the car.  This time, being watched and followed had been a blessing.  I don’t know what I more thankful for: the fact that she had brought the dog we had fallen in love with home or that this one act of kindness made the world look bright again.

 The moral of my story?  The next time you have a chance to help someone out-do it.  You have no idea the incredible impact your one small act can have on another.  Oh, and use your deadbolt! I wish I had.

Also, there's still plenty of time to leave a comment here  to be entered in Liz & Lisa's Favorite Holiday Things giveaway for your chance to win a Blackberry Curve, A Sony eReader and so much more! And don't forget to "like" our Facebook page too!

xoxo, Liz

Mommy Monday: My Mommy MUST List by Liz

It's been a while since my last Mommy Monday. Lately I've been hanging out over at Momlogic.com, bitching about things like Chuck E Cheese and summer camp.  I'll be blogging there couple times a month so don't forget to head on over if you've had one of those days and need an instant mommy blog fix. Today I'm talking about one of my favorite subjects.  Myself!  Or rather, my MOMMY MUST LIST.  You know, those things that I just can't live without.  And maybe a few things that, well, I could live without but just don't want to!  And the Mommy MUST list will be a regular feature here, so don't be shy-let me know what your Mommy MUSTS are.

What are the things that make your day easier? What are your guilty pleasures?  What do you absolutely HAVE to have or you *might* just kill someone?  Tell us here or email me and maybe I'll include it in on the next Mommy MUST list!

But for the first Mommy MUST list, I just started with the basics.  Things that are as essential to me as food and water. Things that I would do just about anything for.  Things that I might cut a bitch for if I had to.

Liz's Mommy MUST list: The essentials!

Starbucks Green Iced Tea-  You don't want to get between me and the nearest Starbucks in the morning.  After patting myself on the back for kicking my daily five shot iced Americano habit, I realized I traded it for another addiction.  And just because I don't get a headache and crackwhore shakes when I don't have my green tea doesn't mean that I'm not just as obsessed with getting my daily fix.  Damn you Starbucks and your refreshing beverages!

Mac Macbook- He helps me blog, email, shop, keep in touch with friends and crop my vacation pictures. He tweets, keeps my calendar and lets me know when I've eaten too many Weight Watcher's points.  And even though he's been a bit slow lately and I'm thinking of upgrading him to a younger, sleeker model, he still gets the job done and never talks back. If he could cook and do laundry, I'd leave my husband for him.

My iTouch-He drowns out Spongebob, Johnny Test and my kids fighting over those lamesass Mighty Beanz. (WTF with those things anyway?)  I'd never would have written one chapter of The D Word without him blaring my favorite playlist as a soundtrack for each chapter.  He can even facebook or tweet for me in a pinch! And most importantly, he plays my music without any commentary about how lame Barry Manilow and Nickelback are.

A weekend getaway- We all need a break sometimes,right? So when I get the chance to get out of town sans kids, I head the most adult place I can find: Las Vegas! Between the pool, the spa and the free drinks, you'll be saying, "Kids? What kids?"  as you play Blackjack next to D list celebrities at The Hard Rock Casino or as you dance on the table at the Playboy Club. My new favorite hotel?  The Aria.

A Good Book- If you don't have the time or money for a quick getaway, why not escape into a good book?  I highly recommend The Divorce Party by the lovely and talented Laura Dave.  Want to peak into someone else's life?  Then check out Julie Metz's fascinating memoir, Perfection: A Memoir of Betrayal and Renewal.  And on that note, tomorrow we'll be introducing new Lit IT Girl Kim Wright and her fabulous debut, Love in Mid Air!  Make sure to stop by and leave a comment for your chance to win a copy.

Happy hour with the girls- It's muy importante to take  the time to have a glass of wine and detox with your girlfriends every so often. Staying connected with your besties is the best gift you can give yourself!  My favorite place to relax and talk some shit with my favorite girls?  The Rooftop Bar in Laguna Beach.  Their view is amazing and the sunsets there are like no other.

So there you have it!  What's on YOUR Mommy Must list?  Leave a comment and I'll enter you in a random drawing to win one of TWO copies of Christine Lemmon's Sand In My Eyes.

xoxo, Liz

Radio Silence by Liz

I love Barry Blackberry.  Or rather I'm obsessed.  I think about him when he's tucked away in my purse while I'm working and cuddle him close to my chest to keep him warm when it's cold and rainy.  He's the first thing I grab in the morning and I never forget to blow him a little kiss before heading off to bed each night. But like many others who take their loved ones for granted, I was careless with Barry's love, refusing to buy him that shiny case he'd had his eye on for months.  You don't need it, I told him. You look fine just the way you are. And each time I dropped him on my tile floor, I would gingerly put him back together and swear this was the last time I'd ever hurt him.  That I'd never again place him next to my three-year old's cup of milk.  That I'd find a appropriate place in my purse to store him where he wouldn't get all sticky.

All Empty Promises.

Then, last Sunday, Barry had enough.  He'd taken it like a man when I splashed some fresh-squeezed lemonade on him at the carnival and didn't miss a beat when  my daughter spilled sugar from her pixie stick all up in his parts.  But when I dropped him on that damn tile again, that was it.  After putting him back together, his (lcd) light just wouldn't shine again.  Barry was gone.

*Cue panicked run to Verizon store and angry tantrum when clerk informed me that I would have to wait TWO DAYS to get a new phone*

Hanging my head in my hands, I thought, How the f*ck am I going to survive two days without a phone? My sales job requires me to be in the car all day, and Barry Blackberry had always been my window into the world.  Now I was going to have to *gasp* listen to music, or God forbid, my own thoughts!

But what struck me the most in my two days of radio silence was how much I'd changed since getting Barry.  How distracted I had become in my daily life, how little I paid attention to others while I was replying to a text that I thought just couldn't wait. Now I wondered why it had been so urgent.  How often I chose to Facebook on my phone between appointments rather than preparing.  That I was so addicted to my phone that I kept reaching for it even though it wasn't there.  All in all, I felt pretty lame and promised to try to make some changes when my new Barry Blackberry arrived on my doorstep.

And since re-entering the land of the communicative, I have to admit that old habits die hard.  But I'm trying.  I even bought him a shiny pink case, although he feels it strips away his masculinity. I told him he'll get over it-it's better than having your battery case ripped opened every day, right?

The best part of my two days of silence? My productivity. I even had time to make a list about it!

During my Radio silence...

• Actually listened to myself think. Think I may have solved that whole cold fusion thing.

• Went to the car wash and *watched* my car get washed.

• Endured more crunching and smacking sounds than any one person ever should.

• Gave that guy at Starbucks the wrong idea when I stared at his Blackberry. (I may have drooled a little bit .)

• Decided that I was too good and started judging everyone else talking on their cell phone to make myself feel better.

• Eavesdropped on some really interesting conversations.

• NEVER knew what time it was.

xoxo, Liz

25 Things Liz & Lisa want to know about Beth Harbison

We make no secret of the fact we have MAJUH crushes on a few, select, Chick Lit writers! So imagine how starstruck we've been when so many of our absolute fav's have candidly answered our hard-hitting questions in our 25 Things Liz And Lisa Want To Know series! So far, we've learned that Megan Crane once worked as a customer service rep, that Allison Winn Scotch's secret talent is singing and Jennifer Weiner crushes on Sarah Silverman. Emily Giffin revealed that she can't live without Starbucks and Sarah Pekkanen admitted she's done some of her writing at a table at Chuck E  Cheese!

And now we're proud to add another incredibly talented and funny Chick Lit author into the 25 Qs mix! (Anyone who calls Chick Lit the "beaujolais Nouveau of literature" is our kind of gal!)  Most recently, BETH HARBISON absolutely rocked our socks with HOPE IN A JAR. (Lisa devoured it in one day and immediately told Liz to stop everything she was doing and read it too!)  People Magazine called it Chick Lit with heart and soul and we couldn't agree more. Beth's previous books, SHOE ADDICTS ANONYMOUS, SECRETS OF A SHOE ADDICT and her contribution to the collection of short stories, AFTERBIRTH (stories you won't read in PARENTS magazine), are all must-reads too!

We're excited to announce that we have FIVE copies of Beth's latest book, HOPE IN A JAR, to give away! To become the proud owner of this fabulous novel, all you have to do is become a fan of Chicklitisnotdead.com on Facebook and leave a comment about the beauty product you absolutely cannot live without. (Lisa can't leave the house without putting Laura Mercier Secret Concealer on the set of "luggage under her eyes" and Liz isn't human until she slathers Dermalogica Super Rich Repair on her "lizard-like skin!")

So, without further adieu...*Cue drum roll*

Chick Lit is Not Dead presents.... 25 Things Liz and Lisa want to know about Beth Harbison!

1.  Inside my purse, you'll discover: credit cards, Nars Dolce Vita lipstick, one of those little magnifying glasses with a light that I can never find when I need it, gum, a broken MAC compact, a stun gun.

2.  My secret talent is: roller skating

3.  If stranded on an island, the five things I could not live without are: soap, sunscreen, my Kindle, wireless internet, and, I don't know, some sort of boat?

4.  On my nightstand you'll find: water from last night, Lego, a book I haven't read, a People Magazine I'm halfway through, and ear plugs so I don't have to kill my husband for snoring and keeping me up.

5.  When I grew up, I wanted to be: famous!  Like, a famous actress, revered by all.  What happened?!

6.  My worst job: at an office where they didn't appear to need me so there was never anything to do except TRY to look busy, which was nearly impossible -- it was a banner day when someone wanted filing done.

7.  My comfort food: macaroni and cheese with a crispy Ritz top.

8.  The location where I write: my office at home.

9.  Three songs on my IPOD's most played list: Careful (Guster), Viva la Vida (Coldplay), Party in the USA (Miley Cyrus) (don't judge me!)

10. If I was on the cover of US Weekly , my headline would read: Writer Discovers Stun Gun Cure for Husband's Snoring and Restless Legs.

11. The three books that make me think of my childhood: The Little Broomstick by Mary Stewart; Now We Are Six by A.A. Milne; any Trixie Belden book.

12. My favorite Chick Flick: French Kiss or Only You (Robert Downey Jr. one)

13. My favorite Chick Lit book: Twenties Girl, Sophie Kinsella

14. My "must see" TV: Real Housewives of absolutely anywhere; True Blood; The Office

15. My Starbucks order: this time of year it's the Caramel Apple Cider

16. My favorite curse word: Fuck

17. My celebrity man crush: Jon Bon Jovi.  Man, I need a new one.

18. My celebrity girl crush: Paula Deen

19. My writer crush: Quinn Cummings

20. My last meal before execution: Icebox Cake (Nabisco famous chocolate wafers and whipped cream)

21. Three words to summarize my book: Friends, 80's, men

22. It took me ______to write my book: 6-7 months

23. My book's original title: it was always HOPE IN A JAR

24. Right now, I'm working on: ONE TEQUILA SHOT AWAY (from Making a Mix Tape and Driving Past His House)

25. Chick Lit is alive & kicking because: it is the beaujolais Nouveau of literature - fresh, new, always current, meant to intoxicate not to make you think or cry, though sometimes it does all three.

To read even more about the awesome Beth Harbison, head on over to www.bethharbison.com!

xoxo

Are you a Facebook Voyeur? By Liz

I ran into an old friend the other day at Starbucks. (Where else?)  I hadn't seen him in forever and was dying to know if he had stuck it out with his latest girlfriend or went back to serial dating. (Three words: Majuh. Commitment. Phobe.) But before I could get my scoop, he started asking about my very recent trip to Hawaii and my daughters's first day of school.

What?

Um, is this guy stalking me or something?  I mean, I was rockin' my new do'... but although it was short and sassy, it wasn't exactly stalker-worthy!

I was perplexed. But then, as he began to pellet me with questions about resorts, booze cruises and luaus, it came to me.

He was a Facebook voyeur! A social network Peeping Tom!

Now, let me just say for the record, that some of my favorite people are FB voyeurs.  They spend just as much time perusing status updates and profiles as you and I, they just don't feel the need to participate. Like me, you might even forget they are even ON Facebook until they reveal themselves the next time you see them by asking you about the caffeine or your Bachelorette addiction.  That's when you know you've got a Lookey Loo on you hands.

Fascinated by these Facebook rebels, I rang up some of my friends who fall in this category.  I just had to know why they won't even list what year they were born or give some of my sassy statuses a thumbs up. (It's just ONE click! Help a sista out here!)  I needed to see why all their wall posts go unanswered and all their fan page invitations are declined. Um, especially THIS ONE!

So now I'm ready to break it down for you.  To tell you why your second cousin never poked you back or why you'll never see pictures of their kids until you finally suck it up and attend that family reunion next summer.

THE MULTI- TASKER

Always on the run, the multi-tasker prefers to get their "booking" done via iPhone or Blackberry.  She really does want to know what you are making for dinner or how your son's soccer practice went, but actually commenting on it is a whole other story.  Basically this is the social network version of It's not you, it's me".

THE HIGH-BROWER

The High-Brower finally buckled under all the peer pressure and joined FB but wants you to know she's still too good for it.  That's why you'll never hear about her tropical vacation or find out whether she's planning on watching the new Melrose Place.  And the fact that she's traded Hemingway for Yoville?   She's planning on keeping it her dirty little secret.

THE "PRIVACY PLEASE" FRIEND

Unlike attention whores like myself, she's content with keeping her networks, political views and Farmville scores a secret. But I find myself  wondering which five cities she's lived in and what her Saved By The Bell quiz results were. (Lisa Turtle, in case you were wondering...) And btw, this is also the same person who has 25 friends because she only wants to "friend" people she's actually "friends" with. Um, I didn't even know that was an option. What a concept!

THE FUGITIVE

Why are you on Facebook if you are trying to HIDE? I can understand an occasional block of a crazy ex-boyfriend or that over-zealous PTA mom, but to lurk around in cyberspace while no one can see you is creepy.  And was high school so bad you won't even put your graduating year?  Come on! Even I got over my huge hair and penchant for spandex pants. Show yourself already!

Xoxo, Liz

(Inanimate) Object of My Affection (part 2) By Liz & Lisa

We wrote about this topic just a couple of months ago...but already, so many new electronic devices have come into our lives. And we've fallen so hard for these objects! The way they blend a smoothie "stirs" something deep within and the speed in which they access the Internet makes us dizzy ...with lust!  Or even the way they so effortlessly make the most perfect cup of coffee really gets the heart racin' in more ways than one *wink* *wink*. And although our affections are all in fun, there's a term for people that, um, really want to be much more than friends with things like Big Ben (get your mind out of the gutter-we're talking about the famous clock!) or the world's largest catsup bottle. They suffer from a condition called objectum sexuality. So no need to worry--unless someday you find one of us dry humping the Eiffel Tower.

In the meantime, we're dying for you to meet our new battery-powered boyfriends, And even though we love them, the only action they're getting is some fast-fingered texting or a really hard cucumber to chop up.

LIZ'S ELECTRONIC ECSTASY

Hp Mini Notebook aka Webbie

Liz spends most of her day in the car. And as you can imagine, that makes it hard for a girl to keep up with her Internet addiction.  Her Facebook wall posts would go *gasp* hours before being addressed and she would completely miss Twitter's #Follow Friday.  And the fact that Lisa and Crystal (our fabulous and uber-talented publicist) email each other every five minutes wasn't helping. (Their banter! So witty! She was jealous!) And after a particularly busy day of postings, poking and reply alls, Liz determined her brokedown Palm Centro just wasn't cutting it anymore.

That's when she found Webbie.   And even though she normally preferred larger electronics, she found his small size and wireless aircard appealing. He was so cute!  And whenever she was out with him in public, people would always stop to ask about him.  Soon Liz found herself tweeting with abandon and bantering with Lisa and Crystal like she didn't have a care in the world!  Webbie even traveled with her to Cabo, although he strongly disapproved of her dalliance with Don Julio. Apparently, he thought her dizziness and dry heaving in the mornings cut into his time with her.  That Webbie has quite a jealous streak!

Which is why Liz found it odd that Palm Centro starting taking a turn for the worse when Webbie strolled into town.  Never the workhorse, Palm Centro had always been able to do at least the basics.  Now all of sudden he struggled to send a text and wanted to hot-sync in inappropriate places.  Then, one morning, he hot-synced himself to death, literally. RIP Palm Centro.

And was that a smile we saw on Webbie's screen?  Little did he know, the next phone in Liz's life would possibly render him obsolete.  And his name was...

Barry Blackberry

Liz had a bad attitude about Barry at first.  She didn't know if he'd be able to meet all her needs.  She needed a partner that could keep up with her (She just turned 35!  She's in her prime!) and wasn't sure he was up for the task.

But she soon discovered that Barry was everything she wanted in a man phone and more.  He was always there to let her know the very second an email came in.  And Facebook?  Barry Blackberry didn't want her to miss out on anything, even if it was that person who keeps inviting her to play Farmville (WTH is that, anyway?) or that crazy guy from high school that won't stop harassing his ex-wife in his status updates.

And Webbie?  Well, let's just say that he's been crunching more fantasy football stats than keeping up with his social networking these days.  Liz, always looking to trade up when it comes to her electronics, kicked him to the curb in favor of Barry.  Webbie started feeling heavy and bloated and she was getting everything she needed from B. (Her private nickname for him.)

But don't worry about Webbie!  Liz's husband Mike has been keeping that little guy company.  He's even renamed him "Webina".   And although that confuses him a bit, he's just happy to have someone's fingers keeping his keyboard warm every night.

LISA'S KITCHEN CRUSHES

Keurig Single Cup Coffee Brewing System aka Kirby

It's no secret that Lisa is a major caffeine junkie. If she doesn't get that jolt of energy within minutes of waking up, she can make a crackwhore look tame.  Just talk to anyone who's made the mistake of asking her difficult questions like, "How are you?" before she's had her java. (Like that poor UPS guy who unfortunately crossed her pre-caffeinated path--he never did deliver another package!)

For years, she's had a Starbucks addiction. Each morning, she'd order her Venti bold with sugar-free vanilla. The baristas knew her by name and her order by heart. And even when the economy went down the toilet, she vowed she'd cut "everything and anything" other than her daily grind. Well, until she met Kirby.

It was love at first cup. And within minutes of taking in his compact, yet strong exterior and watching as he filled her coffee cup with so little effort it felt like magic, Lisa was under his spell. Her new boyfriend, Kirby, just made everything so easy. Her heart skipped a beat as she simply put a "K" cup inside, pressed a button and *voila* coffee!  Gone were the days of manual labor like cleaning filters and grinding beans. And it was then she declared, "once you go single cup you never go back!"

And even though she's been cheating on Starbucks for weeks, she doesn't feel the least bit guilty about it. Especially since he wasn't there for her when she traveled route 66! (As if!) She's not saying she'll never go back to him, but she's no longer relying on him to solve her (caffeine) problems. That's fo show!

But Lisa is not quite sure how to break the news to Kirby that there's a new gadget in town...

The Magic Bullet, aka, The Bullet

Recently, Lisa saw something on TV that made her stop dead in her tracks on the treadmill. His name was The Magic Bullet and no, he's not that kind of device ladies. But he'll still turn you on with his many bells and whistles and his incredible (blending) technique.

Lisa bought him and brought him home that very day. She was so excited as she unpacked him and sized up his, er, parts. She was high with anticipation as she slowly filled him with ice,  fruit, milk and protein powder and watched her beloved bullet blend away. Twenty seconds later, she was drinking a delicious smoothie. And as soon as Lisa finished it, she was ready to go again!

She blended with abandon. Strawberry banana! Blueberry! Peanut butter! She grabbed his recipe book firmly and started planning all the beautiful things they'd make together. Guacamole! Salsa! Spaghetti sauce! The sky was going to be the limit with Lisa and The Bullet.

Or at least that's what she thought until...he COULDN'T GET IT UP!

It happened when she tried to make salsa and The Bullet's blade just wouldn't chop. She tried again, because maybe he just needed a little help...She pushed down on his lid and prayed he'd be able to make the onions look like they did in the picture. But unfortunately, the salsa just came out looking like soup with huge pieces of onion in it. Lisa was crushed that her boyfriend couldn't perform. She wondered if this is what Jillian felt like in the fantasy suite with Ed?

Lisa hasn't tried to make salsa since and has decided to stick to smoothies only. She doesn't want to upset The Bullet and she definitely doesn't want to find out that he won't be able to get his blade moving, yet again.

xoxo, Liz & Lisa

Confessions of a Third Wheel By Lisa

I think the third wheel gets a bad rap.

And I would know, considering I've been a willing wheel for many years...

The third wheel has a negative connotation--conjuring up images of that tag along kid who followed you around on the playground. Or the girl your mom coerced you into inviting to your slumber party. And the roommate who regularly crashed your movie night on the couch with your boyfriend. (You know who you are!)

But not all third wheels are unwelcome guests. Some, like me, are invited--even bribed or begged into attending an event with the other two. (More on that in a minute but it starts with--MARE-UH-THON!)

The Tricycle

I've been a member of the tricycle as Liz, her husband Mike, and I refer to our arrangement, for at least a decade. (Maybe I'll get a special pin soon? In the spirit of "wings" for flying, I'll get a wheel?)

We first officially took the tricycle out for a spin for our 10th high school reunion. Liz and Mike had just gotten married and I had, well, just gotten dumped. On the way down we chatted, who had the bigger news?  Liz and Mike?

A wedding! A honeymoon! A new house!

Or me?

Depression diagnosis! A new bottle of Prozac! A singles support group!

As we tricycled to see our Vista High School classmates (go Panthers!), I remember feeling relieved that at least I wouldn't be walking in alone. For a few minutes, I could deflect questions about myself because I'd be standing with Liz and Mike as they discussed their new marriage. Maybe I could even grab a glass of wine before I began answering questions about why I was still single.

I never imagined that, instead of my life or even Liz's post high school life, it would be MIKE at center stage--fielding questions--about his height!? Had he ever played professional basketball? Were all of his friends tall? How did he get soo tall?  I mean he's definitely tall (6'6"), but he's not the Jolly Green Giant or anything!

But I'd still like to take this time to give Mike front wheel Fenton a special shout out for literally overshadowing me!

The Duallie

Recently, Liz asked me if I wanted to go to San Diego to watch her brother-in-law run in a marathon. And then, suddenly, the pitch of her voice got higher as she tried to sell me on the experience. And I knew something was up.

The energy is amazing! It's inspirational! And, um, maybe you can also help me watch the kids when Mike's off with his brother.

Bingo! Energy smenergy. She wanted this wheel to babysit!

I agreed, because, well Auntie Lisa does love Liz's kids and the fact that her two-and-a-half-year-old son, Shane, points to blonde models in magazines and thinks they're me doesn't hurt either. So, I showed up at 8:00 a.m. only to be relegated to the back of the minivan like a dog or the annoying aunt that no one wants to talk to. In all fairness, I was asked if I was okay. I simply replied,

Need. Air. Back. Here.

I asked Liz and Mike what we should call ourselves now that we were traveling with two children? When our friend La Sundra would join us, we'd refer to ourselves as  The Quad. But now, with five, what were we? We decided on duallie.

The Marathon was the next day. So that night, we stayed over at Liz's mom's house. It was then that I was told we'd be LEAVING for the run at 6:00 a.m.

At 5:59 on the nose, relegated yet again to the back of the minivan, I was politely asked how I was back there. I simply replied,

Need. Starbucks. Now.

On the way to the race, I listened as Liz and Mike chatted about how comfortable their bed had been the night before. I had to chime in. I yelled up to the front seat over Liz's four-year-old daughter, Riley, belting out Natasha Betingfeld's Soulmate. (Unbelievably cute, BTW!)

Oh really?  Was it now? Well, I think I can one up you. My COT in the dining room was freakin' fantastic! Wouldn't have traded with either of you if you paid me!

*Awkward silence*

Okay, so I'll admit that the Marathon did turn out to be lots of energy and excitement, just like Liz promised. Her BIL did awesome (although I stand by my convenient theory that it just cannot be necessary to run 26 whole miles) and it was fun to watch all the "Elvises" run by (it was the Rock N Roll marathon, after all).

And in the interest of full disclosure--since I've kind of thrown Liz & Mike under the bus (how many wheels is that?), I should reveal that Liz has been on the other wheel of a tricycle too...and maybe she wasn't exactly treated like a queen either.  She three wheeled it with Matt and me to the Midwest book signings. And we just might have made her sleep in Matt's 6-year-old son's twin bed. :)

xoxo, Lisa

Flying The (Un) Friendly Skies By Lisa

There are certain things that baffle me.

Decaf coffee drinkers.

Jorts.

And those who lack the travel etiquette gene.

You’d think that most people on their way to Maui would be happy (give or take a crying baby or a cranky flight attendant that you make the unfortunate mistake of calling stewardess); perma-grins plastered across their faces; visions of Mai Tais dancing in their heads; their biggest anxiety over how early to wake up to claim the much coveted umbrella-covered pool chairs or figuring out which drink would cause less bloating– a beer or a Bloody Mary.

Or maybe that’s just me?

On the morning of our flight to Maui, I had a pep in my step even as I bounded *gag* barefoot through security and then spent the next five minutes frantically searching for my ID that I thought I’d lost for the SEVENTEENTH time that morning!  Sorry, Matt! (See anal traveler disclaimer, below.)

As I maneuvered my way through LAX, I looked around through my Maui colored glasses and all of the usual airport drama was lost on me.

So what if it took the cashier at Hudson News six and a half minutes to ring me up for TIC TACS!

Oh well if the Starbucks line was wrapped around the corner, they were out of sugar free vanilla AND they forgot to give me my apple bran muffin!

Too bad that a whitehead somehow popped up on my face between the walk from the airport shuttle to the gate!

Because in five and a half short hours, I’d be belly up at the Hula Grill bar inhaling coconut calamari. I was going to Maui, baby! And nothing, I repeat, nothing, was going to get me down!

Well, until I boarded the plane.

Those aforementioned glasses started to fog up just a wee bit as I was bombarded with airplane colleagues who seemed quite a bit less happy to be on team “bound for Maui.”

WTF?

Exit Row Nazi  a.k.a. The Angry Guy OMG- Last time I checked, you didn’t own the bulk head/exit row, dude. And maybe it wasn’t your problem that I read the airplane map wrong and poor 6’2” Matt and I ended up crammed in the row directly behind the exit row instead of in it.  But when, by the grace of the travel gods, the seat next to you remained empty after we were told to turn off “anything with an on/off switch”, I took it as a sign. Matt could sit there! And I didn’t have to spend the next five hours obsessing about my mistake and instead could focus on far more important matters like immersing myself in my Bride Wars iTunes rental.

Not if the Exit Row Nazi had anything to say about it.

I kindly asked you if Matt could move into the empty seat next to you (more as a formality, than as an actual request-BTW) and you snidely replied that you “liked your space” and your answer was “no!”  WTH crawled up your ass? You were already in the Holy Grail of economy class seating. You already had four freakin’ feet in front of you–more leg room than someone in first class.  You really wanted more?

Ever the negotiator, I didn’t give up. I decided to appeal to your height. Surely you’d feel bad that another tall guy had his knees shoved up under his chin?  Not. The tall plea was absolutely lost on you. You were just bound and determined to be angry guy.

Well angry guy, you f***ed with the wrong girl.

Because somehow you managed to IRRITATE me while I was trying so hard to bask in my Hawaiian, euphoric glow. And nobody f***ks with my glow!

And I was more than done with you because saying NO to giving us that seat was not the first time your angriness had reared its ugly head.

Remember when you crammed your tattered, brown leather bag into the overhead bin and shoved my new, sassy Tory Burch beach bag to the back– annoyed because somehow I didn’t get the memo that the space was reserved for you? And need I remind you of when I tapped your shoulder and said, “sir, sir, excuse me sir” simply to let you know that your pillow was jammed in my tray table–and you acted as if I was asking you to hold my tampon box?

So, when you told me that my man could not move into a seat that–incidentally–you did not own, that was it. I decided to go over your head and I told on you! I asked the flight attendant if Matt could take that seat and she said, “yes!”

So, nah, nah, nah, nah, nah!!

The Barefoot Guy

The fact that you could walk into that airplane bathroom without even so much as socks on your feet, made me want to pull out my barf bag and puke my six dollar, pre-packaged turkey and pesto sandwich into it. For the love of God, my friend, couldn’t you have at least put on a freakin’ flip flop, if not for your own sake, then for mine?! No one should have to even THINK ABOUT what you were stepping on in there. No one. I wish I had your address because I’d send you a vat of antibacterial gel. Although I’m not even sure a case of Purell would help anyone after that.  I feel like I need to be hosed down like a prison inmate after just walking in there.

The Chatty Cathy

Remember when I mentioned my Hawaiian euphoric glow? Well, that didn’t mean I was so happy that I was going to be your in-flight entertainment. Watch a movie. Play Solitaire. Count Sheep. Anything. Because there was no way, especially after angry guy, that I could even fake interest in the story of how you were supposed to go to Mexico and stay in a five star resort, but changed your trip because you were petrified of contracting the swine flu. You made me want to put on surgical mask and start coughing just to get you off my jock.  Didn't you understand that Anne Hathaway and Kate Hudson were waiting?

The Frustrated Flight Attendant

Maybe I shouldn’t have pushed the envelope and asked you for a pen to fill out my agricultural clearance form after I’d already  asked you to take sides in my battle with angry guy. (Although, for the record, you chose very, very wisely!) I kind of get why you’d have a short fuse because you probably have to deal with so much shit on every flight that this blog post represents every day fodder for you. I can’t imagine how, flight after flight,  you put up with the call button whores; the “I’m going to get drunk on little bottles of booze” boozers; the people who put TWO bags in the overhead bin; the people who refer to you as stewardess.

Or maybe those things just bother me?

But I mostly can’t understand how you can physically deal with that much air travel because (TMI alert) just ONE flight can completely jack me up–for days. So, I wouldn’t want to share my pen either… if I had to use that bathroom and then couldn’t use that bathroom, if you know what I’m sayin’…

ANAL TRAVELER DISCLAIMER: Because I got up on my 30,000 foot high soap box, it’s time for full-disclosure.  I have a major case of traveler’s OCD. I definitely bring new meaning to the word anal when I travel.

Imagine a Type A, overly caffeinated, Aries on crack.

I have many "day of" travel rules. I must print my boarding pass at home. On the way to the airport, I can’t have a conversation about anything un-airport related because I have “I must make my flight” tunnel vision until I get to the gate. Until I’m on the plane (and sometimes, even after), I check, re-check and check again that my ID is in my wallet. (Again, Matt, sorry about when I almost turned the car around because I thought I’d left it in my wallet–on top of my car!) I must stop at Starbucks on the way to the airport AND after I go through security because I love my coffee and I read somewhere that you should never order it on an airplane. (Although I’m not sure if that’s even true & if it is, I can’t remember why you shouldn’t.) I have to be at the gate one hour before departure. (I have access to the Admiral’s Club, but can’t really relax when I’m in there because I’m worried about losing track of time!) And those are just the MAIN rules.

But at the end of the day, if something isn’t going right on the morning of my flight,  I’m not going to make you pay if I’m cranky.

That’s what my travel partner is there for!

Just kidding! (Sort of!)

xoxo

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