Tuesday, August 01, 2006

Freaking Out About Upcoming Appearance in Marie Claire

I noticed my friendly magazine-salesman (I think he sells other things too, like beverages, tobacco products, candy bars, gum and DVDs featuring aspiring young actresses with disarming facial expressions) unpacking a stack of the brand new Glamour this evening (I had to see him through the FOG OF HEAT) ...

"Um, do you know when the new Marie Claire comes out?"

"Uh," he says, juggling about ten cell phone products in his hands (he might sell those too, I don't even remember the last time I paid my cell bill let alone purchased an accessory, whatever)



P.S. I did not write an article for Marie Claire. if I had (and I will, someday, because I totally heart marie claire and I will one day be a star), I'd be humble about it. BUT I don't like talking about things that I have done that are legitimately cool, cuz that wouldn't be self-deprecating enough. (and maybe because I don't do cool things, but whatev) No, someone else wrote an article. I'm just in it. Yes, it's true, I saved a village in Mexico, lost twenty pounds and just bought 100 outfits for less than $100.00!

This blog entry, which will be seen by (unfortunately) less than the 1,514,525 Marie Claire readers, is me making peace with this. I am preparing for the Zen.

Like how I shot a bolt of metal through my bellybutton to make piece with my tummy. Which actually worked. Well also I stopped eating so much pizza.

See look!:
Anyhow. E.G., I don't talk about my real-live-personal-life on this blog, but considering I'm writing a book about myself (if you're going to tell me I'm some sort of narcissist, I would say to you "Thanks Captain Obvious!" HA! Gotcha, Suckah!), I should get used to this idea.

like--I've been in stuff before, sharing questionable secrets, but MC has a serious circulation. I mean, SERIOUS. However, clearly MC has me beat on circulation. I mean, you know, right? WAL-MART SERIOUS. But also, no one else salivates over a stack of fresh magazines at the magazine store like I do, so maybe not that many people read mags like I do.

OK really, I'm worried I said something retarded.

Basically, I was put in touch with a writer while I was working at nerve, I thought the story was about girls who were friends with their exes, it turned out they were just looking for girls who were friends with their exes so that these aforementioned girls could get in touch with their exes for a story on match-the-girl-with-her-exes.

Yay fun right?

First I tried to get out of it five or six times, once actually sending an email to the super-sweet editor (I'm being genuine, she's really awesome) containing this paragraph as my conditions to be in the article:

So I need you to put three hundred dollars, a lifetime subscription and a freelance gig in a briefcase and leave it in front of the Hearst Building. I'll show up dressed like Edie Beale and say "The eagle as landed" and you can hand it to me. Not you necessarily, but like, whomever has time. It could even be an intern.

Anyhow because the writer is really sweet, and everyone at marie claire was so cool, and also the beauty bag which enabled Haviland and I to never leave our cabin on the cruise without at least five shimmery products and three shades of eyeshadow......I did it.

I told the writer my CAPTIVATING life story and all my various "exes."

John: Perfect! High school! Love! EX NUMBER ONE.
C.T: Not a very captivating tale.
S.D: I'm athletic and artsy, he's athletic and artsy, we're both super-good in bed—people would guess we were a couple right away, therefore eliminating the "surprise" factor the story is going for.
J.H: Perfect! Older man! Republican! TOTALLY REFUSED TO DO IT. (He's a cop now. I understand ... J, if you're reading this, aren't I funny?).

I know what you're thinking...that's only ONE ex! Well, Marc (him and I had nothing in common whatsoever, except for when he made me see Mission to Mars and we both agreed it was atrocious) and Lo stepped up to be my quasi-exes. Marc's fiancée is unimpressed and will probably kill me with a pitchfork before Labor Day.

A few weeks ago, a fact checker asked me to confirm statements like "You have a weakness for beautiful people." That is when my panic transformed into beyond panic, which is better, because beyond-panic is just another word for nothing left to lose.

Convo circa two weeks ago:

Me: "I wonder if my grandmother is going to see this magazine at Revco or Wall-Mart and call me and say honey, I didn't know you were a lesbo!** Come back to Reeseville and go to Wilmington College!"
Lo: "Yeah..when's it coming out?"
Me: "August. Oh my God, I'm going to have another anxiety attack."
Lo: "I wish it was coming out sooner! I wish it was coming out next week!"

**I am not a lesbo, but I think that word is funny/fun. I think labeling is old school, but that being said, I'm writing a book about bisexuality. So Um. Right.

I'm counting on Lo to support me during this trying time.

When the lady took my photo at my office I wasn't blonde yet and I should have gone tanning more often and I'm pretty sure I said something dumb.


If anyone sees the article and thinks I sound like a real princess and wants to be my next ex-boyfriend, please email me, thanks.

I'm smoking and listening to Madonna. Things are lookin' up.


Anonymous said...

beware overexposure, kitten.

marie lyn bernard said...

beware irony, tiger.