Bright lights, big...sigh

Jen Lancaster. You know I love her. I tell everyone I know they should be reading Bitter is the New Black and Such a Pretty Fat...seriously, read them. They are so touching, I even lose sleep over them, remember?

But then I read Pretty in Plaid, and didn't talk about it here because I thought it was fun but not as fun as the others. And now I am reading Bright Lights, Big Ass...that should be AWESOME, right?

Only...

Only I feel if I say what I am thinking about it so far I am betraying Jen, whom I love so much. Her novels are incredibly personal and you really do feel like you know her. Even though that's crazy talk.

But in a way, I also feel betrayed. What about me.

I'm 100 pages into the book and have yet to feel Jen's pain OR laugh out loud.

The book just isn't speaking to me, I'm not relating to it, which is ridiculous because how does a book about living in Chicago by a hilarious writer NOT speak to me...right?

So now I'm on the fence. I have a bookshelf of books marked To Read and yet here I am trudging through Bright Lights because...I feel I should...it might get better...I am delusional...?

Upsetting. UPSETTING.

“However, when some random girl, naked as a jaybird, strolls into the Quiet Room of the Thousand Waves Spa and spends ten minutes bent over right in front of me with her little brown starfish waving hello to God and everyone while she paws through the magazine rack in search of the most current issue of the New Yorker, please know the line between “appropriate spa behavior” and “graphic peep show” has been crossed.”
That's funny, right? Why don't I think this is funny? Is it all this depressing YAL I am reading?
Usually HILARIOUS Jen Lancaster

I like to think of bitter as the new onyx

Never finish a book right before you go to sleep. You won't be able to sleep.

But I always have to test theories, don't I?

This time it isn't my fault (it is totally my fault). It is Jennifer Lancaster's. Yeah, I'm calling her out. It is her and her book, Bitter is the New Black. And maybe the Chicago Public Library. Yup, all of them. Definitely not me.

Evidence in timeline form:

10:20 p.m. - Hang up with the BF. Close my eyes.

10:33 - In a fit of eternal optimism check my computer one more time to see if my Internet is working. INTERNET IS WORKING. Play.

10:45 - Check my library materials online. Both books are overdue and CPL doesn't allow you to renew overdue materials. I haven't yet finished Bitter is the New Black.

10:46 - Snuggle down with BITNB. 180 pages left.

12: 49 a.m. - Finish BITNB, text BF "going to bed now" so someone knows how late I am up. Close eyes.

12:50 - Baby cat can tell I mean business about this sleeping thing. Moves into cuddle spot. Even lets me pet her with no biting.

12:55 - Commence thinking about BITNB. About living in the Chi / life choices / love / weddings / apartment searching / blogging / hatred of corporate America / friends / new friends / old friends / family / book writing / pearls / public transportation...

1:29 - Text BF "What the hell is wrong with me? This is going to be painful tomorrow."

1:30 - Put on face mask (I am a diva, it helps me sleep) and stop incessantly looking at my phone to see just how little sleep I will be getting.

approx. 2:00 - Fall asleep...

So thanks Jen. Thanks for writing a funny book that takes place in the Chi so I know all the places you talk about. Thanks for being witty and heartfelt so that when I finish reading your book I think about things. Thanks a lot.

"Essentially, you allowed fruity rum punch to alter the course of your life TWICE? Oh, my God, you're such a WHORE!"
Jen Lancaster