Before this blogging business, I used to do things for money. If you bought Jif peanut butter or used your Amex in the last 15 years, you can thank me. You're welcome.
My life was glamorous once. Weekends by the Med. An apartment in Paris. Now I help point penises toward an American Standard and make mushy tuna.
I spent the last 18 months writing a novel, a historical one. There are bombs and Nazis so it's not so funny. Sorry. But you can read about it on my other blog. Instead of self-publishing, I decided Random House couldn't do without me. So I sit outside their office in NYC with a cardboard sign that says "Will sign copies of my book for fat advance." Hasn't done much except earn me $3.20 and a Hot & Crusty bagel. I'll keep you posted. It's all good.
My sanity is routinely rescued by my dry-witted husband. He taught me everything I know. Before him I was *gasp* serious. Thanks, babe.
