Must Love Otters Is Out in the Whole Wild World!

Sooooo, I might have mentioned that while working on the Epic Rewrites of the Century, my personality underwent a little tiny fracture and I may have started working on another project with my husband, and we called this new entity Eliza Gordon.

Wellllll, Eliza's book, Must Love Otters, it drops today. As in, it's live, for you to buy. I'll let Gandalf say it for me:

Sorry. I couldn't help it. AGAIN with the cats. BECAUSE OMIGOD, IT'S NATIONAL CAT DAY. I'm not even making this up. It totally is. And I am SO stoked.

But today is supposed to be about OTTERS. Honestly, if you don't think sea otters are absolutely among the top five MOST ADORABLE sea creatures ever, maybe you're on the wrong page here. Thanks for stopping by, but seriously ... COME OOOON, have you seen a baby sea otter? Did you forget your soul at the bowling alley last night or what?

Without further ado, happy birthday to Eliza's book.

BUY LINKS:

Amazon

Amazon.ca (for Canadian book nuts)

Amazon.co.uk (for those across the pond!)

iBookstore

Kobo

Vook Store

Barnes & Noble Nook

Otters is also supposed to be available for Sony and Samsung devices. Please let me know if you cannot find your preferred e-book and we’ll look into it.

IF YOU LIKE CHOCOLATE CAKE ... Eliza has also listed a recipe (on the new release post on ElizaGordon.com) that she will likely never make because the fire department doesn't like her to cook. She will instead opt for a box cake, for purposes of saving the house and time, but still ... cake is cake. WHO DOESN'T LIKE CAKE?

SUMMARY:

Hollie Porter is the chairwoman of Generation Disillusioned: at twenty-five years old, she’s saddled with a job she hates, a boyfriend who’s all wrong for her, and a vexing inability to say no. She’s already near her breaking point, so when one caller too many kicks the bucket during Hollie’s 911 shift, she cashes in the Sweethearts’ Spa & Stay gift certificate from her dad and heads to Revelation Cove, British Columbia. One caveat: she’s going solo. Any sweethearts will have to be found on site.

Hollie hopes to find her beloved otters in the wilds of the Great White North, but instead she’s providing comic relief for staff and guests alike. Even Concierge Ryan, a former NHL star with bad knees and broken dreams, can’t stop her from stumbling from one (mis)adventure to another. Just when Hollie starts to think that a change of venue doesn’t mean a change in circumstances, the island works its charm and she starts to think she might have found the rejuvenation she so desperately desires. But then an uninvited guest crashes the party, forcing her to step out of the discomfort zone where she dwells and save the day … and maybe even herself in the process.

THANK YOU IN ADVANCE. We hope you likey.

Now I need some damn coffee ... whose wackity-schmakity idea was it to get up at damn SIX A.M.???

Xs and Os, lovelies ...

Friday Funnies: Felis Catus

The morning started with cat barf.

As in, the cat BARFED all over the laptop. Granted, I could be saying PHEW NOT MY LAPTOP because it wasn't -- it belongs to Pretty Princess -- but still. Cat barf. Gross.

Speaking of Pretty Princess, we have to start calling her the J-School Rookie. As in, she got into journalism school. At a real university. For January. Let's all say CONGRATULATIONS, Pretty Princess J-School Rookie. From now until classes start, she will be my intern. It's gonna be awesome. I'm going to make her pick up dry cleaning (do yoga pants need dry cleaning?) and clean the coffee pot and reorganize my sock drawer and alphabetize the bookshelves and THEN we will make her write an investigative article on the reasons why cats barf. If you have any ideas for mean educational things we can have the Rookie undertake, do let me know. Interns ROCK.

Speaking of cats, NOT SURE if I mentioned this last week but Nuit had her girlie parts removed on Friday. 

She was not jumping for joy about having to go to the vet.

Last Friday night, we were freaked out because her postsurgical recovery wasn't great. She was hiding under the bed, she wouldn't eat, she cried if we touched her. But I am SO HAPPY to report that Naughty Nuit is doing way, way better, back to terrorizing everyone/everything, trying to pull the wrappers off the toffee candies sitting on the table (yes, we're like old people now -- we have a bowl of wrapped candies sitting on the kitchen table SOMEONE HAND ME MY GERITOL AND READING GLASSES ) and she is NOT the cat who barfed on the computer, in case you were wondering. That was her big dumb Maine Coon brother who recently lost a tooth in a fight with a raccoon. Man, that was a lot of blood. Poor raccoon.

BUT, this unfortunate event this morning involving vomitus leads us to this week's Very Awesome Theme: CATS. Hey, Ellen Degeneres is allegedly doing a whole Cat Week, so let's steal some thunder and have our own Friday Funnies Devoted to Felines.

FIRST, however, Convos With My 2-Year-Old -- they did something different in the spirit of the upcoming Halloweenie, and I dare say, old chap, it's a mighty good belly-buster:

ONWARD TOWARD CATS:

THIS WAS ME THE OTHER DAY. In the potty. I found the LEG, but no spider. WHERE IS THE SPIDER?

Writers? This:

 

From Ellen's CAT WEEK, Days 2 and 3:

Obviously, I have a problem. I like cats. If I didn't have children, I would be a crazy cat lady.  But in my defense ...

I seriously laughed my ass off when I saw this next one. Did you guys HEAR about Darwin the IKEA monkey? Sorta sad, actually:

I know. I can't stop giggling, either.

HAVE AN AWESOME WEEK, people. OH, and sign up for Eliza Gordon's newsletter for more wacky hijinks. Follow her on Facebook and Twitter and Goodreads. And you can PREORDER her book now on Amazon and on the iBookstore, OR wait until Tuesday. Buy her funny book so she will be busy and stop nagging me about cookie recipes. SERIOUSLY. I HATE BAKING.

By the way -- IT'S GAME DAY.

GO CANUCKS GO!!!

Xs and Os ...

Year 13: Lace and Fur

Sooooo ... On September 23, 2000, the guy I'd been dating took me out to a fancy dinner in Malibu and asked me to the beach afterwards. I thought, "Sweet. We're gonna make out under the Ferris wheel on the Santa Monica Pier. This will be legendary." Although we did make it to the beach, the Santa Monica Pier and its Ferris wheel in view behind us, we did not make out. Which is a shame because I had a smokin' body covered by an awesome dress that I can't even fit over my head anymore.

How things change.

Though we didn't act indecent in public, this guy -- let's call him GareBear because that's his name around these parts -- he pulled out a little velvet box and got sand on his knee and said those magical words, most of which I can't remember. I do know that the evening ended with a "Yes! Yes! Yes!" I will leave that to your imagination.

Yay! We're engaged! Now what ...?

His folks were visiting from O Canada. They said, "We're not leaving your house until you get married." Hence, we planned a wedding in less than a month (in fact, if you want to be specific, we planned a wedding in eight days. Oh yes we DID). The Little Brown Church of the Valley, in Studio City, California -- where Ronald Reagan wed his Nancy -- could squeeze us in on a Saturday at 5 p.m. We were the 22,002nd couple to be married there. Cool.

So this happened:

Married. Now he's stuck.

Then we danced. (What I would give to have that body back.)

Fast forward thirteen years. We live in a different country, GareBear's still in the same (confounded) film industry, and we have multiplied. NO, we did not get married because we were knocked up. Do the math. Our first child together was born 13 months after we got married. Sure, we didn't waste time. My ovaries had an expiry date.

Thirteen years is a long time to put up with someone else's shit. We haven't taken pictures of the less savory times, when we were about to kill one another or when one half of the relationship has slept on the couch for a few nights (in a row) or when I'm in the kitchen raging about the fact that this family IS SO LAZY and "I swear to God I am going to just up and leave one day and then you'll be sorry" or when the ONLY THING I ever talk about is The Book and I really don't listen much to what anyone else is talking about, especially if it's not about The Book and when GareBear has too many burritos and the house becomes a hazardous waste site or when I throw a huge temper tantrum because I HATE COOKING and everyone always wants stupid food or when I refuse to get out of bed because "what's the point."

Thing is, we're still here. And we still have to try to not kill each other, etc., but the COOL part is, we make each other giggle. Did you know that in the olden days -- no, NOT when I was a kid -- anniversary gifts followed a traditional list:

Being the smart-asses that we are, we don't take this crap too seriously. In fact, most anniversaries we sort of just pat each other on the head and say, "Good job on surviving another year, yo. See you after soccer practice/piano/work/the dentist." 

In Year 11, the suggested gift is STEEL. So, GareBear got me steel wool. Believe it or not, I was stoked. Steel wool cleans EVERYTHING. As we have conquered Year 13 (because technically, an anniversary marks the 13th year, which is the end of that year and the birth of the next year), the traditional gift is LACE and FUR. So THIS is what I found waiting on my chair this morning:

And I was all like, "Really, GareBear? Lingerie? Have you SEEN me naked lately? No. You have not. And I have eaten A LOT of cookies this year." Okay, okay, he bought me lingerie. Suck it up, Princess.

So I open the box. And inside, I find:

FUR

It's a T-SHIRT. OH, I am SO wearing this out in public. Come on, GareBear. LET'S GO OUT FOR DINNER.

And this:

LACE

Pretty little bow for my hairs.

GareBear? 

NAILED IT.

HAPPY ANNIVERSARY to the dude who my kids call Dad, who fills my bed with farts, and who makes me giggle at least once a week. I'm sorry I am so mean to you, especially when you have a Man Cold. I will try to be less mean as we begin Day 1 of Year 14. But can we PLEASE go out for dinner tonight, even if it's cheeseburgers? I don't waaaaaaaaanna cook dinner.

I love your face, Captain McFarty Pants.

XOXO

P.S. I WORE FUR OUT IN PUBLIC. Here's proof (thanks for the picture, Chanel!):

I rocked that lion's FACE off.

 As you were.

Friday Funnies ... Because Giggling on Friday Is Better than on Monday

THAT TIME AGAIN.

I know you guys are like, "Wahhhh, when is it going to be Friday this week is so long and boring and seriousssssly make it Friday so I can go out to the bar and spend $8 for every beer I drink/$12 for every Cosmopolitan I order and then feel bloated and try to time my farts so that the hot girl/delicious guy standing next to my better-looking BFF won't hear my bum squeeeeeeeeak or see the green cloud emanating from my NetherRegions ..."

You don't think this? What are YOUR big plans tonight, then, HUH? Maybe closer to mine? Working until your eyes burn and then checking on the cat who has had her girlie bits removed and is likely working very hard to remove the Cone of Shame? Then pick up one child from work and holler at another to stop eating so many marshmallows because it will give him worms and then kindly ask the Most Sensitive Child if his soccer gear is tidied and then realize that we are STILL out of milk because I'm apparently the only person in the house who realizes that they sell NEW jugs of milk at the grocery store and oh yeah while you're there coffee toilet paper and bread would be great too thanks.

Your night is the same? WE'RE LIKE TWINS.

(Note to you partying-because-I-have-a-life types: Always have GasX or Beano in your purse/wallet. Forget a condom. Well, take that too, but farts are terrible on dates. Like, so gross. Save the farts for when you're living together.)

Because it's Friday--and IN CASE YOU HAVEN'T BEEN PAYING ATTENTION, Must Love Otters, a new romantic comedy from Eliza Gordon (read: me + Husband) will be coming out soon. October 29. Blabbity-blah-blah, scroll down for the post and be sure to like EG on FB ("like" link in the sidebar) and visit her website for the 411. THE REAL POINT of today is Friday Funnies. And I'm not even vacuuming yet! That will happen sometime tomorrow, so I will take notes in case something really earth-shattering occurs to me while chasing dust bunnies. (How do they grow so BIG in just a week? Bastards are eating my Girl Guide cookies, aren't they ... I KNEW IT.) But Saturday chores are never really full of anything too mind-blowing. Usually it just involves a lot of cussing and me feeling sorry for myself that my childhood was one long chore list and that I should probably re-up my therapy membership so someone other than the real estate guy who knocks on the door regularly and the lady at the gas station can listen to my woes. #firstworldproblems

Onward!

Another installment from Convos With My Two-Year-Old!

(This one should be Season 3, Episode 2.)

******

In case you missed it, a fact that I have LONG known to be true has been proven via the use of rats. Oreos are as addictive as cocaine. Duhhhhh!

From Today Health:

Oreos are as addictive as cocaine, at least for lab rats, and just like us, they like the creamy center best.

Eating the sugary treats activates more neurons in the brain’s “pleasure center” than drugs such as cocaine, the team at Connecticut College found.

“Our research supports the theory that high-fat/ high-sugar foods stimulate the brain in the same way that drugs do,” neuroscience assistant professor Joseph Schroeder says. “That may be one reason people have trouble staying away from them and it may be contributing to the obesity epidemic.”

Schroeder’s neuroscience students put hungry rats into a maze. On one side went rice cakes. “Just like humans, rats don’t seem to get much pleasure out of eating them,” Schroeder said. On the other side went Oreos.

Oh, and just like most people - the rats eat the creamy center first.

 Now you know. #vindicated

******

My favorite Some Ecards for this week (I love these dumb things):

This one ESPECIALLY because Husband has a Man Cold and OOOOOOMG, seriously. I am so bored without anyone to make FUN of. (Yes. It is all about me. I am one of those, "Omigod, you have a cold? Wah for you! Have I reminded you today that I pushed a watermelon out of my vagina FOUR TIMES? Whatever, Sneezy." God. Poor Husband. You guys should send him some hockey tickets or a hotter wife or something.)

You know who you are.

This comes up. A lot, actually. "Ohhhh, so do you make money doing that?" No. Not really. Sometimes. I'm mostly in it for the torture.

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My favorite word-related giggle this week:

 

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HOBBIT NERDS!!!

(Purists need not apply because you guys are so busy arguing about all the changes Peter Jackson et al made to the original story but SSSHHHHH because we likes it, Precious.)

FIFTY-SIX DAYS.

Thorin Oakenshield + Fili + Kili = WINNING

I'm good with that.

 

 ******

And to finish out the week, MORE STUFF ABOUT OTTERS! Meet Otter 501. PBS's Nature ran a special about her this week. Check your PBS station or OnDemand service provider if you missed it (or go to YouTube--there are lots of videos about 501!). I am so happy to report that this orphaned newborn sea otter had a successful rehabilitation and release into the wild off the shores of Monterey, California, and is now a mom herself!

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I hope your weekend is filled with all that makes you happy and none of the stuff that turns you into a homicidal jerkface. Let me know how it goes.

(And don't forget to visit Eliza Gordon and check out Must Love Otters. Okay! I'm done! Promise.)

Xs and Os, lovelies ...

Must Love Otters -- Because They Are Adorable!

Soooooo ...

I wrote a book that was available and then it wasn't available and then it found a new home and now it's undergoing some major remodeling. (Yes. Still. It's a process.) Some of you are still waiting on that book to reappear, all decked out in her pretty new wallpaper and crown molding and custom tile work, and for THAT, I thank you SO MUCH. When she's all done? She's gonna "shine like the top of the Chrysler Building!" Pretty sure I stole that from Miss Hannigan (did I?), but whatever.

As it stands, I'm still trying to put Sleight's pieces back in the right order. Next time, someone remind me that writing stories with even the slightest brushstroke of fantasy is for smart people. I don't know if I am a smart people. Don't tell my editor or agent I said that. I think they might still think I'm sorta smart. Or at least of average intelligence. This week, I have not heard the whispers of intelligence. Only that mean voice that says GET A REAL JOB YOU BONEHEAD.

Although editing is a real job. Ask my lovely clients. I donate blood every time I edit a manuscript. Well, metaphorically speaking. I mean, I don't go *into* Canadian Blood Services and offer a vein because if I did that, I'd totally pass out and would likely vomit on the way down and then aspirate through my nose and possibly choke to death, and that is WAY not as romantic as being a writer who, drunk on whiskey and the tears soaking into her inky manuscript, choked to death on her own genius.

Not as romantic as that at all.

SO. THE POINT HERE (I've mentioned that my ex-husband used to get SO mad at me for digressing, didn't I? God, he was so mean):

My personality has split. There's Jenn Sommersby (Jenn Sy to my Facebook minions), and now, there is Eliza Gordon. My pen name. 

But why a pen name, Jenn? And why not keep it a mysterious secret like J. K. Rowling and Nora Roberts and a bunch of other folks? Because although THIS is the bio you get on her profile ...

Eliza Gordon is a forgetful girl who relies on Post-It notes and cellphone alarms to get her through the day. An avid eater of cookies, she can be found with her hand in the jar when not in her cubicle. A purveyor of fictions, Eliza is confident that the life she lives in merely the imaginings of someone else’s hand, poured from a dull pencil on cafe napkins, and that she is simply an understudy, waiting for her turn to take the stage. She has excellent taste in books, shoes, and friends, and questionable sanity in the realm of love. Best leave that one alone.

The REAL Eliza is actually two people: myself and my husband. We are co-writing fictions of fun and fancy. Our first project, Must Love Otters, is thus:

Sarah Hansen of Okay Creations, did this awesome cover. She's chocolately goodness.

A romance of comedic proportions:

Hollie Porter is the chairwoman of Generation Disillusioned: at twenty-five years old, she’s saddled with a job she hates, a boyfriend who’s all wrong for her, and a vexing inability to say no. She’s already near her breaking point, so when one caller too many kicks the bucket during Hollie’s 911 shift, she cashes in the Sweethearts’ Spa & Stay gift certificate from her dad and heads to Revelation Cove, British Columbia. One caveat: she’s going solo. Any sweethearts will have to be found on site.

Hollie hopes to find her beloved otters in the wilds of the Great White North, but instead she’s providing comic relief for staff and guests alike. Even Concierge Ryan, a former NHL star with bad knees and broken dreams, can’t stop her from stumbling from one (mis)adventure to another. Just when Hollie starts to think that a change of venue doesn’t mean a change in circumstances, the island works its charm and she starts to think she might have found the rejuvenation she so desperately desires. But then an uninvited guest crashes the party, forcing her to step out of the discomfort zone where she dwells and save the day … and maybe even herself in the process.

THIS IS SO COOL, RIGHT?

I know! I'm sorta freaking out myself! Otters will be available way sooner than I ever imagined, as in THIRTEEN DAYS from now -- O.M.G.! When the marketing people said I could make it available, like, in 2013, I had to ask them to repeat themselves. "Really? We can do that?"

It will be available from West 26th Street Press, a new imprint from Writers House (the agency who reps me), starting with 

preorders Amazon and iBookstore on October 22, 

and for sale at all major distributors on October 29.

A paperback version will be available in November. Eliza and I will be sure to post links accordingly so those who like to have books made out of paper (like me ... er, and Eliza ... dude, this is getting weird now ...) can place their magical order.

What can I do in the meantime, Jenn/Eliza, while I wait the thirteen days for this mighty morsel of madness to come available?

Start here:   

You can like Eliza's Facebook page.  

You can follow Eliza on Twitter.

You can visit ElizaGordon.com.

You can sign up for a review copy with the handy-dandy review form found via this page. Scroll down to the words "Very Fancy Google Form," answer a few questions, and poof!

Note: I totally know this is short notice to ask for reviews, so I'm absolutely NOT requesting that you post a review on the 29th. That's just silly. I know you kids have lives and editorial calendars. An estimated date you might have availability would be so appreciated!

And there will be e-books only this time around. Mailing paperback books from Canada? 'Tis insanely pricey.

Finally, feel free to send your favorite recipes (we can feature them on Eliza's blog!) because I am going to require A LOT OF COOKIES in the next little while. House Elf, get on that, would you?

Yay! Books! I heart your faces for stopping in for a chat. You brought whisky, right?

Xs and Os, lovelies ...

Friday Funnies ... on Saturday

I MISSED FRIDAY FUNNIES!

Yesterday was ridiculous in the Busy Department, so I forgot to stop and giggle. I am AGAIN cleaning the house this day--Saturday, otherwise known as the Stupid Day When We Clean the Stupid House But Be Glad You HAVE a House Because It Could Be Worse. (Mommy Voldemort is always in my head. MAKE HER STOP.)

You know the saying, "I cried because I had no shoes until I met the man who had no feet"? WELL, I have an answer to that: "I cried because I had no shoes until I met the man who had no feet AND he had shoes, nice ones, so I bonked him over the head and stole his shoes because, hell, he wasn't gonna need 'em."

Dude, I so wouldn't do that. BUT THIS IS WHAT HAPPENS when I have to vacuum. My brain gets really, really mad, and then it starts thinking dark thoughts, like, what if I *didn't* move the couches to suck up the dust bunnies, or what if I *didn't* vacuum under the beds this week ... WOULD ANYONE KNOW? Probably. It's like wearing ugly underwear with that stretched-out maternity bra you really should get rid of because you haven't nursed a baby in at least eight years and finding yourself unconscious in the laundry soap/cleaning aisle because some jerkoff who's pissed that his store isn't allowed to go union "accidentally" mixed ammonia and bleach so now half the store is convulsing, and on the way down to kiss the dirty tile floor, you smacked your head on the shelf holding Liquid PlumR and now you're unconscious so long that you don't even see that STUD of an EMT leaning over you saying, "Miss? Miss?" (even though he's probably saying, "Ma'am? Ma'am?") and when you FINALLY get to the hospital and wake up to the sound of the guy next to you vomiting and reeking of Sterno, your clothes are GONE and you realize that they have seen your Saturday granny-panties and that stretched out nursing bra.

I really need to go bra shopping.

ANYWAY, here are some things that struck my fancy this week. (Just don't tell Mommy Voldemort that I'm not vacuuming under the beds. SHE IS SO MEAN.)

Last week, I TOTALLY FORGOT to share the latest installment--season two, episode two--from Convos with My 2-Year-Old (although Coco turned three, so yeah ... now I'm just confused ... STILL AWESOME, though!).

*****

From ThinkGeek on Facebook: They shared this image--but Helm's Deep is only the beginning. Check out this guy's Flickr feed for more!

Have I mentioned in the last hour HOW MUCH I LOVE LORD OF THE RINGS? Oh. Right. I did.

*****

If you know me at all, you know I sort of have a thing for William Shakespeare. Especially when he was rude. Buzzfeed offered us THIS this week: 17 Shakespearean Insults to Use in Everyday Life. Take that, butter face.

I chose the Titus quote. OF COURSE I did. Pie, anyone?

*****

 SPEAKING OF CATS, it's hockey season!!!! Nuit is an avid Canucks fan. She is our orcat. (Get it? Orca + cat? I KNOW SO CLEVER RIGHT??? That joke is not original. I stole it. *hangs head*)

Like HELL I hooked him! That was a clean hit! *drops gloves*

Smug Nuit is smug.

*****

And just because I friggin' love Portland ... I give you, The Unicycling Bagpipe-Playing Darth Vader. Keep Portland Weird! Video HERE via Wimp.com.

Find the Unipiper: http://theunipiper.com/.

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HAPPY THANKSGIVING TO MY CANADIAN COMRADES!!!

Yes, Canada has Thanksgiving. On a Monday. I know, it's weird. But Canada celebrated T'giving 43 years before America did, so there's that.

 
Xs and Os, lovelies ... 

P.S. If you haven't liked Eliza Gordon ^^^^^^^^ up there in the sidebar (see the Facebook LIKE button?), go liketh her. She is me. I am her. We are one. Actually, we are two, but WHATEVER. Book news coming next week. ;)