Jen Lancaster Famous Quotes
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I can clean my own house. Now, maybe a couple of times a year we have a cleaning crew come in before we have a party, but otherwise, I'm able to maintain it myself.
I had been terrified of Halloween my entire adult life. Loved it as a kid, but the minute I got out of college, there were little kids at my door demanding candy, which, No. 1, I couldn't afford, and, No. 2, if I had candy, it would be mine.
No one wants to friend or follow covert info about Pakistan's nuclear policy.
As I examine my life through this book, I can't help but wonder if my mother was right. Maybe I really was what I ate. And maybe if she'd let me eat a little more sugar, I'd have come out sweeter.
Here's a bit of Discovery Channel for you - apples don't last forever. They can stay fresh for a long time, especially when refrigerated, but definitely not from December into the month of March.
I don't want to limit myself as a writer. Tastes change, and I want to keep my eye on the future.
If I had kids, I'd probably be way over-protective, researching everything they begged to see to make sure the content was appropriate.
I realized I couldn't have one foot in the fiction world and one foot in the nonfiction world, which is why 'Here I Go Again' is so not me. I didn't graduate from high school in the '90s, I never listened to metal music, and I don't time travel.
At my age, I feel like I'm halfway to the finish line and life's too short to do what I'm sure to hate.
I learned to speak Italian, somewhat. Definitely enough to get around in Italy. My grandfather always used to swear at my grandmother in Italian.
Nothing gives me greater pleasure than to say yes, only to have my plans fall through at the last minute and I can take off my regular-people clothes and redon my paint-splattered yoga pants.
Really? If I could hate my trainer? That would be ideal. I'd prefer to despise this person with the fire of ten thousand suns. So when I walk - nay, crawl - out of here at the end of my workouts, I want to lull myself to sleep by picturing my very talented and inspirational trainer getting hit by a bus. A bus that I am driving.
Although they're doing manual labor, they're both wearing tailored slacks and dressy leather shoes, which
Photo developers everywhere are likely the reason my entire generation didn't devolve into total chaos.
The first 'Wii Fit' games I tried were the slalom and ski jumping. I believe my spectacular failures here had more to do with the board resting on thick carpet than my shoddy balance.
Just as I got older, I think I've become more and more conservative.
Plaid is always cute and always will be. But only on the bottom. At the top, it makes you look like a farmer.
Everyone who reads me is someone I'd like to hang out with.
I've determined the ideal job for me is one where I can write clever essays about my life and my employer will give me enough money not only to live a comfortable existence, but also to buy many, many new pairs of shoes.
My whole life I've harbored a resentment toward those who could ride no-handed. To this day, I can't even sit on an exercise bike without clinging to the handlebars with a serious G.I.-Joe- kung-fu grip. Every time I see someone on the road, all smug and well-balanced, using their cell phone and gesturing while they talk and ride, I secretly want to bash them with my car door. It's
Milk, powdered heavy cream, and powdered butter." "Didn't know a lot of these products existed,
I can't believe anyone would voluntarily run 26 miles. Sometimes I sit on the couch cross-legged because I don't feel like walking to the bathroom.
I used to have to hunt for hard-boiled eggs when I was a kid. What was the point of that? Was I supposed to be, 'Yay! I found them! Egg-salad sandwiches for everyone!' I was seven! I wanted chocolate, not bioavailable protein.
Maybe I've moved to the dark side, but it's clean and nice and we never run out of toilet paper.
Now with social media, people essentially come into my living room, my virtual living room, and tell me everything that is wrong with me.
Point? Maybe you aren't a Carrie or a Samantha or a Charlotte or a Miranda.
Maybe you're just you.
Some people are destined to be deep thinkers. I am not one of those people.
Despite my best efforts, I'm not quite perfect. Let's just say I'm like one of those Hopi blankets where they leave a tiny flaw so as to not affront the Lord.
I stuff another handful of Raisinets in my mouth. What gets me is the 'pretty face' bit. 'Cause I won't mind being reminded I'm fat as long as you water it down first. Why not say, Hey I'm going to insult you, but first I will congratulate your fortunate genetics and appropriate appliclation of Bobbi Brown cosmetics to prevent you from hitting me. Sh*t; I kind of prefer being called a 'fat bitch.' At least it doesn't pull any punches.
Forgive the cliche, but friends are truly the family you choose.
I've always wanted to take a swim wherever it is they snap those screensaver photos - Fiji? Bora Bora? The Maldives? - and sleep in a hotel room that's more of a hut built on a dock over the water. After reading The No. 1 Ladies' Detective Agency, I'm dying to see the sun set in Botswana. I want to visit Indian temples and volunteer at an elephant sanctuary.
This quick foray onto the toilet has been no different an endeavor than any other time I've used the restroom in my adult life. Try then to imagine my surprise when instead of the waste going down the u-bend like the thousands of times previous, the bowl's contents go not gentle into that good night.
Instead, they shoot directly up at me ... at approximately 80 miles an hour.
As I leap backward, slamming into the glass shower door, the only thought going through my now-banged head is, When did I eat corn?
Pretty in Plaid: A Life, a Witch, and a Wardrobe, or, the Wonder Years Before the Condescending, Egomanical, Self-Centered Smart-Ass Phase
I'm busy sorting through our new collection of rhinestone jewelry. Should anyone be in the market for sparkly accessories the size of a hubcap, this is the place to get them. Earlier today, a customer picked up one of the enormous chandelier-style offerings and asked, 'Do those be genuine rhimestones?'
I couldn't even begin to explain everything that was wrong with her sentence, so I simply replied, 'Yes. They do be genuine.
I'm such a fangirl when it comes to other writers. I read 250 books a year, and I'm always talking up books by other authors.
But how come no one says anything to my face? I do dozens of events per year and I've met thousands of readers, and every single person I've ever encountered has been lovely. Why is that, I wonder? Am I more charming in person, or is it that face-to-face blunt-force-trauma honesty requires a modicum of courage?
Life is unfair and there are winners and losers, regardless of how much overprotective parents attempt to shield their offspring from reality.
I'm not one of those folks who have to face death to live life. I
When she gets rattled, the South really comes out. Once when Daddy tried to cancel our country club membership because he said the dues were too high, she went from zero to Atlanta burning in zero point five seconds.
If I were a lesbian and had a thing for narcissistic ex-sorority girls? I'd totally do me.
Bitter is the New Black: Confessions of a Condescending, Egomaniacal, Self-Centered Smart-Ass, or Why You Should Never Carry a Prada Bag to the Unemployment Office: A Memoir
I'm a humor writer, so I don't always present myself in the best light.
I still believe in the Holy Trinity, except now it's Target, Trader Joe's, and IKEA.
When it comes to matters of pro sports, politics or palate, disparate sides claim their party, team and cola to be superior.
Like it. And, hey, why do I have so much sand in my crotch? Okay,
If you're anorexic, you're doing it wrong."
I swat him with a dish towel. "No, no, I mean anorexics look in the mirror, and even if they're eighty pounds, they still see a fat girl. I'm a hundred pounds heavier than I was in high school, my veins are full of creme fraiche, and yet I look in the mirror, take in the hair and makeup, and think, Damn, baby, you fiiine.
With the mere click of a mouse, I can be put in my place but good via Facebook, Twitter, Instagram, Tumblr, Pinterest, or Google+, just to name a few. (But not MySpace, which has been a ghost town since 2008. I hope Tom's okay.)
I would rather receive a Pap smear from Captain Hook than venture out in New Year's Eve.
Butterflies are a lot like rainbows: They're phenomenally beautiful in real life, yet no graphic representation can do them justice; ergo, it's best to forgo.
Beauty pageants, you're only judged once. Sorority rush, you have to go through 20 parties.
You know how it's almost impossible for kids to not say what they think? That's me. I have to make the conscious effort to be situationally appropriate.
In other words? The bitch had it coming.
And I am that bitch.
I mean, six years ago my electricity's being cut off and my car's getting repossessed and I'm being evicted from my apartment, and now I'm all Yeah, havin' dinner with Rudy in the Hamptons, what of it?
Can I tell you something about Seattle? Everyone there is a filthy liar. They're all, 'Don't move to Seattle - it's so rainy!' And yet every time I've been there, a tiny amount of rain falls before the whole sky explodes into rainbows and sunlight. Seattleites mean to hog up all the stunning vistas and good coffee and flowering bushes for themselves. Bet on it.
I have to pause the video while I corral the dogs in the other room. They howl in protest, and I tell them they are harshing my mellow and Yogi Beef Jerky's going to be pissed.
Such a Pretty Fat: One Narcissist's Quest To Discover if Her Life Makes Her Ass Look Big, Or Why Pie is Not The Answer
I began writing fiction when I started running out of material in my own life.
Amen,' I exclaim, accidentally spitting out a Raisinet. I pick up the chocolate with a Kleenex and stuff it in my purse. Ten bucks says a month from now I'll have forgotten about it and will finally have said heart attack when I assume a rat shat in there.
In Atlas Shrugged, Ayn Rand stated that there's no such thing as real altruism. She espoused the principle of ethical egotism, meaning that a person's moral obligation is to promote their own welfare.
Translation?
I still have the musical sensibilities of a teenage girl and I kind of want to see a shitty pop concert in the guise of doing something nice for my pal's kid, so I need to find a way to make it happen.
You know what? We need a recession in this country, because that would finally weed out all the subnormal, underdeveloped, stupefied, puerile people in this workforce.
Quinn Cummings is a master story-teller and her book is nothing short of delightful. Her insights into topics like celebrity, parenting, and cats with a taste for homicide are pithy and uproarious and not to be missed. Notes from the Underwire is charming, hilarious, and just snarky enough to be ultimately satisfying.
When did the cell phone become a license to be rude? And why must I be subjected to your personal conversations?
Dessert is my reward for having met my goals during the day. Really, dessert is an event rather than a specific item.
When you think about a drill sergeant, a drill sergeant expects you to perform your best, and if you don't, they're going to stay on you until you do.
I learned to glitter the pumpkins for Halloween not because I went into it thinking, 'I'm going to glitter some pumpkins!' No. I bought all of these big, cold, slimy, disgusting pumpkins and tried to carve them, and it was gross, so I had to find something else to do with them. Glitter was life-changing.
Writing was something I always liked, but it wasn't a career until I was laid off from my executive position in my 30s. I started a website because I was bored, unemployed and angry.
Humor's an excellent way to make a point more palatable and/or relatable.
I didn't understand the Kindle's true value until I finished an e-book on the beach. In sixty seconds - and without benefit of pants - I had brand-new reading material at my fingertips.
If you're in the midst of a midlife crisis, you could buy a convertible, have an affair, or upgrade your cup size. But you'll probably be happiest if you save a dog's life.
We all know exactly what we love, and woe is you if you're on the other side.
Fletch then kisses me on the forehead before opening the cabinet under the coffeemaker to grab placemats and napkins. Retrieving these items is his job because I kind of don't like to bend. I also refuse to carry anything heavier than my purse.
But ever since I made the decision to drop a few pounds-way less easy than it sounds, by the way-I've become obsessed with my size and in so doing I've inadvertently allowed my inner critic to have a voice. And you know what? She's a bitch. Like now when I see my underpants in the laundry, I no longer think Soft! Cotton! Sensible! Instead I hear her say Damn, girl, these panties be huge.
You think you're so cool just because you can walk!
In real life, I tend to yell at people a lot. Not because I'm bossy or mean, but because I'm frustrated.
No one gives out Congratulations on Not Being a Douche-Canoe medals, because good behavior is part of the social contract.
Hell hath no fury like a middle-aged woman in a fuzzy pink robe, hopped up on a winning combination of allergy medicine, Alias reruns, and anger.
I didn't want to turn into Martha Stewart. I wanted to turn into a more organized, more gracious me. And that truly has happened.
I believe that I have such a vanilla life.
I'm noticing a lot of the big bloggers who've posted about politics are experiencing an ugly backlash. Readers are angry because they went to the bloggers' sites for a laugh, not a lecture. Again, it's a question of being appropriate for the audience.
As I paddle along, I slowly become aware that it's been fear keeping me out of this pool for so many years. I never came here before because I was afraid I'd make a fool of myself by not having the endurance to complete a lap. The swimming wasn't what scared me; failure was. My fear locked me in a state of arrested development for so many years. Fear kept me from tackling my weight, which I understand has simply been symptomatic of my greater fear, growing up. I glide down the lane on my back and reflect on how good I feel right now. It's not because I've lost more than thirty pounds. I feel incredible because I've stopped being afraid.
I tried, it was hard, I quit, the end. Story of my life.
I've always feared growing older because I thought I'd run out of interests, but what this project has taught me is that I've barely scratched the surface of what I could try next.
(At a health and fitness fair)
Though normally superconfident, I am not prepared for the judgmental stares of the ultrafit. They don't know me and have no idea of my prowess in the boardroom. They're unfamiliar with my shoe collection and unaware that I live in the Dot-Com Palace. And they didn't notice me pulling up in the Caddy. All they can see is how much space I occupy.
With each step I take, I feel cellulite blossoming on my arms, my stomach, my calves. Stop it! I think my chin just multiplied and my thighs inflated. No! Deflate! Deflate! And I'm pretty sure I can see my own ass out of the corner of my eye. Gah! Cut it out!! Am I imagining things, or do my footsteps sound like those of the giant who stomped through the city in the beginning of Underdog? And how did I go from aging-but-still-kind-of-hot ex-sorority girl to horrific, stompy cartoon monster in less than an hour?
My sleek and sexy python sandals have morphed into cloven hooves by the time I reach the line for the race packet. While I wait, the air is abuzz with tales of other marathons while many sets of eyes cut in my direction. Eventually an asshat in a JUST DO IT T-shirt asks me, "How's your training going?
Everyday I feel more and more like a full-fledged adult. Even though it was (metaphorically) only yesterday I was sloshing in the door at four a.m. after Dollar Beer Night, I find myself with a mortgage, four types of insurance, and a non-laundry-quarter-based retirement fund.
Reality television gave me an amazing feeling of moral and intellectual superiority without actually requiring any effort past moving the dogs to find the remote.
As a reader, I notice political views regardless of whether or not the book is fiction. What annoys me is when said views do nothing to advance the narrative.
If I may, I'd like to take a moment to praise Mark Zuckerberg's parents for not procreating sooner. Praise be to all that is holy that Facebook didn't exist when I was that age and the Internet then was but a Usenet group for Star Trek fans. I feel like the luckiest person in the world to have grown up when cameras used actual film because the only thing that stood between infamy and me was the clerk who developed photos at Walgreens. Thank God for him.
If I were to run for president, then people would debate the pros and cons of what's wrong with me in increasingly aggressive 140 character tweets and Facebook status updates, and, inevitably, everyone would end up fighting.
You want to change? Lose the bitch. Be nicer to people. Stop telling them to "bite you" and threatening to kick them until they're dead.
Unless 'Wii Fit' stops acting like a mean girl, it's over between us forever.
I never sleep on the plane. I have to be awake and using my mind power to keep it in the air
Asking me to choose between a traditional book and a Kindle is like asking me which of my dogs I love most.
Cost to clean deeply soiled rugs: $200.
Cost to replace shiny, black, stack-heeled, pilgrim-toed boots: $185.
Cost to fix every single delicious table and chair leg in the house: $490.
Life with two shelter dogs: fucking priceless.
There's nothing fun about stuff like estate planning, getting mammograms, or talking to a guy about long term disability insurance, but do it anyway. Trust me, the stress of not having done the above is prematurely aging.
eBay is a fine place to unload your Prada bag when you're in a desperate situation and it's exactly what the doctor ordered when searching for a specific item, say an authentic 1965 edition of the game Mystery Date. eBay is a very, very bad place to go if you're a hypercompetitive asshole with a penchant for spite bidding.
I am going to embarrass myself. I have accepted that fact, and that's just how it's going to be.
No matter how happy anyone is with their choices, I believe it's human nature to wonder about the path not taken.
Although I get a lot of specialty services like wraps, scrubs, and
mustache removal, my favorite is the simple manicure/pedicure. They work on your hands and feet at the same time while you sit in a vibrating chair. I call it the sorority girls version of a threesome.
If forced to choose between a book and a Kindle, I'd opt for the comfort and ease of bound pages. I mean, I can't break a book if I drop it on a cement floor.
Remember when Japan was cool? We used to run around with 'Mr. Roboto' on our Walkmans, 'The Karate Kid' in our Betamaxes and wore T-shirts embossed with the characters for 'storm sewer' and 'dishwasher.'
The best thing about being 45 is not taking myself so seriously. Do I miss the package I came in at 25? I do. Gravity is no one's friend. Yet the perspective I've gained is so worth the wear and tear. What would have mortified me at 25 is now simply fodder for a funny, relatable story. Also? I was a waitress at 25, and now I'm an author. Forty-five is definitely better.
I'm the person who says every single thing she thinks, sometimes to others' amusement, and almost always to my detriment.
This way, when I do have something like special-occasion engagement cake, I can enjoy the whole damn thing without a twinge of remorse. I