It rubs the lotion on its skin...

I had an interesting dialogue with a co-worker today. This fits within a greater trend…

Feminine women always want to fix me.

I’ve said it before—I am the world’s worst girl. My shoes never match my outfit, the idea of seeing the new Nicholas Sparks movie makes me kind of nauseas, I have skimpy eye lashes, usually have mascara smears under my already-dark-circled eyes, and lose earrings like it is a profession. Something in estrogen-enhanced people responds to me like an eight year old to a Barbie—let’s play dress up and get her a Ken.

So my co-worker, who is totally sweet and very good at being a girl, was telling me about spray tanning. She outlined in detail how, when you arrive at the tanning place, you will be given lotion to put on certain areas where you might streak, etc. I listened intently, and when she finally finished explaining, I simply said “it rubs the lotion on its skin or it gets the hose again.”

She didn’t get it. In fact, she looked at me as though I was Jame Gumb. I was amused. Then again, I’ve always been quite adept at amusing myself. But then, I started to get very, very concerned.

These are the people that nod and get that “ah-HA” look when I tell them I am a writer. I hear it now “Yes, she is weird, but, you know, she is a writer.” But, therein lies the terror.

I watched this absolutely awkward interview with Augusten Burroughs once. The blue-eyed boy from the Chinese restaurant introduced me to his work, and I must say, his writing is intriguing. However, this interview was a train wreck. Burroughs was clearly nervous, and the façade of the absolute confidence his written voice holds just crumbled.

Dude. That. Is. Me.

Already, I have a list of names of people who have ordered autographed copies of the book. I know I’ve said it before, but all I think when people say that is “WHY?” I can’t match my shoes to my outfit. I can recite the movie Aliens from start to finish, but never know where my car keys are. It’s me. I am the train wreck. And here I am, publishing this book and the whole train wreck behind it.

I am absolutely adept at laughing at myself—I rather enjoy it. And I do know that all of this worry is hinged upon the book being a success and the people who own the limelight wanting me in it. I have to admit it, though… I want success. I want this book to be a success.

But wow… it rubs the lotion on its skin??? I bet you all can’t wait for me to spring that one on Matt Lauer.