(the making of) Waiting for Karl Rove

Who’d have thought a bunch of crazy e-mails would turn into a book?

Surely not I.

Okay, I lied. It was all a part of my Sixteen Step Master Plan to Take Over the Universe…(along with Kat Nove, my sidekick).

Here we are, about to publish Waiting for Karl Rove (already available on Smashwords and soon to be available on Amazon.com for Kindle) and I decided to take a trip down memory lane and fondly remember how it all started…

(I will say, preparing manuscripts for e-book format is a slow, painful walk through hell and whoever invented the process should get a pick-axe through the temporal lobe. There’s simply got to be an easier, more effective way to get something to print on an e-reader and STILL not screw the formatting six ways from Sunday if you make any of a number of tiny errors. Seriously - Bill Gates, get right on that, will ya?)

The whole thing started when a writer friend told Kat and I we’d be perfect co-writers. So, first we thought about something like “My Day Sucked Bigger Balls Than Yours Because…” and then we’d just compile our saved e-mails and have ourselves a bestseller.

At some point, however, we decided an actual plot might be nice. Sometime later I said, “Hey, what about if we write ourselves into the story - and it’s a road trip book about a menopausal woman and her erratic sidekick who are on a mission to wrestle an apology from Karl Rove by any means necessary?”

Kat sent an e-mail that went something like this:

LMFAO AHAHAHAHAHAHHAHAHAHAH

And, we were off...

JENI: Holy *bleep*-a-Doodle!

That's a lot of e-mails. If even a third of them are remotely interesting, we've already written a book. Well, that's assuming anyone else finds us even half as funny as we do each other. But let’s not use any that make me sound stupid... or fat. I want people to think I'm sublimely intelligent and wasting away at 99 pounds--until we end up on David Letterman.

Oh, screw it. We’ll use it all. ;) On to greatness - or infamy, whichever comes first

KAT: Hmmm...I wonder which agent will call me first as I'm being interviewed by Wolf Blitzer.

"Well, Wolfie...may I call you Wolfie? I always knew she was a total nutjob because anyone with access to that many dildos and boob lifters has to have access to guns, right? So the truth is, when she demanded I write Waiting For Karl Rove with her, I was too scared not to. Is Blitzer a Nazi name?"

Then I’ll stop in and see Geraldo…

“Nice to meet you Geraldo. So this is the Fox News Studio? Frankly, I thought it would smell much worse in here. So kind of you to interview me after Jeni Decker's treatment of you in WFKR - which, by the way, was NOT my idea. I can tell you the exact day she snapped if you're interested in the truth. You are? Hmmm...surprising. It was the day she gave Rick Sanchez the Geraldo treatment via song parody. Yeah, it drove her bat-shit crazy. Uh...I can't say batshit on Fox News? You're kidding right? I assumed bat-shit was okay, what with the two most obscene words in the English language having their own show. Snap, Geraldo. I thought you'd get the joke seeing as how Puerto Ricans usually have a better sense of humor than old white people. The two most obscene words are (drum roll) Glenn Beck. Now, let's talk about me.”

Oh, and Jeni - screw Letterman…I'm shooting for The Daily Show. I'd ignore my menopausal tendencies to sit next to short little Jon Stewart and fantasize about his circumcised Jewish penis. I'm certain it must be massive. Har!

JENI: While I, myself, don't care to ponder the length and or girth of Jon Stewart's penis, circumcised or otherwise, I'd be happy to genuflect before his greatness, with you by my side. Are you saving all this, because if you're counting on me to do it, your screwed. It's bad enough I'm having to spell check things before clicking send.

KAT:

TO OUR READERS : Jeni is referring to compiling a book from our unorganized e-mails. Thank you for your attention and for your money.

Kat Nove

JENI: We accept checks, money orders, and the occasional bartering agreement, in the form of sex. ;) Expect to be de-loused prior to engagement, and it's probably advisable to BYOB.

KAT: Do to my current menopausal state, Jeni will be providing the sex, unless your check or money order is taped to Jon Stewart's circumcised penis, in which case I'll suck it right off and deposit it into my bank account.

JENI: Sure, sure. Leave me the dirty work. Ah, well. I suppose it'll be my penance for blatantly riding your pantyhose to literary success. Though that shouldn't surprise you. I have no issue exploiting the two autistic children I squeezed out of my uterus for literary benefit, so why should you be any different?

KAT: You idiot! I'm riding your coattails. And now I'm walking over to the skateboard park to find the skater who said he'd buy a copy of Global Swarming. That *bleep*er better be there with the cash, I need a pack of cigs.

JENI: Well, that's just dandy. Looks like we've got the menopausal leading the morbidly obese. Look out world, here we come.

KAT: Uh, I had to pee before I went to shake down the skater dude and made the mistake of looking at your emails again! Okay, now I'm off to a drug...I mean book deal.

JENI: BTW, Mitch thinks a better title for Engulfed would be: Where's My *Bleep*ing Bliss? Do you think dropping the f-bomb in the title would put agents off?

KAT: I guarantee they would make you change it to Where's My Freaking Bliss? I like your original title better, but that's probably because David Sedaris and I are such good friends. Oh! And when you respond, maybe you should reply using what you're responding to. That way we won't have to try to figure it out later.

JENI: Oh! so already you want me to make your life easier? What's next? Shall I draw you a bath? You're SO going to hate me before this is all over. And, where is the world heading that a writer can't use the word *bleep* at their leisure? I'm not sure I want to be a part of that world... Oh, yeah. How is Mr. Sedaris, anyway? Let him know I'm gunning for him - though I could be persuaded to cease and desist all future writing endeavors if he and Hugh found it in their hearts to adopt me. I think I'd have turned out better, all things considered, if a gay couple had been my parents.

KAT: Draw me a bath? Har! Quit imagining me naked, you pervert. Besides, in my world, bathtubs are not safe for baths. It's showers only, baby. Otherwise something worse than a yeast infection would be crawling up my who-ha.

JENI: I'm sorry, my dear, but being that it's almost 2010 and a free country (at least until the Republicans crawl back into power) I am free to imagine anyone I wish naked. Don't get all excited - there's quite a list in front of you, including but not limited to Rachel Maddow, Andre Braugher, Hugh Laurie, Suzanne Malveaux (CNN) and Newt Gingrich... (that last one, merely as a curiosity under the sneaking suspicion that something's gone horribly awry there, physically, and I'd like to get to the bottom of it...) And, clearly you're under the mistaken assumption that I'm not 'stoo-pid' as Mitch says...

KAT: Seeing Newt Gingrich falls under my 100 million tax free dollars umbrella, wherein for said amount I'll have sex with anyone on the planet of legal age, regardless of gender, religion and/or political party affiliation as long as most of them are gagged with duct tape, hosed down with disinfectant, the lights are off and nobody ever informs me I just *bleep*ed Ann Coulter.

Months later…

KAT: Last night I went to a college production of The Foreigner and laughed my fat ass off, which is a good thing because the cheap-ass seats in that dinky theatre are like sitting on a turned-on chainsaw (and I don't mean a chainsaw that is so aroused by my asshole that it wants to return the favor) I mean a chainsaw that wants to rip out my asshole, make me eat it and then rip it out again. Then I came home to a paranoid Richard who has finally snapped that I'm writing down his every word and sending it to you. He told me to tell you he'd like to apologize for his inappropriate remarks. More later on his idea to start a gang (as in Bloods and Crips) of pink-curler wearing, rubber dishwashing glove prancers.

So, where are we at on the next WFKR chapter? What am I supposed to be writing next? Help me get the order straight. We go to casino and we're wearing our Mardi Gras masks. We start riot and Conga line and run out being chased by security. Right?

JENI: Yes, that's your part. You can end inside wherever we are and do your usual RUN line because mine takes up with us actually running down the street.

KAT: You take it up and we crash a wedding and we're both super drunk.

JENI: Yes, mine takes us running down the street, going into the wedding, and ends with us walking down the strip leaving the bride and groom…then a bunch of shit happens while we're drunk that we don't remember. I thought it might be good for the next book to leave some stuff purposely open so that if we need anything to 'come back to haunt us' we can use that as a tie in. LOL I cover it briefly in the FBI interview - but that part of the document is REDACTED.

KAT: Then I wake up with black Elvis. We do some shit and end up at the fund raiser wearing masks. Did we decide who wears which mask (Palin/Cheney) ? Because whoever is wearing Dick Cheney's needs to be exposing some hellacious cleavage.

JENI: Entirely up to you. You're choice. Do you wanna be the Dick or the Bitch? LOL Take care to time your 'day' so that we end up in the bathroom at 7:02 PM. I figure Karl's speech could be around six or so in the evening.

KAT: How do I need to end that chapter? Being chased out by security again? Or one of us needing to pee and we hide in the men's restroom?

JENI: Mine starts with us sitting on the toilets, Geraldo comes in after that. You have to get us there or at least establish a chase because somehow we heard Rove was heading to the toilet (does he have handlers or security that we could overhear but get the message wrong--go to the wrong bathroom?) and we assumed that's where he was going.

BTW, which hotel is this that we're in the bathroom of? I assume whatever one the speech is in.

KAT: Let's have that scene in the Parisian. Probably some good jokes to be made about Freedom Fries and how ironic it is since Republicans hate the French. And I'll have us leaving in a hurry, but not writing about getting there. I think it's funnier to have us sitting on the toilets.

Oh. My. God! Did you hear that Cheney is in the hospital again? Be just like that *bleep*er to die and *bleep* up our book. Of course if he does kick it, we can substitute all his parts with someone else equally vile.

Can't We All Just Get A Bong?

My cohort, co-author, co-conspirator and friend, Kat Nove went to the Austin, Texas Rally to Restore Sanity this weekend, and all I got were some lousy pictures.

No, that is not bitterness you hear - it’s sarcasm.

I watched from the cheap seats (my couch) switching back and forth to various cable news channels looking for coverage. I started getting irritated due to the universal lack of knowledge vis à vis the demographics of the attendees. The talking bobble-heads were saying things like:

“But will these translate to VOTES on Tuesday?”

“The audience is predominantly young and white.”

“Is this crowd as big as the Beck rally?” (“Yes, and the collective IQ was much higher as well,” I replied in requisite snarky fashion.)

I’d like to challenge these ageist misconceptions with Kat’s photos of the crowd. But, first off, you should know that Kat - her own self - is menopausal.

At any rate, here we have an attendee who’s blatantly not conforming to bobble-headed presumptive demographics. By the way, I’m not posting this to shame my almost-senior friend - Her Moodiness has spoken well and often about her particular affliction and its symptoms. Besides, at 41, I’m not that far behind her; I’ve already got the aches, pains and mood swings to prove it.

Regardless of your political affiliation or age, one thing is certain: Tomorrow you need to get your ass to the local polling station and cast your vote. Otherwise you don’t have any room to complain when we collectively start to circle the drain. Make your voice heard, people.

Get out and vote!

Hit the Road, Rick. And Don’t Come Back No More, No More…

There I was with Monday’s blog about my hemorrhoids primed and ready, set up on auto-schedule to post itself at 8:am.

But, then it happened:

Late Friday afternoon Rick Sanchez shoved his oversized loafer into his babbling maw for the last time on CNN. Adios, Rick. The Cubano has left the building.

It’s a shame, really. I watched Rick’s List occasionally— okay, watched might be playing it fast and loose with the word. Often my TV was tuned in to CNN while his show was on. As I tended to a myriad of chores around the house, I was able to listen in and wait for his next gaffe. He was entertaining, our Mr. Sanchez. Kind of like the bumbling uncle we all have - not the alcoholic one, or the one that’s a bit too grabby-hands. I’m talking about the affable one prone to inadvertently tossing in a malapropism or two while telling you an inappropriate story, usually involving a fart or boob joke.

So now Uncle Sanchez is no longer with us. I am sad to see him go - but seriously, it’s not like this is the first time he’s said something that either made me cringe or do a double take, causing me to turn toward the television with a duster in one hand and a pile of dirty laundry in the other.

Remember that ‘he’s the cotton pickin’President!’ thing? Yeah, classy. I had a feeling he'd been waiting a long time to work that one in, but I decided to give him the benefit of the doubt and presume it was a slip of the tongue.

How about the time he had a bit of trouble locating Hawaii on the large studio map? That was painful to watch.

And let's not forget the stun gun incident. Really, Rick? You did that of your own volition AND thought there was even the remotest of possibilities Jon Stewart, Colbert and the rest of the mainstream media WOULDN’T play it on a loop for the better part of a week?

Even my nine year old autistic kid who’s barely verbal probably saw that one coming.

Rick, it’s kind of hard to feel sorry for someone who went on live radio and basically bent over and shat on the hand that signs his paycheck. Thinking those kinds of things - well that’s one thing. Saying them aloud - that’s your one way ticket to tool-ville, my friend, where you’ll be walking the buffet-line of shame along with the likes of the Huckabees, Becks and Limbaughs of the world.

One good thing came out of this whole mess, Rick. At least it happened late on Friday afternoon. You didn’t have to wake up the next morning to every media outlet splashing your face all over the screen while you tried to get your morning java down. No, you had a couple of days to hide out and lick your wounds before this kind of stuff started -

(behold, my song parody. Yes, that is my voice. I've got a cold. Don't judge me. PS: The blog about my hemorrhoids will be up tomorrow.)

What’s a Girl to Do?

…while awaiting query responses ?

I could write a poem:

~Proem~

a stir
a flurry
a cascade of echoes

all prologue to the epilogue
frenzied fingers en route to denouement
beat a stiff meringue of phrases and voice

words like ripe plums
drop to the ground beneath the tree
waiting to be harvested

adjectives, like Lawrence’s lover with a pilgrim’s soul
meander among verbs and prepositions
yearn to nail down a simple truth, an alluring oeuvre

present perfect tense delights in its slow, sultry dance
so sit with me in my fin de siècle
and, breathless, I will share my story…


~.~