I’m working on my next novel. BUMPED will published by the Balzer + Bray imprint of HarperCollins spring 2011. It was described in Publishers Weekly as “a sharply funny and provocative dystopian novel set in a world where only teens are able to have babies, and are contracted by adults to carry them to term.” I’ve been calling it a cross between Heathers and The Handmaid’s Tale. Follow, friend or like me for updates.

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Lorem Ipsum

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The editors of Syracuse University’s JERK magazine assure me that this is a good thing.

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I spend too much time cruising the JCrew.com sale links. Way, WAY too much time. Especially in the sweaters. No one should spend as much time debating the merits of merino versus cashmere or 3/4 versus full sleeves or cardigan versus pullover as I do. Especially when I should be doing something more productive….like catching up on the latest episode of 16 and Pregnant or something. (It’s research for BUMPED. Really.)  That JCrew.com is the go-to destination for a disproportionate amount of my procrastination is particularly ironic when I consider that I once had an opportunity to be the person writing J.Crew’s captivating catalog copy instead of timesucking it.
If you’ve been to one of my college events* recently, you’ve heard the story about how I had an interview at J.Crew when I was a senior in college. The job was junior copywriter and I went to the interview in a […]

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I realize that it’s probably not a good idea to write a post with the word “porn” in the title. But when I see this picture of me (And my younger brother…That’s his arm holding up the turtle from below. I’ve cropped him out because he may not appreciate me posting pictures of him when he was younger, even though he was an adorable, tow-headed, pinch-his-cheeks cherub when he was six. And while I’m writing about my brothers, it should be noted that the genuine mesh-n-foam red star baseball cap belonged to my older brother. I’m quite frankly shocked by this evidence that I once dared to put this hat on my head because this hat was HIS STUFF and when he was 14 years old he would set booby traps all around his room because he was very, very protective of HIS STUFF.) holding up this box turtle, I […]

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I have no idea who or what was making me laugh so hard when this photo was taken.
But every time I see it, I’m reminded that I need to laugh more often.
Especially at myself.

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A bunch of neighborhood kids were at the top of a steep, snow-covered incline, arguing over who had the idea to stand up on his sled and use it as a makeshift snowboard. Each boy insisted he had been first to come up with the brilliant new sport, a solution to the too-many-kids-not-enough-snowboards conundrum.
When I was seven, I also thought I was the first person to stand up on my sled. I called it “snurfing.”
The great narcissism of youth convinces you that you’re the first person ever to experience the thrill of whatever it is that you’re doing. It’s like you invented this awesome new thing–be it snurfing or sex.
As you get older, there are fewer and fewer firsts. And you realize that everything has already been done before by someone else and the best you can do is make the old feel new through your own unique point of […]

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Look at how psyched my brother and I are. WE. ARE. PSYCHED. SNOOOOOOOW! YEAH!!! This is the BEST DAY EVER. We’re gonna go SLEDDING on the GOLF COURSE! WHOO-HOO! And we’re gonna build an IGLOO FORT in our front yard and a SNOWMAN who we will still call FROSTY even if we have to improvise with a ROCKS and STICKS because we don’t have a CORNCOB PIPE, a BUTTON NOSE, or COAL because who has that stuff lying around the house anyway? And we’re not gonna come inside for hot chocolate until we can’t feel our feet anymore because it’s SNOOOOOOW and SNOW is the BEST and WE ARE SO PSYCHED!!!!!!!!!!!!
I’ll try to recapture this enthusiasm when I’m shoveling my walkway.

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Yeah, I know it’s Wednesday. But it’s also my birthday so I can break the rules of my own blog if I want to. So this is the very first photo of me ever taken. I got it about a half hour ago from my parents who drove across Jersey to take me out to lunch for my birthday. They came bearing four garbage bags bursting with hundreds of loose pictures and dozens of photo albums spanning a century of family history. They want me and my brothers to scan and label these photos for posterity. This is a momentous task because every other photo inspires peals of appalled laughter and conversation that goes like this:
Me: OH MY GOD.
Dad: That’s some hair right there.
Me: And the outfit? Why? Seriously. WHY?
Mom: But that was the style…
Me: Egad.
ETC.
Obviously, this photo is free from such scrutiny.

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