My Fair Lazy: One Reality Television Addict's Attempt to Discover if Not Being a Dumb Ass Is the New Black, or a Culture-Up Manifesto by Jen Lancaster Read Free Book Online
Authors: Jen Lancaster
the way, I don’t have a day job.
But from the looks of your pajamas, you do.
Check and mate, bitch.
Best,
Jen Cognito, Association President
P.S. Next time, I’m breaking out my Wham CD. Consider this a warning.
CHAPTER FOUR
Do You Have Love for New York?
I ’ve reached a new height in procrastination.
Thirty-four thousand feet, to be exact.
With a book deadline looming, I decide the most effective use of my time is to join my friends in New York for a girls’ weekend instead of sitting down at my computer and finally putting a dent in my book.
My friends planned this trip last year but I knew I’d be on deadline, so I begged off months ago. All that changed last week when I got an e-mail from an associate producer working for the Travel Channel. She was in charge of finding residents to appear on a Chicago edition of Samantha Brown’s Great Weekends show and would I be interested?
Would I be interested ?
In seeing my enormous head on national cable television ?
On what’s technically a reality show ?
Which in turn might be seen by the producers of Survivor , who will immediately appreciate how snarky I am and fall all over themselves to cast me because even though I trend a little acerbic, 42 I’m way more likable than that mean girl Courtney from the China season. Sure, she came up with the greatest zinger in reality show history, describing the bemulleted lunch lady as someone who “sucked at life,” but still . . . I’m pretty sure I’d be better. Plus, I have some strongs left inside me from all the working out I did for Such a Pretty Fat , so I would kick ass in the challenges, especially those I had to throw my weight into.
Also? I rock the house at Scrabulous and can totally solve puzzles. 43 And the plotting and the scheming and the cultivation of minions that goes along with Survivor game play? I mean, I was the rush chairman of my sorority—believe me, I can bully people into doing unpleasant shit. You think those kids wanted to cut literally thousands of stars out of aluminum foil?
The only problem could be that with my big, fat mouth, I may eventually get on other survivors’ nerves, especially when I keep crying about how bad my hair looks—unless we were in the desert, in which case I would be fabulous—so there’s a possibility I wouldn’t make it to the tribal merge, but who cares?
Yeah, I wrote back to the associate producer, I think I might be interested.
(Sidebar? Much as I’d like to be on television, I’d never want a reality show where cameras followed me in my everyday life because I like being married to Fletch. Seriously, look at the Hogans, Carmen and Dave, Nick and Jessica, the tattoo-necked guy and Miss USA, Britney and Kevin, Danny Bonaduce and his stupid wife, and the Osbournes. Everyone divorced! 44 Okay, fine, Ozzy and Sharon made it, but their kids went to rehab! 45 Try to give me my own TV show and I say no, no, no.)
The AP told me everything sounded good after a preliminary chat, but she said a New York-based executive producer needed to meet me before any decisions could be made. Then the EP and I went through all the machinations of getting together, but unfortunately his scouting trip to Chicago was too hectic, and at the last minute, we couldn’t coordinate.
My desire to see my enormous head on national cable television transcends most rational thought, so after our missed connection, I told him, “Hey, I’m going to be in New York next weekend with my girlfriends—why don’t we meet up while I’m there?” Seriously, I’m as crafty as Yau-man when he made that fake hidden-immunity idol on Survivor: Fiji or when Eval Dick spent the week terrorizing the Big Brother house and STILL got Eric to vote to keep him.
The producer agreed, which meant that I found myself scrambling for a ticket with a week’s notice and suddenly felt a tad less brilliant. As I clicked around Orbitz, I winced at the last-minute prices and was almost ready to give
But from the looks of your pajamas, you do.
Check and mate, bitch.
Best,
Jen Cognito, Association President
P.S. Next time, I’m breaking out my Wham CD. Consider this a warning.
CHAPTER FOUR
Do You Have Love for New York?
I ’ve reached a new height in procrastination.
Thirty-four thousand feet, to be exact.
With a book deadline looming, I decide the most effective use of my time is to join my friends in New York for a girls’ weekend instead of sitting down at my computer and finally putting a dent in my book.
My friends planned this trip last year but I knew I’d be on deadline, so I begged off months ago. All that changed last week when I got an e-mail from an associate producer working for the Travel Channel. She was in charge of finding residents to appear on a Chicago edition of Samantha Brown’s Great Weekends show and would I be interested?
Would I be interested ?
In seeing my enormous head on national cable television ?
On what’s technically a reality show ?
Which in turn might be seen by the producers of Survivor , who will immediately appreciate how snarky I am and fall all over themselves to cast me because even though I trend a little acerbic, 42 I’m way more likable than that mean girl Courtney from the China season. Sure, she came up with the greatest zinger in reality show history, describing the bemulleted lunch lady as someone who “sucked at life,” but still . . . I’m pretty sure I’d be better. Plus, I have some strongs left inside me from all the working out I did for Such a Pretty Fat , so I would kick ass in the challenges, especially those I had to throw my weight into.
Also? I rock the house at Scrabulous and can totally solve puzzles. 43 And the plotting and the scheming and the cultivation of minions that goes along with Survivor game play? I mean, I was the rush chairman of my sorority—believe me, I can bully people into doing unpleasant shit. You think those kids wanted to cut literally thousands of stars out of aluminum foil?
The only problem could be that with my big, fat mouth, I may eventually get on other survivors’ nerves, especially when I keep crying about how bad my hair looks—unless we were in the desert, in which case I would be fabulous—so there’s a possibility I wouldn’t make it to the tribal merge, but who cares?
Yeah, I wrote back to the associate producer, I think I might be interested.
(Sidebar? Much as I’d like to be on television, I’d never want a reality show where cameras followed me in my everyday life because I like being married to Fletch. Seriously, look at the Hogans, Carmen and Dave, Nick and Jessica, the tattoo-necked guy and Miss USA, Britney and Kevin, Danny Bonaduce and his stupid wife, and the Osbournes. Everyone divorced! 44 Okay, fine, Ozzy and Sharon made it, but their kids went to rehab! 45 Try to give me my own TV show and I say no, no, no.)
The AP told me everything sounded good after a preliminary chat, but she said a New York-based executive producer needed to meet me before any decisions could be made. Then the EP and I went through all the machinations of getting together, but unfortunately his scouting trip to Chicago was too hectic, and at the last minute, we couldn’t coordinate.
My desire to see my enormous head on national cable television transcends most rational thought, so after our missed connection, I told him, “Hey, I’m going to be in New York next weekend with my girlfriends—why don’t we meet up while I’m there?” Seriously, I’m as crafty as Yau-man when he made that fake hidden-immunity idol on Survivor: Fiji or when Eval Dick spent the week terrorizing the Big Brother house and STILL got Eric to vote to keep him.
The producer agreed, which meant that I found myself scrambling for a ticket with a week’s notice and suddenly felt a tad less brilliant. As I clicked around Orbitz, I winced at the last-minute prices and was almost ready to give
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