This weekend, Paul and I went down to Glendive to help my parents deal with the water coming into their basement from the inordinate amount of rain and rising river problems that the people of Montana are presently facing. By that I mean Paul helped my parents empty 18 gallon shop vacs every hour, on the hour, while I read, ate a banana cupcake with cream cheese frosting, napped, read again, ate another cupcake, and continued to play the "I'm pregnant, I shouldn't lift heavy objects" card, which surprisingly, my parents and everyone else conceded to.
I was reading this:
It was awesome, indeed.
I actually never used to like Tina Fey. I thought she ruined weekend update by laughing at her own writing while delivering it, and that just bugged the shit out of me. I mean come on, nobody likes a somebody who likes their own jokes too much, right?
Buuutttt, slowly my opinion began to change.*
Too many hilarious parts of this book to pinpoint, but I was especially smitten with her chapter entitled "Amazing, Gorgeous, Not Like That" which relays the details of, and offers advice regarding, the experience of going through a professional magazine photo shoot. (Something I'm bound to be asked to participate in just as soon as I can put down the cupcakes long enough to deliver what will no doubt be a 15 lb. child and promptly get myself to a a size half that of which I maintained before getting pregnant.)
I shall share two sections from that chapter with you now:
"Some photographers are compulsively effusive. 'Beautiful. Amaazing. Gorgeous! Ugh, so gorgeous!' they yell at shutter speed. If you are anything less than insane, you will realize this is not sincere. It's hard to take because it's more positive feedback than you've received in your entire life thrown at you in fifteen seconds. It would be like going jogging while someone rode next to you in a slow-moving car, yelling, 'Yes! You are Carl Lewis! You're breaking a world record right now. Amazing! You are Fast! You're going very fast, yes!'
"With the wind blowing on your long extensions, you feel like Beyonce. The moment the wind machine stops, you catch a glimples of yourself in the mirror an wonder, "Why is the mother from Coal Miner's Daughter here?"
And the other part of this section, which is something that has totally happened to me, just not at a professional photo shoot for a magazine:
"The photographer will ask you what kind of music you want to play during the photo shoot. [Everyone will hear this music, so] just murmur 'hip-hop' or make up the name of a hipster-sounding band and then act superior when they've never heard of it. 'Do you guys have any Asphalt of Pinking? [disappointed] Really? [shrug] Whatever you want then."
"Sometimes they ask if you want to hook up your iPod for background music. Do not do this. It's a trap. They'll put it on shuffle, and no matter how much Beastie boys or Velvet Underground you have on there, the following four tracks will play in a row: 'We'd Like to Thank You Herbert Hoover' from Annie, 'Hold On' by Wilson Phillips, 'That's What Friends Are For,' Various Artists, and "We'd Like to Thank You Herbert Hoover' from Annie."
I don't know about you guys, but every time I offer up my iPod, it's like EVERY LAME SONG I HAVE ON THERE PLAYS. Over and over and over again. Of particular occurance would be "Isn't She Lovely" by Stevie Wonder...THE LONG VERSION. The one that has the baby crying at the beginning. It'll really get a party started. Or ignite leaky boobs among any nursing mothers in the vacinity. (I MUST REMOVE THIS SONG, STAT.)
That's just a preview of the many parts that made me LMFAO many times in between my naps. I hope you will all go purchase this soon to be classic autobiography and tell me about it so we can talk at nausium about all of the parts that made us snort.
*That's a lie. I can pinpoint the moment I began to like her...you betcha.