whoring out and what gary marshall has to do with that.

All right, you guys, I am seriously running out of places to whore out my book. I've made so many Facebook status updates about it that my own mother is probably hiding me from her News Feed. Well, if my mom had Facebook, that is, then she totally would block me. The Twitter Fail Whale is going to explode if I link to CreateSpace and Amazon one more time. Even Blogger is shaking its head like, "Bitch, give it up already. This is a lost cause and no one is going to love your book, especially not Garry Marshall because we all know it's your dream to be part of a Garry Marshall film because you're a total weirdo who doesn't have normal dreams like solving world hunger or learning how to fly a plane."

But I can't give it up. That's why I've emailed Trashionista, ModCloth's account on GoodReads.com, and was just in the shower thinking about penning a letter to Ellen about how she should start her own fancy-schmancy book club (only one that has fun books because, really, there's enough sadness and suffering in the world, we don't need to read about it for entertainment purposes, Oprah) and how she should include my book in that club because, hello, it was my idea for her to start one. I get grandfathered in for being a clever S.O.B. I've also taken to CreateSpace's forums for shameless plugs. For eff's sake, I even posted a link to it on my 20sb.net page and on the Chick Lit Lover's group there because I have no self control over it at this point. Seriously. I need a twelve-step program or hours vegging out in front of the TV watching Clueless and National Treasure while eating popcorn dipped in salsa. Don't give me that look, it's the most fucking delicious thing you will ever put in your mouth (that's what she said).

If nothing else, my hometown's newspaper might run a story on me. And that's something. Especially since Jerry Bruckheimer (yeah, the Pirates of the Caribbean one) lives nearby. Yes, Jerry Bruckheimer set up shop in a small town in Kentucky. Rich people are insane eccentric. Maybe he'll open the newspaper one morning while munching on some Fiber One blueberry toaster pastries (oh my God, you guys, those things are so delicious, and thirty calories less than regular old Pop-Tarts, and you can make all the poop jokes you want, I don't care, I love these things), see this article about me and be all, "Holy shit! I've got to turn this book into a movie... somebody get me Garry Marshall on the phone, STAT!"

Hey, it could happen. Try a little optimism. Also, try these Fiber One pop-tarts.

Mmm... poop-tarts.