Nov 30 2011

MOLLY HACKER IS TOO PICKY!

Published by under General Molly

LATEST AUTHOR NEWS:

Interview at Words Unlimited with author Julia Hughes (February 23, 2014)

Interview at One Writer’s Journey with author Penny Ehrenkranz (January 27, 2014)

Publication of Mystical High, book #1 in a YA paranormal trilogy, The Desert Series (October  2013)

Recommendation of my books by BestsellerBound (September 27, 2013)

Interview with author Raine Thomas (May 6, 2013) – With an excerpt from Squalor, New Mexico

Interview with author Molly Ringle: (April 19, 2013)

Interview with author Lorna Suzuki (March 10, 2013)

Interview with YA author Tiffany A White: Lisette Brodey on Hollywood and Writing (January 25, 2013)

Launch of my brand new author website. (November 14, 2012)

Chat with Michelle Halket, founder of Central Avenue Publishing (October 21, 2012)

Interview with author Eden Baylee: Inside A Writer’s Mind (August 19, 2012)

Blog Post by author Dean Mayes about Molly Hacker Is Too Picky! (June 19, 2012)

Interview with author Penny Ehrenkranz (June 19, 2012)

Interview with author Jaidis Shaw (May 16, 2012)

.99 Kindle Sale for Molly Hacker Is Too Picky! EXTENDED! (Second week in May 2012)

.99 Kindle Sale for Molly Hacker Is Too Picky (First week in May 2012)

Interview with writer/blogger Jamie Corrigan: May 2, 2012

Interview with author Maria Savva about my novel Squalor, New Mexico: April 23, 2012

Giveaway: A signed PB copy of Molly Hacker Is Too Picky! included in writer Jamie Corrigan’s giveaway: April 1, 2012

Blog by author Darlene Arden: Molly Hacker Is Too Picky! March 28, 2012

Interview / Giveaway on FreeBookFriday.com until March 23, 2012

Review by author LK Gardner-Griffie on The LL Book Review: February 10, 2011

Interview with author Richard C. Hale: January 5, 2011

Interview with writer Dorothy Dreyer: December 13, 2011

 

Note from the Author, Lisette Brodey - March 16, 2014

Hi, Friends!

Welcome! This site is dedicated to my romantic comedy, Molly Hacker Is Too Picky! Snarky, overanalytical, and fun-loving Molly, a 32-year-old reporter, is looking for true love and she refuses to settle for Mr. Wrong. If you would like to know more about Molly’s story, just click on the Synopsis link or on the Excerpt link to read Chapter 1.

I will continue to update this page with all of the latest on Molly Hacker Is Too Picky! and my Facebook author page as well. Please visit my author website as well. In addition to posting blogs and guest blogs, every Monday at Lisette’s Writers’ Chateau I interview one of my fabulous fellow authors.

Thank you so much for visiting www.mollyhacker.com. Some of you have been here before, perhaps to check out Molly’s Monday blogs (which ran regularly from February through October 2011) or to read the interviews with her creative peers. Whether you have been a regular visitor or are brand new to this site, welcome. Thank you for coming!

Again, you can read Chapter 1 of this novel by clicking on Excerpt (on the left side of this page) or by reading or downloading a larger sample on Amazon. If you’d like to know more about me and/or my previous novels, please click on the About the Author link.

You can purchase the paperback edition of Molly Hacker Is Too Picky! on Amazon.com and you can download a copy from any major e-tailer including Amazon, BN, Kobo, Apple and more.

It has been a long and interesting road blogging as the main character of a novel. I will be doing several interviews about the process, Molly, and writing in general. I will be updating this page (and my Facebook author page) with information as it becomes available.

And now, I think Molly is very eager to present her video and rap about her crazy life.

Best wishes to all!

Lisette

 


And now, here’s Molly:

Hey, cool peeps, my name is Molly Hacker,
A hardworking woman; I ain’t never been a slacker.
I’ve always been choosy, people call me picky,
Accepting second best is unacceptable and icky.

I work as a reporter for the Swansea Herald
Writing ‘bout the town, and the world so very periled.
In addition to my stories, I write obituaries,
One more crazy task to add to all my worries.

Well, I love designer labels, and super fab shoes,
I own not one but three pairs of Jimmy Choos.
I live in a town pop-u-lated by the wealthy,
Peeps that overtan till they’re toasted and unhealthy.

My least fave person in this quaint and charming burb,
Is Naomi Hall-Benchley, who is headin’ for da curb.
This she-devil thinks herself a sassy charm-ah
With no freakin’ clue, there’s a thing they call karma.
Enough about that woman, she’s enough to make you gag,
Can’t wait for the day she’s a used-up toothless hag.

If you’re still listenin’, then I’ll tell you ‘bout my life
And why I’m so picky ‘bout the man to call me “wife.”
No point in being married, just to be some dude’s missus,
I’d rather have a dog that would give me sloppy kisses.
I’m searching for true love, complete, and enduring
A man who’s freakin’ funny, ‘cause life sux when it is boring.
So, yeah, I’m Picky Molly, got my pedal to the metal,
And no freakin’ way, this girl is gonna settle.

Yours in pickiness,

Molly

14 responses so far

Oct 23 2011

BRIEF HISTORY OF A SHE-DEVIL

Published by under General Molly

A NOTE FROM THE AUTHOR – Lisette Brodey
October 24, 2011

Hi, Everyone:

Thank you all for being here. Whether this is your first visit, or whether you are a regular reader, I appreciate that you’ve come by to get to know Molly Hacker. This will be Molly’s last regular weekly blog, as I’m working hard to finish edits on my novel, Molly Hacker Is Too Picky! Publication date is expected to be around the beginning of December. I’ve prepared a very special video/book trailer to coincide with the book’s release.

If you’d like to know more about Molly Hacker Is Too Picky!, simply click on the Synopsis tab on the left side of the page. To read the first chapter, click on Excerpt. To find out the latest on the book’s release, please check my Facebook author page.

I have been blogging as Molly since February, so, if you’re new to this site, there are lots of blogs in the archives which are made all the more special by Molly readers’ comments. As many of you know, in addition to this weekly Monday blog, Molly has been interviewing her creative peers every Wednesday. These interviews will continue for several more weeks. To read Molly’s interviews, please click on the Interview tab on the left side of the page. There are lots of great interviews with lots of talented people.

In this last blog (for now), Molly talks about her nemesis, Naomi Hall-Benchley, the she-devil. As I’m sure you can guess, the full story of Molly and the she-devil will be revealed in the novel, and much much more.

And now, heeeeerrre’s Molly!

* * * * * * * * *

Greetings, Cool Peeps:

The first time I met the she-devil, Naomi Hall, I was eight, and she was sixteen. She pushed ahead of my mom and me at the local pharmacy by merely announcing that she was a “Hall.” No more. No less. From that day on, I had a little bitty issue with her.

When I was eleven, she was matriculated into Vassar. The Swansea Herald (yes, my current employer) saw fit to make this second-page news. I had no freakin’ clue what “matriculation” even meant. My cousin Dave explained that it was something you do that makes you go blind.

Fast forward. Moi at sixteen. The town was abuzz with the news that Naomi Hall was to marry Seymour Monitter. First things first. Naomi Hall Monitor. Tell me that didn’t have a beautiful ring and that Seymour is about as unsexy a name as a man can have. But he dumped her. Within six months, she had her claws into Art Benchley, married him in six more, and Naomi Hall-Benchley, the she-devil was officially spawned. Tiny red horns began sprouting from underneath her blond hair, and a pointy red tail began emerging from you know where.

I had no real interaction with her until I was twenty-five, when in my picky quest for the perfect man (for me), I agreed to let her introduce me to Chat Chatsworth. I know, I know! Why didn’t I run in the other direction? Richard “Chat” Chatsworth lived up to his name. C’mon, I don’t need to spell everything out for you. Yes, he was a diminutive of Richard, and he never shut up.

The she-devil always has a reason for manipulating people; her reasons just aren’t always clear. My first date with Chat was at the opening of a new restaurant in town. Little did I know that the “straunt” was owned by a Benchley and that Naomi would be in attendance, like the resident puppet mistress, pulling our strings. Before I could protest, she sent someone over to “invite” Chat and me to a party the following weekend.

That was how I got roped into date number two, a cocktail soirée at the she-devil’s home where I learned, within fifteen minutes, that she was trying to hook up Chat, because his father, her good buddy, wanted him to stop frequenting strip clubs and find a “nice, wholesome girl.” That was supposed to be me. (I think not!)

The moment that gig was up, I told Chat to go get a lap dance and lose my number, both of which he was quite happy to do. I blinked once, and he was gone. I blinked a second time and saw Naomi sending yet another man over to me, a Brioni-suited stuffed shirt with pastry crumbs in his mustache and of all things, ear hair. And why would the she-devil want to set me up with this specimen of gag-me-ness? He was Art’s biggest client, and he wanted a woman.

I told Naomi that night she could pull all the strings she wanted, but this puppet was making tracks. She’s never stopped trying since.

See you soon.

Yours in pickiness,

Molly

11 responses so far

Oct 16 2011

CATS IN DA ‘HOOD

Published by under Cats

Greetings, Cool Peeps:

Last week, I was chillaxin’ from my crazy life, lying on my couch with my furry boy, Captain Jack, and wondering aloud what my next blog would be about. That’s when Jack looked up at me, nuzzled his face against mine, and firmly put his paw down on my hand. Then, looking at me with his big brown eyes, he said, “Mom, it’s about time you stop writing about people and cover the feline action in the ‘hood.”

“Say what, Jack?” I asked.

Jack stretched his front legs and indulged in a slow yawn. When he was ready to resume the conversation, he looked right at me and let out a series of meows. Translation: “There are some cool cats in Swansea who deserve recognition. I challenge you to go around town and meet as many of them as you can. Ask a few questions and then give them a little shout-out. Just be careful—there are a few out there who might be suspicious of your motives. You can do it, Mom. I know you can.”

Cool peeps, believe it or not, Jack had never given me such a challenge before.

Word got around quickly that I was doing a feature about cats. I’d never seen so many cats in windows before, waiting, watching my every move. As you probably know, reporters don’t usually interview cats. So right away, my motives were suspect.

When I passed the home of a coworker, Ana, I noticed that her brown and white tabby was intently watching me from her window perch. I decided to make up a reason to gain inside access and then interview Ana’s cat, Van Goghgo, on the sly. As you can see, Van Goghgo did not want to talk.

As I left Ana’s, pounding the pavement in search for my first feline interview, I encountered Slick, but he was not up for dishing the dirt with me. “Just keep on walking,” he meowed, shooting invisible darts at me with his eyes.

Next, I ran across Taxi. When I asked him if he minded answering a few questions, he just gave me that, you-talkin’-to-me look and kept staring.

I was defeated. I then ran into Taxi’s cousin, Cab Calloway, but he wouldn’t even look at me. He just stared straight ahead.

When Graystone saw me, his tail began to puff out, and as a cat mama, I know what that means. No luck.

Jack had told me that Lope Sly was a great conversationalist and would be sure to grant me an interview. But she was snoozing on the sidewalk, and after waiting ten minutes for her to wake up, I gave up and moved on.

The next cat I encountered was Adonis.

“I hope this is for the cover of CQ,” he said, posing. “I know you wouldn’t waste my time on anything less.”

“Oh, no, of course not,” I said, cowering.
“You have cleared this interview with my agent, yes?” he said.
“Your agent?”
“Yes, my agent! Look at this face. You don’t think I talk to just anyone, do you?”
“Uh, no,” I said. “Where do I find your agent?”
“Down the street,” he said. “He usually hangs out by the garden hose. Tux is the name.”

Sure enough, I found Tux exactly where Adonis had told me he would be.

“You bring the chow?” Tux said.
“Uh, no,” I replied feebly.
“No interview,” Tux said.

As Jack is an orange cat, I thought that maybe I’d have better luck with his cousins. As I made my way onto the next block, I saw Tango. “Hi, I’m Molly Hacker,” I said. “I’m a reporter for the Swansea Herald. Mind if I ask you a few questions about being a cat?”

“Who me?” Tango asked. “Do I look like I talk to reporters?”
“I guess not,” I said, backing away.

On yet another block, I found more orange cats. But as you can see, they didn’t exactly embrace my arrival. Or in some cases … even notice me.

When I saw two black cats, I thought perhaps they would explain their place in folklore to me, but again, no luck.

Finally, I met Sarita, a very pretty gray girl. She was quite friendly and commiserated with me when I told her I was having trouble getting the cool cats to talk. “It’s hard to explain,” she said. “But cats are very picky. We don’t deal with just anyone.”

I told her that I understood in ways she could not imagine, and thanked her for her time.

On I walked. More defiant stares.

After a grueling day, I met Prissy.

She looked positively livid that I wanted to interview her. In desperation, I explained that my own boy, Captain Jack, had suggested the interview as a way to feature the cool cats in the ‘hood.

Prissy relented a bit, and told me to take it up with her “committee,” Stag and Rag.

Stag and Rag just looked at me. When I finally was able to plead my case, they discussed amongst themselves. I was told that the ultimate king of the neighborhood, Zorro, would make the final decision. If Zorro said it was okay, every cat would talk to me.

It took me a while to find Zorro. I gave him my spiel. He just looked at me and said, “Are you freakin’ kidding me?”

So, tell me, do the cats in your life talk to you? What do they say? Do they send you on “wild cat chases” like Jack sent me on? Have you ever stopped to chat with the cats in your ‘hood?

See you next week.

Yours in pickiness,

Molly

17 responses so far

Oct 09 2011

I’M JUST A GIRL WHO CAN SAY NO

Published by under Lifestyle & Values

Greetings, Cool Peeps:

When I was a sophomore in high school, a classmate of mine enthusiastically called me on the phone one Friday night, “Hey, Molly, what are you doing this Saturday night?”

“Nothing,” I said, thinking I was about to be invited to a party or get-together.”

“Awesome,” she said. “Then will you babysit for me? I took this job with the Morgans, but I want to go to Trevor’s party.”

“Are you freakin’ kidding me?”

No, peeps, I didn’t take her babysitting job. I didn’t like the roundabout, manipulative way that she went about things. Had she had been forthright and asked me if I would do her a favor and take over her babysitting job, I probably would have said yes and made a few bucks in the process. But I hated being manipulated then, and I hate it now.

I don’t know anyone out there who doesn’t regret having been used in some way or the other. We’ve probably all had one too many situations when a person has taken advantage of our kindness. I appreciate the good people in my life, and I hope each and every one of them knows that. I try to say thank you often and go the extra mile to let people know just how special they are. It can take so little effort to make another person’s day by simply validating the things he or she does for you. A person doesn’t have to do you any special favors to make a big difference in your life. Special peeps make the world better by just being themselves.

There are some peeps I know who sadly are more at ease manipulating someone into a situation rather than just flat-out asking. I was at a party once when someone in my circle came up to me at three a.m. and said, “Molly, my car won’t start! Can you please give me a ride home?”

I felt terrible. I didn’t want her to be stranded in northern New Jersey at that hour. So, even though it was out of my way and very late, I agreed. As soon as we got on the turnpike, I asked her what she was going to do the next day to get her car home. Turns out that her car was home. It hadn’t started for three days and was sitting in her driveway. She got a ride to the party with someone who left hours before she was ready to go but thought she would ask me for a ride home at the end of the party, so I couldn’t possibly say no.

I was not cool with what she did, but because we had so many mutual friends, a year later, I invited her to a party at my home. No clue why she was sans vehicle that night, but again, she waited until the end of the night and this time announced, “Molly, I’m just gonna crash on your couch.”

“Uh, no,” I said. Cool peeps, you know the saying Fool me once…? Well, she had fooled me once. Not again. I didn’t like being manipulated and did not want her in my living room or hanging with my boyfriend and me the next morning. When I told her she couldn’t stay, she didn’t believe me at first. She kept pleading with me, but I didn’t budge. I could tell she wasn’t used to hearing no. She was masterful at painting people into a corner, but it wasn’t working with me. I hung tough, she called a cab, and I never saw her again.

I love doing favors for peeps, but I’ve had some outrageous things asked of me. Once, the bartender in a place I frequented explained to me that her telephone was cut off, and she needed to use my name/credit to open a new account. No freakin’ way. That same week, an acquaintance of mine called to ask me if I’d drive her and her out-of-town visitor into Manhattan. She didn’t even ask me to hang with them; she just wanted me to play free taxi. Another time, a brand-new coworker of mine asked me for a loan of $250 her first week on the job.

I’m a fair person. Anytime someone asks me something that I feel is outrageous, I always turn the situation around and ask myself: Would I ask that person the same favor? The response is always an overwhelming NO! I do that just to check myself to be sure I’m not being a hypocrite.

How about you, cool peeps? Do you have issues saying no to people? How do you deal with manipulative people who think they can get anyone to say yes? “Do you put them in their place? I would love to hear your stories.

See you next week,

Yours in pickiness,

Molly

6 responses so far

Oct 02 2011

GUESS WHO’S COMING TO DINNER?

Published by under Food

Greetings, Cool Peeps:

I first met Ronald F. Hibbleton at one of my parents’ dinner parties when I was a mere teenager. All I knew about him was that he was a big oaf of a guy who was married to a childhood friend of my mother’s and that, behind his back, people called him Mr. Grant.

Granted (no pun intended), I’d rather have the name Grant than Hibbleton any day of the week, but I soon learned that he had earned that moniker by emulating the behavior of Ed Asner’s character, Lou Grant, from The Mary Tyler Moore Show. In a classic episode of the show, “The Dinner Party,” Mr. Grant helps himself to three servings of Mary’s Veal Prince Orloff, much to her dismay, and she’s forced to tell him to return two.

Although my mom never skimped on how much food she prepared, she herself was not ready when Ronald F. Hibbleton took twenty pieces of shrimp scampi from her serving plate as well as three quarters of the accompanying rice pilaf. A week later, at a mutual friend’s cookout, he took four giant crab cakes from his host’s plate, smothering them with tartar sauce and ketchup (yes, ketchup!) before anyone could say, “Are you freakin’ kidding me?”

I had my own disaster the time I prepared a gourmet meal for my ex-boyfriend and two other couples. My friend told me that his girlfriend insisted on bringing the dessert. Peeps, I was freakin’ horrified when I was handed a cheap chocolate cream pie from the supermarket with a big orange sticker on it reading, REDUCED! All of the guests saw the offending offering come in, and eyes rolled and looks were exchanged as I put the pie in the fridge—instead of square in the giver’s face, where it belonged. Luckily, I had some raspberry sorbet and petit fours another friend had brought, so I put everything out on the table and let my guests choose. The person who brought the REDUCED pie increased her waistline by eating half of it, and the rest of us finished up the meal in style.

Not only is it tough having dinner guests, but being a dinner guest has its moments, too.

About a year ago, a former coworker invited me to dinner and I said I would bring the wine. I selected a stellar California Cabernet and presented it to my host. No sooner had I handed her the bottle than her husband put it in their wine rack, then proceeded to open a very cheap table wine and serve it to me. It was a horrid, you know, the kind with lots of sugar that gives you a massive headache. I had about two sips and put it down. When asked why I wasn’t drinking, I said that I’d had a slight headache all day and thought it best to lay off the wine. Peeps, I couldn’t believe it when my host turned to her husband and said, “Joe, let’s open the wine that Molly brought.” As soon as they thought I wasn’t drinking it, they were all for opening it.

I was tweaked. I had a few crackers, and about five minutes later, I told him my headache was gone, and I would have some of the wine as well. They exchanged glances and reluctantly poured me the wine I had brought. Needless to say, after a terrible (but short) evening, I never saw them again.

A few years ago, my ex and I were invited to dinner with some old friends. We looked forward to an interesting evening of conversation, laughs, and catching up. We walked in the door, only to see Jeopardy showing on their large flat-screen TV. They both sat there staring at the TV, answering questions, as if we weren’t even there. I thought that maybe they just wanted to finish their show, but when Wheel of Fortune came on next, Pat Sajak and Vanna White had their full attention. We certainly didn’t. At the conclusion of Wheel, we were called to dinner. I don’t even remember the sitcoms that played through our meal, but it was a horrible evening.

Don’t we invite people over because we want to socialize with them? If you’re having a Super Bowl or World Series party, or watching a local contestant compete on American Idol, I can understand the TV. But I just do not get why people not only turn on their TVs when they have company, but why people want to watch it in restaurants when they go out to dinner.

I’m going to stop here, not because I’ve run out of things to say, but this is a blog and only a blog. Please, cool peeps, I know you’ve got great stories for me about being a dinner guest and having dinner guests. Care to share? I always love to hear from you.

See you next week.

Yours in pickiness,

Molly

10 responses so far

Sep 25 2011

ANATOMY OF A JUNK DRAWER

Published by under Lifestyle & Values

Greetings, Cool Peeps:

Everyone knows the adage, “A place for everything, and everything in its place,” right? In theory, that’s really super advice. If I could implement it, I would never have to sort through stuff, never deal with clutter in my closets or my desk, and just live in a perfectly ordered world. Yeah, sure!

Today, as I clean out my junk drawer on the left side of my desk, I’m not only asking myself how all of that stuff got there and why it doesn’t have a “place,” but I’m also giving you all a bird’s-eye view of the mess.

For starters, I’ve got a whole bunch of extra buttons in little plastic bags (usually attached to a tag) that came with a particular garment. Every time I buy a new item of clothing, I always cut these tags off and . . .um . . .throw them in my junk drawer. Seriously, I have only so many drawers in my bedroom bureau, and I use them for jewelry, belts, scarves, clothing, and assorted accessories. Do I have a small drawer to designate as the “extra button drawer”? I think not!

I get a lot of cards over the holidays. Most of them I’ll throw away after they’ve decorated my home for a while, but I just can’t bring myself to throw away the photo cards or the pictures peeps send of their kids or themselves. I should just put these photos in an album, but they always seem to end up bundled by a rubber band in my junk drawer.

I have some beautiful Japanese stamps that I cut off a package. The stamps are just gorgeous; I can’t throw them away, right? I might meet a kid who collects stamps, and wouldn’t these be so cool to have in a collection?

Sleeping happily in the chaos are coins, not coins from this country, but coins from Europe that are no longer in circulation since the euro became standard currency. I just cannot throw out money, and now that these coins are obsolete, they’re historical, right? Who throws history or money in the trash? But what do you do with them?

Also taking up space are eye shadow quads with only one color left. You know what I mean, don’t you, ladies? There’s always that one shade we don’t use, but we might use in the future. Maybe we’ll blend it with another shade. We just don’t want to throw out “perfectly good” makeup.

Sitting pretty in my drawer is a little box of jasmine cone incense. I have no clue why I even have it, but there could be an occasion when I might want to create a cool ambience, complete with stimulation for the olfactory sense. You think?

Next, is a bunch of specialty advertising swag I got from conferences I’ve attended and companies with whom I’ve had business dealings: letter openers, cheap pens, mini calendars, six-inch rulers, book marks, key rings, mini flashlights for key rings, lip balm, and calculators all imprinted with someone’s advertising.

I’ve also got a cute little calendar for next year, but I know I’ll never use it. I have a beautiful mini calendar from last year that is of zero use to me, but the paintings are exquisite and the sayings inspirational. I can’t get rid of that! But then I ask myself: if I throw this away, would I ever miss it? Nope.

They say that if you lose something, the best way to find it is to replace it. That is oh so true. If you’re anything like me, you might feel that if you throw something out, you’ll immediately find a use for it. And you know what? That happens all the time.

I’m not a hoarder, but I always seem to have a junk drawer, no matter how many times I clean it out. I’m curious to know about you, cool peeps. Does every single item in the world have “a place”? Do you agonize over what to do with bizarre items that have no real purpose in your life? Do you hold onto the thousands of free return address labels sent to you by organizations wanting a donation? Do you save things that you expect to use in the future? Do you subscribe to the when-in-doubt-throw-it-out way of thinking? Please, tell me about your junk drawer.

See you next week.

Yours in pickiness,

Molly

19 responses so far

Sep 18 2011

IT’S ALL ABOUT ME

Published by under Lifestyle & Values

Greetings, Cool Peeps!

Can we have a moment of quiet? I’m listening to something: “Me, me, me, me, me!”
Is that an opera singer warming up or a narcissist talking?

Doesn’t it seem that, more and more, we live in an it’s-all-about-me world?

Recently, my friend Tony was telling me about his friend Ian, who never stops talking about himself and has no interest in what others had to say or what they are doing. With high hopes, Tony and his friend Andy planned an intervention. They were going to confront Ian with the truth about himself, in hopes of helping him to see the light.

“How did the intervention go?” I asked. “Was Ian upset when the two of you lit into him?”

“Hell, no!” Tony exclaimed. “He loved it! You know why, Molly? Because we were still talking about him!”

There’s a difference between peeps who can be a little full of themselves at times and full-blown narcissists. As you may know, the term “narcissism” comes from a tale in Greek mythology, in which the gorgeous young Narcissus shunned all romantic prospects, only to fall in love with his own reflection in a pool.

Personally, I know far too many peeps who see their own face everywhere they look. Remember Cole Porter’s song “You’re the Top?” Take a listen and just substitute every “you’re” with “I’m.” That’s a narcissist.

Narcissists are often charming. I’ve met many whom I thought were just delightful the first or second time around. Some are natural-born raconteurs who not only have done exciting things, but also excel in talking about them. But here’s the thing. After a while, as much as you’ve enjoyed their stories, you notice that they don’t even know your last name. Or your first. They aren’t the least bit curious about your life, and their only interest in you is as an audience or because there’s something they think you can do for them.

I once was roped into a blind date with a narcissist. This dude talked nonstop about himself throughout dinner. He was so bad I couldn’t even ask him a question about HIM. He was like a volcano, gushing forth with more self-centered prattle than I’d ever heard. I managed to interject an “oh” and a “really” a couple of times, and the only other time I spoke was to order my meal. At the end of the miserable evening, he turned to me and said, “Molly, you’re a fascinating conversationalist. We’ll have to do this again!”

My first instinct was to think he was being sarcastic. But then I realized that he had no clue I had barely spoken a word. I put up with him (for the sake of the louse who forced me into the date), and he truly had a great time. I started to say something to him, but then I decided that my wheels didn’t need spinning; I just wanted to go home. I can be freakin’ fascinating (you know that, cool peeps, ha ha), but the irony is that if I had offered that bummer of a date any scintillating talk that wasn’t about him, he would have found me to be a complete bore.

I once asked a psychiatrist how many true narcissists were ever cured – or if he’d ever seen it in his career. “On the head of a pin,” he told me. “On the head of a pin.”

It seems as if our society is more narcissistic than ever. Social media seems to shine a light on narcissists or those prone to narcissistic behavior in a big way. We’ve all seen it on Twitter, Facebook, and many other sites. I guess the good thing here is that people tell you who they are and what they’re all about very quickly. You don’t have to know them for years only to be blindsided with the revelation.

When I first started at the Swansea Herald, I had a Twitter page to keep up with what was happening in the world. Although it’s called social media, lots of peeps forget about the “social” part, but they sure get the ME-dia part. I was getting really tired of following peeps who would immediately send me back a DM (direct message) telling me to check out their book, CD, website, blog, business, become their fan on Facebook, etc. Are you freakin’ kidding me? How about you take the effort to get to know me first? Just a little? How about hello? Or do we just skip all of that and get to what I can do for you? Would these same all-about-me peeps be so blatant to walk up to me at a gathering and say “Check out my site” to my face without saying hello? Or “Hi, I’m a complete stranger. You know nothing about me or my work. But I want you to be my fan. Now.”

Let’s get real. We’re all human beings worthy of attention, and there’s nothing wrong with taking moments here and there to talk about ourselves or plug our work. That’s totally cool with me. But some peeps sadly forget or are blissfully unaware that no one is in this world alone.

I hear more “Me me me me me” all the time. How about you? What are your observations? Do you think we’ve become more of a narcissistic society than ever? Can we do anything about it? Am I being too picky?

See you next week.

Yours in pickiness,

Molly

20 responses so far

Sep 11 2011

THERE’S A BATHROOM ON THE RIGHT

Published by under Language

Greetings, Cool Peeps:

Recently, a friend texted me early on a Saturday morning with the following message: “Up and Adam, Molly, we’re going shopping today.” I’d like to say that I just laughed, wondering how she could mistake “up and at ‘em” for “up and Adam,” except that for years, I thought the expression was said the same way. I often pondered why “up and Adam” meant “wake up and get out of bed,” but I never researched it. On the day I saw “up and at ‘em” written out on a billboard, it was a giant duh-you-moron moment for me.

Yesterday, a down-on-his-luck friend said to me, “It seems like I lost all of my clients in one foul swoop.” While it can be very foul to lose one’s clients, the original term, either coined or popularized by Shakespeare in Macbeth, is “one fell swoop.”

This got me thinking. Just how many words and phrases do we hear misused all the time? Of course, there’s the classic misheard lyric from Creedence Clearwater Revival’s “Bad Moon Rising.” Instead of “There’s a bad moon on the rise,” millions of peeps were singing “There’s a bathroom on the right.” And let’s face it, that makes a lot more sense. I’ve never said “There’s a bad moon on the rise” in my life, but I can’t count the number of times I’ve pointed someone in the direction of the men’s or ladies’ room.

We all hear words misspoken all the time. But it can be a real tricky situation to correct someone. Maybe, with a good friend, you can share a hearty laugh over a verbal or written faux pas, but some peeps don’t want to be corrected.

Last week at lunch, my coworker BFF Randy and I overheard someone at the next table tell a friend he was an “Oregon donor.”

“I don’t think he has any right to give that state away,” Randy whispered, grinning.

When I first went to college, I needed a doctor and made an appointment with the one closest to campus. But his receptionist scared me away. First, she asked me a question, and when my answer wasn’t complete enough, she said, “Can you be more Pacific?”

No, but I can be more Atlantic, I thought. “Yes, I can be more specific,” I told her.

When she asked me if I knew of my family’s “generic history,” I politely excused myself and found a new medical practice.

There are also expressions that we use correctly, but really don’t understand. “Oh, little Trevor is as cute as a button.” Cute as a button? Being the fashion diva I am, on rare occasions I have told peeps that the buttons on their garment are cute, but in general, do I equate cuteness with buttons? Uh, no, I don’t think so!

Then there are those expressions that we just don’t know what they mean. Here’s an example: “Everything is hunky-dory.” Okay, we all know that means that things are going great. But where did this expression come from, and why are we still using it? If you Google it, you’ll find several origins cited. Have you ever thought about how many bizarre words we use without a second thought?

I had a neighbor who used to say, “The whole kit and caboodle.” I always knew what she meant, but I don’t have a freakin’ clue what a kit or a caboodle is. Seriously, peeps, do you?

Another interesting aspect of the expressions we use is how they sound to those whose first language is not the same as ours. If you think about what you say, you’ll find that you’re probably using way more colloquialisms, expressions, and clichés than you ever imagined. This was brought home to me once when a young French au pair I knew said to me, “Molly, I hear people talking about ‘the crack of Don.’ Who is Don, and why do people talk about his crack?” When I stopped laughing, I explained to her that the expression was “crack of dawn,” and meant early morning. By then, she was laughing, too.

Here’s another favorite: “Naked as a jaybird.” Again, we know what it means, but what does it mean? I see blue jays all the time. Like other birds, they have feathers. They’re no more naked than robins, cardinals, woodpeckers, finches, herons, eagles, and all the rest.

The question is: do I sound cuckoo to you? Do you think about the expressions you use? Do you always know what they mean? Do you correct others who misuse expressions? Tell me your funny stories. Believe me, you’ve got a captive audience.

See you next week,

Yours in pickiness,

Molly

20 responses so far

Sep 05 2011

SNOOPY PEEPS

Published by under Lifestyle & Values

Greetings, Cool Peeps:

This week I’ve got a few words to say about snoops. You know, the nosy folks who are always in everyone else’s business, asking inappropriate questions and focusing their prying eyes where they shouldn’t be.

How nosy a question is has everything to do with the asker and not as much to do with the question itself. In the right situation, most questions are reasonable. But when the wrong peeps ask me things like “How much have you saved for your future?” “Why don’t you have any children?” and “How much did you pay for this or that?” I get a bit perturbed. I never knew how to respond to these questions until my coworker BFF Randy gave me some advice he’d picked up from Ann Landers. When someone asks you a nosy question, simply say, “Why do you ask?”

It really works like a charm. I was at a social gathering when a woman I’d just met said to me, “How much do you earn as a reporter, Molly?”

“Why do you ask?” I said.

“Uh, well, um, I was just curious, um, never mind!” she said indignantly as if I’d offended her, and walked away. When you say, “Why do you ask?” the answer is almost always “Because I’m nosy,” but no one is going to say that.

There was a woman in my parents’ social circle who was obsessed with the value of objects in other people’s homes, especially china, silver, pottery, and items such as that. She would either raise or overturn everything to see the mark on it. People got really tired of it. Especially my mom.

One summer, my parents were hosting a gala for close friends, and unfortunately, this Mrs. Snoop had to be invited. My mother was dreading the idea of this woman examining the value of objects in her house. So, to thwart this ghastly busybody, she wrote out tiny notes and discreetly taped them to the bottom of every object she thought this might be in danger of an unwanted surveillance.

Peeps, it was beautiful. Ten minutes after this Mrs. Snoop arrived, she picked up a china plate from the coffee table and raised it to look underneath. Confused by seeing something she didn’t expect, she loudly exclaimed, “What in the world does this say?” Her husband took it out of her hands and read aloud my mom’s note: “Mind your own business!” Everyone was in freakin’ hysterics, including the Mrs. Snoop’s weary husband, and although she arrived wearing green, she stomped out of my parents’ living room wearing red.

Once, I was at a party at a friend’s house when an inebriated guest spilled his drink on her bar and broke the wine glass. Being the good friend that I am, I grabbed some paper towels and began frantically trying to wipe everything up before his spilt Pinot Noir made it to the carpet. In the process, I cut my finger.

“Oh, sorry, Molly,” she said. “There are Band-Aids in the medicine cabinet.” Well, yours truly had no sooner opened the medicine cabinet, then out poured bouncing ping-pong balls, filling the bathroom. Apparently, my friend’s brother-in-law was always snooping to find out what medications friends took, and she wanted to embarrass him when he inevitably checked out her medicine cabinet. Only I made it there before he did — for legitimate reasons.

I was momentarily mortified, but when the truth of why she did this came out, the dude was just as embarrassed as if he had opened the little mirrored door himself.

I could easily dissertate about snoopy people, especially because I live in a town with so many of them, including Naomi Hall-Benchley, the she-devil, who wants to know every nuance of my romantic life for their own absurd purposes. But I will stay calm. I will not go off on a tangent. Not in this blog, anyway.

Please, cool peeps, tell me about the snoops in your life. How do you handle those pesky “little” snoopers?

See you next week. 

Yours in pickiness,

Molly

18 responses so far

Aug 28 2011

STUFF THAT PERPLEXES ME

Published by under Humor

Greetings, Cool Peeps:

Do you ever wonder about things that you figure the rest of the world knows except you? Were you afraid to raise your hand in school because you thought everyone else knew the answer, when in fact, nobody did? This week’s blog is about quirky little things that have played havoc with my brain, past and present. (Who knows what future perplexities will nag at me?)

Let me try to make things as simple as possible. Here’s a red apple:

Here are some oranges:

Here is a photo of Marcia Cross, the fine actress who played Bree Van de Camp on Desperate Housewives.

Women with the same hair color as Marcia are called redheads. Look at the apple. Look at the orange. Redheads? Why aren’t they called orangeheads? I know, cool peeps, at the advanced age of thirty-two, being the fashion-forward, hip woman that I am, why is it that I am still pondering the very same question that I had when I was six? My cat Captain Jack and other felines who look like him are referred to as orange cats, not red cats. Get my drift? Let’s keep going.

I often hear peeps tell me that they have “free long distance.” That just about kills me. I have a cell phone plan that allows me to make unlimited calls throughout the U.S. and Canada. But hear this: I pay the bill every month. Those minutes are not free. Free means you do not pay. Unless your cell phone carrier has forgiven your bill, you do not have free long distance. Whew! Okay. Sorry. I know most peeps know this; that rant was for the few who don’t.

And while I’m ranting about the word free, let me say here and now that it makes me freakin’ crazy when stores/retailers (both click & order and brick & mortar) offer a “free gift” with purchase. Peeps, when did you ever pay for a gift? If you paid for a gift, then it wasn’t a gift. Why does anyone use the term “free gift”?

Can we talk about food now? Specifically, pizza. There are lots of places that serve pizza and breadsticks. For some, they go together like tea and biscuits, wine and cheese, or steak and potatoes. Unless I’m mistaken, pizza is made from dough, right? Where I come from, dough is bread. So, please, tell me why anyone would want to have bread with his or her bread. Isn’t pizza fattening enough? Need another 150 calories per breadstick to jump-start your carb-orator? Seriously, are you freakin’ kidding me?

I’m going to stay on the subject of food for a bit longer, but I’m going to bring advertising into the mix. Companies, why do you animate food that is going to be eaten? Why give a chocolate chip cookie or an M&M a personality and have it say cute things if you want me to eat it? My mom used to tell me about the old StarKist TV commercial. Charlie the Tuna was always doing things like listening to classical music and appreciating art to show the company he had good taste. But the reply was always the same: “Sorry, Charlie. StarKist doesn’t want tunas with good taste; we want tuna that tastes good.” I do not believe that Charlie spent his days in the ocean looking for ways to get himself offed by StarKist and packaged into a can. Why is this kind of advertising strategy so popular? Do you like eating food that is animated in TV commercials and print ads?

And lastly, because I’m a reporter and must be concerned with the proper use of the English language, can you tell me why, in the past several years, a trend has emerged to use an apostrophes to pluralize a word? This perplexing phenomenon is a perpetual head-scratcher. “Hi Molly, here are the photo’s from the party last night.” Okay, I know where the photos were taken, but where did that apostrophe come from?

That’s a wrap for this week, peeps. I’d love to hear about the crazy, wacky things that make your head spin in confusion. Hope you’ll share your thoughts. For some reason, dear readers, you always make me feel sane.

See you next week.

Yours in pickiness,

Molly

27 responses so far

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