Monday, July 28, 2014

Gone Jurl

Hey!  For future blog posts please head over to!

Wednesday, April 23, 2014

Jurl Gotta Publish

Well, I totally gave up on getting an agent and went straight to self-publishing on Amazon.  Releasing it into the wild was difficult and even worse was telling people that it was available to be scrutinized and ridiculed!  But I'm not getting any younger and the book isn't getting any better.  I've had some wonderfully positive feedback so I now share with my oldest and dearest blog readers.  Enjoy! 

Buy The Fat Rules here:

Thursday, November 21, 2013

Back At It

Ah, jurls, I finished my book.  And it's kind of like having a big poop-- feels great to get it out, but when it won't flush it ruins your day.  I've got a finished book what?  Now I want it to be published, somehow, somewhere, some way.  

But what does a mom/lawyer in Dallas, Texas know about getting published?  Nada, but thanks to the internets I've learned a few things.  First of all you can't hardly get published without an agent (but it's real hard to get an agent if you haven't been published).

Second of all, you need a really super duper, awesome Query Letter to send out to agents.  Brief, to the point, with just enough suck up to convince a total stranger with better things to do, they should spend several hours of their life reading your sad little tale.

Third of all, if you're a mom/lawyer in Dallas, Texas you're pretty much screwed.

This is the part I've always dreaded.  Writing the book was easy, it's the begging someone, anyone to please, please love me that is heartbreaking.  Writing my Query Letter felt a bit like writing a dating profile except with less chance of success.  "Hi, my book is titled The Fat Rules and it loves bubble baths and sleeping ten hours a day.  It's turn offs include being read in the bathroom and rejection." 

REJECTION (how it sounds in my mind) is the stuff of nightmares.  I realize it's not fun for anyone, but it's so hard for me I considered putting my book away with the hope that upon my death it would be discovered and hailed as the hilarious romp I always intended.  But I know that's insane in the membrane, so I wrote my dating profile, I mean Query Letter, and sent it out to about twenty agents I thought might, might be somewhat, slightly right for it.  So far four direct rejections (one very nice one) and sixteen or so silent rejections (never heard back). 

I haven't done a thing since I sent the last letter out a month ago.  I need to revamp my Query and try again, but my inner resistance has been hard to overcome.  If success was measured in the amount of give up in a person I would be Oprah.  I return to this blog in an effort to motivate myself and share this experience with anyone who might, like me, have a dream they find so silly and terrifying it paralyzes the soul. 

At the end of this day, I will have at least done this small thing. 

The soundtrack to this post:  "Say Something" by A Great big World and Christina Aguilera

Thursday, April 12, 2012

40 Year Old Jurl

On March 22 I reached the mid-point of my life- 40. I honestly never thought I'd live this long. Remember how old your parents seemed at 40? Of course, I've remained totally young on the inside, nee, immature, despite my body's rapid descent into a geriatric tragedy. I cling to the myth that young at heart is all that really matters and in effort to convince myself I submit the following:

I pee on myself when I sneeze, but can't resist the well played fart joke.

I limp for a second when I get out of the bed in the morning, but if someone doodles a penis with a mustache and monocle I will laugh until I pee myself (which these days is about 47 seconds).

I don't understand Twitter, but I like to give pretend interviews to Oprah. Often about how I don't understand Twitter, or memes, or Linked in, or where the hec is the world wide web.

I can't stay up past 10:30 p.m., but in my waking hours I cuss like a twelve year old boy who just discovered how great the F word sounds in front of and behind every word. Example: F you F'er.

I sometimes have a musty smell coming from my bat cave, but I'm as hairy as any twenty year old!

Some of that hair is coming out in strange places, but it's still thick and luxurious- I could do a Pantene commercial for catfish whiskers. Imagine them swishing back and forth in slow motion while someone says off camera: "How do you take catfish whiskers and turn up the heat? Set them on fire with Pantene's new Pro V Whisker Wash with barracuda anal juice! Your whiskers will be the first and last thing anyone sees when they look at you! Warning: this product may contain acid."

I'm a 40 year old wife/mother/part-time lawyer that makes lunches every morning, washes everyone's dirty drawers, and sometimes wonders if this is really living an authentic life, but hey, I just made up a Pantene commercial!

Do your best body, you dirty bitch, you mother f***in, mother f***er! I will fight your decay with fart jokes, a mustachioed penis, the F word, fake commercials, and my best friend and confidant, Oprah!

Here's to the first decade of the rest of my life, bitches!

Wednesday, September 14, 2011

Cooking Jurl

Well, jurls, you might not know this about me, but I'm a pretty decent cook. Nothing fancy, just yummy and soothing food as food should be (if used as mood elevator). So I share with you two of my secret ingredients: Bisquick and Whippin Cream.

If you are making mashed potatoes use whippin cream instead of milk.

If you want a melt in your mouth biscuit, mix Bisquick and whippin cream together, bake at 375 until done. Oh, yeah.

Want yummy baked chicken? Mix Bisquick, salt, and pepper together, dip a chicken tender in gently whisked egg, dip chicken in Bisquick, stick it on a foil covered cookie sheet, then pour a small (or big, whatev) amount of melted butter over it. Bake at 450 till done. Yums.

Cool Whip? You don't need no stinking cool whip. Whip whippin cream until stiff peaks appear then add sugar and a splash of vanilla. Oh no, you didn't.

If lovin you is wrong, I don't want to be right.

Sunday, September 11, 2011

Staggering Compassion, Jurls

A 9/11 story that will cause your heart to fill up and your eyes to leak pesky tears.

Tuesday, September 6, 2011

Oh, Jurl, You Are Drunk and French. What Could be Worse?

By now you have probably heard about Gerard Depardieu's recent incontinence problem on a passenger jet. If not, then allow me to break the news: the big French lout took a piss on the carpet of the plane he was in as they awaited take off.

When this made news I was torn. On the one hand, I was grossed out because I can imagine the assault of his hot, steamy, stinky, yellow pee pee blasting out of his french sausage link and splattering across the inside of what is essentially an overgrown tin can. Yaht. On the other hand, if you are stuck sitting on the tarmac needing to go potty then you should be able to use the facilities and if the flight attendants insist you keep your seat with no regard to the peril of your swollen bladder, then piss on them.

So, as to The Great Pee Pee Caper I was on the fence. And then this:

Urinating when you are drunk and/or held hostage I can understand. This spoof that passes for french humor I cannot abide. I now speak to the people of France:

Why are you so weird, French people? Why is this funny? It's not. Are your comedy writers all cocaine-fueled Jerry Lewis impersonators? Why does the plane look like a backstage Vegas dressing room? Why does the guy across the aisle seem totally bemused by how he got in this skit? Why is the opera Viking costume so hilarious to you people? We leave that for Bugs Bunny. And only when he cross-dresses. Why is Gerard Depardieu a sex symbol? Seriously, why? Why?!

My advice, because I know you want it, is to stick to making cheese, wine, and rude comments to American tourists. And since I am an American tourist allow me to quote my good friend N.D. who, when robbed in Paris and given the run around at a French bank, said "If not for us you'd all be speaking German!"

Spreken ze that Gerard.