July 10: Laurie Notaro again

This morning I wrote about an author I recently discovered, Laurie Notaro. This evening I was looking around the 'net for more info about her and found out she lives in Eugene (Lori, I hope you won't hold that against her). The cool thing about this is that she may do more frequent readings in this area on her current book tour. I love going to author appearances; my favorites so far have been Armistead Maupin and Sarah Vowell. I'm hoping to see David Sedaris when he's in the northwest in October. Now Laurie Notaro's on my list too. Yay!

--Jen

July 10: Car talk

In Laurie Notaro's book, The Idiot Girls' Action-Adventure Club, she tells about running over a gas can that then gets wedged under her car. She doesn't know it, though, and calls AAA because surely such a noise means that her car is about to die. Before the tow truck arrives a policeman stops and discovers the gas can. He gets it out from under the car and leaves laughing. Laurie is humiliated.

As I read this I thought, "Oh yeah, she's an idiot girl, all right." Because I probably would have done the same thing. I mean, I can't imagine how she ran over a big gas can without realizing it, but I could identify with just about everything else.

I cannot change a tire. I know what a flat one looks like but I don't know the first thing to do about it, especially if it's raining. If you asked me to point to my battery I might be able to do that because they show car batteries on TV commercials. Spark plug, whuh? I don't know what a carburetor does or looks like. Because I live in Oregon, I'm not allowed to know how to pump gas. And while traveling out of state I make someone else do it because I get gas all over my hands and am pretty sure I would not-so-spontaneously combust if I don't clean it off properly. I wouldn't know where to check my oil if you held a gun to my head. And if you asked me to point to my clutch I'd have to think about it for a little while before I remember I drive an automatic (they don't come equipped with clutches, right?).

My dad would be so ashamed. I made it a special point to not ever mention any of these things to him while he was alive. Right now his ashes--which are on top of my china cabinet--are creating a tornado, I'm sure; otherwise my china's rattling around for a totally different reason.

I know how to turn on my hazard lights. I have AAA. I pay my membership fee every year and the only thing I have ever asked in return is that they give me some travel guides and maps. So I think calling one of their dudes to come change a tire for me wouldn't be such a bad thing, especially if it's raining. Vic is incredibly ashamed that I think that. I try to not ever mention my lack of car knowledge to him because he'll drag me out by the hair and make me change tires until I can do it like a pit crew.

I pull the "helpless and naive idiot girl" card when it helps me most. Don't we all?

--Jen

July 10: Join me, idiot girls

I have just recently discovered the hilarity that is Laurie Notaro. This morning I finished reading her first book, The Idiot Girls' Action-Adventure Club: True Tales from a Magnificent and Clumsy Life, and am ready to start the next one. She has great titles:

• Autobiography of a Fat Bride: True Tales of a Pretend Adulthood
• We Thought You Would Be Prettier: True Tales of the Dorkiest Girl Alive
• I Love Everybody (and Other Atrocious Lies): True Tales of a Loudmouth Girl
• There's a (Slight) Chance I Might Be Going to Hell: A Novel of Sewer Pipes, Pageant Queens, and Big Trouble

The first book appears to be a bit autobiographical. She reminds me of a cleverer, American Bridget Jones or a non-NYC Carrie Bradshaw with less raunchy friends. The chapters are short and sweet and I think every one of them made me laugh out loud. Apparently Notaro is a columnist for a newspaper in Arizona and her books are based on some of her columns.

If you're looking for a fun read that's light on true crime, check out one of Laurie Notaro's books. You totally trust my judgment, right? (Even if I do not yet love your next husband, Lori?)

Fine. I love you anyway, just a little less.

--Jen