I'm going to drown the fucker in pickle juice.
Yes, that's what I've decided: humiliation by pickle juice. Except it won't really be the pickle juice that does him in—it'll be the whiskey. The whiskey that comes in a shot glass alongside the pickle juice, as any self-repecting Philadelphian knows.
They call it a pickleback, and the first time we had one together was the year 2010. TWENTY TEN, I KNOW, RIGHT? Someday I'll be hobbling down the sidewalk on my way to the corner store to pick up a pack of Depends and they'll say, “She was alive in the early 2000's,” the way we whisper about people old enough to have lived in early 1900's. “Can you believe she actually had to drive her own car? Life was so dangerous, back then!”
Alas, the year 2010 was a dangerous one in which to be alive, for it was the year that I would eventually find myself sleeping in an inner-city Kmart parking lot, subsisting on dollar menu McDonald's and frantically trying to figure out my life and what I was supposed to do with it. (How I turned around a made a million dollars from the backseat of my car is a part of what my book is about— OUT FEBRUARY 11TH, BISHES.)
But first, there were the picklebacks.
And first, there was Sean Ogle, sitting on a bar stool across from me. I should have known then that he'd be trouble. I should have known then that, a decade later, he'd be sending me absolutely ridiculous audio messages, as exhibited below.
Exhibit A: Sean Ogle's 53-second audio message that you're definitely going to want to click and listen to because as much as I hate to admit it, the fucking guy is hilarious—even though he is a total psychopath. Payback's a bitch, Ogle!
I warned him. I told him that I'd be posting it to my blog, and he didn't believe me. So, here we are. All because Sean Ogle had to bust my balls about not sending him a galley copy of the book.
So I sent the fucker a galley copy of the book.
Or, rather, I had Penguin Random House send him a galley copy of the book, so I can start plotting his demise by pickleback. Because that is what we've now promised one another will be happening at some point this year: total annihilation by kosher dill. It's going to be grand. Don't worry, I'll be sure to Insta-story him crawling down the sidewalk, looking for a pack of those Depends.
BUT IN THE MEANTIME, it got me thinking. As much as I hate to admit it in public, Sean Ogle is a friend of mine. (Don't let it get out.) And friends *want* to help one another. Friends *want* to be involved and know what you need and try to help you however they can when you're doing something like FOLLOWING YOUR DREAMS and publishing your first book and making at least three people in Topeka, Kansas, wheeze with dismay. Because that is what friends do.
And so it has also occurred to me that: maybe if I asked you, too, you'd also want to help me with the book? ~looks around room mischievously~
Here's what we're working on achieving—if you can help in any way, GREAT!
- Getting my ass booked on as many podcasts as possible, to be released the week of February 11th.
- Getting my ass featured in as many magazines as possible.
- Getting my ass featured in as many newspapers as possible.
- Getting my ass featured on as many blogs as possible.
- Getting my ass featured on as many social media channels as possible.
- Not actually showing my ass on any of the above.
So allow me to ask you: Do you have any contacts in the media? Do you know anyone with a platform? Have a friend of a friend? Know anyone who would love The Middle Finger Project and the book and me and the entire vibe of “resist the urge to conform?”
I would kiss your feet for at least thirty seconds if you'd send an intro email to me at email@example.com. Elizabeth and I are both in the inbox, and we're coordinating with my publicist at Penguin, Stef, who will be handling all scheduling! No idea too big or small! I'm game for it ALL. And that includes if you have your own podcast or blog. In fact? I'd really love it if you'd be willing to post about the book on February 11th just as a private citizen (sounds so sexy, doesn't it?)—but more on that later.
In the meantime, will you help me?
If you know anyone you think I should be talking to, please hook a girl up. And for the love of christ, if you know Ryan Gosling, definitely hook me up. He absolutely makes a cameo in the very first paragraph of the book, like all respectable books should do.
I've SLAYED for this day, these past ten years, and I'm just so tickled excited. Like, little kid excited. I'm trying to learn how to just….enjoy it now. And enjoy talking about it and reveling in it and letting other people come party with me—instead of letting it all blow right by me while I focus on 10,000 other things and never look up from the computer. I am insistent on looking up, being present, enjoying this ride, and engaging and sharing and laughing and playing as much as possible. This is what why we work, fam! THE GOOD PARTS. This is why we do what we do. And I'm here for ALL OF IT.
With the character that is Sean Ogle.
And especially with the bartender who takes my bribe to make Sean's picklebacks extra strong so he can loosen up his fancy little Portland-preppy golf shirt and see how the east coast rides and THEN record me an audio and see JUST HOW FUNNY HE IS.