Annette Fix and The Break-Up Diet
I am so pleased to have Annette Fix, author of her memoir The Break-Up Diet as our guest blogger today.
I have to admit, the most svelte, sexiest, skinniest, hottest I've ever been was always 3 months post break-up. The worse the break-up the thinner I became. I am happy to know that I am not alone...
My Un-Hollywood Secret
by Annette Fix
I’ve always wanted to be famous. Not run-of-the-mill famous for things like night-vision sex tapes, stints in rehab, and panty malfunctions—I mean reeeeally famous, like the way the bank manager immediately recognizes you because of the size of your account balance.
I think my obsession with fame started with my voracious reading appetite as a teenager, consuming a buffet of paperback Jackie Collins novels. But here’s the rub, no matter how cool I think it would be, I could never be Hollywood famous.
Why, you ask?
1) I suck at recognizing stars and I’m even worse at remembering names. And I think my celebrity unsavvyishness has been passed down to my offspring. It took 30 minutes of Q&A to finally figure out that when my son said he met “That old actor guy with the mole on his face.”—he meant Robert De Niro. That just proves my point. I’ve realized that you can’t play with the in-crowd if you don’t know who they are.
2) I’m not that interesting. I don’t have a giant ass and haven’t posed for Playboy. I haven’t behaved like a bitch on a reality show to milk my 15 minutes. And I’ve never been chased by TMZ photogs. I’ve realized that you can’t become famous unless you do something extreme.
What’s a fame-hungry girl to do?
Um…how about write a book? It worked for that British lady with the wizard fetish. So, I decided to take the advice “write what you know.” I penned The Break-Up Diet, a memoir about my boil-the-bunny obsession with my ex, my swan dive into the shallow end of the dating pool, and more personal skeletons-in-the-mental-closet details of my single mom sex life than any sane reader wants to know. Think Bridget Jones’ Diary, if Bridget were a stripper and trapped in an episode of The Real Housewives of Orange County. What can I say; it’s my life.
Look out, Diablo Cody, I’m just one platform stiletto behind you.
I have to admit, the most svelte, sexiest, skinniest, hottest I've ever been was always 3 months post break-up. The worse the break-up the thinner I became. I am happy to know that I am not alone...
My Un-Hollywood Secret
by Annette Fix
I’ve always wanted to be famous. Not run-of-the-mill famous for things like night-vision sex tapes, stints in rehab, and panty malfunctions—I mean reeeeally famous, like the way the bank manager immediately recognizes you because of the size of your account balance.
I think my obsession with fame started with my voracious reading appetite as a teenager, consuming a buffet of paperback Jackie Collins novels. But here’s the rub, no matter how cool I think it would be, I could never be Hollywood famous.
Why, you ask?
1) I suck at recognizing stars and I’m even worse at remembering names. And I think my celebrity unsavvyishness has been passed down to my offspring. It took 30 minutes of Q&A to finally figure out that when my son said he met “That old actor guy with the mole on his face.”—he meant Robert De Niro. That just proves my point. I’ve realized that you can’t play with the in-crowd if you don’t know who they are.
2) I’m not that interesting. I don’t have a giant ass and haven’t posed for Playboy. I haven’t behaved like a bitch on a reality show to milk my 15 minutes. And I’ve never been chased by TMZ photogs. I’ve realized that you can’t become famous unless you do something extreme.
What’s a fame-hungry girl to do?
Um…how about write a book? It worked for that British lady with the wizard fetish. So, I decided to take the advice “write what you know.” I penned The Break-Up Diet, a memoir about my boil-the-bunny obsession with my ex, my swan dive into the shallow end of the dating pool, and more personal skeletons-in-the-mental-closet details of my single mom sex life than any sane reader wants to know. Think Bridget Jones’ Diary, if Bridget were a stripper and trapped in an episode of The Real Housewives of Orange County. What can I say; it’s my life.
Look out, Diablo Cody, I’m just one platform stiletto behind you.
posted by Maggie Marr at 9:14 PM
4 Comments:
Maggie, I totally agree. I lost 15 lbs. in two weeks after my break-up and I was sex on heels. But now, I've put on the relationship "happy fat" and I've tried to convince my hubby that he needs to make me believe he's really leaving me so I can get skinny again. LOL
LOL. You always make me crack up, Nettie! =oD Is there still hope for me because I recognize celebrities immediately? Nah, I don't like the limelight. ;o)
And Maggie, I love your blog! I'll be sure to check back.
Hugs,
Ang
Maggie, thanks for the opportunity to reveal my very un-Hollywood secret on your blog. ;-)
I forgot to let your readers know that I will be at the L.A. Times Festival of Books this weekend, signing in booths 610 & 611.
My biz partner, Angela, will be there and we'll be promoting our women's writing ezine too. (www.wow-womenonwriting.com)
If you attend, be sure to stop by and say hi!
Annette
Thank you so much! I loved your guest blog.
xo
Maggie
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