Today, totally surreal. I did a "Satellite Radio Tour," which is sort of like a book tour except I don't leave my apartment and I am in my pajamas and every ten minutes I'm live in a different city talking about my book, and how I came to write it and how Tyra Banks is so. not. fat. and what to do if you're going to cry at work. Twenty times. Sometimes, often in fact, the DJ is named Tron.
Things I learned:
Regular people in Poughkeepsie aren't excited to talk about Vassar (or, as Tracy educated me, "vassholes").
There is a DJ in Chicago who might fixate on why you are not married if you look as swell in real life as you do in your photo.
Radio DJs have that DJ voice all over the country. In fact, there may be one DJ and he's on every drive-time show in America. They all have that buttery baritone and they are all incredibly nice. They may all be Shadoe Stevens. Except one or two, but I think they were uncomfortable talking about girly stuff. I forgive them. In my way. Which is begrudging.
No one cares that you went to college in their state or grew up in their town. They want to get through the interview and get you off the phone for traffic and weather on the ones.
That station identification delivered in a slightly sinister voice with an echo in the background is a national phenomenon.
You can get okay with people calling the title of your book "The Girl's Guide to Everything" even though that's not the title ("Absolutely Everything," my satellite friends, ABSOLUTELY). It's like having a weird name that everyone mispronounces. You don't want to correct people all the time so you let them call you ANN-dree-uh even though it's on-DRAY-uh.
Getting up at 6 am and drinking a full pot of coffee may get you through the interviews but will also leave you with the delirium tremens for the rest of the day, finishing The Assignment (FINISHED!) whilst also having a self-induced panic attack.
Roasted Brussels sprouts are good in salad. (That one I learned after the satellite tour).