Nanny Goats in Panties: Marrying George Clooney With a Free Lunch

Someone once said that if you're going to San Francisco, be sure to wear some flowers in your hair. What they don't tell you is that if you do put flowers in your hair and they are two dozen long stem red roses, be sure and de-thorn them first. Well, live and learn, I guess. And hair grows back, right? Well, not if you're follicly challenged, but you know what I mean.

On one recent Sunday, a group blogger lunch was organized in San Francisco, about a two-hour podcast-filled drive from Sacramento. I was excited and nervous to meet and make new bloggy friends. Luckily, I arrived about half an hour early, because that's about how long it took to find a parking place since, you know, San Francisco.

The lunch (which was actually breakfast since I had an omelette, the restaurant being a crepe place and all) was delicious. And I connected with several smart and fabulous women who were excited about the blogosphere in northern California. A pile of books were produced and we were asked to take one and review it on our blogs if we could. I walked out with a free book (score!) and a better feeling about myself to meet new people.

I also walked out without paying for my lunch.

Yeah, I realized that about five minutes after I drove off in my car. I was mortified. So mortified that I broke the law and got on my phone while navigating the 45-degree hills to call one of the girls to profusely apologize, beg for forgiveness, and swear to make up for it when I saw them in Vegas later this month at SITScation, a blogger conference.

So let's see...for those of you keeping score at home, that's one free lunch and one free book. That puts me in the lead, doesn't it?

I'm a sucker for laugh-out-loud memoirs and that free book I got was one of them. Marrying George Clooney, which reads a bit like a blog, is written by Amy Ferris who somehow manages to make the hell that is menopause funny. She has insomnia and most of the chapters were written at 3am when the rest of the neighborhood, including her husband, are sound asleep.

And her mother has dementia, which is no laughing matter, except Ferris pulls it off anyway. While most of the people who can relate to this book would be midlife women who take care of their parents, Ferris' writing is poignant enough to pull in any member of the audience, whether young or male. She does not alienate; she sucks you in. And then makes you laugh.

I could have done without the whole preface, though. Seven pages of blah, blah, blah that I didn't need to know and was misled into thinking the book was going to be a dud, because she doesn't turn it on until Chapter 1 on page 16.

Also? She didn't need to change up the font all the time in order to emphasize what she was trying to say. Her writing was the most beautiful woman in the room who felt compelled to put on too much make-up when she could have arrived clean-faced. Her use of language is gorgeous; the important lines stand out all by themselves and don't need any help. In other words, don't put A1 Steak Sauce or ketchup on that filet mignon; it's delicious just the way it is.

But maybe that's just me and all those italic interruptions and ALL CAPS asides wouldn't bother you at all. I'm just barfing out my own opinion. Either way, I highly recommend this book for a touching and hilarious look at a midlife crisis.

AAAAAAAND.....it's available on Kindle.