Laurie Notaro - We Thought You Would Be Prettier: True Tales of the Dorkiest Girl Alive

Acknowledgments

Thank you:

Bruce Tracy, for always having time to talk me out of my tree, for being understanding, for being patient, for being honest, and for being an invaluable and incredible friend.

Jenny Bent, the toughest, most amazing girl I know. You are the best and I adore you.

The guy who hasnt divorced me yet, who makes me laugh a million times a day, lets me be the jackass that I am, votes the same way I do, and promises not to commit me for at least another five good years.

Nana, who not only gives me a drawer when I visit, but also gives me The Big Bed. Never had a better roommate than my Nana, even though she makes me watch a lot of Court TV (new favorite channel). No one rocks like she does. No one. We love you, Nana, you crazy old woman.

My family, um, I live in Oregon now. I gave you back your Tupperware for a reason, because I still wasnt done with it, to tell the truth. Thanks for the material, not writing your own books, and not changing your last name.

Jamie, for making me pee with laughter every time we talk, and for always knowing exactly what I mean (especially when you-know-who is home and I have to whisper). Jeff, for never changing, for taking all of my shit when I moved, and for staying a true, dear friend for multiple decades, but man, your cell phone still sucks.

Kelly Kulchak, who is the coolest dork I know, for her endurance, belief in us, and outdorking me EVERY SINGLE GODDAMN DAY. I love you, but not in that way.

Adam Korn, sweet Adam Korn, for still picking up the phone when my number pops up on caller ID (may I say again I think AKorn is funny, but lets just all be glad its not AHole), and the wickedly addicting Mickey Rolfe, for his fabulous stories and downright impossible good looks. To David Dunton, for keeping my shit straight and babysitting me; and Shari Smiley, Kathy White, and Sonya Rosenfeld for working hard and watching out for me.

Annie Klein (I miss you!); Team Pretty (I am sure Ive driven you nuts); Donna Passanante; Nina Graybill; Pamela Cannon; Beth Pearson; Laura Goldin; Kimberly Obitz; Meg Halverson; Bill Hummel; Theresa Cano; Kathy Murillo; Doug Kinne; Sessalee Hensley; Jules Herbert; Craig Browning; Duane Neff; Amy Silverman; Deborah Sussman; Cindy Dasch; Laura Greenberg; Beth Kawasaki; Eric Searleman; Michelle Savoy; Charlie Levy; Patrick and Adrianne Sedillo; Charlie Pabst; Colleen Steinberg; Erica Bernth; Maryn Silverberg; Mary Jo, Henry, and Sylvia at Rositas; Marie, Becky, and Rhonda from Fairfax; Bill Homuth; Sharon Hise; the Public Library Association; the Arizona Library Association; Scottsdale Library (even if the other authors at the fundraiser thought I was a community-college student doing a research paper and asked me to get them drinks); Changing Hands; and bookstores big and little and their employees, for your wonderful support. To everyone who was SO NICE to me on the last tour, and especially David in SF who took me to Pancho Villa and then stole ice cream with me (that kicked ass).

And then, of course, theres the girls, Kate, Nikki, Sara, Sandra, and Krysti, my wonderful and patient friends. Im sorry I am the suckiest of them all. I will try to do better.

Im also sorry to my mother-in-law for hiding from her and eating a candy bar instead of answering the doorbell. I know it wasnt nice and I wish I could promise it wont happen again, but if I dont have a bra on, I wont answer that door if Ed McMahon or Rapture Jesus is knocking on it.

And the biggest, most obnoxious thanks of all goes to all of my pals who have joined the Idiot Girls Action-Adventure Club, have e-mailed me, have waited months for me to get the kits out (more apologies), have come from near and far to a reading, have stood in line to get their book signed by this asshole girl, and have been so truly, truly kind to me. Idiot Girls kick ass. Every single one. And dont you forget it.

love, laurie n.

ALSO BY LAURIE NOTARO

The Idiot Girls Action-Adventure Club

Autobiography of a Fat Bride

I Love Everybody (and Other Atrocious Lies)

About the Author

Under the cover of night, Laurie Notaro ran away from her former home in Phoenix and is now holed up in Eugene, Oregon, a town so nice it took her a remarkable three whole months to build up enough anger to flip someone off in traffic. She loves ghost stories and seeing models cry, and is under the impression that she looks cute in hats (sadly, this is not true). Against all odds, this is her fourth book.

Doing America

Are you stupid? the man behind the counter at the garage yelled at me. Just how stupid are you? How could you be so stupid?

Honestly, I just stood there, too shocked to say anything.

Are you an idiot? he asked, shaking his hand at me.

Funny you should ask that, I said, trying to make a joke as I reached into my purse. As a matter of fact...

I slid the book across the counter toward him.

Whats this? he asked, looking over the rim of his grimy circa-1970s glasses. Idiot Girls Action-Adventure... what? Club? Is that Club? You one of these idiots?

Yeah, I said and tried to laugh. Pretty much. Guess you could say I wrote the book.

And to tell the truth, that was no lie.

In fact, I was only a matter of days into my book tour and I had already been called an idiot numerous times.

I think if you get on a plane right now youre an idiot, my mother warmly informed me a week before my plane left for New York. Its an ORANGE ALERT, you know. ORANGE. Orange isnt something to fool around with! Fool around with yellow, green, or purple, but dont mess with orange! Because Ill tell you right now, if the orange terrorist gets on a plane, its going to be the one youre on.

I know, I said, trying to reassure her. At least if it was the purple terrorist, hed be easy to spot. He can sing I Love You all he wants, but when that giant eggplant marches down the aisle, no one loves Barney if hes gonna be sitting in your row.

You shouldnt be kidding around, you should be scared, my mother said, simply because she was.

Scared? I questioned bravely. Listen, Ive got a freckle on my arm thats changing colors more frequently than a Rainbow Brite, I have a tooth in the back of my mouth thats thumping louder than a stereo in a 79 Monte Carlo with a chain steering wheel, and either the zipper on the back of my sweater got bent at the dry cleaners or I now have a neck hump the size of a bagel. I ran out of fear before I even left the house this morning.

But honestly, even I didnt believe myself.

Although I was determined not to let a silly old orange alert keep me from my long-awaited book tour, my mother had planted a seed. In fact, I had caught my imagination wandering about such an event. I had even choreographed scenarios in my head of lunging at the terrorist with a Vulcan grip and a swift kick where it counts. Then I would throw the weeping, bruised evildoer to the ground and shout, You tell Osama Yo Mama to bring it on with the chicks who simultaneously have acne, gray hair, and suspicious moles, buddy! Because THAT is anger, Captain Cave, THAT IS ANGER!

Suddenly, I look down and am dressed in a denim jumpsuit unzipped to my sternum, and behind me, Kate Jackson and Jaclyn Smith (please, dont talk Drew Barrymore to meI was a teenager in the seventies and eighties, and as a result spent nearly a decade of my life with curling-iron burns on my ears, neck, and forehead, some of which matured into scars. Let me have my Farrah Fawcett dreamI have earned it) are ready to hand out free samples of Kickbutt Pie. Oh yeah, and my frosted, immaculately feathered hair ROCKS, making a majority of the other passengers visibly jealous. Now, despite the bravado of my Nick at Nite mind, I was days away from the date of my trip and I was trying very hard not to let my mothers words sink into my brain and nest there. Typically before a big trip I am so excited that I head to the airport days in advance, eating Cinnabons like a bear heading into hibernation. This time, however, I hadnt even started packing for the three-week-long trip.