Glanville - Drinking and tweeting: and other Brandi blunders

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I dedicate this book to the two people who have had the most impact on my life since my divorce: Michael Broussard and Leslie Ann Bruce Amin.

Michael Brousssard, my amazing book gaygent, my future husband, and my third child. Since meeting you, my life has changedI now have family in Southern California. Most importantly, thank you for not allowing me to fire you after you left me drunk and lost at a gay bar in Venice when we had barely just met. You truly are the gift that keeps on giving.

Leslie Ann Bruce Amin, my amazing coauthor of this book, one of the most talented writers that I know, and one of my dearest friends in the world. You are smarter, funnier, and more photogenic than me, and at times brattier than me. I would not be where I am today with out your love, advice, and direction! Thank you for not allowing me to put half-naked pictures of myself on the internet. I love you.

A re you a vagina owner or a gay? Then youll want to read this book. Has your partner ever tried to convince you that you were just born with HPV? Then youll definitely want to read this book. Have you woken up one morning in a three-bedroom rental in Encino, only to find your husband is now married to a washed-up country-music singer and youre in the middle of a reality-television meth controversy? Youre going to want to pour yourself an extra large glass of sauvignon blanc... because youre me.

As a forty-year-old divorce and a single mom, I am the first to admit that I dont have all the answers. Okay, thats a lie. I actually have answers for everything; Im just fairly certain theyre all wrong. Over the last four years, Ive watched my world explode right in front of me, and for the first time ever, my path is completely up to me. No parents, agents, or husbands to tell me where to go, how to act, or what to do next. Sure, it was scary as hell, and sometimes even now I wake up and wonder what happened to my picture-perfect life. But Id rather struggle with my uncertainty and fear than continue to live a lie. It took me a while to figure that out, because the lie can be comfortable and easy. But I had to ask myself, What kind of life is that?

When I got divorced, I realized I had completely lost my sense of self. I had always identified myself as any number of nouns: daughter, sister, girlfriend, model, friend, wife, mother, occasional amateur pharmacistyou get the point. I spent most of my life happy just squeezing into someone elses idea of the roles I should play. And finally, after four decades of living, two children, and one costly divorce, I am thrilled to be meeting Brandi. And can I be honest? It took me a long time to get to her, but I think shes just amazing.

My journey has not been smooth or without embarrassing hiccupsand by hiccups , I mean huge mistakesbut better me than you, right? Hopefully, you can learn from some of my blunders....

I spent my entire life doing what either fell directly into my lap or what other people told me I should do (although I didnt always listen), so you cant fault me for going crazy when given my first glimpse of freedom. Most women make their mistakes during their college years. Well, I didnt go to college. I went to Europe. And while girl-on-girl experimentation and drugs were prevalent, it wasnt quite the same. I had an agent watching me like a total hawk during every waking moment, and I had the pressure of the nineties fashion world on my shoulders. I know it sounds like champagne problems, but when youve had a notoriously beastly supermodel push you off the runway during Paris Fashion Week or helped a friend cover her heroin track marks for a runway show, then come talk to me about how high-pressure college is.

Silly mistakes can be fun and adventurousits also where my self-discovery happened. However, waking up in the VIP room of a Vegas strip club only to discover that Id married my former best friends ex-husbandand tweeted it out to roughly eighty thousand peopleis a story Id sooner forget. Id also like to forget the one about my husband having an affair with a country-music singeralong with just about every cocktail waitress in LAbut we cant pick all of our battles; sometimes they choose us.

While I dont consider myself a celebrity, I hope my story will allow you to peek behind the curtain of a true Hollywood breakup. Its so salacious, it might as well be a Lifetime movie. Oh, wait...

For the first time ever, I will reveal the dark underbelly of a celebrity breakupincluding staged photo ops with paparazzi, tawdry weekly-magazine contracts, and even how social media can be your own worst enemy. So let me offer you my first piece of advice: if you dont already have a prescription for a good antidepressant, go see a doctor. (I recommend Lexapro; theyre now making a more cost-effective generic form! Who said health care was failing?)

But this isnt just a breakup book, ladies and gays. As a middle-aged divorce who is trying to #KeepItSexy, Im offering this singles guide to getting your life back together for anyone who is in need of a well-deserved pick-me-up and perhaps a little direction. I know what youre thinking: What does this woman know about my struggles? Sure, Im a former-model-turned-reality-personality living in Beverly Hills. Im sure most of you are thinking, Boo-fucking-hoo. But I didnt always have what I have now. I started out in the ghetto of South Sacramento, getting beat up daily by a neighborhood thug. Yes, I was previously married to a gorgeous Cuban actor, but he almost ruined my life. Yes, I misidentified historical icon and British politician Winston Churchill as an American civil rights activist on national television. And, yes, Im known for my tiny bathing suits and my lack of a filter. But Im also a single mom who shamefully had to go to her youngest sons preschool Halloween parade in the outfit I wore on a date the night prior, because I somehow found myself staying over at the Beverly Hills jail, slapped with a well-deserved DUI. And three months after I left my husband over his inability to stop cheating, I sat alone on Christmas Eve looking at Twitter photos of my entire family having a beautiful holiday dinnerwithout me. Instead, in the center, sat the woman he wouldnt let go. Even my mother-in-law, the light of my life whom I nursed through cancer, was there. I sincerely hope this never happens to you.

My mother taught me three simple truths in this world that everyone should recognize: everybody has been dumped; everybody has a bad day; and everybody hates anal (unless youre gay... even then its a maybe). These are truths, people.

Im a firm believer that however you come into this world is how you live your life. I was born on November 16, 1972, feet-first with the umbilical cord wrapped around my neck three times. Despite my dramatic entrance and a few firm smacks from the doctor, I refused to cry. (Lets be honest, Ive always enjoyed a good spanking.) Growing up the second of three kids, I had a relatively typical childhood. My father was the local marijuana distributor, my mother regularly failed to wear undergarments, and our gay teenage neighbor lived on our couch. I routinely got into fistfights with our neighborhood bullies, I tweezed my eyebrows within a centimeter of their life trying to mimic the glossy fashion magazines I was obsessed with, and my first kiss was with my cousin Biffer. Like I said, totally normal. Hindsight being twenty-twenty, it also prepared me perfectly for the world of reality television.