In good company...

HODA!!! LOLOLOLOLZ!!!!!!!!!

Truth be told, we did find our book in Barnes and Noble today, but it was not on the noteworthy paperbacks table next to Hoda Kotb, Drew Brees and Whoopi Goldberg (or "The Dream Team", as I call us). It was on a bottom shelf in the humor section all the way in the back of the store by the shitters, sandwiched between a book called Kama Pootra and Undateable. (Seems about right.) We took it upon ourselves to discreetly move it to a more prominent location, then immediately negated our discreetness by obnoxiously taking pictures of ourselves pointing to the table and giggling like school girls. I apologize to Barnes and Noble booksellers everywhere, slash heavily encourage you to do the same. Move our book to a more prominent location, that is. Not take obnoxious photos of yourselves pointing at it. Although shit, if you feel moved to do so, you go right on ahead. It's nice getting emails from people who aren't Bank of America or a Victoria's Secret catalog every now and then.

Speaking of helping us out, I made our release party an event on Facebook and can't figure out how to invite fans of 2birds1blog because I'm a girl and don't get technology or math or parking. So, here's the link. I think it's open...and anyone can RSVP? So RSVP? If that's an option? I don't know. Someone help me figure this out because I invited some ex-boyfriends and as of right now there are only 23 RSVPs and I feel like a fucking loser.

In other publicity news, congratulations to Chris on his awesome interview in the Philadelphia Gay News yesterday. And congratulations to me on an interview I did over a year ago on washingtonpost.com where I drunkenly ramble about Biergarten Haus and forget to say the name of our blog. THE 2BIRDS1BLOG PR MACHINE: SHE'S A MIGHTY BEAST...

Speaking of being jealous of Chris because he's been asked to do 7,489 interviews about the book, whereas the highlight of my publicity experience has been being asked to sign a copy for my aunt's assistant (OH HEY, CAITLIN!!1!), check this shit out:

Chris got a tweetback from Garry Shandling. And you know what? That's bullshit. Because not four days earlier, I sent a tweet to Garry Shandling that I feel like was way more deserving of a tip of the Shandling. Because mine, like, rhymed.

COME ON!!!! That's funny!!! I mean, it's not winning the Mark Twain Prize anytime soon, but it's still funnier than Chris' tweet. Yet what did I get back from Shandling? Crickets. And I'm completely aware that Chris and I are a "team" and we need to work "together" and I sound like his jealous little sister right now, but at the same time, you have to understand how high the stakes are. Because this is Garry fucking Shandling we're talking about, OK? Not Victoria Jackson. We love Garry Shandling. I may go as far as saying that we're (healthily) obsessed with Gary Shandling. (SPOILER ALERT: we dedicated our second book to him.) (So, maybe not healthily.) Would I let Garry Emmanuel Shandling to unspeakable things to me? Yes. Yes, I would. Have I sent him nude photographs of myself emptying the dishwasher to convey as much? No. But that's only because my kitchen has shitty lighting. A tweetback from Garry Shandling would mean everything and Chris got it and not me, and everyone wants to interview Chris and not me, and yesterday my mom yelled at me for leaving the freezer door open and spoiling all her Jenny Craig meals and I took the wrap for it even though Chris did it when he made taquitos AND IT'S NOT FAIR!!!!!!1! Quoth the Dre: I started this gangster shit, and this is the motherfucking thanks I get?

Also, this has nothing to do with jealousy, but Chris shouted "GOOD LUCK!" at me when I excused myself from the table to take a shit at T.G.I. Friday's yesterday and he blogged on Tuesday about how he's seen "every single one of my private parts" over the last few weeks. Which is valid. I had no idea wearing sheer v-neck shirts and playing with my own breasts were such important parts of my creative process until recently, but STILL. It's embarrassing. So, I guess what I'm trying to say is, I DECLARE WAR ON MY "PARTNER" CHRISTOPHER TURNER-NEIL.

I'm not really sure what kind of war. I kind of crudely photoshopped that image together instead of fully thinking out my declaration, but it's uploaded, so I feel like I have to commit. A war to see who can have sex with Garry Shandling first feels kind of ambitious. Although I'm the one who's single and likes road trips, so bring it the eff on. 

In summation: RSVP to our release party so three people will regret dumping me, fuck Barnes and Noble's layout, fuck Chris, fuck Garry Shandling (literally), and I should stop writing blog posts after we've been writing for 12 hours.

Have a swell weekend.

UH, 7:41AM UPDATE:

Really, Chris? Flashin' your shit at Garry Shandling again? I mean, you've already tongue-kissed him in front of me at my own bat mitzvah—that not enough for you? Gotta go back for seconds? Sloppy.