The Problem with Being Me

Dear Readers:

I promised yesterday that today’s blog would be about my Scientology party, my continuing personal development, and how that development is thwarted from time to time.

Unfortunately, an event yesterday must preempt that blog.  I promise to deliver that one on Monday.  

As you all know (unless you’ve recently suffered a massive concussion or just found this blog today), I have written a book!  

Robin’s Book!

Divorce by Design: How to Split without Losing Your Mind, Your Money or Your Kids is going to blow the doors off the DIC (Divorce Industrial Complex).  

DICKS (Divorce Industrial Complex Kingpins) everywhere are scrambling to find new avenues for screwing people over revenue (such as online divorce options which will be discussed next week) as they realize the Robin Wrecking Ball of Truth is coming to tear down their Palaces of Pain.

Corny, I know.  It’s Friday and I’m feeling silly.

My book will educate men and women on how best to end their marriage with as little damage as possible.  I reveal the dirty little secrets of how the divorce sausage is made and what divorcing couples can do to avoid becoming grist for the mill.

In other words, my book (hereinafter referred to as “DBD”) will take serious amounts of food off the groaning tables of fat and greedy divorce lawyers everywhere.

I am a totally unreasonable and impatient person, so I expected the first literary agent to lay eyes on my work would immediately take me on as a client, sell the damn thing, and put me on the New York Times Best Seller List within two weeks of publication.

That was not to be.  

Literary Agent #1 (hereinafter referred to as “LA1”) passed. LA1 enjoys my blog and expressed interest in a possible agency relationship.  Unfortunately,LA1 was disappointed the book is not written in the same voice as I usually write with here: raunchy, inappropriate, irreverent, profane, somewhat paranoid, devastatingly hilarious, and seriously sarcastic.

I think he was looking for something more “racy” but that’s not what DBD is all about.  

Isn’t it Ironic?

Or is it?  That word confounds me.

The thing that stung most is this:

I was encouraged by my management (and still very much agree with their call) to write DBD in a more serious tone than this blog. I was encouraged to be less “Robin” in the book and yet my first rejection was based on the fact I wasn’t “Robin” enough.


Sigh.  Do you ever feel like you just can’t win?

Because this is my first rejection (as a writer, not as a human being…that happens every day) of what I’m sure will be many, I felt temporarily flattened. My earlier mood of incredible optimism and confidence deflated and drained like a faulty breast implant and I was left floppy, droopy and sad.

Robin Reaches Out

I called my friend as I wandered through the grocery store searching out inexpensive food options, hoping for some words of cheer.  I explained why I am doggedly comparing food prices (read here for an explanation: Scrounging for Cheat Eats!) and cruised the aisles for Experimental Dinner #1.

(Readers, please prepare for a tangent)

What is Experimental Dinner #1, you ask?  I’m here to tell you!

Guests will be given two servings of identical dishes made from ingredients sourced from 1) a trendy expensive market where people who use the word “market” as a verb tend to shop, and 2) WinCo Foods or other inexpensive food warehouses, where people who use the word “mini-van” as a verb tend to shop. 

Guests will consume the offerings and answer a series of questions about each dish.  They will not know which one is sourced from which location until the end of the party, at which point they will be poured into a cab after too much Cab and sent home to consider how lucky they are to be a part of this Great Robin Experiment.

Back to my call.  Sorry for the sidebar.   

I hate it when people yak on the phone in grocery stores but my confidence was flagging and this particular friend is my go-to guy when it comes to cheering me up.  If he can’t say anything nice, he’ll say something incredibly mean and witty about someone whom I despise. He uses the word “snark” as a verb and hates greedy divorce lawyers too. 

In other words, he’s just like me, but without the amazing boobs and not-so-amazing stretch marks.

I told my friend while I understand this will be the first of many rejections in this business, the specific circumstances still really bothered me.  

“How can I be just the right amount of Robin?” I wailed.  “What is that amount?  How is it measured?  What is it worth?”

To which he replied,

“Just remember Robin, every ‘no’ gets you one step closer to ‘yes.’ Keep that in mind!”

He was right, and I noted in response,

“That sounds like something an optimistic rapist would say. I like it!”

We had a chuckle and guffaw and celebrated my return to optimism and being more “Robin” than I probably should be, because nothing says “too much Robin” like a joke about rape.

Which reminds me, did I ever tell you guys the joke I made up about a year or two ago? Someone challenged me to write THE MOST OFFENSIVE joke I could, and I was only given five minutes to do it.

Oh boy, it’s bad. Leave a comment if you’re interested…


This Post Has 5 Comments

  1. Mark

    Dish it, bitch! (said lovingly!)

  2. Mike

    I know you well enough to expect the worst (and by that I mean the best). Let’s hear it!

  3. Michael Cox

    Oh please tell ….. please.

  4. Kathy

    I can’t wait for Monday! Now you must share because I’ve never spoken that phrase before.

  5. Greg

    Does it involve a chicken?

Comments are closed.