Apocalypse Now-ish?

Hi there, Lovelies. How the hell are you?

Soaringly anxious? Justifiably outraged? Feeling like we’re living in a Cormac McCarthy novel and in much need of levity? Maybe you feel like shouting, “NICE try, Coronavirus… I was already crazy and out of shape before you came along.” Perhaps you’re experiencing an inaugural epic WFH fail… and accidentally texted a colleague your entire household grocery list and told him to make sure to get tampons.

Alas, there are still some good things in the world…

Give author Sara Benincasa’s new Apple podcast, Well, This Isn’t Normal a listen.  Her book Agorafabulous!: Dispatches From My Bedroom is also a riotous, relatable gem for this new era we’ve entered.

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Speaking of eras, Dan Chiasson’s thoughtful meditation on our shifting sense of time during the Coronavirus gave this girl comfort as well.

You might also like Dr. Kathleen Smith’s fab newsletter The Anxious Overachiever… it’s crazy-practical and actionable. She’s my favorite stressed-out therapist these days.

If you need some funny… Dave Pell’s piece on McSweeney’s FAMOUS LINES OF POETRY REVISED FOR THE AGE OF CORONAVIRUS is such a chuckle.

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If you’re one of those folks who has to keep moving to stay sane but are now quietly panicking in the linen closet, this is a wonder of an online community: My Peak Challenge with a new Daily Social Distancing Workout.

Lastly, if you’re feeling a bit randy, check out this thoughtful piece by Elyse Martin on How a Book of Medieval Sex Tales Can Help us Through the Pandemic…

Ok, that’s what I got… Stay safe and stay home, Lovelies – xoxo – gg

Every Trump presser is like a Malignant Narcissists Anonymous Meeting…

Ahoy, Lovelies. How the hell are you?  Feeling cooped up AF and about to have a Parker Posey-style meltdown?

There, there… As a chronically sick girl and wayward writer, I’m a seasoned shut-in and I don’t think I’ve ever felt so SEEN. These pressers though… oof… like staring into a black hole of ego, sucking every scintilla of honor and decency into the skull-crushing void. STILL, just a few things worth loving these days:

A total gift from the Obamas and some stellar activists… CRIP CAMP: A DISABILITY REVOLUTION coming to Netflix on March 25th… please watch and support this all-too-secret history of a movement that’s made so many things possible for whole generations of us…

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This terribly clever take… To Beat COVID-19, Think Like a Fighter Pilot

The Good Book Fairy’s Laugh Your Ass Off Book List I really needed this one.

This resource list for creatives and gig workers impacted by work stoppages. With hundreds of thousands of jobs already lost, this is exactly how we need to be thinking.

And mourning what seems to be the swiftly receding age of touch…

Amid the limits of pleasantries during a pandemic: When the Answer to ‘How Are You?’ Is %*#@&%(@*

And legendary writer Warren Ellis’s pithy musings, music and images every morning from way out at the edge of the Thames river delta at Warren Ellis LTD

Lastly, if you are now doing Zoom drinks with friends, there’s a new Scotch completely worth trying: The Sassenach

For now, stay safe and maybe try to marvel at people’s inventiveness and generosity during these trying times? Slainte Mhath (Good Health), Lovelies – xoxo – gg

International Women’s Day 2020

Ahoy, lovelies! How goes the quarantine?

With the adaptation of my book for stage and screen, I’ve already been living like a shut-in while we figure out showrunners, but just some fun news from the west coast… My little memoir in essays (and swear words) has been featured alongside so many amazing, prolific writers like Candice Fox, Lee Koffman, and Kirsten Alexander for International Women’s Day 2020 by Words & Nerds!!! You can listen to my goofball interview with the delightful Dani Vee right here!

So honored to be at the table with these incredible women. Thanks again, Dani. In the meantime, stay safe out there, people. – xoxo -gg

ps…  here’s a sneak peek of my next book all about women, mischief and lousy impulse control…

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Thursday. What a Concept.

Maybe it’s because the one time I was chill in life… things went very badly. Or maybe it’s just this week that’s always an anxious-existential-emotional stewpot for me.

Let’s review…  Sunday: you began with so much outlandish bliss… it’s like that Esthero song from the perennially underrated Down With Love. Everyone should live this song.

Monday gets even better at work… because sometimes you get a writing note that’s the fucking skeleton key to unlock all the bits you’ve been struggling with over a whole season of work. You bounce around the office with such long-legged joy until an assistant tells you have something on your chin and you realize it’s a chapped spot—a little soul patch where a potential squeeze may have kissed you too much just 24 hours prior. You moisturize.

Tuesday becomes slightly more laughable when said squeeze sends you this as a present… you love presents.

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And in the back of your mind, you wonder if he’s trying to tell you something about himself… and/or whether (like Oprah or Toni) you should listen. OR maybe he’s just mistaken you for being wicked-green—when underneath it all you have intense lady-balls.

Wednesday comes and it’s the day when all the mythologies you built up about the one city you always thought would save you… and it still feels broken. It’s the day you shielded your kids from every media outlet possible, only to have them spout frighteningly uncanny observations the very next day. A few years later, this would also be the date your husband says, “I can’t do this anymore,” after just moving you to a brand new city where you neither like or know anyone. In the meantime, you look around at people whose marriages have endured… only to lose their love to a tragic illness while another couple (yes, they’re both writers) celebrates an anniversary in a way you now strangely long for…

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but only with someone who’s really true and good. It’s also a day where you read articles like this one and realize politics will always leave you befuddled and cynical.

And then, you get to Thursday… your assistant tells you the chafe on your chin has healed nicely and you realize after all these years, maybe your rag and bone heart has done so as well. And you think about dyeing your hair some autumnal shade… like Natasha’s. Can you still get away with it? You poll your girlfriends, who all hesitate…

I’m not sure yet…  Much work to do. Stay rad, lovelies – xoxo – gg

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Doing Crazy Rhino Laughs with Bill Hader and Women Inspired’s Dr. April Seifert

Darling Ruffians…  Behold! Your every-once-in-a-while missive from the land of snarky solipsism periodically masquerading as art… How the hell are you? Isn’t the world just horrendous right now? Everything is awful. Most days I have to watch a boatload of BBC America just to get through the day. Hold fast, dear ones.

In the meantime, I have some wickedly fun news I can finally utter out loud and in pixels… My tiny book, Gotham Girl, Interrupted, a comedy about neurodiversity (and other clinically awful things) is being developed by Emmy award-winning executive producer, Cary Brokaw, of Angels in AmericaWTF, you say? I know!

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We’re doing a half-hour show called SPAZ in the vein of Fleabag and Better Things. Of course, I’m beyond thrilled. Cary’s instincts about story are so wildly uncontrived, they nudge me way the hell out of my comfort zone. Plus, getting paid to be as charmingly weird as you naturally are is kind of a fabulous vacation. (For newcomers here… I’d made this promise ages ago to always do work that completely terrifies my dad, and now it’s totally working out! Who knew?)

But this is why I’m still in Los Angeles at Saint Jacqueline’s Home for Wayward  Writers…  and why I’ve been trying to stick to Colson Whitehead’s highly unsexy book advice: “Stay at home and write. Don’t go out.” I have to admit some days… it makes me batshit antsy AF, and so recently I had to go outside to meet Bill Hader. Can I just tell you… sitting mere feet away from this national treasure of a guy, listening to him totally indulge his yowling, horny-rhinoceros-laughter, has the CRAZY effect of making you less afraid of your own horny-rhinoceros-laugh? Which is also why I’m a bit less shy about sharing my latest interview with April Seifert, host of the groundbreaking podcast Women Inspired!

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For those of you who know me, I apply the rules of improv comedy to manage a life with epilepsy. What I loved about my conversation with April is that she got me thinking again about how my prior professional background in Design Thinking could be applied to ongoing healing, self-care, and life design to thrive with any chronic condition. To my mind, April is exactly the kind of badass psychologist and data scientist the End Epilepsy campaign needs to design a world more inclusive of all our differently wired brains and bodies. I’m so grateful to her for having me on Inspired Women. Give it a listen and spare some starry love when you have a chance.

For now, I’m going back to a series bible. Stay rad, lovelies, Until next time – xoxo – GG

Girl Swallows Sun

Hello, Lovelies, How the hell are you?

I think Sara Benincasa called it correctly yesterday. There is nothing sexier than a French fireman rescuing art. Between, the accent, the bravery, and the overall cultural redemption… serious swoon.

In 2015, my facial nerves were severed. No more feeling, no smile—only a smirk after many months of ridiculous face push-ups. I remember wanting to feel a kiss so badly. I’d watch husbands, wives, and lovers at school drop-off and just long. Perched on my stoop, full of pins and plates, I’d close my eyes and imagine a man kissing me on the very sexy-ticklish spot where my earlobe becomes my neck. I’d feel the bristle of his well-trimmed scruff against my cheek. My face, unafraid, cradled in his hands, the laughing play of whispered jokes. The warmth of lips would always become this girl-swallows-sun glow I’d carry around all day.

It’s been four years since I’ve felt a kiss.

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I’ve almost started forgetting that it’s even possible, which means I mourn it less. Last week on the anniversary of the beastly day, friends took me to lunch for an amazing re-birth-day. For the last few years, I’ve regarded the date itself with a mix of superstition, gratitude, and regret. Somehow, this approach and comedy have saved my rag and bone hiney, but yesterday, watching Notre Dame burn amid the quiet shock and then the hymns, I re-remembered love and missed it deep in my bones. I’d been in love there once.

I would like a French fireman, please? Preferably one who reads?

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Thanks to those of you who wrote in to tell me I had Trump hair. Arya Stark voice back at you: A girl has toner…  and a list. But don’t get me started on that despicable Cheeto.

Stay rad, Lovelies – xoxo – gg

Mischief Managed… Barely

Behold! Your weekly-ish missive from the land of gentle narcissism and amazing tacos…

It’s hot as BALLS here today, but after having been on the road for Gotham Girl Interrupted for what feels like forever, I’m super excited to finally tape the Books on the Subway podcast: Read. Ride. Discuss. Such an honor!!! And yes, that people are quite possibly going to snort-laugh in between swearing at The MTA because my silly book will actually be hidden in and around various stations is, as my kids would say, totally clutch. I have other amazing news that I’m not allowed to share just yet. Hopefully, Wednesday. Can you tell I’m a terrible secret keeper? I have been like this since Friday (barely able to contain my glee):

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Before I go, one more thing… I was so heartened by this post Girl on the Train from writer Erynn Brook about riding home with a woman having seizures. This is how we all should be. With everything that’s bad right now, it was one good thing.

Stay rad, Lovelies –  xoxo – gotham girl