Et tu, Fugly?

What am I, chopped liver?

A. First Jen gets a book contract.

B. And Jen's book comes out, and Jen gets another book contract.

C. And now the Go Fug Yourself girls have a book contract.

I'm starting to feel like the Chicago Cubs. A little respect would be nice. A book contract would be even better.

What I'm saying here is that I would, if asked, be willing to lose my amateur blogging status and go pro. Just so you know. I mean, I don't want it to be one of those things where one acquisitions editor at Random House is saying "You ask her," and another acquisitions editor says "I asked the last one; you ask her," and there is bickering and unhappiness ... I mean, it's all so petty.

Why sit here acting modest? Why not enrich the world with my writing? Don't I owe that much to this magnificent gift of mine? What was that parable--you know the one, about the servant and the talents, or was it the light and the bushel? Or maybe the loaves and the fishes?

So anyway, yes, Random House (or Little Brown, I'm not particular) I would be willing to write a book for you. I know, I know--I'm a busy woman, but really, I would be happy to get paid to sit around and type.

Not to mention promoting the book. Yes, I know promotional tours can be tedious, and I'm really not a morning person, but yes, I'd do the whole talk show circuit, even Good Morning America. So don't be shy--pluck up your courage, for heaven's sake. I don't bite!