The author of the New York Times bestseller The Idiot Girls’ Action-Adventure Club tackles her biggest challenge yet: grown-up life.
In Autobiography of a Fat Bride, Laurie Notaro tries painfully to make the transition from all-night partyer and bar-stool regular to mortgagee with plumbing problems and no air-conditioning. Laurie finds grown-up life just as harrowing as her reckless youth, as she meets Mr. Right, moves in, settles down, and crosses the toe-stubbing threshold of matrimony. From her mother's grade-school warning to avoid kids in tie-dyed shirts because their hippie parents spent their food money on drugs and art supplies; to her night-before-the-wedding panic over whether her religion is the one where you step on the glass; to her unfortunate overpreparation for the mandatory drug-screening urine test at work; to her audition as a Playboy centerfold as research for a newspaper story, Autobiography of a Fat Bride has the same zits-and-all candor and outrageous humor that made Idiot Girls an instant cult phenomenon.
In Autobiography of a Fat Bride, Laurie contemplates family, home improvement, and the horrible tyrannies of cosmetic saleswomen. She finds that life doesn't necessarily get any easier as you get older. But it does get funnier.
Notaro (The Idiot Girls' Action-Adventure Club) opens with enough dumped-by-loser-boyfriend stories that readers will share her skepticism when Good Guy finally appears. "He was an endangered species," Notaro writes. "he only thing that could make him more valuable was if he were albino." Since Notaro can't keep Good Guy drunk and clueless forever, she switches to Plan B: frying cutlets, her major life skill. It works, and soon enough they're happily married. If this sounds mature and responsible, guess again. Other people might be able to buy a house, babysit their nephew, buy a new bra or seed their lawn without it being the least bit funny, but not Notaro. Consider the time she and her husband got a new puppy so untrainable it ate from the kitty litter box. Watching her husband get down on all fours and growl like a dog to show kitty who's in charge, Notaro comments, "Well, then, I'm not going to bother making dinner.... The cat just had a bowel movement big enough for the both of you." True, there's a lot of bathroom humor, but it's Notaro's odd take on the ordinary that's funniest. "H&R Block is really Practice Prison," a taste of what tax evaders can expect. Her sister using a breast pump looks like "a hybrid of Barbarella and a Holstein." And who else but Notaro can whisper to her (unwanted) cat as she crates him up for a trip to the vet: "if you see a bright, white light, run toward it"?
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I bought this book thinking it would be funny. This book is annoying, I had to quit.