So those of you who knew me back in the day — or simply had a conversation with me where this came up (as it seems to an an unusually high amount of instances) — know that I was a Spelling Bee champion. In 8th grade, I won my school spelling bee. I went on to participate in the District 25 (holla!) championship, which I also won. I wish I remembered the word. . .I remember spelling it and thinking I had it wrong, but what was it… Hmmm. Anyway, I then went to the New York City Spelling Bee Championship — and my entire 8th grade class (plus my 2 best friends who weren’t in my class, and got slack for it) got to come be in the audience! I received a shiny plaque and an XXL gleaming blue jacket with gold trim, and across the back in gold it reads: Daily News Spelling Bee Champ.

So to bring this story to present day, a few weeks ago I am in someone’s office to work on my company’s Employee Giving Campaign events. One of our events is a Spelling Bee. The guy whose office it was begins to brag about how one of his employees (who was sitting in the office with me) was the Bonham Elementary School in Texas spelling bee champion. As he is gloating, I felt my pride sinking away. In an effort to reclaim my rightful champion role, I exclaim, “I WAS MY SCHOOL AND DISTRICT CHAMPION, AND I WENT TO THE CITY CHAMPIONSHIP!”

Uhhh yeah. Bad move. They then forced me to participate in the work spelling bee against my will. But at least I had my pride. I worked very hard to prepare for the bee. No, I didn’t study. I didn’t review words. What I did was actual work for the campaign. I sat on the floor of my cube and cut ribbon (which I bought myself) and made numbers for the contestants to wear around their necks. I wrote and put together the look of emails and website pages to promote the event. I even took motion sickness pills and elevatored it to about 100 floors to post fliers. Those fliers turned my left boob purple on my favorite work shirt ever. Oh, how I suffered for the Bee.Cut to today – Spelling Bee day! Keep in mind that I do not want to win. I hate being in front of people, I have bad anxiety, I just don’t want to do it.  So my first word is “words.” I correctly spelled it. In the end after a few rounds I got eliminated, more because of the nerves of being up there than not knowing the word, since it was a word I knew and have even used (or maybe just thought about) once. And although I did not win a trophy, I still got a trophy. We were planning on having a Spelling Bee in our Hopewell, NJ office, but only one person there wanted to participate. So we invited him here. And he won. And he left us with two Hopewell trophies. One of which I have in my posession. So if anyone asks, I was second place in the Hopewell Spelling Bee 2007.Also, I’m fat. There was lunch provided and a BAKE SALE there. Someone made the best pound cake ever. I now want to die.And in case you were wondering, the other spelling champion got eliminated before I did! Also, in case you were wondering, she is first place in the Hopewell Spelling Bee 2007. So what’s the lesson here? Just because you can spell in 8th grade does not mean you can spell once MS Word and spell check come out.  

Anyone who has ever had at least one conversation with me in a casual environment knows that I love stereotypes. I think they are very funny — mostly when you can ridicule yourself. So I and explain any stingy behavior away by simply saying, “I’m Jewish.” Today on the bus I had an experience that exemplifies another stereoptype.

When it comes to the books I read, my range is pretty broad—I read memoirs, chick lit, literary fiction, books abour grammar, nonfiction, thrillers, mysteries, and the list goes on…. I will read just about anything you give me, and I will usually enjoy it. Today I picked up a book I’ve been curious about for awhile. That book is Bergdorf Blondes.

Let me start off by explaining that I didn’t go into this book blind. I wrote a newsletter to Literary Guild book club members about Plum Sykes, the author of this book. Contact me if you’re interested in reading that. I also have read her second book, The Debutante Divorcee. And while not the greatest chick lit book I’ve read, it wasn’t THAT horrible. And Bergdorf Blondes was a much bigger book for her. It was a New York Times bestseller, and extremely popular among many women. I like to keep up with the popular chick lit among my peers and dislike being too behind. So I decided it was about time I pick up the copy I’ve had sitting on my shelf and get it over with.I started reading. The first thought that came to my head was, “This is annoying.” The more I read, the more annoying it became. Please allow me to paraphrase a section:

“. . .here are a few character traits you might want to know about me. . .(I’m) always concerned for others’ well-being. I mean, if a friendly billionaire offers you a ride from New York to Paris on his PJ (that’s a quick NY way of saying private jet), one is morally bound to say yes, because that means the person you would have been sitting next to on the commercial flight now has two seats to themself, which is a real luxury for them. . .if someone else’s comfort is at stake, I say, always take the private jet. “(I’m) tolerant. If a girl is wearing last season’s Manolo Blahnik stilettos, I won’t immediately rule her out as a friend. I mean, you never know if a super-duper nice person is lurking in a past-it pair of shoes.”

Aren’t you annoyed? Imagine reading 310 pages of this. I certainly can’t; I stuck it out for a solid 35. I read all about the difference between Chloe Jeans happiness and Harry Winston happiness. I learned about the British aristocracy and the brown signs they post to get people to donate money to house repairs. I read about how the main character not only learned about Brazilian waxes, but uses them as reason #4 why the U.S. is better than England.

I removed myself from this slow torture after reading this line:

“The only sexually transmitted disease I wanna contract is fiance fever.”

I just can’t. I read a LOT of chick lit, I understand how it can be and accept that. I usually love it. I am familiar with the more annoying chick lit, like the Shopaholic series—one of which I couldn’t get through either. And remember, I read Sykes’ second book, so I know her writing and can be okay with it. But this book just isn’t good. In fact, it’s really, really bad. Bergdorf Blondes was a 35 page waste of my time, and I want that time back.

I’ve read some not-so-nice things about Sykes during my newsletter research, and I know she is a snobby bitch who is overly consumed with name brands and name dropping. Bergdorf Blondes is merely a compilation of all the ultra snotty/snobby/obnoxious things she has encountered in her work at Vogue (both British and American). It reads like a list. And it seems like Syke wants to educate the masses on the types of people she spends time with—and the type of person she is. Of course, this book has got to be an exaggeration (at least I hope it is), but the overall theme is clear.

Thank you, Plum Sykes, for using your talent (and you do have talent, as we see through your work at Vogue) to write an annoying book about annoying people who are more superficial than I care to read about. Maybe one of them gets a heart at the end, perhaps in a visit to their own type of Oz, one where people are less fortunate than a department store heir who shoplifts from her own store as a pastime, and gains some redeeming qualities. I won’t read this book long enough to find out.

Please give me back the last 35 pages of my life. Thanks.