Check, check… one, two. Hi, I’m Deb Maria. Um…can I get an engineer in here? My mic’s not working. Damn these temperamental machines. (short pause) Oh…what’s that? I’m not on the air? I’m supposed to be writing a blog? Wow, this is quite embarrassing. My apologies. (Muttering to myself.) I wish SOMEONE would tell me these things. Hmm…maybe I need an assistant…but they’d probably think I’m really annoying, and it would be nothing like the friendship between Carrie Bradshaw and Louise in the “Sex and the City Movie,” and I don’t have a gorgeous designer wedding dress I’ll never wear, and no one really walks around with tacky “love” key-chains to bring romance to their lives. So, I guess I’m on my own. Scratch the assistant…let’s move on. Ahem.
Well, now you know. I can be completely absent-minded at times, I’m obsessed with sappy chick-flicks, and I suffer from severe “mommy brain,” even though the phenomenon usually happens during pregnancy, and my son is now six. Since I’m officially writing my first blog, let me just tell you that I feel extremely intimidated by the other four women whose lovely pictures you see at the top of this page (I especially like Joelle’s, ’cause it’s all “artsy” and black and white). Anyway, the reason I feel like a blond at a Mensa convention is because unlike all of my fellow Debs, I never dreamed of becoming a writer or a published author, at least not consciously. I knew I did well in English–God knows I couldn’t do geometry–but I never wrote “letters to the editor” when I was in diapers, I didn’t pen my first novel in my teens, and for a long time, I refused to even read too much because it made my mother too happy…and, who wants that?
Honestly, I wanted to be a vet. What can I say? I can’t get enough of warm furry creatures (sorry reptiles, you just give me the willies), and, I really thought my calling was to heal the animal world, open a small clinic in some rural town and become a female Dr. Doolittle. My “vet dreams” were later shattered when I passed out watching a cow give birth on my uncle’s farm. Hey, how did I know I couldn’t stand the mere sight of blood and the stench of manure-laced hay? Sadly, I gave up on being Dr. Do-very-little and set my sights on becoming the next Barbara Walters–just a bit more tan with a spicy Latin temper. I worshipped Barbara, emulated her in every way (even tried to adopt my own infant daughter when I was in college, but was turned down due to the lack of gainful employment). Alas, I failed to have Barbara’s high cheekbones, and I was forever banished to the world of FM radio. Little did I know radio would be my salvation (sounds of angels singing). The second I cracked open my first live microphone, I knew I had finally found my place in the universe. I slowly discovered who I really was, growing along with my listeners who pushed me to be incredibly creative, outrageously silly, and brutally honest–which turns out is my special gift. I opened-up about my tumultuous marriage, my wacky Latino family, and my Uncle Larry’s cat who he swears was gay. I held nothing back. My life on the air was an open book, and one day I actually said “I think I’m going to write a book about how annoying men can be, and how we should be allowed to strangle them at will when they behave like idiots!”
Years later, I found myself in the basement of our Long Island home actually penning what would become “101 Ways to Torture Your Husband.” Frankly, the end result looked more like Ted Kaczynski’s “manifesto,” and when I was done, it was so juicy I wanted to share it with every woman I know. Married, dating, engaged, internet-involved…it didn’t matter. Anyone who was forced to deal with a MAN needed to get a hold of my book and discover ways to alleviate the stress. That’s what men cause 99.9 percent of the time. Trust me, I couldn’t have written a book without having my dear spouse, but men are mostly put into our lives to remind us about Eve’s bone-headed move in paradise. Men never let us forget that, but 101 Ways to Torture Your Husband is basically payback in book form. I mean “WE” didn’t force Eve to listen to that stupid snake and scarf down the apple! Why should we suffer with no retaliation? 101 Ways to Torture Your Husband evens the score once and for all. It’s basically a handy “manual,” explaining (in detail) stuff you can do to drive your man bonkers in a most insidious way. Torture doesn’t have to be ugly. It can be fun and entertaining.
So, that, my good friends, is what brought me to your doorstep today (by the way, you have a UPS delivery out here). And remember, when you read my blog keep in mind that I am no life-long author…just a girl who dreamed of becoming a vet, married a man, aired her dirty laundry to the masses, and decided to write a book about torturing husbands. Stick around…we’ll have some good laughs.