I “met” Andrea Frazer when Rachel Sarah (a writer I befriended when I was a columnist for Literary Mama) sent me a link to Andrea’s blog post I Hate My Husband and asked me what I thought. I thought she was refreshingly honest and real and funny and and I left her a comment and we have been corresponding ever since. So when she told me that she’d landed a column My So-called Sex Life on Goodhousekeeping.com I thought we should introduce her to all of you. So please join us in welcoming guest blogger Andrea Frazer.
As a high schooler I could barely get a prom date. I had to drag a guy two years my junior to the homecoming dance. So I’m more than elated, 18 years later to be debuting at The Debutante Ball.
I’m not a book writer, but I’ve written enough blogs in the past few years to fill an anthology. I’m not saying that everyone in the world is interested in the ups and downs of an ex-tv writer turned mommy, but some people are, and for those, I’m grateful. My readers have helped me hone my voice, punch my stories, and get to the point in a way that is hopefully fun and sometimes inspiring. But most of the time, it’s pretty goofy mama fare. And that’s okay, too.
I wrote for “free” for three years before getting paid for it. That is to say, I just wrote about my life in the trenches, figuring someone out there would relate to losing a job, gaining two kids, loving them more than is humanly possible, but occasionally losing their minds from the insanity of it all.
There isn’t really much more to say that you can’t read online. My sex life is currently chronicled at GoodHousekeeping.com and my parenting techniques are talked about at BabyCenter. For topics in between, from thrift store shopping, martini swilling grandmothers and how to cook without poisoning your family (which in my case is to avoid the kitchen as much as possible) you can find me at my personal website www.passthezoloft.blogspot.com.
I don’t have many illusions about changing the world through literature, but I do have goals none the less. Call me the Dahlimama, but I aim to help women find contentment in whatever aspect of life they choose. If I can make even one housewife in some hick town feel like they’re not as shitty a parent as they thought they were after reading me, then I’m pretty happy. Maybe that housewife, who thought all she could do was iron, was inspired to Ebay. And then she made some a few extra dollars/month. And then she was able to take a class. And then she was able to get that degree. And leave her crappy husband! Or maybe, I just made that housewife laugh, and she was less stressed, and opened up cans of whoop-ass less often, which made happier kids. Whatever!
I strongly feel that motherhood and marriage are put up on these pedestals, and yet women are given no support at all to maintain them peacefully. If we don’t complain, we’re martyrs. If we do complain, we’re bitches. I really strive, in my writing, to blow the cover off the mystery behind what makes a good mom and wife. We have our good days and our crappy ones. If you want to read about the woman who runs the Brownie troop, makes brownies, and would never dream of eating one for fear of ruining her figure, I’m not for you. I weigh 185 pounds and am 6’1. While I’m not overweight, I’m probably the only woman in Los Angeles without fake boobs and not embarrassed about wearing a size 14. So back to my brownie points, if you ever wanted to drop kick a horse faced PTA mother then go home and down pot brownies, my material might just make you feel better. Though shockingly, for all my talk, I’ve never smoked pot. Really. Seriously. It’s odd, but true. Maybe when I turn 40. I’m almost 38. Happy birthday to me!
I’m a mixed bag, because while I admit my foibles, I’m a perfectionist by nature. I am going to write the book. I’m going to sell the movie. I’m going to keep this marriage and family going if it kills me God Damnit. But most of all, I’m going to be me, because what other choice do I have?
I wasn’t always this confident in my opinion of myself. I fumbled my way through my twenties, seating people for the Jay Leno Show and the Fresh Prince of Bel Aire. I broke in as a writers’ secretary for Saved by the Bell, my main job being to pass out scripts and order that perfect bagel. I thought my life was really beginning when I was finally promoted to writers’ assistant for a horrific teenage morning show. And then I thought it was over when I was fired for having the audacity to not want to be treated by the producer like a day old jock strap. But then my life was worth living again when I got a job as a writers’ assistant on Hangin’ with Mr. Cooper. From there I went to work on such shows as Veronica’s Closet, Roseanne and Grace Under Fire. About ten years ago I got my first big break as a writer on the Showtime Series Rude Awakening starring Lynn Redgrave and Sherilyn Fenn. From there I landed another writing gig for a Carsey Werner show that, shockingly, didn’t make it. (Title? My Roommate is a Big Fat Slut)
Then the writers strike happened. The first one.
Then I got married.
Then I had two babies.
Then I found blogging.
And now I’m here.
I don’t’ know where I’ll end up, but I do know this: the best production I’ve ever worked on has been my family. It’s also been the most consistent with the best residuals. I wouldn’t cancel this show for all the Diet Coke in my fridge. And believe me, there’s a lot. I have a sickness.
I hope you’ll check in from time to time. I won’t lie: blogging is fantastic for the money and the craft – I’m a fast writer and I love working from home while the kids are at school. But it gets lonely. I love a good comment from someone. I’m kind of whorish that way.
Thanks for reading. I don’t know if I was inspiring or not, but I hope you learned something. If not, I’ll leave you with a few Hollywood tidbits for kicks and giggles. Roseanne Barr once yelled at me for ordering the wrong salad. I was locked in a bathroom stall with Brett Butler during her downward spiral days. This was right after she got the ultimatum to stop messing with illegal substances, and right before she lobbed a coke can at the producer’s head screaming, “I hope you fuck better than you write, otherwise I know you’ve never seen your wife’s vagina.” And once I went out for lunch with Screech from Saved by the Bell. He jokingly proposed marriage. I affirmatively declined. I was too busy falling for a gay man to date straight men that played boys.
One husband, 3 blogs, and 2 kids later, the rest is history.
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