I picked it up with the intention of hating it. After all, Crosley is my age. (Or close enough.) She's annoyingly pretty, with shiny, perfect hair, a cherubic little face, and a teeny, tiny waist.
And she's a book publicist, so clearly, she's connected. Just look at the cover! The cover of her first book compares her to David Sedaris and Sarah Vowell! (High praise, likely undeserved, I thought. Harumph.)
Worse still, the thing was a NY Times bestseller. Bestseller! And HBO has purchased the rights. Rumor has it, Crosley is writing the pilot herself. Herself!
God, I wanted to hate her.
I loved it.
Jealousy is burning black, smoking hole in my heart as I write this, but Sloane Crosley is funny. Very funny. Sarcastic, a little sardonic, but charming as well. Seemingly kind. And (goddamnher)... smart. That's the worst part. She's smart, too. I felt I HAD to hate her. Or compel her to be my new best friend. One of the two.
Neither option's worked out (yet).
I want to tell you more, but I don't want to give anything away. I will say this much: once, someone shat on the woman's bathroom floor. And she wrote an essay about it. So clearly, she's not universally beloved, but her experiences do make for some fine story-telling.
I read the whole darn thing in a single afternoon and I laughed out loud not one, not two, but THREE times.
Drat. Now I'm going to have to buy How Did You Get This Number, her second effort, which came out in paperback just last week.
The jealousy might kill me.
Anyway. Here's a clip of Crosley being interviewed by Craig Ferguson, in which she illustrates just how annoyingly perfect and charming she is, even when he's hitting on her. It's not a bad interview. Curse her!