Erin Moroni Book Signing
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The Mail Fail

For those of you who are not currently aware, I co-wrote a book last year. Yep, a real book. It is super funny, bratty and brave. I especially love it because I did not expose all my deep dark secrets rather, it is about this other chick, Stefanie’s, love life. I would totally tell you more, but I am just going to let you order it because it is only $20 and this is my job.

Now, I would have written about my own love life, but that could be summarized in one rather anti-climactic paragraph: I had one boob and wore a back-brace in high school because I had scoliosis. Nobody really wanted to have sex with me. I graduated from college, quit over-tweezing my eyebrows, met a doctor, had sex, got knocked up, got married (in that order), had sex with him again, popped out another kid and became a kept woman (who swears, doesn’t cook, but loves most dogs and has an irrefutable charm especially after Lexapro was invented.) The End.

Anywho, the week before Christmas, all of our book orders came in. In hindsight, it appears to be entirely logical…someone writes a book and then people buy the book. But nope, our first instinct was to start shrieking and jumping up and down in palpable excitement, throwing high-fives and slapping each other on the ass, as the orders came rolling in. The mood became instantaneously somber when a voice of reason (Mike. Mike is the voice of reason) whistled and cheerfully asked, “So how are you going to ship all these out?” Stef and I slowly turned to look at each other in horror.


We quickly began signing books. We ran up and bought a ton of supplies and hauled everything over to my office. The Universe graciously decided this would be an opportune time to see just how serious we were about selling our book…the printer ran out of ink, the mouse needed a new battery, the Internet was acting like a total dick, the walls started bleeding. It was craaazy even by my standards.

Labels, envelopes, highlighters and spreadsheets were flying. This was accompanied by tears, some yelling, bad words, lots of yelling, more tears, a hearty consideration of faking our deaths and leaving the country, and finally…a cold and lonely rally cry. We slowly emerged from my war-torn office at 4:40 am. Beaten down, entirely traumatized, but victorious at last.

We silently lugged all the box after box of books out to my car. A couple hours later, I was faced with the next daunting task of dropping them off at the post office. I was legit scared since postal workers are notoriously bitchy (especially around Jesus’ birthday.) Turns out, I had nothing to fear. A beautiful angel of a woman took them from me and calmly told me she would take over now. I just nodded as a single tear fell down my cheek. I half expected snow to start falling and Mariah Carey’s rendition of “O’ Holy Night” to start playing. It was magical.

Now, you will be pleased to know that we have since made arrangements for all future mailings. Calm down hypers, we totes did not outsource to a sweatshop. Eye roll. Annnnnd I totally mentioned you people in my acknowledgements, so you have to read it. Like no pressure, but you really do have to read it. Bye.

To purchase our book Some Mistakes are Great Kissers click below!

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