Bitter is the New Black: Confessions of a Condescending, Egomaniacal, Self-Centered Smartass, Or, Why You Should Never Carry a Prada Bag to the Unemployment Office by Jen Lancaster

From Barnes & Noble

Jen Lancaster's fall from opulence and grace is perhaps summarized best by her book's subtitle. Fired from a VP sales job two weeks after September 11th, Lancaster is forced to cope with the indignity of unemployment lines -- and the loss of a quarter million dollars worth of pocket change for cars, jewels, and designer purses. Her stylish road map to ruin and back will resonate with those who wish they were rich and also those who sometimes wish that the rich could become poor.

From the Publisher

Jen Lancaster was living the sweet life-until real life kicked her to the curb.

She had the perfect man, the perfect job-hell, she had the perfect life-and there was no reason to think it wouldn't last. Or maybe there was, but Jen Lancaster was too busy being manicured, pedicured, highlighted, and generally adored to notice.

This is the smart-mouthed, soul-searching story of a woman trying to figure out what happens next when she's gone from six figures to unemployment checks and she stops to reconsider some of the less-than-rosy attitudes and values she thought she'd never have to answer for when times were good.

Filled with caustic wit and unusual insight, it's a rollicking read as speedy and unpredictable as the trajectory of a burst balloon.

Publishers Weekly

It doesn't take Lancaster long to live up to her lengthy subtitle ("Confessions of a Condescending, Egomaniacal, Self-Centered Smart-Ass, or Why You Should Never Carry a Prada Bag to the Unemployment Office"): in just one chapter, she gloats over cheating a homeless man, is rude to a waitress and passes judgment on all of her co-workers (including her "whore" best friend). She's almost gleeful about lacking "the internal firewall that keeps us from saying almost everything we think," but she doesn't come off as straightforward, just malicious. (Of course, it's possible she's making up much of her dialogue, which is a little too clever to be believable.) Lancaster expects sympathy for her downward slide after getting fired from her high-paying finance job in the post-9/11 recession, and chick lit fans may be entertained watching life imitate fiction, but just when you start to feel sorry for her, the snotty attitude returns. In later chapters, Lancaster increasingly relies on entries from her blog (www.jennsylvania. com) and caustic replies to criticisms, and though things start looking up-her husband finds a job, she lands a book deal-it's not clear that she's been as chastised by her experiences as she claims. (Mar. 7) Copyright 2005 Reed Business Information.

Kirkus Reviews

Carrie Bradshaw meets Barbara Ehrenreich in this memoir about white-collar unemployment after the dot-com bubble burst. Jen Lancaster was bratty but hardworking: She put in 60 hours a week at her corporate job and enjoyed blowing her paycheck on a Chicago penthouse and pricey shoes. But after a company merger, she was let go with one week's salary as her severance pay. Lancaster's layoff came in the midst of the 2001 economic downturn. At first, she was cushioned by her live-in beau's earnings; in fact, Fletch and Jen went ahead and tied the knot, crassly reasoning that they would receive a lot of green wedding gifts. Then hubby got fired too, and the newlyweds spiraled downward. Eventually, their car was repossessed, and Fletch stopped taking his anti-depressants because he could no longer afford them. Lancaster kept up her spirits by volunteering at an animal shelter, and, of course, starting a blog. So it's no surprise that she proves to be the type of writer who resorts to FREQUENT CAPS, italics and eye-rolling exclamations: "Are you trying to tell me that . . . I, the bride, am not allowed to JOIN THE REST OF MY WEDDING PARTY?" All the component parts of chick-lit are here: to-do lists ("Find a job! Lose weight"), transcriptions of instant-message conversations and email exchanges-indeed, the emails from the still-employed Jen to her friend Melissa, in which Jen repeatedly has to cancel social plans because of work commitments, could have come straight from the pages of Allison Pearson's novel I Don't Know How She Does It (2002). All's well that ends well, however. Jen snags a book contract and realizes that "[my] values have changed completely. . . . I could care less about Dior'snewest line of lip gloss."Alternately appalling, aggravating and amusing.

Product Details

• ISBN: 0451217608
  
• ISBN-13: 9780451217608
• Format: Paperback, 416pp
• Publisher: Penguin Group (USA)
• Pub. Date: March 2006
• Sales Rank: 1,453

• Reading Group Guide
• Read an Excerpt
• Read a Sample Chapter

Reading Group Guide

How do legitimate, respected publishers create a reader's guide for the kind of book in which the protagonist gets drunk, loses her shirt, and throws up on the neighbors?

Easy.

They get the author to write it.

To wit, in the following you'll find my version of a reader's guide for Bitter Is the New Black, but before I lay the discussion points on you, I have to mention it's a bit surreal that a bunch of people I never met might choose to sit around and discuss the finer points of my life. It blows my mind to know that while I'm on my couch watching an America's Next Top Model rerun, groups of smart, funny women are dissecting my relationship with Fletch. (FYI, insisting on viewing the episode where Ann disses Eva in the elimination ceremony for the 15th time together does not improve one's marriage. Just so you know.) And while Melissa and I have our 426th conversation about the state of Lindsay Lohan's boobs, book clubs may be chatting about my existential angst over the loss of lifestyle.

I mean, that's kind of messed up. (But in a sincerely flattering way.)

Anyway, grab your bucket-o-Margaritas, cheese platter, and appetizer-sized chimichangas and let's get on with the questions already.

1) Jen starts out being obnoxious to the point of off-putting in the beginning of the book. She's rude, condescending, egomaniacal and-oh, wait, you already read the subtitle so you know this part. We're all agreed she was an asshat, yes? What factors contributed to this behavior? And when do you get your first clue that Jen may not be quite the monster she appears to be?

2) Compare and contrast the Jen at the beginning of the book with the end. Is she the same person? Do you relate more to her at the apex of her success or the nadir?

3) Jen finds it awkward writing about herself in the third person, a la Bob Dole. (Jen doesn't have a question here, rather she's simply stating a fact.)

4) Do you agree that Jen "got what was coming to her?" (It's OK to say yes. Jen will not come after you with a sock full of quarters.) (Although Jen can't speak for her mother.)

5) Discuss the implications of Jen's butt getting really, really fat.

6) What do you consider the turning point in Jen and Fletch's relationship? Would you consider this memoir a love story? Where do you see them in 10 years?

7) Which events do you believe had the biggest impact on Jen's transformation from one-dimensional jackass to, um, multi-faceted, slightly more bearable jackass?

8) Jen spends most of the book pursuing a new job, but in the end she chooses not to take the position with The Mother Ship. Why do you think she changed her mind? Did she make the right decision? If it were you, what would you do?

9) Jen went from the sorority house to the penthouse to the poorhouse. What did she learn at each juncture? And how do these lessons relate to the book's title?

10) Jen would not mind if you wanted to send her a present.

INTERVIEW QUESTIONS:

What goes hand in hand with made-up discussion questions?

A made-up interview, of course.

Fictional Interviewer: Were you really that much of a jerk in the beginning of Bitter Is the New Black?

Me: Pretty much, yes.

FI: Really?

Me: Yep.

FI: Really, really?

Me: OK, yes and no. While it's true that I lack an internal firewall, I swear that I can be somewhat charming at the same time. This charm is the only thing that's kept me from getting punched in the neck on numerous, deserved occasions. For example, in the scene where I'm fixing Chad a drink after his indiscretion with Courtney, I was initially quite rude but it was because I was uncomfortable, not malicious. After I made him his cocktail (and the scene ended) I sat and chatted nicely with him to put him at ease. He eventually relaxed and we had a real conversation. What's funny is by the end of the trip; we'd actually become friends.

In reality, I'm generally a bit more subdued in my conversation. Outrageous things still accidentally fly out of my mouth, but more because I'm an insensitive dummy and not because I want to be cruel. I'm finally aware my mouth can be a problem and I've been more successful at squelching the stupid comments, like when I met a girl at a temp job and I didn't remark, "You look just like Laci Peterson. Except not dead." Slowly but surely I'm learning I don't have to say every single thing I think.

Doesn't mean I can't write it, though.

FI: Speaking of Courtney, what happened to her? And what about Kathleen? You sort of left those plot points hanging.

Me: I know, and had this been a novel, I'd have exacted some sort of delicious Olivia Goldsmith-type revenge on Courtney (not her real name.) In reality, after she got the job that's the last I ever heard from her. Honestly, she probably hasn't thought of me in years and because of the pseudonym, it's entirely possible she never will again. Unless I become famous, in which case… HA!

As for Kathleen (also an alias), I did have contact with her again but I didn't include it in the book. Before I got married, I heard my old job may be opening up, so I sent her the ass-kissing-est, suck-up-iest email I could muster without the bile rising in my throat to alert her to my availability. Naturally, she never wrote back and I didn't write about this email because I felt so damn dirty for sending it. Lesson learned? Burned bridges stay burnt.

FI: Does it bother you that your memoir is being called "Chick Lit?"

Me: Are you kidding? I adore Chick Lit. It's what I read, it's what I like, it's what I buy. Stands to reason Chick Lit's what I'd write, right? My bookshelf's a sea of pink jackets, and I love every one of them. I take this as a compliment.

FI: So, now that your life is back to normal, have you lost the weight yet?

Me: Next question, please.

FI: Are you saying your ass is still the size of Denver?

Me: Maybe it is, maybe it isn't. Or maybe you'll need to buy my NEXT book to find out.

FI: How's Fletch doing?

Me: Fantastic! His job's going well, he's happy, and he's healthy. He's found balance in his life and I couldn't be more proud of him. It's so gratifying seeing him like this. In the darkest days of his depression, the only thing that kept me strong for him was my determination to make something positive out of the situation, so seeing it come to fruition has been particularly rewarding for both of us.

FI: How's your mother handling the fact that you wrote a book?

Me: She's, um, certainly not an anxiety-ridden basket case who calls my brother every twenty minutes to say, "Todd. Todd! Your sister, the one who came out of my body, sold a book! She sold a book! Can you believe it?" Yeah, she, um, never does that. And she didn't specifically just retire so she and my father can follow (stalk?) me on book tour, thus assuring I will be policing up wet towels and glasses full of partial dentures in hotel rooms across the continent. (I may have mentioned that traveling with my parents is like herding cats. Cats who drink scotch.)

FI: If you could go back in time and change some of your decisions, would you?

Me: Dumb as a lot of them were, I wouldn't. Post-college, I expected my life to follow a certain trajectory and at this point, I am utterly and completely off-course. But you know what? This is the happiest I've ever been. Fletch, too. Actually, we think we're both better for the experience - after scraping off all the sugar-coated barnacles from our silly dot com life, we discovered that all we really needed was US.

FI: I think I just threw up a little in my mouth.

Me: Perfectly understandable.

FI: I have to ask, Jen, are you still bitter?

Me: Nope. Satisfaction is totally the new black.

FI: Finally, is it OK for people to send you presents?

Me: Yes. Yes, it is.

Read an Excerpt

Then I notice that Fletch is carrying a huge paper box full of personal effects. Uh-oh.

"You want the good news or the bad news first?"

I take a deep breath. "Bad, please."

"I was laid off."

I gesture towards his box. "I figured. But you know what? It’s not your fault. I know how hard you worked and I’m very proud of the job you did there. Are you OK?" I fight my way through the dogs to give Fletch a big hug. After seeing his employer on C-SPAN every day for the past month, we suspected this might happen.

"Actually, I am. They gave me a decent severance package and I’ll still get my year-end bonus. Plus I’m eligible for Unemployment insurance, so we’ll be OK for a little while."

"That’s the good news?"

"Nope. When Clark told me my position was eliminated, he could barely keep from smiling. Miserable son of a bitch. While I’m packing up my stuff and commiserating with everyone else – Lisa, Bill, and Ernesto are also gone – the Regional VP goes into Clark’s office and closes the door. Two minutes later we hear shouting and slamming. Apparently Clark got canned too."

"He didn’t know it was coming?"

"Completely blind-sided him."

"That’s hilarious."

"Yeah, but I didn’t tell you the best part. Right before I walked out, I poked my head in his door and said, ‘I’ll save you a place in line at the Unemployment Office.’ Must have been the last straw because he lunged out of his chair and took a swing at me!"

"No way!"

"I kid you not. Ernesto called the police and the whole team got to enjoy watching Clark being escorted out in handcuffs. Best day of work ever." A malevolent grin plays across his face.

"You baited him." I’m always secretly delighted when Fletch gets in touch with his inner evil-streak.

"You bet I did. That man made me miserable for three years with his explosive rage. He was so much like my dad. As I never had the pleasure of seeing my father arrested, this was the next best thing. I should be upset about losing my job, but I feel great."

The phone rings and I peer at the Caller ID. "Fletch, hold that thought – it’s Midwest IR. I’m crossing my fingers that it’s an offer." I take a deep breath before grabbing the phone. "Good afternoon, Jennifer speaking."

"Hi, Jennifer. It’s Julie from Midwest IR. How are you?"

"Terrific, thanks! What’s up?" I’m trying to sound cool, but really I’m a basket case. I need this job now more than ever. After an entire YEAR off, I’m dying to get back to work. I’m even thrilled at the prospect of wearing pantyhose again. Shoot, I’ll take public transportation if I need to. This way Fletch can be on my health insurance so he doesn’t have to worry about COBRA. Ooh, and I’ll start another 401 K and can begin to feel like a real adult again.¹

So what if it’s a step down? With my work ethic I’ll be back on top in no time. I predict a promotion in six months or less. After all, the other VPs loved me at Midwest IR. And when-

"I’m calling to say we’ve decided to go in a different direction."

"I’m sorry, can you repeat that?" The dogs are still yipping and whining, so I must have heard her wrong.

"We’ve decided not to extend an offer. But I really enjoyed our interview after hearing so many good things about you."

"I don’t understand. I promise I wouldn’t be bored if that’s your concern. I know I worked on more advanced projects before, but -"

"You just don’t have the kind of experience we need in this department."

"Cut the crap, Julie. I created the very product your department supports, so don’t tell me I’m not experienced. Level with me. When Corp. Com. laid me off they never gave me a reason and it’s driven me nuts for a whole year. Be honest. Was I overly confident? Arrogant? Whatever was wrong, please tell me so I can fix it before I interview anywhere else."

Julie sighs and lowers her voice. "Jen, you did everything right and I really lobbied for your hire. But Ben won’t let me bring you back. He says you’re too unprofessional."

Oh, that is rich. "Julie, do you know why I left Midwest IR in the first place? It’s not solely because I got a better offer. Ben threw a cup of coffee at me during a board meeting while screaming, ‘If you can’t give me the fucking answers I want, then fucking lie to me!’ But as I was not about to let that old bastard see me cry, I replied, ‘Come on, sir, you’re the president of this place – get it together.’ I should have thrown coffee back at him. Instead, I went home to change clothes and post my resume."

"I heard a rumor about that." Ben’s unprofessional behavior is legendary. "I swear I didn’t know it was you. Things must really be tough out there if you were willing to come back here."

"You don’t know the half of it."

"God, I’m so sorry. Take care, and if you need a reference? Call me."

Before I even hang up the phone, Fletch is by my side. "No luck?"

"What are we going to do? A minute ago I was elated because I thought that job was mine. Now I’m scared to death because no one in this household has an income. How are we going to pay for this place? How are we going to keep up with our bills? How am I ever going to get my hair colored again?" I begin to pace and wring my hands.

"You know what we should do right now?" Fletch asks.

"Pray? Cry? Move back to Indiana so I can work at Hardee’s, as my brother keeps helpfully suggesting?"

"No. We’re going to the Four Seasons."

"Are you insane?"

"I say we celebrate the end of the Dot Com era by going out with a bang. Our days of posing at their bar are over, so why not celebrate with a couple of $15 Martinis?"

"You are insane."

Brief silence.

"And I’ll be ready in ten minutes."

* * *

Four Seasons esss DELICIOUSSS Jack Frost marteeenneees pepperminty chocolaty… 100% YUMMM! Pooor but haaaaappppeee!! Fletchhhss is SCHMARTEST MOST HANDDSUM MAN ALIVE even wiscch his pancake butt. Mmmm… pancakes! Sommebuddy buuuy me pancakes? Pleeeeease?

Drunkety. Most, most exccccelent drunkety.²

* * *

"Jen, it’s a simple favor," Fletch says.

"But I don’t want to," I reply.

"Come on, it’ll be easy. And you’ll get to drive the Cadillac."

"I can drive the Caddy any time I want."

"But you never have anywhere to go."

"So? I can still use it to take the dogs to the park."

"Last time you drove them it took a week to scrub all the mud off the seats. Admit it. There’s no good reason not to do this for Carol."

"Then you do it."

"Number one, she didn’t ask me, number two, I have an interview that afternoon, and number three, she’s the only non-relative you have who’s been able to stand you for more than a decade."

God, I hate when he’s right.

A couple of days ago Carol emailed to ask a favor. Her family’s coming up from Indianapolis this weekend. Carol and her small children are visiting friends and her husband Pete is running the Chicago marathon. As their time here is limited, Carol asked if I could go to the convention center and pick up Pete’s official race pack. Since I’ve got NOTHING going on right now, there’s no good reason I can’t do this simple task for my oldest friend... except that I don’t want to because, according to Fletch I can be a trifle torpid and a bit selfish.³

"Jen, think about it. How often does Carol ask you to do anything for her?"

"Almost never," I concede.

"And how many times has she done something unpleasant for you?"

"Well... there was that time in high school when I insisted we see Desperately Seeking Susan in full on Wannabe-like-Madonna gear." Poor Carol. Warily she cast aside her Bonne Belle Dr. Pepper Lip Smackers for heavy Kohl eyeliner and her Topsiders for torn fishnets. And when I yanked her out of her seat to dance in the aisle with me to Get Into the Groove, she never once complained, even when I accidentally stabbed her with an over-sized cross.⁴

"Is that it?"

"No. She also used to let me ride to our Speech meets in the back of her car and do Queen Elizabeth waves."

"And?"

"Once when I was a sophomore she came up from I.U. and we met these Alpha Sigs at a party. I got to make out with the cute one with the Flock of Seagulls haircut while she patiently listened to his roommate prattle on in painstaking detail about the musical genius of Jethro Tull."⁵

"Uh huh. Anything else?"

"Um… she never judged me in my junior year when I thought it would be fun to live my life like a character in a Bret Easton Ellis novel."⁶

"Are you forgetting her wedding?"

Actually, I had. On Carol’s wedding day – the one time I should have shaken myself out of my perpetual, narcissistic haze and paid her special attention – Carol had to come to my hotel room to hustle me down to the ceremony. I’d lost track of time while grooming myself and almost delayed the start of the wedding.

Looking back at our lives together, I realize in the Big Book of Favors, I’m woefully lacking credit. I’ve always taken more than I’ve given. I’m not sure I deserve a friend like Carol. Defeated, I admit, "OK, OK. You’ve got me. I’ll do it."