Laurie Notaro
Author of The Idiot Girls' Action-Adventure Club: True Tales from a Magnificent and Clumsy Life
About the Author
Laurie Notaro is an American writer who was born in Brooklyn, New York, and raised in Phoenix, Arizona. She graduated from Arizona State University with a degree in Journalism. Notaro was a columnist for ten years at The Arizona Republic. She is the author of The Idiot Girls' Action-Adventure Club, show more Autobiography of a Fat Bride, I Love Everybody, We Thought You'd Be Prettier, and An Idiot Girl's Christmas. Her book, It Looked Different on the Model, became a New York Times bestseller in 2014. (Bowker Author Biography) Laurie Notaro writes a weekly humor column for the Arizona Republic newspaper. She lives with her husband and pets in Phoenix, AZ. show less
Image credit: Photo by Shelley Spray
Works by Laurie Notaro
The Idiot Girls' Action-Adventure Club: True Tales from a Magnificent and Clumsy Life (2000) 1,482 copies, 40 reviews
We Thought You Would Be Prettier: True Tales of the Dorkiest Girl Alive (2007) 998 copies, 17 reviews
There's a (Slight) Chance I Might Be Going to Hell: A Novel of Sewer Pipes, Pageant Queens, and Big Trouble (2007) 700 copies, 25 reviews
The Idiot Girl and the Flaming Tantrum of Death: Reflections on Revenge, Germophobia, and Laser Hair Removal (2008) 647 copies, 34 reviews
An Idiot Girl's Christmas: True Tales from the Top of the Naughty List (2005) 442 copies, 14 reviews
It Looked Different on the Model: Epic Tales of Impending Shame and Infamy (2011) 361 copies, 20 reviews
Associated Works
I'm Not the Biggest Bitch in This Relationship: Hilarious, Heartwarming Tales About Man's Best Friend from America's Favorite Humorists (2011) — Contributor — 67 copies, 3 reviews
Sex and Sensibility: 28 True Romances from the Lives of Single Women (2005) — Contributor — 28 copies
Tagged
Common Knowledge
- Legal name
- Notaro, Laurie
- Birthdate
- 20th century
- Gender
- female
- Education
- Arizona State University (Journalism)
- Occupations
- writer
humor columnist - Short biography
- From Random House: Laurie Notaro was born in Brooklyn, New York, and raised in Phoenix, Arizona. She packed her bags for Eugene, Oregon, once she realized that since she was past thirty, her mother could no longer report her as a teenage runaway. She is the author of The Idiot Girls’ Action-Adventure Club, Autobiography of a Fat Bride, I Love Everybody, We Thought You’d Be Prettier, and An Idiot Girl’s Christmas. She is currently at work on a plan B (to take effect when her book contract runs out,) which consists of options with minimum dander of office politics, including selling hot dogs at Costco, selling hot dogs from a street cart, selling hot dogs at high school football games, or being the Stop sign holder for road construction crews. She avoids raccoons both day and night and fully expects to be run out of her new hometown once this book is published. At press time, she is still married, her cat is still alive, and she has an adorably disobedient dog named Maeby, who wears sweaters and loves chicken strips. (Clearly, Notaro has no children.)
- Nationality
- USA
- Birthplace
- Brooklyn, New York, USA
- Places of residence
- Brooklyn, New York, USA
Phoenix, Arizona, USA
Eugene, Oregon, USA - Associated Place (for map)
- USA
Members
Reviews
Very funny (if occasionally raunchy) collection of humorous essays from a sassy broad (and I mean that in the very best sense), generally focusing on the domestic. (Hint: Erma Bombeck she ain’t.)
Don’t be surprised if you find yourself in one of these 25 takes on frequently-frustrating modern life, from dealing with parents as an adult to passing along life’s wisdom to the next generation, all with Notaro’s signature cockeyed slant. (I’m in two of them, I promise you.)
And that’s a show more large portion of what makes this book such a fun read. Your only problem will be forcing yourself to put it down between takes, the better to savor each one. show less
Don’t be surprised if you find yourself in one of these 25 takes on frequently-frustrating modern life, from dealing with parents as an adult to passing along life’s wisdom to the next generation, all with Notaro’s signature cockeyed slant. (I’m in two of them, I promise you.)
And that’s a show more large portion of what makes this book such a fun read. Your only problem will be forcing yourself to put it down between takes, the better to savor each one. show less
I read a trio of Laurie Notaro's books a decade ago, and then declared I was done with her, because her humor could not make up for the relentless pummeling of her self-loathing. But a few weeks ago I thought of her for some reason, and it occurred to me that after a decade, maybe I could read her again.
I wish I had not had that thought. This book is everything that made me stop reading her -- an endless pounding beat of "oh, I'm so stupid, I'm so fat, I'm so ugly, I'm such a dummy" -- plus show more a new counterbeat of dislike for her readers and everyone else in the world. It's. Well. Not great.
Basically, Notaro used to be the Miserable Friend -- somebody who has such great qualities, and is so fun to be with, that you can almost ignore the way she forces you to listen to the nasty voice playing on a loop in her head, the way she constantly reinforces her dislike of herself. She was the friend who, sure, gets drunk way more than you wish she would and makes choices that are not in her best interest, and who you desperately wish would get therapy, but you love her anyway.
Notaro has become Asshole Friend. She's the one whose contributions you dread coming up in the group text because half the time what she says is so mean you cringe. She's the one who says she's a liberal, sure, but all this trans stuff and coddling children and political correctness these days has just Gone Too Far. She's the one making fun of people, including strangers on the street. The one you suspect is making fun of you, too, whenever you're not around.
And here's the thing about Asshole Friends: they aren't funny (because their humor, if they have any, is of the punching-down variety), and they aren't fun. Asshole Friends are the kind of people you end friendships with, and I. I guess I am ready to end this friendship. show less
I wish I had not had that thought. This book is everything that made me stop reading her -- an endless pounding beat of "oh, I'm so stupid, I'm so fat, I'm so ugly, I'm such a dummy" -- plus show more a new counterbeat of dislike for her readers and everyone else in the world. It's. Well. Not great.
Basically, Notaro used to be the Miserable Friend -- somebody who has such great qualities, and is so fun to be with, that you can almost ignore the way she forces you to listen to the nasty voice playing on a loop in her head, the way she constantly reinforces her dislike of herself. She was the friend who, sure, gets drunk way more than you wish she would and makes choices that are not in her best interest, and who you desperately wish would get therapy, but you love her anyway.
Notaro has become Asshole Friend. She's the one whose contributions you dread coming up in the group text because half the time what she says is so mean you cringe. She's the one who says she's a liberal, sure, but all this trans stuff and coddling children and political correctness these days has just Gone Too Far. She's the one making fun of people, including strangers on the street. The one you suspect is making fun of you, too, whenever you're not around.
And here's the thing about Asshole Friends: they aren't funny (because their humor, if they have any, is of the punching-down variety), and they aren't fun. Asshole Friends are the kind of people you end friendships with, and I. I guess I am ready to end this friendship. show less
I bought this one on the strength of The Idiot Girl and the Flaming Tantrum of Death. Sadly, it's not as good as that one - and Flaming Tantrum I got for free.
Previously, my rule has been that if a book makes me laugh out loud, it gets four stars, period. I value laughter, and comedy is hard. This book made me change that rule, because it was such a weird blend of laughing and, well, cringing. While reading these essays, I found myself really, really hoping this was all an exaggeration, that show more she was claiming to have said things she only thought, that she didn't really act that way. And even though I mostly think that's true, some of these stories still hit a squick I didn't even know I had, some close kin to my embarrassment squick. "You're an adult!" I kept wanting to say. "You have a job and major debt and a husband! Stop acting like a junior varsity football player who has a really good steroids connection!"
Still. I did laugh out loud from time to time, when I wasn't wincing away from the page. And I probably will buy another book by Notaro; her work is basically the print equivalent of cotton candy, which is, as it happens, exactly what I'm in the mood for right now.
I just wish it was cotton candy that didn't make me flinch every other chapter, that's all. show less
Previously, my rule has been that if a book makes me laugh out loud, it gets four stars, period. I value laughter, and comedy is hard. This book made me change that rule, because it was such a weird blend of laughing and, well, cringing. While reading these essays, I found myself really, really hoping this was all an exaggeration, that show more she was claiming to have said things she only thought, that she didn't really act that way. And even though I mostly think that's true, some of these stories still hit a squick I didn't even know I had, some close kin to my embarrassment squick. "You're an adult!" I kept wanting to say. "You have a job and major debt and a husband! Stop acting like a junior varsity football player who has a really good steroids connection!"
Still. I did laugh out loud from time to time, when I wasn't wincing away from the page. And I probably will buy another book by Notaro; her work is basically the print equivalent of cotton candy, which is, as it happens, exactly what I'm in the mood for right now.
I just wish it was cotton candy that didn't make me flinch every other chapter, that's all. show less
I think I'm done with Notaro for right now. It's not that I didn't enjoy this - I did, in places - but I think I'm getting diminishing returns - less laughter with each subsequent book. I'm also getting sort of tired of Notaro. One book is apparently my recommended yearly dose of her, and now that I've had three times that, I'm definitely feeling like I've overdosed.
The good news is that this book didn't make me flinch the way I Love Everybody did - there's less childishness and less show more shrieking. Notaro really has refined her voice a lot. It's just that she's kept in some parts I really wish she'd get rid of, and the number one entry on that list is self-deprecation. I have a few friends who can't open their mouths without insulting themselves, and I love them anyway, but talking to them can make me twitch. (And I can insult myself with the best of them, I truly can. I mean, I'm female, of course I can. But I try to keep that from being my primary mode of communication, is all.) Laurie Notaro is just like them - I'm so fat! I'm so clumsy! I'm so dumb! I'm so messy! I'm such a walking disaster of a person! - except here's the thing: she's not my friend. And so, it turns out, I don't love her anyway.
I guess the thing is - I want to laugh with Notaro. Not at her. And after three books, I'm just not doing much of either. Instead, I'm asking myself a lot of depressed questions, like: is this the only way a woman can be funny? By cutting herself down before anyone else gets the chance to?
In short, I need to back away from Laurie Notaro for a while, until I can read her books with more joy than sadness again. show less
The good news is that this book didn't make me flinch the way I Love Everybody did - there's less childishness and less show more shrieking. Notaro really has refined her voice a lot. It's just that she's kept in some parts I really wish she'd get rid of, and the number one entry on that list is self-deprecation. I have a few friends who can't open their mouths without insulting themselves, and I love them anyway, but talking to them can make me twitch. (And I can insult myself with the best of them, I truly can. I mean, I'm female, of course I can. But I try to keep that from being my primary mode of communication, is all.) Laurie Notaro is just like them - I'm so fat! I'm so clumsy! I'm so dumb! I'm so messy! I'm such a walking disaster of a person! - except here's the thing: she's not my friend. And so, it turns out, I don't love her anyway.
I guess the thing is - I want to laugh with Notaro. Not at her. And after three books, I'm just not doing much of either. Instead, I'm asking myself a lot of depressed questions, like: is this the only way a woman can be funny? By cutting herself down before anyone else gets the chance to?
In short, I need to back away from Laurie Notaro for a while, until I can read her books with more joy than sadness again. show less
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