{"product_id":"unqualified-isbn-9781101986431","title":"Unqualified","description":"\u003cb\u003eA hilarious, honest memoir—combined with just the right amount of relationship advice—from the popular actress and host of the hit podcast \u003ci\u003eAnna Faris is Unqualified.\u003c\/i\u003e\u003c\/b\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eAnna Faris has advice for you. And it's great advice, because she's been through it all, and she wants to tell you what she's learned. \u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eAfter surviving an awkward childhood (when she bribed the fastest boy in the third grade with ice cream), navigating dating and marriage in Hollywood, and building a podcast around romantic advice, Anna has plenty of lessons to share: Advocate for yourself. Know that there are wonderful people out there and that a great relationship is possible. And, finally, don't date magicians.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eHer comic memoir, \u003ci\u003eUnqualified\u003c\/i\u003e, shares Anna's candid, sympathetic, and entertaining stories of love lost and won. Part memoir—including stories about being “the short girl” in elementary school, finding and keeping female friends, and dealing with the pressures of the entertainment industry and parenthood—part humorous, unflinching advice from her hit podcast, \u003ci\u003eAnna Faris Is Unqualified\u003c\/i\u003e, the book will reveal Anna's unique take on how to master the bizarre, chaotic, and ultimately rewarding world of love.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eHilarious, honest, and useful, \u003ci\u003eUnqualified\u003c\/i\u003e is the book Anna's fans have been waiting for.\u003cb\u003ePraise for \u003ci\u003eUnqualified\u003c\/i\u003e\u003c\/b\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“\u003ci\u003eG\u003c\/i\u003eoofily self-deprecating, casually profane and occasionally raw, earnest and blunt, like Ms. Faris herself.”—\u003ci\u003eThe New York Times\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003c\/i\u003e“\u003ci\u003eUnqualified \u003c\/i\u003eis observant, sharp, and startlingly revealing, not only about Faris’s romantic history, but of the broader discrepancies between modern male and female Hollywood stardom writ large.”—\u003ci\u003eThe Ringer\u003c\/i\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“In her many quirky, comedic roles, Anna Faris has proven she isn't afraid to go there on screen (\u003ci\u003eThe House Bunny\u003c\/i\u003e, anyone?). And in her new book, \u003ci\u003eUnqualified\u003c\/i\u003e, she proves she's just as daring and hilarious on paper.”—Health.com \u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“Faris's expectedly hilarious memoir features stories about her childhood (like what it was like being the token short girl in elementary school) and legitimate advice about getting over breakups.”—InStyle.com\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“[Faris] has an engaging voice and is capable of expressing a distinct point of view. She is most affecting in her occasionally bittersweet reflections, as she recounts stories about working in the industry, her anxieties and frustrations about auditioning, and the personal challenges of dealing with aging in Hollywood.”—\u003ci\u003eKirkus Reviews\u003c\/i\u003e\u003cb\u003eAnna Faris\u003c\/b\u003e is an actress, producer, and top-rated podcaster. Her podcast, \u003ci\u003eAnna Faris Is Unqualified\u003c\/i\u003e, averages 4 million downloads a month. Faris currently stars on the CBS hit comedy \u003ci\u003eMom\u003c\/i\u003e and has had memorable roles on \u003ci\u003eEntourage\u003c\/i\u003e and \u003ci\u003eFriends\u003c\/i\u003e. She most recently starred in MGM\/Pantelion Films' remake of \u003ci\u003eOverboard\u003c\/i\u003e alongside Eugenio Derbez. Faris produced and starred in \u003ci\u003eThe House Bunny\u003c\/i\u003e and \u003ci\u003eWhat's Your Number\u003c\/i\u003e and her additional films include the \u003ci\u003eScary Movie\u003c\/i\u003e franchise, \u003ci\u003eLost in Translation\u003c\/i\u003e, \u003ci\u003eThe Dictator, Observe and Report, Brokeback Mountain, Just Friends, Smiley Face, Keanu\u003c\/i\u003e, and the\u003ci\u003e Cloudy With a Chance of Meatballs\u003c\/i\u003e franchise.  A native of Washington State, she lives in Los Angeles with her family.The Fastest Boy        in the Third Grade\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e Remember when you first spotted him sprinting across the      playground, schooling the other boys in a heated game of tag? Or      the moment you noticed him at his desk, brown spiky hair sticking      up in all the right places?\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e He was the first boy to make you crave the male gaze; he made you      wonder what it would be like to have a boyfriend; he inspired you      to start a diary.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e You've been there, dear reader, haven't you?\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e For me, that boy was Jason Sprott.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e Jason Sprott was the fastest boy in the third grade. You know how      in elementary school everyone is known by their first and last      name? Jason Sprott was always, and only, Jason Sprott.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e He had the most adorable freckles and a great smile and spiky      brown hair that I couldn't resist. We were in the same class, but      we were nowhere near each other on the social hierarchy. Jason was      a sweet, confident kid who totally knew his own charm-the top of      the social food chain. I had more of a C-level social status. It      started when I moved to Edmonds, Washington-a suburb thirty      minutes outside Seattle-when I was six. I went from a blue-collar      community in Baltimore where everyone was friends and had      barbecues and family get-togethers to this faux-upper-class      neighborhood that felt incredibly superficial. I know that's      counter to the perception of Seattle, but my brother and I both      felt like it was different in Edmonds. When I say I'm from Seattle      it always feels misleading-moving to Edmonds felt a little bit      like moving to Anywhere, USA. It did not live up to the Seattle      stereotype.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e We arrived in Edmonds in the spring, and on my first day of first      grade, my mom put me in a really dramatic sheepskin coat. When she      buttoned me up that morning, all I could think was, I cannot wear      this to my first day of school. I was six, and even then I knew      this was not good. A six-year-old in sheepskin does not have the      makings of social success.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e Sure enough, the other kids completely mocked me. It stung, but it      also planted the seed for a weird clothing rebellion that emerged      in middle school. During those years, I wore the most hideous      sweater, Charlie Brown but in reverse: it had more of the dark      color than the light, and it was totally disgusting, but I      embraced it for its ugliness. That sweater was my early fuck-you      to the mean girls and the popular kids and the mundane existence I      thought Edmonds offered. Then, in ninth grade, I wore a Christmas      tree skirt like a cape, which of course got me lots of suitors.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e Looking back over the years, I've always gotten a lot of strength      from being the underdog, or what felt at the time like the      underdog. Maybe that started with Jason Sprott. He had a twin      brother, David, but unfortunately for David they weren't      identical. All the girls had a crush on Jason.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e We were in the same class. Jason sat in front, as did his      girlfriend, Michelle. I preferred to sit in the back and stare at      my crush and his little hair spikes. I recently found the diary I      kept in third grade, with pages of scribbles about Jason Sprott. I      love Jason Sprott. I hate Jason Sprott. I love Jason Sprott. He      smiled at me today. We were assigned our Greek gods and he was      Eros, the god of love, and I was the unsexy Hera but he shot me      with his arrow.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e One day, I was in the cafeteria and Jason was behind me in the      lunch line. After buying my lunch, I spent the thirty-five cents I      had left over on the ice milk dessert. Ice milk was imitation ice      cream before frozen yogurt was a thing. I guess it was better for      you, but to us third graders, it was all the same. At least, it      was appealing enough to get Jason's attention.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e \"Man, I wish I could get an ice cream,\" I heard him say behind me.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e \"I'll buy you one!\" I offered eagerly.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e This transaction-my using my extra change to buy Jason Sprott ice      cream, Jason Sprott letting me buy him ice cream-went on for a      couple of weeks, until finally he said, \"I'll go out with you, but      you've got to know that I'm also going out with Michelle.\" He was      a real class act: he told me about Michelle and was honest that he      wanted us both. Sounds good, I thought. I'll take what I can get!\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e Michelle was supercool and popular and had a fountain in her      house, which was a big deal. The next year, in fourth grade, I      invited her over to my place, and she actually accepted and came      to my home. That was a shock. My mom had just bought an inflatable      boat from Costco. She blew it up, and Michelle and I put it on my      bed and played white-water rafting adventure. We were laughing and      really getting into it, riding the make-believe waves and      capsizing onto the bed. I'd never seen that side of her. I thought      we were having so much fun. A week later, the popular girls all      made fun of me because I liked to play boat.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e But back in third grade, when my romance with Jason was      blossoming, Michelle and I didn't have much of a relationship.      Shortly after I bought Jason that first ice cream, she came up to      me and said, \"I know you're going out with Jason too, and I just      want you to know I'm cool with it.\" She walked away before I could      even respond.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e Jason and I didn't speak to each other during our courtship. I      mostly saw him during recess, when everyone played tag, and of      course he never got caught, since he was such a fast runner. It      was the hottest thing about him. But even at recess we were      G-rated. There was a big moment on the playground when Amy Gray      and Sean Bryant were going to have their first kiss and everyone      crowded around them and they exchanged the tiniest little peck.      That was a pretty huge event-I remember it more than any actual      education I got in third grade. The non-kiss was a monumental      moment in my social education. But with Jason and me, there was no      peck. There was just the lunchroom, where I continued to bribe him      daily with ice milk. I knew, on some level, that I was buying this      guy. I wasn't getting his attention on my own merit. Even at eight      years old, I was a realist. So while it was exciting that he went      out with me, it felt like what I imagine it feels like when you      win the lottery but you only win, like, $5,000.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e Still, I envisioned myself as the third-grade Seattle equivalent      of a scrappy Boston fighter. All odds were against me-I shouldn't      say that, because I'm a blond white American person-but when it      came to Anna versus Michelle, there was no comparison in the eyes      of the elementary schoolers. I was the short girl who wore a      sheepskin coat to her first day of school; Michelle had a fountain      in her house. That pretty much said it all, and yet there I was,      sharing Jason with her. For the first time, when it came to social      status, I was A-list-adjacent.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e Jason dumped me a couple of weeks later. He confronted me at      recess and said, ÒI donÕt think we should go out anymore, IÕm just      going out with Michelle.Ó It was a stab to the heart. I was      devastated. I had nothing to give him but my thirty-five cents and      he didnÕt even want that anymore. Maybe Michelle got in his head.      She was supersassy and played her cards right. I, on the other      hand, was a true sugar mama.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e So I did what any heartbroken eight-year-old would do: I went      home, grabbed an orange from the fridge, wrote Jason's name on the      peel in black marker, and threw it off the deck into the forest      outside my house. When I was a kid, I wanted to live in the Yukon,      so I spent a lot of time in that backyard forest relishing my      loneliness. I was dying to live a more dramatic life than Edmonds      offered, even then. And this weird ritual, which I deemed \"the      orange ceremony,\" seemed like a start. I don't know where I came      up with it. I certainly didn't read a book that said to pick up an      orange and write a boy's name on it in order to get over him, but      I ended up doing it with a few different love interests. I must      have thought it was profoundly symbolic: that by casting this      fruit into the abyss, I would somehow rid myself of the hold these      emotions had on me. Even at that age, it's so surprising the      intensity of feelings you can have for somebody. I felt the need      to be liked and the need to be popular, but I was tortured by that      neediness, because I was also proud and wanted desperately to be      confident and independent. I thought the ritual would help. I      remember throwing the orange out there and thinking, \"Now I am      complete! Now I am over Jason Sprott!\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e It didn't work; I was not released. The next day I went to school      and saw Jason, and saw Michelle, and was just as devastated.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e That episode began my long and complicated journey with the idea      of closure. Basically, I don't believe in it. I believe in the      concept; I get why people crave it, and I understand why I, even      in third grade, sought it from the orange ceremony. It's      frustrating to feel so powerless against your own feelings. But as      an adult, I've learned that closure is unobtainable. I think it      happens at death, maybe. But remembering the pain is a good thing,      because all those experiences that you can't close the door on      make you a more empathetic person, and that should be embraced.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e I have a pattern-it takes meeting a new guy to help me get over      the old one. In the case of Jason Sprott, it was another Jason. He      was the newspaper boy, supercute and a little bit brooding. I left      him sodas outside my house every day so he could have a drink      while he was delivering papers. I was totally into bribing these      guys. What can I give him out of my fridge that will get his      attention? I think there are five pages in my diary that read: I      am so over Jason Sprott, I am totally into Ryan Berry. He is      soooooooooooooo hot and such a mystery! But one day he didn't take      the soda, and I think that was his way of saying, \"No more, you      sad girl.\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e Despite our tragic end, Jason Sprott will always be my first      crush. We ended up going to different high schools, so I lost      track of him after eighth grade. He has probably changed a lot in      the past thirty years. But to me he'll forever be Jason Sprott:      lover of running, subsidized ice cream, and spiky bangs.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e List to Live By:        The Professions of Men        You Should Not Date        (I Broke My Own Rules)\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e Before you read this, a caveat: I am attracted to all these types      of people. And in large part, have dated them. Or married them.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e 1. Magician\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e The idea that someone gets off on tricking you is just fucked up.      I dated a guy in college who loved scaring me. He would hide      behind the door and pop out just as I entered a room. Of course it      freaked me out, but then I'd get mad. He'd giggle and I just      wanted to punch him so badly. I didn't, because I don't have      strong fists. But magicians have that similar desire all the time.      To be clear, I love the idea of magic and the beauty and artistry      around it, but the desire to trick people and never let them in on      how you pulled it off? That seems to me like a person who will      never fully reveal himself to you. I don't mind magicians as      people, but in the realm of dating, the tendency to trick is very      confusing to me.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e 2. Musician\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e Here's my theory on musicians: when you have an audience of more      than ten thousand people worshipping you, how do you go home to      your partner at night and be like, \"So how was your day?\" There's      got to be an intoxicating head rush when you look into a sea of      fans and know that you could have sex with any of them, no matter      their gender preference. After that, can you ever be satisfied      with anything less? Plenty of musicians don't achieve that level      of success, I know, but even unsuccessful musicians are looking      for that kind of attention. People who follow their creative      passions are fascinating but also complicated, and they all have a      tricky combination of narcissism and insecurity. The one thing      that keeps some actors in check is that the crew is not laughing      at their dumb jokes. The key grip is checking his phone and      rolling his eyes, and he just wants to go home at the end of the      workday. When you ad lib a joke, the boom operator, who has      undoubtedly worked with much bigger stars than you, is probably      thinking, What a narcissist, and you feel that, and it's humbling.      But being a musician on a large stage? How do you separate      yourself from the rockstardomness of being a rock star? So don't      date musicians, except maybe a classical one. Second-chair oboe. I      would stay away from first chair. And definitely not a conductor.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e 3. Doctor\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e My experience dating doctors has been that they've pretty much      been dicks. Also, I have never dated a doctor. Plus, I saw that      Alec Baldwin and Nicole Kidman movie. What was it called? Malice?      The one where she's complaining to her husband, played by Bill      Pullman, that \"I hate our new neighbor\" but of course she's      screwing him because he's got a total God complex. That seemed      realistic enough.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e 4. Athlete\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e Not necessarily because they cheat, which I know is what you're      thinking. But because if they're getting older or there's a new      recruit or they have massive injuries, you have to spend a lot of      time stroking their ego. \"Honey, don't you worry about Brock. I'm      sure he'd tear his ACL too.\" After a bad game, you have to be so      emotionally supportive, and the exhaustion will just burn you out.      Plus, during the season, what are they going to have left to give      you?","brand":"Dutton","offers":[{"title":"Default Title","offer_id":46304881836261,"sku":"NP9781101986431","price":16.0,"currency_code":"USD","in_stock":false}],"thumbnail_url":"\/\/cdn.shopify.com\/s\/files\/1\/1842\/7735\/files\/9781101986431.jpg?v=1767743289","url":"https:\/\/k12savings.com\/es\/products\/unqualified-isbn-9781101986431","provider":"K12savings","version":"1.0","type":"link"}