Bridgett Harrison’s Tabloid Love can be described in just three simple words: cliche, cliche, cliche. I was really excited about this memoir, a story about a young journalist who moves to New York City to fulfill her dreams as a New York Post reporter. But it turns out that if you don’t have a boyfriend then, as a woman, it doesn’t matter whether you’ve fulfilled your dream and made it in a big, scary city.

To be fair, I loved the parts of the book that described her trying to get the story. Her description of being a journalist covering 9/11 made me cry (but what description of that horrible day wouldn’t remind us how horrible it was?). I also really did enjoy the middle of the book when she finally did find someone to fall in love with, but I was already so put off by her constant moaning about needing a man to feel fulfilled that I couldn’t find myself being really happy for her.

I felt like the book should have finished fifty pages earlier as well. The last section of the book, in typical chick lit fashion, talks about her experience in the Hamptons, describing in detail every rich person and their designer clothes. I liked the idea of her being a regular girl who meets regular guys, then all of the sudden she’s dating Mr. Lear Jet. Ick.

And, to top it all off there were so many typos I started keeping track of the page numbers where I found glaring errors, including such phrases as “When I got home, there was already was an email…” Double use of the same word, such as “the the” and “she she” were not uncommon in this book and it drove me crazy. Someone who worked for a newspaper for years should know the value of a good editor. In all I found 29 errors, or approximately one typo for every 10 pages in the book. Not a good ratio, especially considering I wasn’t even counting punctuation errors.

I should have known it was going to be horrible as soon as I saw that Candace Bushnell gave it a good review. At least Harrison’s book was better than Bushnell’s “Trading Up.” That’s not saying much though.

P.S. Any book that actually has the words “I pine for you” in them should be avoided at all costs.