So last night I couldn’t sleep so I became the President. Hang on. Let me share the events as they unfolded, live:

[View the story “I am the best President Canada has ever had.” on Storify]

(I can’t figure out how to make the whole story appear here so you have to click on the above link and then come back to read the rest.  Sorry.)

You may be asking yourself, how did this happen?  Was it because America needed a hero?  Maybe.  Was it because I’d been drinking?  Slightly more probable.  Was it because of my socks?  In a word? Fuck yes.  Technically that’s two words but when you’re the President you’re no longer limited to the surly demands of math and logic.

You might be thinking I’m insane but LOOK AT THESE FUCKING SOCKS I BOUGHT:



And a good President shares her booty with her people so I’m giving you ALL magical socks.  And by “all” I mean “three of you” because I can’t buy socks for everyone.  Money and socks don’t grow on trees, y’all.  At least not until I get the scientists of New Canada working on that.  Want some socks?  Leave a comment with a suggestion of my next presidential decree and I’ll randomly pick three of you to get socks.  Unless the scientists make a sudden breakthrough on the sock-tree thing.  Then it’s socks for everyone.

My favorite is "Three days of cramps make me a bad-ass."

My favorite is “Three days of cramps make me a bad-ass.”

PS.  I’m going to need a cabinet.  Then I’m going to need to fill it with liquor.  Then I’m going to need the other kind of cabinet.  The political type.  And I think it’s only fair that it be filled by you.  Pick a title.  Secretary of Cat Wrangling.  Ministry of Bacon Variants.  Or if you can’t think of one just get assigned one from the Random Title Generator for the Church of Bloggessianism.

PPS.  I just noticed that Wikipedia has removed the Church of Bloggessianism as a religion, which is fine but I really don’t appreciate your tone, mister.

You could have made your point without the "obviously."

“Obviously invented.”  Pretty sure all religions are technically “invented”, but whatever.

This aggression will not stand.  Or it will stand if I get distracted, which is very possible because I forgot to refill my ADD meds again.

PPPS.  I forgot to announce the winner on my  book tour post so I’m doing it here. ManicMom, check your email.

PPPPS.  Victor is actually in Canada right now for a workshop.  He just texted me:

peameal bacon He has not responded.

PPPPPS.  I just looked up “peameal bacon” and apparently it’s back bacon rolled in cornmeal.  There are no peas in it at all.  Even spellcheck was like “Nope.  That’s not real.”  WTF, Old Canada?  How are you doing everything else so well but fucking up so hard on bacon?  It’s fine.  I’m here now.  Let’s get to work.

To missing friends. The ones lost. The ones in hiding.

Tonight I miss people.  I miss friends who I’ve lost.  I miss friends who still exist, but are too terrified of life to say hello.  I understand it.  I miss me too when I go missing.  But I’m still here – deep down- under the shell that protects me when life gets too rough.  I’m still here when my head tries to tell me I’m nothing.  I’m still here under it all.  And you’re here too.

You’re here even if you think no one would know if you were gone.  You’re here in the hearts of people you would never suspect you had impacted.  You’re here in memory and in reality and in the echo of every person you ever touched and taught.  You are magnified in ways you never knew.

Many years ago Victor took me to a tropical island.  It was a dark time for me and a reminder that you don’t get to pick the times when parts of you go missing.  It rained more than it didn’t.  My anxiety and depression magnified.  I got sick and I ended up in the hospital in another country.   When I think back to those days I have dark memories with a few bright spots.  I remember standing in the pouring rain, looking out into the horizon.  I took a picture because I knew I wasn’t me enough to appreciate it at the time.

I found that picture again tonight.


It’s beautiful.  And dark.  And if you look through the rain you’ll see that it’s amazing.  You just have to have the right eyes.

You have to learn to see what’s hidden beneath.

You have to remember that we are so much more than our broken minds sometimes recognize.

I see you.  I remember you.  You echo in me.  I miss you.  But you are not missing.  You are here.

You are fantastic and I would live under a bridge with you.

It’s been a rough week but if you’re reading this it means you’re still alive.  Or that you have very good internet reception in the afterlife.  Either way, this calls for a small celebration:


It’s the small things, y’all.


And now, our weekly wrap-up.  Buckle-up, Buttercup.


Shit I made in my shop (Named “EIGHT POUNDS OF UNCUT COCAINE” so that your credit card bill will be more interesting.):


Shit you should buy or steal because it’s awesome:  

This week’s wrap-up is brought to you by a book you should check out:  Surviving Mental Illness Through Humor by Alyson Herzig & Jessica Azar.  One in four people suffer from mental illness and this book aims to break that stigma with tales of hope, despair and hilarity by writers walking their own mental health journey as they discuss their experiences with depression, anxiety, bipolar disorder, anorexia, agoraphobia, panic disorder and more.   I ordered several copies because it’s right up my alley and probably yours.  Bonus: They lowered the price this month in honor of May being Mental Health Awareness month.  Buy it here.

Colorful and terrible and beautiful all at once.

I took this picture a few days ago for several reasons:

dont use the markers

1.  It’s hilarious.

2.  It’s the perfect example of human nature.  Doing exactly what you’re told not to do.

3.  It’s very pretty, in a strange sort of way.  A small, colorful art installation in a sea of beige office supplies.

4.  The helpfully cheerful “OK!” written in marker at the end of the sign asking not to write with the markers made me smile because I can’t even tell if it’s sarcastic or not.  Either way, it’s fantastic.

5.  It’s both beautiful and ugly and messy and probably slightly illegal.  And, yes, it’s a pain in the ass to clean it up but technically Staples is getting a free advertisement right here and it’s an advertisement designed by all of mankind.  Or at least, all of mankind who was given a marker at that particular Staples.  Everyone wins.  And no one wins.  I’m not quite sure.  And that’s life.

Totes MaGoats

My friend Jeremy (Meddling with Nature) is full of awesome.  He’s a taxidermist/artist/prop maker who works with roadkill/animals who died of natural causes and who sends me wonderful emails that include lines like “Today my biggest challenge is making a zombie dog that can vomit a gallon of fake blood.”    He made me Rory (the ecstatic raccoon who is on the cover of FURIOUSLY HAPPY) and you’ll have to read the book to hear that story, but last month Jeremy was all “Hey, I made this goat and he’s been frequenting bars and parade floats.  His name is Totes MaGoats” and I was like “Um, no.  He is Totes MY Goat.  Because that is my goat.  Seriously.  I need him.  And I will christen him Vincent Van Goat so he can have two names.”

Well, hello there.

Well, hello there.


He’s fucking irresistable.

But then Victor was like “No.  Just…what?  No.”  And I did agree that Totes MaGoats/Vincent Van Goat was a bit pricey but he’s also enormous and so pound-per-pound he was a steal.  Victor disagreed because he doesn’t understand how buying-in-bulk works so I turned to my publisher with this email:

My friend Jeremy (the one who made Rory) just sent me a picture of his latest creation AND I NEED IT.


It’s a giant goat reading Alice in Wonderland but we could place a copy of FURIOUSLY HAPPY in his hand-hoof and then it’d be a taxidermied animal reading about a taxidermied animal. My head hurts from the awesome. Plus, you can take Vincent Van Goat to Book Conventions as a conversation piece and everyone would take a picture. INSTANT PUBLICITY. Then I’d buy it from you later (but at a big discount obviously because “used goat“) and then you won’t have to find a place to store a goat after the tour ends. EVERYONE WINS.

Long story short, will you buy me this goat? Does it help if I mention that I’m a Capricorn and that this is The Year of the Goat? If you don’t want to fund the goat I’ll probably still buy it myself but I’m gonna need you to buy him a seat on the airplane when I go on tour because I think I just found my new service animal. Also, Victor thinks the goat is ridiculous but he also just said that the goat would look good with a jeweled ascot and a pipe so I think he’s warming up to it. Which is good because it’s going in the bedroom.

Hugs, Jenny

Then my publisher was like “Who is this?” and so I decided to just buy the goat for myself.

(Really my publisher said “We love you but this is gonna look weird on an expense report. So, maybe?” and I was like “I CANNOT WAIT FOR YOUR SLOW DECISIONS.  SOMEONE ELSE IS GOING TO SNATCH THIS MAGICAL GOAT UP” and that’s why I had to buy it immediately.)

Last week Jeremy drove Totes to my house from Cincinnati and it was awesome because it was lovely to have someone look at my weird taxidermy with appreciation rather than frightened judgement, and also because it’s hard to even get pizza delivered at my house, much less a full sized goat.

Jeremy and Totes.  It sort of looks like Totes is giving you a rude hand signal but I assure you he is not, unless you're an asshole, in which case you are totally right.

Jeremy and Totes. It sort of looks like Totes is giving you a rude hand gesture but I assure you he is not, unless you’re an asshole, in which case he totally is.

Then Ferris Mewler snuggled up with Jeremy and when we pointed out that Ferris is polydactyl (a cat born with opposable thumbs). Jeremy was like “Whoa.  I’d super like to see your skeleton, buddy,” and then Victor was like “Oh dear God, there are two of you.

Jeremy explained that Totes still had a lot of lanolin in his hair so when I braid and style him it’ll be really healthy for my nails and cuticles – as if I needed another reason to love this goat.  Also, lanolin is really great for irritated nipples so I decided to put Totes in the guest room so that if someone is breast-feeding in that room he can serve as a medicinal goat.


I put a peony in his hoof because (according to the design blogs) peonies are super in right now.  Then I was like, “OH MY JESUS, VICTOR.  THIS GOAT IS THE BEST VASE EVER.”

It’s nice because that room really needed something and turns out what it needed was a goat.  Upside?  I think I might be able to go into interior design if this whole writing thing turns to shit.

UPDATED:  As requested, a Totes MaGoat tote.  Available in big and not-as-big.

totes tote

All I want for Mother’s Day is Herbert and his two front teeth.

me: For Mother’s Day this year I want this teddy bear.  Or rabbit, maybe?  It has teeth and it’s adorable.

uncanny creatures

Via UncannyCreatures on Etsy.

Victor:  I…don’t think I want that in the house.

me:  It’s tiny and under $40.  Plus, I’m pretty sure you can’t say no to me on Mother’s Day.  I made a human out of my body.

Victor: Well I helped.

me:  Barely.

Victor:  EXCUSE ME?  Millions of my replicants were destroyed in the process of making our child.

me: “Replicants”?

Victor:  Yep. And I better get something awesome for Father’s Day. It’s like Remembrance Day for the millions of replicants who didn’t make it.

me: Oh Jesus.

Victor:  Never forget, Jenny.

me:  Well, I can’t now.

PS.  Vaguely related: Happy Mother’s Day to my mom who is the greatest woman I’ve ever met, and Happy Mother’s Day to my daughter because she’s the one who made me a mother.  And high-five to anyone who has weird, conflicting  or shitty feelings about Mother’s Day and wishes it would all go away.  Go get yourself a kitten and a waffle.  You deserve it.  Get me some too while you’re at it.


And now, the weekly wrap-up of awesomeness:



Shit I made in my shop (Named “EIGHT POUNDS OF UNCUT COCAINE” so that your credit card bill will be more interesting.):

This week’s wrap-up is brought to you by Darcy Perdu, award-winning humorist who loves to share her bodacious blunders and amazing adventures at SoThenStories.com. She’ll gleefully tell you about the Baby Book Debacle  – the hilarious reason her friend’s husband is mad at her, and why some people think she’s raising her daughter to be a stripper.  You can subscribe to her blog right here so you don’t miss a second.



Wait.  No.  That’s not it.  I’m coming to your town to sign your books.  ALL OF YOUR BOOKS!  And your babies.  Whatever does it for you.  Put a blanket (or a load of warm cats) on your sofa because I’m on the way to see you.  Or I will be in four months.  If you live in one of the towns I’m going to, that is.  If you don’t then you should move.  You have four months.

Here’s where I’m going:

official furiously happy tour poster

The devil and the details:
9/23 Austin Bookpeople 7pm
9/25 Houston, Blue Willow 6pm
9/26 Dallas, Half Price Books 3pm
9/29 Atlanta, A Cappella Books 7pm
9/30 Nashville, Parnassus 7pm
10/3 Miami, Books & Books (Coral Gables) 7pm
10/10 Huntsville, Alabama Rocket City Lit Fest  11am
10/12 Washington, DC Politics & Prose 7pm
10/15 NYC Barnes & Noble/ Union Square 6pm
10/17 Boston, Porter Square 6pm
10/20 Toronto, Indigo Manulife 7pm
10/23 Dayton, Books&Co 7pm
10/25 Chicago, Women & Children First 4pm
10/27 Milwaukee, Boswell Book Company 6:30pm
11/2 Minneapolis, University of Minnesota Bookstore 7pm
11/4 St. Louis, Left Bank Books 7pm
11/6 Wichita, Watermark Books  6pm
11/11 Denver, Tattered Cover  (Colfax store) 7pm
11/13 Seattle, Third Place Books (Lake Forest Park store) 6pm
11/14 Portland, Powell’s  (Burnside store) 4pm
12/1 San Francisco, Books Inc.  (Opera store) 7pm
12/2 Corte Madera, Book Passage 7pm
12/4 Santa Cruz, Bookshop Santa Cruz 7pm
12/6 Los Angeles, Vroman’s 4pm
12/7 Tempe Changing Hands 7pm

(You can preorder my book at any of the above places.  I’m pretty sure that supporting independent bookstores – especially ones that host dangerously strange authors and their friends – gives you extra karma points in your next life.)

Please come.  Say you’ll come.  I can’t do this alone.

I’m working on a few other things that might work for you if none of those cities do so I’ll keep you posted.  Do you want an autographed copy of FURIOUSLY HAPPY right now?  Me too, but I don’t have one.  But leave a comment and if you’re selected I will send you one for free in September.  I’m totally good for it.  Or I’ll give you a signed copy of my last book right now if you’d rather have that.  Your choice.  Just tell me in the comments.  I’m totally flexible.

PS.  For real, I may need a sofa and some cats.  Or a bag of hedgehogs and some tater tots.  Depends on my plans.  I’ll keep you posted.

PPS.  Are you asking yourself “When did she write a new book?  Who is that raccoon?  Where even am I?” then you need to start here.  It’s fine.  We’ll wait.


UPDATED: Am I just stupid? Is this a trick question?

I was checking over Hailey’s math homework this morning and she’d left one blank because she said there wasn’t a good answer and I told her that there is always a good answer in 4th grade and then I looked at the question and my brain melted a little and she was like, “SEE?  4TH GRADE IS TRYING TO KILL ME.”

Am I just stupid?  Is there a clearer answer to this?

math homework


UPDATED:  First off, I apologize for making you do math word problems and I love that you stuck around and answered them so brilliantly.  Secondly, I asked Pearson (the company that wrote the question) what the answer is but I think they’re avoiding me.  Probably because they don’t know the answer either.  Hailey’s teacher, however, just answered my email asking what the answer is and she says:

” Rudy made $40 minus $3 bus fare, so profit is $37 for Sadie and he made all $45 for Chad with no expenses.”

I’m tempted to respond with “Who is Rudy?  And why do Sadie and Chad need so many piano teachers?” but then I realized that this poor woman is answering a ridiculous parent’s math questions at 10pm on a school night and now I just feel bad and want to send her flowers.  Or piano lessons.  Those seem popular all of a sudden.

I love your funny face. #WERUINEVERYTHING

So!  Last week my friend Maile and I went to the Mom 2.0 Summit and it was quite lovely but we decided that instead of posting the typical conference selfies we should change things up a bit and post the most unflattering pictures we could possibly take.  We did the first one on the plane and it was so ridiculous that even instagram wouldn’t post it.  It might have been a glitch but we assumed it was instagram saying, “No.  You don’t mean to post this. Have you been drinking again?  We’re cutting you off until you come to your senses.”  But we had no senses to come to and we couldn’t stop laughing at the picture and so we shared  it on twitter.

Then when we landed we found out that the picture was shared so much that it was the very thing that got the conference hashtag trending.  So…yeah.

funny faces2

This is the point when I had to apologize to the conference organizers but they didn’t care because I’ve known them for 10 years so they knew what to expect of me.  Which is “very little“.  This is one advantage of having a terrible reputation.

What was nice though was that although it was a little terrifying publishing such a horrific picture it was actually also surprisingly freeing.  No matter what photo we found ourselves tagged in that week we were guaranteed that it couldn’t be any worse than what we’d shared ourselves.  Even if someone intentionally posted something terrible we could say, “No. Sorry.  We did it worse already.”  Plus, we automatically looked much better in person because we’d set up people to assume we look like giant thumbs or penises.

I was presenting an Iris Award at the conference and mostly I just hid backstage and made Andrew McCarthy uncomfortable by sitting cross-legged on the floor and staring at him, but on the way in we had to take red carpet pictures and we’d decided that there were already too many pretty people there so instead we’d just do inappropriate poses until they asked us to leave.

And that’s how you do a red carpet.  Deep, royal curtsies.  #WE RUIN EVERYTHING:


From Maile : “You so win curtsy-ing. I look like a bear trying to find a hole to poop in.”

Other flattering red carpet poses: the 1930’s Muscle Men:

muscle men

 …And the eternally classic we-just-found-a-dead-body red carpet pose.  Always elegant.

dead body

It only took a few minutes before they gave up and shooed us off but we still had more to give.  This is my favorite and I literally laugh out loud every single time I look at it.

I like this one because it looks like Maile is my shy little sister who seldom leaves her closet and also that we share an arm.

I like this one because it looks like Maile is my shy little sister who almost never leaves the basement we live in, and also that we share an arm.

I did manage to take one good picture as I ran out to the nerd bus (which we self-named because we were the first people to hurry back to the hotel while everyone else started dancing) and that was a picture of my using Andrew McCarthy as a coaster.  Not even intentional, y’all.  I can’t take a good picture even when I’m trying.  Please contact me, Mr. McCarthy, with your dry cleaning bill.

me: I LOVED YOU IN MANNEQUIN.  Him:  Marry me.  (Only one of these things was said out loud.)

me: I LOVED YOU IN MANNEQUIN. Him: MARRY ME. (Only one of these things was actually said out loud.)

Point is, posting a terrible photo of yourself making ridiculous faces is fantastic.  And hilarious.  And incredibly freeing.  I encourage you to do it yourself.  Share it in the comments.  Send it to your friends.  Post it on instagram.  Relive those moments when your mother would say “YOUR FACE WILL FREEZE LIKE THAT” while you and your sister laugh hysterically as you lick the car windows and make pig noses at the people driving in the next lane.  Honestly, I cannot recommend it enough.

UPDATED:  Everyone and their cat is doing that website where you upload your photo and the computer tells you how old you look so I decided to try it:

how old


Oh, you flatterer.

Yes, that was totally the rabbit I was thinking of.

I always feel sorry for magician doing tricks for people with ADD because whenever I’m off my meds and I’m watching magic I always get distracted and forget what’s going on halfway through, and then the magician reaches into his hat and there’s a rabbit in there and I think, “Wait.  Was there not a rabbit there before? Because I honestly don’t remember how this started.” So I just pretend to be impressed and hope that that was the trick.

Basically, I’m like those serial killers who don’t feel emotions so they just become really good actors so people won’t suspect they’re psychopaths. Except instead of plotting murders I’m just hoping that the magician doesn’t ask me to pick a card because there’s no way I’ll remember it and I’ll just say “Yes, that was totally my card” no matter what. Magicians are wasted on me.  We should probably set up really terrible magicians with very easily distracted people and then everyone will be happy.


And now, the weekly wrap-up of awesomeness:


Shit I made in my shop (Named “EIGHT POUNDS OF UNCUT COCAINE” so that your credit card bill will be more interesting.):


Shit you should buy or steal because it’s awesome:  

This week’s wrap-up is brought to you by my talented friends from UnPodcast: The Business Podcast for the Fed-Up.  It is awesome, entertaining and it is free.  The only way it could be better is if it also increased your metabolism and made you a mojito.  Which it might do.  Hard to tell.  Listen to it while you work.  I highly recommend.