So according to my blog keyword search, a crazy amount of people are insanely paranoid about ninjas and are crap spellers. I mean, I’m obviously not one to cast stones after my recent, tiny ninja punctuation crisis but this shit is ridiculous.  I mean, no judgment and I totally can’t tell which of you got here by butchering ninja phrases but really?  In the last month 70 different people found this blog while looking for what I can only imagine is some sort of proof that there are, in fact…

Ninjas.

Everywhere. 

Their psychotic leavings in order of popularity:

I know you’re thinking that it couldn’t get worse but you would be wrong:

And I’m not even going to bring up the searches for “ningas” which are apparently “everywear”.  Of which there are more than two.  Searches, that is.  Not “ningas”.

In conclusion, I have to say that you people are. freaking. paranoid.   Ninjas are not everywhere and even if they were, you wouldn’t see them anyway.  Because their fucking ninjas.  I mean, there’re ninjas.  Fuck.  Now I’m doing it.

PS.  Just because a ninja won’t sleep with you that doesn’t make her a whore, Todd.

PPS.  I know what you’re thinking.  You’re all “Wait a minute!  If she can’t see who is using those searches then how did she know that was Todd gettin’ all pissy about the ninja whores?!” 

And the answer is that you were actually right to be paranoid.  Ninjas are everywhere.

Nah, I’m just kidding.  Everyone knows Todd’s a freak about propositioning ninjas all the time.  It’s embarrassing.  Also Todd, those aren’t ninjas.  They’re pandas and they just aren’t that into you.  This is why you keep getting banned from zoos.

PS.  I wrote this whole post on xanax.  You can’t even tell, right?

I know I promised you a kick-ass ninja story but I just have to quickly respond to the 23rd person to threaten to unsubscribe to Mama Drama if I don’t hurry up and write a post there.  I don’t write there anymore.  I write at Good Mom/Bad Mom.  And you should read it because it’s awesome and yesterday I accidentally published a curse word there and it totally slid past the censors so right now you can read “shit” on the Houston Chronicle until they read this and fire me from a blog that I don’t actually get paid for anyway.  Wait…is that “firing”?  It’s probably more like “banning”.  Anyway, today’s post is all about how I single-handedly destroyed a commune, got sewer water on me in front of an internet celebrity, and made my kid sell alcohol to strangers.  For real.  You should go read it before I get fired banned.

Ninja story is a-comin’, swear to God.

PS.  Conversation I just had with my coworker…

Me:  If I’m writing about plural ninjas should I use an apostrophe?

Coworker:  No. 

Me:  Are you sure?

Coworker (patronizingly):  *sigh*  Do the ninjas own something?

Me:  No, they’re just there.  You know, being ninjas.  Why?  Is it different if it’s possessive?

Coworker:  Yes.  How do you not know this?

Me:  Ninja punctuation is hard!

Comment of the day (which is either really insulting or just taken completely out of context): Um, I didn’t find SHIT over there. Just CRAP.  ~Faith

My first thought is “Why am I naked?” and my second is “Whose donkey is this?”

Part 2 of meeting Guy Kawasaki:

 1.  I just valeted my car for the first time in my entire life.  Valet:  Wait…ma’am, I need your keys.  Me:  How am I supposed to open my car later if you have my keys?  Valet:  Wow.  You’re retarded. 

2.  Somehow I get into the VIP room.  Very important guy I’ve never seen before warmly welcomes me and tells me he’s heard all about me.  I thank him and tell him how unsettling it is to walk into a room of strangers who know so much about my vagina.  The look on his face tells me he has obviously not heard about me at all.  He runs away leaves quickly.  He looked like Stephen Hawking except without the wheelchair and more shocked.

2a.  The VIP room has sushi and people who do not include Guy Kawasaki.  I tell everyone he’s probably off snorting coke on the back of the toilet seat.  Responsible businessmen in the room begin to look very uncomfortable.  I realize I’m the only person not wearing business-ish attire:

(photo courtesy of the wondrous Ed Schipul who is too nice to sue me for defacing his work.)

3.  Guy’s speech is about to begin.  I sit several rows back so I can sketch pictures of my cat.  Dwight does a few lines of the horrific intro speech I wrote for him.  He leaves out all the “vagina’s” but does the part about Guy murdering the drifter and even says “shit” out loud.  I am very proud of him.

4.  Guy is talking about his formula to do a pre-money evaluation to find out how much you are worth.  I like my way better.  I start with the amount of money I spend on booze annually.  Every time I’m impressed with myself I add $1,000.  If I have to pull an all-nighter I get a pony.  If I have to give someone a handjob I get a unicorn.  Blowjobs = Flying unicorn.  (And stapling chicken wings to a horse does not count.  I’m not falling for that shit again, Nathan.)

5.  “All you white people look the same to me.”  “I like to shoot glocks.”  “Things that end in vowels are bad.”  ~ Quotes that make me think Guy Kawasaki kicks ass.

6.  “Here’s a business idea:  Buy dead horses.  Sell them to dogs.”  ~ Quotes that make me wonder why Guy Kawasaki isn’t homeless.

7.  Guy K. asks if there are any V.C’s in the room and some guy is all “Right here, yo!”.  And I’m like, “Um, white dude?  There is no way you are a Viet Cong”.  Later someone tells me V.C. means “Venture Capitalist”.  I’m too busy worrying about how to get my keys back from the valet to care.

8.  Guy just said that to succeed you need to “make it rain” and I was the only person in the audience to laugh out loud.  Turns out that phrase doesn’t always mean throwing wads of dollar bills at strippers.  I pretend I was just laughing about something someone said on my bluetooth (which is totally imaginary).

9.  Guy’s advice:  “Hire infected people”.  Hey good news, Uncle Frank!   Oh wait…he’s not talking about syphilis.

10:  Guy is showing off Alltop and looks at the first sentence of our latest Good Mom/Bad Mom post and is all “Boooooring. Your first sentence sucks, loser.”  And I’m like, ”But no!  It’s all about Scientology and Grindhouse and punching teens with hammers!”  I sound like a crazy person.  From now on all my first sentences  will be fascinating crap about drinking cobra blood or waking up naked with donkeys or something.

11. Guy’s thoughts about potential customers: “I’m thinking: That’s my money in her purse.  How do I get it out of her purse and into mywallet?”  I suggest mugging her.  Wait…this is probably why he has a glock.  OhMyGod, I bet he really did kill that drifter.

That is totally hot.

.

**To be continued unless I get distracted which you know I totally will.  In case I forget, remind me to tell you about how I (seriously, no joke) almost killed Guy Kawasaki. **

And then I woke up naked with a donkey.

PS.  My next post is going to be about ninjas.  Ninjas!  See, I’m distracted already.

Comment of the day:  I was pretty impressed with the flying unicorn for a BJ.  What must butt stuff get you?! ~ Alice

 What I just heard on the radio: “…and as of today over a million shoes have been donated to Feed the Children in Darfur.”

Me to myself:  The hell?  Why are we feeding shoes to children?  Oh waaaait.  Now I get it.  Ha!  I should blog this.  I should totally find the sound bite for this commercial and say something about how “these barefoot kids wouldn’t have this problem if they’d just quit eating their shoes”.  ‘Cause there is nothing funnier than a slapstick misunderstanding about starving, barefoot African children.  

I bet there will be a lot of funny people with me when I get to hell.

********************************

The comment(s) of the day:

 You know Dianne Rehm on NPR? I had this ex-boyfriend who was all, “Why the hell is her voice all fucked up? Why can’t she talk right.”  Then we found out she has some sort of horrible throat disease that she has overcome in order to do radio broadcasting.  To which I said, “Why don’t you go kick a puppy and kill a kitten, now?” ~Law School Hot Mama

You know, it’s all about perspective.  Which is like the similar relief effort the Bush administration is trying to push through to offer free AIDS vaccines with pancake batter. ~furiousball

That’s like that line in the song “Fly Like an Eagle” saying “I want to shoe the children with no shoes on their feet”.  Every time I hear it I comment to whomever I’m with “That’s awful. Why would they want to shoot children with no shoes?”.  Everyone ignores me. Why? ~Lindsay

So last year I was totally verklempt to have snagged an invite to attend a pre-blogher party thrown by the cool kids and I spent the entire time I was there hiding in the bathroom wishing I’d brought more anti-anxiety pills.  Which is why this year I was shocked to be asked to actually co-host the party.  I suspect it’s some sort of cruel joke and that halfway through the night I’ll find myself drenched in pig blood with half-naked girls throwing tampons at me.   Which actually?  Kinda sounds hot. 

 Anyway, the hosts this year are famous, hysterical, paranoid, amazing, Canadian and socially retarded so if you fall into any of these categories you are invited.  And best of all?  Free booze from our fab sponsors!  RSVP here, bitches.  It starts at 8.

And for those of you who can’t go, I suggest prostitution.  It’s an excellent money-maker, plus you can make your own hours.  And for those of you who think you’re too good for prostitution (you’re not) we’re attempting to put together a live video feed so we can toast, twitter and chat with you in real-time even if you’re at home but I suck at this crap so someone who can teach me about it  who can do this for me please email me and I will be your best friend forever or set you up with a prostitute.  Your choice.

This is where I’d mention all the people pitching in to get us tanked but I’m supposed to put that little R-with-a-circle-around-it behind their names and I don’t know how to do that so instead I’ll just show you pretty pictures of them: 

Oooh.  Pretty.

Now get to hooking people.  That plane ticket to San Francisco isn’t going to earn itself.

*PS.  Feel free to steal the party button for yourself.  Power to the people.

Confused?  That’s because you’ve probably mistakenly come to the last place first.  You should really start at the first place first.  I’m surprised you didn’t know that.

Note for the confused:  If you are even remotely thinking of coming to the BlogHer conference this year then you need to go here right now and follow the path back here.  If you aren’t coming then you can just skip this whole post and pretend it’s just some drunken, raunchy come-on.  Much like the sort of thing that happens at BlogHer.  Which is precisely why you need to come.

More (and probably far less esoteric) party details to follow…

Comment of the day:  I’m going to have been so starved for vodka by the time this party hits that I may just be shrieking BEST PARTY EVER on a continuous hight-pitched loop, but you’ll just have to forgive me for that.  ~ Her Bad Mother

Part one of the Guy Kawasaki experience:  (I’m too hung over to write the rest but I swear, it’s coming and is mortifying/awesome/surprisingly porn-related.)

Evil Dwight from the Chronicle thought I should introduce Guy at the Houston Technology Center speaking event.  I assured him that was the stupidest idea he’d ever come up with.  He insisted.  I reminded him that I can’t stop saying the word ”vagina” even especially when I’m on a microphone.  Then I wrote up a little “What I would say” speech to show him how terrifically pear-shaped this all could have gone.  He was horrified.  But entertained.  So he did read a very small, censored part of my speech when he introduced Guy.

This is the full, original speech:

My name is Jenny Lawson and I write for The Bloggess and Good Mom/Bad Mom on the Houston Chronicle.  I was pretty shocked when they asked me to introduce Guy because most people know that I’m unable to talk for more than 15 seconds without cursing inappropriately so it’ll be a pleasant surprise for all involved if I can manage not say the c word or start talking about ”vagina’s” up here.

Guy Kawasaki first came on my radar several months ago when our pseudo-editor, Dwight Silverman of the Chronicle, emailed to tell us that our parenting blog had been picked up by Guy Kawasaki’s Alltop site and that this was “very significant”.  And actually it was very significant, both because the recognition was nice and also because it marked one of the first emails I got from Dwight that didn’t tell me to stop using the f word or posting inappropriate dildo videos on the Chronicle.  So, being a typical southern gentlewoman, I decided to email Guy and thank him, which I did.  It was an email which may have included a few curse words and ended with me telling Guy I had no idea who he was and asking if he was the guy who invented the motorcycle.  Unsurprisingly, Dwight was not pleased.  But surprisingly, Guy actually wrote me back and thus began months of email correspondence between us.  Granted, it was somewhat one-sided, with me sending long, rambling emails about lap dances and my paraplegic cat and Guy sending back short one-liners such as his most recent email to me which stated simply “Very funny dick story.  Your bizarre business proposal needs work.”  Which? He’s right on one part.

So I decided I should find out who this guy actually is and why when I tell people that he’s emailing me half of them stare at me blankly and the other half totally freak out and pee themselves in excitement.  I decided to look on Wikipedia because that shit is always accurate and here’s what I found out:

Guy Kawasaki did not invent the motorcycle.  He did, however, invent the internet.  Or maybe something to help the internet.  I’m really not sure because I got bored and stopped reading.  Then when he was 30 he killed a drifter and totally got away with it.  I’m not entirely certain that’s true but it makes for an interesting story.  And really? (*long stare at Guy*)  Prove you didn’t kill a drifter.  You can’t.  I rest my case.

But none of that really matters (except to the drifter’s parents who were probably pretty broken up about the whole affair).  What does matter though is that Guy Kawasaki kicks ass.  That Guy Kawasaki is totally famous.  That Guy Kawasaki is a genius who looks a little like Jackie Chan and could probably take you out with a roundhouse kick if he wanted to.  And, most importantly, that Guy Kawasaki is here with us tonight.

So without further ado, I give you…Guy Kawasaki.

Vagina.

There’s a lot of shit being thrown around right not regarding the whole “mommybloggers are exploiting their children” topic that is making the rounds lately.  It’s not a new topic.  From the first time I wrote about my kid peeing on the floor and the cats drinking it, I’ve been asked if I thought it was really appropriate to be sharing such intimate details about my child’s life and I’ve always said the same thing:  I’m not sharing intimate details of her life.  I’m sharing intimate details of mine.  She just happens to be in it.  That sounds selfish and narcissistic but guess what?  So does having a blog. 

When I was a kid I wrote dumb stories all the time.  When I was a teen I got all gothy and expressed myself with bad poetry and sulking.  In college I made disturbing screenprints of people cutting off their own fingers and did angry public poetry readings.  After college I moved to making bizarre, eerie dollhouses and journaled like mad.  And now?  I blog.  It’s my form of creative expression and it makes me a better person.  Sometimes it’s funny.  Sometimes it’s sad.  Sometimes it gets me hatemail.  But all the time it is me, and just because I am someone’s mom, or wife, or daughter, or friend that does not mean that I should have any less of a “voice” than I had before.  If anything I should have more of a voice, because I have a hell of a lot more to say than I did when I was 20. 

Limits are good and (surprisingly) I do have them but would I ever stop blogging just because my kid turned into a mortified teen and told me she wanted me to stop blogging?  No, because teenagers are stupid.  I should know.  I date them.  I was one.  And just as I’m going to have to soldier through the years when Hailey decides to shave her head or considers joining the Hare Krishnas, she will have to soldier through having a mother who is who she is:  Fucked-up, horrifyingly unfiltered, but basically a decent chick.  And hopefully we will both learn to appreciate those points in each other.

Except for the cult thing because I am not afraid to burn down a compound of Hare Krishnas to get my daughter back.  That’s just how I roll, Krishnas.  Fair warning.

PS.  Tonight I’m having dinner with Guy Kawasaki.  It’ll be weird seeing him without using binoculars.  And without him being in the shower.  I think I’ll pop out the lenses and use them when I talk to him at dinner just so I’ll feel more at home.  That won’t be weird at all.

Comment of the day:  I’m not cool enough to be exploited.

I love ya lady, but in a totally healthy way, it’s not like I print all of your posts out and plaster them all over the extra bedroom that no one really knows about and light my Jenny candles each night, repeating The Bloggessitudes…

“Oh in Houston a lady that lives
with a husband named Victor and a kid with kitten armpits

she talks about subjects so ribald and bold
she has nice getaway sticks and hates to smell mold”

and then i dress up in a curlers and hold a blow dryer whilst staring blankly into a mirror.

because that’s what would do if they had a problem.

*nervous laugh*

~furiousball

(Taken directly from my journal because I’m lazy.) 

Things I learned on my trip to Puerto Rico:

1.  The President’s Club at the airport offers free alcohol.  Surprisingly, no one is drunk.

2.  There are no President’s and lots of old white people in the President’s Club.  Disappointing on both parts.

3.  I just figured out why no one is drunk here.  This amaretto sour sucks.  Victor:  “Yeah, and also it’s only 9am, drunky.”

4.  Victor just yelled at me that if I get him kicked out of the President’s Club he’ll never speak to me again.  Two minutes late he was pretending to be a professional cockfighter and yelling “My cock is stronger than yours!” in a Spanish accent.  Alcohol is the great equalizer.

5.  These cocktails are better than I thought.

6.  We just almost got kicked out of the President’s Club.  Victor wouldn’t let me do shots with a bunch of guys headed for Vegas and then he got all pissy when I called him a ”Republican”.  I was totally going to introduce him as an up-and-coming cockfighter to the Vegas guys but it’s too late now.

7.  On the plane:  First class kicks ass.  They just brang me a hot towel.  I mean “brought”.  I don’t think you’re supposed to say “brang” in first class.  Or “fuck”.  I’m sitting here watching Frisky Dingo, drinking wine, eating cheese and some chick just set up some sort of elaborate picnic on my lap.  At this point the plane could crash and I’d still consider it a successful vacation.

8.  Scratch that last line.  That was the xanax talking.

9.  So I get these movie headphones FOR FREE?!  To keep?!  That is insane.  I officially hate rich people now.  I think I could ask the stewardess for Jim Morrison’s skull and eight blonde virgins and she’d totally make it happen.  Ooh!  More cashews!

10.  They just shut that flimsy little curtain that separates first class and everyone else and I was all “Good!  You poor motherfuckers shouldn’t be able to look at us.”  I think first class is changing me.  Also, Victor just reminded me that we’re flying coach on the way back.  Now I know just how Marie Antoinette felt. 

11.  The stewardess just gave me six pieces of silverware to eat a bunch of stuff that I’m pretty sure is all finger food.   Which fork is the cracker fork? 

12.  Me:  “This is so opulent. I feel just like Julia Roberts from Pretty Woman.  Except, you know, without almost getting raped by Jason Alexander.”

Victor: “Well, vacation’s not over yet.”

14.  3 hours into the flight I look out the window.  Nothing but water forever. 

Took another xanax.

15.  I want to live in the lavatory.  It’s all my air inside that room.  None of this re-breathing other people’s air in there.  I wonder if you can die from carbon dioxide poisoning on a long flight?  I bet you can.  I’m more concerned about the pilot, actually.  I hope the poor bastard has his own airtank up there.  Maybe I should mention this to the stewardess.  Victor keeps wondering why I’m spending so much time in the bathroom.  I’m totally not going to tell him.  Let him figure it out for himself.  That bathroom air is mine!

16.  Victor did NOT record all the Frisky Dingo episodes on his ipod.  There are like ten missing and when I told him about it he just shrugged.  There will be hell to pay.

17.  Found something else he downloaded though called “My Bare Lady”.  Disappointingly it is not porn.  But it does have porn stars in it.  So, partial credit.

18.  Journaling is a lot like twittering except with less feedback.  Also no people telling me they just made a sandwich or have to poop.  I miss those people.

19.  You know what they should make?  Twenty-five dollar bills.

Also, they should put ads on the cash and the money can go to lowering our taxes.  And they could put coupons ON the money to make you want to spend it and stimulate the economy.

I’m pretty sure I just solved America’s national deficit issues.  Victor is frustratingly nonplussed.  The plane lands in 5 minutes.  I want another drink but Victor thinks I’ve had enough.  I think he’s just jealous that he didn’t come up with the twenty-five dollar bill.

To be continued if I don’t get distracted which will probably totally happen.

Comment of the day:  I am thinking you should not actually take Xanax and drink. Isn’t there a warning on the side of the bottle that says just that? Hmmmm, does it make the Xanax work better? Get back to me on this. ~ Cedarflame

And my rebuttal:  It is very true that you should not take xanax and drink. But you should also not poke cheetahs with sticks and that never stopped me. Eventually one of these things may kill me but at least I will have known the thrill of poking cheetah’s with sharp sticks.  I’m not making sense, am I? I blame the xanax mixer. Which I did not drink because they are illegal. ~ Jenny, the bloggess (who is a very poor example according to most people.)

I’m alive.  Barely.  I can hear cats whispering blocks away.  That’s how much my head hurts right now.  It’s probably from all the Puerto Rican sun and not from the fact that I drank half my weight in rum.

I swear I have amazing stories for you but right now I just need to lay my head down for a few minutes.

 Someone shut those fucking cats up.

A few pictures here if you just can’t wait.

PS.  I’m not a drug addict.  Thanks for asking.

Comment of the day:  Dude, when I’m in your position, I can hear people eating marshmallows.  Those marshmallow eating bastards are loud.  ~Type (little) a

Puerto Rico,
You lovely island . . .
Island of tropical breezes.
Always the pineapples growing,
Always the coffee blossoms blowing . . .
~West Side Story

Is that true about Puerto Rico?  I’ve no idea.  But I’m going to find out.

I’ll be back in a few days.  Feel free to use the comment section for lurid propositions and dangerous rough-housing.

PS.  Burglars?  My house will be protected by my large, bohemian father who is frighteningly unpredictable and likes to shoot things for fun. 

And yes.  That really is my father.  And yes.  He really will kill all of you.

PS.  So far there’s only one real bid on my child’s quilted-vibrator-for-charity-art-piece.  Really?  You guys are going to let Oh My Stinkin Heck walk away with this gem for 5 bucks?  Shocking. 

Comment of the day:  You suck.  Don’t have fun. ~ Immoral Matriarch

 I was waiting until I was inspired enough for a new post but then Ali and Greta got all demandy so I’m just going to write a bunch of random crap while I’m waiting for my drugs to kick in.  Feel free to skip it.

Stuff I’m thinking about today:

1.  My little sister has a tumor the size of an atomic fireball in her jaw which sounds…I dunno…delicious?  It’s probably not cancerous so we’ve decided to call him Mr. Lumpy.  But if he is cancerous we will call him Terrible John the Bastard King of Assholery.  Also, I’ll feel really guilty about telling her that it’s probably a silent twin that’s going to come alive and murder her in her sleep.  

2.  Have you seen this? 

 It’s some kind of a nap/TV/stool for kids and it’s the coolest damn thing ever.  I totally want one for Hailey but I want it to be the size of a refrigerator box so I can put her inside and sit on it.  ‘Cause “Mommy needs to blog, sweetie”.  But I mean, I’ll put air holes in it.  And a place for the catheter.  What am I, some kind of monster?

3.  This weekend I met up with Liv and Julie in a fancy french restaurant and somehow managed to yell “Vietnamese F-ck Table” in front of a baby.  Awesome.  But the good news is that we solved several issues worrying me about BlogHer.  See, I have a hearing problem and can’t hear anyplace there’s ambient noise so I try to read lips which doesn’t work at all at dark, loud cocktail parties.  This is why (true story) at the last BlogHer party I made my friend Laura stay in the bathroom with me throughout the entire party and why almost all of my pictures have toilets in them.

Anyway, I mentioned to Julie and Liv that I was really nervous that I wouldn’t be able to hear anyone at the BlogHer parties so we decided I should buy a child’s Indian Teepee and carry it around like a giant hat and people can come inside one at a time and talk to me.  Also I’ll bring my flashlight so I can read your lips.  Or maybe I’ll put some taplights on my boobs because that seems more sophisticated.  Oh and I might be wearing a veil too.

I’m pretty much going to be the coolest person there.

4.  Two words:  Franken-gina.  I guess that’s really one word.

5.  My spellcheck says “Assholery” isn’t a real word.  How totally pisstastic.

6.  BlogHer 08.  Are you going?  If not I think we need to put together some sort of virtual get-together.  Maybe everyone meet here at a certain time and we break the servers or something.

Comments of the day:  What is a BlogHer party, and should I be attending them? They sound pretty important. And, after all, I’m in the freaking JUNIOR LEAGUE, so it is just not a party without me there….ummm….except that there’s a reason my name is The Introvert, so I’d just be standing in the corner by the bar watching Jenny do the worm in the middle of the dance floor while the crowd shouts “Go Jenny! It’s your birthday!” ~The introvert

And my response: Okay people…BlogHer: It’s a conference that happens in July. You get there on Thursday and party. Friday you go to a few sessions and realize they are all kind of boring. Go get drunk with your friends. Saturday you go to the sessions that your friends or celebrities are speaking at and then you stalk them and give them love letters with pictures of them and your cat. Saturday night you tell everyone your deepest secrets and also accidentally flash some people. Sunday important stuff happens but you skip it to sleep in and then you go to the airport. Also there are cocktail parties. In a nutshell that’s it. And you should go. But if you can’t, I will still love you. Maybe even moreso because I will not have embarrassed myself in front of you. ~ me