A picture of my (previously abandoned) office immediately after I start blogging:

All the cats in the house, present and fucking shit up. Each trying to typing as soon as I type. Sitting on the escape key. Screechy cat fights erupt behind computer within seconds of a good idea. UNWORKABLE.

And that’s why I’m not working for the rest of the week.  Because none of these cats understands how important my job is.  And also because I really want to watch Doctor Who.  And because I’m tired and sort of whiney.  And because I’m going to see my parents for a few days so I can eat out of a chuck wagon in full 1800′s period clothes in the middle of an abandoned and (hopefully) haunted fort.  On purpose.  It’s sort of a long story.  I’d explain it all here but I can’t because I’m taking the rest of the week off.

PS.  Is this the most pointless blog post in the history of ever?  Probably.  

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Victor:  One day I’m going to finish my robot tigers and we will rule the world.

me: It’d be easier if you just took over the world with real tigers.

Victor:  Robot tigers are scarier than real tigers.

me:  No.  Real tigers are scarier because they’re unpredictable.

Victor: My robot tigers have a random setting.

me: Like a shuffle function on an iPod?

Victor: Exactly.

me:  That is way scarier.

Victor: Plus they could beat you at chess.

me: Well, not me specifically.  I’m pretty damn good at chess.

Victor:  Not as good as a robot tiger.

me:  Live tigers are still scarier because they’re real and you know they hate you. With a robot tiger you understand they’re just doing their job when they kill you.

Victor: My robot tiger would be a cold, calculating killing machine – set on random – that also has an emotion chip and laughs at your pain.

me: That actually sounds scary as shit.

Victor:  I KNOW. I just gave myself a panic attack just thinking about it and I don’t even get panic attacks.

me:  Imagine the synthesized growl you could put on that thing.  And the synthesized laughter.

Victor:  ”HA. HA. HA.”  That’s a robot tiger laughing at your chess skills.  And also, you really aren’t good at chess.

me:  I am.  I’m so not good at it that I move wildly and unpredictably.  It makes me dangerously erratic.

Victor: My robot tiger has a random chess move ability generator.

me:  Well now we’re all fucked.

Victor: The future is going to be scary.  Maybe I should make robot pumas.

me: No.

Victor: Robot cougars?

me:  Mmm…no.

Victor: Robot Bobcats.

me: Robobcats?

Victor:  Don’t be ridiculous.  Robo-bobcats sounds much scarier.

me: I think just you’re starting to come up with excuses as to why you won’t build robot tigers.

Victor:  You might be right.  I won engineering awards from NASA when I was a teenager, for God’s sake.  You’d think I would have invented robot bobcats by now.

me:  I’m sure NASA is very disappointed in you.  You probably haven’t invented robotic minions yet because you don’t apply yourself.  And that’s why the robobcats will never see the light of day.

Victor: A million unborn robo-bobcats suddenly cried out in in pain.

me:  Like Alderaan.  You can almost hear them screaming: “YOU’RE SO LAZY.

Victor:  Fuck this.  I’m building my robot tigers.  THE ROBOT TIGERS ARE COMING.  And their slogan will be “THEY’RE GRRRREAT!”

me:  We’re gonna get sued.

Victor: Yeah, but we’ll bring the robo-bobcats to the trial and they’ll growl angrily.

me:  And Tony the Tiger would be like “I FEEL VERY INTIMIDATED” and our lawyers would be like “THEY HAVE A RIGHT TO BE HERE, TONY.  THIS CONCERNS THEM TOO.”

Victor:  And they’d growl, but with big smiles.  Which would be even scarier.

me:  And also less likely to get thrown out of court because who gets removed from court for smiling at the plaintiff?  ”This is their natural resting state, Tony the Tiger.  THEY’RE BEING ENCOURAGING.  IT’S THEIR HELPFUL GROWL.  YOU CAN TELL BECAUSE THEY’RE SMILING.”

Victor:  Holy shit.

me:  Yeah.

Victor:  There is no way we’re losing this case.

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Conversation I had with a shopkeeper at a resale shop today:

me: Can you go any lower on the candle-holder in the back room?

her:  No, it’s in really good shape.

me:  Yes, but looks like it has erectile dysfunction.

her:  Oh.  Well, it gets hot in here in the summer.  But the candelabra is still very nice.

me:  It looks like it’s very disappointed to see me, and possibly needs to be medicated.

her:  Um…?

me:  I think your candlestick holder is clinical depressed.

her:  What?

me:  I think I need to have an intervention.  With your candle-holder.

her: …

me: I have anti-psychotics in the car.

her:  Oh.

Victor:  She’s not threatening you, ma’am.  She thinks she’s trying to help.  Just tell her it’s not for sale.

her:  Oh.  It’s not for sale?

me:  BACK OFF, VICTOR.  IT HAS A PRICE-TAG.

Victor:  Yes, and we have three very flammable cats.  Do you see the issue here?

me:  Yes.  The issue is that you’re jumping to the conclusion that the candle-holder is going to have a murder/suicide just because it’s depressed.  This aggression will not stand.

her:  Technically it’s called a candelabra.

me:  Look lady, I’m pretty sure you don’t want to get into semantics.  Your candle-thingies are depressed and need my help.

Victor:  She’s partially right, ma’am.  Just back away slowly before you get any more involved.

me:  IT’S ME AND THIS CANDELABRA AGAINST THE WORLD.

her: On the contrary, I find it highly entertaining.

Then she gave me the candelabra for free and it immediately perked up and started working in a half-way house for other candelabras with erectile depression AND SAVED SOME LIVES.  Or at least, that’s what happened in my mind.  In real life Victor made me leave and no lives were saved.  And that’s why I need to remember to bring my own credit card to the shops from now on.

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

It’s Sunday so that means it’s time for the weekly wrap-up.  Yeehaw.

Painting courtesy of @fattieart (J Rose)

What you missed on Ill-Advised:

What you missed on my satirical sex column:  (Moderately safe for work if your boss isn’t a complete douche-canoe.)

What you missed on the Houston Chronicle:

What you missed in my shop (tentatively called “Eight pounds of uncut cocaine” so that your credit card bill will be more interesting.):

What you missed on the internets:

This week on shit-I-didn’t-come-up-with-but-wish-I-did-because-it’s-kind-of-awesome

This week’s wrap-up brought to you by my amazingly talented friend Adrian, who creates magical necklaces at Shalottlilly.  She made me one last year and it was so awesome that I ended up using it as a fascinator and Adrian never once said “That’s not how necklaces work.”  Because she is awesome and she understands that the very best kind of jewelry brings magic no matter where it’s worn.

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Victor: What are you doing?

me:  Making stuff for my store.  It helps me break my writer’s block.

Victor:  Who’s gonna buy a mug that says “I love to go down”?  Are you making mugs for hookers again?

me:  What?  I don’t have a mug that says that.

Victor:  Uh, yeah, you do.  It’s right there.

me:  That’s a guy on a slide.  It means “I love slides.”  Because I do.  Because they’re whimsical.  The fuck, Victor?  Not everything is about sex.

Victor:  That’s not a slide.  It’s an escalator.  That’s the universal sign for going down.

me:  Really?  I thought it was the universal sign for loving slides.

Victor:  Why would there be a universal sign for loving slides?

me:  WHY WOULDN’T THERE BE?  SLIDES ARE AWESOME.

Victor:  You just made a mug proclaiming the whimsical joy of oral.

me:  FINE.  I’ll add “I LOVE SLIDES” on the back.

Victor:  Awesome.  Then people will think you’re a good-time girl who likes to do it in the park.

me:  This is all going on the blog.

And just like that, my writer’s block was gone.

Which I think proves that I was right all along.

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

Speaking of writing, I’ve been working on a special thank you gift to everyone here who has been here to encourage me while I struggled through years of writing and rewriting my book and I finally have something.  If you’d like to skip this small token of my affection you can go watch this video of a hedgehog taking a bath.

Still there?  Awesome.  Because everyone who preorders (or has already preordered) my book before March 16th gets a free, limited-edition, Hamlet Von Schnitzel bookplate for your book.  Personally signed by me.   (One per person.  Offer only valid for US {non-PO Box} addresses right now, but they’re working on that.  I’ll keep you posted.)

This is the bookplate:

By the way, This is my digital signature and it's much prettier than my real signature, so feel free to print this out and tape it to your book if you live in Canada or prefer something immediate and legible.

You have to fill out a tiny form here to get the bookplate mailed to you, and if forms make you nauseous you can just come to my book tour and get me to sign a copy there.  I have no idea where I’ll be touring.  Possibly just at my house.  Or at your house now that I have your address.

Please have nachos ready.

Want to pre-order? Click on Hamlet Von Schnitzel for links.

PS.  A huge special thanks to Penguin for printing and mailing out all of these because I’d have a nervous breakdown if I had to do this myself.  Seriously, we owe them all a margarita.  And some of those nachos probably.

Already pre-ordered?  Awesome.  Then click here to fill out the form to get your free, signed bookplate.

PPS.  Thank you.  I mean it completely when I tell you that I could not have finished this book without you, and I can’t even believe that it’s going to be out month after next.  Freaking out a little.  And by “a little” I mean “shitloads.”

PPPS.  (I just wrote “Shitloads” and auto-correct was all “Oh, you mean, “shiploads“.  We’ll change that for you.”  Auto-correct, you know nothing of my work.)

UPDATED:  Holy shit, you guys.  My book is currently # 2 on Amazon’s humor list and #2 on Barnes and Nobles hot & trending list.  I said on twitter that if it hit #1 I’d post a picture of me either naked or with twine and it doesn’t look like we’ll hit it, but I’m sending you something almost as good.  Ferris Mewler.  Nude.  WITH TWINE.

What's so hard about this, Nathan Fillion? Even my cat can make this shit look good.

Seriously.  THANK YOU.  I am furiously happy and I owe it all to you.  And to Ferris Mewler who isn’t so uptight about twine.  Nathan Fillion could take a lesson.

UPDATED AGAIN:  So, we somehow made it to #1, you guys.  I plan on blaming you when Tina Fey comes after me with a cleaver for taking her spot for an hour.  But true to my word, here’s a picture of me naked.  Does it count as naked if I wear a hat?  And a friend?  I say yes.

Me, technically naked.

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I know I said I was going to give away five red ball gowns as part of the #travelingreddress project, but I am a tremendous liar who can’t be trusted. That’s why instead today I’ll be mailing out nine red ball dresses to women around the world. The tenth will be just as beautiful, but will be smaller and hopefully a bit more magical, as it will be going to Alice:

Amazing pictures already pouring in from women across the globe in their red dresses. In fact, some have improvised using just a few yards of material to make amazing portraits. Ball gowns are flying across the country and photographers are furiously offering free sessions, and honestly I may have cried a little.

A few minutes ago I got an email telling me that I’m a final nominee for a Health Activist Award. I’m not sure if it’s for my work with rheumatoid arthritis or with mental illness but it seemed to require some weekly chats or such and I immediately felt both proud and panicked and quickly emailed them:

I’m not sure if i was chosen because of my rheumatoid arthritis or my mental illness issues but the latter sort of keeps me from doing web chats or phone calls or any of that. My anxiety is just too strong right now for me to take on anything else. But I’m so honored. If you’d rather give it to someone less crazy than me though I totally understand. I just have to take care of myself a bit more and that means saying no when I want to say yes. I hope you understand.

After I sent that out I expected to feel bad, like a failure for not being the activist others might see me as, but instead I felt…comforted. Because I’m finally learning that I have to be my own activist as well and take care of myself.  And sometimes that means saying “no” when every fiber of your body says “yes”.

Sometimes a no is a yes.

Sometimes a battle is the triumph.

Sometimes a dress is a hope.

PS. Tomorrow I’ll be back in my usual old irreverent, biting satire as usual. The drugs should kick in any minute.  Promise.

UPDATED:  I won, in spite of myself.  Literally, and figuratively.  How perfectly bewildering.

 

Comment of the day: When you said “Ball gowns are flying across the country”, the first thing I thought of was looking up in the sky and seeing scores of victorian dresses flying through the air. And a small child, who is walking down the street with her mother would look up at the sky and ask: Mommy, what are those things? And the mother would smile, look down and say to her child: That’s hope. ~ Plaidfox

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