Last week I was at the Blogher conference and it’s too complicated to write about so instead I’m just going to re-write the notes I jotted in my journal while I was there because I’m really tired and I believe in phoning it in. Also, if this is the first time you’re reading me you should skip this post and read the one before it or just find a less offensive blog.
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I’m not allowed on a plane unchaperoned so I spent the night at Chookooloonks‘ (aka Karen) house where I was serenaded with live ukulele music and we exchanged stories of passing out in ditches. Then I went to wash my hair but I forgot to bring shampoo so I used her “Uncle Funky’s Daughter Shampoo For Kinky Curly Hair” which is not really made for white girls but when I came out of the bathroom I told Karen that it was awesome because I felt very multi-cultural and also now I know what it feels like to be black. Except without all the history and repression. Then my hair dried and it looked exactly the same as before, which was disappointing but I’m pretty sure I was changed inside forever, like the day you lose your virginity except better because no cops came and it didn’t happen in a truck. Then Karen gave me the “Girl, you are not right” look which looks a lot like the “Girl, you need a sandwich” face and so I agreed because either way she was right and I really wanted a sandwich.
It's basically this look but with more raised eyebrow.
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Landed in LaGuardia airport. Hey, you know what would be a good idea? If you didn’t put the runway on a pier IN THE MIDDLE OF THE FUCKING OCEAN. Or if maybe the captain came on and said something like “Oh, by the way, it’s about to look like we’re crashing into the water but at the last second the runway will appear and we’ve never had any giant squid reach out their tentacles to grab us even though we look EXACTLY LIKE A FISHING LURE SKIMMING THE SURFACE. No worries. Stop crying, girl in row 8.” That would have been helpful. But it didn’t happen, probably because they totally had been grabbed by a squid tentacle before and now they can’t legally make that disclaimer and then I may have hyperventilated a little and then Karen gave me that look again which was weird because I totally wasn’t in the mood for a sandwich and she’s usually very intuitive about that sort of thing.
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I’ve been in New York for one hour and already I’m being detained by the NYPD. Apparently it’s illegal to get a pedicab the way we did which was by stabbing the people about to get in the cab and then forcing the cab driver to commit robberies for us. Kidding. Actually we were just standing in an illegal place to hail a cab and so we got pulled over directly in front of a hotel full of bloggers. I tweeted that if you looked outside the hotel right now you could see Laura and I being detained for 20 minutes by the NYPD but no one did, probably because everyone inside was too busy doing opium and pulling used kidneys out of murdered hookers. Way to pick your battles, NYPD. Also, last time I was out of town with Laura we almost got arrested as well so I blame her. It’s pretty much the worst tradition ever.
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My friend Grace just asked me how many drink tickets I got. I have no idea what she’s talking about. She pulled out the perforated badge sheet that should have had drink tickets printed on it and it was entirely blank. Awesome. Blogher thinks I’m an alcoholic.
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Went to the Social Luxe party and got snubbed by everyone I’ve ever met. Except that I’m almost sure that it was just because I looked so different in my phony-tail. Or maybe they’re just assholes. Probably the first one. Then I won the “Funniest Blog” award and when I went on stage everyone was all “Huh” and that’s kind of what I thought too. Then I think I got fitted for lingerie but I’m not sure if that was part of the party or if I was just being molested so I just went with it. And that’s basically how Blogher is. Also, FYI? The award is a glass paperweight and if you go through security with it on the way home they will assume you have a bomb and they will bring out security and then when they finally pull it out and read it they’ll say “What’s a blog?” and that’s how you know you’re in the real world again.
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Called Victor to tell him I won an award.
Victor: Awesome. I already have a trophy for you at home.
me: Is it “World’s Greatest Grampa”?
Victor: I scratched out the “Grampa”.
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Hosted the annual People’s Party with a bottle of screw-top wine that I stole from the mini-bar. As usual, I went to the actual party for 1.9 minutes then spent the entire rest of the night hiding in the bathroom. It was a lot like a normal party except that people make you wear their shoes so they can swallow them and someone makes an art installation of play-doh on the sink but you don’t even notice it because a group of girls dressed in full Girl Genius costume just came to pour drinks. The bathrooms of Blogher are a lot like Burning Man, but with slightly less nudity.
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Back in the hotel room. Just stuck my head out of the bathroom to clarify to my roomate that I’m using an electric toothbrush in here and not a vibrator. She looked less relieved than I expected. This is why I shouldn’t be allowed to talk to people after 10 PM.
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Part two comes tomorrow. I need a nap.
Makes me sad for America.
PS. I’m sick with some sort of plague. We’re still in the process of moving because we couldn’t fit everything in the moving van so my new house is filled with boxes of things that go inside furniture that isn’t actually here. We’ve been attacked by scorpions. I can’t find the box with my clothes in it so I had to go buy a mu-mu at the convenience store down the street. I look like Mrs. Roper but even less sexy. Then last night Victor and I were going to stop unpacking for a minute to go out for our anniversary but the mobile home/restaurant down the road was closed because they decided they “needed to start drinking early for the holiday”. They did invite us to come in the backyard and eat barbeque with them though. This is all true, y’all.
PPS. I’m waiting for that version of the Bible that says “As mentioned on South Park” on the cover. When does that come out?
PPPS. Our actual moving van:
Why, yes, that' *is* a giant squid ripping the moving van apart.
I couldn’t even make this shit up, y’all.
Comment of the day: Y’all, Edward did not even like that book. ~ Casey
Most people know about my horrible giant squid phobia so my inbox is always littered with terrible squid news that makes me want to poison the sea even more than I already do, but today I got an email from my friend Desiree who thought I should know about this new jellyfish and I was all, ”Whatever, dude. Its arms are like soggy pixie sticks. Why would I be afraid of this?” and she was like “Well, maybe because THEY’RE FUCKING IMMORTAL.” And then I looked a little closer and got totally freaked out because I’m pretty sure these things are goddamn vampires. Hang on. Here’s the picture:
Looks totally innocent and harmless. Much like Edward Cullen.
And here’s the same picture after I’ve made it a little more clear. Because some of you don’t have enough imagination. Or vodka. And I’m here to help.
Yeah. *Exactly.*
And there are two problems here. One is that vampires are supposed to be sexy, and these? Not so much. Secondly? Werewolf eels. I’m not sure they exist but if vampire jellyfish are real then pretty much all bets are off, y’all. This is why I recommend that we dump enough gelatin into the oceans to make it into an enormous jello and then we can piece it out and pick out all the vampires the same way that you pick all the pears out of your jello salad. Then we stab all the jellyfish in their hearts with a stake. Or put them in a big aquarium and let them fight it out and charge people to bet on the vampire-gladiator death matches. And then we spend all that money on healthcare. I think I just solved the healthcare crisis and wiped out vampires. Plus? Free jello. You’re welcome, America.
PS. In vaguely related news I just found my new sleeping bag:
It’s in the shape of a bear so if I get attacked by bears at night I won’t get eaten because the bear will be all “Oh! Pardon me. I didn’t know you were in here” and then I’ll make the bear’s head say “No problem. I was just devouring this girl. By the way, how did you get in here?” and the bear will be like “Oh, some asshole left the front door unlocked” and then I’ll be all “Victor, you asshole! You didn’t lock the front door again!” and then the jig is up. This is why I’m going to put a reminder post-it note inside the bear sleeping bag that says: “DON’T YELL AT VICTOR IN FRONT OF BEARS” but probably we’re all fucked because I have pretty much no impulse control when I’m mad about people not locking doors. It takes two seconds and IT FUCKING SAVES LIVES. Only you can prevent us being murdered by bear when we sleep, Victor. And then I pointed out that it was pretty selfless of me to sleep in a bear sleeping bag to save the rest of the family and Victor pointed out that I’m really only saving me and that we’d never even seen a bear in real life and that I’d probably poke an eye out just sleeping in it and then I’d have to explain to the doctor that my eye got eaten by my sleeping bag. Then I started to disagree but then I remembered that last week I got stabbed by chicken so technically he has a point.
"Nom nom nom nom. This girl is delicious. But I wish she'd taken her shoes off first. God knows what she's tracking in. So inconsiderate." (This is what bears are thinking when they eat you.)
PPS. Victor just said that he’s “not the only person who lives here and maybe I could get off my ass and lock the damn door myself” but excuse me, I’M WEARING A BEAR. I don’t have opposable thumbs in this bear sack, jackhole. Honestly, it’s like he wants the bears in here.
Okay. So turns out that my finger is broken, but only in the way that the rest of me is broken, i.e., no bones are shattered but it’s still technically fucked up and useless. Thus, I’ve had to type everything this week using one hand and I deserve a medal for this. But I have to write down part two of my cruise experience because I’m on a lot of painkillers and if I don’t do it soon I’m not going to remember it. If you’re finding this blog for the first time ever I recommend reading Part 1 first because this is going to be confusing for even my most ardent reader. Or maybe just skip all this and go look at pictures of kittens. Your choice.
Day 2: So we arrived someplace in the Bahamas, I think? And then we took another boat to some other place but I don’t know the name of it. God, I should work for the Travel Channel. The important thing here is that we ended up on a tiny pirate island filled with dolphins and crumbling 100 year old towers and rumors of buried treasure. It was awesome until we were packing up to leave and Hailey got lost for the first time ever and I had a panic attack that I still haven’t recovered from.
"Look mommy! My shadow is a monster! Also, get your xanax out because as soon as you turn around I'm going to run back to the boat and hide in there because your panic attacks amuse me." She didn't say that last sentence out loud but it was totally implied.
Day 3: Hailey begged me to let her go to the on-board kids camp so I dropped her off and on my way back to the room I realized that I’d lost my lipstick, which is a HUGE FUCKING DEAL. I have to have lipstick on at all times or I feel naked so I went to the gift shop to buy some, except the cheapest tube they had was exactly the price of an unlucky number that I avoid at all costs so I asked the clerk if I she could charge me a dollar extra and she said no because she wants the ship to sink, apparently. I told her that I’d just give her a tip and she said she wasn’t allowed to take one which is ridiculous because I’m supposed to tip the waitress who brings me over-priced drinks but I’m not allowed to tip a clerk who might very well be keeping the entire ship from sinking by simply not making me have to use that unlucky number? I explained that that was totally ridiculous and she agreed although I’m not sure if she agreed for the same reasons and she recommended that I buy the only other tube of lipstick they had, which was $35 but I felt pretty certain that Victor would probably sink the boat intentionally out of spite if he found out I’d spent $35 on a lipstick because of a phobia, so instead I bought the unlucky number lipstick and then I promptly ripped off my thumbnail trying to open the lipstick package. I blame Victor for this since the $35 lipstick would never have caused this sort of injury. It was bleeding profusely and the clerk offered to call the ship doctor but I waived it off because it was kind of a relief to know that my bad luck was probably over and also because I knew that if I didn’t go lay down I was going to pass out because that’s what happens whenever I see blood. So I quickly walked back to the elevator to take me to my room but my thumb was bleeding like mad by that time and there was a small puddle of blood beside me when another couple walked up and looked at it warily. ”Someone spilled their wine” I explained, both because it sounded more festive and also because I didn’t know if they passed out at the site of blood too and I didn’t want all of us passing out at once into a puddle of my blood because that’s unsanitary and also because it would look like some kind of drive-by shooting to whoever found us and that didn’t seem fair to anyone.
Then I got back to the room and used the head of a creepy towel animal as a tourniquet and drank some booze from the mini-bar which I know was over-priced but I was in pain and it was medicinal so stop judging me. Then I sat down and read a book where the swanky main character toasts to the furniture and I was all “That’s awesome. I never drink to furniture” so I toasted to the coffee table and the lounge chair and I felt very cosmopolitan but then I reread the paragraph and it turns out she was toasting to the “future”, which makes more sense but is incredibly dull. Then I toasted the buffet and took horrific pictures of my mutilated thumbnail so I could show Victor what he’d done to me while he was out having a work meeting. I might have had too much to drink. Again, I blame Victor.
Day 4: We’re supposed to be flying home but we have 7 hours before our flight so at the airport we found a guy who said he’d be happy to take us on a tour around Miami. Because there’s nothing safer than getting into a car with a stranger who hangs around the airport.
Summary of the tour: ”Look kid! A horsey!”
Hailey, horsey, little Havana.
“And there’s Humphrey Bogart in a car. For some reason.”
I don't know either, y'all.
“And here’s the shop where you can buy all your animal penises. I’ll be back to pick you guys up in few hours.”
Yeah. Go back and read that again. It’s not a typo.
So was the raccoon giant or is the penis giant? Because I can't tell which noun is being modified. The cashier didn't know either and seemed surprised I was even asking her about penis bones. Obviously she doesn't read my blog. Also, YOU WORK IN A SHOP THAT SELLS PENISES. Know your shit, lady.
No shit, y'all. I can't even make this stuff up.
And I didn’t buy any of the penises because I’d already fell in love with Pocahontas Wikipedia who was hiding on a back shelf but I couldn’t afford him so instead I bought a bunch of necklaces with dead bugs in them. This is when Victor threatened to cancel my credit card because he doesn’t understand art.
Why yes, they *are* totally bad-ass.
In short? Best Miami tour ever. And none of us got stabbed. Bonus.
Comment of the day: Through a weird series of events, I actually own a raccoon penis bone, still in its original package… wait, let me rephrase that, still sealed in a little plastic bag. (The *original* original package would be a dead raccoon’s penis, which would be a weird thing to have lying around the house.) Anyway, I have no use for the damn thing, so it’s yours if you want it. Also, I need to stop reading your blog at work, because screaming things like, “Oh my God, I’ve got a raccoon penis bone!” never fails to draw concerned looks from my employees. ~ Evn
