I know I said I’d have more info on the People’s Party today but apparently I’m a big fat liar. Instead I’m going to show you a screenshot of my email. Please keep in mind that all of these emails are from real people and are not spam. (Click to enlarge.)
Also, I just got a package from the girl who sent the email with the subject line “Pig heart in the mail”. I’m afraid to open it so I’m going to post this and if I don’t post an update it’s probably because I’m dead.
PS. I want to be buried in a giant pile of marshmallows instead of a coffin because it’s cheaper and also ecologically sound. And mourners could eat them while they mourn and no one can cry eating marshmallows and someone would do that thing where they try to stick the most marshmallows in their mouth and they’d choke to death and then I could be buried with that person, like I’m some kind of marshmallow pharaoh. Also I’d like to have a pony buried with me in case they don’t have cars in heaven.
UPDATE: Opened the first layer of packaging. Contains brown paper packages tied up with string. Except the brown paper packages have robots drawn on them.
UPDATE 2: First package contains buttons with angry lego crossdressers on them. Also a bag to put dirty underwear in. True story.
UPDATE 3: Opened the second package from pig-heart lady. It’s a sleeping bag for Barnaby Jones. And it’s awesome. For me. He hates it.
UPDATE 4: Fuck. It’s a duvet, which apparently means “bed cover”. So I’m supposed to stick old underwear and towels in the first sack and then put the duvet over it and it makes a dog bed. Which is awesome. Except that I don’t have any old towels or underwear.
UPDATE 5: I mean, I have underwear…just not enough to fill an entire dog duvet with.
UPDATE 6: Problem solved. I stuffed the duvet with a car battery. Awesome.
UPDATE 7: Dog refused to get on duvet. Instead I stuffed the duvet with bag of wire hangers I was going to send back to the cleaners.
UPDATE 8: This dog is an asshole.
UPDATE 9: Okay, I took all the hangers out and when I walked back in the room the dog had put himself back in the bag. He looks very proud of himself. The cats are giving me a look like “we totally warned you”. They totally didn’t. These cats are assholes too.
UPDATE 10: Me: I HAVE NOTHING TO PUT IN THIS DUVET TO MAKE IT LOOK NORMAL. Victor: How about the dog’s old bed? Me: I hate everyone in this house.
Comment of the day: Look at that poor dog. If ever a dog needed Snuggie sleeves. ~ Steam me up, kid
So I said I’d write more Blogher stuff but I’m easily distracted and can’t fit in all of the wonderful people I met or missed or drunk-dialed and so instead I’m just going to skip to the part where I tell you the things I didn’t do. Like how I totally didn’t force Evany to give me her autograph while I babbled about the time I gave a non-plussed Amy Sedaris a love letter with pictures I’d drawn of her holding my (now dead) cat. And how I totally did not crawl over to a semi-conscious Amalah in Macy’s pantyhose section and start anxiously rambling away about the time I passed out on top of my cat at the vet’s office and woke up on the floor with my shirt ripped open and two paramedics and a bunch of dogs looking down at me because that? Would be ridiculous. Who would do that?! Not me. Also, I did not share a toilet seat with Mocha Momma or stick pregnant barbies in my boobs. Singing Little Mermaid songs in the men’s bathroom and attempting to use the urinals? No. Stop it. You’re embarrassing yourself.
*cough*
In fact, one of the only things that I’ll admit to doing at Blogher was the community keynote address and the real, professional video has finally come out so I’m posting all the links here so you can hear them all. Watch them. It will remind you why you got into blogging in the first place: Random sex with strangers. The amazing power of a life story.
Eden and Sarah
Danielle
Megan (Haven’t seen her video pop up yet but here’s her post.)
Mr. Lady
Heather
Liz
SueBob
Stephanie and Zan and Casey
Doug and Polly
Lindsay and Yvonne
Schmutzie
Jen
Laurie
Antonia
Me
Evany and Deb on the Rocks
Angela
Also, I just want to clear up two things. First of all, when I say I’m an “addict” in my keynote I’m referring to being addicted to blogging, not drugs. I should have been more clear but I was a little high terrified.
Secondly, I’m going to make a t-shirt that says “I’m not as drunk as you think I am”. Because I’m not. Mostly because I can’t afford that much booze. Besides that, people think I’m drunk even when I’m dead sober because I’m filterless and stupid and fall a lot and so I basically have what I call ”the three-drink handicap”. Everyone else in the world after 3 cocktails = me just waking up. Then I have one shot and I’m technically only slightly buzzed but with my three-drink-handicap I appear to others to be reaching the choke-to-death-on-my-own-vomit stage and bartenders stop serving me. Which is probably why I started getting calls from people after blogher asking if I would come to an intervention if they threw one for me, to which I replied, “What will you be serving?” In retrospect that might not have been the best answer but in my defense I was drunk. Also, I’m not sure they said they would “throw me” an intervention as much as they implied they would tie me to my bed until the D.T.’s passed but my way sounds nicer. Mainly because it seems like something that would involve confetti and tiny napkins. I’m not proving my point here very well but just take my word for it that I am less of a dangerous alcoholic and more of an entertaining cheap date who drinks lots during terrifying social situations and not much otherwise. In fact, last week I only had one inch of alcohol (for charity!) and absolutely no crack at all so when you take into account my three-drink-handicap I’m actually in the negative and am now subtracting drinks I had at blogher.
I’m no mathematologist but I’m pretty sure that’s how algebra works.
Comment of the day: George Bush is sober. Need I say more. ~ Always home and uncool
So this weekend I went to Blogher and basically it confirmed that I should never leave my house again. It was awesome and terrible. Like a tornado filled with glitter and pretty shoes.
I did a reading at the Community Keynote and (surprisingly) was the only one drinking heavily backstage and (unsurprisingly) was the only one who had to physically hang on to the stage curtain to keep from falling over because “the stage was slanty” (it wasn’t). Oh and my anxiety disorder kicked in so I had to wear my “confidence wig” and I think everyone kept thinking there was a reason I was wearing it, and were waiting for me to do a Britney Spears interpretation or something but no, actually I’m just a weirdo and it turns out that most people don’t even own a confidence wig. Laura sent me a videotape of the whole thing and it’s hard to hear which is a blessing, because basically I lost my place on the page I was reading from and just started ad-libbing crap and talking about the NRA. What the fuck, me?
I also went to the party I was supposed to be hosting and it was so awesomely big that I ended up staying for about 14 minutes before bolting and hiding in the men’s room for the next four hours. At one point I was interviewed in the bathroom and (I’m told) I gave an educational seminar about peeing standing up through labia manipulation. We can only hope that video tape was destroyed in the shoe tornado.
Then Laura shows up like 4 hours later and I’m still sitting on the sink and she’s all “The fuck, dude? People are concerned. I’m getting calls from people saying you’ve been in the bathroom for four hours!” and I’m like “Well, that’s probably because I’ve been in the bathroom for four hours. Hey, have you met the Backstreet Boys?! (I don’t really think they were the Backstreet Boys)” and she’s all “Those aren’t the backstreet boys and why have you been in the bathroom for four hours? You missed your own party!” and I’m like “Um…because I’m me” Then Laura’s like “Well..good point. We’re getting you some fresh air” and then she grabs my hand and pulls me out of the bathroom and I’m all “I miss my sink! Where are we going?” and she says “To the bar” and I’m like “YOU ARE MY BEST FRIEND EVER, LAURA!” But then we get to the bar and she tells me I can only have water and she turns away for 12 seconds and suddenly a cocktail is in my hand and she’s all “Where the hell did you get that?!” exactly like I did when Hailey found the Tijuana porn under my bed but really I think she was more amazed than mad. Laura re: the drink, that is. Not Hailey re: the Tijuana porn.
Then I realized that I had forgotten my antidepressants. And that’s when things got really weird.
More to come unless I get distracted. Oh look! Dust!
PS. Photos stolen and vandalized from the awesome Aimee Greeblemonkey and Califmom.
Comment of the day: I totally did not know who you were backstage. I am not lying. I mean, I read your tweets and shit, but I did not have a real idea of what you looked like and I thought maybe you were a cancer survivor with a bad blonde wig. I am not making this up. ~ Suebob
Hi. I’m a dumbass.
I have a degree in Journalism (seriously) and yet I cannot use apostrophes. In fact, the very reason I’m not actually a Journalist right now is that AP Style was created to destroy me.
Me: The client plead guilty.
My editor: Incorrect. The client pleaded guilty.
Me: Tonight I will set fire to your car.
Some people think it’s kinda hypocritical that so many of my posts deal with me crucifying people for not double-spacing, ninja punctuation and grammatical homicide when I can’t even tell the difference between “heroine” and “heroin” but here’s the deal: I get a pass. I get a pass because I write in Bloggess-Style which is largely characterized by writing under the influence of drugs and alcohol. Bloggess-style is less about “rules” and more about how it sounds in my head and what I’m drinking at the moment. For instance, whereas the AP style of this story might like this:
“A report of a ninja sighting in the woods near the Robert L. Horbelt elementary School prompted a brief lockdown of the township’s public schools”
Bloggess-style would sound more like:
MOTHERFUCKER, y’all! There’s no recess today because someone saw a. fucking. ninja. Seriously?! Is this what we’ve come to, people? Because if a teacher told me no recess because of a because of a ninja sighting I’d be like “How good of a ninja could he be if someone saw him running out in the woods? Answer: Not a very effective one. Now open the damn door and let’s play some motherfucking kickball, beeyotch.”
It’s not exactly well-written and is missing some verbs and has punctuation marks wildly sprinkled in like glitter but it gets the damn point across. That’s why every post of mine is marked by people telling me I spelled something wrong (which is awesome because, hello, I need help) and the commenter is pretty much always right except for the comment I got this week on my “screaming into noseholes because people are not using the double-space after a period anymore” post which was totally insane.
Here is the comment:
And do you know who I hate so much I just want to stab them in the face and then peel off all their face skin and scream into their open nose holes about how much I hate them? (Actually, I don’t hate them that much, but it was such a good opening sentence.) It’s those who can’t use “however” correctly. Oh look, Jenny can’t! 
~Angie
So I brought in my coworker and was all “You know how I kind of suck at punctuation?” and she’s like “Yeah.” and I’m all “You’re an asshole!” but I only said that last part in my head because I needed her opinion. So I showed her the quote and she agreed with Angie and said that “however” used in that form always needs a comma after it. And I explained that when I said the sentence there would be no pause in it so the comma would fuck up my sentence flow. It’s supposed to be like “DH Lawrence once said if you have nothing to say then be still, (big pause here like it’s the end of the sentence but then it’s like HA! I fooled you! The sentence is still going! I’m like Houdini) howeverIhavealwaysfoundthat….” And my coworker nodded, humoring me, and told me it was still wrong. But then I found this:
The use of however as a conjunction meaning “although” is identical to its use as a clause-initial adverb meaning “nevertheless“, except in punctuation (when written) and in prosody (when spoken). Hence, the following proscribed sentence:
(proscribed) He told me not to do it, however I did it.
is equivalent to the following accepted one:
(accepted) He told me not to do it; however, I did it.
Bingo. Thank you, Wikipedia: The most reliably accurate source on earth.
Anyway, my point is that you can find pretty much any style to back up the way you write. And if you can’t, just put a footnote in there and call it Bloggess-style. Unless you’re saying “But I thought she been done did that“. Then you are dead to me.
Comment of the Day: Uh, I’m confused. Are you saying that the proscribed sentence validates your writing style? cause that doesn’t really help you. proscribed isn’t a good thing. And now I can be one of those commenters that points out your mistakes. Unless I’m just high and don’t understand anything you wrote. Then I just suck ~ktjrdn
And my response to the Comment of the Day: That depends. What does “proscribed” mean? I’m assuming it means “kick-ass”. If, in fact, it means “forbidden and assy” then I’m going to say that it still counts because it says the proscribed one is “equivalent” to the accepted one and so in a roundabout way I’m still totally right.
Totally. right.
Proscribed. (Kick-ass.)
