Comment of the day: I know exactly what you mean, because I got a package today too. Except mine was full of candy, not beloved cremated pet. If i was a unicorn, I would use my magical powers to turn Barnaby Jones’ remains into candy. I don’t know if you’d want to eat it though… ~ Jamie the Very Worst Missionary

Alternate comment of the day that is technically more of a “noise” than a “comment” but one that I want to remember for next time I have to send someone a sympathy card: [sad trombone] ~ Nanette

Sad trombone, indeed.

Updated:

Worst. Linkage. Ever.

Updated comment of the day: I couldn’t agree more about the inappropriate linkage. If cremating your dog isn’t going to work, then nothing will. ~ kyknoord

Bonus comment of the day because this post is very short and I need to pad it: This is what I like to do (besides black tar heroin) — Halloween time I buy one of those fake UPS or FedEx costumes and when either guy brings me a package I open the door in a rush and go “thanks I’ll take it from here!” and slam the door.  Will also get you a free pizza if you stock up on pizza company costumes. ~ Chris Illuminati

PS.  My friend MariaMelee is truly amazing and her roach spray review was like the Iliad of roach spray reviews.   She’s awesome.  I’m going to go to bed now.

Comment of the day: So…does that mean we’re not getting roach spray? ~ Steve

(This is all totally true, by the way.  That’s what makes it so very awful.  FYI: Lisa is my sister.  Gabi is my niece.  My mother is a saint.)

To: Mom

Sent: 2:02pm

Weird. I can’t even get my cat to wear a condom.

~me

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

To: Mom

Sent: 2:04pm

Crap! I meant “sweater“.  I can’t even get my cat to wear a SWEATER. Why did I say “condom”? What is wrong with me?

Pretend Lisa sent this.

~me

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

To: Mom

Sent: 2:10pm

Also, I just remembered that you said your computer won’t play videos so this whole thing is pointless.  Just trust me that the video was adorable and didn’t have anything to do with cat sex at all.

~still me

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

To: Mom

Sent: 2:12pm

OR ANY TYPE OF SEX.  It’s a video of a kitty getting wrapped up in Christmas paper.  OHMYGOD! SHUT UP, ME.

~ugh

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

To: Mom

Sent: 2:15pm

Hi.  I apologize for being your daughter.  But really you brought this on yourself.

~ me Lisa

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

To: Mom, Lisa

Sent: 2:22pm

Hi mom!

You’re going to see a bunch of emails from me in your inbox but you shouldn’t read them because they’re all infected with a terrible virus.  Which I got from Lisa.  You should really just avoid her and also any emails from her.  She’s not with you right now, is she?  Because if she is you should push her down.

~me

PS.  I found Gabi’s jacket in my car but now I’ve lost it again.  I need Lisa’s address in case I find it again.  Oh hang on, I’ll just CC Lisa on this so she can tell me.  Duh.

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

To: Mom, Lisa

Sent: 2:26pm

Oh.  I have made a horrible mistake.

You both should not open the emails from me in your inbox.  They are infected with a virus.  Which I got from daddy.

I love you both very, very much.

~me

PS. Lisa ~ What’s your address?  I may or may not have something to send to you but if you don’t get anything it’s your mailman’s fault and totally not mine.  You have a terrible mailman.

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

So far?  No response.  Except for my sister who simply responded “You are an idiot“.  Hard to argue with that.

Comment of the day: I just sent my mom a picture of a house in Ohio where we spent 2,475 days growing up. She wrote me back and said, “Oh look, it’s that house in the Hamptons we spent the afternoon at.” ~ Suzy

I sent out these tweets in July:

• My Blogher panel is competing with Tim Gunn from Project Runway. Awesome.
• We must strike down Tim Gunn. Or find a way to lure him to our panel. Someone get on that.
• Minions, activate! Tim Gunn is sweet but easily confused. Use that to your advantage.
• But be careful. Tim Gunn easily spooks. He’ll be at the Tide booth so you just need to find a way to move the Tide booth into our room.
• Seriously, he’ll go wherever that Tide booth goes. The Tide booth is key here. Don’t get caught.
• Also, nothing can be tied to my name for legal reasons. If you get caught, blame blogher. They drove us to this.
• And by “us” I mean “you”.
• Shit! The Tide people have found this thread. Abort!
• Tide people, I had nothing to do with this conspiracy to kidnap Tim Gunn or your booth. I just heard about it myself. So weird.

Then the whole Carson Kressely debacle happened.

Then we had our humor panel which was awesome even though I had a panic attack and ended up sitting on the edge of the stage in case I needed to crawl under it because I FORGOT MY XANAX IN MY ROOM and I’m rummaging through my purse madly minutes before we begin and a girl sitting near me is all “Are you looking for drugs?” and I’m all “Yeah.  Is it obvious?” but then someone else in the audience slipped me a tranquilizer and I didn’t take it because I didn’t know how it would react in my system but it made me feel better just knowing it was next to me and that’s why I love chick blogging conferences.  Because someone nearby always has sedatives to share.

The end.

Oh wait, no.  I still have more story.  But that would have been a good end so if you want to stop there I don’t blame you.  Then the panel ended and I ran back to my room to hide except the hotel “accidentally” kicked us out and changed the locks on us and then I got an email from the head of the company doing PR for Tide that she had Tim Gunn trapped in a hotel room and that I should come down.  And I did.  And he was lovely and charming and genuine and I found myself blurting out how sorry I was for the “whole kidnapping conspiracy thing” and he looked at me kind of blankly but still kindly and the head PR lady gave me this look like “We didn’t tell Tim Gunn about the kidnapping conspiracy” so then I tried to change the subject and I’m all “Seriously, I adore you.  Can I molest you?” and then he started blushing and I’m all  ”Shit.  Above the belt, I mean” like that’s going to make it better but instead of running away he said “Certainly, Jenny”.  TIM GUNN REMEMBERED MY NAME, Y’ALL.  And then I lightly molested him and so did Alli and I’m all “Would you consider adopting me?  Or give me some sperm or a hair follicle so I can clone you?”  He didn’t respond but I’m pretty sure it’s just because he didn’t hear me because he is totally the kind of guy that would give you a cup of sperm if you really needed one.  In other words, he’s a gentleman.  William Shatner could learn a lot from him.

I love this set because he looks a little scared at first but then he's all "Aw fuck, let's just run with it". Except he probably doesn't say "fuck". Even in his head. He's just *that* charming.

Then this morning I read that Tim Gunn is going to be featured in an Iron Man comic:

So basically that means I’m  ONE FUCKING DEGREE FROM IRON MAN.  I called Victor to tell him because he’s at a conference and he was all “Do you have any idea what time it is here?” and I’m like “Time zones mean nothing to me.  Iron Man!”  Then he hung up.  Probably because he was too intimidated by me and Iron Man.

PS.  On an utterly unrelated note (except for the fact that this happened the same day I touched Tim Gunn and I forgot to write about it too)  Deb and Anna and I ran right into the Oscar Mayer Wienermobile, which seemed like an ironic tie-in for a chick conference but when someone offers you a chance to stroke the Wienermobile you don’t say no.  Unless you’re Deb, who told the Oscar Mayer rep that she wasn’t that into it because she’s a vaginatarian.  And the weinie-mobile chick was like “A vegetarian?  We have vegetarian products” and Deb was all “No. A VAGINAtarian” and the girl just kind of smiled blankly and ran away.  Then I’m all “I don’t think she got it.  Maybe you should’ve just said ‘lesbian‘?” and Deb was all “Oh no.  She totally got it”.  Then someone might have put a Bloggess sticker on the wienie-mobile as it was pulling away and it certainly wasn’t me and then Anna was yelling “WHO DEFILED THE WEINER-MOBILE?”    The end. Again.

PPS.  In hindsight, I think I should have ended this at the first “the end”.  Or maybe skipped all this and just posted a link to a video of a cat taking a shower instead.  That probably would have been less confusing for all of us.

Comment of the day: So… don’t kidnap Tim Gunn? Shit. We really need to work out a better system for communication. Don’t get me wrong, this way is fun, but I’ve kind of committed here. Would it be bad… if… let’s say… someone already cut off his finger? I’m not saying it happened, but… okay. It happened. But it wasn’t me. Okay. It was me. But you said “kidnap” and everyone knows that means somebody’s losing a finger. Whatever. I’ll let him go but someone’s going to have to explain this to the Tide people. Not it. ~ MayoPie

Also I started surfing and I kept trying to right-click and it wouldn’t let me and I’m all “VICTOR THIS MOUSE IS BROKEN” and he’s like “There’s isn’t a right-click button.  Macs are different” and then I stopped breathing for a little bit.  Also there is no “print screen” button and instead there’s a button to make the sun brighter and another one to set cruise control, apparently.  I could be wrong about these because I’m afraid to touch anything at this point.  I even had a whole Nancy W. Kappes post for you today except it’s in my email and I have to be able to copy and I can’t do that because I can’t right -click and THIS FUCKING COMPUTER IS TRYING TO DESTROY ME.  In fact, the only thing I’ve accomplished all day long is that there’s a camera on the computer that’s kind of awesome and I used it to give myself three boobs like in that movie that had the lady with three boobs.  I can’t remember the name of it and I would google it but I can’t figure out how to open another window without losing this post but I’m pretty sure it was called “The Color Purple”.

So, yeah.  Mission accomplished.

Comment of the day: The joy of that photo is that it is all things to all people.  If you want to see three boobs, they’re there.  If you want to see a massive Cleavage Canyon, your wish is granted.  But once you see one it becomes impossible to see the other, unless you blur your eyes and stare for awhile, but then your colleagues come up and they’re all, WHAT’S WITH THE THE THREE TITS? and you have to explain that all you see is a cleavage canyon, and you’re reminded how hard it is to connect with others, and you sink into an existential malaise.  Perhaps it’s best not to look at the photo.~ Dropkickjeffy

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

I’m not really sure what the message is here.  I’m assuming that it’s a tragic reminder of the horror of September 11th.  Brought to you by the goodness of milk.

Or maybe it’s just a weird coincidence that they’ve combined a 9-11 battle cry with pictures of cheese and whipped cream.  

Or maybe they actually meant, literally, let’s roll…away from the goodness of milk?  I don’t know.  I can’t even joke about it because it’s a fucking national tragedy.  There’s really nothing funny or milk-related about September 11th at all.  So please, Big Milk, stop now.  You are making my stomach hurt.

PS.  Yes. “Big Milk”.  You call tobacco companies “Big Tobacco” so you would call the milk companies “Big Milk”.  I don’t understand why I have to keep explaining this to people.

PPS.  Hi.  I know.  There’s pretty much no way to leave a funny comment on a September 11th related post.  You’re pretty much fucked on the whole “comment of the day thing”. 

PPPS.  Okay, fine.  Here’s something you can comment on with impunity.  Yesterday I twittered the link to a photo of a fail-whale tattoo.  As with many of my twitters, things quickly went very,very badly.  This is an artistic rendering of why I shouldn’t be allowed on twitter:

They really shouldn’t let me near computers at all.

Comment of the day:  This made me laugh so hard freedom fries came out of my nose.  AND I WASN’T EVEN EATING FREEDOM FRIES. ~ Kari

*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

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

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.)

I bet this sort of thing would never happen if I wasn’t full of mosquitoes.

PS.  Remember when this blog was about real stuff that made sense?  Me too.  That was awesome.

PPS.  I’m crazy but I don’t actually think I’m full of mosquitoes.  It’s an analogy.  A very, very bad analogy.

Comment of the day: I predict Chipotle will come to be pronounced Chipolte in time, it’s inevitable.  and linguists will cite Nick Nolte as the reason. ~Always, Buddy

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

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.)

For example:

Nonlinear girl: What kind of Christians are these that have such a big porn problem? Is the porn pushing itself into their homes without their consent? We have that problem with ants, but the porn doesn’t seem to get further than our porch.

Furiousball - Ahh yes the cat water hump, which is another one of my failed business venture.   It was a mobile cat humping/wheelbarrow repair business. I called it Pussy Wheel-o. Never worked.

Kregg – I saw Cloverfield and it was great and I didn’t get sick because I’m great. I love movies where everyone dies cause it’s all like, “In your face happy endings.” No one learns a thing and no questions are answered. Ha ha ha ha ha.
That monster totally didn’t know his way around the city and was clearly frustrated.

Mamatulip – Dave would be completely mortified and would probably have to go do something manly like punch Chuck Norris in the cock if he left the movie theatre because a movie made him puke.

Spamboy – There is no difference between Jessica Alba and Jessica Biel. Both of them are my wife’s “girl crushes” and neither of them will sleep with me.

Heather – I bet Victor likes sporks, too. I do. Sporks are the SHIT.

Sayre -  I used to shave my brother the body builder, the parts he couldn’t reach.

Karmyn – When we’re done talking on the phone my husband always says to me “Thanks for calling” like I’m some old acquaintance.

Furiousball - My dog told me that when he gets to the point that I have to put him down he wants to be shot out of a cannon over Snake Canyon (just like Evil Knievel).  Oh also, he told me to listen to Nirvana’s Incesticide backwards to get his next orders.

Clint – I found this site looking for a work for my Squid phobia. Brrr. EVIL things. There was a BBC documentary saying that in a few hundred thousand years they may evolve to walk upon the land. I hope nobody finds out the secret to eternal life while I am about.

Yvette - “Your submission included words that may not be appropriate. Ass.”
Do all people in Houston write like this? Ass? If so, I could totally live in Houston. Ass. Now I live in Utah. Ass. Did you know that people in Utah read your blogs? Ass? They do! Ass! They make us laugh! Ass!

Greta – Totally uncalled for, them calling you an ass. I also hate how wordpress and youtube call me a “user.”

Lotta – Why is everyone loving your hair? I totally want your boobs. I mean I don’t “want” them. I just want them on my body. Ok, wait this isn’t sounding at all like I mean.

Flutter:  Oh, my little sparkle fairy. My f**king little unicorn loving, multi-blogging trucker mouthed little pixie, Jenny. How I love thee. You and your pink ringed suspicious mole having, hilarity inducing, cuss word juggernaut. Ass.

Christine – It is, however, truly comforting to know that you really RESPECT the dead whores.

Stjnky – I’ve either been hallucinating, or there are a lot more elderly white women wearing japanese kabuki makeup in the downtown tunnels lately.

Hairy Weisenheimmer-  I woke up 15 minutes later looking at the underside of the commode with seriously brusied ribs a knot the size of Rhode Island on my head.Sweet. And, as I had never managed to get the door locked, my feet were sticking out into the hallway. Classy.

Lawyer Mama:  After a particularly rough evening trying to get the kids to bed my husband said (with all seriousness), “You know, you’ve been a real bummer lately.” Yes, he did. He said that to the woman who had just left her job on short term disability for depression. A real bummer. I nearly kicked him in the testicles.

The original lisa:  Evidently my hospital is run by a bunch of baboons with a few donkeys thrown in for good measure. You know, diversity in the workplace and all.

Eric G.:  Are you getting enough caramel apples in your diet?

-R- : My husband refuses to take drugs for his ulcers because he thinks the ulcers will get better as long as he acts tough.

Girl con Queso:  I say if you’re going to save money, a life preserver is the smart place to do it.

Willowtree: Are you saying your dog was fucking when he died? Because that’s how I want to go too.

Oh the effing Joys:  I just want them to shut the f*ck up and do my hair.

Margaret:  So you buy headless skinned rabbits and an assortment of thongs – do they ship them together? Or group together for discount on shipping?

Kevin Charnas:  I totally had a deep fried twinkie last year. AND a deep fried Ho-Ho. They were incredible (as would be a sock, if you deep fried it), right up to the point where I almost puked them up.

Anastasia Beaverhausen – When I first read the post title about how much it costs to have your cat humped I was really thinking about how there were other cats who would probably do that for free. Then I read the post.

Mark:  I don’t think they should use Elephants in Porn. Especially blue ones. They should be in the circus.

Anyway, I think it’s stuff like this that says a lot about this blog and the type of people it attracts.  Like the fact that you people are awesome.  And wonderful.  And freaks.  Awesome, wonderful freaks.

Try it out yourself…if your blog was a cocktail party, how would it sound?

Anyway, I just want to go on record as saying that people who put me on their blogroll are awesome unless they are holocaust-denying foreigners who like screaming the n-word. 

Because I’m against that.

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

Mama Drama Con Queso II is coming up.  It’s a big Houston party for bloggers organized by myself and and the infamous Girl con Queso and you must attend.  It’s a moral imperative.  Details to come.