You Searched For: cabbage

I blame the rickets.

I’m on day 7 of this mandatory low-carb, low-sugar diet-for-not-dying and everyone told me that I’d have the I-want-to-stab-everyone-carb-detox-flu for a few days, but then after that I’d have lots of energy and the cravings would lessen and they are right because now I have enough energy to loudly whine about how much I miss egg rolls rather than just whisper it softly to whichever pet is nearest.  Also, the cravings have lessened but I’m not sure it’s because I’ve beaten my addiction to carbs and sugar or if I’ve just given up on life and my brain is now huddled in a corner, angrily eating cilantro while yelling, “OH I CAN’T EVEN HAVE FRUIT ON THIS DIET? AWESOME.  I’LL JUST GET SCURVY THEN?  GREAT. THAT WILL FIX EVERYTHING.”

In an act of solidarity, Victor has decided to go on the diet with me, which seems incredibly sweet except that it seems crazy easy for him and he’s a dude so he basically doesn’t eat a sandwich for one afternoon and loses 87 pounds and becomes immortal.  Plus, when I whine about how HE HAS NO IDEA HOW HARD THIS IS he just raises an eyebrow, but I’m pretty sure that it’s harder for me because now I have rickets from not eating fruit.  I assume.

Also, I’m finding out that basically everything has hidden carbs and sugar in them and even foods that would feel like a punishment to eat are off limits for me.  Like, carrots.  I don’t even like carrots and I’m not allowed to eat them.  At this point I assume rain, oxygen, and forgetting to take your clothes out of the washer are all full of carbs and maybe I should just go on an all-heroin diet.  Except people really seem to love heroin so I assume it must be high in sugar or gluten.

Also, I went to my shrink today and the waiting room was completely packed and  it was very bleak and serious and I was looking on twitter and the top trend was telling me that today is #NationalEatWhatYouWantDay BECAUSE OF COURSE IT FUCKING IS and it seemed so ridiculous that I got the funeral-giggles (when you start laughing in an inappropriate setting and then trying not to laugh makes you laugh more and then you start snorting and you can’t stop because you’re in a giggle-loop-of-inappropriatness and so you just pretend to be crying because it’s easier to explain) and then everyone in the waiting room looked at me like I was insane and I was like, “Don’t judge me.  Y’all are crazy too” but then I realized that most of them were people who were there giving rides to other patients.  Also I’d brought a bunch of copies of YOU ARE HERE so I could give one to my shrink and leave the rest in the waiting room like Gideon Bible’s for crazy people but then I was worried that kids might see them and there’s some light cursing inside so I decided to just bring them all in to my shrink so she could just give them to unoffendable people who were having a hard time, but it looked to the outside world like I was carrying multiple copies of the exact same coloring book, which seems a bit insane.  So then I explained to the waiting room, “I made these” and everyone tried to avoid eye contact except for an elderly man sitting next to me who was all, “Well did you now?  Good for you” but in a sort of frightened/unintentionally condescending way, and it just now dawned on me that everyone was probably thinking that I was just bragging about coloring the exact same coloring book over and over and that I was probably bringing them into my shrink to show her that I could stay inside the lines.  Except that I can’t stay inside the lines and all of these books were obviously untouched and the spines weren’t even cracked so it looked even crazier and basically I think I scared everyone in the waiting room.  But also I probably made thems feel better about themselves (or their crazy loved one) because they weren’t hysterically cry-laughing to themselves while holding a stack of identical uncolored coloring books that they were bringing to show their psychiatrist.

PS.  My friend sent me this gif and this corgi is my new patronas:


PPS. I’m not sure if this makes sense.  Sorry.  I blame the rickets.

And you can tell everybody that is your song…

Yesterday I wrote about how 2017 is going to be The Year of the Pillow Fort and you were all in so we’re gonna need a bigger fort, or probably just good internet connectivity since most of us are too introverted to leave our own homes. And in the spirit of encouraging ridiculous laughter about very stupid things no one else gets, I’d like to nominate this as our song of the year.

Turn down your speakers if you work in an office. Or turn them way up because it might mask the sound of you laughing hysterically. It might just be me.

PS. Victor says it probably is just me, and he’d appreciate it if I stopped blasting this song and doing the robot in his office while he’s on conference calls but I believe in sharing the magic.  Also, I’m not doing the robot.  I’m doing The Cabbage Patch.  Just, really, really badly.

Drop the possum.

Every New Year’s Day my superstitious family eats black-eyed peas for luck, and cabbage for money.  It makes everyone gassy, but we still do it because we’re afraid of the demons which apparently punish you for…not having access to peas, I guess?  Still, it’s slightly more sane than other people’s New Year’s traditions (according to this company I know nothing about):

Related: Failing to hear animals having a conversation with you is also good luck in my family.  Or it’s a sign that you need more to drink.  Also, I don’t have a witty way to pull this post together because I’m on a lot of cold medicine, but maybe that’ll bring good luck for the new year.  Maybe being high on cold meds and only half-finishing blog posts are the luckiest ways to end the old year.  I’m so ahead of the game it hurts.

PS. I was just thinking that eating foods that make you super gassy on New Year’s Day is probably a good idea because we’re all hungover and feeling fat and grumpy and it gives us all a good reason to stay clear from each other.  There might be a kind of science to this after all.  Someone get me a possum.

UPDATED: There is something wrong with me

True story:  One of my friends talks about spending all of his weekly bonus money on filo and I was all “That’s awesome.”  Because I love pastries.  And it’s relieving to me to know that I’m not the only one buying impulse carbs but then this week he was all “Like the new jacket?  It’s filo.”  And I was all “How are they making jackets out of pastry dough?  Is this like when hemp wasn’t just for smoking anymore?  Because I’m confused.”  Then my friend was all “No.  FILA, dumbass.  It’s a brand name.  You thought I was spending all my extra money on bread?” and yeah, I did.  BECAUSE THAT’S THE KIND OF WORLD I WANT TO LIVE IN.

Also, now I’m hungry for filo bread.



This is where I would normally put the weekly wrap-up but I’m still recovering from touring so I haven’t really done anything worth writing about, so instead I’m doing a reverse shit-I-did-this-week by telling you what I plan to do next week.  Yay!  Everyone loses.

Next Tuesday we’re going to start to discuss the first few chapters of Let’s Pretend This Never Happened in a live book club where you can be drunk, home and in your pajamas.  It will be awesome.  Or a complete clusterfuck.  Either way it will be interesting.  We’re going to start off over on this page but if it crashes we’ll move over to twitter.  If that doesn’t work we’ll look into something else.  (UPDATED:  We’ve already moved to something else.  See the bottom of this post.)  Then ever day that week from 7-8pm central we’ll talk about the chapters until we devolve into absurdity.  To get things started for those of you who haven’t bought, borrowed or stolen the book yet I did a quick reading last night of the Introduction and chapter 1.  It’s a titch cursey so you’ve been warned.

Also, all the pictures (and more) from the book for those of you with the audio version:

This reverse-weekly-wrap-up was sponsored by Dashing Bee, an online consignment store for adorable children’s clothes, gear, toys and more.  Also they have really cute clothes that you can use to dress up your Cabbage Patch Kids and they really need to start marketing that.  That is an untapped market, Dashing Bee. 

UPDATED:  I’m moving the book club over the goodreads.  It’s easy to join and is free and won’t crash my system since it’s not on my blog.  Yay for all of those things.  Click here to join in.

PETA is Fine, But Sometimes I Question Their Priorities

Below is an actual email conversation between me and PETA.  (FYI:  This happened over a year ago and I was going to put it in my book as an addendum to my pets-eaten-by-hobos chapter but it was too long, so if you bought my book just consider this a bonus chapter.  Also, if you haven’t read my book yet you probably should because this is going to have a mild spoiler alert.  You can buy it here.)  

From: David (from

Date: April 12, 2011

Good morning.

I wanted to share some information that I hope you will want to pass on to your readers as Easter approaches. Each year, PETA receives scores of calls of concern about the use of live animals—mainly rabbits, but sometimes ducklings and chicks—as props in Easter photo sessions. Unsuspecting parents and kids might not realize it, but the animals used in these photo sessions are generally terrified and miserable.

It’s a sad fact that many of the rabbits purchased on a whim during Easter time die within months—victims of unintentional neglect and cruelty. Others are abandoned, relegated to tiny outdoor hutches and subjected to weather extremes, dumped at overburdened shelters, or abandoned outdoors, where they are unable to fend for themselves and starve or are killed by predators… …Would you please share this information with your readers? Please let me know if you have any questions.

Best regards,



From: Jenny Lawson

Date: April 12, 2011

When I was little I got a duck from the carnival and he was awesome.  His name was Daffodil and he lived in an inflatable raft in the backyard with the cats.  He was very happy.  But then my mom decided he’d be happier with other ducks because he started to think he was a cat, so we let him go at the lake and then a month later all the ducks were eaten by homeless people who lived under the bridge.  This is all true.  I think the real problem here is the homeless problem.  And by “homeless problem” I mean the problem I have with homeless people eating my pets.



Enclosed: A girl and her duck enjoying the sunset on their back porch.  Those were golden days, David.

Me and Daffodil. Or as the homeless probably refer to him...Dinner for Six.


From: David  from

Date: April 12, 2011

That’s quite a remarkable story, Jenny!  A few years ago, while with a group helping to hand out food to homeless people outside of a shelter, I found a number of them to be quite kind to a pigeon who showed up with an injured wing.  They were also impressed that I had the little guy (gal?) on my shoulder for a bit while I tried to figure out the next step.


 From: Jenny Lawson

Date: April 12, 2011

You’re lucky you didn’t lose an arm because based on *my* experience with Daffodil the “next step” would be the helpful homeless people making a big pigeon cake.  Or pigeon sandwich.  I don’t actually know how you cook pigeon, David.  But what I do know is that homeless people are very sweet until they see your pet duck and then they’re like a bunch of damn zombies.  (I assume.)  My mother says this is an unfair generalization and she encouraged me to go volunteer at a homeless shelter when I lived in Houston, and the people there were all very nice (except for one schizophrenic guy who had some sort of aversion to wearing pants) but that doesn’t mean I would trust any of them with my wounded pigeon.

PS.  I wanted to ask how your pigeon fared but since you didn’t mention naming him I’m assuming that he must’ve been eaten.  I once had a live chicken hang out on my shoulder for an entire afternoon so I totally relate to your pigeon story.  Her name was Schmalzie Nugget and she was a total bad-ass.  Also, she was super heavy so when she finally decided to jump off my shoulder I looked like I had scoliosis.  Whenever anyone else would get near us she would peck at their face violently.  Her owner tried to apologize and said it was because she was mostly blind and probably thought their earrings were bugs to eat, but I didn’t judge her because any pet chicken who fights off being eaten by homeless people long enough to go blind is a goddam hero.  She was like the Chuck Norris of chickens.

PPS.  Here’s a picture of me with Schmalzie:

It’s a camera phone picture.  We’re not normally that fuzzy in real life.


From: David from

Date: April 12, 2011

Apparently, our homeless guests were satisfied enough with the vegan food that we had bestowed upon them!  There was at least one other time when I was out when I came upon a bird in need.  Very strange.  (And several other cases when I rescued some, including a seagull who was in the median at the top of a fairly busy bridge near our headquarters.  I chased that one across the oncoming-traffic lane below the top, wondering if I wouldn’t get hit in five seconds.  I did capture the poor thing and we went to a wildlife rehabber’s place.)  That other time, someone discovered a baby at the bottom of the building that we were in front of. We figured there was a nest up above outside of one of the windows.  Who knows!

I took those all to wildlife rehabbers or some such people.


From: Jenny Lawson

Date: April 12, 2011

I tried eating all vegan once and I literally thought I was going to die by the 5th day.  That’s the one where you can’t eat anything but air and boiled cabbage, except on Friday when you can have a banana, right?  That is a harrowing diet.  Those homeless people were probably just too weak from hunger to go after even a wounded bird.  Weak and gassy.  That’s a terrible combination.

But ignoring all that, did you say that someone discovered *a baby* at the bottom of the building you were in front of?  Because that is insane and you should lead with that story.  Were you in front of a convent in the 1960’s?  Because if so, that sounds like an awesome made-for-tv-movie that should star Valerie Bertinelli and I want to hear more.

PS.  My husband just informed me that I’ve mistaken the apparently-totally-healthy vegan diet with the rather-dangerous-and-somewhat-stupid cabbage soup diet.  I should probably just erase that whole first paragraph but I’m leaving it just in case you’ve been considering going on the cabbage soup diet.  Avoid the cabbage soup, David.  You will never stop farting.


From: David  from

Date: April 12, 2011

Ooh–by “baby,” I was still writing in the context of the aviary world!

I’ve not done much exploration with cabbage.  It sounds like I should keep from doing so.  I actually just had a dinner of nachos–much tastier than air! 


At this point I decided to make David my new best friend for being so awesome and asked him if he’d be okay with all of this appearing in my book.  He never responded again.  Probably because he was eaten by homeless people.  It happens way more than you think.  Also, I donate (non-duck) supplies to the homeless and am a card-carrying member of PETA so please don’t yell at me.  Except technically instead of sending me a card they always send me magazines, but no one understands you when you say you’re a “magazine-carrying member of PETA.”  That sounds fucking ridiculous.  

In short, I support homeless people, ducks and their right to eat each other.  I understand the circle of life.  Just not when it involves my Daffodil.

Daffodil Duckling in happier times. He owned the only pool on our block and you can totally see it in his smile.

Grossest analogy ever

Conversation I had with Victor after we fucked something up:

Victor: Yes, it sucks, but we’ve got a big shit sandwich here and we’re all going to have to take a bite.

me: I don’t understand that analogy.  You say it all the time and it makes no sense.

Victor: It totally makes sense.  Something shitty happened and we have to just swallow it down to make it go away.

me: Personally if I had a big shit sandwich I’d just throw it away.  Why would eating it be the only option?  That’s what the garbage is for.

Victor: That analogy isn’t apt.

me: And eating shit-hoagies is?

Victor: Yes, because it’s something shitty you have to deal with in an uncomfortable manner in order to make it go away.

me: We need to get you a new analogy.

PS.  He also won’t stop saying “Like a monkey fucking a football” and “HIDE AND WATCH”.  I will break him of this if it kills me.

PPS.  I just read this to him and he accused me of telling him “how the cow ate the cabbage”.  I told him it was more of a come-to-Jesus meeting.  He said it was “bull-butter”.  I’m not even sure what language we’re speaking anymore.

Still high, making big announcements

So when I was drugged up I hinted about the fact that I had a really big announcement to make and I’m still high because I have dry sockets so this post might not make any sense at all.  Anyway, here’s my big announcement:

Today I quit Mama Drama

This is when most of you go, “What the hell’s a Mama Drama?” and I scream “You don’t know anything about me!” and then we get this weird vibe where you are like my emotionally distant stepfather who just doesn’t understand me and won’t let me become a dancer because secretly he was the Pan-American Champion Dancer in 1967 and accidentally killed my mother by doing a violent (but breath-taking) tango-back-bend and vowed to never dance again but then I run off with Reynaldo and we enter the national tango competition and win enough money to pay the taxes on the farm and you think it’s all over but then Reynaldo gives my stepfather this long look of recognition and then you realize that they’ve been having an affair this whole time!  What a dick!  And then Reynaldo is all “But we’ll always have the dance, my little cabbage” and I kick him in the scrote and go straight to a 1980’s musical montage of me trying on new clothes with my sassy, big-haired girlfriends who are all fabulous and also secretly witches.  Oh and I have a cat named Mr. BoJangles who makes a magical journey of self-discovery.  

Also there are ninjas. 

This is where I should put a transition sentence getting back to my original announcement but I can’t think of one so just pretend I had one right here and it was really funny and brilliant.  (Hahaha!  That thing I just said was so hilarious.  I’m priceless!)  So anyway, I’m quitting Mama Drama (which will still go on and be fabulous) and I’m moving to a new blog on the Houston Chronicle called “Good Mom/Bad Mom” where I will be joined by Mindy Sterba, who is one of my favorite bloggers with whom I have a love/hate relationship and who I often accuse of working in the sex industry. 


(Photo by Buster Dean, Houston Chronicle)

You should go there right now and put it on your blogroll and write about it and also tattoo it on yourself.  Then send me pictures of the tattoos.  Then someone call Hollywood  because “Mr. BoJangles The Transsexual Cat” is not going to just produce itself.  By the way, I just decided that Mr. BoJangles is a transsexual.  Deal with it, middle America.

PS.  Did you know that the stuff they pack your pain-wracked mouth with if you get dry sockets tastes like old dirty hippies?  Because it totally does.

Comment of the day:  You are f**ing brilliant my drugged up, dry-socketed friend. That is by far one of the best ideas for anything, anywhere, EVER! Ninjas brighten up everyones day, except for the poor bastard that’s about to “get it” (not dirty).  At the end when the cat finally comes to terms with itself, someone in the onlooking crowd then needs to stand and slowly start clapping, enticing the others to join in one by one until there is an upraoar of applause and the Tranny cat and his hemophiliac squirrel lover publicly consumate their eternal bond…UNTIL THE SEQUEL!!!!  Is it true they had to surgically remove your jaw and wash it off hith a common garden hose and then surgically reattach it to cure dry sockets? I hope not, that would suck.
Seriously, fell better.  ~Kregg