MY INSTAGRAMAfter a week of haunted hotels and castles With no sign of ghost VICTOR gets an unexplained picture in the Paris catacombs. Two photos taken a moment apart. He says the Tunnel was empty when he took the photos. Seems a bit too substantial to be a ghost but it’s the closest thing so far. #parisLondon train stationLeaving London. Next stop, France. Very worried about not being able to speak the language. Victor says it’ll be fine since he knows Spanish. I’m pretty sure that’s not the same thing.
You Searched For: new york times
I was in New York last month recording the audiobook for FURIOUSLY HAPPY and I just realized I never wrote about the stuff I saw. So here we go…
First off, am I the only person who sees human faces in non-human things? Is that normal? Because I kept seeing panicked, screaming faces on the plane:
Victor and Hailey came down for a few days after I was done so we took her to a toy store and Iron Man was there. We didn’t get a picture with him because he was on break, and by “on break” I mean “hiding behind the green screen and looking as if he was taking a shit in the trash can.” A normal person would have looked away but I am not normal so here you go:
Then when I thought it couldn’t get any weirder I realized that there was a small crowd of people on the street watching Iron Man possibly poop into his ironman toilet. These were the people:
Then I looked back and saw Iron Man flash his hand-light-thing at them. I tried to get a picture but I missed it and this is what I got instead.
Don’t fuck with Iron Man when he’s pooping, y’all.
At the same store they were selling a really unfortunately named candy:
So, does “dingleberry” not mean the same thing up north? Because in Texas, dingleberries are the dried balls of feces that get stuck to the hairy buttholes of farm animals. Is that not common knowledge? Is this a tongue-in-cheek joke by Big Gummy Bear, or was someone in marketing fucking with them when they offered up that name and the execs were like, “DINGLEBEARIE? THAT IS FUN TO SAY. PRINT UP A BILLION.” I suspect it’s the latter because I saw a ton of people stop by the display and all of them were like, “Yum! Let’s get these! Dinglebearies sound delicious! What will they think of next?” And that’s a good question and one I don’t think I want to know the answer to.
Then I decided to do a sight-gag by taking a picture of myself in the NYT building so I could tweet “I’M IN THE NEW YORK TIMES TODAY, Y’ALL” but turns out they keep those doors locked. But then someone was walking out of the building so I grabbed the door before it shut and snuck in as he was leaving so Victor could take the picture:
Security didn’t think it was as funny as I did but on the bright side I did think it would be more entertaining to tweet pictures of me possibly being arrested. And then I felt like this picture was a little boring compared to the picture I didn’t get of me not getting arrested so I didn’t share it. Until now, that is. Because I didn’t want to end with dingleberries. No one wants that.
This is part 2 of my Blogher experience as recorded in my journal and I would recommend that you read part one first so that this part would make sense but honestly I don’t think that’s going to help either way.
Me: Take a right on Houston Street.
Everyone else in New York: You mean “Howston Street?”
me: No, I don’t fucking mean “Howston Street”. It’s pronounced Houston. I’m FROM there.
Everyone else in New York: We know but we’ve been mispronouncing it for years just to fuck with you people. Oh look! It’s the Empeer State Bwilding.
me: Let me out of this taxi.
You know what should be on the job description of taxi drivers? Knowing where shit is. It’s Times Square, dude. Eventually someone’s gonna want to go there. Program that shit into your GPS.
This is what happens when I try to call Kristen of Mommy Needs a Cocktail to come sit with me because I can’t leave my room:
I totally want to show this to everybody but I can’t because I can’t leave my room. Thanks, anxiety disorder. You’re ruining it for everyone.
Went to the Voices of the Year Gala and there was a naked picture of me in the lobby, which sounds kinda sexy until I mention that I was holding a plunger and that it’s named “Psycho”. Hard to argue with that one. Then I sat in a corner with an antique Smith-Corona typing psychic poetry for people because I was promised free drinks. The poems were really less poems and more just extra sentences in case you needed one and started out with stuff like “Your eyes explode like roman candles in a starry night. Also? Nice boobs” and by the end of the night they had degenerated into “I’m tooo drun_k to tyype. MY fin_ggers hurrt. Wheres the comma?”
Also, my friend Jordan came to ask if I needed anything and I said I’d like a cocktail but she’s Mormon so she’s never ordered a drink before so the bartender just gave her soda water and she was all “No, add something alcoholic” and he’s all “What kind of alcohol?” and she’s like “I don’t know. The alcoholic kind” and I don’t know what he put in it but from the taste I’m assuming it was rubbing alcohol but I pretended like it was really delicious because if that shit keeps her out of heaven I wanted her to at least feel like it was worth it. And this is why you don’t let Mormons get cocktails for you. Because they aren’t good at it and also because God might think you’re forcing them to sin and then you end up in hell, which is probably filled with a giant bar but only Mormons are allowed to mix the drinks so you end up drinking turpentine-coladas for eternity and also your hair is made of snakes.
Went to the New York Library with Alice so that we could hunt for ghosts but it took awhile to get in because we couldn’t figure out how doors work. True story. Then we got in and they searched our bags because I guess there are a lot of shootings that go down in the library? We asked a librarian where we needed to go to see where Ghostbusters was filmed and she seemed flustered and told us that most people want to know where the Sex and the City scenes were shot.
me: How gauche. We’re much too sophisticated for that. Where was Slimer captured?
Librarian: I…let me look that up for you.
me: Have you ever seen any ghosts in the library?
Librarian: Well, I only work from 1 to 4 on Thursdays and Fridays.
me: Ah. So maybe they work on different hours.
Alice: Actually, I looked this place up on the internet and couldn’t find anything about this place being haunted.
me: No, I’m fairly certain Ghostbusters was a documentary.
Then we explored the library and we didn’t see any ghosts but we did see the “Quiet Zone” which was unnerving and looks like a lot of people in time-out. Then we considered how sad it was that no one had ever been murdered there because that would make the building so much more fascinating and we thought about murdering someone in the bathroom just to help out the library but we decided not to because it’s illegal and also because we both have poor upper-body strength. Then I took a picture of Alice in the library and we totally got a ghost in the picture who was so real that you couldn’t even tell that she was a ghost.
So yeah, it was pretty bad-ass.
Went to a hipster hotel coffee bar because I needed a diet coke. Barista with mutton-chops and a beret was all “Oh. We don’t do that here” like I’d just asked if I where they do the illegal dog fights. Then I pointed out that there was “soda” on the menu and he was all “That’s sparkling Italian soda. We don’t do diet coke” and I just stood there staring at him and Alice gave me this look like “Is there going to be a problem here? Because I will run away if so” and Mutton-Chops was all “You want the sparkling Italian soda. Trust me” and I was all “Are you trying to save me from being too pedestrian? Because I don’t need your pity“. But then I paid $5 for a sparkling Italian soda because I was thirsty. BUT THEN(!) Alice and I were wandering the halls of the hipster hotel and there was a cart fucking FILLED with diet cokes and I was all “You have GOT to be shitting me” and so I stole them because seriously? Not cool, hipsters. But then it turns out that you have to have an old-fashioned bottle opener to open the damn things so I ended up just staring at them for two days like they were installation art. Which is probably what hipsters do with them too, now that I think about it.
Part 3 comes out tomorrow unless I get distracted by somethi
Me: You know how I’ll know when we’re really successful? When I can buy the New York Times just to throw it in the trash so that the garbage men will think I’m smart and sophisticated.
Victor: You can buy the New York Times now.
Me: Yes, but then I’d feel like I have to read it. Have you seen it? It’s enormous. And there isn’t even a comic section.
Me: Well, I assume. I’ve never made it all the way through. I mainly just buy it when I’m on a plane because then I look smart and also it’s really big and so it makes a good blanket.
Victor: Because the smartest people on the plane are huddled under newspapers like homeless people.
Me: I don’t huddle. I drape the sections over me gracefully. And then I crumple some into a makeshift pillow. Sometimes I make a paper prom dress or sailer hat. And then I sigh to myself and shake my head condescendingly and tell the person next to me that I found another error in the crossword section.
Victor: I thought you didn’t like to talk to people on planes?
Me: I don’t. That’s why I say that. Say something ridiculous like that and people assume you’re either incredibly smart or incredibly stupid. Either way, they tend to avoid you the rest of the flight.
Victor: Or maybe it has something to do with the fact that you’re wearing the sports section like a Snuggie.
Me: Well, whatever works.
Winner: Victor by default because “sports section snuggie” is fantastic alliteration.
Do you know what the Hugo Awards are? They’re the annual award for best sci-fi and fantasy writing and this year they were full of controversy because they were sort of hijacked. The people voting had the opportunity to vote for “no award” in each category and I suspected that might be the case since it was one of the only ways to show their displeasure at the hijacking, and so last night as the awards began I tweeted this:
And by my logic that means that I won a shit-ton of Hugo Awards last night. And so did you if you are a nobody in the sci-fi world! WE WON! And we also lost. Because I use those award lists to find new things to read and they’re also helpful to get publishing houses to invest money into buying sci-fi books and finding new authors and then we all win when we have new stuff to read.
So instead of gloating about my well-deserved *cough* awards I’m going to instead accept them in the names of a few sci-fi/fantasy authors I’ve enjoyed recently and if they’re new to you then you can check them out. And then you do the same for me and tell me the sci-fi/fantasy authors I need to check out. And then we all win again!
Here are a few of my favorites off the top of a my head:
John Scalzi, Pat Rothfuss, Octavia Butler, Neil Gaiman, Jeremy Whitley’s Princeless collection, Sydney Padua (Seriously, go read The Thrilling Adventures of Lovelace and Babbage RIGHT THIS SECOND. Then give it to your young daughter because she’ll love it too.)
Your turn. Who should I be reading? Bonus points if I’ve never heard of them before.
And now, the weekly wrap-up…
Shit I made in my shop (Named “EIGHT POUNDS OF UNCUT COCAINE” so that your credit card bill will be more interesting.):
- As requested, #WheresRory shirts to confuse everyone around you.
- Tinder in Brooklyn. I’ve never been so glad to be married.
- Have you checked out #WheresRory lately? Because it just keeps getting more fantastic.
- My new favorite song:
This week’s wrap-up is brought to you by Burnt Toast Makes You Sing Good, the third book by award-winning New York Times best-selling author Kathleen Flinn. It’s a fabulous memoir about Kathleen’s sweet, but quirky family having sweet, but quirky adventures. They’re like The Waltons but in Michigan, and were poor, grew vegetables and they all read encyclopedias for fun. As an added bonus, you’ll find recipes, plus bigamy and bootlegging. Her first book was The Sharper Your Knife, the Less You Cry about attending Le Cordon Bleu in Paris and falling in love with her husband. You should check it out here.
A Funny Book About Horrible Things
For most of my life I’ve battled depression, anxiety and a host of other disorders, but I wrote this book less as a manual on how-to-survive-mental-illness and more of a compendium on how-to-thrive-in-spite-of-your-brain-being-a-real-bastard. Some of it is very serious and some of it is very funny, but I hope you’ll find that all of it is honest, baffling and relatable in ways that may make you question your own sanity.
Some people have called this my “magnum opus”. I don’t know what that means but it sounds very 80’s, and I like Magnum and Opus so I’m taking it as a compliment. To clarify, there are no mustachioed detectives or cartoon penguins in this book but there are other things, such as:
- The time I lost both my arms in a sleeping accident
- The neighborhood swans that tried to eat me
- The day Australia refused to let me get Chlamydia even though I was wearing a protective koala costume
- Advice on how to survive the zombie apocalypse, the airport, and the zombie apocalypse at the airport
- Completely inappropriate things I’ve blurted out to fill awkward silences at my psychiatrist’s office.
But in all of these odd stories – the darkly serious and the strangely baffling – I go back to a simple truth I learned from The Breakfast Club. “We’re all pretty bizarre. Some of us are just better at hiding it.” I agree completely. Except go back and scratch out the word “hiding”.
Be bizarre. Be weird. Be proud of the uniquely beautiful way that you are broken.
Be furiously happy.
Furiously Happy is a #1 New York Times Bestseller. I blame you for this. You should order one for everyone in your family so that they better understand you. Or so everyone thinks you’re very sane and logical by comparison. It’s available at the following places:
- Amazon Canada
- Barnes & Noble
- Amazon UK
If you want a signed copy you can order one from BookPeople in Austin and I’ll personalize it next time I’m in the store. They ship all over.
The tour is over but I’ll be back next year with another one. More soon.
Quick, narcissistic announcement pulled from Publisher’s Weekly roundup of noteworthy book deals:
In Memoirs ~ Author of the No. 1 New York Times bestseller Let’s Pretend This Never Happened (A Mostly True Memoir) and thebloggess.com, Jenny Lawson’s FURIOUSLY HAPPY, about life’s highs and lows and the absurdities in between, again to Amy Einhorn and Amy Einhorn Books, for publication in Spring 2014, by Neeti Madan at Sterling Lord Literistic.
Translation: Book two has begun. Terrified. Excited. At a loss for words. Which is probably a very bad thing for an writer, now that I think about it.
PS. Thank you. There’s a reason why LPTNH is still on the NYT list, and that reason is you. Everyday I get emails from people who have just now discovered this amazing, hysterical, bizarre online community and who finally realize how very not alone they are in their awkward weirdness. You’re helping people find their tribe and I’m so incredibly lucky to be part of that.
You are the very best kind of weird and I can’t thank you enough for sharing it.
I’ve gotten a lot of weird gifts over my tour but so far this was a favorite. Someone gave me a nipple.
A homemade nipple.
AND IT’S AWESOME.
That is, until I got glitter on it and then it was stuck to the latex and I was trying to pull the glitter off of my nipple but it wouldn’t come off so I asked Victor to lick it because I have a thing about not licking latex nipples that strangers gave me, but then he wouldn’t do it so I can’t get the glitter off and now I know why people refer to glitter as “the herpes of the craft world,” and I also know how it feels to have herpes on your nipples, which I’m not even sure is medically possible.
But what I do know is that it’s now become my new lucky charm.
My third nipple…
I also got a pretty kick-ass picture of my wild boar (James Garfield) painted with human lips and a dead mouse replica made of peanut putter and fruit roll-ups.
It’s been a weird week.
Speaking of “weird week”, you might have noticed me a few days freaking out about somehow ending up on the New York Times Best-Seller list. I still can’t believe that happened. The list publishes a week from Sunday and here’s where I fell:
#1 in Combined Print and Ebook Nonfiction
#2 in Print Hardcover Nonfiction
#2 in Print Hardcover and Paperback Combined
#2 in Ebook Nonfiction
It seems like a dream to me and I can’t wrap my mind around it, but I have something to say about it.
This book was 10 years in the making and I put my blood, sweat, tears and other body fluids into it, but none of that would have mattered without your support. And not just the support of each of you encouraging me and telling me not to quit when I was in a deep depression or hiding under the desk having anxiety attacks. The simple fact is that as a first-time, no-name author I had almost no chance of ever getting on that list, but somehow my book made it on its first week out…because of you. Because you bought the book. Because you told other people about it. Because you sent it to you mom or child or friends so that they’d understand that you aren’t the only weirdo in the world. And because of that, people will read this book. People who might have felt just as strange and weird as all of us will be able to find that they aren’t alone…that there is a tribe of people out there just as fucked up as they are. People who always felt like misfits will see that sometimes it’s the misfits that rule the world, and that a large enough group of us can change the rules. I don’t have the words to thank you for joining me on this long journey, nor do I have the words to make you understand what a difference you’ve made to me and to everyone else out there like us, but I have to try.
Score one for the misfits.
Score one for us.
So apparently my blog went viral and/or bacterial with my last post. This seems like the kind of thing people dream about, but since I don’t get paid by traffic it really just meant that my servers crashed and a lot of angry people yelled at me that I should kill myself in really creative (and violently misspelled) ways. Which actually? Was kind of hysterical, and Victor and I cannot stop quoting you. Well done, you.
For those of you who are new here and who actually want to stick around, welcome. And also I’m sorry. Normally this would be a moderately clever paragraph about wolverines or giant squid, but I’m in Puerto Rico this week and I’m just too sleepy to be witty. Luckily, I’ve made a t-shirt for you. (Also available in infant sizes.)
And now, this week’s Shit-I-did-when-I-wasn’t-here:
What you missed on Ill-Advised:
What you missed on Good Mom/Bad Mom on the Houston Chronicle:
- Nothing. I’m on vacation.
What you missed on my sex column (which is satirical and vaguely safe for work if your boss isn’t a complete douche-canoe):
- A friend of mine emailed me a link to an article discussing vagina cosmetic surgery. And by “friend” I mean “someone who wants me to forever be self-conscious of my lady garden.”
What you missed in my shop, tentatively “Eight pounds of uncut cocaine” so that your credit card bill will be more interesting.):
- A Beyonce Chicken card. The inside of the card says “Knock-knock, motherfuckers” so it’s pretty much perfect for all occassions. I suggest keeping several handy for condolence cards.
What you missed on the internets:
- I have no idea. I heard my blog was on the front page of Fark. I’ve been vaguely unplugged so I’m sure I’m missing something.
This week on Shit-I-didn’t-come-up-with-but-wish-I-did-because-it’s-kind-of-awesome:
- REALLY IMPORTANT STUFF. Sadly, I can’t link to any of it because I keep losing my internet connection. Also, I’m sitting in the business center of the hotel while everyone else is out on the beach and it’s making me sad. Seriously. Even the guy who runs the business center is out there. I promise to make up for all of this when I get home. Tales of cock-fighting, planes falling from the sky, and intentionally drinking bacteria will abound. Unless I get distracted…ooh look, carpet!
This week’s round-up sponsored by the dangerously awesome people at Credit Karma, who want to help you save your money. They’ve been featured everyplace from CNN to the New York Times but they’re open-minded enough to realize that being featured on irreverent blogs like this one can be just as valid. This either means they are brilliant or completely daft. Either way, you should check them out.
So tomorrow I’m taking off work to go to an inauguration party thrown by Oatmeal. Because when you think of Obama you think of oatmeal. Or something. I don’t really know where the tie-in is. All I know is that my friend Karen got a call from Big Oatmeal telling her to round up her girlfriends because they want to make us oatmeal. While we watch the inauguration. And then later we get our picture taken with a giant cardboard cut-out of the Quaker Oats guy. I am not making any of this up.
Basically it’s like a nintendo party but with oatmeal. Honestly, I could not think of a product less likely to have a party based around it. Like maybe a bunch of ad executives were sitting around thinking of the worst possible idea for a product tie-in and the first one’s all “How about a party where women get to try out the latest paper towels?” and the second one’s like “Yeah, except replace ‘paper towels’ with ‘maxi-pads'” and then the first guy is all “No, wait. How ’bout an OATMEAL PARTY?” and then guy #2 is like “Meh” and then the first guy is all “DURING THE PRESIDENTIAL INAUGURATION“. And then the second one is all “High five, bro. You win. That’s the dumbest fucking idea ever” and then the third ad exec comes in and he’s wearing a top hat and a monocle because he’s like the boss of the other ad execs and he’s all “Dumber like a fox! We are totally going to do that idea and it will be so awesome that the New York Times will write about it” and then that totally actually happened.
Anyway, I’m not sure what you’re supposed to do at an inauguration party but I’m bringing booze and also I wrote the lyrics to the National Anthem on my hand in case I have to sing it. I’ll be updating the blog throughout the day with my thoughts on political junk. Also, I heard that there will be TV crews at Karen’s house which is awesome because I’ve wanted to say the F word on National TV for like, ever. Also, I just want to reiterate that this is an amazing, solemn occasion and I for one can’t wait to toast our new president. With oatmeal. Apparently.
PS. It just occurred to me that this could be some sort of sting, like when they tell wanted felons that they won a boat and then when the felon goes to pick it up it’s all police dogs and mace. If I don’t update this post it’s probably because all of this is some sort of elaborate set-up. And then when the police arrest me John McCain jumps out and is all “Seriously? You thought the black guy won?!” That would totally suck.
UPDATE – 6:30am: Fox news is here live-broadcasting us live-blogging about being live-broadcasted. I was all “You guys must be so fucking sad today”. They totally are. Also, there’s no oatmeal here at all yet. Mood: disappointed.
UPDATE – 6:45am: Happy Katie, Chookooloonks, Katherine Center and Jodi Bash from The Journey are all here. The news guy was just about to interview me at 8am and I mentioned that my granny is all “I wish Jenny would just blog about kittens and not about killing them” and then the news guy is all “Huh. So…maybe time to up the medications?” and I’m all “Oh, I’m already mixing a bunch of medications” and he’s all “Oh. Usually people are just kidding about that” and then like two minutes later he’s like “You know…maybe we’ll interview the religion blogger instead”. It’s probably a good choice.
UPDATE – 7am: Me: “The last time I was on fox news I was naked wearing only a bed sheet.” News guy : “I’m sorry, what?”. Me: “Are you sure you don’t want me to talk? Because I have a lot to say about this inauguration shit.” Him: “Pretty sure..pretty sure.”
UPDATE – 8:50 am: Motherfucker. There is no giant oatmeal cut-out guy. Instead we have the Quaker guys head on a stick. Also there’s no oatmeal here at all.
Mood: Completely disillusioned.
UPDATE – 8:55am: Laura just arrived with booze. Mood: Less pissed off.
UPDATE – 9:30am : The oatmeal is here. Fucking finally. Apparently we have an oatmeal caterer and he’s pouring us all champagne. Also something is important happening with Obama today. I’m like the best political pundit ever.
UPDATE – 11:00 : CBS is here. My laptop has crashed. I blame Bush. Also, if I was Obama I would totally be high right now and I would stab someone when I was coming down off the podium. And I’d be all “What’re you gonna do? Arrest me? I’M THE FUCKING PRESIDENT.” I wouldn’t stab anyone important though. And I’d just stab them in the leg so it wouldn’t be fatal. Because I’m all about mercy. Also, everytime they show Bush listening to Obama he looks like he’s lost in his own dream world. He’s probably all “How many ponies should I have? I think a lot.”
UPDATE 12:56pm – The CW is here now. I just got my first interview and I mentioned how awesome it would be if tomorrow Obama was all “And I’m also GAY, bitches” and then he’s the first gay President and then he get’s a sex change and he’s the first transgendered president and then the interviewer is all “That’s a lot of pressure” and I’m all “Well, he could stretch it out over a few months. He doesn’t have to do it all the first week.” I’m pretty sure they’re going to make me some kind of news anchor.
UPDATE (I don’t know what time it is) – The news did not use any part of my interview. Also, the inauguration has just ended and already the backlash and political infighting has begun. What was it Obama said about this kind of aggression? That we will extend our hand to you if you will just unclench your damn fist, and then we will kick you in the groin while you’re still looking at our hand? That’s what I heard.
Comment of the day: When I was little, I thought that the Quaker Oats guy was Benjamin Franklin. Or that Benjamin Franklin was the Quaker Oats guy. The concept was kind of scary to me, just another in a long list of Things Adults Did that I’d maybe eventually figure out later. ~kristy
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