You Searched For: taxidermy

Horrible, wonderful taxidermy. Someone up there likes me. And hates Victor.

I don’t even know where to start with this, so I’m skipping right to: “OMG, YOU GUYS, I HAVE FOUND HEAVEN AND IT’S ONLY SLIGHTLY MORE CORPSEY THAN YOU WOULD EXPECT.”

Long story short, this weekend we went to a tiny town near us to go to resale stores because we’re strange people who like weird, used things.  As you might know, I have a particular penchant for badly done, super-old taxidermy that makes me laugh and makes people who have to visit my house very uncomfortable.  By late afternoon we came across a large odd store filled with so much weird, half-price shit that it was like coming home.  In fact, I fell so in love with one section of the store that the guy in charge told me I could come and bring my laptop, get into bed and write there after they were closed if I needed quiet time.  It was so awesome I suspect it’s some sort of set-up to arrest me for arson I haven’t yet achieved.

Taxidermy, old books, an unmade bed. These are a few of my favorite things.

Regardless, I have to share a pictorial essay about the amazingness you can only come across in Texas.

Just a fraction of the frightening, vintage taxidermy we saw when we first walked in. Victor and I were both like, "WHAT HAVE I DONE TO DESERVE THIS?" but I suspect we were saying it for different reasons.

Every corner had something amazing to behold:

Do you know what a lion looks like when it's horking up a hairball? Well, you do now. I don't know what that thing is on it's back. I thought it was a dog but it might have been a small bear or a preemie sasquatch.

Most people just throw away their fish heads, but apparently early crafters realized that if you nail them to a plank they look just like Christmas carolers hitting a high note. I suspect this is going to be the newest DIY thing on Pinterest.

This was actually from the shop next door but it still seems to fit here:

Of course, I couldn’t buy them all, so I settled on my three favorite friends.

I don't know what this is, but I love it. The pine-cone fell off when I got home...

…so I replaced it with a tiny mug, except now that I look at it, it sort of looks like he's relieving himself in it because he really, really needs to pee, or was interrupted when giving a sperm sample. Regardless, I think we can all relate.

Ferris Mewler was impressed.  Or hungry.

I also got a…weasel?  I don’t have a name yet, but she’s very well dressed because I have insomnia:

She wears a fez now. Fezzes are cool.

She also has excellent taste in books. It's pretty obvious she's classy as shit.

And my personal favorite…possibly the derpiest taxidermy animal in the history of ever.  I cannot walk past her and not laugh my ass off and that makes her the best investment ever.  That’s why I own taxidermied animals instead of a 401k.

There is not an angle that she looks bad in.  She is the gift that keeps on giving.  She needs a name.  Feel free to give suggestions.

Truth in advertising. (Warning: If taxidermy creeps you out you probably shouldn't be here at all.)

me:  ARGH.

Victor:  What are you complaining about-OH HOLY GOD, tell me you didn’t just buy that.

me:  Worse.  I was just outbid on it.

Not many dead, octogenarian half-rabbits can pull off such a seductive pose.

That’s right.  It’s a rabbit head sewn on a human body.  I bid on it because it’s awesome and also because of the description:

“…and the foot is missing/Her right hand has no fingers…found this in a box in the roof/  With the foxs.”

It’s like Sylvia Plath wrote this shit, y’all.  

PS.  I found this right afterward because ebay is like this dick friend who is all “Hey, you like fucked-up shit?  LOOK AT THIS FUCKED UP SHIT, YO.”

Sir, your squirrel is neither "flying", nor should it be classified as "new". Don't be an asshole.

I’m pretty sure this is the exact opposite of truth in advertising.

Sometimes you can go home again.

This weekend Victor had to work so Hailey and I drove to my parent’s house where my sister and her kids were visiting from California.  And it was lovely and funny and weird and exhausting and fabulous – all the things you want when you go home again.

My parents house was busting with eight people sleeping under one roof, but in a good sort of way where everywhere you turn you see people cooking or helping or playing or laughing, and every spare minute was filled with games and exploring caves or camping.  My sister Lisa and I had gently laughed at Hailey exclaiming how much better the air was in the country (as we reminded her that we were within smelling distance of a pig farm, a taxidermy studio, and a rendering plant) but at night we’d go out and look at the stars in a sky that is never as big or bright as it is outside the home we grew up in, and we breathed in and reluctantly agreed that there was a sweetness to the air that didn’t exist anywhere else.

Coming back to the home I grew up in is a luxury most people don’t get.  My parents are still alive.  The land and house has changed over the years but the people in it are still the same.  And at night when I stand on their porch and look up at the stars I feel a deep, physical healing.  I suspect it’s like other people feel when they go to a spa or take a vacation, but the raw feeling of being there is like having my heart wrapped up in new, tight bandages…pulling back together the parts that have started to fall away.

My family knows that my mental and physical issues cause chronic exhaustion so often I’d have to go to bed just when the night got exciting, but that’s just a part of being me and I’ve come to accept that if I push myself too hard I might end up in a pit too deep to come out of.  And it was fine.  Disappointing, of course, but fine.  Until Easter Sunday when I woke up and realized that I had no spoons left.  Hailey and I got dressed in our new Easter dresses and I helped my nieces get ready but already I could tell that I could either go to my uncle’s for Easter and visit with a giant house full of dozens of people I love, or I could safely stay awake for the hours I would be driving back home that day.  But not both.  So as I helped my family load up into their cars I told them I had to leave.  And they understood instantly and supported my decision as only people who truly love you can do.  And I felt so lucky.  And so unlucky.  And sad for Hailey whose Easter dress would go to waste and who was so sad but so instantly understanding when I explained that I just didn’t have it in me to do something that normal people could do without thinking.

My family drove to my uncle’s and Hailey and I drove the opposite way, starting our long drive home.  We stopped along the way so I could stay alert and awake.  We stopped at family graves. We picked flowers at a rest stop.  We ate Easter dinner at the Dairy Queen drive thru.  And we stopped at an ancient farm house I’ve seen a million times.  We always pass it on the way home and it’s been abandoned since before I was born.  I’ve always wondered of its history, imagining the ghosts that cling to it and wondering if I’d lived there in a former life because it was the only way I could ever explain my intense fascination with it.  It’s begun a steady decline in the past few years and now part of the roof has collapsed and the old windmill is teetering dangerously.

I realized that this might be the last time I see it so Hailey and I pulled over and stood silently in the shadow of the beautiful decay.

I was pleased to see that Hailey was just as drawn to the place, and although we couldn’t get too close (because it wasn’t stable enough to safely explore) we talked about how strange it was that a broken, ruined thing could be so beautiful.  That sometimes ruin beckons you more than magnificence, telling a story more interesting and important and provocative than you could imagine.  That sometimes broken can be lovely, and that the collapsed roof could be seen as ugly, but it also let the light in in such a fragile and brilliant way, allowing doves to build nests in the unexpected skylight.

I took a few pictures to capture it in case it’s gone the next time I pass it and I whispered a thanks to whoever had built it and to whoever still watches over it.  It’s still important and breathtaking, even if it’s come undone.  It’s just a shell, but with the right eyes it’s so much more.

I think we’re all that way sometimes.

We got back in the car and drove on, and I felt the familiar crack I always get in my chest when I’m driving away from my childhood town.  It always hurts.  It’s always the same.  But the pain – while almost unbearable for a second – is less than the healing I get from returning.  I wish I could do it backward…have the pain first and the healing after…but that’s not how life works, and I remind myself that I still leave with more than I came with.

I am broken.  I am healed.  I am ruined.  I am beautiful.  I am abandoned.  I am beloved.  I am a house that is no longer a house.  I am better and worse all at the same time.  I breathe deeply and smile at my daughter, who smiles back at me.  She tells me that this is a very strange Easter, but she likes it.

A dove flies out of the collapsed roof and catches the sunlight, unaware that its home is anything other than perfect.

There is a line. And I’m not sure if it’s been crossed but maybe we’re standing on it?

I’ve had a lot of people send me links to this auction where a woman is selling a purse made out of a dead cat (it was already dead if that makes it less awful for you) and half of the people are like, “THIS IS AWESOME AND I TOTALLY THOUGHT OF YOU” and the other half are like, “THIS IS SICK AND HORRIFIC AND I TOTALLY THOUGHT OF YOU” and either way I can’t decide if I should be insulted, or just happy that you all know me so well, so I’m sticking with the latter.

Via Trade Me

Via Trade Me

And although I do appreciate the thought, this is one of the few times when I looked at terrible taxidermy and thought, Um…maybe not.  First of all because of the shedding, secondly because it’s looking at me reproachfully, third because it looks a bit too much like Hunter S. Thomcat and I’m pretty sure it would give all of the cats nightmares.  Besides, I already own an easter basket made of a 100-year-old armadillo, an antique coin purse made of a frog, and hat made out of an ethically taxidermied raccoon face, and I suspect there’s a limit to how many animals you can wear at one time, even if they did all die of natural causes.  Also, the starting bid is $1400 which is just ridiculous, especially considering that I could probably make it myself.  Not that I would.  Unless someone I really hated was allergic to cats.  Then maybe I would make one just to keep them away from me.  But it seems like it would be easier to just put Hunter S. Thomcat in a Baby Bjorn and carry him around strapped to my chest.  Except he has anxiety too so he gets scared when we travel and gets AWFUL, explosive traveler’s diarrhea.  Which would probably keep even more people away from me, now that I think about it.  So technically I think I just found an inexpensive way to make sure people don’t get in my personal space in airports and I didn’t even have to use hot glue to seal a cat’s corpse to a pocketbook.

Life hacks, y’all.

Dead Duck Mystery SOLVED

Okay, first? Click here to read about the mystery dead duck I found at 2am in my bedroom last week.  Because last night we solved the mystery.  And live-tweeted a crafting night that will not soon be forgotten.  This is why twitter exists:

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So here’s what I’m thinking: Last year when I was on book tour I’d always come home with a suitcase full of long-dead gifted taxidermy and crocheted penises and haunted dolls and severed limbs and sometimes when I’m unpacking I don’t always have the energy to find a good place for these things and that’s why sometimes Victor opens a drawer and finds a unicorn horn or a bag of raccoon penises, but I suspect when I was unpacking all the drawers were full so I probably tucked the duckling in the fake flowers on my nightstand until I could find a safe place for her and then forgot she was there for a year until she fell out.

It’s anticlimactic, but so is life.

Maybe “anticlimactic” isn’t the right word.  I’m not a good judge of these things.

Not alone.

First off, Happy Easter to me:

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May you too have a basket made of dead armadillo filled with your favorite, weirdo things.  Including an Easter egg glued to a dead mouse.  Or Benedict Cumberbunnies. The usual.
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And speaking of weirdos, if you follow me on twitter you already know that this weekend you all gave me back faith in humanity and I saw so many of you save each other in amazing ways and I realized how often people become friends through this community.  But we should make that easier.  So if you’re on twitter put a link to yourself in the comments and I’ll follow you.  And others will to.  If you’re looking for a special connection to someone who shares the same issues then just leave it in the comments.  Like if you’re looking for someone to share taxidermy pictures with or if you want to bond with someone else who struggles with being bipolar or someone you can binge watch horror movies with when you have insomnia.  Whatever.

I’ll start.  I’m at https://twitter.com/TheBloggess and I like sloth videos and talking to people when I’m fighting off panic attacks.  Your turn.

*******

And now, the weekly wrap-up:

bloggess sid

Shit I made in my shop (Named “EIGHT POUNDS OF UNCUT COCAINE” so that your credit card bill will be more interesting.):

Shit-you-may-or-may-not-want-to-see:

This week’s wrap-up is brought to you by, uh…me?  I had someone but they turned out to be weird in a not-good way and so instead I’m sponsoring it myself.  Check out thebloggess.com because it’s awesome.  Except if you’re reading this you’re already here.  But technically that means that this ad was so effective that every single person who read it is now reading this blog.  THAT IS 100% TURNAROUND, Y’ALL.  You should totally advertise here because this shit is bonkers. Plus, ads start at $100 a month.  That’s crazy cheap.  First come, first served.

What are you even looking for? Seriously. What the shit.

Every once in awhile I look at the top searches that bring people to this blog, and then I think, What?  Why?  What?  And then I share it with you because honestly it’s jut too fucked up not to share.

The strangest searches that lead people to my blog this week:

pierced dog ears (Stop it.)

Did unicorns ever exist? (They still do.  They’re just very strong and they’re called rhinos.)

If it weren’t for my big balls I could have won. (I’m not sure what the contest is but I think this is a very good excuse for anything.  Track.  Spelling bees.  Whatever.)

What was wrong with the doll in the land of misfit toys?  (Low self-esteem?)

Hyena in my belly button (Please, God, tell me you misspelled “hernia”.)

jenny the squirrel nude  (So confused.)

lf you laugh in a dream you hand out sperm.  (Is this a dream interpretation?  Because I think you’re doing it wrong.)

What does she mean when she said I am going to miss your blabbering (It doesn’t seem like a good sign.)

What causes belly button to protrude and get wounded  (Hyenas?)

What’s great about eating brownies?  (Pretty sure this is a trick question.)

Taxidermy pygmy goat for sale (Send me pics.)

What does it mean when u did in your ear it feel like something crawls away when i smoke (You’re totally high right now, aren’t you?)

women’s gurgling belly adult movies (Is that a new thing?)

Why is my umbilical cord chilly (I don’t even know what to say here.)

You know that i’m not going to fucking marry you regardless of what you say (I’m already married but I still feel rejected, so thanks.)

i am a number less than 3,000. when you divide me by 32, my remainder is 30. when you divide me by 58, my remainder is 44. what number am i?  (Are you coming here for math homework advice?  Because you are in the wrong place, my friend.)

Can I use a hot glue gun stick to make a anal plug? (OH MY GOD, NO.  Wait, do you mean before it’s heated?  But still, probably still no.)

Why do I have a long, clear hair on third eye?  (I think you’re concerned about the wrong thing.)

Cats eating baby brains.  (How did it even get this far?  Because babies heads are protected by skulls and cats really only eat the face meat at best.  Have you confused cats with zombies?  Also, why are you googling this.  Call a hospital.)

Recreational drug I smoked taste like burnt plastic (I think you might be smoking plastic.  Is your bong plastic?  Because that’s how you get cancer.)

The secret about watermelon (Is the secret that it’s delicious?)

What is a hat vulva?  (Well now we both want to know.)

Beaver shot (I’m not sure if this is a hunting thing or a sex thing but either way I’m not into it.)

I’m going to disney world but i dont know because i can’t read  (What?)

I have 3 nipples.  (Are you one and a half people?)

dont.you.love.when.your.in.conversation.and.you.get.hung.up.on.like.really.no call.back (What’s happening here?)

I think they replaced my generic xanax with genericer xanax (“Genericier” is my new favorite word.)

This is the second time my potato pain doctor is late sending in refill  (THANKS, OBAMA.)

Goat shoes (Sure.)

I put banana in my veginer (1.  That doesn’t sound sanitary, but it’s probably better than hot glue. 2.  Forget “genericier”.  “Veginer” is now my new favorite word.)

My meth won’t melt.  (I guess I don’t know how meth works.  Are you bragging or complaining?)

My cat seems like she is feeling good what am i doing right? (I want to high-five you and also I’m confused.)

Why are girl scouts such bullshit  (Mom?)

alligator lizard in my toilet (What is even happening here?)

ear digging bugs in cambodia  (Nooope.)

dead squirrel wall  (There’s a dead squirrel in your wall or you have a wall built out of dead squirrels?  Either way, ew.)

hamster vargina seal broken (This is just a random string of words, right?  Please?)

Twitter my little pony friendship witchcraft aeroport (Am I high?  Are you high?)

Why am I so muscular? (Wow.)

Angry because my cat don’t pick up my phone. (Pick your battles, dude.)

can i eat kfc mashed potatoes with inflamed gallbladder? (No.  Use your mouth.)

hydrogen peroxide in ear to remove roaches   (AAAAAAAAHHHH.)

You will be my valentine or get the hose again? (Well, that escalated quickly.)

*******

And now, the weekly wrap-up:

bloggess sid

Shit I made in my shop (Named “EIGHT POUNDS OF UNCUT COCAINE” so that your credit card bill will be more interesting.):

Shit-you-may-or-may-not-want-to-see:

This week’s wrap-up is brought to you GloHoliday Travel a helpful, easy-to-use travel tips and holidays guide site.  Don’t let life pass by without taking the opportunity to roam the world and see new faraway places.  Gloholiday.com has a busy Pinterest and Facebook page filled with wonderful travel ideas, videos and pictures to inspire you. To see some of the wonderful vacation tips and holiday ideas on the site just head over and check it all out at gloholiday.com.

Pick up the book nearest you…

Someone just sent me this:

page45

So I decided to test it with my books.

The first full sentence of page 45 of the advance copy of Furiously Happy:

“It was like the Jesus-beach-footprint-in-the-sand poem, except with less Jesus and more bleeding.”

Huh.

Trying again with the final version of Furiously Happy:

“It wasn’t enough blood to be worrisome.”

So that’s…not much better.

Okay.  Let’s try the paperback of Let’s Pretend This Never Happened:

page 45 bloggess

Yeah.  I think we’re done here.

Your turn.

*******

And now, the weekly wrap-up:

bloggess sid

Shit I made in my shop (Named “EIGHT POUNDS OF UNCUT COCAINE” so that your credit card bill will be more interesting.):

Shit-you-may-or-may-not-want-to-see:

This week’s wrap-up is brought to you by You Made Me a Mother, a super cute picture book about motherhood. It looks innocent at first, but you start reading it to your kid and suddenly you’re draining your eyeholes of tears and your kid is asking you what the hell you’re crying about. The book came about because of a viral video and Harper Collins was quick to pen a deal with the writer, Laurenne Sala, and Robin Preiss Glasser, the illustrator behind the NYT Best-selling Fancy Nancy series and their adorable picture book that hits shelves March 8th. If you want to watch anyone weep immediately, this is the present for them. Works on all kinds of moms, especially moms having baby showers, moms whose kids are going to college, moms with taxidermy collections, moms who never have a hair out of place, and moms who strictly wear holey yoga pants. Probably not for moms who totally hate their kids. Pre-order at YouMadeMeAMother.com

An unexpected visitor who either wants a snuggle or to eat my face skin off.

I got up at 6am to take Dorothy Barker out for a quick walk and then I saw a cat walking up to us and I thought, “My GOD, what are they feeding that cat because it’s enorm-JESUS FUCK THAT’S A MOUNTAIN LION.”  And I grabbed Dottie and ran back inside while the mountain lion – who on second look was less of a giant mountain lion and actually more of a midsized bobcat – followed us toward the house and tried to come in.

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TRIED. TO. COME. IN.

"Hey. What's going on there?"

“Hey. What’s going on there?”

So I woke up Victor and Hailey because I knew they’d never believe me and I knew as soon as I got back to the front door it would be gone and they’d think I was hallucinating but when I got back the bobcat was cuddled up on the front porch like, “Where did you go?  I wanted you to scratch my ears.”

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“No, seriously, lady. Scritch my ears.”

And I thought I would but then Victor was all, “Don’t you like having fingers?  Because you seem rather attached to them.”  And so I didn’t.  Because he says that if you ignore bobcats they go away.

Except, not at all.

"Hi. I have no concept of personal boundaries."

“Hello. I have no concept of personal boundaries.”

So I called security and said, “Hypothetically, if I told you there was a very cute and not at all threatening bobcat on my porch would you catch it and relocate it back up the mountain, or would you kill it?  Because I’m not saying that there is, unless you promise not to hurt it” and turns out I called the wrong number and they were very confused, but then I called the right number and the lady in charge was like, “This isn’t really covered in your home-owners association.  Probably if you ignore it it’ll go away on it’s own.”

And he did eventually leave after giving my office a good once-over through the window and I couldn’t figure out why he decided to leave after hanging around for so long and then Victor pointed to what’s right next to the window and I was like, “Don’t be ridiculous, bobcats can’t read” but then I realized he meant Rosencatz & Guildenpurr, my ancient two-headed, taxidermied bobcat.

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And, um, fair point really.  But also, I think this another example of my taxidermy creating miracles.  Just saying.

PS.  Link to video, but it’s messy because I wasn’t expecting company.  Obviously.

PPS. 50% of you are like “THAT’S A BOBCAT.  STAY INSIDE” and 45% of you are like “THAT’S A BOBCAT AND IT NEEDS SNUGGLES” and 5% of you are like, “That’s a Maine Coone/Savannah/bengal housecat and you should pick it up because it’s owners are probably looking for it.”  Now I don’t know what to do so I’m sharing another video so maybe someone who is super familiar with Texas bobcats can tell me if I should pick it up and put “FOUND CAT” signs up or if I should stay inside and stop making Victor nervous by yelling “Here, kitty kitty kitty” around the neighborhood.

No Pants Party. You’re invited.

So.  My book comes out next week and I’m 50% excited and 70% terrified and 100% not sure how math works.  Normally when a book comes out you have a big launch party in a big city and big people come and then I have a big panic attack and everyone wanders around making a big deal about the fact that the author won’t come out from under the table (truth) and that’s why this time my editor agreed to let me have my FURIOUSLY HAPPY launch party right here in my house with the best people ever.  My cats.  And you.  The very people who helped me write this book and who often have the exact same fears about leaving their house.  EVERYONE WINS.  So, you are officially invited to my house (via the internet) on launch day for a reading and fun and ridiculousness.  It’ll be this Tuesday, September 22nd at 7p central.  It’ll probably last an hour, or until we get bored or too drunk to internet.  Or if you hate looking at me you can join in on twitter using the hashtag #FH (short for “Furiously Happy”).

CLICK HERE AND BOOKMARK FOR THE LINK TO WHERE THE PARTY WILL BE.  

But I need a name for this.  I was calling it “The Agoraphobia Party” but I thought people might misunderstand, and then I thought maybe “Introverts United” but that sort of already exists on a t-shirt I own (INTROVERTS UNITE!  But separately.  And at your own houses) and that seems like cheating.  Then I thought maybe “The No Pants Party” because the great thing about staying home while attending a party is that no one knows you don’t have pants on, but then I remembered that in the UK “pants” means “panties” and 1) I don’t want to have a “no panties party” because ew.  And 2) I hate the word panties so much that I want it destroyed.  I want to destroy panties.  Jesus.  That came out wrong.  How did I get here?  

Then I thought maybe “The Blanket Fort Coalition” because most of us with anxiety issues can’t wait until the party ends so that we can go home and hide in our blanket forts with our cats and books and phones and this would be nice because I’m basically inviting you into my blanket fort.  (Not a euphemism).  Except it’s a blanket fort with twitter and video and booze and I’ll probably end up saying something ridiculous that will live on the internet forever.  But it’s probably not going to be any worse than “I want to destroy panties” (hopefully) so it’s (possibly) all uphill from here.

I still don’t think I’ve come up with the perfect name though so I’m asking you.  Double Unicorn Success Unconference?  Sloth Lovers Anonymous?  The Assembly for the Advancement of Not Assembling Anyplace We Have To Make Smalltalk?  The Worst Orgy Ever?  The Apple Dumplin Gang?  Conscious Uncoupling?  Obviously I need help.

And the second thing is…would you come?  Is that a weird party to have?  Would you go online and watch a party that consists of me doing a book reading in front of my cats while my friend Marlena pours booze slushies and pulls together questions from twitter for the Q&A?  Would it make you more likely to come if I say that we’ll do a drinking game where every time Trump says something stupid we do a shot until one of us dies of alcohol poisoning?  And I’ll have special guests (who might all be taxidermied, if I’m being honest) come join me?  And maybe someone famous will show up and then you can tell everyone that last night you went to a book launch and John Stamos showed up and then your coworkers will be like, “UNCLE JESSE?” and you’ll just shrug like, “Yeah, I guess.  No biggie”?  And I’ll give away books and tiny raccoons and maybe some taxidermy and I’ll show you how to french braid a dog and then we’ll all share funny videos of people that we hate falling, or hamsters eating tiny burritos, or hedgehogs being hedgehogs?  I can’t tell if I’m making this more or less inviting.  This is exactly why I never have parties.  And why you should agree to come to this one.

PS. If you are an extrovert and hate being alone you can get together with your book club that night and all watch me doing my reading and it’s like you just brought an author with you to your book club.  YOU WIN BOOK CLUB!  I assume.  I don’t know the rules of book club.  Other than (I assume) no one talks about book club.  I might be mixing that up with something else.

OH!  WHAT IF WE CALL THE PARTY “FIGHT CLUB”?  I always wanted to be in Fight Club.  But that name’s taken.  Never mind.  Still thinking.

PPS.  John Stamos will not be at the party.  Unless, I guess, he really wants to come.  I mean, he’s not not invited.  You know what?  I take it back.  John Stamos might be at the party after all.  That man is totally unpredictable.

PPPS.  Look what I got today!

furiouslyhappy audio cds

My audiobook!  If you come up with the winning name for this party I’ll send you a signed one.  Or a book.  Or someone else’s book if you hate me.  Whatever.  Not judging.

"WHY ISN'T THIS AVAILABLE ON AUDIO SO DJ'S CAN MIX THIS SHIT UP?" ~ said no one ever. Yet.

“WHY ISN’T THIS AVAILABLE ON VINYL SO DJ’S CAN MIX THIS SHIT UP IN THE CLUB, YO?” ~ Said no one ever. Yet.