Category Archives: blogging about blogging again

This isn’t a real post

Hi.  This isn’t a real post.  It’s a video of me speaking in London.  Except that I wasn’t really in London because that would be expensive, so instead I just called in and they put me on the jumbotron so I LITERALLY looked enormous compared to the other women on the panel.   Part of my speech ended up on this video by the wonderful @newmumonline but luckily she edited out the part where I was attacked by my cat, and the other part where I pretended to be Godzilla stalking my tiny, unsuspecting co-panelists.

It was awesome.  Thank you, London.

Next class: How to keep bees with handguns

I don’t have a lot to say here because I live in a mixed political home and so things are always a bit tense here after election day, but I will say that we can all stand together as one nation in hatred of that sound  you get when you try to erase something, but you don’t have any eraser left and so the metal part of the pencil squeals over the paper and then accordions it all up.  I think we can all agree that that shit needs to stop.  Also, overuse of the word “moist” and the word “panties.”  People using the phrase “moist panties” should have to spend two weeks in community service replacing worn pencil erasers.  The end.

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But not really because I had too much caffeine and can’t stop writing.  So instead I’ll share a bunch of shit I wrote that wasn’t funny enough to publish alone, in hopes that it gets funnier algebraically.

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True story:  I get these emails from Amazon recommending local stuff they think I’d be into.  In the last week I’ve been offered special deals on Beekeeping Classes, Handgun Practice, Permanent Makeup and Reflexology/Zip Line…which just sounds dangerous. I can’t tell if they really know me, or if they really don’t know me at all.

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Yesterday this thing happened to me that so blew my mind that I freaked out and called everyone I knew to tell them about it but then it turns out that I can’t write about because (swear to God) it might endanger the well-being of The Doctor and myself.  I have never in my entire life wanted to write about anything so much and it’s killing me inside.  I don’t have anything funny to add here but just pretend that I just proved without a shadow of a doubt that a possible real-life Time Lord and I spent some quality time together talking about testicles and I have pictures to prove it that I can never show.  And this is exactly why being a companion must be so bloody hard.

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My friend Edwin sent me this tweet:

Hmmm.

And I thought it was weird that he would send me something so rude that twitter would actually hide the image from me, but I went ahead and changed my settings to let even the most horrific images come through and then I clicked it again.

Oh. Awesome.

Thanks, twitter.

Worst mittens ever

You know when you stick your hand into a box of triskets and then you feel to the bottom and it’s empty, and so you stick your other hand in the pop tart box and it’s empty too, and then you step back from the pantry and you’re wearing the empty snack boxes like giant ill-fitting mittens while you stare at the pantry in an vain effort to look for anything else to eat, and your husband walks in and looks at you, and you’re all “I didn’t eat all of these.  They were already eaten before I got here” and your husband is like, “But why are you wearing them?” and you’re all “I. don’t. know.”

Me too.

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In unrelated news, it’s time for the weekly wrap up.

What you missed in my shop (tentatively called “Eight pounds of uncut cocaine” so that your credit card bill will be more interesting.):

What you missed on the internets:

This week on shit-I-didn’t-come-up-with-but-wish-I-did-because-it’s-kind-of-awesome:

This week’s wrap-up sponsored by ebook publisher Open Road Media and their Fright-Free Halloween campaign, promoting family-friendly fall cooking, craft ebooks and Halloween-themed children’s stories that take the scary out of Halloween for kids.  Check out  The Berenstain Bears Get the Scardies ebook.  It’s like The Shining, but with bears and no corpses.

I made this.

I made you this. (Mainly because I need to raise some money for something ridiculous, stupid and awesome.)  It’s the perfect refrigerator magnet (as you might remember from my book).  It works in a multitude of ways: Scares off people stealing from your fridge.  Threatens your spouse during an argument when you aren’t speaking to them.  Helps you stay on your diet.

(I guess in this case “multitude” equals “3”.)

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In unrelated news, it’s time for the weekly wrap up.

What you missed on Ill-Advised:

What you missed in my shop (tentatively called “Eight pounds of uncut cocaine” so that your credit card bill will be more interesting.):

What you missed on the internets:

This week on shit-I-didn’t-come-up-with-but-wish-I-did-because-it’s-kind-of-awesome:

This week’s wrap-up sponsored by Robin’s Chicks, a humor blog you should probably check out.   Robin also wrote a great book called Ketchup is a Vegetable, and she has a really good recipe for fried okra I may have to try.

We set a record, you guys.

We set a record last night, taking down twitcam in a whopping 47 minutes.  Conclusion:  I think we’ve just found the best format for doing the #bloggessbookclub.  I’m tempted to take down Google + tonight but I don’t know enough about Google + to even open it correctly.  It’s sort of shocking that I work on the internet and know so little about the internet.

We’ve got tonight and tomorrow to finish up the BloggessBookClub and tonight we’re going on through chapter 22 (I Am the Wizard of Oz of Housewives {In That I Am Both “Great and Terrible” and Because I Sometimes Hide Behind the Curtains}) and I’ll be doing a reading if I don’t get to nervous and sweaty.

Also, a few people suggested that if you think the phrase “Lawsbians” is too much for you then you could drop the “b” but then it’s just “Lawsians”, which just sounds a lot like “lozenge”.  I’m not a big fan over everyone calling themselves Lozenges but it’s up to you.  That’s the beauty of living in a democratic society.  You get to name yourself after cough drops if you want.

 

If you want in again for tonight just check my twitter stream at 7p central and I’ll give you the link.

See you tonight?  Pretty please?

PS.  I had several people who asked if they could see my office.  And yes!  You totally can.  It’s not normally this clean.  Also, turnabout is fair play so if you want to share links to pics of your desk in the comments that would be awesome.  If it was dirty it would make me feel much better about myself.  Just saying.

pics by Maile Wilson

I shouldn't be allowed on live anything

Things I said this month on live tv or radio that made me think “Wow, I should not be allowed to do live media”:

“I mean, I don’t want to finger the guy who sold me all those drugs.”

That?  Oh, that was me pretending to be attacked by a Sasquatch.”

“I’m on a LOT of cold medication.”

“Unless you came out of my birth canal and lady garden you don’t get to call me ‘mommy’.”

“When do we start?  Shit.  We’ve already started, haven’t we?”

“No, the weasel was already dead when I opened it.”

“So then I was stuck in the cow’s..uh…can I say “vagina” if I’m referring to a cow’s vagina?”

“I did a lot of clown porn stuff.  Victor wasn’t pleased.  He hates clowns.”

“They really shouldn’t let me on live radio.”

I also did a Skype reading wearing a strapless dress and it looked like I was naked and I didn’t notice it until someone else posted a picture of me.

Dear me: Perhaps you should avoid tube tops on Skype. And just...you know...in general.

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In unrelated news, I’m doing the weekly wrap-up early because we’re taking Hailey to DisneyWorld this weekend to make me feel like a less terrible mother since I’ve been gone on tour so much.

So now, time for the weekly wrap-up…

What you missed in my shop (tentatively called “Eight pounds of uncut cocaine” so that your credit card bill will be more interesting.):

What you missed on the internets:

This week on shit-I-didn’t-come-up-with-but-wish-I-did-because-it’s-kind-of-awesome:

This week’s wrap-up sponsored by Cafe Rio, who make the best tortillas IN THE WORLD.  At least, according to my husband.  I’ve never been there because it’s in Utah, but it looks delicious.  Also, I accidentally called it “Cuh-FERRY-oh” the first time I saw it because the link had it all one word and then Victor was all “You mean ‘Cafe Rio’?” and then he never stopped making fun of me.  And now I want tortillas.  Thanks, Cuh-ferryoh.

What happens on tour stays all over the internet

I’ve been on a bit of a whirlwind book tour and I haven’t had much time to let you know what’s been going on, so I’m going to do a quick update pulled directly from my journal:

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My editor couldn’t decide between a bottle of wine or a hat made from actual roadkill as a book pub date gift.  I think she made the right choice:

His feet make excellent ear muffs.

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I think I’m at a fancy hotel because I can’t tell what’s in the bottles.  At no point on this bottle does it say that it’s lotion.  I’m pretty sure “emotion body milk” is semen.  I have an entire bottle of free semen and I have no idea what to do with it.

I still took it home.

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Same hotel.  I want a cheeseburger so I call for room service.  They reply, “Did you mean Womb Service?”  No.  No, I certainly did not and I can’t imagine enough people are making this mistake to make it worthy of that follow up question.

Also, yes, of course I have pictures:

For when you need a cheeseburger. In your birth canal.

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One of these is toothpaste.  The other is clearasil.

They do not taste the same.  Ask me how I know.

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I went to a tv interview but they neglected to tell me that it was live TV in Hollywood before a studio audience and so I was sort of petrified.  But then I took all my anti-anxiety drugs and I felt better (and woozie) until I stepped into the makeup room and there was a brunette in curlers with black glasses and I was all “Bitch stole my look” and then she said “Excuse me?” and I tried to explain myself but I was too mumbly to makes sense and then she took her hair out of the curlers AND IT WAS LISA LOEB.

Lisa Loeb isn't in this picture because I ran away from her as soon as I possibly could because I'd been mortified enough. She was very nice though.

I signed several boobs and one moob and some dead frogs.  I’ll sign anything.

No, really. Anything.

People brought me awesome, bizarre things.  Including a Tupperware bowl with an edible version of the dead mouse on the cover of my book:

No shit, y'all.

It tasted adorable.  And suspicious.  I was very hungry.

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I spoke in a quavering voice between a variety of dumpsters.

Dumpsters not shown.

And people laughed.

That empty seat was reserved for Nathan Fillion. Just in case.

And it was good.

More to come (including new tour dates!)…