Category Archives: I am totally overrated

Forgive me. I’m only human. Or possibly not even that.

I just tried to leave a comment on someone’s blog, but instead of posting my comment, the blog stopped me and was like, “Not so fast, you.  Are you even human?

areyouhuman

Is this really a problem?  Are there a lot of houseplants and robots trying to leave comments on blogs?  Also, what does this even mean?  Why ask if I’m a human and then give me a weird photo of a wall?  I assumed I was supposed to write the calligraphy on the wall, but when I wrote “B O” it said I wasn’t a human, which is ridiculous because if there’s one thing that humans are good at, it’s at recognizing B.O.

I complained to Victor that computers were judging me for not being human enough and he looked at me like I was insane and said that I need to type in “130”, not “B O”,  and that there must be something wrong with my eyes.  And he’s probably right, but I’m pretty sure that just proves that I’m human because I suspect robots almost never have to get stronger glasses.

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And now, time for the weekly wrap-up:

shit i did


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

Shit that I’m vaguely involved with on the internets:

Shit-I-didn’t-come-up-with-but-wish-I-did-because-it’s-kind-of-awesome:

  • I’ve got nothin’ this week.  This funeral stuff took over my life.  Sorry.  If you have something awesome you’ve seen on the internet, please share.

Shit you should buy or steal because it’s awesome:

This week’s wrap-up is brought to you by JustGoGirlwhich is a product you need if you’ve ever laughed so hard you peed a little.  Apparently the same thing happens when you run marathons or work out, although I wouldn’t know about that so much.  Basically, it’s a pad designed for athletic leaks, which is a problem that affects 1/3 of all woman.  You totally need to check it out here because people swear by them.

I think I fucked this up.

I’ve never used Storify before so I decided to try it out.  I have no clue if this will work or why it won’t let me post the whole thing without you having to click “go to the next page”  at the bottom. (For the love of God, don’t click “view as a slideshow” or your computer will just shut down.  Apparently my computer hates slideshows as much as I do.  Just click inside the storify box and page down.)
I may never do this again.
[View the story "I went to Blogher and all I got was a bunch of human hair." on Storify]

This is why I’m almost never asked to write for the news.

So HLN asked me if I’d write a piece for them about having sex after babies, but I pointed out that I think sex after having a baby isn’t all that different from sex after any other desperately demanding job that causes complete exhaustion and irritability. An overworked, kid-free friend of mine told me that her husband recently tried to seduce her by saying, “We’re not stopping until the sheets are soaked.” And then she was like, “Well then I guess we’re both gonna have to pee in the bed because I’m stopping in about 10 minutes. Some of us have shit to do, Kevin. And also, no one wants their sheets ‘soaked’ in body fluids because first of all, ew, and secondly, that just sounds dangerous. Dehydration is a silent killer.   Also, we don’t even have the waterproof mattress cover on because it’s in the wash and someone didn’t put it in the dryer. Did you mean to say that we wouldn’t stop until the sheets are “vaguely damp”? Because that would be preferable. No one wants to sleep on a soggy mattress, Kevin. That’s how people get cholera.”

And that’s why sex after having a baby is very similar to sex after starting an exhausting but wonderful full-time job that never ends, which is sort of what motherhood really is if we’re being honest. But then I said that I really didn’t want to write about sex anyway because I’m a fucking lady and HLN read my theory about how cholera is spread and then agreed that I should just avoid that topic.  Then they suggested I write about “Pintrest Moms” instead and so I did.

And shockingly, they just published it.  

It’s possible it might offend people more than the sex thing.  Hard to tell with people.

You’ll shoot your eye out.

I just saw this on the “Buy-one-get-one-half-off” rack at our local toy store:

Awesome.

Awesome.

I assumed the eye-patch was for after you’d shot your brother’s eye out, but Victor thought that it was perhaps preventative, because if you were pretending to be a pirate while being shot at you’d have one less eye exposed to the crossfire.

Either way, I want to lick whoever put these two things together.

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And in other news, it’s Monday, but I didn’t post the weekly wrap-up yesterday because I knew you were too busy recovering from having to spend time with family, so instead I’m doing the Monday wrap-up so you have a way to ease yourself back into work with a little distraction: Painting courtesy of @fattieart (J Rose)

What you missed in my shop (Named “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 is brought to you by my friend Elle Kennedy (bestselling author) who co-wrote All Fired Up, the first in the Dreammakers trilogy.  Fun, smutty, steamy and costs less than you’d pay for a donut.  Plus, it’s an ebook so no one on the train knows you’re reading a steamy novel instead of War and Peace (which probably has much fewer shirtless men in it).  You should go buy it and also check out her other stuff.  It’s right here.

Watermelon is the secret code word

Whenever I’m at large events and I’m asked to write my name on those “HELLO, MY NAME IS” stickers I instead write “Watermelon is the secret code word.”  Most people just look at me like I’m off and avoid me.  Some people (usually the ones in large, boisterous groups) loudly yell “Secret code word for what?” and I just say “I have no idea what you’re talking about” and walk away.  But a few people (usually the same people hiding in corners, or drinking so they have something to do with their hands) will hesitantly come up and whisper a single word. “Watermelon.” And then I nod and smile like we know a secret the rest of the world doesn’t and I quietly say, “You’re in.  Welcome aboard.”  Then they usually smile back – happy and slightly confused – and walk off with a little more confidence, knowing that they’re part of something bigger.  Bigger and ridiculous and utterly insane.

Those are the best people.

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And in other news, it’s Sunday, which means it’s time for the weekly wrap-up: Painting courtesy of @fattieart (J Rose)

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

What you missed on the internets:

This week’s wrap-up is brought to you by A Life Less Frantic (which is something I can get behind because if my life was less frantic I’d run out of Xanax much less often.)  If you click right here you can get a totally free pdf copy of her book, Your Best Year Yet.  Free.  Just because she knows that readers here are full of awesome.  You win.  Go check it out here.

Day = made

I kept getting strange emails and tweets from people who said they’d seen me at Emerald City Comic Con yesterday but were too shy to say hi.  And that’s weird because I’m usually the shy one, and also because I’m not at Emerald City Comic Con.  And I wondered if my evil doppleganger had appeared, or if I was accidentally  astral-projecting.

Turns out, I was not.  But?  Next best thing:

bloggess cosplayer

The red dress.  The curlers.  The obsession with Doctor Who.  This woman is possibly more me that I am.

Never change, internets.

Worst. Pet Shop. Ever.

Yesterday Victor and I took our nine-year-old to a pet shop to look at ferrets, because holding ferrets automatically makes your day brighter (both because ferrets are hysterical and also because they’re stinking up the pet shop and not your house).  But when we started to walk in I saw this note on the door:

hamsters

Victor pointed out that maybe it wasn’t so bad if you got the front half of the hamster, but I’m fairly certain that the severed front end of hamster is going to be just as messy and leaky as a whole one.  Probably even more so.  Regardless, Hailey asked the clerk where they were keeping all the half-hamsters and was shown to a bin filled with completely whole hamsters where the clerk explained that “these are all of the half-off hamsters”.  Then Hailey whispered, “I don’t think these people know how fractions work.”

She’s so our child.

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And in other news, it’s Sunday, which means its time for the weekly wrap-up:

sid

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

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 is brought to you by Bill Harte, author of Women Dress Like Sex, Men Dress Like Money: Everything You Need To Know About Marketing You Learning In Dating.    I’ve only read pieces of it, but the pieces I read were interesting and provocative.  I didn’t always agree with it (but I dress less like sex and more like a hobo, so I guess that’s to be expected) but it offers a fascinating marketing perspective and might give you info to really help your business.  You can check it out here.  It’s less than a cup of coffee and you can get the audiobook for free if you buy the ebook or paperback.