Category Archives: I am totally overrated

I’d kill everyone just out of spite, but I’m possibly too old and might break a hip.

Conversation with the guy at the video game store:

Clerk: Can I help you find something?

me:  I’m looking for a new game.  Something where you explore and solve puzzles but you don’t have to shoot anyone.  Something like Myst, maybe?

Clerk:  I’m not familiar with it.

me: Really?  Myst?  It was a super-big-deal video game.  It came out in the mid-90’s, I guess?

Clerk:  Oh.  Yeah, I wasn’t born then.

me:  Ah.  And now I understand why they say video games make people violent.

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

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 the fabulous woman who invented JustGoGirl,  a low profile pad for women with athletic leaks that occur when you run or jump.  Millions have this issue but it hasn’t received a lot of attention because women aren’t comfortable talking about it. It’s light, comfortable and invisible in tight workout clothes.  It’s also good to wear when you’re laughing so hard that you pee.  Just saying.

I assure you, that was not my nipple.

So this week I did a keynote address at the Texas Conference for Women.  The other keynote speakers were all uber-professional and awesome, and one was a nobel peace laureate, and they all said very important, inspirational things.  And then I got on the stage and panicked and decided to do a reading from my book about the time I got my arm stuck up a cow’s vagina.  In my defense though, I’m me, so it wasn’t like they didn’t know they were getting into, and surprisingly few people actually walked out.  I suspect the few who did walk out probably just had cow vagina phobia (I feel ya, sisters) but then later I realized it might have been for another reason altogether.  Very sweet friends sent me photos of myself on stage and some of them made me look almost professional:

Pretend I was saying something profound here and not just explaining how easy it is to get your arm broken in a cow vagina.

Then my friend Laura sent me pictures from the back.  After the fifth one I had noticed they all had one similarity:

Do you see it?

You might not notice from the picture, but after looking at a series of them all I can see is what appears to be my right nipple escaping from my shirt.

No shit. It's in EVERY shot.

And I know it’s not my nipple because I’m about to turn 40 and my nipples weren’t that perky even when I was 20.  In fact, I’d almost be proud if that was an accidental nip-slip, because who wouldn’t be impressed with nipples that are so perky they seem to be reading the book along with me?  Answer: Professional conference attendees staring at a possible wonky nipple during a 20-minute diatribe about cow vaginas.

Let me assure you, it was not my nipple.  I suspect it was shadow of the circular microphone on the podium, but now I’m worried that thousands of women think I was intentionally showing off my one good nipple.  I would never do that, y’all.  Because I’m a lady.

And now that I’ve straightened that out (or possibly made it much, much worse) I’m going to change the subject to tell you that I just opened a box from my editor and it was filled with my book in Portuguese.  I think.  I’m not good with languages.  But as an early Christmas/Hanukkah present I’m going to give away signed Portuguese copies to a few random commenters.  Why would you even want this?  I have no idea.  But I guarantee that you’ll be the only one with one.

I shoved the cover in my cat's face and screamed, "HEY, CAT! YOU'RE TOTALLY FAMOUS IN BRAZIL," and then she ran and hid under the couch. Some people just can't handle fame.

 

We won!

Remember when I was on the Katie Couric show last year to talk about The Traveling Red Dressbut then my cat totally hogged the lime-light?  Well, apparently whatever Hunter S. Thomcat did worked, because I just found out that the segment won an Exceptional Merit in Media Award last night.  This is very nice because it’s the swankiest-sounding award I’ve never heard of before, and also because the segment would not have been possible if it wasn’t for the support and amazing work done by thousands of you here on this blog.  And that’s why I’m giving the award to you.  It doesn’t exist in real life, so you just have to trust me that I’m handing it over to you.  See what you don’t feel in your hands right now?  That’s the award.  You are welcome.

And to celebrate, I’m giving away red evening gowns to several randomly-chosen commenters.  (You’ll get a gift card so you can order your size correctly.)  Just leave a comment if you want in.  And if you want to donate a red dress, photography skills, or want to ask for a red dress yourself you can check out the Facebook page.

PS. It just occurred to me that pretty much anyone can make up awards for anything they want so I’m making this one for you.  Feel free to use it in your resume.

PPS. Several of you have pointed out (quite correctly) that “first annual” isn’t really a thing.  Probably because they recognize I’m not responsible enough to have a second annual award.  And they’re right.  But bad-ass motherfuckers don’t care about logic and grammar.   They care about kicking ass and being awesome.   And about who would win in a fight between zombies and unicorns.  And sometimes they care about grammar too. Dammit, Jenny.  Get your shit together.

It’s a vicious circle

True story:  Last week my doctor gave me a new drug to take for my ADD.  I’m supposed to tell her if it works for me but I don’t know if it works because I’m supposed to take it 3 times a day but I can never remember to take it because I have ADD.

I also take a drug that fucks with your memory and I can never remember to have it refilled until I’ve forgotten so long that the drug is out of my system enough to actually remember shit.

I would pay good money to have someone else manage my drugs for me and make sure that they’re always refilled, authorized and mailed to me.  And handed to me with water.  With a flintstones vitamin.  And a cocktail.  I basically want to live in a retirement home, but without the old people.  And I want the nurse who knows how to make Moscow Mules.  I don’t think I’m asking for too much.  Or possibly I am.  It’s hard to tell because I ran out of anti-psychotics.

I think I just proved my own point.  And not in a good way.

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

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 brought to you by some fabulous people who want others to stop driving like an asshole.  From them: “We would like people to ask their insurance agents for an OBD2 device that runs on the sprint network. The OBD2’s provide a few great things but the punchline is that they keep you from driving like an asshole. They make it impossible to text and drive, and can cut down on accidents.  They send you alerts if your car is driven recklessly or out of bounds (great for parents of new drivers or who have nannies) and it can help you locate your car if you forget where you’ve left it (hello, Disneyland).”  You can find out more here.

This seems like big news but it’s really not.

For the last couple of years I’ve had a lot of people contact me about making Let’s Pretend This Never Happened into a movie or tv show and I’ve said no to all of them.  Honestly, I only listened to the pitches because I thought it would be funny to write about, but then I got distracted and never actually wrote about it.  It was very flattering though.

Don Cheadle’s production people touched base with me two years ago and I told them that I’d be interested, but only if Don Cheadle played me because I love that man and I think he has great range.  They never called me back.

Then there was another big studio that called because they thought my book sounded really “sexy” (no shit, you guys) and I laughed so hard that I couldn’t breathe and they thought I hung up.  Another network contacted me last year and I told them I’d consider it if they apologized for canceling Freaks and Geeks, and if they also brought Rags to Riches back so I could find out what happened to all those orphans.  This is all true and is a great lesson in how much fun life can be when you realize you’re the only person in the world who doesn’t actually want to be on tv.

There were a few times when I almost got close to signing a contract just because I thought it would give me something funny to write about but all of the contracts contained a clause that said I would not be able to say anything about the show without prior consent, and so I turned them all down because my freedom to write whatever I want is more important than money, and that was a nice realization because it came as a great surprise to me to find out that I actually did have ethics.

Then last month I got a call from some people who’ve followed the book since it was just a small proposal and who’ve spent hours trading possum-chasing stories with me, and they found a network and writers that loved the people in my book as much as I do, and understood that irreverent is good and that cursing can be important (even if bleeped), and they even changed the wording of the contract from “You can never write about this” to “Fine.  Just don’t be an asshole” (I’m paraphrasing) and suddenly I didn’t have anything to object to.

All this to say that you might read something somewhere about my book being optioned for a show, but if it actually becomes a tv show it probably won’t happen for a year or two so nothing really changes, except that I will get just enough money (after fees and taxes) to replace our broken dishwasher and put a fence up in the backyard.  Sorry to crush your dreams if you’re thinking that a tv show changes your life.  It doesn’t.  Which is good, actually, because I like our life the way it is.

That being said, I probably won’t mention this again for years.  This is the most anticlimactic announcement ever.  Sorry about that.  I suck at making things glamourous.

PS. I wasn’t planning on publishing this until I actually knew if anything would come of it but I’m getting twitter congratulations because it was just announced.  It’s really very cool, but everything in my world stays at pretty much exactly the same level of hermity weirdness as before.

PPS.  I found a place in town that rescues monkeys and I’m going to see if they’ll let me volunteer there, BECAUSE MONKEYS, you guys.  Now, if that actually happens?  That’s a big deal.  It’s important to keep perspective.

Cosplay is the most sincere form of flattery.

Every once in awhile I’ll end up in a magazine or win an award or something, and that’s very nice, but I’m almost positive that what happened yesterday was the most squee-inducing and flattering thing ever.

I got a bunch of tweets from people claiming to have seen me at DragonCon, but I assured them I wasn’t there because I’m an anxiety-riddled hermit who seldom leaves the house, and then I started hearing rumors that there was someone at the Con cosplaying as me.  And it was more spectacular than I could have ever imagined:

Rollers. Traveling red dress. Glasses. Earrings with Beyonce-the-giant-metal-chicken on them. The only thing missing is a taxidermied wolverine.

Related:  Holly Nicole just won the internet.  We can all go home now.  Someone get the lights.

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Oh, hang on.  Don’t leave just yet.  I forgot that it’s Sunday and that means it’s time for this week’s 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.):

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 sponsored by the fantasmagoric folks at Swagbucks, a site that gives you FREE gift cards to Amazon, Target, etc. just for doing stuff online.  To date, they’ve given away $42 million in rewards, and they once saved 5 turtles trapped in sweater drawer.  I made up the turtle part but the $42 million part is legit.  Earn swag bucks for taking surveys, shopping online, or watching videos and redeem them in the Rewards Store.  You can sign up here. 

I blame Steve Jobs for this.

A series of texts I sent to my friend Maile after the rotten wood on our deck was replaced:

To her credit, Maile was unflappable and assumed that my deck, dock and cock were all equally well-crafted.

PS.  After you fuck up two texts your phone should just automatically shut off to save you from yourself.  Just a suggestion, Apple.

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And in less slightly-confusing news, it’s time for this week’s 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.):

This week’s wrap-up is sponsored by my friend Marie, creator of Misanthropista.  She’s sort of a bad-ass and most of her emails end with “Oh, bite me” or “What the fuck are you looking at?” but deep down she has a heart of gold and will teach you all about sexting.  You should check her out. Bring donuts.