Category Archives: no one thinks this is funny but me

Jesus, you guys. I DON’T HAVE THE ANSWERS. But I do have a lot more questions now.

Every so often I go look at the search terms that brought people to my blog and then I think STOP DOING THAT.  But then I decide that it would make a funny post and share some of them even though writing these phrases here will inevitably just lead to more terribly baffling searches leading here.

WORTH IT.

The most baffling terms that led people to my blog this month:

  • I bought a sick monkey on ebay (I can’t tell if you’re complaining or bragging)
  • What happens if you have a hole in your eardrum and an ant crawls inside your ear?  (I don’t know but I will never sleep again.)
  • How to prevent a tittie from growing on your ear (Is this a real concern?)
  • when i laugh my belly button pops but i am a boy  (Wait.  Do you think this is normal for girls?)
  • Chrissy, I fucking hate you and I want you dead by tomorrow morning bitch.  (Jesus.  I don’t know who Chrissy is but someone get her to safe house.)
  • best personal peeing (Is this an award? Congrats?)
  • what if a gnat flies in my nose and i find him in my ear a week later (How do you know it’s the same gnat?)
  • There are cobras that look so!!so!! cool!!!!! and are the biggest cobras found ever and ever like never seen before that’s why they are cooll!!!!!
 (I have no idea what you’re talking about but your excitement is contagious.)
  • Where can I volunteer and get a small money as a thank you (That is not how volunteering works.)
  • Dear google please help me with my question
 (That is not how google works.)
  • Can cats swallow a baby?  (That is not how cats work.)
  • How much money is in a $10 bill (Is this a trick question?)
  • windex enema used by serial killers  (No.  Stop it.)
  • strange and disturbing things about my old little pony (What?)
  • straight white pubic hair that feels like a cat whisker (What??)
  • Inflated cat butt (What???)
  • single cougar boobs (What????)
  • DIY cat outfits (Wha- Oh wait.  Yes. I’m in.  Come on over.)
  • how much nyquil to make me unconscious
 (This is exactly the week I’ve had too.)
  • can single white rapid hair growth on forehead be a sign of early pregnancy (Probably not.)
  • danger nipples (And I just found my new band name.)
  • He put a dick on my forehead and said I’m a unicorn (He sounds like a keeper.)
  • Why do I have white stuff on my face? (Hmm.  Nope. Too easy.)
  • True stories about everyone is telephoning to congratulate you on still being alive (That is a very specific genre.)
  • What does a feces smell prophetically represent if I’m awake and not dreaming (If you’re awake and you smell feces you may have shit yourself. That’s not symbolic or prophetic. That’s real life.)
  • Oh look. One of the peasants has a blog. (Ow.)
  • poto bagina (I don’t know what you’re misspelling but I know you’re misspelling it)
  • Dead squirrel in attic smell (That is my least favorite yankee candle.)

Conclusion: There are a lot of confused people in the world and they are all ending up here.  Which makes sense in a way.  Welcome.  I think.

This isn’t a real post

This isn’t a real post.  Just checking in to say a few things that I have on my list of things to write about but that I haven’t written about because I haven’t had time to make into a polished post because I’ve been working on my next book (FINALLY MY BRAIN IS ALMOST WORKING AGAIN) but if I wait any longer I won’t write it at all and I’ll forget it…so, here is my mind dump of a few things you should know.

  1.  Are you listening to the INVISIBILIA podcast on NPR?  You should be.  I just discovered it a few months ago and I’ve been pouring through them and the one I listened to yesterday (The Problem with the Solution) totally gut-punched me.  But in a good way.  Just…ow.
  2. Y’all, it’s not out yet but Samantha Irby’s new book is so good it made me vomit.  Like, I want to smother her and take credit for writing it but then everyone would be like, “Wait.  You’re a black orphan with Crohn’s disease?  WHEN DID THAT HAPPEN?”  But the book doesn’t come out until forever and I’m gonna forget to tell you about it when it does come out because I’m the worst so just remind me to tell you again when it’s available for preorder.  Or read her last book again while you’re waiting.  But then writing that reminded me of the book I read last year that was SO good and I wanted to tell everyone about it but it still had a billion months until publication so instead I just called my friends and read aloud from it while simultaneously aghast and giggling hysterically and I just went to check and it comes out this month so go order that shit right now because it was one of the best things I read this year.  It’s called UNMENTIONABLE: The Victorian Lady’s Guide to Sex, Marriage, and Manners.  It’s super gross and fascinating.  Like Mary Roach’s Stiff, but funnier.
  3. Speaking of books, I am a constant reader and I was thinking it would be cool if we had a bookclub, but I’m too lazy for that so what if I just put the name of the book I’m currently reading on a blog post each week and then in the comments you can discuss?  Except I pretty much only read nonfiction, sci-fi, fairy tales and graphic novels so it would be a very, very limiting bookclub.  Not sure about this one.  Just a thought I keep having.
  4. You know those metal kits I’ve been making for years when my anxiety gets high because working with the tiny pieces keeps me from picking away at myself?  (If not, read 1000 ferris wheels here.) I just finished a new one.  It took two hours to make it because it was 30+ tiny pieces but THE DOORS OPEN AND CLOSE.  WHAT.

    MOTHERFUCKIN' TARDIS, Y'ALL.

    MOTHERFUCKIN’ TARDIS, Y’ALL.

  5. Hunter S. Tomcat is sitting in the chair next to me and he has this enormous grin of contentment and I thought, I should share this, but then I realized I haven’t cleaned the cat fur off the seat cushion in 3 days so it looks filthy, but whatever.  A little bit of filth should not stand in the way of happiness.  In fact, a little bit of filth is sometimes the only road to happiness.  But that’s another story.
  6. He looks like he's wearing a tiny little white g-string.

    He looks like he’s wearing a too-small, tiny white g-string.

  7. Dorothy Barker decided she wanted in on this.  This is my dog when I say “bacon”.
    YOU ARE MY FAVORITE PERSON, BACON.

    “YOU ARE MY FAVORITE PERSON, BACON.”

    It’s not even real bacon. It’s fake dog bacon and it taste like sadness and giving up.  It smells like bacon though, which is why I tried it.  I thought I found a cheap bacon alternative that would help me keep my coat shiny but no, the bacon is a lie.  A beautiful one though, according to this dog.

  8. I use a lot of affiliate links in my posts but the money I get if you order stuff just goes back to the community when we do Booksgiving or Christmas miracles and stuff.  Just FYI in case you’re new to the tribe.
  9. I’m in Cincinnati this weekend signing books and stuff.  Come see me.  It’s free.
  10. There is no number 10 but I like to end on a round number.  Hugs.  ~ me

I’m on a lot of cold medication so it’s possible this isn’t as funny as I think it is.

I’m on a lot of cold meds but I thought you’d enjoy. Or not.  Stop judging me.  I’m sick.

 

They’re in my shop if you want one, but be aware that everyone you wear it around is going to tell you that your shirt is on inside out.  But then you can flash them a raccoon face (and flash them in general if you aren’t wearing something underneath) and they won’t bother you again.  EVERYONE WINS.

PS. A few of you are having trouble getting the video to load so (spoiler alert) this is what you’re missing:

I may have found my new author photo.

I may have found my new author photo.

I can’t tell if this happened because I have a medical issue or because I’m just really lazy.

Yesterday I went to pick up my meds and while I was there I handed the pharmacist my prescription for my ADD medication and she was like “Sorry, I can’t fill this one.  We can only fill prescriptions within 21 days of them being written” and I guess I can understand that but I’ve been walking around with this prescription for a month because I’m not really focused enough to remember to refill my meds if I’m out of my ADD meds and the pharmacist was like, “Yes, but you’ll still have to get a new one” and that sucks because first of all, the fact that I’m making my meds last long enough that my next prescription expired proves that I’m not abusing them or selling them on the street, so if anything I should be rewarded by getting more drugs.  Plus, now I have to make an appointment to see my shrink to get another prescription and I’ll have to tell her I kept getting too distracted to fill the prescription that I insisted that I needed because my ADD was making me too distracted.

But technically she already knows I’m irresponsible and have ADD so really it’ll probably just make her happier that she’s doing an excellent job diagnosing me.

Although she’s not really doing that great if she actually expected that I was going to fill my prescription myself within a normal time limit.  I suspect it’s a test and I failed it.  Or she did.  Maybe we did as a team.  I’m not good at evaluating right now because I’m low on ADD meds.

Someone please make an appointment for me with my shrink.  And remind me to get her to call in my meds this time.  And then take me to the pharmacist to get my meds before they call me with that ” YOUR PRESCRIPTION HAS BEEN READY FOR WEEKS AND IF YOU DON’T PICK IT UP SOON WE’LL RESTOCK IT.  YOU ARE WASTING OUR TIME” message.  And then bring me a cheesecake.  And take me to the post office.  And make me drink more water.

Jesus.  I need a babysitter.  For me.

I blame the meds.  Or lack thereof.

PS.  I don’t have a graphic to go with this post so instead I’ll show you the business cards I made for myself.

furiouslyhappycards2Please note that I forgot to put my name on them or a website or even what FURIOUSLY HAPPY is.  I think it’s pretty obvious I made them without the benefit of drugs.  Or possibly it seems more obvious that I am on drugs if I made business cards with Rory’s taxidermied raccoon face on them.  Depends on the kind of drugs, I guess.  But!  You can do this with them:

furiouslyhappycards3

They would come in much more handy if I ever left the house long enough to give out business cards, but at least I have some now, so…you know…baby steps.

 

I love your funny face. #WERUINEVERYTHING

So!  Last week my friend Maile and I went to the Mom 2.0 Summit and it was quite lovely but we decided that instead of posting the typical conference selfies we should change things up a bit and post the most unflattering pictures we could possibly take.  We did the first one on the plane and it was so ridiculous that even instagram wouldn’t post it.  It might have been a glitch but we assumed it was instagram saying, “No.  You don’t mean to post this. Have you been drinking again?  We’re cutting you off until you come to your senses.”  But we had no senses to come to and we couldn’t stop laughing at the picture and so we shared  it on twitter.

Then when we landed we found out that the picture was shared so much that it was the very thing that got the conference hashtag trending.  So…yeah.

funny faces2

This is the point when I had to apologize to the conference organizers but they didn’t care because I’ve known them for 10 years so they knew what to expect of me.  Which is “very little“.  This is one advantage of having a terrible reputation.

What was nice though was that although it was a little terrifying publishing such a horrific picture it was actually also surprisingly freeing.  No matter what photo we found ourselves tagged in that week we were guaranteed that it couldn’t be any worse than what we’d shared ourselves.  Even if someone intentionally posted something terrible we could say, “No. Sorry.  We did it worse already.”  Plus, we automatically looked much better in person because we’d set up people to assume we look like giant thumbs or penises.

I was presenting an Iris Award at the conference and mostly I just hid backstage and made Andrew McCarthy uncomfortable by sitting cross-legged on the floor and staring at him, but on the way in we had to take red carpet pictures and we’d decided that there were already too many pretty people there so instead we’d just do inappropriate poses until they asked us to leave.

And that’s how you do a red carpet.  Deep, royal curtsies.  #WE RUIN EVERYTHING:

curtsey

From Maile : “You so win curtsy-ing. I look like a bear trying to find a hole to poop in.”

Other flattering red carpet poses: the 1930’s Muscle Men:

muscle men

 …And the eternally classic we-just-found-a-dead-body red carpet pose.  Always elegant.

dead body

It only took a few minutes before they gave up and shooed us off but we still had more to give.  This is my favorite and I literally laugh out loud every single time I look at it.

I like this one because it looks like Maile is my shy little sister who seldom leaves her closet and also that we share an arm.

I like this one because it looks like Maile is my shy little sister who almost never leaves the basement we live in, and also that we share an arm.

I did manage to take one good picture as I ran out to the nerd bus (which we self-named because we were the first people to hurry back to the hotel while everyone else started dancing) and that was a picture of my using Andrew McCarthy as a coaster.  Not even intentional, y’all.  I can’t take a good picture even when I’m trying.  Please contact me, Mr. McCarthy, with your dry cleaning bill.

me: I LOVED YOU IN MANNEQUIN.  Him:  Marry me.  (Only one of these things was said out loud.)

me: I LOVED YOU IN MANNEQUIN. Him: MARRY ME. (Only one of these things was actually said out loud.)

Point is, posting a terrible photo of yourself making ridiculous faces is fantastic.  And hilarious.  And incredibly freeing.  I encourage you to do it yourself.  Share it in the comments.  Send it to your friends.  Post it on instagram.  Relive those moments when your mother would say “YOUR FACE WILL FREEZE LIKE THAT” while you and your sister laugh hysterically as you lick the car windows and make pig noses at the people driving in the next lane.  Honestly, I cannot recommend it enough.

UPDATED:  Everyone and their cat is doing that website where you upload your photo and the computer tells you how old you look so I decided to try it:

how old

 

Oh, you flatterer.

She’s much better at drawing cats now. About the same with Hitlers though.

I wrote this over a year ago but I never published it because it got lost in my draft folder, but I’ve been recovering from food poisoning and I’m at that woozy stage where I think everything is funny or horrible and I’m pretty sure this is both.  

Conversation with Victor (and Hailey):

Me: Did you see what your daughter made?

Victor: No, but I already resent what you’re implying.

Me: I haven’t said anything bad yet.

Victor: Well, you called her “your daughter”.  I see where this is headed and I don’t like it.  You only call her my daughter when she breaks something.

Me: Not true.  She’s my daughter when she sets something on fire, or when she runs into a wall that’s always been there.  She’s your daughter when she does things I’d never do. So guess what your daughter did?

Victor: She left the toilet seat up?

Me: Nope.  Genocide.

Victor: Um…what?

Me: Or “promoted” genocide, I guess?  I don’t want to jump to conclusions.  I’m just saying that it’s a slippery slope and I’m concerned.

Victor: No. Start over.  Make sense this time.

Me: Fine. Your daughter made this at school:

hitler and friend

Victor: A lunch-sack puppet?

Me: OF HITLER.

Victor: What…?  It’s not…  Well.  It does look a little like Hitler.

me: No, it looks a lot like Hitler.

Victor: Hitler doesn’t strike me as a waver.

Me: Maybe he’s Heiling.

Victor: What?

Me: Or whatever the active verb for “heil” is.  I DON’T KNOW THE VERB TENSES FOR THE THIRD REICH, VICTOR.

Victor:  Right. So did you ask her if it was Hitler?

Me: She said it was a man they read about in school but she couldn’t remember his name.

Victor: Why is there a cat glued on him?

Me: She said that he was lonely and that’s why he was so grumpy, so she made him a cat.

Victor: Well, that does sound like it could be Hitler.

Me: Which is why I’m concerned.

Victor: Did Hitler even own cats?

Me: Already ahead of you. According to the Internet he did have a cat, but then he ate it..

Victor: Hitler ate his cat?

Me: Well, apparently. I googled “Did Hitler have a cat?” and the internet said this:

I wouldnt put it past him

Victor: You wrote that answer yourself, didn’t you?

Me: No, and now I don’t like what you’re implying. Anyway, Hitler was a mass-murdering asshole so I don’t think it’s entirely outside the realm of possibility that the man ate a few cats in his time.

Victor: Hailey, can you come to the kitchen?

Hailey: Yep?

Victor: Is this Hitler?

Hailey: What?

Me: Answer your father, sweetie. Is this puppet of Hitler, and did you make him this cat to eat?

Victor: ENOUGH WITH THE CAT EATING, JENNY.

Hailey: That’s Mr. Putter. He likes trains and cakes.

Me: Cakes made of cats?

Victor: Drop it.

Hailey: I don’t know who Hitler is. That’s Mr. Putter from the Mr. Putter books. He doesn’t eat cats.

Me: Good. And you know it’s never okay to eat cats, right?

Hailey: Uh…yeah?

Me: And genocide. That’s frowned upon too.

Hailey: Huh?

Victor: Okay, I think that’s enough for today.

Me: Well, I think this is a teachable moment.

Victor: Well, I think she can wait until she’s nine to learn not to commit genocide.

Me: Fine. But just remember this if it comes back to bite us later.

Victor: Because she might dabble in genocide before she turns nine?

Hailey: What’s a genderside?

Me: Nothing important, apparently. I’ll just add it to the list of things to tell you when you’re older. “Menstruation and Genocide.” That’s gonna be one hell of a talk.

Hailey: You guys are weird.

And that’s how we decided (as a parenting unit) that we would wait until Hailey was nine before we taught her about genocide and why it’s not okay to eat cats.

Because, apparently, that’s just good parenting.

PS.  I just looked up this Mr. Putter character and apparently there’s a whole series of books about him.  And – I shit you not – this is one:

Full circle, y’all.

Also, that fucker ate all the hot pockets.

An imagined open letter from the justifiably disgruntled wife of poet William Carlos Williams, the man who wrote this famed poem:

This is Just to Say 

I have eaten
the plums
that were in
the icebox

and which
you were probably
saving
for breakfast

Forgive me
they were delicious
so sweet
and so cold

 

Dear literary critics:

You guys are assholes.

Did you even read the poem you claim is so brilliant?  First off, my husband ate all my fruit, and then instead of apologizing in person he left a post-it note admitting that he did it, but that he had a good reason which was basically “I wanted to“.  And not only does he eat all my plums, also he ends the post-it telling me how goddam delicious they are.  I know how delicious plums are.  That’s why I was saving them for breakfast. 

You people read this poem and love it, but really it’s just a not-very-apologetic-apology from a man confessing to mild burglary.  And who do you think had to go out and buy more plums for breakfast because someone promised his parents I’d make plum pancakes for everyone?  Not Mr. I’m-far-too-poetic-to-go-to-Walmart, I’ll tell you that.  Frankly, I don’t even think plum pancakes are a real thing.  They tasted terrible and I’m guessing he just made them up because he’s “poetic and whimsical” and so I ended up having to apologize for the shitty pancakes that I didn’t even want to make.

And then the whole world is like, “DID YOU SEE THIS APOLOGY LETTER?  IT IS THE GREATEST MODERN POEM EVER!”  Just – what?  No.  IT DOESN’T EVEN RHYME.

Frankly, I expected that people reading the apology would be more sympathetic, like, “That guy stole your fruit and then told you how awesome it was?  What a dick“.  But instead everyone is all “GENIUS!  ENCORE!” and now my husband is utterly out of control.  This morning he climbed up into the tree in the front yard wearing only a bathrobe (my bathrobe – because he’s not content to just steal my breakfast, apparently) and he refused to come down because he claims I “purposely” destroyed his latest poem.  It was not a poem.  It was our grocery list.

I told him that no one wants a poem about kitty litter and two-ply toilet paper but he said I don’t understand poetry and that he couldn’t hear me anyway because he was too busy writing a poem about how “trees are very scratchy” and at this point I don’t even know anymore.  Apparently everything is a poem now.

Here’s a poem I just made for you :  There once was a girl from Nantucket.  I wonder if she has some plums I can borrow.  The end.

Oh, Christ.  I just found a leaf on the table with a note scrawled on it reading: “This is just to say that I broke the cat when I fell out of the tree.  Forgive me.  I fell so fast and Mittens was so old.”  

Jesus, people.  Just stop encouraging him.  

Hugs, Mrs. William Carlos Willams

************

And now, the weekly wrap-up of awesomeness:

sid

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

  • Mugs are 40% off if you enter SAVING4TAXES code at check-out.  I recommend this mug or this one.
  • People always ask how to see the newest stuff.   Click here.

This week’s wrap-up is brought to you by the lovely and funny Dave Tank, whose new memoir The Year of the Roses is available right now.  I just bought a copy myself. It’s the true story of Dave spending his thirties traveling the world, always one step away from grasping success and happiness. When his mother dies unexpectedly, he has to leave his life in Paris to return home to face an unsure reality without his best friend.  Dave walks away from his career to take a year to put his life back in order. In that year, he finds the most unlikely of teachers – his mother. Through the journals of her life she had left behind, Dave learns how to see life through her eyes and find true happiness. This was the year two lives became one. The Year of the Roses. Go buy it – one for you, and one for your Mom for Mother’s Day. Details here.

Bravery by any other name.

Last week I posted a video of me face-planting into the water.  I thought I’d dip my toe in but then I realized how cold it was so I tried to back out but the water was not cooperating because it was all “I’m a not solid, idiot.  You can’t push off of me” and I was like “JESUS LIED TO ME”.   (Turns out I just wasn’t reading that part of the Bible well enough and I guess only Moses and Jesus could keep from falling into pools.)

Hailey recorded my ridiculous plunge and insisted I share the video online, and since she’s always letting me post pictures of her it seemed only fair.

I tried to embed it here but it doesn’t work so you have watch it here.  Or here’s a series of stills if you can’t watch videos of children laughing at their parents:

faceplant

But what was weird was that someone called me “brave” for posting a video of me in a bathing suit.  First I thought they were just trying to insult me but then I realized that they weren’t.  I asked twitter, “Did we change the word ‘brave’ when I wasn’t looking?  ‘Brave’ is for saving orphans from a burning building made of bees.  Wearing a bathing suit to swim is ‘normal’.

Most of twitter agreed.  My friend Popehat added, “Honestly I think it was questionable judgement to house the orphans in the bee building in the first place.”

Other’s disagreed.  Like Justin Gibbs who countered, “Please use more realistic metaphors.  Everyone knows buildings made with bees are fire resistant.”

And then I went on to talk about diseased popsicles (later renamed Poxiclespatent pending) but later I was dragged back into the conversation by a few women who pointed out that to some, posting a video of themselves in a bathing suit would be much less frightening than running into a burning bee building.  This sounds a bit insane.

But they were absolutely right.

We all have weird fears.  Some of them are universal.  Some of them are odd.  All of them are valid as emotions even if they are irrational.  I don’t have a problem with a video of me in a bathing suit because I’m old enough to not care anymore…but I have an anxiety disorder sometimes makes me terrified to leave the house.  It’s completely irrational, but it’s me.  But sometimes the thing that gets me out of the house is seeing how easily everyone else does it.  They leave their room.  They talk to people.  They come home.  No one laughs at them.  They don’t think what they do is brave, but to me it’s inspiring.

So maybe that’s the way it is for some women in bathing suits.  I could tut-tut at them but being afraid of having your flaws exposed isn’t nearly as crazy as being afraid you might have to make small talk with the mailman, so I think we’re probably even.  We’re all a little crazy.  We’re all irrationally afraid of something.  We all project our own fears onto others sometimes.

So I’ll keep wearing my bathing suit if you keep leaving the house.  And maybe with time you’ll realize that posting an awkward faceplant into the water while your child video-tapes it and laughs hysterically at you is way more embarrassing than being an imperfect woman wearing appropriate swimming attire.  And maybe in time I’ll realize that strangers aren’t going to eat me, and that leaving the house is fun and good for me even when every molecule in my body screams otherwise.

Let’s go outside.  And talk to the mailman.  In our bathing suits.  And set bees on fire so we can rescue orphans from them.  Pick one.

We can work up to the scary ones together.

Ho ho ho. Green ballsack.

jollygreenballsackI was just wondering if the Jolly Green Giant was made of vegetables, because if so it seems sort of cruel to make him a spokesperson for eating vegetables.  I looked it up and it urns out that the original Jolly Green Giant was neither “jolly” nor “green” and was actually some sort of angry caveman in a bearskin loincloth which just gave me more questions.

But I did find out that there’s an enormous, 55-foot statue of him where it seems like it would be almost impossible to not stare up at his ball sack.  Then I was like, why am I thinking about the Jolly Green Giant’s ball sack?  HOW DID THIS HAPPEN?  This is exactly why the internet is so dangerous.

But clearly I did not learn my lesson because then I looked at wikipedia to see if it could answer the question about whether JGG -and his Jolly Green Genitals- are made of vegetables and Wikipedia explained that the Green Giant came around in the 20’s in response to a new variety of pea that were “oblong, wrinkled and huge.  Despite their size, they were tender, and had a special flavor and sweetness that couldn’t be matched.”

Also, the company originally used the brand name “Le Sueur”, which is french for “The Sweat.”  Sweaty, green, oblong, huge, and wrinkled….but tender and with a special flavor.

I’m sorry.  I can’t stop laughing and I’m not going to explain why if you’re not as messed up as I am.

************

And now, the weekly wrap-up of awesomeness:

sid2

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:

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

This week’s wrap-up is brought to you by the wonderful Chris Illuminati (yes, that is his real name) who just wrote a very funny but educational bad-ass book called The New Dad Dictionary— Everything He Really Needs to Know.  I assumed it would be stuff I already knew since I’m a parent but then I got to the page about Baby Concierges and I was all, ‘WHAT THE SHIT?  BABIES GET CONCIERGES NOW?”  I didn’t even know that was a thing.  If you’re a new dad, or about to become a new dad you should totally get this book.  Check it out here.

HAPPY BIRTHDAY TO YOU! HERE IS YOUR PRESENT. THE CAT IS ON THE CAPS LOCK BUTTON AND WON’T MOVE. I’M NOT YELLING AT YOU.

IT IS MY MOTHERFUCKING BIRTHDAY AND I HAVE A SNIFFLY-ASS NOSE.

It should be against the law to not be able to breathe properly on your birthday, but such is the curse of the Capricorn…always having to share a birthday month with Jesus, and usually taking too many antibiotics to have another margarita.

birthday juanita

But, it is my birthday and if I could ask you for a present I’d ask you to go buy my second book, but I’m putting the finishing touches on it this week so you are off the hook.  Unless you haven’t read my first book, in which case get thee to a bookery.

Still, it feels like birthdays should have presents and so in celebration I’d like each of you to do something wonderful for yourself.  Maybe buy yourself those shoes you can’t stop thinking about, or watch bad tv that you love, or pet all the cats at the animal shelter, or tell the person you have a secret crush on that I’m forcing you to make out with them, or just lock yourself in a room and read until you make yourself dizzy.   It’s up to you.  Or if none of that does it for you, I’ve made you something.

It’s a horoscope.  It is non-refundable so I hope you like it.  Also, there are probably a lot of typos.  I blame the margaritas antibiotics.

WHO ARE YOU?

Capricorn:  The tears of a Capricorn can heal a broken typewriter if applied directly.  You can provoke those tears by reminding the Capricorn that they have a terrible mascot/patronus.  Seriously…goat head + fish tail = WORST MERMAID EVER.

Libra:  Never ask a Libra to mail you a five dollars.  They suck at this.  PROVE ME WRONG, LIBRAS.

Leo:  No one is good at eating corn on the cob, but Leos are the best at not being good at it.

Sagittarius:  Never tell a Sagittarius to calm their tits.  They will become violent and stabby.  “No, why don’t you calm your tits, sir?  MY TITS ARE WILD AS THE WIND.” ~ Said every Sagittarius ever.

Cancer:  Cancers always tap on the glass, even when the sign specifically says not to tap on the glass.  If you tell them not to tap on the glass they will tap even harder while staring right at you.  Don’t fuck with Cancers.

Pisces:  Pisceses are confusing.  Mostly because spellcheck doesn’t even recognize that Pisceses exist.  Instead it’s telling me that the plural of “Pisces” is still “Pisces”, which seems wrong.  But I guess the plural of “fish” is still “fish,” so that sort of makes sense?  But if the plural possessive of fish is “fish’s” then would the plural possessive of Pisces be Pisces’s?  Pesci?  Oh my God, my head hurts.  Thanks a lot, Pisceses.

Aries:  The Aries wants to correct your poor grammar on the internet but they won’t out of fear of writing something grammatically incorrect in their correction.  Except sometimes they will.  They’re terribly unpredictable, those wily Aries.

Gemini:  Almost every adult Gemini is missing his or her original teeth.  That’s right.  Your secret is out, Geminis.

Khaleesi:  Not a real sign.  True heir to the Iron Throne.

Scorpio:  Scorpios act all tough, but really they are a full sack of feelings.  Who hurt you, Scorpio?  TELL ME WHO HURT YOU.

Virgo:  Virgo is simply not having it.  None of it.  None of your motherfucking bullshit.   Awww, you done fucked up now.  You better run.  Virgo’s got a knife.

Taurus:  The great tragedy of the Taurus is that they can’t eat cheese.  No, that’s not right.  It’s that they are always making witty references but no one in real life understands the references.  No.  Hang on.  Is it something about gluten?  Shit.  The great tragedy of the Taurus is that no one remembers what their great tragedy is.

Aquarius: The only thing Loch Ness Monsters find more delicious than an Aquarius is two Aquariuses.  Don’t go into the water, Aquariuses.  That’s how they get you.

PS.  Happy birthday to you.  I know it’s not your birthday but I’m getting a head start on next year.  Unless it is your birthday, in which case I totally knew that.  That’s why I made you this horoscope.  Happy birthday, us.  We’re awesome.