Category Archives: no one thinks this is funny but me

Nancy Pelosi is extremely disappointed in me for destroying the Democratic Party. In my defense, I can’t even load the dishwasher properly so maybe it was a mistake to give me that much responsibility.

Yesterday my friend Laura and I decided we needed a break so we went camping (fine, glamping) and it was very relaxing until we checked our phones in front of the camp fire and realized that we’d gotten tons of frantic, distraught emails from the DCCC (Democratic Congressional Campaign Committee) who was using some fairly odd tactics to get us to donate cash to fund ads battling the ads that the Republicans were seeking donations for.  I’m not into politics so I’m sure I explained that wrong, but what I do know is that all night we were flooded with so many doom-filled emails that if the DCCC was a person I would have called the police to have them do a well-check.  I realize this is partially our fault, as Laura and I have each donated before, and that we could have unsubscribed if we wanted to, but at a certain point it became so insane that it crossed over into baffling entertainment.

Just a few of most terrifying:

From: Nancy Pelosi <dccc@dccc.org>
Date: September 30, 2014
Subject: we. will. fail.

We will fail to hit our goal tonight

Laura, we’ve tried everything.

– President Obama has emailed you.
– Hillary Clinton has emailed you.
– I’ve emailed you more than I can count.

But with this new Republican outside spending, we’ll still need 28,OOO more online donations to be able to compete.

It’s hard to see that happening with just 4 hours until the deadline.

We have a meeting set to figure out how we’ll slash our campaign plan. But for right now, we have to ask one more time:

Can you please donate to President Obama’s call-to-action, and help us limit the damage?

MIDNIGHT DEADLINE: All Gifts Triple-Matched!

Thanks, Nancy

Nancy’s disappointment in us was palpable and we suspected we would soon be grounded.  Then more letters flooded in from equally frantic DCCC members asking for donations and saying things like:

“We’ll be blunt:  We need help.  And we don’t know where else to turn”

“It’s just awful.”

“We’ve got nothing left, Laura.”

“YOU ARE ON NOTICE.”

“If we fall behind now, we will be past the point of no return. We will lose.”

 

The subject lines alone made me need xanax: “no time. just read.”  “PUMMELED.” “BEGGING.”  “we. will. fail.” “Please help!”  “TRAGIC Conclusion.”  You could almost hear them pulling their hair out and tearing at their clothes.  Honestly though, the “BEGGING” one did push me into action.  Here it is:

From: James Carville <dccc@dccc.org>
Date: September 30, 2014
Subject: BEGGING

I’m not going to sit by and let the Republicans buy this election.

Will you chip in $5 or whatever you can right now to turn this election around?

(If it helps, I’ll beg too.)

We’re still coming up short.

When we say we’re begging, we’re REALLY begging.

Control of Congress is at stake. President Obama’s agenda is on the line. And we’re in serious danger of falling short here.

If we can’t pull it together TODAY, we’re going to get demolished.

We’re begging, Laura. We need 13 donors from your zip code to answer President Obama’s call-to-action. Can you step up today?

MIDNIGHT DEADLINE: All Gifts Triple-Matched!

Sure, it was a little unsettling that our own party was sending us emails that made us feel like we’d all spontaneously explode that night, but in their defense, that terrifying email shamelessly entitled “BEGGING” was the one that spurred me into action.  Sure, I could donate the $5 they were asking for, but I’d already done that before and it obviously wasn’t enough to stem the hysteria so Laura and I decided to use some good ol’ DCCC tactics to raise morale and money:  Apocalyptic-sounding emails.

We replied directly to James Carville’s email:

Date: September 30, 2014
To: “dccc@dccc.org”
Subject: Re: BEGGING 

Dear James Carville:

I am begging you right back.

Please, please, please, for the love of God, send me a photo of yourself holding a Popsicle or other frozen confectionary by midnight tonight and I will not only donate five dollars, I will match that five dollars.

If the frozen dessert is an ice cream sandwich I will triple match it.

And I’ll use that photo to raise money for our party. Your gift can make or break us.

DON’T LET US DOWN, JAMES CARVILLE.

Unsurprisingly, the DCCC recognized the power of vaguely threatening emails and responded immediately.  They must have been confused though, because their email read like a form letter and began like this:

From: <dccc@dccc.org>
Date: September 30, 2014

Thanks for emailing us at the Democratic Congressional Campaign Committee (DCCC)!

If you have a question or request, we want to get you what you need as quickly as possible:

1. Want to donate online to our campaign to elect Democrats?  CLICK HERE TO ACCESS OUR SECURE DONATION FORM…

We stopped reading at that point because they seem to have misread our initial email.  Suddenly I understood how frustrated they probably were.  It is awful when people ignore your histrionic emails.  But we took a deep breath and (following standard DCCC procedures) we decided to send another email explaining the severity of the issue and the level of shame they need to feel:

Date: September 30, 2014
To: DCCC
Subject: Re: Thanks for emailing the DCCC Membership Team!

Dear DCCC:

Thanks for emailing us at Laura’s laptop!

You said: “If you have a question or request, we want to get you what you need as quickly as possible” but the quickest way would have been to respond to my original response asking James Carville to send a photo of himself holding a popsicle (or similar) by midnight. Please see original email for details as it could be worth up to $15 to our party.

PULL IT TOGETHER, DCCC.

“1. Want to donate online to our campaign to elect Democrats?” Yes. Desperately. But I can’t help you until you help yourself. As Nancy Pelosi said to me moments ago, “I’ve emailed you more than I can count.”  (Twice, actually. So I guess I can count how many times. Sorry.  I’m bad at hyperbole.)  At first I thought Nancy was shaming me a bit much considering that we don’t know each other, but I understand her frustration now.

If we don’t get the photo of James Carville holding some sort of frozen dessert the Republicans will have already won. As you said to me a few hours ago, if we don’t have your cooperation “We. Will. Fail.”

YOU ARE NOW OFFICIALLY ON NOTICE. Your chance to get my donation TRIPLE-MATCHED will end at midnight tonight. Control of Congress is at stake. Please, don’t delay.

Also, that last paragraph was taken almost directly from the email you sent me moments ago but I don’t know how to do it in the flashing yellow warning letters like you did. Please know, however, that I am just as serious, regardless of font.

Shockingly, no popsicle pictures came.  Apparently the DCCC were just as immune to our threats as we were to theirs.

We checked on twitter to see if we were alone in getting these terrifying emails every few minutes.  We were not:  (You should see a box of tweets here that you can scroll down through when your mouse is inside it.  If not, just go to the link)

[View the story “I thought it was just me.” on Storify]

We waited for the whole hour(s?) for a follow-up after the midnight deadline passed, but all was quiet.  We had expected another email.  Possibly something with the subject: “WE. ARE. DOOMED. And it’s mostly your fault” with a picture of orphans and kittens and orphaned kittens being speared by gleeful Republicans making giant shish-ka-bobs.  Instead?  Silence.  They were serious.  It really had been our last chance to donate and be triple-matched.  We felt a bit bad and said a prayer for the people at the DCCC, who we hoped were being given sedatives by helpful nurses.

The next day this came from Nancy:

Date: Wed, Oct 1, 2014
Subject: we. fell. short. 
I was being dead serious when I said we’d miss our goal last night.

We fell short.

Despite emails from President Obama, Hillary Clinton, and myself…we just couldn’t get it done.

It was one of the most aggressive fundraising goals we’ve ever had. We even surpassed our initial goal of 1OO,OOO online donations in 5 days. But we were forced to raise our goal when we learned that Republican outside groups put in 12 million dollars at the very last-minute.

I’m not giving up. And you shouldn’t either, Laura.

We have one last chance to right this ship. To do it, we need 11 donors from your zip code to make a triple-matched donation by midnight.

TRIPLE-MATCH EXTENSION: (for donations made TODAY ONLY)

Chip in $5 immediately >>

Chip in $35 immediately >>

Chip in $50 immediately >>

Chip in $100 immediately >>

Chip in $250 immediately >>

Or click here to donate another amount.

Thanks,

Nancy

PS. For those of you who might be new here: This isn’t a political post.  It’s more about marketing.  Also, it’s a waste of your time to debate politics in the comments section because this community is fairly divided politically but united in the fact that you have the freedom to believe whatever you want no matter how wrong you are.  I’m a Democrat but I’m married to a Republican and we can both agree that there’s a lot of crazy bullshit on both sides.  If you can’t recognize that you probably need to seek help right now.  But first give me $5 immediately if you believe in America, or else all the American eagles will become so despondent that they’ll lay out in the middle of the road and just let you run over them.

PPS.  I wrote this yesterday but forgot to publish it.  This is exactly why I should never be trusted with deadlines, Democrats.

I think we all knew the world would end like this anyway.

and thats how the world ended

Original image

UPDATED:  I posted this and then Facebook immediately crashed.  The implosion has begun, people.

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.

 *******************

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.

It’s probably not racist. Or possibly it’s racist to assume it might be racist. I’m sort of fucked either way.

Last week I wrote that I had something to share that I thought was funny, but that I wasn’t certain if I could write about it because I wasn’t sure if it was racist or not, and so I asked a black friend and she said it was fine, but then I thought I needed to ask some more black friends but two of them didn’t respond to me and then I got bored.  Then my original friend who was all “It’s not racist.  White people are allowed to like Snoop Dogg too” saw that I’d totally wimped out of writing the post in the first place and so she just left the comment: “Chicken“.  And she was right.  So instead I wrote into “Yo, Is This Racist?” to ask that guy his opinon since he’s an expert but he’s not responding to me.  Probably because he’s racist.  That was a joke.  More likely it’s in his spam folder.  Maybe both.  Regardless, I felt very stupid and somewhat cowardly about not publishing the post, and so I thought I’d post it now because technically it’s like I’m encouraging the necessary and on-going conversation about race-issues.  Also, this lead-up is way too long and makes this whole post a bit anti-climatic.  I apologize for that and also for possibly being accidentally racist.  I assure you that my next post will be back to non-offensive topics like dog rape and making fun of ugly babies.  Turn away now if you are only here for ugly babies.

Someone sent me a link to gizoogle, which is much like if my friend Snoop Dogg was reinterpreting the internet.  Also, can you call someone your “friend” if you once spent a lot of time hanging out with his wax sculpture?  I say “yes”.  This is my wiki-page reinterpreted by gizoogle.  It is awesome.

“Right back up in your motherfucking ass” is my new auto-signature.

Hold me closer, Tony Danza

This weekend I spoke at the Texas Book Festival and it was very weird, but awesome.  Also, Tony Danza opened for me.  Or possibly Tony Danza headlined and I just randomly followed him.  Either way, it makes for a good conversation starter.  Also, when Tony Danza was walking backstage I gave him one of those knowing waves that you give to people that says “Oh, hello again, person-that-I-totally-know-very-well” so he had to stop and say hi just in case he really knew me, and then I sort of freaked him out unintentionally.

me to Tony Danza:  I once almost had this dead pony and I was going to name it Pony Danza so I could sing “Hold Me Closer, Pony Danza” to it.

Tony Danza:  Oh.

me:  But then I got outbid on the dead pony.

Tony Danza:  Ah.

me:  It had been dead for like a hundred years.  I didn’t ask them to kill a live pony.  I would never do that.

Tony:  I would never think that about you.

me:  Well, you don’t know me very well.

Then after Tony Danza left I realized that I never told him that the dead pony was taxidermied and wasn’t just an abandoned pony corpse.  So now Tony Danza probably thinks I have emotional issues and that I collect dead ponies.  And that is a sentence I never thought I’d write.

Hold me closer, Tony Danza.

PS.  A few hours later I ran into Tony Danza again and we rode around on golf carts together so I’m pretty sure we’re cool.  Or that Tony Danza really just likes riding around on golf carts with emotionally unstable women.  Hard to tell with golf carts.

PPS.  My new t-shirt.

 

Just to answer your question in advance, I have a lot of small wigs because I thought they’d fit the dead weasels but then it turned out they were slightly too large and I hate returning things.

Victor:  Why did you put a wig on the cat?

me:  Better question:  Why do you always assume it’s me?  I’m not the only one who lives here, you know.

Victor:  Hailey?

Hailey:  Yeah?

Victor:  Did you put a wig on the cat?

Hailey:  Why would I put a wig on a cat?

me:  This proves nothing.

Victor:  You don’t have to get all defensive.  I just don’t understand why you do shit like this, crazy cat lady.

me:  I have a lot of very small wigs.  I have a lot of very small cats.  This math does itself.

The cat has a face for wigs. It's a gift that you can't just ignore, Victor.

UPDATED: The man deserves a damn medal

UPDATED:  SEE BELOW…

Today is mine and Victor’s 16th anniversary, which is sort of insane. You might remember last year, when I declared 15 year anniversaries should be marked with unexpected giant metal chickens at the door.

This year I had to outdo Beyonce (the giant metal chicken, not the singer. I try not to compete with her) so I’ve been searching for something similarly unexpected to come knocking at the door.  I considered buying a giant metal egg because then when people asked “Which came first, the chicken or the egg?” I could definitively say “The chicken” but it just didn’t seem BIG enough.  Then, after weeks of searching, I finally found the perfect thing.

Victor pretty much begged me to not get him anything because I think he was still trying to forgive me for last year, but then I finally convinced him that it was something awesome and so when the doorbell finally rang I screamed “OMG SHE’S HERE” and Victor was all “‘She?’ You got me a stripper?” and I glared at him because that’s the first place his head went, and then I went to answer the door and get his anniversary present.

"YOUR EYES DO NOT DECEIVE YOU. I GOT YOU A PET MOTHERFUCKING SLOTH."

 

Victor was speechless.

Probably because there was an unexpected sloth in the house.  People are hardly ever prepared for unexpected sloths in the house.

I tried to get Victor to hug the sloth and Victor said “no” and then he said some other things I can’t write here, and then he said I was going to get pee all over me, and I explained that A) these are the risks you take when you own a pet sloth and B) we were in luck because the delivery guy said he peed yesterday and they only pee once a week.  

BEST. PET. EVER.

Victor disagreed.  Vehemently.

Then I explained that getting a sloth hug could cure the most vicious of heartaches and then that sloth snuggled into my heart and made me feel awesome for the first time all day (because I was still sad that we had to put our ancient cat to sleep this week, not because I was sad it was our anniversary) and I may have gotten a bit teary, and that’s when Victor started to panic because he already knew that I had a Posey-shaped-hole in my life and that I was more than unbalanced enough to fill it with an unexpected sloth.

They should change "bear hug" to "sloth hug" because sloths give the very BEST animal hugs and you don't end up mutilated at the end of them.

Then Victor started to look a little sick and I admitted that the sloth was not his present because obviously I couldn’t be expected to keep up with a pet even lazier than me, because that’s like giving an alcoholic a bottle of bourbon for a pet.  Nothing good could come of this.  Victor was very relieved and even shakily petted Jilly-the-awesome-sloth until I told him that his real present was still outside.

Knock knock, motherfucker.

“I GOT YOU A BABY KANGAROO!” I may have screamed.  But I screamed it quietly and winsomely because I didn’t want to scare the sloth in my arms.

hop, hop, hop

 

Then the baby kangaroo jumped all over the house and Victor went into shock when it jumped into the house and ran right to the living room rug, and I was all “You know?  For boxing?”  And Victor was all “WTF?” and I explained that he’d mentioned wanted getting back into martial arts again and that I thought a kangaroo would make great sparring partner.  Then Victor just stared at me and I was all “You’ll have to teach him kung fu though” and then Victor just put his head in his hands because apparently he doesn’t have as much faith in his teaching skills as I do.

Then I finally broke down and explained that it wasn’t a real kangaroo and was only a wallaby, so it’ll stay that little forever and would probably be able to bring us drinks when we were thirsty, but only if we didn’t mind having the drinks splashed all over the house.

“We’ll have to invest in lids,” I explained.

Then Victor mumbled something about not feeling safe in his own house and I finally admitted that the un-kangaroo, Jilly-the-sloth, and the hedgehog hidden in my pocket were just on loan from the amazingly knowledgeable folks at Zoomagination, who were bad-ass enough to help me carry off this entire prank, and who taught me more about sloth pee than I ever would have expected.

Then we called Hailey over and she freaked out in the best possible way and screamed, “THERE IS A KANGAROO IN OUR LIVING ROOM ” and Victor and I both laughed at her glee and it was awesome.


And it was everything a 16th wedding anniversary should be.

At least in this house.

UPDATED:  It’ll probably get changed any second but this is a screenshot from wikipedia showing traditional 15th and 16th wedding gifts:

Awesome.