Category Archives: Post that people who don’t twitter won’t get

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.

In twitter, much like life, there is no rhyme or reason

I’ve never noticed it before, but apparently now you can look at your Twitter Activity Dashboard to see which of your tweets are actually being seen.  I could already guess which of mine would be the highest ranked this year because I can see which ones get retweeted or favorited, but I thought I’d check to see if I was right.

According to twitter analytics, in the last 28 days I’ve had a few million impressions (Impressions = # of times people saw tweets).  That seems like a lot but I’ve written a ton, adopted a new member of the family, captured a possible ghost phantom on camera, joined Instagram, and live-tweeted an unexpected visit to a ghost-town where we were escorted by a bossy emu and several llamas.

I expected that my highest ranked tweet would be the ones I wrote during a particularly terrible night, because they were retweeted and favorited the most:

“90% of the people I know right now are falling apart physically or mentally this week. Be kind. To others and yourself.”

“You’ll get through this. I promise.”

Surprisingly, the actual tweet which blew everything else out of the water (according the analytics) was apparently much more important….

enchilda on plane

Conclusion:  Twitter is just as baffling as Facebook now.  Also, enchiladas are more dangerous than expected.  And now I’m hungry for enchiladas.  Thanks, twitter.

PS.  Seriously, does anyone understand the actual algorithms for Facebook and twitter regarding which updates actually get seen?  Why do I never see some of my friends updates but see others constantly?  Why do I see things on my timeline days after they’ve been shared?  Is it witchcraft?  Because it feels like witchcraft.

And then this piece of fried gold happened because I’m the luckiest person ever

Remember last month when I was in Hollywood for some reason?  Well, this was the reason.  It’s a special gift just for you.

A few weeks ago I shared the book trailer that Penguin came up with for me.  This week I’m sharing the book trailer I came up with for you guys.  It’s insane and I can’t stop giggling at it.

Also, I want to lick every single person in this video because they are all terrific sports and are more awesome than enchiladas.

Here’s the link if you can’t see it.

PS.  You can order the book and check out tour dates by clicking here.  Thanks so much to every single one of you for being so supportive and amazing over the last ten years of writing this book.  I can’t believe it comes out in just a couple of weeks.  Insane.

PPS.  A special thank you to Soleil, Mary Lynn, Amanda, Neil, Felicia, Jeri, Bigfoot and Wil.  You are the stuff that dreams are made of.

An open letter to lots of people I’ve accidentally offended

You know when you’re on twitter and someone sends you a DM about zombie gnomes, and then the next day you DM them back, saying: “That’s fucking hysterical. You made my whole morning!”

And then you go to their actual public twitter stream and it’s all: “Thank you so much for all of your kind words and DM’s”, and you realize that ten minutes ago they posted that their beloved grandma just died unexpectedly?

Yeah. I am so sorry about that.

Well, that’s not flattering.

I’ve been a bit MIA this week, but today I logged onto the computer to find that my klout score is quite strong, and that I’ve become very influential…in the field of Satan.  Frankly, I didn’t even know that was an option.  It’s like finding out that I’m an accidental prodigy, and also that I’ve somehow lost my soul along the way.  I’m like the social media version of Faust.

PS.  A friend just pointed out that if you google “douche canoe”, my picture shows up in the image gallery 20 times.

This is almost exactly what I expected fame would feel like.

Honestly, it’s sort of hard to argue with any of these.

Several people sent me links to this new site that analyzes your past tweets and comes up with what your next tweet will probably be according to your personality and past habits.  I assume the average person gets stuff like “I need coffee” and “Good morning everyone!”  Not me.

Things that “Yes, That Can Be My Next Tweet” predicts I will say in the near future:

“Quick.  Someone get me a replacement cobra.”

“MOTHERFUCKER.  Ha!”

“My alligator is worsening.  I need an 11 cent payment for a cave.”

“Here.”

“I never thought I’d like a firey crash so much.”

“No, that taxidermied pig dressed as my special lady is not leaving me.”

“I’m ready to hate me now.”

“I NEVER WORE THAT, VICTOR.  So stabby.”

“I need two perky young priests and three squirrels.  After insurance.”

“There is that shoe again.  I’m worried.  Where’s the bucket?”

“Okay, three words: It’s like, FUCK YOU! YOU’VE CHANGED.”

“I have captained space ships.  Also, this entire day just came out five hours later.  I blame the future.”

“Home from Jesus’ death?”

“I don’t know who owns this own crossbow. Right now we’re cool. ~ But HALF A BLOWJOB?”

“I just made an arm.”

“Home from something stupid.”

“Victor: Why do Pickles look they hate me.”

“Also, Victor’s broken arm casts now endorse unicycling.”

And my personal favorites:

It’s a valid question.

Can you carry an alligator on a plane? Answer: I still don’t entirely know.

If you follow me on twitter then you already know that yesterday I bought and smuggled a dead alligator onto a plane so you can just skip the next paragraph and go straight to the money-shot below.

If you missed it, I’ll just sum up by saying that if you ask twitter if it’s legal to carry a smallish sort of taxidermied alligator onto a plane with you, most people will say “Um, no.  You aren’t even allowed to bring breast milk on a plane.”  Then you’ll point out that the alligator is at least 50 years old, is wearing clothes and is missing a hand and some of them will change their mind but most will still insist he’ll be considered a weapon.  Then you’ll say “I can’t imagine anyone seriously thinking I’d try to take over a plane using only a tiny, clothed alligator as a weapon” and everyone on twitter will like “Really? Have you even met you?  Because that sounds exactly like something you’d do.”  And they had a point.  But what I learned is that if you carry your alligator through the airport with confidence, no one ever questions you. Probably because you’re holding an alligator.

I call him "Jean-Louis". Victor is not a fan. Probably because he had to share the window seat. And because I'm already making plans to buy him a tiny pirate suit. And a hook for his missing hand. And a saucy little pony-tail. Victor: "This dead alligator is a damn money pit." Oh my God, if I had a nickel for every time someone said that to me.

Dear internet: You have lost your damn mind. Never change.

If this is your first time here you should skip this post.  Really.  Go away until tomorrow.  It’s one long run-on sentence and makes almost no sense and it’s filled with typos.  I haven’t slept in two days.

The last 36 hours has been strange even by my personal standards.  First of all, after two years of turmoil and struggle I was finally recognized for my contribution in the field of politics when I was presented with a Shorty Award.  It was a big night for me and I may have screamed a bit, which was fine because I was actually watching it from home because I was too freaked out to go to New York alone and I think Victor broke his arm on purpose so that I wouldn’t walk up on stage in my panda suit to accept the award from that guy who does the Daily Show.  Also, I was told to submit my acceptance speech in case I win and I specifically asked them to have Jerry Stiller read it and accept the award for me, but when he came out on the stage at the beginning he looked so frail that I wanted to just put him in an egg container to keep him safe, and I silently prayed that they wouldn’t actually let him read my acceptance speech because I gave him stage directions that when he screams “WOLVERIIIIIIIIIIINES!” he should do it with victorious fist-pumping action, (ala Red Dawn) and I’m fairly sure it would have shattered all the bones in his body.  No one wants to be responsible for killing Jerry Stiller.

For those of you wondering what the fuck I’m talking about and why I even wanted a political award when I don’t actually have anything to do with politics, I will give you a short summary.  Part 1: 15 months ago I was somehow shortlisted in a political category for the Shorty Awards (it’s like the Oscars of Twitter) and I spent a lot of time telling The Shorty Award people that I’m not actually in government but it didn’t work because people kept voting for me ironically so I decided to run with it and took on NASA and the Mayor of New York.  Also, my personal hero (Author, Neil Gaiman) decided he’d run for the Customer Service category because the “author” category just seemed too fucking obvious, and also I think we were drawn to the idea of showing why voter-driven awards are fundamentally flawed.

Part 2.  I was a top finalist until the last day of voting when I was unceremoniously stripped of all of my votes because NASA paid them off.  I assume.  The Shorty People said it was because I’m not really a Government official.  They also stripped Neil of his Customer Service votes.  It was totally shitty but the city of Martindale Texas came to the rescue and named me as their official Czar.  I report to the stray cat that lives at city hall.  None of this is made up and I have pictures to prove it.

Part 3. I sent a strongly-worded email to the Shorty Awards demanding my votes be reinstated as I was now a Government official.  They told me I need a full year of service before it counts.  I think maybe the shorty awards don’t know how the Government works.

Part 4. The Shorty Awards hate ponies.

Part 5. The Mayor of Martindale traveled to Houston to present me with my crown, scepter, and a government proclamation (signed by the cat).  Then I was attacked on stage by a stray baby.

Part 6: In my duties as an official Czar of Texas I have judged and accidentally desecrated a beauty pageant (but forgot to write about it) and personally welcomed Neil Gaiman to Texas.  I planned to give him the key to the city but the only key I had on me was my mailbox key and I was expecting a package that week.

Part 7 (one year from ordinal update):  This is part seven.  It’s been a year of service and after many dedicated followers (thank you!) voted to reverse this travesty I found myself short-listed, and the finalist list went to the Academy to make the final vote.  It’s an Academy that includes MC Hammer.  This is all true.  Apparently MC Hammer is a fan of chaos and anarchy because I won.  They flashed my acceptance speech (recognizing Martindale, TX and the cat I report to) onto the screen and it was done.  It would have been more exciting except one of the other winners was a sandwich.  True story.  Winners include me, Conan O’Brien, and a sandwich.  I’m not sure what they’re going to do with my glass trophy since I wasn’t there to accept it but if they don’t want to mail it me I’m going to ask them to give it to a homeless person because homeless people deserve trophies too.

Then yesterday I asked everyone on twitter to paypal me 11 cents in the next 24 hours because I needed $1,000 to buy something incredibly stupid.  And they did.  Hundreds and hundreds of 11 cent paypal donation flooded in and I emailed out 450 thank you notes until my wrists seized up and I had to quit.  As of this moment people have sent in $402 in mostly 11 cent increments.  Which is completely insane.  And awesome.

Hard to argue with that one.

Sadly, this morning I was informed that the taxidermied pig (who died of natural causes) dressed as Scarlett O’Hara that I desperately wanted to buy was not properly preserved and is no longer a good investment because it’s “totally stinky”.  I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t disappointed but I shall persevere.  And instead of saving up for my the next stupidest thing on my list (Hannah the drunken squirrel pianist ~ “Cognac is her drink of choice, while silly little love songs are her song of choice. She drinks until the songs become sad, then stops“) I’ve decided to take this money and give back to the community in the most ridiculous way I can think of.

Remember a few weeks ago when Wil Wheaton sent me a picture of himself collating papers so I could use it to stop spam?  Exactly.  That was awesome.  And that’s why I’m going to offer Nathan Fillion $402 to send me a picture of himself holding twine.  Sexily, if possible.

PS. If Nathan does not respond then I’m going to use the money to buy a bunch of pigmy goats for my neighbor because then I won’t have to be responsible for the goats but I can still play with them.  Best idea ever.

PPS.  The very best part of the whole Shorty Award ceremony:  Amanda Palmer plays tweets of random celebs…fucking awesome.

UPDATED: It’s been several days and Nathan Fillion not tweeted anything remotely regarding twine.  He did, however, tweet a picture of a fake dead cat covered in ketchup and another one of him stand next to food.  In other words, Nathan Fillion has lost his damn mind.  Personally, I’m concerned and I think perhaps we need to leave him alone.   The good news though is that I told Alyssa Milano that I seem to have inadvertantly terrified Nathan Fillion and asked if she could stand in for him and she replied “I’m confused”, which is totally a fair response.  Then I explained a bit further and she said she would totally be happy to send us a picture the very next time she did something incredibly random.  I suggested a picture of her thumbwrestling Sarah Silverman or or possibly having a staring contest with an animal but it’s really up to her.  Personally, it doesn’t even matter if she never sends anything.  The very fact that she responded at all makes her fucking classy in my book.  This would have a funnier ending if I didn’t only have 9 minutes before my laptop battery gives out.  Just pretend I wrote something hysterically right here.

(UPDATED: NOW WITH MORE WIL WHEATON) An open letter to Wil Wheaton

Dear Wil Wheaton,

Hi.  I’m sure you must be very confused about my insistent tweets asking for a picture of you collating, and about the fact that the I Blame Wil Wheaton shirt was given an award for being one of the most viewed shirts on zazzle.

First of all, let me assure you that I do not actually blame you.  I blame your secretary.  Or whoever is in charge of sending out photos of you collating papers.  She should probably be fired.

Secondly, I’m pretty sure that you haven’t sent me a picture yet because you’re not sure what I’m going do with it and that is a totally fair question and one I’d be asking myself if a sex worker was asking me for a picture of me collating paper.  In fact, I’d probably suspect that “collating paper” was code for some kind of weird sex act.  Like, remember back before the internet was invented, when “laying cable” just meant you were laying cable?  Me either.  But I assure you, “collating paper” here just means collating paper.

You probably don’t read my blog so I should explain that the reason I need a picture of you is because I constantly get emails from PR people offering me pictures of celebrities using whatever bullshit product I don’t actually care about and I’d like it to stop.  Most recently I wrote about my interactions with PR people who wanted to send me photos of Lou Diamond Phillips holding water, and of Selma Blair wearing a scarf.  (This is all true). I still get these emails daily and my plan is to get a picture of you collating paper so that when they offer me a picture of “Harry Connick Jr. standing next to yarn” I can say “Thanks.  Here’s a picture of Wil Wheaton collating paper” and then they’ll be like “Um…why would I want a picture of Wil Wheaton collating paper?” and I can be like, “EXACTLY.”  It wouldn’t actually stop PR people from emailing me thousands of pictures of people-with-things but I’d at least feel better about it.

Hugs,

Jenny

PS.  It’s totally okay if you don’t want to send me a picture at all because years ago you commented on a post I wrote for a blog that doesn’t even exist anymore and now you get a pass for pretty much anything.  You wrote “Now you can scratch one off”.  I know because I kept the notification.  I can’t actually remember what the post was about but I’m fairly certain your response, though brief, was totally apropos.  Also, I emailed you to make sure it was really you and you responded: “It’s me”.  Seven characters.  It’s pretty clear you had a talent for twitter before it was even invented.

PPS.  I had the maid proof-read this and she just pointed out that “laying cable” is not a sexual euphemism at all and I was like “Who’s the sex worker here, lady? They sent me to Japan to write about sex ponies so I’m pretty sure I’m the expert here” but then I looked it up and it turns out that “laying cable” is code for taking a long, unbroken poop.  Apparently I was confusing “laying pipe” with “laying cable”and I’ve been saying it wrong for pretty much my entire life.  Awesome. Plus, now the maid is claiming that “writing about sex doesn’t make you a sex worker” so I had to pull up the pictures of me in the sex dungeon for proof and she was all “You’re fully clothed” and I was like “I think I have a picture of me naked in here somewhere” and then my husband walked in and was all “Why is no one working in here?” and I was like “Do you know where those pictures are of me naked but covered with hamburgers?” and the maid was like “It doesn’t count if you’re covered with hamburgers” and then Victor said that from now on I’m not allowed to be in the house on days when the maid comes.  Because apparently he doesn’t want me to have friends.

PPPS.  I found the hamburger pictures.  You don’t have to look at them though.  They’re really more for the maid, who I’m not allowed to talk to anymore.  I don’t blame you though.  I blame Victor.

UPDATED:

WIL WHEATON IS A GOLDEN GOD.

Reason #307 why I love the internet.

Updated again:  It would be selfish to keep this to myself.  This page is for you.  You’re welcome, world.

I THREATENED TO CUT HER: The exciting new trend no one is talking about.

I just got an email letting me know that some twitter analysis website had named me the number one trendsetter in the category of “I THREATENED TO CUT HER“.  Which is odd because I’m the only person listed in this entire category. I’m pretty sure that’s not how trends work.

It's not really a trend if you're the only one doing it. It's more of a "bizarre aberration", at best.

Updated: Oh, hang on.  They’ve also listed the top topics I’m most likely to discuss as “blogging ethics” and “logic“.  Clearly they’re just fucking with me.  Never mind.