Category Archives: Posts that will get me hate mail

UPDATED: The Church of Bloggessianism. Choose your title, strangelings.

A few weeks ago I was accidentally made the leader of a church which doesn’t actually exist and now we have over 2,000 members.  I’m pretty sure than makes me some sort of Pope so please send me hats.

roundbloggessianism

More about that here if you missed it.

We decided that it would be nice to have some commandments, but “Commandment” seemed a bit pushy so we’re leaning more toward “Helpful Hints” or “Life Hacks”.  I came up with the first few.  The rest are a few of my favorites you’ve come up with.  Feel free to add your own:

Current Life Hacks for the Church of Bloggessianism:

  • Don’t be an asshole.
  • Extra gravy for everyone.
  • Two holy days of observance each month requiring Bloggessians to take the day off and watch bad tv or read in bed. We also get all the regular holidays off for every other religion because we’re incredibly open-minded and like to support other beliefs as well. This includes Talk-Like-A-Pirate-Day, National Donut Day, Deviled Egg Appreciation Day, etc. (FYI…today is National Sundae Day, even though it’s Tuesday, but it’s nice because you need to leave right now and eat ice cream for religious reasons.)
  • If you see a sloth you are given special dispensation to hug it. Present your official card to any zoo officials.
  • Here is your official I-Can-Hold-A-Sloth-Because-It’s-Against-My-Religion-Not-To card.
  • Mosquitos are now illegal.
  • Wearing slippers and pajamas in public is a sign of your faith and you’re allowed to kick judgey people in the knee if they question you. Togas are also acceptable if you are feeling particularly religious or if you’ve run out of clean clothes altogether.
  • Bacon at every meal. Chocolate dipped bacon for special high holidays.
  • Blessed are the pickles, for they are pickled.
  • Thou shall always ask for help when you need it.
  • Thou shall carry thy metal spork for all sudden stabby needs.
  • Thou shall glitter-bomb assholes.
  • Thou shall get your slow ass out of the fast lane.
  • Thou shalt not covet thy neighbor’s giant metal chicken.
  • Thou shalt not lick foxen, unless the foxen are into it.
  • Thou shalt not share things on facebook until thou hast verified their truth.
  • Thou shalt not throw co-workers under the bus.
  • Thou shalt not leave your cart in the middle of the grocery aisle and wander off to find tuna fish.
  • Thou shalt not talk to people who are less than 10 pages from the end of the book they are currently reading
  • Thou shalt not make commandments.
  • Thou shalt not shalt others. 
  • Honor the saints of Bloggessianism. St. Wil of Collating.  St. Jeri Ryan of Spatula. Nancy W. Kappes, Patron Saint of Chemical Substances.  James Garfield, Patron Saint of Taxidermy.  Etc.
  • Special dispensation from parallel-parking.
  • Pants are always optional. Always.
  • We brake for taxidermy. Also chocolate. And phantom Sasquatches.
  • Never stand if you can sit.  Never sit if you can lie down.
  • We all get our own pony.
  • Cadbury mini eggs are available year round.
  • And none for Gretchen Weiners.
  • You may decline on the gravy, or give your gravy as a charitable contribution to those less gravied.
  • Christmas is a mandatory onesie day.
  • No one leaves the house until all cookies are eaten.
  • All orphaned pygmy hippos will be adopted, and named George.
  • On the sabbath, excerpts shall be read from “The Phantom Tollbooth.”
  • Take care of each other.
  • Never take advice from someone with bad eyebrows.
  • The go-to phrase for asking anybody to hold something shall invariably be, “Hold my poodle.”
  • Everything comes with a side of pancakes.
  • No observances during the Zombie Apocalypse.
  • Whosoever believeth in me shall be confused all the days of their lives.
  • FOR CHRIST’S SAKE, LOIS. THIS IS CAMP. GET TOUGH OR DIE.
  • Depression lies.
  • Red dresses are sacred.
  • Bloggessians may be taxidermied upon death and kept in the family home. Keeping them fashionably dressed is a must or you may be haunted by them.
  • The only weapons we believe in are books and we believe in heavily arming everyone.
  • Mandatory Cupcake Monday
  • Taco Tuesday
  • Saturday is now Caterday.
  • Time is a “wibbly wobbly concept” and therefore deadlines are portals that must be avoided unless we’re okay with being trapped in a rift.
  • Bloggessians can decline social events without guilt for any reasons related to their heads getting in the way.
  • Celebrate the awkwarding.
  • Never let anyone be awkward all alone.
  • Remember that thou art as special and irreplaceable as the people you love most. 
  • Keep the Victor in thy prayers and do not succumb to the wrongness; forever and ever or until the gravy runs out.
  • Wine shall be an acceptable beverage at all hours of the day.
  • Everyone should be owned by at least one animal.
  • Naps shall be mandatory.
  • Members of the church can still be members of any other religion or lack-thereof, but membership into the Double Unicorn Success Club is automatic.
  • Spiders must ask permission before entering a home.
  • All members, male and female alike, shall have their own tiaras.
  • Inappropriate giggling is always appropriate.
  • Share your successes. Share your failures. Share your booze.
  • No icy cold weather allowed. But sometimes snow.
  • Our biggest tenet is David Tenant.
  • One can NEVER have too many towels.
  • Above all things, we strive to be furiously happy. If that doesn’t work, wine slushees usually will.
  • The official religious sacrament offerings are tiny cakes made for squirrels.
  • If a llama is within ten feet of you, then you can try to ride it if the llama is into it.  If you’re feeling extra religious you may wave a flag. (Pirate flag is suggested.)
  • Tithing is expected.  It is also expected that you spend all of your tithing on ridiculous things that you would never buy for yourself except now you have to because it’s a religious requirement.
  • (INSERT YOUR COMMANDMENT HERE.)

These commandments might seem contradictory, but that’s fitting because being contradictory is also part of our (dis)organized religion.

Everyone in the Church of Bloggessianism is given an official title when they feel they are ready for that level of responsibility.  “Strangeling” is the perfect beginner title for all neophytes who don’t yet know what unique title they want to settle on. Once you’ve decided that being weird is a good thing you are officially a Strangeling. Then, once you’ve eaten a good slice of pie, or watched a zombie move, or accomplished something a grown-up should have to do, you become qualified to choose any title that best fits your personality.  Right now I’m Jenny Lawson, Notorious Lion Whisperer.  I’ve already picked out my business cards.  Here’s a helpful chart if you need suggestions picking a title (or page down to have one randomly assigned).

choose your own title

Or if there are just too many options you can use this clever thing my brilliant friend made us:

The Random Title Generator for the Church of the Bloggessianism

(My randomly assigned title today was Dreadful Overlord of Ermine Canon.  I approve.)

If you’d like to commemorate your title (or bestow a title to a special someone) you can customize this card with your title.  The official I-Can-Hold-A-Sloth-Card is printed inside.  Any profits raised by the church will go to buying taxidermy and helping homeless children, but a basic tenet of the church should be “No helping homeless children if you don’t want to” so you have full permission to just print this out for free yourself.  (PS. The coupon code TISTHESEASON gets you 60% off that card this week.)

bloggesschurch

sloth

Now go out and be awesome.

May peace and gravy follow you the rest of your days.

Mama Paquita: “Why would a baby need a sombrero?” and other problematic questions.

This isn’t a real post.  It was a rambling email I was writing to my sister and then it sort of got away from me and so I decided to flesh it out and share it here because maybe we weren’t the only ones who were taught this song in school.  You can ignore it if you want.

When I was little there was this song called “Mama Paquita” that we’d have to sing in music class.  According to our music books, it was a 1930’s Brazilian Carnivale song but it was kinda fucked up.  It was about some salesman trying to convince a mom to buy her baby a banana, a papaya, some pajamas and a sombrero, but she was like “Who has infant-sombrero money in this economy?  Let’s go dancing!” (I’m paraphrasing, but only slightly) and I remember thinking, “Why would a baby need a sombrero?

(Side-note: I just googled” “Why would you buy a baby a sombrero?” and I got a lot of vaguely racist pictures, and also a link to a poem, which includes the lines “He had heard stories of a baby sombrero wrestler who would one day rule the world, but he had never thought that it would be his son” and “Hey, do you want to go get some soup, and maybe have a baby?” {Which might be the best pick-up line ever.  Or worst.  Depends on who you’re trying to pick up, I guess.})

Anyway, when I was in third grade I asked the music teacher why we didn’t just  sing the original Brazilian song, Mamãe eu Quero, (which I’d memorized from Carmen Miranda movies and old Tom & Jerry cartoons) but she shook her head disdainfully, saying only that there were “too many nipples in that song”.

I was confused about that for years, but in high school I told a friend that I knew the words to a risqué Brazilian nipple song, which I then sang.  She knew a little Portuguese, and she told me my song was about breastfeeding and that my pronunciation was atrocious.  Then I said, “Oh wait.  It gets worse” and I sang her the bastardized English version from my childhood music classes, and she was like, “What kind of racist bullshit is that?” and I said, “The extremely problematic kind taught to small children in the 70’s?”

Then she looked at me in confused bewilderment and I nodded in embarrassed agreement and said, “Honestly, I don’t understand it either.  I apologize on the behalf of white people.”  (Which is a phrase I should just put on a t-shirt because that shit needs to be said A LOT).  She gracefully accepted my apology and offered to teach me how to curse convincingly in Spanish if I agreed to never sing that song again.  Our cultural bridge was built on a shared love of profanity, and although I never mastered the accent to her satisfaction, I will forever treasure the phrase: “I SHIT ON EVERYTHING THAT MOVES!” which is easily the best thing to scream when you are stuck in traffic, or when the copier eats your overdue report, or when life is just being an asshole in general.

ishitoneverythingthatmoves

This was all before the internet existed so I had to take my friend’s word on the translation, but then my sister reminded me of that song again and so I decided to go online to try to translate the Portuguese version.

And here is the (probably horribly butchered) translation:

Mommy I want, mommy I want,
Mommy I want to suckle!
Give the nipple, give the nipple, give the nipple
Give the nipple so your baby won’t cry!

Sleep, son of my heart.
Take the bottle and join my dance party.
I have a sister, she’s called Anna.
She blinked so much she lost her eyelashes.

I look at the little ones, but this way
I’m sorry I’m not suckling.
I have a sister, she’s phenomenal.
She’s the boss and her husband’s an imbecile.

And now I’m even more confused, and I can’t get the fucked-up English version out of my head.  And (if you were also taught it as a small kid) it’s probably stuck in yours too now.

Awesome.

I am part of the problem.

PS.  Again, I would like to apologize on the behalf of white people.  Seriously.  White people fuck shit up for all of us.  Including white people.  It’s baffling.  I’m so sorry.  Let’s go get some soup and maybe have a baby.

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’m just not going to talk anymore.

Victor and I are currently arguing about a large number of words which I apparently mispronounce, but I suspect that if those words are mispronounced it comes from the fact that I read much more than I speak, so (in my head) lots of words sound different. Victor says he agrees, if “different” means “wrong”.

For instance, I pronounce the word “homemade” as “wholemade” whenever I’m referring to something lovely that’s made from scratch, and Victor can’t stop correcting me.   But I think it makes sense because even though the word is spelled the same, there is a big difference between “wholemade” and “homemade” because (to me) “wholemade” implies that it’s wholesome and hand-made with love, but “homemade” is more like stuff you make at home but that you wouldn’t sell at a Farmer’s Market.  It’s the difference between wholemade bread and homemade bombs.

Example:  Most meth is homemade, but that doesn’t mean that it’s good.  It’s only wholemade if it’s wholesome.  That’s how words work.  Victor says “That’s how society breaks down” and I was like, “I agree.  Meth is a real problem” but then he explained that he was referring to me using the word “wholemade”, which I think is a pretty good indicator that Victor really needs to reexamine his priorities.

Also, spellcheck is weighing in by trying to change “wholemade” into “whore-made” and I don’t even know where to start with that because it’s so baffling.  I was like, “What the shit, spellcheck?” and I showed it to Victor and he said, “WELCOME TO MY WORLD.

I have a feeling I’m not winning this argument, but it’s become a weird tradition to do polls on Sunday, so here you go:

 

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

And now, time for the weekly wrap-up:

sid

 


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:

This week’s wrap-up is brought to you by Chasing the Donkey, a travel blog that focuses on traveling Croatia like a local.  It’s written by SJ Begonja, an Australian expat who lives in a small Croatian village after she and her Croatian husband and son packed up their lives to go and rebuild the old house they inherited.   And now I want to go to Croatia.  Thanks a lot, SJ.

Worst named fireworks ever.

I don’t know how other States do fireworks but in Texas it’s all-or-nothing.  Literally.  Either it’s illegal to shoot off fireworks because of drought, or it’s allowed and everyone goes insane and shoots off shitloads of pyrotechnics while young children run through the yard stomping out small fires.  It usually involves booze, neighborhood idiots firing guns into the air, and the police.  Most of us leave the actual firework-handling to that weird uncle who once blew off a finger because we suspect he has a greater appreciation for the danger and also because he has less fingers to lose now.

This morning we went to our neighborhood fireworks warehouse to stock up.  This is the conversation we had with one of the firework clerks while Hailey was off choosing sparklers…

me:  These are the most insane firework names ever.  I like that they called this one “Scarface”.  Truth in advertising, you know?

scarface

Victor:  Do you have any Tinnitus M-80’s?

Clerk:  I’ve never heard of that.

Victor:  Do you have one called “The Burn Victim“?

Clerk:  I don’t think so.

Victor:  How about “Child Maimer“?

Clerk: I’d have to check in the back.  I’m not really familiar with any of those.

me:  Do you have any “Golden Showers” available?

Clerk:  We did have those!  But they aren’t making them this year.

me:  Wow.  Who would have thought Golden Showers would ever go out of style?  How about…um…”Hair-Fire Inferno“?

Clerk:  You mean the Flash-Fire Hair Braid?  For kids?

me:  Sure.  (cough)  For kids.

Clerk:  They sell those next to the cashier.

Victor:  And it looks like you’re all out of “Plumber’s Crackle”?

plumbers crackle

Clerk:  Yeah.  I don’t know why it’s so popular.  It’s not really that exciting.

me:  You said it, brother.  But you have a lot of “Juicy” fireworks left.  I don’t think I want my fireworks to be “juicy”.

Clerk:  It’s a weird name but a pretty good display.  We recommend pairing it with another firework in front.

me:   Ah.  Like a Juicy Plumber’s Crackle?  That makes sense.

Victor:  And your “Happiness Explosion”…  Does that come with a “full-release”?

IMG_4159

Clerk:  Well, if any of your fireworks don’t fully go off you can bring them back for an exchange.  If you want something awesome I recommend “The Saturday Night Special”.

IMG_4152

me:  And according to the box I assume it’s a bunch of loaded guns you heat up until they explode.  WHAT COULD BE SAFER? Add it to the pile.  And this “Ministry of Magic” set…does one of the fireworks turn into a skull and then all the Death Eaters show up at your barbecue?

Clerk:  No, but that would be cool.  I’d recommend some “Tomahawks” but I think we’re out.

me:  “Tomahawks.”  Seems a bit racially insensitive, doesn’t it?

Victor:  Look underneath.

big shot cracker

me:  Well, at least they’re keeping it fair.

PS.  As we were checking out we found what we assume was the “flash-fire hair braid…for kids”.   We were a little disappointed.  And relieved.

IMG_4162

Happy 4th of July, y’all.  Please keep your guns in your safes, your drunk drivers off the road, and your blown-off fingers on ice.

UPDATED: A small gif of the fireworks we set off tonight.  No one lost any fingers but there were the usual amount of minor burns and I think we managed to blow up half of the moon.

This one caused minor burns & @Maile_wilson's clothe... on Twitpic

Worth it.

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.

The King is Coming. But maybe not the one you think.

I got an email from someone who wanted me to come to “a very important social media conference” and at the end he wrote “THE KING IS COMING!”  Then I wrote back, “Elvis is coming?” and he was like “I’m sorry.  Who?”   And I explained that he’d said that the king was coming to the event and that I happened to have it on good authority that Elvis had been dead for quite some time, and then he explained that “THE KING IS COMING!” obviously referred to the true king, Jesus Christ.  So then I was like “Jesus is coming to your social media conference?  How did you swing that?” and then he explained that “THE KING IS COMING!” is just his auto-signature and didn’t refer to the conference at all, and I told him that it was very nice auto-signature but that some people might suspect that he was advertising Jesus and/or Elvis as being attendees and that he might want to reword it so he didn’t get sued.  I also asked him why some people referred to Jesus as The King, because it seems like his Dad would be The King since he’s the main dude in charge, so technically wouldn’t Jesus be a Prince?  Except that “Prince Jesus” doesn’t really have a nice ring to it, and it sounds like something Disney would try to make into a musical.   But then he never responded.

And this is probably why I so seldom get invited to events.

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And in other news, it’s 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.):

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 Melany, a tell-it-like-it-is, hold-nothing-back blogger, and Beverly Hills queen of snark.  She believes that snarky is witty, but younger and better looking, and her blog, Melanysguydlines.com is full of hilarious TRUE STORIES about being young, single, and navigating this crazy world with a huge dose of humor.  She says what most are thinking but do not say themselves.  Think Chelsea Handler with a splash of Perez Hilton.  You can check her out here.