Category Archives: Random Crap

Things I wrote while high. (Not much different than what I wrote while sober if I’m being honest.)

This week when I was still high from the anesthesia I apparently wrote myself a series of notes on my phone.  A lot of them were literally gibberish but there were a few that made me go: “WTF?” and also, “I mean, yeah, maybe” at the same time.

This was one of them:

I think God must be an animal hoarder because he keeps making dogs that he knows he’s just gonna get back when they die and he only lets them live for like 10 years, which is not nearly long enough.  Like, how many dogs do you need, God?  Can we keep some?  And God’s like, “NO.  THESE DOGS ARE MINE.  YOU CAN BORROW THEM FOR LIKE…SEVEN TO TEN YEARS.”  And then I’d be like, “I don’t understand your end game, sir.  We need dogs to last longer” and then God would be like, “NOOOPE.  DON’T GET ATTACHED.  MY DOGS, YO.”  And this is why people become atheists.

Also, when I wrote this originally I was still high and it had even more typos than normal and the note had God yelling “THESE DONGS ARE MINE” and I was like, “Huh?” but then I figured it all out.  Probably going to hell for posting this on Sunday but in my defense, I’m not the one murdering dogs.

*******

And now…time for the weekly wrap-up!

 

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:

This week’s wrap-up is brought to you by Terrifyingly Beautiful, a witty podcast about living with anxiety. Join Kevin O’Connell and David Robert, self-proclaimed anxiety experts, as they pop open a bottle of cheap wine and share hilarious stories about the stuff that keeps them up at night. (Spoiler alert: It’s everything.) Topics thus far include salad bars, creepy dolls, germy gas pumps and dead nuns under the bed. The podcast definitely falls under the wonderful categories of “freak me out” and “make me laugh.” Check it out here.

 

The drugs were awesome.

So today I had my endoscopy/colonoscopy procedure and (as you told me) the prep from yesterday was worse than the actual procedure.

From twitter yesterday:

  • Today’s menu : clear liquids, jello and laxatives. Feels like I’m back in college…
  • …except that the nurse says vodka does not count as a “clear liquid”.  Which makes me doubt she’s ever had vodka.  Now I’m said for both of us.
  • This clear broth tastes like I want a hamburger.
  • So, I have to take ANOTHER dose of prescription strength laxatives at 5am tomorrow?  There could not *possibly* be anything left in me.
  • …Victor: “We’re taking your car tomorrow.”  His beside manner, you guys.

I had an anxiety attack waiting for the procedure but I asked twitter to distract me and they flooded with otter videos and stuff like this:

.

I was very high for the procedure and was assured I would feel and remember nothing but still panicked a little when they strapped one of those masks on my face which was supposedly some sort of mouth guard to keep me from biting the scope but which felt more like the mask that Hannibal Lector had to wear to keep from killing people with his teeth.  The anesthesiologist was awesome in that he gave me the BEST drugs but right before he put them in my IV he told me that the drugs can cause super-strong dreams so to think of a good place, and that was nice except that he was like, “Don’t think about work or pain” or a list of other things he told me not to think about which of course I immediately thought about, but it didn’t matter because I didn’t dream and the next second I was in recovery and couldn’t believe it was over so quickly.  Also, I was very high but I didn’t think I was and Victor wouldn’t let me have my phone.

Me: “I’m fine.  I can tweet now.” Victor: “You really can’t.” Me: “I’m totally fine.” Victor: “You keep trying to reboot your water bottle.”

But then he gave up and it’s obvious that he shouldn’t have because I was like, “TAKE MY PICTURE TO PROVE I’M ALIVE” and then I tweeted it because I was too high to realize it was not a good picture.  Victor later defended himself by pointing out that I was sober enough to use a black and white filter but that’s just muscle memory.

Then the doctor came out and showed me close-ups of my insides, and my stomach lining looked like Mars from a distance, which I thought was very pretty but apparently not really what it was supposed to look like because it was “very irritated for unknown reasons”.  (Much like Victor)

Things I learned today: The inside of my stomach looks like an active volcano.

He found some issues but nothing that screamed “THIS IS WHERE ALL HER MISSING BLOOD IS GOING”.  They did a biopsy to check for cancer and another to check for celiac disease, but other than the same stomach ache that’s plagued me for a month I feel fine.

Apparently there’s a part that they couldn’t get to even with the human shishkabobing so I might need to do another scoping where I swallow a pill that’s actually a tiny camera, and I find it weird that we’re living in a future where science can take a ride through my body in a pill but they can’t make fat-free egg rolls.

So basically what I learned is that there’s still something wrong but no clear answers on what exactly, which is sort of how all of my medical misadventures go so I’m kind of used to it.  I should know more in a week or so when the biopsies are finished.  Meh.

On the way out I (literally) ran into the anesthesiologist and I asked him if I said anything mortifying when I was under, but he smiled and gave a wink to Victor and said, “Oh, just about how much you love your husband” and I was like, “Well that’s embarrassing because this is my boyfriend.  My husband’s a real bastard,” and Victor was like “Yeah, we hate that guy.”

PS. When I left they gave me a sticker that said “GET BEHIND COLON CANCER AWARENESS” and I’m not entirely sure if that phrasing was on purpose but it is my new favorite thing.

Jenny Lawson: Human Shish Kabob

So, if you’ve been following the crazy bullshit that is my body trying to kill me you already know that I’m on a ton of new meds to fix a ton of broken shit, but the newest update is that my doctor called with more blood results and was like, “Girl, you’ve got ALL the anemias.  Pernicious was just the beginning.  Stop hogging the anemias” and I was like, “I don’t even know what that means” and basically it means that I’m missing a lot of blood for no reason, which sort of makes sense because I lose shit all the time, but it seems like if it was misplacing blood I’d remember, or at least Victor would yell at me for leaving all my blood around like he does about the trail of half-filled glasses of water that I leave in my wake.  “Missing blood” seems a little disconcerting, like when you’re missing time, except usually that’s because of alien abductions so at least you have a reasonable explanation.

And there can be a lot of reasons why I’m so anemic and exhausted and sick and some of those reasons are simple, and some are scary but personally I’m leaning toward “attic vampires”. It would explain the blood loss and also the rustling I sometimes hear upstairs late at night.  Victor says it’s squirrels on the roof but what would squirrels want with all my blood, Victor?  He is the worst detective, y’all.

Anywaymy doctor is also in the “it’s probably not vampires” camp but she says the anemias cause all sorts of things, including making me severely low on a lot of vitamins and other stuff you need to live, which could explain why my lab results were 30 pages of “Bitch, you are all the way fucked up.”

One of the most likely explanations is a bleeding ulcer but they need to be sure so next week they’re going to drug me up and stick one  camera down my nose all the way to my intestines.  Then they put another camera up my booty-pipe all the way to where the other camera stopped, like some terrible river cruise gone horribly wrong. Hopefully they’re different cameras, or they at least wash them well. Basically it’s like having a lot of tourists in me doing flash photography.   I considered live-tweeting it but the nurse says I probably won’t be conscious enough to make sense, but that’s pretty standard for me and twitter.  (Semi-conscious and nonsensical.  Not, “with a camera shoved up my ass”.  That is a new one for me.)  Either way, I plan on asking the doctor if I can have a copy of the pictures so that I can post the most introspective  Instagram shots ever. (Hashtag: #nomakeup #nofilter #iwokeupthisway)

I also plan to ask if they do the scopes at the same time because if so I think that would literally make me a shish kabob for a few seconds, and considering how little I’ve accomplished in the last 6 months it would be nice to at least be able to put that on my resume. “Writer, illustrator, humorist, human shish kabob.”

In more positive news, the new meds and supplements have slowly started to help with the exhaustion and brain fog and I’ve lost 8 pounds on this horrible low-carb, low-sugar diet.  Yay for small victories.

(I miss you, potatoes.)

PS.  This post needs a picture but I don’t have an appropriate one so instead here is a picture of Hunter S. Tomcat.

When he turns his face upside down he looks like an angry guinea pig sticking its tongue out.

I couldn’t put googley eyes on his chin without waking him up so I just drew some on here:

Two pets in one!

I blame the rickets.

I’m on day 7 of this mandatory low-carb, low-sugar diet-for-not-dying and everyone told me that I’d have the I-want-to-stab-everyone-carb-detox-flu for a few days, but then after that I’d have lots of energy and the cravings would lessen and they are right because now I have enough energy to loudly whine about how much I miss egg rolls rather than just whisper it softly to whichever pet is nearest.  Also, the cravings have lessened but I’m not sure it’s because I’ve beaten my addiction to carbs and sugar or if I’ve just given up on life and my brain is now huddled in a corner, angrily eating cilantro while yelling, “OH I CAN’T EVEN HAVE FRUIT ON THIS DIET? AWESOME.  I’LL JUST GET SCURVY THEN?  GREAT. THAT WILL FIX EVERYTHING.”

In an act of solidarity, Victor has decided to go on the diet with me, which seems incredibly sweet except that it seems crazy easy for him and he’s a dude so he basically doesn’t eat a sandwich for one afternoon and loses 87 pounds and becomes immortal.  Plus, when I whine about how HE HAS NO IDEA HOW HARD THIS IS he just raises an eyebrow, but I’m pretty sure that it’s harder for me because now I have rickets from not eating fruit.  I assume.

Also, I’m finding out that basically everything has hidden carbs and sugar in them and even foods that would feel like a punishment to eat are off limits for me.  Like, carrots.  I don’t even like carrots and I’m not allowed to eat them.  At this point I assume rain, oxygen, and forgetting to take your clothes out of the washer are all full of carbs and maybe I should just go on an all-heroin diet.  Except people really seem to love heroin so I assume it must be high in sugar or gluten.

Also, I went to my shrink today and the waiting room was completely packed and  it was very bleak and serious and I was looking on twitter and the top trend was telling me that today is #NationalEatWhatYouWantDay BECAUSE OF COURSE IT FUCKING IS and it seemed so ridiculous that I got the funeral-giggles (when you start laughing in an inappropriate setting and then trying not to laugh makes you laugh more and then you start snorting and you can’t stop because you’re in a giggle-loop-of-inappropriatness and so you just pretend to be crying because it’s easier to explain) and then everyone in the waiting room looked at me like I was insane and I was like, “Don’t judge me.  Y’all are crazy too” but then I realized that most of them were people who were there giving rides to other patients.  Also I’d brought a bunch of copies of YOU ARE HERE so I could give one to my shrink and leave the rest in the waiting room like Gideon Bible’s for crazy people but then I was worried that kids might see them and there’s some light cursing inside so I decided to just bring them all in to my shrink so she could just give them to unoffendable people who were having a hard time, but it looked to the outside world like I was carrying multiple copies of the exact same coloring book, which seems a bit insane.  So then I explained to the waiting room, “I made these” and everyone tried to avoid eye contact except for an elderly man sitting next to me who was all, “Well did you now?  Good for you” but in a sort of frightened/unintentionally condescending way, and it just now dawned on me that everyone was probably thinking that I was just bragging about coloring the exact same coloring book over and over and that I was probably bringing them into my shrink to show her that I could stay inside the lines.  Except that I can’t stay inside the lines and all of these books were obviously untouched and the spines weren’t even cracked so it looked even crazier and basically I think I scared everyone in the waiting room.  But also I probably made thems feel better about themselves (or their crazy loved one) because they weren’t hysterically cry-laughing to themselves while holding a stack of identical uncolored coloring books that they were bringing to show their psychiatrist.

PS.  My friend sent me this gif and this corgi is my new patronas:

“OH I DON’T NEED REAL FOOD. I’LL JUST LIVE ON THIS RAW CABBAGE.  I’M SO HAPPY. THIS IS FINE. EVERYTHING IS FINE.”

PPS. I’m not sure if this makes sense.  Sorry.  I blame the rickets.

I’m dying but probably the same amount as normal really.

Remember how last week I was in the hospital for stomach bullshit and the week before that I was looking at TMS (electroshock therapy lite?) because my head was all fucked up?  Well, I decided that before doing TMS I’d check to see if there were any other issues that could be causing this depression/sickness/body fuckery so my doc did a shit ton of blood tests and  she was like, “You’re all fucked up,” and that’s pretty accurate.

I literally lost track of how many vitamin deficiencies I have but I’m now taking an extra 8 pills a day just to get back to normal.  My hormones are off and I’m way low on testosterone (I didn’t even know I was supposed to have testosterone?) and apparently that causes fatigue, foggy thinking, depression and anxiety which is pretty much all of the things I’m made of, so I’ll be starting testosterone meds this week.

Also, I have things like “pernicious anemia”, which I just assumed was something Lemony Snicket made up.  But instead it’s something probably related to whatever is wrong with my stomach, or ulcers, or my antibodies that are all fucked up as well.

And add “pre-diabetic” to the list because WHY NOT, RIGHT?  So now I’m on  day 5 of a low-carb, low-sugar diet to “fix my sugars” as your grandma would say, and I’m shocked I haven’t murdered everyone in the house yet.  Last night I yelled “I CAN’T TAKE IT ANYMORE.  SOMEONE GET MAMA A MASHED POTATER SANDWICH” and Victor was like, “Have some protein.  Protein is good for you” but I don’t think so, Victor, because my entire body is a protein and it’s trying to kill me. 

Long story short, things are wrong inside me and no one really knows the cause but maybe the diet, supplements, and meds will help.  Or they won’t.  Hard to tell.  But it could be worse and at least I have things to focus on that might make me better, and that’s a relief in itself.

I don’t have a funny ending here.  I blame the lack of popsicles in my body.

I would kill someone for a popsicle.

PS.  Bonus Dorothy Barker video to make up for this slightly whiney post:

Sometimes she forgets she left her tongue out.

A post shared by Jenny Lawson (@thebloggess) on

Creepy doll challenge…phase 1. (UPDATED WITH PHASE 3)

A couple of weeks ago I challenged my friend (and fellow collector of creepy dolls) Bonnie to see who could rework this doll into the creepiest thing possible and now I’m ready to share my first variation.

In fairness, with the right lighting and filter it was already a little creepy:

But I thought I could go further.  So I added a few things.  Like a claw made of old erasers, a hand made of bark, another doll I repainted for her to hold, and a cat skeleton.  And some ruffles.

Work in progress…

Not a real cat skeleton. Thought I should clarify since I’m me.

Antiqued it a bit.  The end.

Then Victor and Hailey were like, “Not really creepy enough.  You didn’t do anything to her face” but I think that’s the creepy part.  They disagreed so I decided to make a stop-motion video to convince them.

Victor and Hailey think I should go creepier. #creepydollchallenge Details on my blog.

A post shared by Jenny Lawson (@thebloggess) on

They still don’t think it’s creepy enough because I think maybe I’ve immunized them with repeated exposure to weirdness so I’ll keep working on it and keep you posted.

PS.  I’ve seen other people talking about doing their own so if you decide to make a creepy doll post it in the comments because I totally want to see it.

UPDATE:  Consensus is that the face isn’t creepy enough so I’ve tried again:

#creepydollchallenge Details on the blog.

A post shared by Jenny Lawson (@thebloggess) on

Concensus on #creepydollchallenge is that she needed a face makeover. So here we go.

A post shared by Jenny Lawson (@thebloggess) on

What do you think?  Better?

UPDATED AGAIN:

Several of you noted that her hair was too “perky” to be scary so now one of my other dolls is bald so this could happen:

DONE.

Also, several of you have pointed out that she might always look a little too lovable to some of us because (as a misfit toy) she fits in our community very well and the more broken I make her, the more relatable she becomes, turning her into more of a mascot than a massacre.  Others would like me to stop posting creepy doll pictures so that they can start sleeping again.  Fair enough on both counts.

*******

And now…time for the weekly wrap-up!

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:

This week’s wrap-up is brought to you by Story Worth, which is a pretty awesome idea  I’m going to try myself.  From them:”This year, give Mom a StoryWorth Book to preserve her stories. Each week, we’ll email her a question about her life – asking her to recount her favorite memory of her grandparents, or whether she’s ever pulled any great pranks. All she has to do is reply with a story, which is forwarded to you and any other family members you invite. At the end of the year, her stories are bound in a beautiful keepsake book your family will cherish!”  Check it out here.

Can you sue your own body? Because I have a good fucking case.

So.  I’ve been a bit MIA because after my emergency room crisis I was a limp rag and unable to do much more than just breathe this week.  Even sitting up to draw was too taxing (WTF, BODY?) so I spent the last few days reading, sleeping and crying to Victor about how sad my life is in spite of the fact that he’s working his ass off  while I’m complaining about my “napping struggles” and I’m like, “But I’m too tired to even watch TV.  PITY ME.”  And then I did literally cry and he did literally pity me because I’m not the crying type and so he realized it was serious.  But today I feel a bit better and I have more doctor’s appointments this week and next week, and I was able to stop taking the pain pills yesterday and maybe it’ll all just fade away like the pneumonia did?  I mean, with my luck it’ll just fade into something else, like radiation poisoning or unexpected leglessness, but still…a change is as good as a rest.  Probably.

Today though Victor insisted that I leave the house and we went to Luby’s Cafeteria and we were the only people under 70 there, except for the guy behind us who was about 40 and was a tough-looking biker who was very distracting because he kept taking obvious pictures of his food and I told Victor that he was probably a famous instagram star and he couldn’t find the right filter for his carrot-n-raisin salad,but Victor thought that he was taking a picture of his food to add it to his weight-watchers journal and I shook my head and we continued to argue about why the biker was taking pictures of his food, including:

  • Texting pictures of his fresh fruit to taunt his estranged brother who lives in a submarine and maybe has scurvy.
  • Beets remind him of a simpler time and he wanted to remember the moment so he could commemorate it with a short story or haiku  later.
  • He saw Jesus in his mashed potatoes.
  • He secretly wants to open an off-brand Hooter’s combined with a Luby’s and name it “Boobie’s” and so every day he comes and takes pictures of his food so that he can recreate it, stealing the menu one photo at a time.

Then I laughed and things felt brighter.  And now I’m actually blogging.  Sort of.  Mostly just to say why I’m not blogging, but I think it still counts.  Long story short, I’m less dead today than I was yesterday and I would totally eat at “Boobie’s”.

Also, books have been my life raft lately and there are a bunch of brand new ones out this week you should be reading. Priestdaddy: A Memoir (achingly amazing prose),  Confessions of a Domestic Failure, One Day We’ll All Be Dead and None of This Will Matter and We Are Never Meeting in Real Life.  The last one doesn’t come out for a few weeks but you should preorder it because it is painfully funny.  And since I’m still spending most of my days under blankets with a book, please share any new reading suggestions you have in the comments.

PS. Last week I challenged my friend (and fellow collector of creepy dolls) Bonnie to see who could rework this doll into the creepiest thing possible.  Mine arrived and I’ve been too tired to start deconstructing her yet, but she’s already slightly creepy to begin with and I haven’t even added the spider legs.  (SPOILERS.)

More soon…

I’m too high to write this but I’m going to anyway.

So yesterday I thought it would be fun to leave free books around town and then post pictures of them so people could find them, and I finished one drop…

…and then 40 minutes later I was here:

My God, I’m photogenic. So corpselike.

Long story short, an alien was chewing its way out of my stomach and I started fainting and I couldn’t feel my hands or legs, and then I died.  Except not the last part.  But it felt like it.  Plus the pain lead to a major panic attack so basically it was a great day.  Victor was out of the State (BECAUSE OF COURSE HE WAS) but luckily, my friend Maile was there to drive me to the hospital and hold me against my wheelchair when I passed out and she stayed with me during many tests and morphine shots and she wrote down all the weird stuff I said while I was high and messaged it to me in real time because she’s awesome like that.  Also, she took that picture of me at my request so I could prove to Victor that I was in the hospital because the morphine made me worried that I was dreaming this and apparently I thought Victor would be mad when all these bills came in from my dream.

Also, the nurse left this giant thing in my bed in case I needed to vomit and when I noticed it I was like, “This is the most unrealistic condom ever”…

…and then I started talking about cosmetic vagina surgery and about how I didn’t even know what it was supposed to look like best case scenario.  Like, am I supposed to want a giant labia, or no labia at all?  What are people asking these doctors for?  Butterfly vaginas?  Tiny moths?  Vagina dentata?  I asked the nurse and she was like, “Hell if I know.  That shit’s crazy.”  She was awesome.

Also, they said I had a very elevated level of lactate (?) and I was like, “That can’t be right.  I couldn’t even breast-feed and I’m lactose intolerant.”  But apparently this was something else related to infections or shock.  In the end they gave me a bunch of meds, including one for irritable bowel syndrome and that was the one that finally made my stomach stop trying to turn itself inside out so I guess I can add that to my list of “WHY MY BODY IS AN ASSHOLE”.

I’d explain this all better if I wasn’t still on drugs to keep the alien inside me quiet.  Sorry.

PS. My spellcheck tried to change “vagina dentata” to “vagina al dente”, which is taking weird to a whole new level.  Quit it, spellcheck.

*******

And now…time for the weekly wrap-up!

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:

This week’s wrap-up is brought to you by Story Worth, which is a pretty cool idea I think I’m going to try myself.  From them:”This year, give Mom a StoryWorth Book to preserve her stories. Each week, we’ll email her a question about her life – asking her to recount her favorite memory of her grandparents, or whether she’s ever pulled any great pranks. All she has to do is reply with a story, which is forwarded to you and any other family members you invite. At the end of the year, her stories are bound in a beautiful keepsake book your family will cherish!”  Check it out here.

What’s the word for one step past kintsukuroi?

In Japan there’s an art of repairing broken objects, called kintsukori.  My friend Emily McDowell explains it beautifully here:

So last night Hailey dropped one of the china plates from our wedding and there aren’t many left so I thought we could fix the plate kintsukori-style but I don’t have any extra melted gold so instead I used a glue stick and some gold puffy paint made for t-shirts and turns out it looks like shit.

But I was still really proud of it so I showed it to Victor and he was like, “It’s not even lined up correctly. And it’s still sticky” and I was like, “Yeah.  I’m not a professional ceramacist” and he pointed out that “ceramacist” isn’t a real word, but I wouldn’t know because I just said I’m not one, Victor.  Then he was like, “Why are there scraps of paper towel glued to the back of it?” and I was like, “So that I wouldn’t get puffy paint all over the bathroom.  YOU’RE WELCOME” and he was like, “WHY WERE YOU DOING CRAFTS IN THE BATHROOM?” but honestly I think he was just upset because he was bleeding.  Did I mention he was bleeding?  Because apparently I handed him “a broken plate full of sharp, jagged edges.”

And then I got mad because he didn’t appreciate my art and he was bleeding on it, and then he was like, “Maybe you should drop it again” and so I huffed out of his office and I accidentally stepped on Ferris Mewler and when he meowed angrily at me it scared me and I did drop the plate but it totally didn’t break BECAUSE I FIXED IT SO GOOD. And Victor was like, “What is happening out there?” and I yelled, “THE CAT IS UPSET BECAUSE HE THINKS WE’RE GETTING A DIVORCE, AND NOW THIS PLATE IS IMMORTAL” and then Victor decided to lock his office door for the rest of the day.

This might look classier if my wedding china wasn’t the brightest color in the world but in my defense it was the 90’s and it was on sale at Service Merchandise.

She really is a good dog.

First off, thank you.  I’m finally feeling almost not sick at all and my depression is fading.  I never know from day to day how it will go but today is good and I’m so relieved and also so thankful for all of your support and funny cat videos and words that kept me safer.  Thank you!

I was supposed to go visit family last weekend but I was too sick so instead I’m going this weekend, which means that I’m sharing my Easter pictures early.  Because they are magic:

Victor, on the other hand, disagreed with the magic and said something about how we agreed not to spend money on frivolous things and I was like, “Yeah.  ‘frivolous’ things like shoes that glow in the dark, or organic fruit.  I’m not sure what’s so frivolous about this” and Victor was like:

…but that’s his normal sort of look and then Dorothy Barker gave him this look…


…and he laughed in spite of himself.  AND IT WAS AN EASTER MIRACLE.

PS. If you’re following me on twitter you know that Dottie has been a bit out-of-sorts but her blood work came back and she’s fine and probably just has allergies so we’re treating her for that. Yay!