Category Archives: Random Crap

I don’t even know if vaseline is edible.

Last week when we were driving I was singing along to Madonna’s Into the Groove and I was like, “You can dance, perspiration” and Victor was like, “Are you kidding me?  It’s ‘You can dance…for inspiration” but I was pretty sure mine was right because you’re way more likely to produce sweat than inspiration, but when I checked Victor had apparently already hacked into the internet and changed the lyrics. This happens almost once a day but the most recent account was when I saw singing along to Pour Some Sugar on Me on a bus and Victor just stared at me in awe, probably because he was so proud that I was blessing people on the bus with my lovely voice, but then he was like, “Are your ears just broken?  Are you fucking these songs up on purpose?”  (Answers: Yes, No.)

And a few of the lines I realized were suspect because “You got the peaches, I got a cream…sweet to taste. Vaseline” sounds not right but I was pretty sure I nailed the rest of it but turns out I had almost every line wrong.

Also, I’ve seen Def Leppard in concert and loudly sang this song with a crowd.  Awesome.

PS. In case you’re wondering, below are the real words to the song as far as I’m concerned because I’ve been singing them wrong for too long and now have no way to unlearn them:

Yellow’s like a bomb!

Loving tiger balm, baby come and get it on,
Living like a lover in a red eye phone.
Lookin’ like a champ, like bitty old vamp,
Demo-licious woman, can I be a man?

Razzle in your dazzle and a dance in daily life,
Television lover baby, go all night.
Sun time, anytime, sugar be sweet.
Little Mrs. innocent, sugar me.

So come on. Take your body, and shake it off.
Break the Bible. Break it up.

Pour some sugar on me, in the name of love.
Pour some sugar on me. Come on, fight me up.
Pour your sugar on me. I can’t get enough.
I’m a hot, sticky Swede. From my hand to my feets, yeah.

Listen! Red light, yellow light, green light, gold,
Crazy leather woman in a one man show.
Marrow queen, many keen, rhythm of  her love.
Sweet dreams, sangarine, listen up. Yeah. Listen up.

You gotta squeeze a little, please a little, tease a little love,
Easy operator, never knocking on my door.
Sun time, andy time, sugar be sweet,
Little Mrs. Innocent, sugar me. Yeah oh. Give a little love.


You got the peaches,
I got a cream.
Sweet to taste. Vaseline!
Cause I’m hot, hot, so hot, sticky sweet, from my hand, hand, hand, to my feet.

Do lips take sugar?
One look, one towel!

PPS. In my defense, this is what happens when you learn a song in junior high by listening to it a million times on a worn-out cassette you recorded from a staticky radio station.


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.):


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Seclusion. Sort of.

At least once a year my head becomes constipated and I panic that I’ll never write again and I have to go into seclusion for a few days and force myself to write even if I end up deleting most of it the next morning.  I will sit in a small, quiet hotel room and hate myself and remind myself that writing is torture but having written is the greatest feeling in the world.  So you can probably expect me on twitter asking questions like, “What’s the word for when you’re so pissed you literally throw people out the window?”  Except I won’t ask that because that word is “defenestration” and I know that because my grandparents were Czech and my grandmother told me that Bohemians were way into defenestration left and right, and advised me to stay on the ground floor whenever possible, which is one of the strangest and best pieces of advice I’ve ever received.  They also taught me how to make fruit koláče and dance the polka.  It wasn’t all defenestration.

Also, Victor thinks that “don’t get thrown out of windows” isn’t really great advice but I disagree and I’ve never been thrown out of a window, so I guess it’s working out so far, Victor.

Just me?

PS. Not “Just me?” as in I’m unusual in not having been thrown out of a window yet, but is it just me who got weird advice that stuck with you for your whole life?



Parenting is hard, but donkey braiding is harder.

The worst part about school starting back up again is that there are suddenly a million clubs and advanced classes and other things that make you feel like a shitty parent for pushing your kid to do them and also for not pushing your kid to do them.

I’ve been thinking about it and I believe the only viable option I have to combat the guilt that comes when another mother asks me why my child isn’t in the League of Fancy Horseback-Riding Chess Players is to just make up my imaginary own classes that Hailey is in and then not let anyone else in. Classes like “Duck Grooming” or “Teaching Dogs To Whistle” or “Intramural Sheep Dancing.”

“Oh, your 9 month old is a black belt?” I can hear myself saying. “That is adorable. We’d like to sign our child up for fun little things like that but she’s just far too busy with her Competitive Donkey Braiding. It’s very popular at Ivy League schools. You’ve never heard of it? Well, no, you probably wouldn’t have. It’s very exclusive. In fact, the first rule of Competitive Donkey Braiding is…well, I’ve already said too much.”

PS. If you’re having the same problem you can totally tell people that your kid is in Competitive Donkey Braiding and I will back you up 100%.  In fact, if there’s a party you want to avoid you can just tell people that you can’t go because we’re too busy since we’re about to go to the State championships.  Again.  WE’RE THAT GOOD.

PPS.  Yes, it is real, Susan.  Look at my shirt.  

I shouldn’t be allowed to adult

My car has been broken so I’ve had a loaner and it’s much fancier than my normal car, which is a real problem for me because I don’t like changes.  I wasn’t even the one who broke my car and I was perfectly fine with living with it (the glass covering the radio screen thingy was shattered) but Victor said it looked bad and suspected I’d broken it myself.  I couldn’t have though because it was shattered from the inside and the outside of the glass was still perfectly smooth so it was more like something inside the car was trying to break out.  I suspected it was some sort of demonic car possession like in Christine or Knight Rider but when I went to the dealership to drop it off the lady working on it said that it happens fairly regularly because Texas is too hot and the glass cracks from overheating.  So basically the sun wrecked my car and didn’t even leave its insurance information.

The dealership gave me a loaner and it has all these bells and whistles that I’m not used to and I’m intimidated every time I’m in it.  Like, several times I’ve been getting ready to back out of a parking place and my seat will fart.  For me, I guess?  I don’t know why you’d want that.  Just random vibrations coming from different sections of my ass that sound like I’m suffocating a mouse on a motorcycle with my butt.  But there’s no fart smell because that’s how fancy this car is.

Also, there are all sorts of buttons that I’ve never seen before, like these three:

The first one is obviously “please crash into fancy people only at night” and the bottom one is, of course, “Activate stinky steering wheel” but I don’t know what the middle one is.  I assume it makes the car stay in the correct lanes when you’re drunk or blind.

Luckily the dealership called and my car was fixed, which was awesome except that when I got there the lady at the front desk asked, “What color is your car, ma’am?” and I was like, “Tan.  Sort of.  More like brown?  BRONZE.  It’s bronze.”    Y’all.  My car is black.

I was thinking about my last car and so I was like, “Wait.  No.  It’s black!  Sorry.  That was my last car I was thinking of.  Duh.  New car.”  Except that it’s not a new car and it’s really obvious because this lady is literally staring at my paperwork because I bought it there.  YEARS AGO.  And then suddenly we went from “We’re just pulling your car around” to “Would you care to have a seat?” which I think is code for “Someone find the steering wheel button that calls the cops because this bitch is trying to steal a car.”  And also Victor texted me that my car isn’t even black.  It’s “metallic gray”.  But turns out they just lost my car for awhile and I couldn’t really complain because I sort of lost my own car in my brain so I totally get it.  NOT ARRESTED.  AGAIN!

PS. Victor says that the fancy car farts are vibrating sensors to warn you when there are things behind you that you could run over.  Now I’m sort of sad that fancy car farts don’t exist somewhere.  You don’t know what you’ve got ’til it’s gone, I guess.



Tell me some happy

I promise I’m working on something funny right now but I’ve been overwhelmed with anxiety watching so many friends trapped in flooding.  One is literally being rescued right this moment after days of flooding and I was so relieved to see the picture of the rescue boat outside her window I cried.  Look to my last post for places to donate and help because they’ll need help for a long time.

For now though I am mentally exhausted and I haven’t even lived through this except vicariously, so if I need cheering then others do too.  So do me a favor and leave a comment with something to make others smile.  Maybe it’s a joke, or good news you got, or a link to an otter video or anything else that brings laughter or a smile because I sort of need a smile right now and I think a lot of others might need it even more.

My happy:  My kid started 7th grade yesterday and loves her electives.  I got inspired and finished two more pages of my next book.  I found an episode of Rick and Morty I hadn’t seen yet.  I watched amazing people helping others and it reminded me that there are so many more good people than bad and inspired me to do more myself.   This fox who is mad you won’t open your sliding glass door and pet him:

Your turn.

From flattered to offended to confused in under 5 seconds.

Y’all.  I was at the post office picking up my mail and the very young clerk helping me suddenly became transfixed and started moaning loudly while looking at my chest.  Like slack-jawed and audibly groaning loud enough that other people started looking and I thought, “Wow.  My boobs have never had this effect on a man before so I guess I should be flattered but I’m also offended because YOU ARE CREEPING ME OUT, SIR, AND I DON’T KNOW HOW TO RESPOND TO THIS.

So I bent at the knees a little so that my boobs would be under the counter separating us but it didn’t help and the guy’s hands were trembling and he asked, “Did you donate blood?” and that’s when I realized that he was actually looking at the bandage around my arm from having blood work this morning and that I’d bled through the cotton ball and onto the gauze wrap, but before I could answer he turned pale and yelled, “I NEED TO GO SIT DOWN” and sprinted to the back room.  And then I felt very relieved but also a tiny bit disappointed that my boobs didn’t suddenly have the power to render a man speechless.  But then I reminded myself that I basically made someone almost pass out using only my inner elbow and that’s pretty impressive in itself.

PS.  My boobs aren’t on my elbows.  I just had my arm up on the counter to sign for the packages.  It’s weird that I feel I have to clarify that.

PPS. I just got a call from my doctor about the blood work from last week and turns out my liver is still fucked up from the TB meds so I have to go on an additional medication (22 pills a day currently – a new, terrible record) to try to protect my liver and I also have to move from “under 3 alcoholic drinks a week” to “under zero alcoholic drinks a week” and I was like, “But can I still do heroin?” and she said, “Of course.  I’m not going to make you give up carbs, sugar, alcohol AND heroin.  I’m not a monster.”  And that’s how I know that I have a good doctor.  Because she gets my sense of humor.  Not that she approves heroin.

Anyway, the news could be worse but it still makes me a tiny bit weepy because I’m a bit overloaded from the last eight months of constant you’re-not-dead-yet-but-we-don’t-know-why-not diagnoses but then I opened the mail and it was filled with old buttons and lovely notes and books and I was reminded that it’s going to be okay and that at least I didn’t have a disorder that makes me pass out when I see other people’s elbows.

That I know of.


PPPS. For those of you who missed the button discussion on twitter, I collect them.  Then I pretend that my hands are Scrooge McDuck and the buttons are gold coins.  It is incredibly relaxing.  I’ll make a new video soon.

PPPPS.  For those of you asking, yes, I will happily take your unsorted handfuls of unwanted buttons if you don’t want them.  Here’s my address:   /   14546 Brook Hollow Blvd. #400   /   San Antonio TX, 78232.

WTF, me. #solareclipse2017

You know how on Friday I wrote about how we couldn’t find any eclipse glasses? Well I decided to go old-school and make a pinhole camera and then this happened:

PS. No makeup, sweaty, hair in a pony tail, being (adorably) mocked by my child while WEARING A BOX ON MY HEAD.  I am the antithesis of every shiny and perfect instagram selfie.  WORTH IT.

PPS.  That is not even the most embarrassing part of this story.  I’m saving that for my next book.  It’s that horrific.

I just wanted to stare at the sun. Is that so wrong?

So the solar eclipse is in a few days and I waited too long so all the glasses you can view the sun with are sold out.  I went to Amazon to see the safest thing that was still available to stare at the sun behind and they were like, “YEAH.  HOW ABOUT SOME BLACK-OUT CURTAINS”.

The good news though is that when everyone else is looking up at the sky I’ll be able to keep my eyes out for the lizard man:

Don’t tell me there’s no such thing as the lizard man.  It’s all I’m clinging to at this point.


Birds get away with everything.

I wonder if birds ever hear songs on the radio and then chirp those songs and then the other birds are like, “OMG, FRANK.  THAT SONG IS AMAZING.  I CAN’T BELIEVE YOU CAME UP WITH THAT YOURSELF” and then Frank is like, ‘I’m glad I’m a bird and can’t talk so there’s no reason to let everyone know that I didn’t make this song up myself” and then later the other birds hear “Wake Me Up Before You Go-Go” on a radio and they’re like, “WHOA.  EVEN THE HUMANS ARE SINGING FRANK’S SONG NOW.  WTF.”  And then Frank becomes the most popular bird ever even though he’s totally a poser.

Slightly related:  Yesterday there was a bird outside and he looked hungry so I tossed him a bit of my scrambled egg and after he ate it I realized that eggs come from birds (and vice versa) and so I may have just forced a bird into cannibalism.

PS. For the first time since Sunday I feel mostly human and can sit upright for more than 15 minutes at a time.  CELEBRATE THE SMALL THINGS, Y’ALL.

PPS. I was watching bird videos on youtube and now Hunter S. Thomcat is convinced there is a bird inside my computer:

I was watching a video of a bird and now Hunter S Thomcat won't quit it.

A post shared by Jenny Lawson (@thebloggess) on

PPPS.  This was the video that sent him over the top:

PPPPS.  As requested, HST dance remix here.

When do the cyborg bodies get here?

I’ve been a bit MIA lately so here’s a quick update about where I am and what I’m doing.

I had a severe allergic reaction that made me vomit for 10 straight hours and I don’t recommend it.  I developed an allergy to brazil nuts this year and now it’s so bad that even a sliver makes my body turn inside out and my doctor was like, “Hey, interesting trivia that might kill you:  Brazil nuts are the only allergies that are sexually transmitted.”  And I was like, “Awesome.  So I have a severe allergy AND an STD?” and she explained that I couldn’t give the allergy to other people but that if I had sex with someone who ate brazil nuts I could have a severe allergic reaction because apparently brazil nuts come out of your semen.  Not whole, I mean.  That would probably be noticeable.  But enough to send you into shock if you have sex with someone full up on brazil nuts.

This seems like something that should be known since some people have deadly nut allergies and I suggested an ad campaign like, “Keep nuts out of your nuts” but my doctor said it probably wouldn’t fly because the people who make brazil nuts wouldn’t be pleased and I was like, “I’M NOT GOING TO LET BIG NUTS KEEP ME DOWN.”  And she looked at me weird and I explained that the people who owned tobacco were “Big Tobacco” so the nut people were probably “Big Nuts” and she nodded and probably wrote a note to herself to stop accepting my insurance.

I looked for a gif for “brazil nuts” and this is what they gave me. Seems fitting.

In other news about my body trying to kill me, I can’t take the injections for rheumatoid arthritis because of the latent tuberculosis that I probably only have because my autoimmune system is fairly non-existent because of the injections I take for rheumatoid arthritis, so I have to take a medicine to kill the tuberculosis but my doctor just checked my blood and the medication to kill the TB is fucking up my liver so I have to go back in for more tests to see if I need to go off the anti-tuberculosis meds which would mean I couldn’t take the RA meds keeping me out of a wheelchair because then I could get active tuberculosis.  I am a snake swallowing it’s own tail.  And also I’m allergic to snakes.  Additionally, the pill cam data came back and the doctor was like, “You’re all fucked up but we still don’t know where all your missing blood is going.  Your stomach looks gross though and you have ulcers.”  Probably from the stress of all these tests.  Long story short, my body is trying to kill me and I want a replacement.  Or a cyborg body.  I’m not picky.

PS. I’m fine.  A little pathetic and very tired but it’s a relief to know the scarier things I was worried about seem to be okay.  Things could be worse and I think the meds (mainly supplements, vitamins) the doctor has had me on for the past 3 months are helping.  And I’ve lost almost 25 pounds on this horrible low-carb, low-sugar diet the doctor forced me to go on so I almost look like the person I photoshop myself to be on the internet.

PPS.  AND my hard drive broke last week but Apple just fixed it and Victor backed it up and the books I was working on are there!  I was so relieved I cried a little.