me:  Hunter is acting insane.  He just put Ferris Mewler in a headlock.

You can't see it but I suspect he has a tiny switch-blade.

Victor:  They’re fine.  Ferris looks sleepy.

me:  I’m pretty sure he was blacking out from the lack of oxygen.

Victor:  You’re overreacting.

me: Then he stalked me all day.

"You do not see me."

Victor: I don’t see him.

me:  HE’S HIDING BEHIND THE COBRA.

Victor:  Oh yeah.  He’s adorable.

me:  He just set fire to your office.

Victor: Stop texting me.

I don’t even have the words, you guys.

But you know who else deserves it?  The women who have struggled to be, or are still struggling to be moms.  The women who want children but just aren’t in a safe place in life to have them.  The women who don’t want kids and have to listen to a bunch of bullshit about how you’re only worthwhile if you’ve pushed a human out of your vagina.  The women who miss the children they once had.  The women who miss the children they lost before they ever met them.  The women who gave up their children so their child could have a better life than they could provide.  The women who were raised motherless, or with shitty mothers, or who have lost their mothers and are reminded of how alone they feel.  Mother’s Day is a confusing, weird, very-seldom-wrapped-up-with-a-nice-commercial-bow sort of day, and as for me, I salute you all – mothers or not…you’re here.  You’re alive.  You continue to survive.  You are worthwhile and wonderful.  Never forget that.

********

On a personal note, today I’ll be remembering the children I carried who never lived…and the one miracle who did.

PS.  This is technically a terrible picture.  The lighting is weird.  I’m not wearing make-up and the sun is too bright.  It was taken with a crappy cell phone.  But it’s one of my favorite pictures ever.  Why?  Because Hailey took it when she was playing around with my phone and she turned it around, put her arm around my neck to pull me in closer and then took the picture.  One day soon she’ll be too old to be want to take pictures with me, but I’ll keep this one safe until she survives the teenage years and comes back to love her mom like I adore mine.

I’m incredibly lucky for moments like this, and I hope that I never forget that.

There were, however, some complications after the auction closed that caused it to be pulled off ebay forever.

Email from Ebay:

Date: May 11, 2013, 4:36:12 AM CDT
Subject: MC018 Listing policy violation alert:  (775046645)

MC018 Listing policy violation alert: (775046645)

You recently listed the following:
261210867986 – Possibly haunted robot might eat you in your sleep.

We removed these listings because you’ve had too many duplicate
auction-style listings that didn’t end in a sale. The items we removed
are duplicates of other auction-style listings that are currently active
on your eBay account.

And they’re right because do you know how many auctions I’ve completed for possibly haunted robots that might eat you in your sleep?  ALMOST ONE.  I say “almost” because the only one I’ve ever done was removed.  Seriously, it would be impossible have any less auctions for a one-of-a-kind (thank Christ) possibly demonic broken robot.

So Victor called Ebay and was like “What the shit, Ebay?” (I’m paraphrasing) And they said they’d made a horrible mistake and it was all good until they clarified that they were only mistaken about the exact ways in which I had violated the system.

Second letter from ebay:

Date: May 11, 2013, 8:49:26 AM CDT
Subject: MC018 Listing policy violation alert SR# 1-8650326259

You recently listed the following:
261210867986 – Possibly haunted robot might eat you in your sleep.
We removed this listing because it violates our policy under Undermining Trust in the Marketplace.
The listing page serves as the main source of information for buyers, helping them decide what to buy and what to expect when they get an item.  As such, the page should only be used to describe the item for sale and to professionally communicate seller terms.  Sellers can’t include negative statements or comments that undermine trust or confidence in the Marketplace.

The overall policy is intended to help sellers both set and meet buyer expectations in the Marketplace.  Some of the most basic things a seller can do is provide accurate and consistent details about the item and to be clear and specific about the terms and conditions of the sale.

In other words, “Stop being so creative, asshole.  People might actually think you have a cat-eating robot with children’s souls trapped in it.  Because people are stupid and we have to protect them from themselves.  Apparently.”  Or at least, that’s my interpretation.

Luckily, an awesome guy named Alex won before the auction was pulled and he’s already contacted me so everyone wins.  Except the soon-to-be-eaten-cats in Alex’s neighborhood.  Those cats are fucked.  Plus, I now have a brand new idea for a t-shirt.

Click to order on zazzle right now.

I plan on selling one on ebay.  Described accurately.  Under the title “Actively Undermining the Marketplace.”  Because I have problems and I can’t help myself.

I apologize in advance, ebay.

Also, it’s Friday night and this is the highlight of my whole weekend.

I really need to get out more.

This time when moving into a new neighborhood I decided to do things differently.

Very differently.

Or, as Victor says, not really so differently at all.

I’ll keep you (and these) posted.

1.  The hundreds and hundreds of fantastic suggestions to the Rules For Life List.

2.  Finding the final Sookie Stackhouse book had been released and reading it in a single sitting.  STOP JUDGING.  THEY ARE AWESOME.

3. Finding out that my fucking amazing friend, Allie Brosh, is back from the dark side.  She’s one of the people in my life that truly gets what it’s like to be trapped in a full-on, completely-detached-from-reality depression and survive, plus she did it for about 87 years (in depression years) and that gives me such hope that even when it feels like my mind will never snap back…it always will.  Probably.   Now stop whatever you are doing and go read her blog.  But don’t crash her server.  So maybe go in alphabetical order, or by the age you lost your virginity.

RULES FOR LIFE

1. Don’t be shitty.

2. Don’t make happy people sad.

3. Don’t make sad people sadder.

4. If more than two people tell you that you’re being an asshole, consider that maybe you’re being an asshole.

5. Flush the toilet behind you.  You’re grossing us all out.

6. Support the under-dog.

7. Critics aren’t automatically bullies and you’re doing yourself a disservice if you ignore all of them out of hand.  That being said, it sucks to read shitty stuff about yourself so find an honest friend to read your criticism and tell you if it’s something worth listening to or if the critic is just a crazy fucking douche-canoe.

8. Real bullies are complete assholes but they can’t recognize themselves as such so maybe spray paint an “x” on their forehead so that we can all just recognize them from a distance and ignore them.

9. Be stupid.  Be childlike.  Be ridiculous.  Be happy.

10. Don’t use the word “literally” when you really mean “figuratively”.  It literally makes me want to stab you a little but I don’t do it because that’s illegal and also because I have a very limited amount of knives.

11. Read more.  Watch shows that inspire you.  Embrace whatever makes you geek out.  Even if it’s Laura Ingalls.  Because Laura Ingalls is fascinating and there’s nothing wrong with obsessively knowing every detail about her life and death.  Stop judging me.  

12. Bite off more than you can chew.  You can always spit it out on the floor if you decide you don’t like it.  Women do it all the time.

12b. Embrace your flaws and foibles.  If people make fun of you, kick them in the back and then blame it on a ghost.

14. Don’t let other people on the internet tell you what to do.  Unless it’s this list.  Then I guess just use your best judgement.

15. Become a pirate.  Or a monster truck.  Or a space toddler.  Or a jacket.  That’s my favorite one.  I just jump on someone’s back and say “Sorry.  You looked cold.  Zip me up.”  It’s awesome.

16. Do something nice for someone you love.

17. Do something nice for a perfect stranger.

18. Do something nice for you.

19. Do ‘The Robot’.

20.  Add your own.  Go ahead.  You can’t fuck this up any more than I have.

Also, the shipping is $25 in the US (it’s crazy heavy because of the motor on the bottom) or free if you just want the dismembered head.  And if you win I’ll throw in a free, signed copy of my book.  Or I’ll leave it out if you think that lowers the value of the overall package.  It’s totally up to you.

PS. It’s way easier to read on the actual site.

My favorite part: “Have one to sell? Sell it yourself!”

Because who doesn’t have an extra, decapitated, soul-devouring, home-made, broken robot?

Stop being so demanding. You're a fucking door.

Some people will say it’s a nice idea because positive suggestions are almost always a good thing, but I think if you’re at the point when you’re looking to your door for advice then you probably need more help than just the generic “Be more awesome.”

That’s why I suggest writing these on your doorjamb instead:

It's a little creepy, but sweet. Mostly creepy though.

This one's good because it has lowered expectations, and also because if you do fuck something up you can just blame it on your door forcing you to do things and no one will argue with you because you sound too unbalanced to engage with.

The original just said "Don't set stuff on fire" but then I changed it because this way it appeals to arsonists too, and I think door advice should be more inclusive.

And my personal favorite:

Because...yeah.

And in entirely unrelated news, it’s time for the weekly wrap up:

This week’s wrap-up is sponsored by I Just Want to Pee Alone*,  a collection of 37 essays from some of the funniest mom bloggers on the web. Each essay is the perfect length to read during a pee break, and if you leave the book in your bathroom you should finish it in approximately 37 pees. Hence, this book prevents urinary tract infections and possibly depression.  Your bladder will thank you.  This book makes a fabulous mother’s day gift.

They’re very similar in that they are both fairly baffling and people can’t help but pick them up and wonder at them.  And also, you don’t actually need a whole box of them.  At most you can only use a dozen glass cow eyeballs and then the rest just go to waste.  Ditto with a giant box of books.  That’s why I’m giving away several here this week (autographed books, not eyeballs).  All you have to do is leave a comment and you’re entered to win.

This copy includes the new chapter, which you might possibly be in. Please don't sue me.

What should you comment about?  Anything.  Your favorite toe.  The pet names of your body parts.  How many glass eyeballs you think a normal person uses in a lifetime.  The number of bodies you can fit under your bed.  It’s totally up to you.

Also, for some strange reason this bewildering memoir is still on the Indie Bestseller lists and the NYT bestseller list and I’m still getting emails from people who had never even heard of this blog but who stumbled over the book and are so thankful that they’ve finally found their tribe.  Thank you for being that tribe.  And thank you for letting me be a part of it.

Random assignment for bored artists today: An illustration of a woman making out with a unicorn. #artforawesomeness

The responses were astounding and they helped me to find, lose and then find again my faith in humanity.  This is why twitter exists.  This is why we’re here.  Because there is such great joy in embracing the bewildering art of taking a joke way, way too far.  Thank you for taking that journey with me.

And in case you haven’t followed it on twitter, here are just a few of my very favorites.  (Click on the pics for links to the artist’s awesomeness.)

You guys are weird.

Never change.

You. Are. Welcome.

See.  It’s a perfect circle.  Or a vicious circle.  One of those.

PS.  I’m not glorifying drugs but – in my defense – some drugs are pretty damn glorious.  Like, have you ever had a morphine drip?  Because it’s like being frenched by a unicorn.  A unicorn who has morphine-based saliva.  But you have to rip your arm off to get it, so I don’t recommend it.  Just say no to ripping your own arm off.

PPS.  I think we could have won the War on Drugs with that slogan.  ”Just say no to ripping your own arm off.”  Because first of all everyone listens to that advice, and secondly, no one wants to get involved in a class of drugs that ends with you wanting to rip off your own arm.  Probably.

PPPS. “I want this on a t-shirt.”  I KNOW.  Here it is.  Double-sided for Mother’s Day.  Because it both promotes and discourages drug use at the same time, and that dichotomy acknowledges the complicated and multi-layered nature of motherhood.  Plus, you probably need a t-shirt.  It’s not always that deep, y’all.

PPPPS.  As requested, magnets.

And that’s the reason why I will never divorce this man.*

*Both because of his incredibly inappropriate sense of humor and because I suspect he was imagining my blood in the bags.

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

And in other news, it’s time for the weekly wrap-up:

What you missed in my shop (tentatively called “Eight pounds of uncut cocaine” so that your credit card bill will be more interesting.):

This week’s wrap-up is sponsored by The Rheel Daze.  From the author: “What happens when instead of pursuing your dreams in your twenties, you settle for every bottle of Bacardi you can get your hands on? You end up trying again in your thirties,  with half the fervor you possessed a decade ago. That’s Kelly. Still chasing the dream…but at a comfortable pace.”

**********

You guys?  I just met The Doctor.

And he’s my vet.

First of all, EVERYONE he works with just calls him “The Doctor” and then when he came into the room he looked EXACTLY like #9 and then he handed me his card and I was all “Hang on…YOUR NAME IS ‘TIME LORD’?” and he was like “Um…the ‘I’ is soft.  It’s Tim.  Tim Lord.”  But it was pretty clear I’d broken his cover because I was all “Gallifrey this” and “sonic screwdrivers that” and then he looked a little panicky and pulled out a syringe and I started to think about Dexter, but then I remembered that The Doctor was a vet and I was there to get shots for my cat.

But then I totally didn’t remember driving home later and I’m pretty sure I probably had some crazy adventure with The Doctor for years and then he Donna Nobled me and now I just can’t remember any of it.  So then I asked Victor “What exactly was I wearing when I left?” and he had no idea because he never thinks of the possibility of me getting time-travel abducted because the man has no sense of adventure.  But then for weeks afterward whenever Victor would ask if I’d taken out the garbage I’d be all: “OH MY GOD I HAVEN’T SEEN YOU IN WEEKS.  I’VE BEEN HANGING OUT WITH HITLER AND MY GOD IS THAT MAN AN ASS”  and that’s a perfect excuse for pretty much anything because you can’t even argue with it.

Also, I asked The Doctor if I could post a picture of him on my blog so you wouldn’t think I was just over-imaginative and he said it was fine so now you can see why I was freaking out:

It’s fucking uncanny.  Victor agrees, but for different reasons.