Category Archives: weekly reruns

All I want for Mother’s Day is Herbert and his two front teeth.

me: For Mother’s Day this year I want this teddy bear.  Or rabbit, maybe?  It has teeth and it’s adorable.

uncanny creatures

Via UncannyCreatures on Etsy.

Victor:  I…don’t think I want that in the house.

me:  It’s tiny and under $40.  Plus, I’m pretty sure you can’t say no to me on Mother’s Day.  I made a human out of my body.

Victor: Well I helped.

me:  Barely.

Victor:  EXCUSE ME?  Millions of my replicants were destroyed in the process of making our child.

me: “Replicants”?

Victor:  Yep. And I better get something awesome for Father’s Day. It’s like Remembrance Day for the millions of replicants who didn’t make it.

me: Oh Jesus.

Victor:  Never forget, Jenny.

me:  Well, I can’t now.

PS.  Vaguely related: Happy Mother’s Day to my mom who is the greatest woman I’ve ever met, and Happy Mother’s Day to my daughter because she’s the one who made me a mother.  And high-five to anyone who has weird, conflicting  or shitty feelings about Mother’s Day and wishes it would all go away.  Go get yourself a kitten and a waffle.  You deserve it.  Get me some too while you’re at it.

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And now, the weekly wrap-up of awesomeness:

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Shit I made in my shop (Named “EIGHT POUNDS OF UNCUT COCAINE” so that your credit card bill will be more interesting.):

This week’s wrap-up is brought to you by Darcy Perdu, award-winning humorist who loves to share her bodacious blunders and amazing adventures at SoThenStories.com. She’ll gleefully tell you about the Baby Book Debacle  – the hilarious reason her friend’s husband is mad at her, and why some people think she’s raising her daughter to be a stripper.  You can subscribe to her blog right here so you don’t miss a second.

Yes, that was totally the rabbit I was thinking of.

I always feel sorry for magician doing tricks for people with ADD because whenever I’m off my meds and I’m watching magic I always get distracted and forget what’s going on halfway through, and then the magician reaches into his hat and there’s a rabbit in there and I think, “Wait.  Was there not a rabbit there before? Because I honestly don’t remember how this started.” So I just pretend to be impressed and hope that that was the trick.

Basically, I’m like those serial killers who don’t feel emotions so they just become really good actors so people won’t suspect they’re psychopaths. Except instead of plotting murders I’m just hoping that the magician doesn’t ask me to pick a card because there’s no way I’ll remember it and I’ll just say “Yes, that was totally my card” no matter what. Magicians are wasted on me.  We should probably set up really terrible magicians with very easily distracted people and then everyone will be happy.

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And now, the weekly wrap-up of awesomeness:

sid

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:

Shit you should buy or steal because it’s awesome:  

This week’s wrap-up is brought to you by my talented friends from UnPodcast: The Business Podcast for the Fed-Up.  It is awesome, entertaining and it is free.  The only way it could be better is if it also increased your metabolism and made you a mojito.  Which it might do.  Hard to tell.  Listen to it while you work.  I highly recommend. 

Don’t yell at me. I’m weak and fragile.

I’ve been sick as a dog for days and this post might not make sense because I’m still dehydrated and loopy.  If it makes you mad you should blame the bad chicken salad I ate.  I know I do.

The difference between men and women:

me: I feel almost human for the first time in 48 hours.

Victor:  Thank goodness.

Me:  And I literally lost two pounds...just by throwing up.

Victor: You sound unsettlingly excited about having had food poisoning.

me: Well, I think maybe that’s the difference between men and women.  Women are more optimistic.  About food poisoning.

Victor:  I think you have a problem.

me:  I did have a problem.  It was severe vomiting.  And it made me lose two pounds.  That’s optimism, Victor.

Victor:  That’s an eating disorder.

me:  It might be both.

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And now, the weekly wrap-up of awesomeness:

madebyroundtablecompanies 2

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:

Shit you should buy or steal because it’s awesome:  

This week’s wrap-up is brought to you by Blue Lizard Australian® Sunscreen. They’re one of the top sunscreens and delivers clinically proven, broad-spectrum UVA and UVB protection in a SPF 30+ formulation. From them: “Our patented BPA-free Smart Bottle™ changes color in the presence of harmful UV rays, reminding you to apply sunscreen.  Baby & Sensitive are paraben-free, chemical-free and fragrance-free. Face is also oil-free and all formulations are mineral-based containing Zinc Oxide. Sport & Regular are extremely water resistant, staying on in 240 minutes of whirlpool water. Blue Lizard is the brand most recommended by pediatricians, dermatologists, pharmacists, and moms nationwide.”  You should buy some lotion and rub it on your skin. Not in a serial killer way.  Just the opposite, in fact.  (Use the code P20BLOGG for 20% off orders over $35.)

Ferris Mewler: “What in the shit are you people doing?”

med cleaning dorothy barker

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And now, the weekly wrap-up of awesomeness:

shitidid

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:

Shit you should buy or steal because it’s awesome:  

This week’s wrap-up is brought to you by the bad-asses behind the Unpodcast – the business show for the fed-up.  I recommend starting with this one, about the importance of paying your creatives rather than ripping them off by asking them to work for free or this one about when it’s right to name and shame people. I recommend.  Go check it out right now.

Also, that fucker ate all the hot pockets.

An imagined open letter from the justifiably disgruntled wife of poet William Carlos Williams, the man who wrote this famed poem:

This is Just to Say 

I have eaten
the plums
that were in
the icebox

and which
you were probably
saving
for breakfast

Forgive me
they were delicious
so sweet
and so cold

 

Dear literary critics:

You guys are assholes.

Did you even read the poem you claim is so brilliant?  First off, my husband ate all my fruit, and then instead of apologizing in person he left a post-it note admitting that he did it, but that he had a good reason which was basically “I wanted to“.  And not only does he eat all my plums, also he ends the post-it telling me how goddam delicious they are.  I know how delicious plums are.  That’s why I was saving them for breakfast. 

You people read this poem and love it, but really it’s just a not-very-apologetic-apology from a man confessing to mild burglary.  And who do you think had to go out and buy more plums for breakfast because someone promised his parents I’d make plum pancakes for everyone?  Not Mr. I’m-far-too-poetic-to-go-to-Walmart, I’ll tell you that.  Frankly, I don’t even think plum pancakes are a real thing.  They tasted terrible and I’m guessing he just made them up because he’s “poetic and whimsical” and so I ended up having to apologize for the shitty pancakes that I didn’t even want to make.

And then the whole world is like, “DID YOU SEE THIS APOLOGY LETTER?  IT IS THE GREATEST MODERN POEM EVER!”  Just – what?  No.  IT DOESN’T EVEN RHYME.

Frankly, I expected that people reading the apology would be more sympathetic, like, “That guy stole your fruit and then told you how awesome it was?  What a dick“.  But instead everyone is all “GENIUS!  ENCORE!” and now my husband is utterly out of control.  This morning he climbed up into the tree in the front yard wearing only a bathrobe (my bathrobe – because he’s not content to just steal my breakfast, apparently) and he refused to come down because he claims I “purposely” destroyed his latest poem.  It was not a poem.  It was our grocery list.

I told him that no one wants a poem about kitty litter and two-ply toilet paper but he said I don’t understand poetry and that he couldn’t hear me anyway because he was too busy writing a poem about how “trees are very scratchy” and at this point I don’t even know anymore.  Apparently everything is a poem now.

Here’s a poem I just made for you :  There once was a girl from Nantucket.  I wonder if she has some plums I can borrow.  The end.

Oh, Christ.  I just found a leaf on the table with a note scrawled on it reading: “This is just to say that I broke the cat when I fell out of the tree.  Forgive me.  I fell so fast and Mittens was so old.”  

Jesus, people.  Just stop encouraging him.  

Hugs, Mrs. William Carlos Willams

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And now, the weekly wrap-up of awesomeness:

sid

Shit I made in my shop (Named “EIGHT POUNDS OF UNCUT COCAINE” so that your credit card bill will be more interesting.):

  • Mugs are 40% off if you enter SAVING4TAXES code at check-out.  I recommend this mug or this one.
  • People always ask how to see the newest stuff.   Click here.

This week’s wrap-up is brought to you by the lovely and funny Dave Tank, whose new memoir The Year of the Roses is available right now.  I just bought a copy myself. It’s the true story of Dave spending his thirties traveling the world, always one step away from grasping success and happiness. When his mother dies unexpectedly, he has to leave his life in Paris to return home to face an unsure reality without his best friend.  Dave walks away from his career to take a year to put his life back in order. In that year, he finds the most unlikely of teachers – his mother. Through the journals of her life she had left behind, Dave learns how to see life through her eyes and find true happiness. This was the year two lives became one. The Year of the Roses. Go buy it – one for you, and one for your Mom for Mother’s Day. Details here.

Home is where the brain stem spoons are.

Small missives from the house I grew up in, since we’re visiting for Easter:

Last year my dad designed a special spoon so he could pull brain stems out of animals to check them for diseases. It’s pretty glamorous. He does it after they’re dead, obviously. Otherwise that would be a pretty cruel and pointless test. I told my mom that he should sell them but she said there wasn’t much of a call for brain stem spoons. This is exactly why we’re in a recession. Because people don’t have enough faith in their inventions.

Speaking of inventions, my dad had to style a bear’s hair so he made a blow-dryer out of a leaf-blower, duct-tape and PVC pipe.

bearstyling

My father is the MacGuyver of Taxidermy.

Happy Easter, y’all.

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And now, the weekly wrap-up of awesomeness:

sid

Shit I made in my shop (Named “EIGHT POUNDS OF UNCUT COCAINE” so that your credit card bill will be more interesting.):

This week’s wrap-up is brought to you by the amazing minds behind the Unpodcast – the business show for the fed-up.  Go check it out now.  I recommend starting with this one, about the importance of paying your creatives rather than ripping them off by asking them to work for free.  I second that motion.  Go check it out right now.

Ho ho ho. Green ballsack.

jollygreenballsackI was just wondering if the Jolly Green Giant was made of vegetables, because if so it seems sort of cruel to make him a spokesperson for eating vegetables.  I looked it up and it urns out that the original Jolly Green Giant was neither “jolly” nor “green” and was actually some sort of angry caveman in a bearskin loincloth which just gave me more questions.

But I did find out that there’s an enormous, 55-foot statue of him where it seems like it would be almost impossible to not stare up at his ball sack.  Then I was like, why am I thinking about the Jolly Green Giant’s ball sack?  HOW DID THIS HAPPEN?  This is exactly why the internet is so dangerous.

But clearly I did not learn my lesson because then I looked at wikipedia to see if it could answer the question about whether JGG -and his Jolly Green Genitals- are made of vegetables and Wikipedia explained that the Green Giant came around in the 20’s in response to a new variety of pea that were “oblong, wrinkled and huge.  Despite their size, they were tender, and had a special flavor and sweetness that couldn’t be matched.”

Also, the company originally used the brand name “Le Sueur”, which is french for “The Sweat.”  Sweaty, green, oblong, huge, and wrinkled….but tender and with a special flavor.

I’m sorry.  I can’t stop laughing and I’m not going to explain why if you’re not as messed up as I am.

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And now, the weekly wrap-up of awesomeness:

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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:

Shit you should buy or steal because it’s awesome:  

This week’s wrap-up is brought to you by the wonderful Chris Illuminati (yes, that is his real name) who just wrote a very funny but educational bad-ass book called The New Dad Dictionary— Everything He Really Needs to Know.  I assumed it would be stuff I already knew since I’m a parent but then I got to the page about Baby Concierges and I was all, ‘WHAT THE SHIT?  BABIES GET CONCIERGES NOW?”  I didn’t even know that was a thing.  If you’re a new dad, or about to become a new dad you should totally get this book.  Check it out here.

Jesus. The google searches I’m going to get for this one…

Facebook just suggested I wanted to see a story entitled:

“Man arrested for breaking into funeral home to perform sexual act on female corpse”

My first thought was, “YOU DON’T KNOW ME, FACEBOOK.  That is NOT the kind of weird shit I want to know about and I really don’t appreciate what you’re implying.”

My second though was a mental image of a man performing a strip-tease while standing on a corpse, but I’d guess that’s not what happened.  I don’t know for sure because I didn’t click through.  I think it’s the wording that I find confusing.  That and, obviously, the fact that someone thinks corpses are hot.  That last part goes without saying, I hope.

I just think we can find a better phrase than “perform a sexual act on.”  There are too many variables and too much subjectivity.  Victor says there really isn’t, but I’m pretty sure if people are performing on corpses we can’t really rule anything out.

Also, I’m giving serious thought to cremation and to scrawling “FILLED WITH RAZORBLADES AND LEPROSY”  on my stomach each night, just in case .

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And now, the weekly wrap-up of awesomeness:

sid

Shit I made in my shop (Named “EIGHT POUNDS OF UNCUT COCAINE” so that your credit card bill will be more interesting.):

This week’s wrap-up is brought to you by the talented Claire Ashby, who wrote When You Make It Home, which you should buy RIGHT NOW because today it’s 99 cents.  That’s less than I pay…everything, basically. Synopsis:  Meg Michaels, a bookstore owner, has already walked away from two cheating exes. She’s learned her lesson and has her mind set on success—until she gets knocked up. Embarrassed and unwilling to discuss her situation with friends and family, she wears layers to hide the pregnancy.   Theo Taylor, an Army medic wounded in the war, finds out her secret and agrees not to reveal her condition.  The two forge a bond of friendship that blossoms into love. But can their love overcome all the obstacles that stand between them and creating a happy family?Go right now and buy it.  I just did.

My spoon is exhausted.

Conversation with my husband at one of those cooking stores for people who use more than one pot their whole life:

spoonme me: Holy shit.  This spoon is ENORMOUS.

Victor:  It’s not a spoon.  It’s a spoon rest.

me:  Because my spoons need to rest?

Victor:  Seriously?  You put it on the stove so you can put the dirty spoon you’re using to stir with on it.

me:  So now I have two dirty spoons.  I’m supposed to buy a spoon for my spoon now?

Victor:  Sort of.

me:  Baffling.  And this is why I don’t cook.

Victor:  Yeah.  That’s why.

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And now, the weekly wrap-up of awesomeness:

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:

 

Shit you should buy or steal because it’s awesome:  (I had a small breakdown this week, and the best cure for that is reading so all of these are books that helped me escape the hell that is my own head.  If you hate books you should leave now.)

This week’s wrap-up is brought to you by the fascinating Cosmic Box.  Cosmic Box is an inexpensive monthly released box, full of an eclectic mix of organic small batch food, organic artisan skin care, gems and such. It’s like a surprise present for your body, soul and home.  The very first box ships out mid-May and all are curated by Kat Davis (also of wildhoneyapothecary) a holistic RN who has dedicated her life to the study of botanicals, gems and honey.   20% off all profits are donated to a different charity each month.  Get yourself some cosmic awesomeness right here.

It’s how the light gets in…

So, yesterday we got a dog.

Most people would end that sentence with an exclamation mark, but honestly I wasn’t looking for a dog. I’ve said “no” to hundreds my daughter has begged for (and even a few I wanted myself) because it hurts too much to lose one. When Barnaby Jones died  four years ago I said “never again“.

And then Hailey fell in love with this tiny dog. And then Victor fell in love with this tiny dog. And then I said, “No.  Get it away from me.”  But the puppy ignored me and curled up in my lap as Victor explained that this dog was practically medicinal, and is well-suited to being an emotional support dog, which he thinks  might help with my anxiety disorder.

So I said yes…and it was very sweet to watch her frolic with Hailey, but my heart is still broken from dogs so I kept my distance.  (Much like Hunter S. Thomcat, who was similarly reserving judgement, as you can see below.)

puppy

Then last night she whimpered as she was put in her crate, so I moved her next to my bed and put my hand on her until she was comforted enough to sleep. I told myself not to look, but at midnight I turned on my phone so I could use its glow to check on her.

She’d curled into a small, content ball and the odd markings on her side smooshed together to make a tiny perfect heart. Well, not perfect exactly, as a small line broke the heart in the middle.

heart3

Then, as I watched, she snuggled up tighter and the heart became whole. And she was mine. And vice-versa.

So now we need a name.  These are the contenders to far:

  • Dorothy Barker
  • Louise L’Amour
  • Lola
  • Little Sheba
  • Happy
  • Valentine
  • Rabbit
  • Charlotte
  • Penelope (pronounced PEE-nuh-lope)
  • Rocket
  • THE MONARCH
  • Little Edie
  • Bunny
  • Dixi
  • Gracie

PS. I just read that Marie Antoinette had a papillon and carried it all the way to the guillotine as a comfort to her.  Conclusion: I think Marie Antoinette invented the first emotional service dog, and look how well things worked out for her.

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And now, the weekly wrap-up of awesomeness:

sid

Shit I made in my shop (Named “EIGHT POUNDS OF UNCUT COCAINE” so that your credit card bill will be more interesting.):

Shit-I-didn’t-come-up-with-but-wish-I-did-because-it’s-awesome:

Shit you should buy or steal because it’s awesome:

This week’s wrap-up is brought to you by CAMP TxSC, a weekend retreat for lady bloggers and business owners with a focus on networking, renewing creativity, and eating a crop ton of s’mores.  Plus, I’m a keynote speaker which means these people have made the questionable decision to give me a microphone.  Register now and use code BLOGGESS for 25% off until Feb. 1.