Category Archives: weekly reruns

Scariest movie ever.

Today is Monday but it’s Sunday here because I was in Vegas (more on that later) so I missed the Sunday wrap-up so congratulations – it’s Sunday again!  Go home and binge watch something.

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I took H to see The Quiet Place because she doesn’t get scared at scary movies and I thought maybe it would be different if we saw one at the theater instead of at home.   She grabbed my hand once but she totally wasn’t the level of freaked-the-fuck-out that I was when I saw scary movies when I was a kid, which makes me a little sad because I LUUURV horror and she appreciates it but isn’t too impressed over all.  She seen The Shining, Babadook, Ouijia, IT…and she thought they were all okay but none of them scared her.  She doesn’t have nightmares.  WTF.

Is my kid broken?  Or are kids just less scared by stuff now?  I remember watching The Shining when I was her again on a tiny staticky tv through my fingers and I still get freaked out at the “Danny’s not here anymore” part.  At this point I’m thinking of getting out The Ring because that’s the scariest movie I ever saw but I’m open for suggestions.

What’s the scariest movie you ever saw in your life?

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And on an entirely different subject…

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

  • Mugs are half off today if you use the ZSPRINGDEALS code.  Get yourself a Beyonce to drink with, y’all.  Possibly it would be better as a shot glass but technically a mug holds more vodka and is less obvious during business meetings.  

Shit-you-may-or-may-not-want-to-see:

This week’s wrap-up is brought to you by Leslie Handler’s new book, Rats, Mice and Other Things You Can’t Take to the Bank. You should check it out, partly because Leslie was incredibly understanding about Monday being Sunday but also because it’s a great book.  AND because all author profits are being donated to the National Alliance on Mental Health (NAMI) so by buying the book or donating here you’ll be helping end the stigma against mental illness.  It is clever and kooky and you should check her out right now because she’s good people.  

I need a lot of pills.

So I saw this online and Hailey looked at it and said, “I’d take #9 three times because then I could use my billion dollars to get most of the other things” and I question her math skills but gave her points for creativity and I was like, “Wouldn’t you pick #6 so Ferris Mewler lives forever?” and she looked at Ferris and said, “WHO WANTS TO GET CLONED? You do, right, buddy? GIVE ME YOUR DNA AND LIVE FOREVER.”  It’s unsettling and also kind of impressive.

Personally I’d chose 1, 2 and 9 and one of the skills I’d master is making all of the other pills.

Your turn.

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And on an entirely different subject…

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 Kira Lynne’s Aches, Pains, and Love.  Are you living with chronic pain or illness, or both? Have you given up on having an intimate, romantic relationship? Kira Lynne’s new book reveals that you can have lasting love and companionship when you live with chronic pain and illness. Both entertaining and practical, Aches, Pains, and Love provides a step-by-step guide to getting the love you want, regardless of your physical condition. Available on Amazon and other outlets.

Stephen Colbert stole my giant baby

So last week I wrote about a free 14-foot-tall-baby on craigslist and I was totally in but then I realized that I had to go to New York to pick up the baby in person and Victor won’t even let me eat donuts in his truck so I was pretty sure that he’d be pissed if I strapped a baby to the roof.

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But then a ton of people were like, “Let’s break this down into a tiny routes and pass this baby on like a goddam Olympic Torch until it gets to your house” and I was totally in but before that could happen this came across my twitter feed last night:

WTF, STEPHEN COLBERT.

Long story short, I think a dingo took my baby.

And that dingo?  Was Stephen Colbert.  

The same Stephen Colbert who accidentally stole a joke from me 6 years ago although maybe I accidentally stole it from him earlier because I guess we share the same brain and also the exact same wonky ear.

Conclusion: I think Stephen Colbert is my long lost father, which means that this 14 foot giant baby I was trying to adopt is now my brother.  Family is weird, y’all.

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And on an entirely different subject…

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 Operation Delta Dog. Each year, more than 75,000 dogs wind up homeless in Massachusetts and New Hampshire alone. Operation Delta Dog is a a 501(c)3 nonprofit organization committed to solving both of these problems. The mission is simple: rescue shelter dogs and train them to be service dogs for veterans with Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder (PTSD), Traumatic Brain Injury (TBI), and related challenges. If you are a veteran within Operation Delta Dog’s service area, you can apply for assistance here. And if you’d like to help the organization continue to be able to provide dogs totally free of charge to veterans, you can help by contributing here. You can also follow along on Facebook for cute dog pictures!  They are awesome and you should check them out.

It’s the little things, y’all.

I was in the bathroom at the movies when someone let out the longest and loudest public fart I’ve ever heard in my life, and everyone went quiet for a second in that way where you couldn’t tell if they were more impressed or concerned and then a small child who sounded maybe three excitedly squealed, “OH MY GOODNESS MAMA. SOMEONE TOOTED SO LOUD!” in the same tone you’d use if you’d just seen Santa Claus and then she laughed so gleefully and her mom was like, “Samantha, don’t laugh” but you could tell that the mom was trying not to laugh too because this kids belly-laugh giggles were unstoppable and contagious and suddenly all of the women in their stalls started laughing and for the first time in my life I felt bad that it wasn’t me that farted, because I have never before witnessed a fart that gave so many such joy.

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And on an entirely different subject…

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 HotHouse Intimates, a company that curates monthly subscription boxes filled with adult products for all experience levels.  Bonus: The site is designed with a mainstream audience in mind so you don’t have to worry about hiding your phone when viewing it, and it makes a fabulous Valentine’s Day gift.  Bloggess followers get 30% off their first box with discount code: BLOGGESSBOX, which I’m not sure is a euphemism but probably is.  Check them out here.

I don’t drink babies.

So I was in the drug store waiting for a prescription when this woman asked me, “You drink the baby?”  And I was like, “I don’t drink babies,” but I didn’t say that out loud because it seemed like English wasn’t her first language and I was probably misunderstanding her, but then she repeated herself and I was forced to tell a stranger that I don’t personally drink babies.

But then she held up this package that had a lady enthusiastically sipping on a baby through a crazy straw and I was like, “Well.  Now I understand your confusion.”

Well that’s…something.

And so I told her, “I think maybe it’s just for sucking the snot out of sick babies?” and she looked appalled and said, “You just want to suck out their snot?” and I was like, “Lady, I don’t want to suck anything out of babies.  I don’t even siphon gas from other cars,” and she looked even more confused and the pharmacist looked over at us and I was overdosing on awkward so I ran away and that’s why I need someone else to go pick up my pills for me, and it’s exactly why I don’t like to leave the house.

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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 Liz, who failed out of seminary for using the word “fuck” too much, and the word “God” way too little.  And for writing “pigeon-rat” in the margins of her sermons, even though she had a really, really good reason.  If you are craving the spirituality of religion, but with fabulous vagina parables, check out LizJamesWrites.com.  There, you will also find the ABSOLUTE. GREATEST. CHRISTMAS DILDO STORY.  OF ALL. TIME. 

 

Day seven. TRAGEDY STRIKES.

Victor is still in Japan so life is still weird and I’m continuing to share my daily journey with him on instagram.

Quick flashback to three days ago if you have been dunk since then (no judgement):

Today the shop selling the golden chicken was open so I decided to see much it was even though Victor was not entirely supportive.  And then this happened:

Day 7: NOOOOOOOOOOOOO

A post shared by Jenny Lawson (@thebloggess) on

So then I rushed in to find out who had sawed off Lindsay LoHen’s shackled foot to steal her away in the night but turns out that SOMEONE BOUGHT HER.  And apparently several people had been fighting over her because the shop lady was like, “Wait.  Were you the woman who was going to paint the paint the chicken black and put it at the end of her street so you could tell people to turn left at the beautiful giant black c0ck?” and I was like, “No.  But now I’m pretty sure my sister is in town and bought Lindsay LoHen.”  Long story short, no golden chicken for me.  Unless Victor bought her as a surprise and is picking her up on the way home.  Which seems unlikely.

Insert sad trombone noise here.

BUT the shop lady said that she could order another one, however there can be only one Lindsay LoHen so I asked if there were any other giant metal things…like maybe a trex?  She’s looking into it.  There is always hope, y’all.

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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 Treehut.co, which is the perfect way to give a sentimental gift without trying at all. Treehut.co is a California based company making unique and engravable wooden watches to show either your love or your hate. IT IS UP TO YOU.  So when you forget an anniversary or need a great gift for your graduation nephew in a hurry, Treehut.co is a fantastic option that will make you look thoughtful even though we all know you just forget.  You should check them out here, especially because they have a good sale on now.

 

What’s my name again?

I consider myself very lucky that my brand of crazy is recognized so universally that my books have been translated into lots of different languages, and that means I have a whole shelf full of books that I wrote but can’t read a single word of.  It’s a weird mix of feeling very accomplished and also completely stupid at the same time.

I just got this copy, which I think is Ukranian (or Bulgarian, maybe?) and the cover is awesome but which of those words is my name?  It’s a riddle I cannot solve.  If you speak Ukrania (or Bulgarian?) can you help me out?

Help?

A post shared by Jenny Lawson (@thebloggess) on

 

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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 Myawesomebeauty.com. A little bit about them: My Awesome Beauty is a website run by beauty addicts that have real experience in the beauty business (formulator, esthetician, beauty advisor etc.) where you will learn how to choose the cosmetics or beauty devices worth your money following specific criteria. The guides and reviews really help because they explain what to look for and what to check, such as the guide about the facial steamers or the guide on microdermabrasion machines for home use.” You should check them out here.

 

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.

CHORUS

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.

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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 Myawesomebeauty.com. It’s a website run by beauty addicts and professionals (formulator, esthetician, beauty advisor, etc.) who can teach you how to choose cosmetics or beauty devices worth your money following specific criteria, rather than just what brand is popular at the moment. The guides and reviews explain you what to look and what to check, from vitamin C serums to microdermabrasion machines for home use. You should check them out here.

 

MAGIC!

So yesterday Victor was like, “Hey, take some xanax because we’re going out tonight.  And by ‘tonight’ I mean ‘5pm’,” and I was like, “That seems very late for me and also ‘no,'” but he was like, “You’ll like it.  It’s a magic show in a hotdog castle that used to be a church,” and I was like, “Those words don’t go together.  Have you had a stroke?” and he sighed, “And it’s haunted,” and so I took my xanax but I didn’t know what to wear and Victor was like, “It’s a magic show.  Wear a sequined cravat obviously.  Don’t embarrass me.”  But I didn’t have one so I wore a red dress with a plastic belt that looks almost like diamonds if you have never seen diamonds.  And I would probably be perfectly dressed for a magic show but I forgot to compensate for “hotdog castle” so basically I was totally overdressed and glaring at Victor.

I don’t know why people call it a “hotdog castle” though. Maybe it’s heresy to call it a hotdog church?

And then we went up to the middle floor where the magic show was and it was GORGEOUS and covered with stained glass and I was in love for five seconds until I saw that it was communal bench seating so I had to eat my fancy hotdog with strangers which is my idea of hell.  Making smalltalk with strangers, I mean.  Not eating hotdogs.  I like hotdogs.  And when the strangers were like, “Where are you from?” and I was like, “I’m from Stop-Asking-Me-Questions” Victor coughed to cover it up and Hailey joyfully took over all of the conversations because she loves strangers and might be adopted.

The magic show was quite good but people didn’t seem to understand that when a magic trick is done you need to clap.  Or whoop.  Something.  Personally when a trick is done I often shout “WHAT.”  Or if it’s really good I point and yell “WITCHCRAFT“, but in a somewhat complimentary way rather than a “J’ACCUSE” sort of thing.  This seems a bit over the top but Victor is a magic geek and I’ve been to a shit ton of magic shows so I think I know what I’m doing.  Also, I’m usually very drunk, which makes me a great audience because I’m easily impressed. Plus I have ADD so I can never remember what the card was I was supposed to remember so no matter what happens I assume it’s magic.  Like, if a magician puts a rabbit in a hat and then pulled out the same rabbit a minute later I’m like, “YOU’VE SIGNED A PACT WITH THE DEVIL” and Victor has to remind me that that’s not the trick at all.

Scott Pepper doing magic. Not a good picture. Sorry.

I had an end to this but I forgot what it was.  I blame the ADD.

MAGIC!

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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 StoryWorth Books, which I’m actually a big fan of.  From them: Still looking for a meaningful Father’s Day gift? StoryWorth is the perfect last minute gift. Each week, we’ll email him a question about his life – asking him about his favorite memory of his grandparents, or whether he’s ever pulled any great pranks. All he 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, his stories are bound in a beautiful keepsake book your family will cherish!”  You can check it out here.

 

FOUND: One tombstone. (Part 2)

So a week ago I found a used tombstone in a resale shop and started searching to see who it belonged to and after a lot of research I’ve solved nothing.  Well, not nothing because I now know that this is her and she looks like she’s judging me:

“My *what* is at a thrift shop?”

No response from all the people I’ve contacted through find-a-grave or ancestry or genealogy places or anything else, but I did have a break in the case when I found a funeral home that recently buried someone in the same cemetery a few years ago and so I contacted them (because there isn’t a way to contact the cemetery) and they put me in touch with the caretaker of the cemetery.  But the caretaker didn’t have email so I had to actually call him on the phone but my anxiety disorder makes it incredibly difficult to call people, to the point where if Victor tells me to call and order a pizza I’m like, “No thanks.  I’ll just starved to death instead”.  But now I had to call and ask a stranger about a different dead stranger whose gravestone I found. But I needed an answer so I took a xanax and called and the caretaker was very confused at first and there were a lot of awkward pauses  but then he was very sweet when I explained it properly.  He’s been the caretaker for over 30 years and he wasn’t aware of her tombstone being vandalized or stolen but he said he’d look into the records and see what he could find.  So, closer.  Although now I’m worried that someone will buy the tombstone while we’re waiting to hear back so I’m thinking I should buy it but Victor is glaring at me as I’m typing this because he already thinks I’m a hoarder of weird stuff even before I start bringing home used tombstones.

To be continued…

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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 StoryWorth Books, which is a pretty awesome Father’s Day gift that you get to enjoy too.  From them: “Give Dad a StoryWorth Book to preserve his stories. Each week, we’ll email him a question about his life – asking him about his favorite memory of his grandparents, or whether he’s ever pulled any great pranks. All he 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, his stories are bound in a beautiful keepsake book your family will cherish!”  You can check it out here.