Category Archives: weekly reruns

This is the worst word search ever.

A friend of mine emailed this to me last week and then yelled at me for not responding, but in my defense, I’m always convinced these things are gifs that will turn into a screaming, bloody ghost-girl as soon as I lean in and focus.  (It won’t.  You can trust me on this one.)

threelittlewords

her:  JUST DO IT.  Mine was super accurate.  Just tell me the first words you see.

me:  Fine. I saw “drwk”, “fulld”,and “shwusk”.

Her:  You’re supposed to pick real words.

me:  Those are real words.  I just used them.  “Drwk” is like, when you’re so drunk you can’t text properly.  “Fulld” is probably the past-tense of filled.  “Shwusk” is that noise you hear when you rip off that gross, wet, used rag on the bottom of a Swiffer.

her:  No.  Try again.

me:  I also saw “kenergetic” but I thought that was too easy.  And I saw “CNN” but I think that’s just subliminal advertising.

her:  Kenergetic isn’t a word either.

me:  It is.  It’s when you’re all fulld up with kinetic energy.

her: I don’t know why I even send you these.

me: I DON’T EITHER.

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

sid

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

bearburp

What you missed on the internets:

This week on shit-I-didn’t-come-up-with-but-wish-I-did-because-it’s-kind-of-awesome:

This week’s wrap-up is brought to you by The Opinionista.  Her anonymous, Op-Ed style blog is fascinating to read whether you think she’s totally right or think she’s totally insane.  Or both.  Could be both.  She covers everything from politics, life, Americana, and TV to why she thinks most men suck in bed.  You should go check her out.

The King is Coming. But maybe not the one you think.

I got an email from someone who wanted me to come to “a very important social media conference” and at the end he wrote “THE KING IS COMING!”  Then I wrote back, “Elvis is coming?” and he was like “I’m sorry.  Who?”   And I explained that he’d said that the king was coming to the event and that I happened to have it on good authority that Elvis had been dead for quite some time, and then he explained that “THE KING IS COMING!” obviously referred to the true king, Jesus Christ.  So then I was like “Jesus is coming to your social media conference?  How did you swing that?” and then he explained that “THE KING IS COMING!” is just his auto-signature and didn’t refer to the conference at all, and I told him that it was very nice auto-signature but that some people might suspect that he was advertising Jesus and/or Elvis as being attendees and that he might want to reword it so he didn’t get sued.  I also asked him why some people referred to Jesus as The King, because it seems like his Dad would be The King since he’s the main dude in charge, so technically wouldn’t Jesus be a Prince?  Except that “Prince Jesus” doesn’t really have a nice ring to it, and it sounds like something Disney would try to make into a musical.   But then he never responded.

And this is probably why I so seldom get invited to events.

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

sid

 

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

What you missed on the internets:

This week on shit-I-didn’t-come-up-with-but-wish-I-did-because-it’s-kind-of-awesome:

This week’s wrap-up is brought to you by Melany, a tell-it-like-it-is, hold-nothing-back blogger, and Beverly Hills queen of snark.  She believes that snarky is witty, but younger and better looking, and her blog, Melanysguydlines.com is full of hilarious TRUE STORIES about being young, single, and navigating this crazy world with a huge dose of humor.  She says what most are thinking but do not say themselves.  Think Chelsea Handler with a splash of Perez Hilton.  You can check her out here.

You’ll shoot your eye out.

I just saw this on the “Buy-one-get-one-half-off” rack at our local toy store:

Awesome.

Awesome.

I assumed the eye-patch was for after you’d shot your brother’s eye out, but Victor thought that it was perhaps preventative, because if you were pretending to be a pirate while being shot at you’d have one less eye exposed to the crossfire.

Either way, I want to lick whoever put these two things together.

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And in other news, it’s Monday, but I didn’t post the weekly wrap-up yesterday because I knew you were too busy recovering from having to spend time with family, so instead I’m doing the Monday wrap-up so you have a way to ease yourself back into work with a little distraction: Painting courtesy of @fattieart (J Rose)

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

What you missed on the internets:

This week on shit-I-didn’t-come-up-with-but-wish-I-did-because-it’s-kind-of-awesome:

This week’s wrap-up is brought to you by my friend Elle Kennedy (bestselling author) who co-wrote All Fired Up, the first in the Dreammakers trilogy.  Fun, smutty, steamy and costs less than you’d pay for a donut.  Plus, it’s an ebook so no one on the train knows you’re reading a steamy novel instead of War and Peace (which probably has much fewer shirtless men in it).  You should go buy it and also check out her other stuff.  It’s right here.

Watermelon is the secret code word

Whenever I’m at large events and I’m asked to write my name on those “HELLO, MY NAME IS” stickers I instead write “Watermelon is the secret code word.”  Most people just look at me like I’m off and avoid me.  Some people (usually the ones in large, boisterous groups) loudly yell “Secret code word for what?” and I just say “I have no idea what you’re talking about” and walk away.  But a few people (usually the same people hiding in corners, or drinking so they have something to do with their hands) will hesitantly come up and whisper a single word. “Watermelon.” And then I nod and smile like we know a secret the rest of the world doesn’t and I quietly say, “You’re in.  Welcome aboard.”  Then they usually smile back – happy and slightly confused – and walk off with a little more confidence, knowing that they’re part of something bigger.  Bigger and ridiculous and utterly insane.

Those are the best people.

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And in other news, it’s Sunday, which means it’s time for the weekly wrap-up: Painting courtesy of @fattieart (J Rose)

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

What you missed on the internets:

This week’s wrap-up is brought to you by A Life Less Frantic (which is something I can get behind because if my life was less frantic I’d run out of Xanax much less often.)  If you click right here you can get a totally free pdf copy of her book, Your Best Year Yet.  Free.  Just because she knows that readers here are full of awesome.  You win.  Go check it out here.

I’m not even sure who the enemy is anymore.

Yesterday I was an hour late for an appointment because Victor changed the time on my clocks to be correct, even though he knows I intentionally refuse to “spring forward” during Daylight Savings Time because that’s the way I silently protest having to wake up earlier than ever.  I realize it’s a silent protest that affects no one, but I just can’t bring myself to re-set my clocks, because that would be like admitting that Daylight Savings Time is right.  Instead I keep my clocks the same and just remember that it’s an hour off, and then a half-year later when time changes back I’m like, “That’s right, asshole.  I waited you out and YOU changed.  I didn’t.  I WIN AND YOU LOSE.  AGAIN.”  And then I laugh maniacally and Victor shakes his head because he doesn’t understand the importance of celebrating victories against inanimate objects or ideas.  And that’s probably why he got so defensive when I yelled at him for reseting my car clock without telling me and making me late, and he was like “It’s my fault because I fixed something that was broken?” and I yelled, “YOU CAVED TO THE MAN, VICTOR” and he said “YOU CAN’T FIGHT TIME MOVING FORWARD BY SIMPLY IGNORING CLOCKS.”  And he might have a point (one deeper than I care to admit at the moment) but it doesn’t change the fact that I’m still exhausted from the time change and that I don’t understand why Daylight Savings Time is still relevant in today’s world.  If anything, I think we should have Daylight Savings Week, where we set the calendar back a week every six months so that everyone can catch up on TV and get a one week extension on all deadlines.  Victor pointed out that this would totally fuck up the calendar, but I countered that we could just fast-forward through September each year because most people hate September anyway.  If I was President this would totally happen.  And also I’d give tax breaks to people who are kind to animals, or who use their blinkers correctly.  Double tax breaks for people who take dogs for car rides just for fun, or who gently shake the world for the better, or who invent new kinds of cake.

Victor says if I was President the world would turn into anarchy in the first year.

I think Victor is seriously underestimating me.

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

Painting courtesy of @fattieart (J Rose)

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

What you missed on the internets:

This week on shit-I-didn’t-come-up-with-but-wish-I-did-because-it’s-kind-of-awesome:

This week’s wrap-up is brought to you by SilkWords, which is like a choose-your-own-adventure story, but with less death and more adult erotica.  Today you can check out a new story for free.  It’s quite fascinating, but I can’t help but think that most of my real choices would be “Stay home and eat a bag of tator tots” or “Laugh inappropriately during the 0rgy.”  This is probably why fantasy stories are better.  Speaking of which, when I first saw the banner for this story I was like “Is that dude vacuuming?  Wow.  That is kinda sexy” but then I looked closer and turns out it’s a whip.  I like the vacuuming idea though.  “Make the shirtless man vacuum while you eat Doritos.”  I would totally choose that every time.   

Say no to bullshit.

You know when you don’t get invited to the party that everyone else is at, or you’re not at some conference that everyone else is tweeting about and you start feel bad for yourself?  But then you realize that you’d really rather be getting a root canal than making forced small talk at a loud, crowded party and so instead you put on your pajamas and read trashy books that you love but don’t want to read in public, and then you go hunting for something to eat and there are banana popsicles and you dip them in malibu rum and they freeze and make a lactose-free pina colada THAT YOU CAN ACTUALLY EAT, and right then?  Right then is when you realize that you win.

You.

Win.

The end.

Appreciate it.

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

shit I did when I wasn't here

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

This week on shit-I-didn’t-come-up-with-but-wish-I-did-because-it’s-kind-of-awesome:

This week’s wrap-up is brought to you by JustGoGirl, a company that designed a product to help active women who are normal in that they will pee a bit when doing a hard workout, or jumping rope, or running marathons, so that you don’t have to pretend that’s crotch sweat on your leggings.  I can’t recommend them because I don’t work out enough to pee but I have friends who love them.  They’re holding a contest in April for a chance to win a FitBit Flex.  You should check them out here.

Not fit for decent society.

Someone left me a comment recently saying that I was “not fit for decent society.”  And they’re right and I sort of wonder who they thought they were surprising.  I’ve known I wasn’t fit for decent society since I was seven and did a book report while wearing roller skates and twirling a baton (true story).  But that’s okay.  Because decent society isn’t really a good fit for me either.  In fact, “in decent society” is one of the most terrible places to spend any real time.  “In prison” is almost as bad as “in decent society” but not really because at least in prison you don’t have to wear panty hose.  Also, you might be judging me for choosing jail over country clubs because of panty hose, but I think that just proves that I’m not fit for decent society.  I just proved myself right in an argument I was having with no one.  In other words, please stop trying to insult me because I’m much better at it than you are because I have more practice.

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

Made by my friend Matthew (The Oatmeal.)   He's made of awesome.

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

What you missed on the internets:

This week on shit-I-didn’t-come-up-with-but-wish-I-did-because-it’s-kind-of-awesome:

This week’s wrap-up is brought to you by Matthew Karsten, a man who has seduced ostriches in South Africa, climbed erupting volcanoes in Guatemala, hitchhiked across America, and enjoys the luxury of “luggage-class” travel in Thailand. Join him in  his ridiculous & fascinating adventures around the world at The Expert Vagabond. Want some new photography for your wall? Check out his online gallery full of amazing people, landscapes, and animals from around the world.

This made more sense when I was unconscious.

Last night I dreamt this really profound statement which I suspected I’d forget if I didn’t write it down, so I jotted it down quickly and fell immediately back asleep.   This morning I woke up to a note that says:

“On conquering a giant mountain: It wasn’t the mountain that was important.  It was the horse.”

And I think what I meant there was that life is like climbing a giant mountain, but in the end you realize that life is not about the accomplishment and is really much more about the company you keep while getting there.  Which sort of makes sense.

Except that it also sort of also implies that I think life is less about reaching your goals and more about sitting on other people’s backs while they carry you there.  Which is kind of shitty.  Dream-me is kind of an asshole, I think.

Never give dream-me a piggie-back ride.  She’s sort of a dick.  Sorry about that.

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

Made by my friend Matthew (The Oatmeal.)   He's made of awesome.

Illustration by my friend Matthew (The Oatmeal.) He’s made of awesome.

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

What you missed on the internets:

This week on shit-I-didn’t-come-up-with-but-wish-I-did-because-it’s-kind-of-awesome:

This week’s wrap-up is brought to you by Eva, The Tattoo Tourist.  Six years ago she had a preventative double mastectomy and then covered her scars with tattoos.  As she says, “Getting tattooed healed my relationship with my altered body and reignited my creative curiosity.”  She just started kickstarter project to visit and interview artists and fans and curate it all into a beautiful photo book.  I’m a backer.  You might want to be too.  Check it out here.

Worst. Pet Shop. Ever.

Yesterday Victor and I took our nine-year-old to a pet shop to look at ferrets, because holding ferrets automatically makes your day brighter (both because ferrets are hysterical and also because they’re stinking up the pet shop and not your house).  But when we started to walk in I saw this note on the door:

hamsters

Victor pointed out that maybe it wasn’t so bad if you got the front half of the hamster, but I’m fairly certain that the severed front end of hamster is going to be just as messy and leaky as a whole one.  Probably even more so.  Regardless, Hailey asked the clerk where they were keeping all the half-hamsters and was shown to a bin filled with completely whole hamsters where the clerk explained that “these are all of the half-off hamsters”.  Then Hailey whispered, “I don’t think these people know how fractions work.”

She’s so our child.

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

sid

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

This week on shit-I-didn’t-come-up-with-but-wish-I-did-because-it’s-kind-of-awesome:

This week’s wrap-up is brought to you by Bill Harte, author of Women Dress Like Sex, Men Dress Like Money: Everything You Need To Know About Marketing You Learning In Dating.    I’ve only read pieces of it, but the pieces I read were interesting and provocative.  I didn’t always agree with it (but I dress less like sex and more like a hobo, so I guess that’s to be expected) but it offers a fascinating marketing perspective and might give you info to really help your business.  You can check it out here.  It’s less than a cup of coffee and you can get the audiobook for free if you buy the ebook or paperback.

Socks will kill you.

A quick note before we start:  Victor’s meemaw came through the quadruple bypass and is doing well.  Thanks for all the kind thoughts, you guys.  She was blown away to know that so many people were pulling for her.  If things go as planned she’ll be back home and stronger than ever in a few weeks.

And now, back to business as normal…

You know when you’re putting on your socks while you’re walking out of the bedroom and your left sock doesn’t want to cooperate so you have to sort of pause while bent over and you start to lose your balance so you just rest your head on your closed bedroom door while you pull on the rest of the sock, but then your husband comes in and when he pushes the door open he totally knocks you over and then he sees you on the floor with one sock on and an angry, accusing look on your face and he’s like “What the hell are you doing on the floor?” and you tell him that he hit you with the door and he says that it’s not possible because he would have heard your head hit the door, but you explain that there was no way to hear the thump because your head was already resting on the door because of your socks, and then he just looks at you like it’s your fault.  But it’s not.  It’s your sock’s fault.  Or possibly the door’s fault.

There isn’t a point to this.  Except that people need to knock before they open the door.

And that I need an ice-pack.

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

sid

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

What you missed on the internets:

This week on shit-I-didn’t-come-up-with-but-wish-I-did-because-it’s-kind-of-awesome:

This week’s wrap-up is brought to you by SilkWords, a new website that offers a first-of-its-kind reading experience for women’s fiction.  It’s basically like choose-your-own-adventure, but for grown-ups.  You should probably check it out (if you’re 18 or older).