Yesterday I finally finished and then all of my fingers fell off. But it was hugely relieving to be done and I decided to celebrate the accomplishment with a photo, which then became a three-part-series.

1. Me, after signing the 5,000th bookplate and then playing Jenga with them.

2. Me, after Victor pointed out that I’d missed a big box of bookplates and had at least 1,000 more to sign.

3. Me, innocently plotting Victors’ painful demise right after he told me that he was just fucking with me.

There are still a couple hundred signed bookplates that haven’t been spoken for so if you preorder a book make sure you go over here and fill out your info before they’re all gone.

Also, if you’re Canadian, there’s at least one Canadian-based contest going on right now.  I’ll keep you posted on other stuff as it comes around.

A very special thank you to everyone who has bought or is planning to buy, borrow or steal my book.  I owe you a drink.  And a huge shout out to Doctor Who and The Guild, who made this long, strange ordeal distractingly awesome.

And now I will never sign my name again.  Instead I’m just drawing pictures of cat faces.  Get ready for the book tour, y’all.  There’s gonna be a lot of kitty faces and confused autograph-seekers.  Or possibly just me sitting alone while the bookstore cashiers look at me with pity and/or disgust.  That’s a possibility too.

(FYI…I’m not being compensated in any way whatsoever for this.  I just happen to adore them.)

PS. They’ll be signing copies at the London Super ComicCon this weekend.  If you’re there, say hi.  And dress up as me.  Because technically I just became a recurring comic book character.

Life is weird.

Look closely. There are 15+ bloggess-isms here. (It's bigger on the inside.)

For being awesome and amazing at photoshop (seriously, click here for a giant version), Bart wins a tiny, resin Juanita statue, which looks as if Juanita was frozen in carbonate, but more colorful.

Juan-ita Solo

(Click here to pick up one for yourself.)

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

What you missed on Ill-Advised:

• Lesson 32:  The Authentic You Might Be a Real Asshole
• Lesson 33:  I manage to offend even more people than usual.

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

• Juanita Weasel desk statue
• Juanita in an apron, ON an apron
• Juanita Weasel Water Bottle
• Souffle poster
• BUTTONS

What you missed on the internets:

My friend Ruth made this for me and it’s so fantastic I can’t not share it:

And that is the math of Juanita Weasel.  Also, several of you have asked if there’s a blank Juanita template you can use to create your own version of a screaming weasel.  Answer:  Of course there is.  Click here, sweet things.

UPDATED: If you’re not on twitter you are missing the amazing awesomeness of a juanita meme that just keeps on giving.  I can’t even keep up with all the bad-ass Juanita renditions so if you made on, leave a link in the comments here so the world can enjoy.  As a small token of my thanks for making me laugh my ass off, one of you will get a free Juanita poster.  Either the safe-for-work one, or the profanity-laden version.  Your choice.

This, Wil Wheaton, is for you:

PS. I choose a sunny day in March and I’d like there to be ponies involved. Or monkey butlers. Either one. I’m not picky.

Those looks are remarkably similar.

Anyway, I called the place and I said, (in a very high-brow, professional way) “Yes, I’m calling about a weasel?” and then I bought an old, dead weasel over the phone like I was ordering a pizza.  Then I couldn’t stop giggling and Victor refused to speak to me for the rest of the day.

This weasel had already paid for itself.

Victor likes to pretend my bizarre posse of taxidermied friends isn’t awesome but even he was having a hard time keeping the awe out of his voice when Juanita arrived.

Juanita

She’s the first female taxidermied animal I’ve owned, and she stunned me with her diversity. She could look surprised, terrified, overjoyed, irritated and ready to attack depending on the angle and how you were feeling.  She was like a tiny Rorschach inkblot test.  Victor said she looked like she wanted to eat our faces off but personally I thought she just looked so damned happy to see us.  I told Victor that I thought our feelings about this weasel said a lot about our personalities and he agreed although probably not for the same reason.  One thing was certain, this weasel had range.  

Victor:  Where in the hell are you even going to put it?  We’ve run out of room for your weird antique taxidermy.  This is something I never thought I’d have to say to my wife.

me:  Me either because it’s obvious where she fits.  Juanita will go in the art niche.  IT’S PERFECT.

Victor:  You don’t put a stuffed weasel in an art niche.

me:  Well not alone, obviously.  She’d be dwarfed in that large space.  You put a stuffed weasel and an antique alligator dressed as a pirate in an art niche.  It’s a diorama.  IT PRACTICALLY SCREAMS ”ART NICHE”.

Then Victor walked off because apparently he doesn’t understand how art works.

They're like Barbies, only grosser and with more realistic figures.

My assumption is that Victor didn’t appreciate my weasel/alligator diorama because he assumed that the weasel was a boy and didn’t understand that the alligator is a transvestite.  I understood his confusion and so I attempted to make things more obvious for him, but when he asked if I would help him button his sleeves I said, “I can’t right now.  I’m trying to put a dress on this weasel” and then he just walked right out of the house.  Which is unhelpful and also sloppy because no one outside can button those sleeves for you either, Victor.  Plus, he missed out at the first look at Juanita in her snappy new frock:

Anyway, the point is that I now have a new friend and that she’s very glad to meet you.  She’s also starting her own line of greeting cards (see  below) since Victor seems to think that antique taxidermy is an economic drain to us, rather than a boost to the American economy.  I pointed out that I’d already sold $20 worth of Juanita Weasel cards and then he pointed out that I was the one who bought them but I think he’s missing the point and is being every unpatriotic.  Also, I can’t defend myself properly because Economics wasn’t on my degree plan.  I blame my college for making me take mandatory bowling but not offering classes on weasel economics.  Thanks a lot, State College.

PS.  Victor just came back in and I showed him Juanita and explained that she’s so me that I can’t even stand it.  Victor says he can’t stand it either but I don’t think we’re talking about the same thing.

PPS.  I can’t even stop with these:

Sometimes a joyous game of freeze-tag and a scream of terror can look very similar.

Happy Holidays. Fuck with me and I will cut you.

We're laughing with you. Not at you. Unless you aren't laughing.

LITERALLY.

Want to support the American (and Lawson) economy and encourage stimulus and more taxidermic purchases?  Then check out these fine Juanita products: 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7

UPDATED:  As requested, a Juanita Weasel souffle apron.

My parents:

My sister, Lisa:

Me:

The grandkids (Hailey, Gabi, Eliana, Bella, Tex):

And the cake.  Because we are nothing if not classy.

Then to stay in full character we experimented with cannibalism and then we all died of dystentery.

All things considered?  Still the best party I’ve every thrown.

All the cats in the house, present and fucking shit up. Each trying to typing as soon as I type. Sitting on the escape key. Screechy cat fights erupt behind computer within seconds of a good idea. UNWORKABLE.

And that’s why I’m not working for the rest of the week.  Because none of these cats understands how important my job is.  And also because I really want to watch Doctor Who.  And because I’m tired and sort of whiney.  And because I’m going to see my parents for a few days so I can eat out of a chuck wagon in full 1800′s period clothes in the middle of an abandoned and (hopefully) haunted fort.  On purpose.  It’s sort of a long story.  I’d explain it all here but I can’t because I’m taking the rest of the week off.

PS.  Is this the most pointless blog post in the history of ever?  Probably.  

me: It’d be easier if you just took over the world with real tigers.

Victor:  Robot tigers are scarier than real tigers.

me:  No.  Real tigers are scarier because they’re unpredictable.

Victor: My robot tigers have a random setting.

me: Like a shuffle function on an iPod?

Victor: Exactly.

me:  That is way scarier.

Victor: Plus they could beat you at chess.

me: Well, not me specifically.  I’m pretty damn good at chess.

Victor:  Not as good as a robot tiger.

me:  Live tigers are still scarier because they’re real and you know they hate you. With a robot tiger you understand they’re just doing their job when they kill you.

Victor: My robot tiger would be a cold, calculating killing machine – set on random – that also has an emotion chip and laughs at your pain.

me: That actually sounds scary as shit.

Victor:  I KNOW. I just gave myself a panic attack just thinking about it and I don’t even get panic attacks.

me:  Imagine the synthesized growl you could put on that thing.  And the synthesized laughter.

Victor:  ”HA. HA. HA.”  That’s a robot tiger laughing at your chess skills.  And also, you really aren’t good at chess.

me:  I am.  I’m so not good at it that I move wildly and unpredictably.  It makes me dangerously erratic.

Victor: My robot tiger has a random chess move ability generator.

me:  Well now we’re all fucked.

Victor: The future is going to be scary.  Maybe I should make robot pumas.

me: No.

Victor: Robot cougars?

me:  Mmm…no.

Victor: Robot Bobcats.

me: Robobcats?

Victor:  Don’t be ridiculous.  Robo-bobcats sounds much scarier.

me: I think just you’re starting to come up with excuses as to why you won’t build robot tigers.

Victor:  You might be right.  I won engineering awards from NASA when I was a teenager, for God’s sake.  You’d think I would have invented robot bobcats by now.

me:  I’m sure NASA is very disappointed in you.  You probably haven’t invented robotic minions yet because you don’t apply yourself.  And that’s why the robobcats will never see the light of day.

Victor: A million unborn robo-bobcats suddenly cried out in in pain.

me:  Like Alderaan.  You can almost hear them screaming: “YOU’RE SO LAZY.”

Victor:  Fuck this.  I’m building my robot tigers.  THE ROBOT TIGERS ARE COMING.  And their slogan will be “THEY’RE GRRRREAT!”

me:  We’re gonna get sued.

Victor: Yeah, but we’ll bring the robo-bobcats to the trial and they’ll growl angrily.

me:  And Tony the Tiger would be like “I FEEL VERY INTIMIDATED” and our lawyers would be like “THEY HAVE A RIGHT TO BE HERE, TONY.  THIS CONCERNS THEM TOO.”

Victor:  And they’d growl, but with big smiles.  Which would be even scarier.

me:  And also less likely to get thrown out of court because who gets removed from court for smiling at the plaintiff?  ”This is their natural resting state, Tony the Tiger.  THEY’RE BEING ENCOURAGING.  IT’S THEIR HELPFUL GROWL.  YOU CAN TELL BECAUSE THEY’RE SMILING.”

Victor:  Holy shit.

me:  Yeah.

Victor:  There is no way we’re losing this case.

me: Can you go any lower on the candle-holder in the back room?

her:  No, it’s in really good shape.

me:  Yes, but looks like it has erectile dysfunction.

her:  Oh.  Well, it gets hot in here in the summer.  But the candelabra is still very nice.

me:  It looks like it’s very disappointed to see me, and possibly needs to be medicated.

her:  Um…?

me:  I think your candlestick holder is clinical depressed.

her:  What?

me:  I think I need to have an intervention.  With your candle-holder.

her: …

me: I have anti-psychotics in the car.

her:  Oh.

Victor:  She’s not threatening you, ma’am.  She thinks she’s trying to help.  Just tell her it’s not for sale.

her:  Oh.  It’s not for sale?

me:  BACK OFF, VICTOR.  IT HAS A PRICE-TAG.

Victor:  Yes, and we have three very flammable cats.  Do you see the issue here?

me:  Yes.  The issue is that you’re jumping to the conclusion that the candle-holder is going to have a murder/suicide just because it’s depressed.  This aggression will not stand.

her:  Technically it’s called a candelabra.

me:  Look lady, I’m pretty sure you don’t want to get into semantics.  Your candle-thingies are depressed and need my help.

Victor:  She’s partially right, ma’am.  Just back away slowly before you get any more involved.

me:  IT’S ME AND THIS CANDELABRA AGAINST THE WORLD.

her: On the contrary, I find it highly entertaining.

Then she gave me the candelabra for free and it immediately perked up and started working in a half-way house for other candelabras with erectile depression AND SAVED SOME LIVES.  Or at least, that’s what happened in my mind.  In real life Victor made me leave and no lives were saved.  And that’s why I need to remember to bring my own credit card to the shops from now on.

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

It’s Sunday so that means it’s time for the weekly wrap-up.  Yeehaw.

Painting courtesy of @fattieart (J Rose)

What you missed on Ill-Advised:

• Lesson 31:  SHUT UP, YOU GUYS

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

• I LOVE SLIDES
• The perfect Valentine’s Day card.
• This actually is the promo sticker I’m using for the book.

What you missed on the internets:

me:  Making stuff for my store.  It helps me break my writer’s block.

Victor:  Who’s gonna buy a mug that says “I love to go down”?  Are you making mugs for hookers again?

me:  What?  I don’t have a mug that says that.

Victor:  Uh, yeah, you do.  It’s right there.

me:  That’s a guy on a slide.  It means “I love slides.”  Because I do.  Because they’re whimsical.  The fuck, Victor?  Not everything is about sex.

Victor:  That’s not a slide.  It’s an escalator.  That’s the universal sign for going down.

me:  Really?  I thought it was the universal sign for loving slides.

Victor:  Why would there be a universal sign for loving slides?

me:  WHY WOULDN’T THERE BE?  SLIDES ARE AWESOME.

Victor:  You just made a mug proclaiming the whimsical joy of oral.

me:  FINE.  I’ll add “I LOVE SLIDES” on the back.

Victor:  Awesome.  Then people will think you’re a good-time girl who likes to do it in the park.

me:  This is all going on the blog.

And just like that, my writer’s block was gone.

Which I think proves that I was right all along.

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

Speaking of writing, I’ve been working on a special thank you gift to everyone here who has been here to encourage me while I struggled through years of writing and rewriting my book and I finally have something.  If you’d like to skip this small token of my affection you can go watch this video of a hedgehog taking a bath.

Still there?  Awesome.  Because everyone who preorders (or has already preordered) my book before March 16th gets a free, limited-edition, Hamlet Von Schnitzel bookplate for your book.  Personally signed by me.   (One per person.  Offer only valid for US {non-PO Box} addresses right now, but they’re working on that.  I’ll keep you posted.)

This is the bookplate:

By the way, This is my digital signature and it's much prettier than my real signature, so feel free to print this out and tape it to your book if you live in Canada or prefer something immediate and legible.

You have to fill out a tiny form here to get the bookplate mailed to you, and if forms make you nauseous you can just come to my book tour and get me to sign a copy there.  I have no idea where I’ll be touring.  Possibly just at my house.  Or at your house now that I have your address.

Please have nachos ready.

Want to pre-order? Click on Hamlet Von Schnitzel for links.

PS.  A huge special thanks to Penguin for printing and mailing out all of these because I’d have a nervous breakdown if I had to do this myself.  Seriously, we owe them all a margarita.  And some of those nachos probably.

Already pre-ordered?  Awesome.  Then click here to fill out the form to get your free, signed bookplate.

PPS.  Thank you.  I mean it completely when I tell you that I could not have finished this book without you, and I can’t even believe that it’s going to be out month after next.  Freaking out a little.  And by “a little” I mean “shitloads.”

PPPS.  (I just wrote “Shitloads” and auto-correct was all “Oh, you mean, “shiploads“.  We’ll change that for you.”  Auto-correct, you know nothing of my work.)

UPDATED:  Holy shit, you guys.  My book is currently # 2 on Amazon’s humor list and #2 on Barnes and Nobles hot & trending list.  I said on twitter that if it hit #1 I’d post a picture of me either naked or with twine and it doesn’t look like we’ll hit it, but I’m sending you something almost as good.  Ferris Mewler.  Nude.  WITH TWINE.

What's so hard about this, Nathan Fillion? Even my cat can make this shit look good.

Seriously.  THANK YOU.  I am furiously happy and I owe it all to you.  And to Ferris Mewler who isn’t so uptight about twine.  Nathan Fillion could take a lesson.

UPDATED AGAIN:  So, we somehow made it to #1, you guys.  I plan on blaming you when Tina Fey comes after me with a cleaver for taking her spot for an hour.  But true to my word, here’s a picture of me naked.  Does it count as naked if I wear a hat?  And a friend?  I say yes.

Me, technically naked.

Amazing pictures already pouring in from women across the globe in their red dresses. In fact, some have improvised using just a few yards of material to make amazing portraits. Ball gowns are flying across the country and photographers are furiously offering free sessions, and honestly I may have cried a little.

A few minutes ago I got an email telling me that I’m a final nominee for a Health Activist Award. I’m not sure if it’s for my work with rheumatoid arthritis or with mental illness but it seemed to require some weekly chats or such and I immediately felt both proud and panicked and quickly emailed them:

I’m not sure if i was chosen because of my rheumatoid arthritis or my mental illness issues but the latter sort of keeps me from doing web chats or phone calls or any of that. My anxiety is just too strong right now for me to take on anything else. But I’m so honored. If you’d rather give it to someone less crazy than me though I totally understand. I just have to take care of myself a bit more and that means saying no when I want to say yes. I hope you understand.

After I sent that out I expected to feel bad, like a failure for not being the activist others might see me as, but instead I felt…comforted. Because I’m finally learning that I have to be my own activist as well and take care of myself.  And sometimes that means saying “no” when every fiber of your body says “yes”.

Sometimes a no is a yes.

Sometimes a battle is the triumph.

Sometimes a dress is a hope.

PS. Tomorrow I’ll be back in my usual old irreverent, biting satire as usual. The drugs should kick in any minute.  Promise.

UPDATED:  I won, in spite of myself.  Literally, and figuratively.  How perfectly bewildering.

Comment of the day: When you said “Ball gowns are flying across the country”, the first thing I thought of was looking up in the sky and seeing scores of victorian dresses flying through the air. And a small child, who is walking down the street with her mother would look up at the sky and ask: Mommy, what are those things? And the mother would smile, look down and say to her child: That’s hope. ~ Plaidfox

A few weeks ago we picked up the traveling red dress project again as people began offering red dresses to strangers in the hopes that they could pass a little magic into the lives of people who were celebrating a milestone, battling an enemy, or simply in need of a shiny red ball gown to remind them how amazing they were.  People around the world started giving out red dresses and offering to do red dress photo shoots for free.  It was covered by Forbes and the Washington Post.  And it was awesome.  And inspiring.  So inspiring, in fact, that my friend Julia mailed me a beautiful red dress to pass on to anyone who needed it.  She knew that most of us curvier girls find it hard to find beautiful ball gowns so she picked out an XXL with a very adjustable corset.  Today it came and I opened it up at my friend Maile’s photo studio and we decided to christen it.  And so, for one hour I wore the hell out of that red dress.  And it was lovely.

Right now I’m 20 pounds overweight.  I can practically see 40 from here.  My boobs are too big and my hair is too mousey.  My laugh lines grow deeper and worry lines are starting to show.  I feel worse about myself than I have in a decade.  But that dress reminded me of who I was.  And who I’ve become.  It reminded me that I’m not just who I see in the mirror, but also what I’ve overcome.  I’m here.  I’ve fought hard for these laugh lines and I’ve battled to survive the worry lines.  I have scars that tell stories and marks that tell tales.  I have hair that shows I survived the chemo drugs I took for my RA, and I have and soft, cushy, smothering arms like my grandmother.  And that makes me beautiful.

I’m still a nervous wreck.  I’m still self-consciously terrified in front of strangers.  I still often feel purposeless and a little bit lost…

But I also feel like me….

And I remember to take a deep breath and realize that’s good enough.

PS. The traveling red dress in these photos is ready for its next owner.  As always, if you get a traveling red dress it’s up to you if you want to share the pictures or your story, but you can do so here if you like.  Your only real responsibility is to enjoy it and then pass it on to the next stranger who needs it ,with instructions to keep it going until the damn thing falls to shreds that even Cinderella’s mice couldn’t fix.  And as a thank you I’ll be sending out five brand new red ball gowns myself next week.  If you want a chance at one just leave a comment about what you’re celebrating, or fighting, or surviving.

PPS. If you’re inspired by these stories and want to donate a red dress or a photo session you can do so on the traveling red dress Facebook page.  There are lots of girls giving dresses and lots of girls needing dresses.  And somewhere in the middle, magic happens.

PPPS. If you want to buy this dress yourself you can get it for under $100 right here.  It comes wrinkled as hell and needs steaming, but it works and the laced corset gives it enough leeway to fit several sizes up or down.  (The XXL should fit a 14 – 20 fairly well.)  Also, this company isn’t paying me for this.  But they totally should be.

PPPPS.  The traveling red dress isn’t always red.  It isn’t even always a dress.  It’s anything you’ve always wanted but denied yourself because you thought it was too silly.  It isn’t.  Joy is always worth it.  Go and find your personal red dress, my friend.

And wear the hell out of it.

me:  Hey.  How do you make hot water?

Victor:  …Really?  “How do you make hot water?”  Are you fucking with me?  

me:  No.  I want to make a tea but I don’t know how.

Victor:  Go write this on your blog right now.  You just asked me how to heat up water.  You basically just confirmed everything I’ve ever said about your cooking skills in a single sentence.

me:  I know how to get hot water.  I know how the tap works.  I just don’t know how to use the coffee maker and I thought maybe it would be easier to use it than using the microwave.

Victor:  So you need a machine to make you hot water…because the microwave is too complicated?

me:  I’m trying to work smarter, not harder.  DON’T JUDGE ME.

Victor:  It’s moments like this I wish I was on twitter.  ”Overheard at our house: ‘How do you make hot water?‘”

me:  FINE.  How about this?  Can you show me how to make coffee without any coffee in it?

Victor:  See, that sounds more complicated.  Not normal or rational, but less ridiculous.  So, yes, I will show you how to make coffee with no coffee in it.

me:  So basically you’re only helping me now because of semantics.

Victor:  How else will you learn?

PS.  Victor says tomorrow he’s going to teach me how to make “hot dog water”.

Victor is a very helpful kind of asshole.

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

And now, the weekly wrap-up:

What you missed on Ill-Advised:

• SHARE YOUR DAMN PONY

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

• The drunker I get, the funnier this is.
• Jean-Louise, the one-fingered pirate-gator will poke you TO DEATH.
• The perfect Valentine’s Day card.
• It’s comforting knowing there are weirder people out there than us.
• FYI…because of your purchases we raised almost $2k to help the family of my neighbor who was killed.  Thank you.

What you missed on the internets:

A decade ago a sweet woman named Mary helped me learn how to pretend to be good at HR.  She told me jokes when mean people made me cry.  She took over projects when I got pregnant and couldn’t stop throwing up.  She’d crawl under the desk with me (as if that was perfectly natural) when I’d have a panic attack.  She was nice and kind to me when I was the lowest on the totem pole because she doesn’t understand totem poles and prefers jungle gyms.

And that’s why this week I broke down and hired an assistant.

I hired Mary.

She’s sweet and twisted and couldn’t care less about social media, but I’ve never met anyone who cared more about people.  Also, she’s terrifically over-qualified, but is willing lie around in the gutter with me because she’s bored and awesome.  Which is the perfect combination, really.

Meet Mary:

Me and Mary at our last job. And yes, I realize that's a terrible picture but I was pregnant or drunk at the time so it can't be helped. Also, I asked Mary if I should use another picture but she said she liked this one because it's the most indicative of us. Which is a little sad, and also just perfect.

**********

In other news, you guys really want chicken.  I couldn’t even keep up with all the amazing names on the last post so instead I used the random number generator to pick the winners.  And yes, I did say winners.  Because first place gets the metal chicken, and second and third get desk- sized resin Beyonces from my shop.  Plus, all three get an advance-reader-copy of my book as long as they promise not to xerox it and throw the pages off a balcony until after it’s officially released in a couple of months.

The grand prize goes to Heidi, who wins the incredibly well named “Johann Sebastian Buck-BAWK”.  Runners up are Michelle S. and Valerie.

PS. You guys are the best.  Seriously.