Real questions that keep me up at night, part 809

me:  I can’t sleep.

Victor: Why?

me:  Because pretty much everyone in the world calls pineapples “ananas” or something similar, except for America but why?  I assume it’s because pineapples look like pine cones on the outside? But they aren’t like apples on the inside. They’re more like oranges. Why don’t we call them pine-oranges?

Victor:  Well now I can’t sleep either.

I stole this image from 9gag but I'm fairly certain they stole it from someone else so fair enough.

I stole this image from 9gag but I’m fairly certain they stole it from someone else, so fair enough.


And now, the weekly wrap-up:

Fabulous graphic by @wedrawtweets

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 Rocky Mountain Essentials, a family-owned company that creates all natural health & beauty products. “We believe in three things; amazing customer service, fair prices and the producing products from the highest quality ingredients.  Most products manufactured and package in the USA, and US shipping is free for orders over $20.”  Plus, their instagram is freaking awesome and lightly sprinkled with kittens.  Just saying.

I can’t.

Ugh.  Just.  No.

This morning Victor woke me up and took me to coffee because he wanted to break the news to me that Alan Rickman had died.  And then I cried so hard that he decided to go through the drive-through and the cashier at Starbucks looked at me like, “Should I call the police?” and Victor was like, “She’s just upset because you don’t offer snozzberry tea anymore” and then she got flustered and left.  And I laughed.  A little.

It feels incredibly stupid to cry over a man I never met.  I cried a bit when Bowie died because he inspired me to be weird.  I cried a bit when Philip Seymour-Hoffman died for the same reason.  I cried when River Phoenix died because it’s when we became mortal.  I cried with Eartha Kitt died because her music was the soundtrack to much of my life.  I cried when Robin Williams died because I was proud that he’d lasted so long and brought joy out of sadness and insanity, but also because so many of us saw ourselves in him.  But I’m crying over Alan Rickman for the same reason I cried when we lost Ray Bradbury.  Because I never got to tell him how much his work meant to me.  It was obvious if you read here.  He’s mentioned in my books.  He’s always on my list of “people I’d invite to my dream dinner party” and I once wrote an entire post about you could divide the world into people who utterly adore Alan Rickman and people who are total fucking liars.

But I never told him.

Not that it would matter.  He didn’t know me and he already knew he was beloved, and me saying it would only be one more time he’d have to graciously say, “Thank you, dear,” but I’m sad that now I’ll never have that chance.  And it makes me think of all the other people who touched me and changed me and who I never said “thank you” to.  So I’m starting now.  Thank you.  To you.  For being there.  For inspiring me.  For making it easier for me to be me.  For forgiving me when I fuck up and helping me forgive myself.  Thank you for sitting beside me when I panic in empty hotel rooms.  Thank you for making me laugh so hard it makes me want to be funnier myself.  Thank you for pushing me too hard and for having my back both when I failed and when I succeeded.  Thank you for letters and comments and kind words and irreverence and honesty.  Thank you for shaping me.  This thank you is for my family, and friends, and readers, and idols,  and all those out there who have no idea how much they changed my life….made my life.  I will never be able to go back and thank those who are gone, but I suspect they would be proud to know they inspired me to tell those who are still here how much they’ve done and how incredibly important they are to me.  I love you and I’m so grateful you are alive. Thank you for everything you have done, not just for me, but for the world.  You don’t know the impact you have had.  But at least I told you.



:sniff:  Jesus.  YES, PLEASE.

PS.  Victor just pointed out that I’d included Rickman in my 2009 list of “men we think are incredibly sexy but that our husbands don’t understand”.  Also included in that list were Bowie as the Goblin King and Philip Seymour Hoffman.  I’m starting to suspect Victor is taking them all out, one by one.  Lock your doors and look both ways when crossing the street, Neil Gaiman, Prince and Eddie Izzard.  I can’t stand to lose any more of you.


I didn’t have anything to write about today but then my friend Peter was like, “Hey, remember when I took all those semi-nude pics of you and your friends?” and I was like, “You’re gonna have to be way more specific than that, dude” and he was like, “It’s in a book now.  Remember?  You wrote an essay for it a couple years ago?” and I sort of did, but then I got my copy this week and I read it and it was beautiful.  Plus, Peter said I could post my section on the blog, which is nice because I accidentally deleted the post I had for today.



You can check out the book here.  It’s full of amazing women from age 35 to 104 without the shields of makeup or accessories or clothes, all talking about what it means to be a woman.  Most of them are beautiful and poignant. and nothing like my ridiculousness.  I recommend.

PS. I don’t get anything out of this.  I just thought it would be fun to do.  And it was.  Also, I super paraphrased Peter above, because he’s way more professional than I am.

What even are you?

Have you done the Myers-Briggs test?  I did mine a long time ago but it never changes much.  I’m an INFP, super heavy on the introverted part.  A dreamer/mediator/healer.  And it makes sense, I guess.  INFP’s are often writers.  They’re pure idealists, always looking for good in bad, and are usually perceived as shy, isolated and misunderstood.  They listen to everyone but usually only pick one single cause to focus on, otherwise they get too overwhelmed with the bad in the world.  They easily lose touch and withdraw into hermit mode, and it takes a lot of energy from friends and family to bring them back.  They are focused on kindness and compassion but are too idealistic, setting themselves up for disappointment as evil things happen in the world.  They are loyal, apologize to inanimate objects and crave harmony.

It’s eerily accurate, but I can’t decide if it’s accurate because I’m answering the questions that put me into a group that matches my answers or if the group already exists and the answers help me understand who I am.  Regardless, I often ask friends what their personality type is because it helps me understand the issues we’ll have.

I’m interested though in what your personality type is.  INFP is supposedly rare (composing just 4% of the population) but I wonder if that’s true here?  Do we all attract like-minds?  Or is it our difference that pulls us together?  Regardless, I’d like to know.  You can take a quick version of the test here if you haven’t already.  Leave it below, y’all.

PS.  Victor is an ESTJ (Executive) which means “OH MY GOD, I DON’T CARE ABOUT THESE DUMB TESTS SO STOP ASKING ME ABOUT THEM”.  That is so ESTJ.



And now, 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.):


This week’s wrap-up is brought to you by Cosmic Box, which is like an awesome surprise gift to yourself.  Cosmic Box is delivered monthly for body, soul, home and life.  Anything from gems, to organic aromatic oils and herbal teas. A great way to start a new year, taking care of yourself, a little monthly care package for the soul. Costs $27 (shipping included!) and when you use referral code: bloggess at checkout (good until 1/31) you will get an extra surprise bonus gift.  You should check it out here.


I’m sharing this with you because I love you.

Remember in September when I had to put a book trailer out, but instead of talking about the book I decided to do a video where I asked my friends to share their stories with the world?  And my niece, Gabi, composed and played the lovely tune for it?  Here.  I’ll show it to you again in case you forgot because it is amazing and it makes me smile and I love all of the people in it.

But here’s a story you never heard…

My publicist and close friend (Marlena) traveled with me for most of the tour and helped me when I got stuck in panic attacks or dark pits.  She and her husband (John) helped me through a lot of rough times when I felt overwhelmed and John was the person who edited and polished the Furiously Happy video above.  He took several minutes of each person flipping their signs and edited it into what it became.  What you may not know is that John made me an alternate video inspired by something that showed up on Patrick Rothfuss‘ video.

I watched it and laughed like mad and I wanted to share it but I was worried that people would think I was being irreverent and flippant, but I was just looking at it again and I realized that irreverent and flippant are exactly the things that I excel at so I thought, “Fuck it.  You guys know me enough to love this as much as I do, because in spite of the fact that the subject is serious, laughing at it makes it so much more manageable.”  I sent it to a few people on the video and they agreed it was fabulous.  And now I feel stupid for ever doubting you.


It’s the new future dance of the past.

I don’t know what it means but 3 people have sent this clip to me, saying “this just reminds me of you”.  I choose to believe that it’s because they laughed and laughter reminded them of me, and not that they’ve seen me dance before and thought, I didn’t think it was possible for someone to dance more like an old white lady than Jenny, but I stand corrected.

Regardless, it’s too good not to share:

It definitely needs a catchier tune and less German but other than that, it’s pretty awesome. My favorite part is the beginning move, which I refer to as “JESUS CHRIST I’VE GOT THE STOMACH FLU AND IT’S COMING OUT BOTH ENDS.”  I plan to learn this dance and it will now replace my current go-to standard, the Achy Breaky Heart Line Dance.  Yay for progress.


PS. In the interest of full transparency, I suck at the Achey Breaky Line Dance and after a minute I switch to the Rocky Horror Timewarp dance, which I sing to myself as I dance to whatever music is actually being played.  I also sometimes throw in some of the chicken dance, and (if I’ve been drinking tequila) my bastardized version of the macarena, which is basically a sad, solo version of patty-cake while I sing “Now Watch Me Nae Nae.”  Because if you can’t dance well you should at least dance entertainingly.

If your ADD is as bad as mine you should like this.

It only took me about 8 years but I finally set up a way for you to subscribe to this blog so you don’t miss important things, like this post telling you that you probably missed this post since you aren’t subscribed.

What do you get with your subscription?  I HAVE NO IDEA.

Honestly, my tech is not tight so that’s why I’m doing this post as a test for those of you who are testing it on Facebook right now.  I’m pretty sure all you get is an email saying something like, “Hey, Jenny just wrote a new post.  Go read it so you feel better about yourself in comparison.  That bitch is crazy-cakes.”  I’m paraphrasing, but you get the picture.

If you want to subscribe, just go down on the left sidebar beneath the sloth infuser mug and click the button.

PS. I just realized that “the sloth infuser mug” implies that you are infusing sloth into your mug and that’s probably not accurate, but the sloth ass is the part that hangs in your mug so technically it’s infusing tea and sloth.

PPS.  Someone on twitter asked me why the audio cd of Let’s Pretend This Never Happened is like $120 and I thought they were insane but turns out that it is $120 and that’s because the actual CDs are now out of print so now they’re being scalped.  I can’t imagine that they are actually worth $120 but if you bought a set before they went out of print you should feel very happy with your investment.  And you can still buy it digitally and on audible and all that jazz.  The CD’s of Furiously Happy are still available for significantly less than $120.  $120 is crazy.  For $120 I’ll come read to you personally.  But I’ll read someone else’s book because I’ve already read mine.  Maybe Goodnight Moon or Go The Fuck To Sleep.

You know you’re parents when you’re stupid

You know you’re a parent when your child runs into your bedroom at 2 am hysterically yelling “THERE’S SOMEONE IN MY ROOM” and instead of hiding or calling the police you run straight into her room and check every closet and bathroom and cupboard because if there is someone in there you have to get him before he escapes because NO ONE FUCKS WITH YOUR KID.  But you find nothing, and you calm your daughter down and tell her it was probably a dream as you tuck her back in.

And then you think about the fact that when your kid is off at a sleepover and you hear a possible burglar at 2am (who always turns out to be a cat) you send your husband out with a samurai sword to check while you sit in bed with a baseball bat and dial the 9 and the 1 and wait.  But somehow it’s different when your kid is involved and you don’t even stop at the moment to think before charging in front of your husband to beat down a monster.  And you think how brave it is to run straight into a room possibly filled with a burglar or worse.  Brave, reckless and terribly, terribly stupid.  Which is what parenting is all about when you break it down, now that I think about it.

Simple #oneword2016

Several of my friends have told me that I need to do the #oneword2016 challenge, where you pick a single word for the new year…one word that makes you focus on your main goal for the year.  Something like “passion” or “family” or “flourish” or “reinvest”.  I chose “simplify” because my life is too complicated for my head to deal with and I need to make it less so.  But then I thought if I really wanted to simplify my first step should be to simplify my word, so I cut it down to “simple”, which works well because it’s a simpler version of simplify and also because “simple” also means “ignorant or foolish” and that just seems fitting.  But then I thought that if I really wanted to simplify I should start by cutting out the extra work that I always make for myself so I decided to cut the idea of even having a word for the year.  Done.  Simple.

PS.  I’m not sure if this is how this is supposed to work but I do feel like I’ve accomplished something, so, fair play.

PPS.  I told Victor he needed to pick a word for the year and he just screamed: “RETRIBUTION!”  I told him he needed to pick another word and he chose “tanning”.  Hailey’s word is “grape”.  I don’t think either of them are doing it right but they seem happy.

PPPS.  Your turn.  What’s your word?


And now, 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.):


This week’s wrap-up is brought to you by a website for  a wide range of topics, including parenting, relationships, self-development, fashion, beauty and more. It provides practical advice that readers can apply in their lives and expand their horizons. Recently, the website delved into exploring the meaning of life and its purpose; questions that most people ask at some point in life and would like to know the answers to for a greater sense of fulfillment. It’s quite interesting.  Check it out here.

This is for you.

When this year started my only goal was to survive it.  I was still struggling with finishing Furiously Happy and was terrified you’d hate it.  I was scared of the book tour and I was certain I’d end up in the hospital again.  I was afraid that Hailey and Victor would miss me too much while I was gone, or worse, not miss me at all.  I was afraid that I’d lose everyone when I fell into the darkness or hid away or couldn’t reply to emails or texts for a month because my head went a little sideways.

But none of that happened.  I finished the book that I’d said for years I couldn’t finish.  I traveled to 20+ cities and met amazing people who hid with me under tables and cried with me and laughed with me.  I read my deepest secrets to them and they understood, and that very book I was afraid would drive people away is still clinging onto the best-seller list 3 months later.  I spent all my free time at home with my family and people continued to come here even though I was a little absent.  I shared the strange drawings I make in hotel rooms when I’m afraid to leave and found that people liked them, which was a wonderful gift I wouldn’t have found if I wasn’t the type of person who gets stuck in hotels.  I tried harder this year.  I failed a lot but I found that my failures were less visible to others than I thought.  And I succeeded too, but not in the ways other people might recognize.  I succeeded because this year showed me a little more that it’s okay to be broken because people will wait for you.  People are kind.  People are good.  And I’m people, so I guess that means I’m good too.  Or at least, better than the terrified and doubting girl I was at the beginning of the year.  I’m still terrified and doubting, but less so, and so much of that is due to you.

Thank you for this year.  Thank you for being there through the good and the bad.  Thank you for all of it.  I wish you all a happy new year.

PS. I made this for you:

"She taught me that it was better to be uniquely broken than perfectly the same."

“She taught me that it was better to be uniquely broken than perfectly the same.”