I got an email from editor saying “HAPPY PUB DAY!” and I was like, there’s a special day just for going to pubs?  My God, we released my book on exactly the right day, but then I realized “pub” was short for “published” and OMG ::KERMIT FLAIL:: Y’ALL, MY BOOK IS OUT TODAY.  Did you get it?  Did you read it?  Are you now running away because you realize I’m even crazier than I may have let on?

I stayed up late watching lovely people who were counting down the minutes until midnight when my book would show up on their reader and it seems surreal that after years of working on this it’s finally in your hands.  Thank you for making me write this.  Thank you for supporting me and passing on my work to others and for sharing and for helping me when I find myself stuck.  Thank you.

And tonight?  We party as if we all had ponies.  Tonight is our launch and instead of doing tv shows and fancy parties I’m staying home and broadcasting live from my house as I do a reading and a Q&A for you guys and I’m nervous as hell but also very excited because over 1000 of you have already RSVPed and that’s about 998 more people I’ve ever had at my house in real life.  To watch it just click here at 7pm central tonight.  You don’t have to have a camera or an account…just computer that can pick up a video feed.  With luck it’ll go well and not crash, but if it crashes just follow me on twitter and we’ll regroup.  You can chat in the hangout, I think, but it’ll probably be easier if you do it on twitter using the hashtag #FH so everyone can follow along.  Or just lurk.  Or come late and watch the recorded video and pretend it’s live.  Or skip it and go spelunking.  Whatever makes you (furiously) happy.

PS.  I just checked and my book is #3 on Amazon in biographies right now.  Yeehaw!  Number one is Mindy Kaling who is too adorable for me to stab so I can take her place, but number two is “Bill O’Reilly Killing Reagan“.  WTF?  I already didn’t like O’Reilly and now he’s killing Reagan and beating me in rankings?  This is why we can’t have nice things.

PPS.  Last night we did a test to see if I could make google hangouts work and I super fucked it up at first but then we got our shit together and giant thank yous go out to the hundreds of people who showed up to tell me what I was doing wrong and also to see my beaver.  If you want to see what you missed it’s recorded right here and if you click on “cc” for subtitles it becomes even more ridiculous.

See you at 7?  Yes?  Right here.



What if I fuck this up?

First off, my book is officially released to the public at midnight tonight and I’m terrified and excited all at once.  I’m getting tons of tweets from people who’re getting notifications that it’ll arrive at their house in the morning, and a few who somehow got it early and are already enjoying it.  I can only assume those people convinced their bookstore that today is Tuesday, or possibly they know the value of well-placed bribes.  Either way, I salute you.

Tomorrow is the book launch party and you have to come.  If you don’t know what I’m talking about go here for the details.  It’s all online so you can come even if you’re in your pajamas or nude or a cat.  (I mean, you can even come if you are a cat.  Not if you’re in a cat.  Don’t do that.  Ew.)  I’m still looking though all of your party name suggestions and I can’t pick just one so I’m currently leaning toward “The Church of Bloggessianism Presents The Furiously Happy Hour Fight Club Nonsexual-Orgy Featuring John Stamos If He Feels Like Getting In a Blanket Fort with Ferris Mewler and a Taxidermied Raccoon: The WE’RE HERE AND WE’RE NOT USED TO IT Party“.  I doesn’t quite fit on a t-shirt though.


BUT!  I’m afraid of technology so tonight let’s do a 5 minute test, okay?  If you happen to be online tonight (Monday) at 6pm central go here to this test page I just made and we’ll see if it works, okay?  This is not the same page that the actual party will be tomorrow (Tuesday).  See my last post for that link.  And if everything goes pear-shaped on Tuesday then we’ll just take over twitter, or I’ll break into the business center down the street and conduct the largest conference call in the world.  Whatever.  It’s our party and we’re winging it.  Prepare to take to the streets if necessary.  And by “take to the streets” I mean “hide in your bathroom with your phone.”

PS. John Stamos is not in any way expected to be here but he hasn’t blocked me yet on twitter and – in fact – he’s following me so I suspect he’s an introvert like us and will be lurking.  He seems like a lurker.  But in a really good way.

PPS.  I think this is the first time I’ve ever shared a recipe on this blog but just in case you want to match what we’ll be drinking here tomorrow during the Furiously Happy Hour I’m sharing a few of my drink recipes…

Cheap Shame:  Mix one part Strawberry Hill to one part Sprite.  Serve over ice in a disposable cup.  Remember 7th grade with equal parts fondness and horror.

Booze slushie:  Make a snow cone using your vintage knuckle-scraper Snoopy snow-cone maker.  After 15 minutes, a broken knuckle and two inches of melted snow-cone give up and curse loudly.  Go buy a real snow cone maker or a blender.  Pour whatever you have over the snow cone.  I prefer Chambord, cheap amaretto, box wine, or that rum Kenny Chesney makes.  Stop judging me.

The menstruating unicorn:  Smirnoff Ice over Cherry 7-up served with a lit sparkler.  Watch your bangs, y’all.

Water:  It’s just water.  It’s what I drink when I’m thirsty and it’s very refreshing.  I recommend.

I’m broken. I’m furiously happy. Both of these things are true.

If you’ve been reading here you know that my next book comes out in a few days.  It’s subtitled “A funny book about horrible things” because Furiously Happy is all about looking for the light in spite of the dark parts of life that weigh us down.  It’s easy to lose yourself in the fog so when you find your way out it’s important to celebrate that victory with joy so that you can remember it and carry that hope and that memory with you the next time you go back into battle.

I have clinical depression, severe anxiety disorder, chronic pain, and a host of other disorders.  My broken, dark times are terrible…but the bright, furiously happy moments are blinding.  I wanted to find a way to share that but I couldn’t do it alone, so I reached out on the internet and asked for volunteers brave enough to share with me.  And thousands of you responded and the responses broke my heart and then made it stronger again.  I wish I had 100 videos because there were so many amazing stories I wanted to share, but I only have one video and I hope (and believe) it’s strong enough to inspire us all a little.

(Click here if you don’t see the video, or want to make it bigger.)

So now what?  That’s up to you.  You can watch the video and if it speaks to you you can share it.  If you are moved to then you can share your own words in the comments.  If you want to share your own images of why you are broken but still furiously happy to inspire others that would be amazing.  (And if you tag it with #furiouslyhappy others will be able to see it and share.)  Or if you simply watch it once and it makes you smile then it’s done its job.

PS.  An enormous thank you to everyone who shared their words, to the brave people who sent in video – both to the people you recognize and already love, and to the people you don’t recognize but love now. Thank you to the people who were on board until it was time to film and then realized they just couldn’t do it, because your strength in saying, “No, I’m not quite ready to share this yet” is inspiring and a reminder that self-care comes in many forms.  Thank you to my niece Gabi who wrote and played the song on the video, and thank you to the creative team who made this a reality.  And thank you for watching.  And sharing.  And supporting.  And for saving me and so many others.  Thank you for everything that you are.

No Pants Party. You’re invited.

So.  My book comes out next week and I’m 50% excited and 70% terrified and 100% not sure how math works.  Normally when a book comes out you have a big launch party in a big city and big people come and then I have a big panic attack and everyone wanders around making a big deal about the fact that the author won’t come out from under the table (truth) and that’s why this time my editor agreed to let me have my FURIOUSLY HAPPY launch party right here in my house with the best people ever.  My cats.  And you.  The very people who helped me write this book and who often have the exact same fears about leaving their house.  EVERYONE WINS.  So, you are officially invited to my house (via the internet) on launch day for a reading and fun and ridiculousness.  It’ll be this Tuesday, September 22nd at 7p central.  It’ll probably last an hour, or until we get bored or too drunk to internet.  Or if you hate looking at me you can join in on twitter using the hashtag #FH (short for “Furiously Happy”).


But I need a name for this.  I was calling it “The Agoraphobia Party” but I thought people might misunderstand, and then I thought maybe “Introverts United” but that sort of already exists on a t-shirt I own (INTROVERTS UNITE!  But separately.  And at your own houses) and that seems like cheating.  Then I thought maybe “The No Pants Party” because the great thing about staying home while attending a party is that no one knows you don’t have pants on, but then I remembered that in the UK “pants” means “panties” and 1) I don’t want to have a “no panties party” because ew.  And 2) I hate the word panties so much that I want it destroyed.  I want to destroy panties.  Jesus.  That came out wrong.  How did I get here?  

Then I thought maybe “The Blanket Fort Coalition” because most of us with anxiety issues can’t wait until the party ends so that we can go home and hide in our blanket forts with our cats and books and phones and this would be nice because I’m basically inviting you into my blanket fort.  (Not a euphemism).  Except it’s a blanket fort with twitter and video and booze and I’ll probably end up saying something ridiculous that will live on the internet forever.  But it’s probably not going to be any worse than “I want to destroy panties” (hopefully) so it’s (possibly) all uphill from here.

I still don’t think I’ve come up with the perfect name though so I’m asking you.  Double Unicorn Success Unconference?  Sloth Lovers Anonymous?  The Assembly for the Advancement of Not Assembling Anyplace We Have To Make Smalltalk?  The Worst Orgy Ever?  The Apple Dumplin Gang?  Conscious Uncoupling?  Obviously I need help.

And the second thing is…would you come?  Is that a weird party to have?  Would you go online and watch a party that consists of me doing a book reading in front of my cats while my friend Marlena pours booze slushies and pulls together questions from twitter for the Q&A?  Would it make you more likely to come if I say that we’ll do a drinking game where every time Trump says something stupid we do a shot until one of us dies of alcohol poisoning?  And I’ll have special guests (who might all be taxidermied, if I’m being honest) come join me?  And maybe someone famous will show up and then you can tell everyone that last night you went to a book launch and John Stamos showed up and then your coworkers will be like, “UNCLE JESSE?” and you’ll just shrug like, “Yeah, I guess.  No biggie”?  And I’ll give away books and tiny raccoons and maybe some taxidermy and I’ll show you how to french braid a dog and then we’ll all share funny videos of people that we hate falling, or hamsters eating tiny burritos, or hedgehogs being hedgehogs?  I can’t tell if I’m making this more or less inviting.  This is exactly why I never have parties.  And why you should agree to come to this one.

PS. If you are an extrovert and hate being alone you can get together with your book club that night and all watch me doing my reading and it’s like you just brought an author with you to your book club.  YOU WIN BOOK CLUB!  I assume.  I don’t know the rules of book club.  Other than (I assume) no one talks about book club.  I might be mixing that up with something else.

OH!  WHAT IF WE CALL THE PARTY “FIGHT CLUB”?  I always wanted to be in Fight Club.  But that name’s taken.  Never mind.  Still thinking.

PPS.  John Stamos will not be at the party.  Unless, I guess, he really wants to come.  I mean, he’s not not invited.  You know what?  I take it back.  John Stamos might be at the party after all.  That man is totally unpredictable.

PPPS.  Look what I got today!

furiouslyhappy audio cds

My audiobook!  If you come up with the winning name for this party I’ll send you a signed one.  Or a book.  Or someone else’s book if you hate me.  Whatever.  Not judging.



Fuck you, Netflix.



Victor:  What the hell is going on in here?

me:  Netflix is all “Are you STILL watching TV?  Like, seriously, no one could watch that much TV and still be alive.  You’re dead, aren’t you?  Prove you’re not dead.”

Victor:  It’s just an auto-timer.  The TV can’t judge you.  But I’m judging you.  Because you’re yelling at the TV instead of just clicking “continue”.

me:  That’s because I can’t find that tiny remote to tell the TV that “Yes, I’m still alive” and so now the tv has grounded me from watching Project Runway.

Victor: Hmm.

PS. Did you know you can watch TV on your computer now.  You can.  And blog about it at the same time.  You’re not the boss of me, TV.  I WIN THIS ROUND.

You are home.

This is my song for you today:

Today is World Suicide Prevention Day and it’s truly wonderful to have voices speak out about something so many of us struggle with.  It’s not an easy subject or even one that people understand.  Even the people most vulnerable to suicide have a hard time understanding it.

There are many things I could say here but there’s one thing that I hope you hear completely if you are one of us…one of the strange people who feels things too strongly…one of the people who battle with a brain that tries to kill you…one of the people who has to remind yourself that depression lies.  It does.  But I’ve said that before.  This, however, is new:

One of the things that always saves me when I feel the deep isolation that comes with depression is the thought that I’m not alone – that so many amazing people are in this same dark place.  And they feel alone but they aren’t.  I’m with them.  Sometimes you’re with us too.  You might not be able to feel us here because your brain has robbed you of the ability to feel (or to not feel) but that doesn’t mean it isn’t true.  You are here.  You are needed.

You are home.

I mean that in two ways.  You are home with us, the strange ones feeling the same doubt and pain, who understand and who would be the first to tell you that you are needed and necessary and that if we are going to keep fighting you have to as well.  That’s just basic fairness.  We rely on each other because no one else understands totally this terrible halfway-gone waiting place we have to survive until life comes back to us.

And I mean it in another way.  You are home.  You are home for the wonderful things that you still have to offer the world.  You are home to unique thoughts that will help and inspire others.  You are home to people who love you.  And you are home to people who will one day meet you and tuck themselves into your heart for shelter.

You are home.  You are real.  You are needed.  You are loved.  You.  Even if we’ve never met, know that I mean you.  The you doubting yourself.  The you who doesn’t let on how tough it is.  The you who doesn’t know if you’ll make it through.  You will.  You’re gonna get through this.  Even if you don’t feel it yet, trust me, you are already home.

PS. I know a lot of people who don’t touch this subject because it’s complicated, or maybe isn’t something they feel they understand enough to write about and I completely get that.  There are all sorts of ways to help, from sharing suicide hotline numbers, or asking someone who seems down if they’re okay, or leaving an encouraging post-it note on a bathroom mirror, or just reaching out to say something kind to a friend.  The small act of telling someone how important they are to you can be a limb to cling to when everything else in the world seems to be telling you otherwise.  Spread kindness.  Pick a few people and tell them the world is better with them in it.  You make such a difference.  Every single one of you.  Thank you for answering the door when we ask for help.  Thank you for being home.

This isn’t really a post but it’s still really (subjectively) important

Hey!  This isn’t today’s post (still working on that) so expect even more typos than normal.  It’s just a quick note to say that


And I’m freaked out and terrified and excited and utterly unprepared and you probably are too (unprepared, I mean) so here are a few things I wanted to mention.

1. A bunch of people are asking if I’m signing bookplates again this year and the answer is yes.  I wrote about it a week ago but it was dumped in with a ton of other things in the same post so it’s easy to miss.  There are a limited amount and they’re running low so click here right now and they’ll mail you a free signed bookplate as a thank you for supporting the book.  If you haven’t preordered, here are some good links.

Thousands of bookplates and the cat who sat on all of them:


2.  The FURIOUSLY HAPPY BOOK TOUR starts week after next and the events are almost always free but in a lot of cases if you want a reserved seat or to go first in line you need to preorder the book from the store that’s hosting the event, which makes sense because that’s how these stores pay for these events, plus most of them are independent bookstores and they need your support.  The only problem is that some of the events are already sold out (what the shit, y’all?) so if there are too many people you might not be able to see the reading because of crowd-control issues.  But I’ll still sign anything you want and signing line will be open to everyone everywhere.  Just maybe check in your area and call your local store for details so you don’t miss out on the reading, okay?  Also, some people asked me if I would sign multiple books and OF FUCKING COURSE I WILL.  That’s sort of the best thing ever at a book signing.  Unless you’re having me sign tons of someone else’s book.  That’s fine too, but weird.  Not that I’m judging.  I once signed someone’s tongue, a spatula, a taxidermied beaver and a live baby at the same event.  Best event ever.


3.  Thank you.  If you’ve been here long enough you know that I’ve relied on you guys for advice and support and to pull me out of funks when things got hard and I doubted myself.  I never would have finished this damn book if it wasn’t for you.  Thank you.

4. If you want to you can say in the comments if you’ll be at an event and then connect with others who’ll be there.  Everyone who attends is weird in the best way and you won’t end up alone if you come alone.  These book signing are a collection of the best misfits ever and are the only events with real people that aren’t terrifying and awkward to attend.  We’re all awkward together and it cancels everyone else out.

The answer to the question “Is blogging dead?”

I’ve been doing interviews for the book release and I’m never prepared for the questions in spite of the fact that the questions are mainly about me, but in my defense I find myself a bit tedious (that bitch is everywhere – it’s like she’s stalking me) so I’m not usually paying attention to what I’m doing.  But this week I’ve had several reporters all start with the question, “Is blogging dead?” and I’ve finally started answering with “Well if it is that makes me one hell of a necrophiliac because I’m still doing it WITH ZEST”.  But then I started wondering if when these articles come out they’re just going to say: “Jenny Lawson, total weirdo, recently came out as an ardent necrophiliac.  ‘I DO IT WITH ZEST’ she confessed in a recent interview.”  So that’s why I’m coming out right now to say that I am NOT a fan of necrophilia for myself or for anyone else.  That is my official statement.  The end.

Except I guess it’s not really the end because now that I’ve brought up the question of whether blogging is dead I’m probably expected to flesh it out.  Except that readers here know I never flesh anything out properly so I suppose I’m off the hook.  Which is exactly what blogging is all about.  It’s about writing whatever crazy shit you want to write and having some people say “YES!  I THOUGHT I WAS THE ONLY ONE” and some say “What the shit is wrong with you?” and 99.99% of the world say nothing because they don’t know I exist.  And that is blogging.  And in that way it’s the same blogging that existed when I started blogging 9 years ago.  There are some changes, of course.  In the last 9 years some amazing bloggers have decided not to blog anymore.  And sometimes they come back and sometimes they don’t and sometimes they’re replaced by other amazing bloggers who write hysterical or moving or entertaining fluffy things.  And that’s a very good thing.

The only thing that’s dead is the possibility of making a million bucks on blogging, which honestly never existed as an attainable goal for any of us in the first place.  If you’re blogging to make a million dollars you should probably switch to something more lucrative, like…I dunno…making a sex tape.  But not with a dead person.  I’ve been very clear on this, y’all.

But here’s the great thing about realizing that making a mint in blogging isn’t really feasible or worthwhile…now you’re free to write whatever the shit you want to write without having to worry about brands and advertisers and alienating angry, easily-offended people who are actually really fun to alienate.  And that’s why we all got into writing in the first place, right?  Just me?  You know what?  It might be just be me.  And that’s fine because every single writer writes for their own specific reason.  Some of us write for a living.  Some of us write for fun.  Some of us write because we have no other choice because writers write always and if they aren’t blogging they’re writing a book or a journal or (if you’re anything like me) scrawling ideas of things you’re afraid you’ll forget on your arm until you can get home and jot it all down.  That is what writing is about, and blogging is just one iteration of writing.  Writing never dies.  And thank fucking God for that.

PS. I’m incredibly lucky in that this blog is sponsored almost entirely from the awesome people in my sidebar who support my writing.  They are fantastic and because of them I don’t have to inflate page views by creating annoying slideshows or unneeded page breaks or have to rent out my blog for other people’s voices or other bullshit I’m honestly far too irresponsible to do anyway.  If you appreciate this then go click on them and check them out.  They are fantastic and  interesting and lovely and proof that the question “Is blogging dead?” isn’t really a question worth asking.

PPS.  It would be nice if this question brought attention to great bloggers instead of making bloggers question what they’re doing so if you have a blogger that you love that you think needs attention, share them in the comments.  There’s always room for great voices.

PPPS.  I don’t have a good image for this post but this is my blog so I can post whatever picture I want.  So here’s a picture of my cat’s butthole:


PPPPS.  Spellcheck is trying to tell me I can’t use the word “butthole” and that I should change it to “buttonhole”.  Fuck you, spellcheck.  This is exactly the kind of shit I don’t have to put up with.

PPPPPS.  Except I just remembered that my grandparents read this blog and so I’m including another picture of Hunter S. Thomcat with less genitals.  This is for you, granny and papaw.  Love you.


It’s like a lemonade stand, but not at all.

My 10-year-old daughter got a “fashion sketchbook” last Christmas and she uses it to draw obscure t-shirt designs and astronaut suits and clothes for cats.  She showed me one design that seemed particularly confusing.

She’d started with the phrase “I PUNCH LIKE A GIRL” because she thought it was empowering (plus also anyone questioning her would get punched) so the t-shirt was both a girl-power mantra and also a legal disclaimer, but she’d messed up the “G” because “cursive is hard” and it looked like a “B” so she decided to just change it to “I PUNCH LIKE A BEAR”.

Which is awesome.  For girls and guys.  So she designed the shirt (with a little help from me) and is now selling it in my shop because that’s what kids do today instead of lemonade stands.  I assume.

punch like a bear



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 Jennifer Ammoscato, author of the novel Dear Internet: It’s Me, Avery. When newspaper reporter Avery Fowler discovers her husband is having an affair, the online help site is naturally where she turns to navigate this challenging stage of her life. Its live chat option gives her a virtual life coach (Clementine, a snippy, British chippy) for the low, low price of $14.95 a month. A perfect book for anyone who’s been screwed over. Or had a bad hair day. Or tried haemorrhoid cream under their eyes to hide the bags because they read online it might help. You can check it out here.

“Latawnya The Naughty Horse Two”

The other day at a used-book shop I picked up what might be my new favorite book.  Written in the days of Nancy Reagan’s “JUST SAY NO” campaigns is this amazing read:

This is a real book for children. It is not a parody. And that's what makes it so amazing.

This is a real book for children. It is not a parody. And that’s what makes it so amazing.

I’m not going to spoil it for you but I will tell you that Latawnya doesn’t immediately say no to drugs.  First she gets totally shitfaced with the other naughty horses.  Because that’s what naughty horses do, y’all.

These horses can’t seem to keep from dropping their smokes and they also can’t hold their liquor.  I’m embarrassed for these horses.

Brace yourself.  It gets worse before it gets better*

First off, if his cigarette is still smoking he's probably still alive. Horses can smoke but none of them can dial 911 or start CPR? Secondly, how does a horse open a childproof container of pills? I call shenanigans. This horse was murdered. Probably by Latawnya's father. Who is part of the mafia. And leaves horse heads in the beds of people who don't give horses sugar cubes. (This is actually a better story than the one in the book. Just my opinion.)

First off, if his cigarette is still smoking he’s probably still alive, Father Horse. Apparently horses can smoke and drink and talk but none of them can dial 911 or start CPR because they’re too busy judging each other.  Secondly, how does a horse open a childproof container of pills? I call shenanigans. This horse was murdered. Probably by Latawnya’s father. Who is part of the mafia. And who leaves horse heads in the beds of people who don’t give out sugar cubes. (This is just my guess but it’s actually a more realistic story than the one in the book.)

*It never actually gets better.

Sadly, LATAWNYA, the Naughty Horse, Learns to Say “No” to Drugs is now out-of-print, but I just discovered that you can buy the sequel!

latawnya two “Latawnya The Naughty Horse Two points out the low life drug pusher. Latawnya and two of her friends will see the back of a low life who is trying to hook everyone on drugs. He tries to entice them to use cocaine and meth, but they laugh at him. They let him know he can take his drugs and go. They also let him knows they have better activities to do than using drugs. Latawnya and her friends are on the basketball team. There will be a big talent show. Everyone will audition. Someone will create a beautiful original song and dance.”

Happy early Christmas to me, y’all.

UPDATED: My sister just sent me this. Just say no to horses.