I love your funny face. #WERUINEVERYTHING

So!  Last week my friend Maile and I went to the Mom 2.0 Summit and it was quite lovely but we decided that instead of posting the typical conference selfies we should change things up a bit and post the most unflattering pictures we could possibly take.  We did the first one on the plane and it was so ridiculous that even instagram wouldn’t post it.  It might have been a glitch but we assumed it was instagram saying, “No.  You don’t mean to post this. Have you been drinking again?  We’re cutting you off until you come to your senses.”  But we had no senses to come to and we couldn’t stop laughing at the picture and so we shared  it on twitter.

Then when we landed we found out that the picture was shared so much that it was the very thing that got the conference hashtag trending.  So…yeah.

funny faces2

This is the point when I had to apologize to the conference organizers but they didn’t care because I’ve known them for 10 years so they knew what to expect of me.  Which is “very little“.  This is one advantage of having a terrible reputation.

What was nice though was that although it was a little terrifying publishing such a horrific picture it was actually also surprisingly freeing.  No matter what photo we found ourselves tagged in that week we were guaranteed that it couldn’t be any worse than what we’d shared ourselves.  Even if someone intentionally posted something terrible we could say, “No. Sorry.  We did it worse already.”  Plus, we automatically looked much better in person because we’d set up people to assume we look like giant thumbs or penises.

I was presenting an Iris Award at the conference and mostly I just hid backstage and made Andrew McCarthy uncomfortable by sitting cross-legged on the floor and staring at him, but on the way in we had to take red carpet pictures and we’d decided that there were already too many pretty people there so instead we’d just do inappropriate poses until they asked us to leave.

And that’s how you do a red carpet.  Deep, royal curtsies.  #WE RUIN EVERYTHING:


From Maile : “You so win curtsy-ing. I look like a bear trying to find a hole to poop in.”

Other flattering red carpet poses: the 1930’s Muscle Men:

muscle men

 …And the eternally classic we-just-found-a-dead-body red carpet pose.  Always elegant.

dead body

It only took a few minutes before they gave up and shooed us off but we still had more to give.  This is my favorite and I literally laugh out loud every single time I look at it.

I like this one because it looks like Maile is my shy little sister who seldom leaves her closet and also that we share an arm.

I like this one because it looks like Maile is my shy little sister who almost never leaves the basement we live in, and also that we share an arm.

I did manage to take one good picture as I ran out to the nerd bus (which we self-named because we were the first people to hurry back to the hotel while everyone else started dancing) and that was a picture of my using Andrew McCarthy as a coaster.  Not even intentional, y’all.  I can’t take a good picture even when I’m trying.  Please contact me, Mr. McCarthy, with your dry cleaning bill.

me: I LOVED YOU IN MANNEQUIN.  Him:  Marry me.  (Only one of these things was said out loud.)

me: I LOVED YOU IN MANNEQUIN. Him: MARRY ME. (Only one of these things was actually said out loud.)

Point is, posting a terrible photo of yourself making ridiculous faces is fantastic.  And hilarious.  And incredibly freeing.  I encourage you to do it yourself.  Share it in the comments.  Send it to your friends.  Post it on instagram.  Relive those moments when your mother would say “YOUR FACE WILL FREEZE LIKE THAT” while you and your sister laugh hysterically as you lick the car windows and make pig noses at the people driving in the next lane.  Honestly, I cannot recommend it enough.

UPDATED:  Everyone and their cat is doing that website where you upload your photo and the computer tells you how old you look so I decided to try it:

how old


Oh, you flatterer.

Yes, that was totally the rabbit I was thinking of.

I always feel sorry for magician doing tricks for people with ADD because whenever I’m off my meds and I’m watching magic I always get distracted and forget what’s going on halfway through, and then the magician reaches into his hat and there’s a rabbit in there and I think, “Wait.  Was there not a rabbit there before? Because I honestly don’t remember how this started.” So I just pretend to be impressed and hope that that was the trick.

Basically, I’m like those serial killers who don’t feel emotions so they just become really good actors so people won’t suspect they’re psychopaths. Except instead of plotting murders I’m just hoping that the magician doesn’t ask me to pick a card because there’s no way I’ll remember it and I’ll just say “Yes, that was totally my card” no matter what. Magicians are wasted on me.  We should probably set up really terrible magicians with very easily distracted people and then everyone will be happy.


And now, the weekly wrap-up of awesomeness:


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


Shit you should buy or steal because it’s awesome:  

This week’s wrap-up is brought to you by my talented friends from UnPodcast: The Business Podcast for the Fed-Up.  It is awesome, entertaining and it is free.  The only way it could be better is if it also increased your metabolism and made you a mojito.  Which it might do.  Hard to tell.  Listen to it while you work.  I highly recommend. 

She’s much better at drawing cats now. About the same with Hitlers though.

I wrote this over a year ago but I never published it because it got lost in my draft folder, but I’ve been recovering from food poisoning and I’m at that woozy stage where I think everything is funny or horrible and I’m pretty sure this is both.  

Conversation with Victor (and Hailey):

Me: Did you see what your daughter made?

Victor: No, but I already resent what you’re implying.

Me: I haven’t said anything bad yet.

Victor: Well, you called her “your daughter”.  I see where this is headed and I don’t like it.  You only call her my daughter when she breaks something.

Me: Not true.  She’s my daughter when she sets something on fire, or when she runs into a wall that’s always been there.  She’s your daughter when she does things I’d never do. So guess what your daughter did?

Victor: She left the toilet seat up?

Me: Nope.  Genocide.

Victor: Um…what?

Me: Or “promoted” genocide, I guess?  I don’t want to jump to conclusions.  I’m just saying that it’s a slippery slope and I’m concerned.

Victor: No. Start over.  Make sense this time.

Me: Fine. Your daughter made this at school:

hitler and friend

Victor: A lunch-sack puppet?


Victor: What…?  It’s not…  Well.  It does look a little like Hitler.

me: No, it looks a lot like Hitler.

Victor: Hitler doesn’t strike me as a waver.

Me: Maybe he’s Heiling.

Victor: What?

Me: Or whatever the active verb for “heil” is.  I DON’T KNOW THE VERB TENSES FOR THE THIRD REICH, VICTOR.

Victor:  Right. So did you ask her if it was Hitler?

Me: She said it was a man they read about in school but she couldn’t remember his name.

Victor: Why is there a cat glued on him?

Me: She said that he was lonely and that’s why he was so grumpy, so she made him a cat.

Victor: Well, that does sound like it could be Hitler.

Me: Which is why I’m concerned.

Victor: Did Hitler even own cats?

Me: Already ahead of you. According to the Internet he did have a cat, but then he ate it..

Victor: Hitler ate his cat?

Me: Well, apparently. I googled “Did Hitler have a cat?” and the internet said this:

I wouldnt put it past him

Victor: You wrote that answer yourself, didn’t you?

Me: No, and now I don’t like what you’re implying. Anyway, Hitler was a mass-murdering asshole so I don’t think it’s entirely outside the realm of possibility that the man ate a few cats in his time.

Victor: Hailey, can you come to the kitchen?

Hailey: Yep?

Victor: Is this Hitler?

Hailey: What?

Me: Answer your father, sweetie. Is this puppet of Hitler, and did you make him this cat to eat?


Hailey: That’s Mr. Putter. He likes trains and cakes.

Me: Cakes made of cats?

Victor: Drop it.

Hailey: I don’t know who Hitler is. That’s Mr. Putter from the Mr. Putter books. He doesn’t eat cats.

Me: Good. And you know it’s never okay to eat cats, right?

Hailey: Uh…yeah?

Me: And genocide. That’s frowned upon too.

Hailey: Huh?

Victor: Okay, I think that’s enough for today.

Me: Well, I think this is a teachable moment.

Victor: Well, I think she can wait until she’s nine to learn not to commit genocide.

Me: Fine. But just remember this if it comes back to bite us later.

Victor: Because she might dabble in genocide before she turns nine?

Hailey: What’s a genderside?

Me: Nothing important, apparently. I’ll just add it to the list of things to tell you when you’re older. “Menstruation and Genocide.” That’s gonna be one hell of a talk.

Hailey: You guys are weird.

And that’s how we decided (as a parenting unit) that we would wait until Hailey was nine before we taught her about genocide and why it’s not okay to eat cats.

Because, apparently, that’s just good parenting.

PS.  I just looked up this Mr. Putter character and apparently there’s a whole series of books about him.  And – I shit you not – this is one:

Full circle, y’all.

Don’t yell at me. I’m weak and fragile.

I’ve been sick as a dog for days and this post might not make sense because I’m still dehydrated and loopy.  If it makes you mad you should blame the bad chicken salad I ate.  I know I do.

The difference between men and women:

me: I feel almost human for the first time in 48 hours.

Victor:  Thank goodness.

Me:  And I literally lost two pounds...just by throwing up.

Victor: You sound unsettlingly excited about having had food poisoning.

me: Well, I think maybe that’s the difference between men and women.  Women are more optimistic.  About food poisoning.

Victor:  I think you have a problem.

me:  I did have a problem.  It was severe vomiting.  And it made me lose two pounds.  That’s optimism, Victor.

Victor:  That’s an eating disorder.

me:  It might be both.


And now, the weekly wrap-up of awesomeness:

madebyroundtablecompanies 2

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


Shit you should buy or steal because it’s awesome:  

This week’s wrap-up is brought to you by Blue Lizard Australian® Sunscreen. They’re one of the top sunscreens and delivers clinically proven, broad-spectrum UVA and UVB protection in a SPF 30+ formulation. From them: “Our patented BPA-free Smart Bottle™ changes color in the presence of harmful UV rays, reminding you to apply sunscreen.  Baby & Sensitive are paraben-free, chemical-free and fragrance-free. Face is also oil-free and all formulations are mineral-based containing Zinc Oxide. Sport & Regular are extremely water resistant, staying on in 240 minutes of whirlpool water. Blue Lizard is the brand most recommended by pediatricians, dermatologists, pharmacists, and moms nationwide.”  You should buy some lotion and rub it on your skin. Not in a serial killer way.  Just the opposite, in fact.  (Use the code P20BLOGG for 20% off orders over $35.)

Broken and Magical

Remember this week when I talked about Geraldo the Giraffe and a bunch of you encouraged me to make a kickstarter so I could buy him?  Well, I can’t do that because it feels selfish to have people buy me a giant metal giraffe.  Mostly because yesterday I bought something so awesome that it makes my heart hurt and I really want to show it to you but I also want to surprise you because that will make Victor less likely to cancel all of my credit cards before the payment goes through.  Here’s a hint though…it looks like something straight out of Narnia.  AND IT IS MAGICAL.

And speaking of magical, a lot of you asked for this.

All the best people are.

All the best people are.

If you buy one I promise that all profits will go to buying incredibly stupid and ridiculous things that will make people laugh and also make them extremely thankful they don’t live with me.  Or if you want to make your own with glittery puff-paint, do that.  That’s the awesome thing about being magical.  Magical people make great t-shirts.  Plus, even if the t-shirt looks fucked up it still works because it’s (un)intentionally broken.

PS. I’m taking my kid on a weekend mother-daughter camping trip because she insisted it would make for great bonding and that I need to get out of the house more.  We’re assigned to stay in a cabin with strangers next to a lake.  All I can think of is serial killer movies.  I’m bringing my own self-defense axe.

PPS. She just told me they also have kayaking.  I think I prefer serial killers.

Geraldo the Giant Giraffe

Occasionally I visit the same store where years ago I bought Beyoncé the Giant Metal Chicken.  Usually it’s all pillows and dog toys and wicker baskets.  Sometimes you’ll find a largish metal lobster and once there was a full-sized horse made of wine corks and sticks, but it’s never anything that really screams, “HEY, I’M FUCKING INSANE“.

Until today.

Oh, helloooo.

Oh, helloooo.

He was magnificent, but even on clearance he was way out of my price range.  I tried to convince the clerk that they should sell me the 11 foot giraffe for half the asking price but he was having none of it.  I argued that I’d bought a metal chicken half that size for one fifth of that price but he acted like math wasn’t relevant.  “THIS IS HIGHWAY ROBBERY” I may have yelled.  I pointed out that the giant giraffe was leading the eyes of customers up to a water stain in the ceiling but the clerk just shrugged and said you can’t haggle in a department store.  I was like “YOU CAN’T HAGGLE IN A DEPARTMENT STORE” and I guess he didn’t understand that he was being challenged because he was all, “Yeah.  That’s what I just said.”

The sadness of a giraffe in captivity.

The sadness of a giraffe in captivity.

I considered accidentally falling into the giraffe so that it would be dented and get discounted even more but I was afraid he would knock over other stuff and all of the displays would fall like dominoes, trapping innocent shoppers.  And also, I’m not up-to-date on my tetanus shot.  And also he was really heavy and I could only lift one giraffe leg before the manager came and said “Can I help you. ma’am?”  But he didn’t want to help me topple the giraffe or barter for it so I guess the answer is that no, no one can help me.  

Also I felt torn because there were two of them and I didn’t really want to split up a family.  You’d have to though because who needs two giant metal giraffes?  That’s just hoarding.

Oh, helloooo.

“Victor, I bought us new bookends.”

I told Victor that if I had Geraldo (with a hard G) Giraffe I could use him whenever I needed to change out lightbulbs and couldn’t find a ladder.  But he didn’t look entirely sturdy so I’d need Victor’s help.  I’d be like, “Hey, I need you to hold the giraffe so I can reach the crystal chandelier” and then Victor pointed out that we don’t even have a chandelier and I was like “Exactly.  And we can spend all the money we didn’t spend on the chandelier we don’t have on this giraffe.”  Victor did not agree because he doesn’t understand how money works.

Frankly, I was surprised the store still had two giraffes in stock but the clerk told me that they were the only giraffes they had and none had been sold.  I nodded and explained that it was probably because having two of them displayed together made them seem less special.  Like having the Hope Diamond next to a Hope Diamond Junior.  So technically the store should have let me buy the biggest one for a cheaper price because then it would be easier for them to sell the smaller giant giraffe because the person who bought the next one would be like “I JUST BOUGHT THE BIGGEST GIRAFFE EVER AND NO ONE ELSE HAS ANYTHING LIKE IT” because they didn’t have an eleven foot giraffe to compare it to.  I’d be doing that person a favor because you shouldn’t feel embarrassed about buying an 8 foot giraffe, but if you have a 11 foot giraffe next to it that’s just inevitable.

It seemed like it would be worth it just to see the clerks have to carry an eleven foot giraffe out of the store and strap it to the hood of my car.  Victor disagreed and started yelling about me “scratching the paint” but obviously I’d wrap the giraffe with towels first so it wouldn’t scratch the paint of the giraffe.  I’m not stupid, Victor.  But then he said I was missing the point and I guess the point is that he doesn’t want me to buy towels.

But it didn’t matter because  they wouldn’t give me a discount and I’m not paying $500 for a giraffe that isn’t at least on wheels so I can take it for walks.  I’m too selfish.  Much like the people at this store apparently.   

I argued that “you should let me have these giraffes cheaper because then you’ll have more room for more giraffes.  Think about how many giant metal giraffes corporate will send you when they see you’re finally moving these.  Next month you might get a life-sized t-rex.  Or a metal full-sized oil rig.  Or a metal version of this store filled with metal pillows and metal dog toys and metal wicker baskets.”  Then the clerk just sort of looked at me like, “My God, she’s right.”  Victor said his look was more like, “Holy shit, I’m going to have price these fuckers even more.  Someone get me a sharpie so I can add a few zeros.”

So, no, I haven’t bought Geraldo yet, but I did invest in a bag of defective unicorns and Victor was all “You just LEAK money” but I pointed out that these unicorns are like 90 cents each.  You can’t even buy a coke for 90 cents and these are magical unicorns.  Victor pointed out that they’re broken unicorns, but I’m pretty sure I’m proof that you can be broken and magical all at the same time.

Victor couldn’t argue with that, but he did say I’m not allowed to call anything I buy “an investment” anymore.  We’re agreeing to disagree on that one.

defective unicorns

Ferris Mewler: “What in the shit are you people doing?”

med cleaning dorothy barker


And now, the weekly wrap-up of awesomeness:


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


Shit you should buy or steal because it’s awesome:  

This week’s wrap-up is brought to you by the bad-asses behind the Unpodcast – the business show for the fed-up.  I recommend starting with this one, about the importance of paying your creatives rather than ripping them off by asking them to work for free or this one about when it’s right to name and shame people. I recommend.  Go check it out right now.

It’s just me, right?

Youtube sends me weird emails about videos they think I would like and when I looked at this one I thought…what the shit?  Is that even legal?

shark blow job

Then I realized I might be the only person in the world who automatically assumed this was a video of a shark blow job.  Both because I have weird personal issues, and also because sharks would give terrible blow jobs.  I would assume.

It’s just me, right?

Better than bare walls

I’ve been thinking that I needed to update the guest bathroom because it feels pretty 1970’s but I’m not good at design stuff so nothing ever happens.  But then I got a gift certificate for Walls Need Love, which specializes in removable wall decals and posters and I was like “Can you make me a full-sized bear sticker?” and they were all, “Yes.  Yes we can.”

So now my bathroom is renovated.  Victor says I’m using that word incorrectly but I don’t think so.  Plus, I think it’s only fair that we’re always saying “Does a bear shit in the woods?” and now there’s a bear in our bathroom watching you do your business.  It’s especially nice when we have visitors and they don’t realize they have company until they’ve closed the door and see an angry bear behind them in the bathroom mirror.  A lot of yelping happens and some people have claimed it was so unexpected they practically shit themselves, which I think it just another affirmation that I totally picked the right room to install a bear.

bear walls

PS.  Also, he’s perfect for taking selfies with because even if you look kinda blah no one notices because THERE’S A FUCKING BEAR BEHIND YOU.  So you look fierce and/or about to be mauled and no one says, “You should really start wearing make-up” because they’re too busy saying, “What is happening in your house?  Do you need help?

PPS.  The bear has his paws down in front of his body and I thought I could get a cute picture of him playing leapfrog with me so I bent over with my hands on my knees like he was about to leap over my back.  Then I saw the picture and realized it totally looked like the bear was violating me.  No one wants that.  Do not play leapfrog with bears.  It doesn’t end well.  This is my advice to you.

PPPS.  This bear needs a name and at first I was thinking of “Bearnstein” in homage to those bear books I loved when I was a kid, but then I looked it up and turns out the bears were named “Berenstain” which seems weird because I always assumed those bears were Jewish and now I don’t even know anymore.  Then I thought I’d call him “Beowulf” because I once read that “Beowulf” is a kenning of “Bee” and “Wolf” and I always thought a Bee-Wolf would be the scariest animal ever.  (But last week someone sent me a link to a half-spider/half venomous snake and I reassessed.  Do not look at that link if you ever want to sleep again.)

PPPPS.  A “kenning” is an Old Norse compound that uses figurative language in place of concrete single world nouns.  Like, instead of using the word “sword” Old Norse poets would call it a “wound-hoe,” which is the best term ever.  “Can you pass me that butter knife?”  “You mean this wound-hoe?”  We need to bring this shit back, y’all.  From now on kneecaps are “leg-elbows” and colicky babies are “scream-satchels”.  A NEW LANGUAGE IS BORN.  THANK YOU, KEVIN BEOWULF.

PPPPPS.  His first name is Kevin. The bear, I mean.  I can’t relax enough to pee in front of a bear named Beowulf.  That’s way too much pressure.  “Kevin” is much more non-threatening.

PPPPPPS.  How many addendum’s can I add before this gets ridiculous?  Six.  Six is the answer.

PPPPPPPS.  Victor disagrees and says this was already ridiculous before the first PS.  Kevin and I respectfully disagree.

Fifth Argument I Had With Victor This Week

Fifth Argument I Had With Victor This Week

Victor:  Hey, slacker.  If you have time to lean you have time to clean.

me: I’m not “leaning”.  I’m watching Mythbusters.

Victor:  Same difference.

me:  No.  Plus, your leaning phrase doesn’t make any sense.

Victor: If you have time to lean you have time to clean.  In other words, if you have time to goof off then you have time to organize the closet.

me:  Right. So you’re punishing people for relaxing.  So every time I’m relaxing it means that I have to work.  That’s never going to catch on.  It should be “If you have time to lean then you’ve obviously planned your day really well and you should probably reward yourself with a cocktail and an electric blanket that has pockets filled with baby kittens and fried cheese sticks.”

Victor: That’s…not at all what I’m saying.

me:  Too late.  Now I’m just going to watch even more Mythbusters in order to fuck up my day tomorrow so that I never have time to clean again.  So basically, more TV and less cleaning.  I win.

Victor: And everyone else loses.

me: Well, time management is a tricky mistress.

Winner: MythBusters.

PS. I feel like this post needs a picture but I don’t have one that matches this post so here’s a random picture of my desk: