Dead duck at 2am.

At 2am this morning I discovered a dead duck in my room.  If you know me you know this isn’t entirely strange given my penchant for ethically taxidermied animals but this was an unexpected, unclothed duck I didn’t recognize.  The whole thing unfolded on twitter so I thought I’d share it here so you’d know why you should follow me on twitter.  Or why you should unfollow me on twitter.  Depends, I guess:

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And I’m sharing all of this because it should make you feel better about yourself in comparison because if you haven’t realized there was a dead duck in your room for an indefinite period of time you are a far better housekeeper than I am.  You win.

PS. I just called Victor and I was like, “So do you know why there was a dead duck inside my flowers?” and he said, “Fucking what?” which sort of proves that he needs to be following me on twitter too because I had to repeat the whole occurrence and still he was confused.  Join the club, Victor.

UPDATED: It took a week but the mystery of the 2am sudden duck appearance is finally solved: Click here for the rest. #THEDUCKENING

The most confusing tie clip in the world.

Years ago we inherited this tie clip and none of us have every been able to figure out what’s going on with it.

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At first I thought it was a bowler who dropped his bowling ball because who hasn’t done that, but Victor said that’s not something you would memorialize in a tie clip, so then I thought maybe it was a fancy grampa running for a goal with an invisible football.  Then I thought maybe this was a “Sorry. I’m introverting today” tie clip because that’s sort of how I look all the time and it would be nice to have a piece of jewelry that just lets people know that it’s me and not them, but Victor took a close look and decided that this is “NO TIME FOR YOUR BULLSHIT” guy.

And for once, he might be right because it fits:


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Long story short? This is now my favorite piece of jewelry.  

UPDATED:  Commenter RuthC wins the internet:


If wishes were horses…

People always say, “If wishes were horses then dreamers would ride” but tons of people wish for horses and if you wished for horses when wishes were also causing unintentional by-product wish horses you’d have twice as many horses as you need and then all the other people wishing for other non-horse things would also be making accidental by-product wish horses and suddenly we would be overrun with horses.  And then we’d be like, “God, I wish there weren’t all these horses in my house” and that would make even more horses.  End result:  too many horses.  But here’s the question I was going to ask before accidental horses took over this conversation:, If it didn’t involve accidental horse overpopulation, what one thing would you wish for right now?

PS. I asked Hailey what she would wish for if she had a genie and she said she’d wish for more wishes and I explained that that’s against the rules and so she said “Fine.  I’d wish for more genies” and then I was like, “Damn.  I wish I came up with that line.”  So basically our wishes are selfish and also incredibly meaningless.  Your turn.


And now…guess what?  I am finally feeling me again (feeling like me, not like feeling me up.  Never mind) so I’m getting back to doing the weekly wrap-up.  Whoop!  (Click here if you want in on sponsoring one.  First come, first served.)


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 Heather Thorkelson, Founder of the Republic of Freedom and teacher of 30 Days to Done. She somehow manages to travel the world while running two businesses and then also goes to Antarctica multiple times a year like some sort of lady James Bond.  I don’t know how she does it but if you’re a freelancer working from home and you need to get your shit together, she’s a damn good person to help you do it.

Pokemon Go is making it weird.

So, Pokemon Go just sent out an update that lets your trainer appraise your pokemons (Pokemen?  Pokemi?) and that seems nice, except that I rename all of my creatures so this happened:










Umm…thank you?


I will do anything. But I won’t do that.

Earlier this year there was an internet  thing where you ask google to auto-predict what you need and what you have, and it did not work out well for me:

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But I decided to give it another chance because there’s a new thing where people are googling their name and the word “likes” to see what Google thinks you like and I thought that might give me something less unsettling.

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Ah.  So, never mind then.

Fox and cat are friends. ALLEGEDLY.

So Victor emailed me this picture:


…And I was like, “Jesus, that fox ate a shitload of cats.  WHY WOULD YOU EVEN SEND THAT TO ME, VICTOR?” and Victor was like, “What?  WHY WOULD YOU AUTOMATICALLY THINK THAT?  It’s the same cat in every picture.  They’re friends.  What is wrong with you?

But then I was even more mad because I’d been feeling all self-righteous because I’m not the jerk sending his wife multiple pictures of the moments before a family of cats were massacred and now I’m the asshole.  Apparently.

Although technically it’s not on video so you can’t prove that this fox isn’t having an all-you-can-eat cat buffet.  Just saying.

PS.  Fuck.  Apparently there is a video.  So I am the asshole.  But still, maybe the fox is just playing with the cat before eating it.  Because guess who else plays with their food before eating it?  CATS.  Maybe this cat killed a mouse who was the foxes best friend and now the fox is like, “You killed Jo-Jo?  Oh yeah, fucker?  NOW THIS IS HAPPENING.”  I mean, it’s unlikely but it’s also unlikely that a fox is best friends with a cat so at this point all bets are off.  Victor says this doesn’t prove that I’m not an asshole because now I’m just going through scenarios trying to prove that a bunch of cats have been murdered in some sort of foxen revenge vendetta.  That doesn’t make me an asshole, Victor.  It makes me a realist.  I blame all of this on my pessimism when it comes to foxen.  That’s the real asshole here.

PPS. One ox, two oxen.  One fox, two foxen.  Foxen is a real world.  Stop questioning me, spellcheck.


Tell me again how technology ruins everything.

I can’t remember how long I’ve known Laura.  Probably close to 10 years now.  We met through our blogs and the first time we had lunch in person we stayed at the cafe so long we were still there at dinner.  This was when blogging was still somewhat new and most people would ask “What’s a glob?  Like a diary?  But…why?” and neither of us could really explain except to say that it was a nice way to document the weird thoughts and moments of our lives.  Her son, (Hurricane Harry) and Hailey were both only children, kids of bloggers and the same age so they’ve been friends as long as they can remember.

This is a game called "I'm balancing dirty rocks on my head". It was a favorite of theirs.

This is a game called “I’m balancing dirty rocks on my head”. It was a favorite of theirs.

They’ve shared holidays, vacations, and the hassle of mothers who have had to defend their decision to be bloggers over and over.

Neither of then threw up. It was a very successful day.

Neither of them threw up. It was a very successful day.

It’s not as unusual now but I remember a time when people thought that blogging about your kids would mess them up psychologically, or get them kidnapped, or that it was oversharing or – more often – that the technology that goes into blogging removes you from life so you can’t live the very thing you’re documenting.  And honestly, I can see those points.  I’ve seen others fall down those rabbit holes in terrible ways, but I’m lucky to have blogging friends who’ve always had my back to help me decide what should or shouldn’t be shared, and those are friends I never would have found without blogging.  My job, my life, my community, you guys, my best friends…all came from blogging.  And Hailey’s best friends are all the children of bloggers.  Maybe because of luck, or happenstance, or maybe because they’ve all grown up in the same strange world.

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Harry and Hailey were just a few years old when they became friends.

Tomorrow both of them start middle school and we spent this weekend running around parks and feeding ducks and playing Pokemon as they sniped gyms from each other and shared tips on how to throw curveballs and laughed at private jokes that were probably about Laura and me.  And as I looked at this photo of Hailey and Harry using technology to further bond and to laugh it reminded me of how it all started.

harry and hailey

So perhaps, in this small case study at least, technology isn’t so bad after all.

(Until they want to start their own blogs, of course.  Then we’ll have to lock to them in their closets with no internet.)


That’s how you get an infection.

Last week I saw a bunch of birds building a nest inside the sign of the liquor store, and the birds were so bad at building their nest that things were falling out of it and hitting passersby so I went in and told the cashier, “Hey, there’s a bunch of shit in your P hole,” because there totally was.

I know it's hard to see, but I assure you, that P hole is filled with birds.

I know it’s hard to see, but I assure you, that P hole is filled with birds.

And she just kind of stared at me and so I clarified and said, “I mean, not actual shit.  Birds.  There are a bunch of birds in your P hole.”  Then Victor was like, “Jesus, Jenny.  Phrasing” and I then realized how that sounded so I was like, “Oh.  Sorry!  Not YOUR P hole.  I’m sure your P hole is fine.  I mean the store’s P hole.  Shit’s falling out of it and someone’s going to get hurt.”  And she still just stared at me and I tried to explain that I was talking about the inside of the P hole on the sign outside but she still didn’t get it so I decided to just leave and that’s why we can’t go back to that liquor store anymore.

PS.  Yesterday I saw this on the side of a building:

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…and I was like, “Somebody should tell them that they’ve got a bunch of shit in their A holes” but Victor wouldn’t let me go inside to tell them because apparently he hates America or something.

Leaving magic behind. Or litter. Depends on who is looking, really.

If you’ve read here before you may know that I often leave handmade, tiny ferris wheels or miniature houses on sidewalks or in trees for kids to find, like a lazy Boo Radley.  Yesterday Hailey and I took this to a new level when we decided to make a small fairy room in the park nearby.  The park is filled with trees and it always seems a bit magical so finding fairies there wouldn’t be out of the question:

Hailey, listening for fairies. Also, playing Pokemon Go. We're mult-taskers.

Hailey, listening for fairies. Also, playing Pokemon Go. We’re multi-taskers.

I pulled out a chair from my dollhouse and a tiny book that I’d made and we came up with this:

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A closer look.

A closer look.

And it went well aside from one guy who came up on us and was like, “ARE YOU TOUCHING BIRDS?” which is a weird thing to say because WHY WOULD WE TOUCH BIRDS?  WHAT SORT OF WILD BIRDS LET YOU TOUCH THEM?  And also WHY ARE WE YELLING?  So we told him that, no, we were not touching birds (because that would be weird and this isn’t a disney cartoon).  We were creating a reading nook for tired fairies who needed to chill.  And he seemed confused (and maybe disappointed?) and left.

The tree is on the backside of a hiking trail and not very easy to spot but I assumed it would be gone (or smashed to the ground by angry squirrels) by today but this morning we hiked into the woods and instead we found that others had added to it.

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The thing on the left is a seed pod, I think?

And it reminded me of the magic of small things, and of hope and silliness, and made me feel a bit brighter so I thought I’d share it with you.

PS.  Don’t touch birds.  I don’t even know why I’m having to clarify this but if you  can touch a bird that’s a pretty good indicator that the bird is very sick and doesn’t want you poking at it.  Except once my uncle found a talking bird that followed him around the backyard while he was mowing and turns out it was someone’s pet parrot who needed help.  So I guess it’s okay to touch birds if they can specifically ask you for it.  Or if the bird is being a real asshole is attacking your dog.  Then you can hit it with a shovel.  That’s why I carry a shovel when I walk Dorothy Barker because suddenly there are birds of prey all over my neighborhood and my dog isn’t your snack, birds.  I mean, I super love birds but I will take a motherfucker down if they fuck with my puppy.  That’s just how I roll, birds.

PPS.  Sorry.  Got off on a tangent there.  Stop thinking about birds eating dogs.  Go back to the happy, whimsical fairy thoughts.  Much better.  Sorry.  Those birds are assholes.

PPS. A few people were asking how to make the tiny books so I made a tiny tutorial here.

Take the rest of the day off.

I am supposed to be working right now, but I’m not because FUCK WORK.  Work is hard and I will not remember the hours I would have spent doing laundry and answering emails so instead I am at the park with Hailey, where we are saying, “Fuck off, gravity.”  Well, I’m saying it.  She’s 11 so she’s just saying “THIS IS AWESOME.  LET’S PLAY EVERY DAY.”

And we can’t, because life doesn’t work that way.  But today, for a few hours, it does.  And it’s lovely.  And it’s worth doing.

So instead of writing a real post I’m spending this time catching pokemon (I CAUGHT A SNORLAX) and singing with my kid and we’re about to go home and watch (moderately) scary movies and then read.  And I’ll be behind on work, but ahead of the game on the things that count.

If you’re reading this I give you full permission to have a fun day with no guilt.  What would you be doing if you could do anything?  Do that thing.  Start a game of tag in your office, make a bonfire of all the emails you’re not going to answer, watch a movie, explore your city, stick googly eyes on random things in your house so that they are like small pets you don’t have to feed.  Whatever makes you happy.

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Have fun, y’all.

It’s later than you think.