My doctor refused to give me lasers in my vagina.  Click here for full story.

It occurred to me just now that I may have used poor phrasing in the description of this moment.


She’s naturally part rabbit.

Happy Easter Fools Day.

A post shared by Jenny Lawson (@thebloggess) on

Crowdsourcing how to be a good parent.

Disclaimer: This isn’t a funny post.  I just need advice if you have a middle schooler.

So Hailey got invited to take the ACT as a 7th grader and she did really well on the English part (WHOOP!) so the Duke Talent Identification Program invited her to take estudies this summer and she’s very excited about it which I’m pretty sure is proof that she was switched at birth.

And I want to support her bizarre need to take tests and classes for no damn reason whatsoever even though I totally don’t understand it but it’s pretty expensive (like a grand) which seems pricey for one summer class you take on your own computer so I want to see if there’s anything better out there before I enroll Hailey.  What’s the best thing your kid ever did during the summer?  Did they take the TIP ecourses?  Did they take another online class that isn’t crazy expensive or that at least gives college credit?

(Usually she does drama classes but she’s starting to feel like she’s too old but she’s too young to volunteer, and she does Hacker and robotic classes but she’s usually one of the only girls and that can be hard.)

Open for suggestions.

Why I love twitter.

And that’s why I love twitter.

There is a fine line between crazy and sane and I live there.

It’s been a week of cutting down my daily Xanax dose and the brain fog feels like it’s clearing and I’m wide awake in the morning rather than feeling sedated.  And that would be awesome if the time I was spending aware and awake was not also time that I was spending feeling like I was vibrating out of my skin and grinding my teeth into powder.  Everyone is different and everyone metabolizes drugs in different ways so I’m hoping that this intermittent frenzied panic that I’m battling is just a side-effect from coming off the medication and that it will pass, but I worry that it’s just how I am…that it’s the person I was underneath that made me start taking xanax in the first place.

And that sucks because then I’ll have to make a choice between being too terrified to live comfortably in my own skin or to being too zonked to be aware of being too terrified to live comfortably in my own skin.

I have hope that this will pass.

I have hope that I will get better.  Or that I will adjust.  It’s not faith…it’s hope.  And there is a difference.

This weekend I left my house and Victor and Hailey and I went to the park and I ran out all of the excess energy burning up inside of me.  It’s the first time I’ve voluntarily run in years and I felt both relieved that I had the energy to do it and also embarrassed about what I was running from.   That I was running to make myself too exhausted to fight myself.  That I was running from me.  That I was running toward a normal that I don’t know exists for me.

Hailey and I ran through the dry creek bed and at one point I found myself on one side and she was on the other.  The bridge had washed away long ago.  The path was gone but I could see the other side.

I can still see the other side.

I’m just looking for the path.

I quit. Sort of.

So this is a weird thing to post but I’m going to post it because I think it might help me and it might help you and if it doesn’t you can skip it and read about how I got stabbed making a fortune-telling chipmunk.  (Related: Lots of great name suggestions but personally I’m leaning toward Ground-Squirrely McLaine.)

Anyway, I’ve been having some issues with brain fog and memory lately and it’s possible that it’s just the depression but my doctor thinks it might be a side-effect of the xanax, so I’m trying to wean myself off the daily dose I take and instead just take it as needed during panic attacks.  I take a fairly small dose so the withdrawal effects aren’t terrible but they aren’t fun.  It’s hard to sleep.  I feel my skin too much.  I’m jittery and nervous and I really need a margarita but I can’t have one right now because of the other medications I’m on and basically I feel like I’m trapped into making healthy decisions, which I guess is a good trap to be in.  That said, it’s easier to stick to good decisions if you do them publicly and when you aren’t alone so if you’d like to make a terrible healthy decision with me then feel free to share it here and we can commiserate about how much we hate it.

PS.  I LOVE xanax and it saves me during terrible panic attacks.  I’m not judging you if you take it every day.  It’s super helpful and if I wasn’t having memory issues I’d still take the nightly dose.  Also, as soon as my liver recovers from the TB drugs I will quit quitting booze, which will probably be the easiest thing I’ve had to quit all year.

I see a big box of knives in my future. And possibly a tetanus shot. Maybe both.

So you know how I put together tiny wooden models when my anxiety is really high so basically I’m surrounded by tiny houses?  I’ve pretty much run out of kits but then I found some in Europe and it was awesome except that everything is metric and I obviously don’t understand metric because I thought I bought two tiny fortune-teller wagons but I put them together and turns out one of them is tiny and adorable:

And the other one is fucking enormous.

Like, it’s so big that I tried to tie it to Dorothy Barker so she could pull it around the kitchen like that Chuckwagon dog food commercial from the 80’s but she super wasn’t into it so instead I decided to put an old taxidermied chipmunk in it but the chipmunk was nailed to an old board so I had to use a knife to pry it loose and then I cut myself and Victor got mad because I was using the good knife on a dead animal but technically I’m using the good knife on a dead animal every time I cut up meat so frankly I think this just proves that I need my own private box of knives.

But I did manage to destroy several pieces of clothing in order to cover the blood stains to make the perfect fortune-telling chipmunk.

I don’t have an ending to this story but I have this, which is even better:


I need a lot of pills.

So I saw this online and Hailey looked at it and said, “I’d take #9 three times because then I could use my billion dollars to get most of the other things” and I question her math skills but gave her points for creativity and I was like, “Wouldn’t you pick #6 so Ferris Mewler lives forever?” and she looked at Ferris and said, “WHO WANTS TO GET CLONED? You do, right, buddy? GIVE ME YOUR DNA AND LIVE FOREVER.”  It’s unsettling and also kind of impressive.

Personally I’d chose 1, 2 and 9 and one of the skills I’d master is making all of the other pills.

Your turn.


And on an entirely different subject…

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 Kira Lynne’s Aches, Pains, and Love.  Are you living with chronic pain or illness, or both? Have you given up on having an intimate, romantic relationship? Kira Lynne’s new book reveals that you can have lasting love and companionship when you live with chronic pain and illness. Both entertaining and practical, Aches, Pains, and Love provides a step-by-step guide to getting the love you want, regardless of your physical condition. Available on Amazon and other outlets.

Amazon knows me too well and it’s insulting and also costing me money.

You know how Amazon recommends stuff to you based on stuff you’ve bought or liked?  Well, here are a few things Amazon thought I’d like this month:

A pillow with the words “HORSE PENIS” on it.

It comes in eight different  colors and on the bottom of the pillow it says: “The words ‘horse penis’ upon a pillow.  Ten letters.”  Even more confusingly, the amazon description says “Dog Penis on a pillow, it makes a great gift” and “Defined as ‘it’s a dog penis'”.  So am I getting a dog penis on a pillow or a horse penis on a pillow?

Answer:  Neither.  Although now that I think about it it would be pretty fun to be like, “Hand me that horse penis.  I need to get comfortable.”

I am my own worse enemy.


Spider doll who also has nipples for some reason.


Ridiculously enormous sock monkey.  From the description: Now you can say “My sock monkey is bigger than your sock monkey.”

I mean, finally.


Sun-dried Googley eyed porcupine blowfish.  “ONLY 7 LEFT IN STOCK.  ORDER SOON.”


So this is what $300 worth of flesh-eating larvae looks like.


Liver in a pickle jar.  Description: “This plastic specimen jar contains a Biolike2 model of a cirrhotic liver floating beside a pickle”

Customers who viewed the pickled liver also viewed the cat butthole purse, lactating incense burner (That’s not how smoke works?) and this thing that is supposedly a soft plush pillow but is clearly a crudely drawn penis frosted like a birthday cake.


Sexy Princess Leia costume, which I appreciate just for this review alone.  (Strong nipple theme emerging here.)


Octopus specimen.  With “Octopus” written on it in case you don’t know what an octopus is?


Creamed Possum.


12 foot beach ball.  “It’s just like a classic beach ball, only gianter.”


Slow Farts.  “More than 25 farting sloth coloring pages.”


Pet ponytail.


Pants that make you look like you shit yourself.  “ONLY ONE LEFT IN STOCK.”


Fake human skin for practicing face tattoos.  Or for making a Silence of the Lambs style skin jacket.  No judgement.

Okay, some judgement.

PS. As always, I’m using affiliate links that help fund the annual James Garfield Miracle so if you do end up buying a bunch of shit pants or human skin or horse penises you’re totally buying them for children.

That came out wrong but you know what I mean.

I don’t know how things work, part eleventy thousand

I bought a lipstick at the drugstore but when I got to the car to try it on I couldn’t  pull the lid off so I tried using my teeth but there were two guys sitting in a truck next to me and one of them was staring at me weirdly so I rolled down the window and explained, “I can’t open my lipstick,” and he was like, “Oh.  Want me to try?” and then I felt like I was breaking feminism by letting a man open lipstick for me but I also wanted lipstick so I let him try but then he couldn’t open it either and I yelled, “I GUESS THE PATRIARCHY CAN’T FIX EVERYTHING HUH?” (but only in my mind) and the guy was like, “I think this is busted.  You should go get another one” and then his friend got out of the car and was like, “Dude, what are you doing?” and he tried to explain and the other guy laughed at us and took the lipstick but he couldn’t pull the lid off either and then he was like, “DUDE, THIS SHIT’S BUSTED” and the other guy was like, “YEAH WE ALREADY KNOW THAT, KEVIN” and he rolled his eyes at me like:

…and then the cashier from the store walked out toward his car and the two guys yelled, “HEY DUDE, THIS LIPSTICK IS BROKEN” and the cashier looked baffled at being confronted by a parking-lot gang of angry makeup failures who’d been bested by lipstick, and the cashier was like, “May I?” and Kevin handed it to him and said, “Good luck, buddy” but then the guy easily opened it because it was apparently a screw top (?!) and he looked at us all like we were insane, and the two truck guys stared at each other for a hot second and then they started hooting and pointing at each other for being shown up by the cashier and then I took my lipstick back and drove away.

That was the longest run-on sentence I’ve written all day and all that to say, how many men does it take to unscrew a lipstick?

Three.  It takes three.


I’m having a weird day, y’all.