Tell me where to go. Literally.

Once a year we try to go on a family vacation and this year is no different, except that it is because I’m still not completely recovered from whatever vampire curse I’ve contracted and my arthritis might be worse soon if my meds get revoked because of the TB bullshit so we have to go somewhere that doesn’t require a lot of walking and isn’t too cold.  Maybe California?  Or Mexico?  I have no damn idea.  So that’s why I’m asking for your feedback.  What was the best vacation you ever went on?  What did you do?

Even if it required a lot of walking or if it was far away or cold tell me where you were the happiest.  Even if I can’t do it now maybe one day I’ll be able to.  Tell me where to go.

(UPDATED!) I’m less sick than before but I’m also less than I was before.

First off, several of you recently asked if I was tested for Hashimoto’s Disease and so yesterday I asked my doctor when I was in for more blood work and she was like, “Yeah, of course you have Hashimoto’s Disease.  You have a lot of diseases.”  And then she shrugged and went back to listing all the things I was doing wrong.  And that sort of sums up my whole year.

I am feeling a bit better compared to where I was a few months ago but not sure if it’s because of the meds, diet, testosterone, supplements or the fact that since I feel better I finally have the strength to leave the house and walk or swim again.  I’ve been on this awful doctor-mandated low carb/low sugar diet for a month and the good thing is that I’ve lost 12 pounds and the bad thing is pretty much everything else involved in eating low carb/ low sugar.  It’s nice that I’ve lost 12 pounds but I still have to lose more and I sort of wonder if I just feel less awful because there’s now slightly less of me to feel awful and by that reasoning I will probably feel my best after I’ve been dead for 6 months.

Also, when I saw my doctor she was putting another woman on the same diet and I was like, “It’s a weird diet.  You can have all the bacon and vodka you want, but no carrots” and my doctor was like, “That’s…not really the diet I put you on” I was all, “You specifically said no carrots” and she was like, “Yeah, I’m not arguing about the carrot part…” and she started talking about heart problems but I stopped listening because basically every time she talks I get a new disease.

Also, helpful hint for people on the same low carb, low sugar diet I’m on: Get some of those already roasted whole chickens at the grocery store because they’re delicious and when you rip it apart with your hands you can pretend you’re a giant and that it’s the torso of the person who put you on the low carb diet.  Additionally, hummus wrapped in lettuce leaves = somewhat filling and also the saddest burrito ever.  I plan on staying on the diet for another month or two but I don’t think I can do longer than that because bread is delicious and with all the vodka I’m drinking I might be getting too healthy.

PS.  FUCK.  I have to do blood work each year to make sure I’m healthy enough to stay on my injections for rheumatoid arthritis and as I was finishing this post my rheumatologist just called to let me know that my blood work shows that I’ve been infected with tuberculosis bacteria.

JESUS CHRIST.  I APOLOGIZE TO WHOEVER I HAVE OFFENDED.  PLEASE REMOVE WHATEVER TERRIBLE CURSE YOU PUT ON ME.  I HAVE LEARNED MY LESSON.  (Disclaimer: I’ve learned nothing, but I will  pretend I have as hard as you want if you make this all stop.)

Apparently it’s not incredibly uncommon for people to carry the TB bacteria if you live in a third world country, are in prison, or have auto-immune diseases (bingo) but only like 10% of us will actually progress to full-blown tuberculosis so today I have to get chest x-rays to see if I’m more “moderately healthy ex-felon” or “Doc Holliday with a vagina.”  Chances are that I’m the first (and not contagious, so no worries if you hugged me recently) but because I’m more susceptible to TB now I have to meet with my doctor to find other treatment options for my RA because my injections make it super easy to get severe TB so I probably can’t stay on them and these injections are the only thing keeping me out of that wheelchair and now I’m going to just cry for an hour.

It could be worse and I’m sure it’ll be fine but I’m just really sick and tired of being sick and tired and of having my whole life revolve around not dying.  And I’m sure you’re tired of hearing about it too.  Sorry.  I feel your pain, dude.

PPS.  I looked for a gif to sum all this up and when I looked up “I’M HAVING A NERVOUS BREAKDOWN” this came up, and yeah…it’s pretty perfect:

UPDATED: “Your chest x-rays look clear. Your TB is just in your blood.” NOT DYING OF CONSUMPTION YET, MOTHERFUCKER! This is a weird thing to celebrate, but I will take it.

I am actually leaving the house tomorrow. WTF.

So tomorrow (Tuesday) I’m actually leaving the house and driving to Austin to be “IN CONVERSATION WITH” Samantha Irby (aka BitchesGottaEat).  I never do “IN CONVERSATIONS WITH” because I hate small talk and “IN CONVERSATIONS WITH” = small talk but multiplied with microphones and people watching me not be able to remember the word for that feeling you get when you know there’s a word for something you can’t remember the word for.  But I’m making an exception because I fucking love Samantha Irby, and her book (WE ARE NEVER MEETING IN REAL LIFE) is fabulous and the title seems like a dare.  Also we have the same unfiltered, dark sense of humor so I suspect we’ll skip small talk and go straight to the terrible and fascinating things that normal people never get to until they are very drunk.  Or maybe we’ll have a dance party or sing old commercial jingles or just have an awkward staring contest and do tequila shots until the time is up.  Hard to tell.  But you should come if you can.  It’s at BookPeople in Austin at 7pm.

Also, BookPeople always takes orders for my books and I personalize them when I stop in, so if you want to order some just click here and they’ll ship it off to you. Just write whatever you want me to write in your book on the order form.  Perfect for introverts.

Also, this isn’t a real post so to make up for it I’m giving you a seductive otter:


Well, shit.

In the ongoing of saga of my-body-is-trying-to-kill-me I got my results back from my endoscopy/colonoscopy but instead of a call I got an email with my results, and the subject was “FU CALL”:


Which is apparently shorthand for “follow-up call” but it’s still concerning.  Also, an email isn’t a call.   Just saying.  But the biopsy results were best expressed in this gif:

Mostly because it was filled with scary words that I didn’t understand but then I talked to the doctor and he was like,

Because there’s some crappy stuff like “chronic gastritis” and “intestinal metaplasia” but nothing that says, “THIS IS WHERE ALL YOUR MISSING BLOOD IS GOING.”  Also, the results were confusing but as I understand it there are four stages of your stomach and the first is “I AM IMMORTAL” and the second is “Ew” and the third is “Well that’s not good” and the fourth is “YOU’VE GOT CANCER” and I’m on the third, but apparently lots of people stay on the third stage forever so I guess it’s not as scary as it sounds?

And I was like,

But then my doctor was like, “We gotta do more tests” BECAUSE OF COURSE THEY DO so he wanted to check me for parasites and bacteria and the nurse handed me a cup and said, “We’re going to need you to bring us a sample” but I needed more details because I wasn’t sure exactly what she wanted so I was like, “Do I…shit in this?” because it would suck to hand someone a jar of poop they didn’t ask for and she nodded like I was crazy and gave me a brown bag filled with gloves and a hat and I was like, “This seems like a very formal dress code for pooping in a cup.”

…and she was like, “That’s a toilet hat” which was even more confusing because why does my toilet need a hat?  I don’t even have matching towels.  But turns out it’s like a plastic hat that you put on the toilet seat so you can shit in it and then transfer the poo into a jar.  (WTF.)

Which seems like a lot of work, but it gets even more complicated because then you have to freeze it into a poopsicle before you turn it into the lab and Victor was like, “NOOPE.  YOU ARE NOT PUTTING HUMAN FECES IN THE SAME DRAWER AS THE HOT POCKETS” but I explained that it was fine because there was a hat and gloves involved so it was super fancy and I put the hat on and did a small dance but then he was like, “LADY, THAT’S A TOILET HAT” and I was both impressed and concerned that he knew that, but I agreed to write “DO NOT EAT SHIT” on the bag in the freezer so that no one would touch it, and actually that works out well because from now on I’m going to put all of the ice cream drum sticks in a brown bag that says “DO NOT EAT SHIT” to make everyone else not eat them and finally there’s a bright side to this bullshit.

Toilet hat. Like a clear Smokey Bear hat that you can also use as a very large measuring cup. But not if you use it on the toilet. Gross.  That probably goes without saying

Anyway, if my poop doesn’t have all the answers (there’s a phrase I never thought I’d write) then I move on to swallowing the camera pill that takes a terrible torso ride, which I can only assume will give me even more confusing non-answers that help nothing.

Just a guess, but this is what I assume will be the next gif I use to explain my medical stuff:

To be continued.

Well that’s accurate.

There’s a thing going on Facebook right now where you type into the comments and it automatically posts a gif related to your name and I was a little worried about doing that because what if I accidentally post something horribly offensive, but then I decided to just do it and this is the gif for my name:

So fucking accurate, y’all.

Unrelated:  Ten years ago I found a child’s dress in a thrift shop that was a bit ripped but lovely.  It was too big for Hailey at the time but she adored it so I used safety pins to make it fit and she wore it until it frayed.  It gave me one of my favorite pictures of her when she was just a few years old.

I kept the dress but somehow missed the window when the dress would actually fit her, so a few days ago when I stumbled across it in the closet Hailey and I decided to cut it so that it would fit her and use it to take pictures underwater.

Hailey doesn’t like to open her eyes underwater so I ended up with a ton of half-face pictures, but they looked awesome so it was totally worth it.  And a bunch of you asked how I did it so I’ll give you my secret: Put your phone in a waterproof bag and instead of taking photos just take video.  Then go through the video in slow motion and screenshot the best images from the video. Photoshop the bathing suit straps and pool vents out. Add a black and white filter to make it look artsy. Don’t drown.

And the images looked strange and muffled and fairy-like and surreal.  Almost as surreal as the idea that it’s been 10 years since Hailey first wore that dress.  It’s all going by far too quickly.  It’s a bittersweet realization that I can only suspend time in my photos and my memory.



So yesterday Victor was like, “Hey, take some xanax because we’re going out tonight.  And by ‘tonight’ I mean ‘5pm’,” and I was like, “That seems very late for me and also ‘no,'” but he was like, “You’ll like it.  It’s a magic show in a hotdog castle that used to be a church,” and I was like, “Those words don’t go together.  Have you had a stroke?” and he sighed, “And it’s haunted,” and so I took my xanax but I didn’t know what to wear and Victor was like, “It’s a magic show.  Wear a sequined cravat obviously.  Don’t embarrass me.”  But I didn’t have one so I wore a red dress with a plastic belt that looks almost like diamonds if you have never seen diamonds.  And I would probably be perfectly dressed for a magic show but I forgot to compensate for “hotdog castle” so basically I was totally overdressed and glaring at Victor.

I don’t know why people call it a “hotdog castle” though. Maybe it’s heresy to call it a hotdog church?

And then we went up to the middle floor where the magic show was and it was GORGEOUS and covered with stained glass and I was in love for five seconds until I saw that it was communal bench seating so I had to eat my fancy hotdog with strangers which is my idea of hell.  Making smalltalk with strangers, I mean.  Not eating hotdogs.  I like hotdogs.  And when the strangers were like, “Where are you from?” and I was like, “I’m from Stop-Asking-Me-Questions” Victor coughed to cover it up and Hailey joyfully took over all of the conversations because she loves strangers and might be adopted.

The magic show was quite good but people didn’t seem to understand that when a magic trick is done you need to clap.  Or whoop.  Something.  Personally when a trick is done I often shout “WHAT.”  Or if it’s really good I point and yell “WITCHCRAFT“, but in a somewhat complimentary way rather than a “J’ACCUSE” sort of thing.  This seems a bit over the top but Victor is a magic geek and I’ve been to a shit ton of magic shows so I think I know what I’m doing.  Also, I’m usually very drunk, which makes me a great audience because I’m easily impressed. Plus I have ADD so I can never remember what the card was I was supposed to remember so no matter what happens I assume it’s magic.  Like, if a magician puts a rabbit in a hat and then pulled out the same rabbit a minute later I’m like, “YOU’VE SIGNED A PACT WITH THE DEVIL” and Victor has to remind me that that’s not the trick at all.

Scott Pepper doing magic. Not a good picture. Sorry.

I had an end to this but I forgot what it was.  I blame the ADD.



And now…time for 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 StoryWorth Books, which I’m actually a big fan of.  From them: Still looking for a meaningful Father’s Day gift? StoryWorth is the perfect last minute gift. Each week, we’ll email him a question about his life – asking him about his favorite memory of his grandparents, or whether he’s ever pulled any great pranks. All he has to do is reply with a story, which is forwarded to you and any other family members you invite. At the end of the year, his stories are bound in a beautiful keepsake book your family will cherish!”  You can check it out here.


Coloring. But less stressful. (Yes, I am aware how ridiculous this sounds.)

Two unrelated things:


This morning I got bit on the eye by an ant.  And that was concerning, but more baffling was the fact that the ant managed to crawl all the way up to my eye before attacking.  That’s, like, so much work for I-don’t-even-know-what-the-payoff-is.

I can’t decide whether to be offended or impressed.


This is for all of the people who bought my coloring book but didn’t color it because even though coloring is supposed to help stress it’s actually super stressful for people who are afraid to making mistakes and I’m the same way which is why I normally just draw the pictures rather than color them because what if I spend an hour coloring something and then pick the wrong color and fuck it all up AND NOW I CAN’T EVEN FUCKING COLOR RIGHT.

But then people told me about this Recolor app where you can photograph your drawings and color them with your finger tips until you find the color combinations you like AND IT IS AWESOME.  And I’ve been taking pictures of my drawing from You Are Here and testing different colors before actually coloring them and it makes me really happy and (yes) also incredibly anal.

So today I’m sharing a drawing I finished last night and you can download it and color it if you want.  I did my own with lots of experimenting and several filters and it was ridiculously entertaining.  These took about 10 minutes to color:

Here’s my original black and white one if you want to do one yourself:

Have fun, y’all.

PS. Someone stop me:


PPPS. Spellcheck is telling me that I definitely can’t mean that I was bit in the eye by an ant and I get that it’s weird but the suggestion they’re giving me is weirder:

How is this more realistic?  Don’t go to Spellcheck’s family reunions.


If you’ve been reading here for the last week or so you know that I’ve been obsessed with a tombstone I found at a thrift shop and felt bad about leaving in case it was stolen and also felt bad about buying in case it was stolen.  So then I started investigating and after several ridiculous blog posts THE MYSTERY HAS BEEN SOLVED.

One of the many people I pestered was Clayton, who owns Sahra’s Find-a-Grave memorial and he went on a hunt and found a cousin who confirmed that the old stone tombstones were replaced after one was broken and that Sahra’s seems to have been salvaged and ended up in a thrift store.  So..NOT STOLEN.  Whoop!

He also had a great picture of Sahra and her husband and I think we also just solved the mystery of why Sahra’s husband doesn’t have a death date on his tombstone.  It’s because he’s still alive and is currently Kurt Russell:


So, that means that it’s totally acceptable for me to buy the tombstone since it wasn’t stolen.  Except that Victor says it means that I don’t need to buy the tombstone because it wasn’t stolen so it doesn’t need to be rescued.

So instead I’m just going to wait until the next time we go to that shop and if it’s still there it’s a sign that it needs to be adopted.  And if it’s not there it’s a sign that Victor called ahead and asked them to hide it.

I am the Sherlock Holmes of mysteries that aren’t actually mysteries.  The end.

FOUND: One tombstone. (Part 2)

So a week ago I found a used tombstone in a resale shop and started searching to see who it belonged to and after a lot of research I’ve solved nothing.  Well, not nothing because I now know that this is her and she looks like she’s judging me:

“My *what* is at a thrift shop?”

No response from all the people I’ve contacted through find-a-grave or ancestry or genealogy places or anything else, but I did have a break in the case when I found a funeral home that recently buried someone in the same cemetery a few years ago and so I contacted them (because there isn’t a way to contact the cemetery) and they put me in touch with the caretaker of the cemetery.  But the caretaker didn’t have email so I had to actually call him on the phone but my anxiety disorder makes it incredibly difficult to call people, to the point where if Victor tells me to call and order a pizza I’m like, “No thanks.  I’ll just starved to death instead”.  But now I had to call and ask a stranger about a different dead stranger whose gravestone I found. But I needed an answer so I took a xanax and called and the caretaker was very confused at first and there were a lot of awkward pauses  but then he was very sweet when I explained it properly.  He’s been the caretaker for over 30 years and he wasn’t aware of her tombstone being vandalized or stolen but he said he’d look into the records and see what he could find.  So, closer.  Although now I’m worried that someone will buy the tombstone while we’re waiting to hear back so I’m thinking I should buy it but Victor is glaring at me as I’m typing this because he already thinks I’m a hoarder of weird stuff even before I start bringing home used tombstones.

To be continued…


And now…time for 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 StoryWorth Books, which is a pretty awesome Father’s Day gift that you get to enjoy too.  From them: “Give Dad a StoryWorth Book to preserve his stories. Each week, we’ll email him a question about his life – asking him about his favorite memory of his grandparents, or whether he’s ever pulled any great pranks. All he has to do is reply with a story, which is forwarded to you and any other family members you invite. At the end of the year, his stories are bound in a beautiful keepsake book your family will cherish!”  You can check it out here.


I appreciate your help but you’re wrong and you look like an asshole, spellcheck.

So I was writing a professional letter and spellcheck was like, “Nope.  You spelled ‘fucking’ wrong” and I was like, “Yeah, I’m pretty fucking sure I didn’t, spellcheck” but I’m open-minded so I looked at their reasoning and spellcheck was like, “You’re using the wrong subject-verb agreement, asshole.  This is how you conjugate verbs, yo.”

“And I fuck love margaritas”?  That cannot *possibly* be right.

And spellcheck has a point except that I was using “fucking” as an adjective, not a verb and it’s weird that I even have to explain this to a computer.

Frankly, I feel like I’m back in French class except with slightly more cursing and no French.

PS. I just did spellcheck on this post and got this:

I’m getting mixed messages here, spellcheck.  Or maybe it’s learning?  Let’s go with that one.  I need to feel like I accomplished something today.