Last week thousands of you voted in my first ever ANGRY POLL where I asked you help settle an argument Victor and I were having.  The question was “Does eating powered sugar donuts make your mouth feel cold?

The results:

  • “Of course.  That’s just science.” = 26%
  • “Of course not.  What the hell is wrong with you?” = 26%
  • “Now I want donuts.  Thanks a lot, asshole.” = 40%

So basically the world can be divided into those whose mouths work properly and those whose don’t.  And those who just want donuts.  And those who answered “other” just to be purposely contrary.

For our second poll we’re moving to childhood because I insist that everyone in America was taught mandatory square dancing in elementary school and Victor just stares at me and shakes his head.

me:  This, Victor.  This is what everyone learned in music classes:

me: Who says white people can’t dance?

Victor:  Everyone who’s seen that video, to start with.


And now, time for the weekly wrap-up: Graphic by Round Table Companies Shit I made in my shop (Named “EIGHT POUNDS OF UNCUT COCAINE” so that your credit card bill will be more interesting.):

  • “BE NICE OR I WILL STAB YOU” plate.  Remind anyone eating at your place why they shouldn’t be shitty.  Bonus:  Since it’s dinner you are likely to be actually holding a knife when they get to the message at the bottom of their plate, so they’re even more likely to take you seriously.  Great for Thanksgiving.
  • Bloody drawstring backpack.  Perfect for wet swimsuits or small books or one large human head.  The wording is nice because it’s comforting but it also tells people you might be dangerous.  Also, good camouflage in case zombies attack.

Shit that I’m vaguely involved with on the internets:


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

This week’s wrap-up is brought to you by Suburban Underbelly, a book by the lovely Michele Theron.  “For suburban moms Quinn, Jill, and Lucy, freedom from motherhood as a competitive sport starts innocently enough: three hours a week without kids.  Before they know it, things are careening out of control and their lives change in ways that they never could have imagined.  Sexy, snarky, smart and funny as hell–SUBURBAN UNDERBELLY invites you into a world with the best friends we all wish we had”.  Check it out here.

I think we all knew the world would end like this anyway.

and thats how the world ended

Original image

UPDATED:  I posted this and then Facebook immediately crashed.  The implosion has begun, people.

I think I fucked this up.

I’ve never used Storify before so I decided to try it out.  I have no clue if this will work or why it won’t let me post the whole thing without you having to click “go to the next page”  at the bottom. (For the love of God, don’t click “view as a slideshow” or your computer will just shut down.  Apparently my computer hates slideshows as much as I do.  Just click inside the storify box and page down.)
I may never do this again.
[View the story "I went to Blogher and all I got was a bunch of human hair." on Storify]

I think I’m onto something but probably not.

Conversation with me and Victor:

me:  I just realized something: Spiders have eight legs and eight eyes, and humans have two legs and two eyes, and worms have no legs and no eyes.

Victor:  And?

me:  And cats have four legs…BUT ONLY TWO EYES.

Victor:  Um…yep.

me:  I mean, it doesn’t follow, does it?  Are they missing eyes?  Do they have too many legs?  Are they supposed to be bipedal but they’re just lazy?

Victor:  That’s not how biology works.


Victor:  Have you been drinking?

me:  No, I’ve been thinking.

Victor:  Just as dangerous with you, really.

me:  So here’s my theory…

Victor:  Oh, good.  There’s a theory.

me:  I think that cats intentionally don’t walk around on their hind legs because they know if they started standing upright we’d expect them to get day jobs because that’s the next step in evolution.

Victor:  What about dogs?  They have four legs and two eyes.

me:  Yes, but dogs can walk around on their hind legs if they want to.  They just look ridiculous doing it so we’re like, “Oh, stop that.   You’re embarrassing all of us.”  They’re always trying to stand up on their hind legs when you enter the room and their owners are all, “GET DOWN, MR. PUMPERNICKEL.  WE DO NOT JUMP UP ON OUR VISITORS.  STOP SMELLING CROTCHES.”

Victor:  Hmm.

me:  They clearly want to stand on their back legs.  I think dogs would have probably turned bipedal years ago if we weren’t so uptight about crotches.

Victor:  Wow.  You’re absolutely right.

me:  I’m…wait.  You’re agreeing with me?

Victor:  If it makes you stop talking, then yes.  I agree wholeheartedly.

me:  Oh.  How terribly disappointing.

I wanted to post a picture of Hunter S. Thomcat standing on his hind legs but he got all intentionally floppy on me so instead I’m posting a picture of him wearing an inflatable unicorn horn:

That's what you get Hunter.  Next time stop being so floppy.

And that’s what you get for being so aggressively floppy, Hunter.   Learn to pick your battles, dude.


At least once a day Victor and I have a disagreement about something ridiculous and I always wish that I had all of the internet in the car with us to tell Victor that he’s insane, or to tell me that my hair looks nice.  I’ve decided to start sharing these disagreements here in the form of polls because I think it was Gandhi who said “The secret to a happy marriage is to drag in lots of strangers to join in your bloody conflicts.”

This week’s big disagreement was about the fact that he likes powdered donuts and I hate them.  I explained that powdered sugar makes my mouth unnaturally cold and was probably made by evil wizards.  He argued that powdered sugar did no such thing to him and that I was insane.  I argued that powdered sugar makes everyone’s mouth cold and that if I ever decided to run a marathon I’d carry a bunch of powdered sugar to sprinkle on my body whenever I got overheated.  He argued that I would never run a marathon.  He won that particular argument.

But the powdered sugar question still stands, so please be honest:


Added educational bonus:  If you’re one of the people afflicted with “my-mouth-thinks-powdered-sugar-tastes-like-refrigerated-poison”, here is the best explanation I found on reddit: powderedsugar


And now, time for the weekly wrap-up: Graphic by Round Table Companies 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 an amazing anonymous company who wants to encourage you to give back to your favorite charity site.  Maybe it’s freerice, or Heifer, or Climb Out of the Darkness.   My personal favorite is Project Night Night, which provides homeless children with a new security blanket, a book, and a stuffed animal all nestled inside a new canvas tote bag.  You can sponsor an entire Night Night Package for a homeless child for just $25 online, or if you can’t afford that then use your voice to promote your own favorite charity to others.  This might be my favorite sponsored post ever.
 Thank you for being awesome.

Your cat has a cooler house than I do.

Go home, everybody.  The best cat toy ever has been created and nothing you buy for your cat will ever be impressive again.

star wars catMy cats just looked at this picture from their cardboard box on the floor and then shook their tiny heads at me in disgust and shame.

Frankly, I’m disappointed too.  Why don’t they make these in human size?  It’s like a loft bed without having to have a loft.  Plus, if you just got comfortable but you need a drink you can just drive your bed to the fridge.  If they put a bathroom and a well-stocked bookshelf in there I’d probably never leave again.

PS.  In case you missed it…yesterday a lot of you expressed envy at my horrific 80’s cat sweater, so I found you something even better.  It’s at the bottom of the post.

You can tell how old people are by whether they remember the smell of an Ogilvie Home Perm.

I was just scrolling through Facebook and I saw a photo of this really unfortunate-looking girl, and I was like “Jesus, that girl’s awkwardness is giving me second-hand 80’s nostalgia-shame from when I was that age and had the same-OHMYGOD THAT’S ME.”  Because apparently my cousin Joycie decided to upload old family pictures.

So this me, age almost 14, between my sister and cousin:


Let’s break this picture down, shall we?:

1.  Those glasses were so big they literally end beneath my nostrils.  It’s like someone made a scuba mask but forgot the nosepiece.   Luckily my eyes continued to worsen so I got to pick out new glasses the next year.  I got the exact same enormous glasses but with bright red frames because that’s how Sally Jesse Rafael did it.

2.  You know what smells like teen spirit?  Me either, but I bet it’s the opposite of a baby-blue, high-necked sweater with kitties on it.

3.  I paid to have my hair look like that.  It was an eight dollar Ogilvie home perm but my mom didn’t do the bangs because we ran out of perm solution.  It smelled so bad I had to burn my pajamas later.  I don’t know if there’s a name for this particular hairstyle but there should be.  It’s as if a drunken poodle impregnated a mullet.  A “poollet”, perhaps?  Or maybe a “moodle”.  Either way, I’m wearing that poollet -moodle with motherfuckin’ panache, y’all.  And by “panache” I mean “quiet, unrefined desperation.”

4.  I’m playing dominos.  On purpose.

5.  Over my left shoulder?  Velvet painting of Jesus at the last supper.  Also, what seems to be the visible stench of my fake Debbie Gibson perfume, or possibly The Ghost of Christmas Past asking future-me what the hell I was thinking wearing culottes with a sweater.

Honestly, it’s like I mugged an elderly librarian and then took over her life.  At first I was going to claim this wasn’t even me but my sister had already tagged me on Facebook while laughing hysterically.  Of course, she’s wearing a shirt with Pooh all over it so she’s really not in a position to talk.   Frankly, it’s almost like I was trying to look terrible.  Like Terry Richardson, but less pedophiley.

The good thing though is that pictures of you at your most awkward are always helpful to give you perspective for when you think you’re currently too fat or too old or too skinny or too whatever.  You can keep those horrid pictures to remind yourself that you probably look better now than you did during those uncomfortable, adolescent years when you didn’t know how to wear your face right, and your body was rebelling against you in every possible way, and you had no clue who you were or what to wear or which terrible fluid was going to start leaking out of you next.  And that’s a good thing.  And that’s why I’m keeping this picture and it’s also why you need to not delete those awkward photos of your own children.  Print that shit out, y’all.  Hide it in a book.  Then when they’re grown and get dumped and eat too much ice cream and tell you they feel ugly you can pull out those pictures and let them see just how far they’ve come.

It’s all about perspective, you guys.

PS.  Many of you are insane and have expressed an interest in my blue cat sweater.  It has gone to bad clothes heaven but this seems like the next best thing.