A box full of my own inability

If you follow me on instagram you know that I spend a lot of my downtime making miniatures, automata or putting together ridiculous wooden kits, so last night when I started making this small puzzle box kit (filled with wooden gears that would open each side) I expected that I’d be done in an hour but the weather had swollen the wood and exacerbated my rheumatoid arthritis and I couldn’t get the gears to work and nothing would fit and suddenly it was 2am and I was sitting with a box that wouldn’t even close and I considered driving over the whole thing with my car but then I was like, “Fuck it” and I ripped out all the tiny pieces I’d been struggling with for the last four hours and just held the outsides of the box together with rubber bands and squirted elmer’s glue inside of it so it would stay together, and I felt a little bad because it was supposed to be a dice box that I was going to give to Hailey and now it’s a box that you literally can’t even open that I spent 4 hours on. But then this morning I saw it with fresh eyes on the kitchen table and I realized that it’s not empty at all because technically it’s a box filled with all of my mistakes and it is a very good reminder that it’s totally okay to fuck up because most people will just see a perfectly acceptable outside and have no clue how different it was supposed to turn out. And then I thought that I’d give it to Hailey and tell them that it’s a display to put their dice on top of and I felt very good and like I’d grown as a person, and that pride lasted just as long as it took for me to realiz I’d glued the box to the kitchen table, and now I need another day to figure out how to spin this new mistake into a life lesson other than “Don’t pour a bunch of glue into a box filled with holes, you dummy” because it feels like I probably should have known that one already.

Now I want to write a book about ravines.

So I just got the Hungarian copy of Furiously Happy and of course I had to run it through google translate to interpret it, and as usual, google translate did not disappoint. Or rather in continued to disappoint, but in a very entertaining way.

Here’s the actual cover:

But what happens if we translate it?

I don’t know what a “glad boldog” is but I choose to read it as, “Glad, bold, O.G.” and that seems sort of bad-ass because who doesn’t want to be the original gangster of bold happiness, but then the subtitle is like “this book is a horrible thing” and so I’m getting mixed messages? I tried again.


Hi. I wrote a p0rn.

Crazy Happy, a small book about horrible things. And I was a little surprised because that actually works, but then google translate was like, “HA HA just kidding” and immediately switched over to:

Glad Happy, a small book about horrible ravines.

And in fairness, it does rhyme and also now I sort of want to write a small book about horrible ravines.

“Vice of horror about things.” I don’t even know what that means but it feels insulting and exciting all at once.

Glad. Happy. Jenny Lawson is…a great stockbroker?

I decided to give up and look at the back cover and this was my favorite thing because, I don’t even know where to start.

A few of my favorites lines: “That’s awful” and “Seems like a bad idea” right off the bat. Then toward the middle “two warped swans break into his life and then gets three dead cats in the mail” and the best part about that is that it seems like that’s the most ridiculous mistranslation but I’m pretty sure it’s actually the most accurate translation here. You might think I’m being too critical but it’s to be expected because, after all, I am “cruel about paralysis and helpless with honesty.”

My very favorite part though is at the end where they say, “Let’s be like Jenny” followed immediately by “MAYBE NOT SO MUCH WINE.” And that is possibly a healthy call but I just now noticed that google has translated the bar code to “THEY’RE MAD” and I don’t know who “they” are but it’s probably because they need more wine.

After all, it’s like my mother always says:


I just got a copy of the Russian version of Let’s Pretend This Never Happened and I used google to poorly translate the cover and this is now becoming my new favorite thing.

This is what it actually looks like in real life but after running running it through google’s auto-translating cameras, we get something a bit different.

“what is this?” Fair question, honestly.

Then we jump straight to what I can only assume is a sexual proposition. Additionally, “an untrue memoir” pops up on the side and this starts a very long sidebar argument the book seems to have with itself over and over.

“Let’s…let’s foot. What is this? DO NOT HAVE!” I have a lot of questions but, in fairness, I’m pretty sure I’ve said this exact phrase while drunk. The sidebar now reads “WRONG…right in the middle of a memoir” which seems harsh but accurate.

“FALSE. a very true memoir.” A lot of mixed messages here.

This is the closest I got to accuracy and thought I should probably stop there but then I flipped over to the back cover to really find out what this book is about.

And turns out, it’s all about my childhood longing for…elk. Apparently.

But my absolute favorite translations were those that praised the book, and I immediately changed my instagram bio to “IGNORING THE LIMITS OF DECENCY” because that is pure fire.

Bonus: My humor is “not only shitty” (which seems vaguely insulting but also not?) but then Jesus saves it all and calls me the “prettiest offender”.

Jenny Lawson, elk craver, Jesus’ prettiest offender. That’s going on my gravestone, y’all.

Step into my office

It’s Friday so let’s take a quick break and you come see all the ridiculous (and occasionally way too relatable) instagram videos I saved for you.


Happy weekend, y’all.

Does anyone here know Merriam or Webster?

So I (along with everyone else in my timeline) have recently become obsessed with Wordle, a tiny once-a-day word game where you try to guess the word-of-the-day in 6 guesses. (Click here for details.) And I am a very big fan in spite of the fact that Wordle keeps insisting that my words don’t exist.

Today it told me that “foxen” is not a real world in spite of the fact that it totally is because I included it in my book, Let’s Pretend This Never Happened 10 years ago.

“One ox. Two Oxen. One fox. Two foxen. ~ me”

Agree to disagree, Wordle.

But I am a patient person so I took a deep breath after screaming a little bit and tried again:

WTF, Wordle.

And look, I guess maybe my book is a bit underground for some, but there is no way that people who lived through the 80s are not aware that a CHUD is a cannibalistic humanoid underground dweller that lives in the sewer and eats homeless people. One chud. Two chuds. This is all basic science.

So I looked up how to actually get a word recognized by the dictionary and turns out that it has to be in common usage by a lot of people so I’m going to need you to start slipping this shit into your casual conversations enough that it starts to catch on. People might think we’re weird but these are two very good words and increasing awareness of CHUDs is always good, so people might think you’re insane at first but just keep in mind that we have an important agenda here and so when they say you’re crazy you can say, “Yeah. Crazy like a bunch of foxen” and then everyone wins.

Except the CHUDs. Those fuckers depend on your silence.

He might have a point.

Victor always gets mad about the fact that I consistently those little red warning numbers on my phone telling me that I have several hundred unread text messages, voicemails, and emails but in my defense, I don’t even see those numbers anymore. Victor says that’s not really a defense so I explained that I actually have read many of those emails but then I get overwhelmed with responding and change them to “unread” to remind me to respond when I feel less anxious and then that just never actually happens. And with my thousands of unread voicemails I assume they’re calls from people who don’t actually know me because people who know me know I’m afraid to answer my phone but I always read the automated voicemail transcripts to make sure there’s no emergency and then Victor was like, “So you totally read the transcripts and respond?” and I was like, “Of course I do” and then he showed me this transcription from two years ago and yeah, maybe I have a problem.

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