Category Archives: BUT WHAT DOES IT MEAN

I’m having a hard time finding the words.

I wanted to announce this last night but I couldn’t find the words.  Last night I found out that this strange little book I wrote  (one I was sure would scare people away – one that I struggled with for years) made it on the NYT bestseller list its first week out.  I screamed and laughed and threw up and brushed my teeth and cried and then screamed again.  This was a shock, not just because I thought the subject matter might be too scary for a humor book, but also because we published this book in the fall even though that’s when all the big, important celebrity books come out and so I went in knowing that I’d almost certainly not be able to compete.  But last night I found out that Furiously Happy made it to #3 on the NYT list on its debut week!   And this in spite of the fact that so many of you weren’t able to buy it because it sold out so quickly some places.  In fact, it’s #2 in ebooks and was beaten only by Bill O’Reilly, which figures because that motherfucker ruins everything.  But I’m too happy to even let Bill O’Reilly get me down because the fact that so many of you supported this book means that now other stores will take notice and it can make it’s way to smaller towns and libraries and to people who might really need to read those words and to remember that depression lies and that there is joy in life and that there is an amazing tribe of intellectual misfits out here waiting for them.  That they aren’t alone.

That I’m not alone.

That none of us are.

I’m so honored and proud and I don’t have the words to say thank you for making this happen but I’ll have to just stick with “thank you”.  This book was written by all of us and I consider it an invitation reaching out across the world to people like us…strange, wonderful, broken in beautiful ways, haunted, and so much more important than they suspect.

Thank you.  Thank you for listening and helping.  Thank you for buying the book or reading here or putting it on your wish list or passing it on to others.  Thank you for making me believe that I’m worthy even when my brain tries to convince me I’m not.

I don’t have a good picture to share here because I’m on the road still (next stop, Miami!) but this photo I took during yesterday’s signing feels right…

Screen Shot 2015-10-01 at 9.01.33 AM

Thank you for sharing your stories and lives with me. Thank you for convincing me that mine is equally important.

I’m on a lot of cold medication so it’s possible this isn’t as funny as I think it is.

I’m on a lot of cold meds but I thought you’d enjoy. Or not.  Stop judging me.  I’m sick.


They’re in my shop if you want one, but be aware that everyone you wear it around is going to tell you that your shirt is on inside out.  But then you can flash them a raccoon face (and flash them in general if you aren’t wearing something underneath) and they won’t bother you again.  EVERYONE WINS.

PS. A few of you are having trouble getting the video to load so (spoiler alert) this is what you’re missing:

I may have found my new author photo.

I may have found my new author photo.

Colorful and terrible and beautiful all at once.

I took this picture a few days ago for several reasons:

dont use the markers

1.  It’s hilarious.

2.  It’s the perfect example of human nature.  Doing exactly what you’re told not to do.

3.  It’s very pretty, in a strange sort of way.  A small, colorful art installation in a sea of beige office supplies.

4.  The helpfully cheerful “OK!” written in marker at the end of the sign asking not to write with the markers made me smile because I can’t even tell if it’s sarcastic or not.  Either way, it’s fantastic.

5.  It’s both beautiful and ugly and messy and probably slightly illegal.  And, yes, it’s a pain in the ass to clean it up but technically Staples is getting a free advertisement right here and it’s an advertisement designed by all of mankind.  Or at least, all of mankind who was given a marker at that particular Staples.  Everyone wins.  And no one wins.  I’m not quite sure.  And that’s life.

Ho ho ho. Green ballsack.

jollygreenballsackI was just wondering if the Jolly Green Giant was made of vegetables, because if so it seems sort of cruel to make him a spokesperson for eating vegetables.  I looked it up and it urns out that the original Jolly Green Giant was neither “jolly” nor “green” and was actually some sort of angry caveman in a bearskin loincloth which just gave me more questions.

But I did find out that there’s an enormous, 55-foot statue of him where it seems like it would be almost impossible to not stare up at his ball sack.  Then I was like, why am I thinking about the Jolly Green Giant’s ball sack?  HOW DID THIS HAPPEN?  This is exactly why the internet is so dangerous.

But clearly I did not learn my lesson because then I looked at wikipedia to see if it could answer the question about whether JGG -and his Jolly Green Genitals- are made of vegetables and Wikipedia explained that the Green Giant came around in the 20’s in response to a new variety of pea that were “oblong, wrinkled and huge.  Despite their size, they were tender, and had a special flavor and sweetness that couldn’t be matched.”

Also, the company originally used the brand name “Le Sueur”, which is french for “The Sweat.”  Sweaty, green, oblong, huge, and wrinkled….but tender and with a special flavor.

I’m sorry.  I can’t stop laughing and I’m not going to explain why if you’re not as messed up as I am.


And now, the weekly wrap-up of awesomeness:


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 the wonderful Chris Illuminati (yes, that is his real name) who just wrote a very funny but educational bad-ass book called The New Dad Dictionary— Everything He Really Needs to Know.  I assumed it would be stuff I already knew since I’m a parent but then I got to the page about Baby Concierges and I was all, ‘WHAT THE SHIT?  BABIES GET CONCIERGES NOW?”  I didn’t even know that was a thing.  If you’re a new dad, or about to become a new dad you should totally get this book.  Check it out here.

There should be a yelp for places you visit in your sleep.

Do you ever have dreams so real and bizarre that you are certain you must’ve actually been somewhere that exists because there is no way that place came from your head?

Because I have them sometimes and it’s very odd, and I always want to reach out and say, “Hey, has anyone else been to that safari-style petting zoo that was deserted 100 years ago because of a radiation leak?  The one with the sad, balding wolves as big as bears who look at you with desperate eyes?  The one where the unnaturally thick and muscular 8-foot flamingoes have taken over as the dominant alpha animal?  And they stare down at you with dull, black eyes and disheveled, dirty feathers – more brown than pink – and their savage, cold, prehistoric stare tells you they are considering whether you are worth the energy they’d have to expend to kill you?  And then the traveling house shows up (a house carried around on the backs of people so you can have tea and not pay property tax) and you think about hitching a ride but you don’t because you wake up and then the rest of the day you’re haunted by the eyes of those sad, battered wolves who were left behind to be play-toys for the perverse amusement of giant flamingoes?”


Just me?

Good Luck Satan

Yesterday I went to a thrift store and I saw an old hand-embroidered tablecloth and I thought, Does that say “GOOD LUCK SATAN”?

good luck satanThen I looked closer and realized that no…no it doesn’t say that.

good luck on saturn

It actually says “GOOD LUCK ON SATURN”.  Which makes…slightly more sense?

Then I unfolded it and realized it says: “GOOD LUCK on SATURDAY”.  Which is honestly sort of a let-down after all of that.  Personally I preferred “GOOD LUCK on SATURN” because the embroidered cat looks all kinds of pissed off, like she’d stab you if she got a chance, but she’d settle for just shipping you off to Saturn.  And she made you a hot, poisoned pie to keep you warm because Saturn is all icy and cold.

So I’ve made some changes:

goodluckonsaturnPS. I made you a pillow.  It’s just like the ones your grandma made, but with more stabbing:




Let me be frank.

This week I spoke at frank in Florida and it was lovely.  Click here to see the glorious magnificence of my hotel room.  I highly recommend checking out all of the speeches but if you have 30 minutes and want to see mine you can check it out here.  You have to fast-forward to the end to see it.  It’s at the 1 hour 14 minute mark.

PS. I corrected Matt who credited @crappytaxidermy but it actually was @craptaxidermy so ignore me.  And I’m sure I fucked up other stuff too.  The usual.

poorprofessor higgins

PPS.  Unrelated, but this dress debate is killing me.  You’ve seen this, right?


I saw this CLEARLY WHITE AND GOLD dress this morning and everyone else I know is saying it’s clearly black and blue so I ask Victor and he said it was black and blue as well and that’s when I decided this was a big practical joke on me.  You win.  Lot of trouble to go through to make me think I’m losing my mind, y’all.

PPS.  WHAT THE FUCKETY FUCK.  I just looked at it again and now it’s black and blue and I can’t understand how I ever thought it was gold and white.  What sort of wizardry is this?

What are poopers?

I’ve heard about people on TV doing poppers but I didn’t know what they are, so I mentioned them to a friend and he was like, “Poppers.  Yeah.  They relax your butthole”.   I was pretty sure he was just fucking with me but he’s usually pretty reliable so I decided to check the internet.  Then Google was, “Poppers?  Sure I know what poppers are…”


I think Google is a little out of touch.

But all of the other search result were about the drug.  Turns out it’s a club drug that relaxes your butthole.  I’m not sure why you’d want to take a drug that makes your sphincter relax and then go wild at a disco because that sounds like a recipe for disaster, but whatever floats your boat, I guess.

PS. Hang on.  My friend explained it all to me.  I feel very old now.  Also, he pointed out that some people take it because it makes you euphoric when you’re dancing, but it only lasts for a minute.  I assumed they’d be pills because you “pop pills” but turns out it’s a bottle that you sniff.  It’s like invisible temporary cocaine.  Don’t do it.  Don’t do drugs.  Especially because they might not even be real.    And if they are real you might shit yourself, and then you’d have to deal with that mess when you sober up on the dance floor up 30 seconds later.  It’s like the most abrupt shame-filled hangover ever.

PPS. Was I the only person who didn’t know about this?

PPPS.  I just realized that I  spelled this wrong and now my blog title is “What are poopers?”  My google search results are going to be more horrific than usual this month.

The things you don’t know might just bite you in the…well, not the ass, exactly.

Last week I was discussing the taint with my friends (as you do) and wondered aloud how that part of your body even got a name and one of my friends was like, “Seriously?  Because it t’aint your butthole and it t’aint your genitals.”  And I just sat there with my mind blown because I HAD NO IDEA.

This is exactly what friends are for.  To help you with your taint.  Not literally though.  Being a friend means never having to physically help with someone else’s taint. That should go on a greeting card.

Anyway, I was just thinking about all of the other things that I don’t know that are common knowledge and I wish I had a list of them but I don’t because I don’t know them yet.  So if you have any super-obvious things you found out much later than everyone else please share them here because that way I’ll feel better about myself and maybe we’ll all learn something.

The more you know…

PS. I just made my newest educational stationary:



Well, they’ll never have to restock at least.

Picture I took outside my grocery store:

Inflation is a bitch.

Inflation is really getting out of hand.

On my way out I showed the cashier the picture and asked if the price was really “zero bundles of wood for $3.95” and she told me that she wasn’t sure how much wood was but that they’d honor whatever the price was on the sign.  I asked how much it would cost if I bought a dozen bundles and she stared at her register keys for a minute and then said “Oh.  Wait.  I think I need a manager.”  And that would be good because if I’m reading it right the sign basically says, “We have wood and you can’t have any.  Just look at all this wood you can’t have.”  You’re not going to win any customers with that sort of braggadocious hoarding.

PS.  I was going to title this “Got wood?  No. Because it’s priceless, apparently” but then I thought I’d get a lot of viagra spam.

PPS.  Spellcheck is trying to tell me that “braggadocious” is not a word so I tried “bragalicious” and they don’t like that one either.  At least one of those is a real word, spellcheck.  Stop being an asshole.