Category Archives: Giant squid phobia

No. No. Nope. ALL THE NOPES.

If you’ve been here long enough you know I have a terrific fear of anything tentacled, and that I’m fairly certain giant squids will one day take over the world.

This isn’t helping:

We’re not even safe on land, you guys.  I don’t even trust the toilet anymore at this point.


If you haven’t checked it out today then click here to see my update on my Honorary Super-Doctorate.   Medicinal Margarita Madness and mandatory napping will commence as soon as the mail arrives.  Unless, possibly, ASU is just is waiting for me to get distracted and that’s not going to happen becauOHMYGOD HAVE YOU SEEN THIS CRAZY BULLSHIT?

Several people are aware of my severe giant squid phobia and lovingly (?) sent me this video of a giant squid attacking a Greenpeace submarine, and that’s unsettling enough, but WHY IS THERE ANOTHER SQUID BEHIND IT SPITTING OUT FIRE?  Is that a real thing?  Because I was scared enough without adding: “Oh, and also they can shoot a blinding inferno out of their butts like a tentacled, aquatic bonfire.”  It’s like half giant squid and half underwater maritime flame-thrower, and that’s not natural and is a sign that all giant squid are literally demons from the depths of hell.

It’s also possible that Greenpeace panicked and threw a flare at it and the squid grabbed the flare like, “YOU THINK WE’RE SCARED?  THIS IS A DAMN SPARKER, ASSHOLE.  I EAT YOUR MOTHERFUCKING SPARKLER.  YOU’RE IN OUR NEIGHBORHOOD NOW, SON.”

And that’s an even more terrifying scenario because giant squid are already horrifying and NOW THEY HAVE FIRE.  Good work, Greenpeace.  This is why we can’t have nice things.  Because you’ve armed the giant squid.  THEY ALREADY HAD TOO MANY ARMS.

It’s possible I’m overreacting, but I don’t think so.

Part two: The Stanley Hotel and the reason why Ghost Hunters should hire me as a permanent member of their team. Or Destination Truth. Which one is less likely to look for giant squid? That one.

This is part 2 of my ghost-hunting trip to The Stanley Hotel so you should really read part one first.  Or just go watch tv instead.  That’s probably what I would do.  (As usual, this is copied directly out of my journal so there’s no real flow and the tenses change constantly but technically that matches the theme since I once read that horror directors sometimes tilt the camera slightly so that the viewer feels uncomfortable and off-balance and I basically do the same thing except with bad grammar and dangling participles.  I’m like an artist here.)


Our adorable tour guide (Kevin) in front of the Stanley. What's really strange is that I never saw all the ghosts in this picture until after I developed it and then digitally added them myself.

Kevin took us down to the tunnels under the hotel.  It was very tunnely.

I am the best writer ever.

The tunnels under the hotel are carved out of the mountain. This is the same place where the guys from Ghost Hunters heard a woman say "hello" except that I'm pretty sure that was a cat because I had a cat that used to say "mama" all the time and it sounded a lot like that. But she never said it in front of anyone else so no one ever believed me. She was like my own personal snuffalupagus.

This is also where I got my first ghostly shot which probably wasn’t actually a ghost at all but it felt close.  (You can see all my anomaly shots here).


I wanted to write “REDRUM” on my bathroom mirror with lipstick but more than that I wanted to not spend my vacation time scrubbing lipstick off a mirror later, so instead I settled for recreating the creepy twin shot from The Shining, which was made easier because the hotel plays The Shining on a loop on channel 42.


That pillow is stuffed in there because the armoire door kept closing itself when we were watching tv, but in less of an eerie, haunted way and in more of a “is this hotel sinking?” sort of way.

My interpretation:

This would have been a cooler picture if they sold those twin costumes in the gift shop. Instead they sell raccoon puppets. I’m not sure the logic here but they are missing out on a growth industry.


Found a giant Stanley Hotel dollhouse prop from The Shining miniseries in the basement.  Crawled inside.  It’s like hiding underneath the table but way better because no one accidentally kicks you.  Also you have a tiny door that you can close when you don’t want visitors.  I may never leave.

Also, if you get a dead squirrel stuck in your walls you just have to lift up the house and shake the dead squirrel out so it's already better than my real house. Needs a liquor cabinet though.


Victor and I met up with Callea Seck, Stanley Hotel’s resident ghost-hunter and twitterer and she invited us to go on an late-night Ghost Hunt at the Stanley Hotel concert hall with Karl Pfeiffer from Ghost Hunters International and a bunch of other people.

Karl and Callea. And ghost-hunting equipment. No jumping beans though.

They let me borrow an EMF detector but it never went off.  Victor said it was probably because I shook it to death.  Victor needs to just drop it.  And to buy me some fresh jumping beans.


Callea just explained that we’re locked into the dark concert hall until 1 am and is giving us pointers on how not to blind each other when we take photos.  Callea: “When you hear the word ‘flash!’ close your eyes until the flash is over.  That’s how you protect yourself”.  One of my friends taught me the exact same thing in New York but I think it meant something different there.


Callea just showed us this parabolic ear thingie that you can use to listen for extremely quiet ghosts.  I totally want one for watching TV at night.  Or for listening into people’s thoughts.  Depends on how strong it is, I guess.


We’re starting the ghost hunt in the women’s bathroom so we can check out “the haunted stall”. I am totally not shitting you. Callea notes that it’s probably pretty strange to be in the ladies room with a bunch of men.  Clearly this woman does not know me well.  She didn’t really explain what type of haunting occurred in the stall but my guess is ghost-gonorrhea on the toilet seat.  Or maybe it flushes when you aren’t done peeing yet.  Which actually happens to me all the damn time. Basically every automatic-flush toilet I’ve ever been on is haunted.  Which might explain all the kidney infections.


Went into “Lucy’s room” to wait for the ghost to speak to us or to shut a heavy door (as she’s known to do on rare occasions).  We all sat on the floor in total darkness and had to remain quiet and the silence was so heavy that all I could think about was how funny it would be if you farted loudly because no one would know who did it and then if no one admitted to it you could be all “It was the ghost” in a completely serious way, but I totally didn’t because I respect the work of the ghost hunters and also because I didn’t have to fart.


Callea just told us about an encounter a team of people had once had with “Lucy” when she took a liking to a male investigator who was physically touched by Lucy in an “*ahem* very friendly manner” and that it “um…made him happy, so to speak” and everyone else just sort of nodded and she kept going with her story but about 5 minutes later I was all “Hang on, I just need to clarify this…are we talking about a haunted erection?” and then Victor was all “That’s my wife, folks.  Next show’s at 11” but then the temperature suddenly dropped several degrees and then the door totally shut on its own. Which actually kind of freaked me out.  Then some blonde psychic chick said that Lucy was with us and she reached out her arms because she said she could feel some “hot balls” in the air.  Then I just never stopped giggling again.


Went to the room of Paul (the dead handyman) and it was creepy because all the chairs were stacked up exactly like in Poltergeist but then Victor pointed out that most of the time people stack chairs like that for storage reasons and not just to let you know that you built your house over an Indian graveyard.  I’m not sure which one this was though because we turned on a spirit box and it clearly said “Paul”.  It also clearly said “tomatoes”.  I don’t know what that means.

Paul's room. The light is from a car passing outside.


A bunch of mildly weird, vaguely creepy stuff happened at the ghost hunt but if you don’t believe in ghosts you don’t want to hear it so I’m skipping this part.  Thanks, skeptics.  You’re ruining it for everyone.


I asked Victor to call the resident psychic to ask if she’d come do a seance in our room but she said she was booked and that we should have called earlier.  Victor says if she was a real psychic she would have already known we’d be contacting her for an appointment and that this is really all her fault.  It’s hard to argue with that kind of logic.


2 am.  Exhausted and going to bed.  Leaving the jumping beans on the nightstand so they can wake me up if shit starts happening.


Morning.  Nothing happened. These jumping beans are totally dead.  Probably murdered by Lord Dunraven.  I told Victor that they should let us have the room for free since we just added an actual murder to the history of the hotel.  Victor reminded me that I probably killed them myself.  I reminded Victor that I was probably possessed at the time.  I also told him not to look in my bag because I may have stolen all the coasters and stationary when I was possessed last night.


Decided to check out the haunted closet again.  Noticed scratch marks all over the low ceiling like someone (or something) was trying to claw their way out.  Or possibly it’s from people scraping the ceiling with the iron.  I’m going with the first one though because ironing stories are almost never exciting.

Also, I found a pair of cargo shorts stuffed behind the ironing board. True story. I considered that maybe they were a gift from Lord Dunraven but they were a size 3X so more likely it was just another insult. That man is a douche.


Just took a shower and this shampoo is not lathering.  At all. I’m assuming it must be haunted.  Or it’s lotion.  Hang on.  Yeah. It’s lotion.  So less “haunted” and more just me not reading labels closely enough.


Just stepped out of the shower and noticed that the steamed-up bathroom mirror reflects into the bathroom door mirror and that someone had written “REDRUM” on the door mirror so that when it got steamy the word “MURDER” would show up in the first mirror.  Awesome. I think it’s probably a sign from the premature ghost of Stephen King. Victor says it’s probably a sign that the maids don’t clean the mirrors often enough.

This is a terrible picture because I had to take this with my phone since if I walked out to get my camera all the steam would dissipate. That’s how science works.


Checking out of the hotel.  I really, really wanted to steal my room key but I didn’t because Victor wouldn’t let me but then as we were leaving the desk clerk asked if we wanted to keep our keys as souvenirs.  BEST.  HOTEL. EVER.


Stopped for lunch on the way to the airport.  Victor ordered fish tacos.  These tacos look like vagina.

Honestly, it's like Georgia O'Keefe made these.


Still driving to the airport.  Victor was all “Looks like someone’s about to get an ass full of lead pipe” and I was all “What the fuck?” and then he pointed to a house on the side of the road.

Well, that's...disconcerting.

And then we were home.  All things considered?  Best 24 hour vacation ever.

I miss it already.

PS.  Wanna see more pictures?  I’m uploading them today.

Dear New York Airport: Maybe next time you could have us land in a pit of vipers that are also on fire. Just to keep things new.

Last week I was at the Blogher conference and it’s too complicated to write about so instead I’m just going to re-write the notes I jotted in my journal while I was there because I’m really tired and I believe in phoning it in.  Also, if this is the first time you’re reading me you should skip this post and read the one before it or just find a less offensive blog.


I’m not allowed on a plane unchaperoned so I spent the night at Chookooloonks‘ (aka Karen) house where I was serenaded with live ukulele music and we exchanged stories of passing out in ditches.  Then I went to wash my hair but I forgot to bring shampoo so I used her “Uncle Funky’s Daughter Shampoo For Kinky Curly Hair” which is not really made for white girls but when I came out of the bathroom I told Karen that it was awesome because I felt very multi-cultural and also now I know what it feels like to be black.  Except without all the history and repression.  Then my hair dried and it looked exactly the same as before, which was disappointing but I’m pretty sure I was changed inside forever, like the day you lose your virginity except better because no cops came and it didn’t happen in a truck.  Then Karen gave me the “Girl, you are not right” look which looks a lot like the “Girl, you need a sandwich” face and so I agreed because either way she was right and I really wanted a sandwich.

It's basically this look but with more raised eyebrow.


Landed in LaGuardia airport.  Hey, you know what would be a good idea?  If you didn’t put the runway on a pier IN THE MIDDLE OF THE FUCKING OCEAN.  Or if maybe the captain came on and said something like “Oh, by the way, it’s about to look like we’re crashing into the water but at the last second the runway will appear and we’ve never had any giant squid reach out their tentacles to grab us even though we look EXACTLY LIKE A FISHING LURE SKIMMING THE SURFACE.  No worries.  Stop crying, girl in row 8.”  That would have been helpful.  But it didn’t happen, probably because they totally had been grabbed by a squid tentacle before and now they can’t legally make that disclaimer and then I may have hyperventilated a little and then Karen gave me that look again which was weird because I totally wasn’t in the mood for a sandwich and she’s usually very intuitive about that sort of thing.


I’ve been in New York for one hour and already I’m being detained by the NYPD.  Apparently it’s illegal to get a pedicab the way we did which was by stabbing the people about to get in the cab and then forcing the cab driver to commit robberies for us.  Kidding.  Actually we were just standing in an illegal place to hail a cab and so we got pulled over directly in front of a hotel full of bloggers.  I tweeted that if you looked outside the hotel right now you could see Laura and I being detained for 20 minutes by the NYPD but no one did, probably because everyone inside was too busy doing opium and pulling used kidneys out of murdered hookers.  Way to pick your battles, NYPD.  Also, last time I was out of town with Laura we almost got arrested as well so I blame her.  It’s pretty much the worst tradition ever.


My friend Grace just asked me how many drink tickets I got.  I have no idea what she’s talking about.  She pulled out the perforated badge sheet that should have had drink tickets printed on it and it was entirely blank. Awesome. Blogher thinks I’m an alcoholic.


Went to the Social Luxe party and got snubbed by everyone I’ve ever met.  Except that I’m almost sure that it was just because I looked so different in my phony-tail.  Or maybe they’re just assholes.  Probably the first one.  Then I won the “Funniest Blog” award and when I went on stage everyone was all “Huh” and that’s kind of what I thought too.  Then I think I got fitted for lingerie but I’m not sure if that was part of the party or if I was just being molested so I just went with it.  And that’s basically how Blogher is.  Also, FYI?  The award is a glass paperweight and if you go through security with it on the way home they will assume you have a bomb and they will bring out security and then when they finally pull it out and read it they’ll say “What’s a blog?” and that’s how you know you’re in the real world again.


Called Victor to tell him I won an award.

Victor:  Awesome.  I already have a trophy for you at home.

me:  Is it “World’s Greatest Grampa”?

Victor:  I scratched out the “Grampa”.


Hosted the annual People’s Party with a bottle of screw-top wine that I stole from the mini-bar.  As usual, I went to the actual party for 1.9 minutes then spent the entire rest of the night hiding in the bathroom.  It was a lot like a normal party except that people make you wear their shoes so they can swallow them and someone makes an art installation of play-doh on the sink but you don’t even notice it because a group of girls dressed in full Girl Genius costume just came to pour drinks.  The bathrooms of Blogher are a lot like Burning Man, but with slightly less nudity.


Back in the hotel room.  Just stuck my head out of the bathroom to clarify to my roomate that I’m using an electric toothbrush in here and not a vibrator.  She looked less relieved than I expected.  This is why I shouldn’t be allowed to talk to people after 10 PM.


Part two comes tomorrow.  I need a nap.

Oh, Twilight. You’re ruining it for everyone.

Makes me sad for America.

PS.  I’m sick with some sort of plague.  We’re still in the process of  moving because we couldn’t fit everything in the moving van so my new house is filled with boxes of things that go inside furniture that isn’t actually here.  We’ve been attacked by scorpions.  I can’t find the box with my clothes in it so I had to go buy a mu-mu at the convenience store down the street.  I look like Mrs. Roper but even less sexy.  Then last night Victor and I were going to stop unpacking for a minute to go out for our anniversary but the mobile home/restaurant down the road was closed because they decided they “needed to start drinking early for the holiday”. They did invite us to come in the backyard and eat barbeque with them though.  This is all true, y’all.

PPS.  I’m waiting for that version of the Bible that says “As mentioned on South Park” on the cover.  When does that come out?

PPPS.  Our actual moving van:

Why, yes, that' *is* a giant squid ripping the moving van apart.

I couldn’t even make this shit up, y’all.

Comment of the day: Y’all, Edward did not even like that book. ~ Casey

Animals want to murder you. I have a solution. Also, I might need to up my anxiety meds.

Most people know about my horrible giant squid phobia so my inbox is always littered with terrible squid news that makes me want to poison the sea even more than I already do, but today I got an email from my friend Desiree who thought I should know about this new jellyfish and I was all, “Whatever, dude. Its arms are like soggy pixie sticks.  Why would I be afraid of this?” and she was like “Well, maybe because THEY’RE FUCKING IMMORTAL.”   And then I looked a little closer and got totally freaked out because I’m pretty sure these things are goddamn vampires.  Hang on.  Here’s the picture:

Looks totally innocent and harmless. Much like Edward Cullen.

And here’s the same picture after I’ve made it a little more clear.  Because some of you don’t have enough imagination.  Or vodka.  And I’m here to help.

Yeah. *Exactly.*

And there are two problems here.  One is that vampires are supposed to be sexy, and these?  Not so much.  Secondly?  Werewolf eels.  I’m not sure they exist but if vampire jellyfish are real then pretty much all bets are off, y’all.  This is why I recommend that we dump enough gelatin into the oceans to make it into an enormous jello and then we can piece it out and pick out all the vampires the same way that you pick all the pears out of your jello salad.  Then we stab all the jellyfish in their hearts with a stake.  Or put them in a big aquarium and let them fight it out and charge people to bet on the vampire-gladiator death matches.  And then we spend all that money on healthcare.  I think I just solved the healthcare crisis and wiped out vampires.  Plus?  Free jello.  You’re welcome, America.

PS.  In vaguely related news I just found my new sleeping bag:

It’s in the shape of a bear so if I get attacked by bears at night I won’t get eaten because the bear will be all “Oh!  Pardon me. I didn’t know you were in here” and then I’ll make the bear’s head say “No problem.  I was just devouring this girl.  By the way, how did you get in here?” and the bear will be like “Oh, some asshole left the front door unlocked” and then I’ll be all “Victor, you asshole!  You didn’t lock the front door again!” and then the jig is up.  This is why I’m going to put a reminder post-it note inside the bear sleeping bag that says: “DON’T YELL AT VICTOR IN FRONT OF BEARS” but probably we’re all fucked because I have pretty much no impulse control when I’m mad about people not locking doors.  It takes two seconds and IT FUCKING SAVES LIVES.  Only you can prevent us being murdered by bear when we sleep, Victor. And then I pointed out that it was pretty selfless of me to sleep in a bear sleeping bag to save the rest of the family and Victor pointed out that I’m really only saving me and that we’d never even seen a bear in real life and that I’d probably poke an eye out just sleeping in it and then I’d have to explain to the doctor that my eye got eaten by my sleeping bag.  Then I started to disagree but then I remembered that last week I got stabbed by chicken so technically he has a point.

"Nom nom nom nom. This girl is delicious. But I wish she'd taken her shoes off first. God knows what she's tracking in. So inconsiderate." (This is what bears are thinking when they eat you.)

PPS.  Victor just said that he’s “not the only person who lives here and maybe I could get off my ass and lock the damn door myself” but excuse me, I’M WEARING A BEAR.  I don’t have opposable thumbs in this bear sack, jackhole.  Honestly, it’s like he wants the bears in here.

I’m on a lot of painkillers, part 2

Okay.  So turns out that my finger is broken, but only in the way that the rest of me is broken, i.e., no bones are shattered but it’s still technically fucked up and useless.  Thus, I’ve had to type everything this week using one hand and I deserve a medal for this.  But I have to write down part two of my cruise experience because I’m on a lot of painkillers and if I don’t do it soon I’m not going to remember it.  If you’re finding this blog for the first time ever I recommend reading Part 1 first because this is going to be confusing for even my most ardent reader.  Or maybe just skip all this and go look at pictures of kittens.  Your choice.

Day 2:  So we arrived someplace in the Bahamas, I think?  And then we took another boat to some other place but I don’t know the name of it.  God, I should work for the Travel Channel.  The important thing here is that we ended up on a tiny pirate island filled with dolphins and crumbling 100 year old towers and rumors of buried treasure.  It was awesome until we were packing up to leave and Hailey got lost for the first time ever and I had a panic attack that I still haven’t recovered from.

"Look mommy! My shadow is a monster! Also, get your xanax out because as soon as you turn around I'm going to run back to the boat and hide in there because your panic attacks amuse me." She didn't say that last sentence out loud but it was totally implied.

Day 3:  Hailey begged me to let her go to the on-board kids camp so I dropped her off and on my way back to the room I realized that I’d lost my lipstick, which is a HUGE FUCKING DEAL.  I have to have lipstick on at all times or I feel naked so I went to the gift shop to buy some, except the cheapest tube they had was exactly the price of an unlucky number that I avoid at all costs so I asked the clerk if I she could charge me a dollar extra and she said no because she wants the ship to sink, apparently.  I told her that I’d just give her a tip and she said she wasn’t allowed to take one which is ridiculous because I’m supposed to tip the waitress who brings me over-priced drinks but I’m not allowed to tip a clerk who might very well be keeping the entire ship from sinking by simply not making me have to use that unlucky number?  I explained that that was totally ridiculous and she agreed although I’m not sure if she agreed for the same reasons and she recommended that I buy the only other tube of lipstick they had, which was $35 but I felt pretty certain that Victor would probably sink the boat intentionally out of spite if he found out I’d spent $35 on a lipstick because of a phobia, so instead I bought the unlucky number lipstick and then I promptly ripped off my thumbnail trying to open the lipstick package.  I blame Victor for this since the $35 lipstick would never have caused this sort of injury.  It was bleeding profusely and the clerk offered to call the ship doctor but I waived it off because it was kind of a relief to know that my bad luck was probably over and also because I knew that if I didn’t go lay down I was going to pass out because that’s what happens whenever I see blood.  So I quickly walked back to the elevator to take me to my room but my thumb was bleeding like mad by that time and there was a small puddle of blood beside me when another couple walked up and looked at it warily.  “Someone spilled their wine” I explained, both because it sounded more festive and also because I didn’t know if they passed out at the site of blood too and I didn’t want all of us passing out at once into a puddle of my blood because that’s unsanitary and also because it would look like some kind of drive-by shooting to whoever found us and that didn’t seem fair to anyone.

Then I got back to the room and used the head of a creepy towel animal as a tourniquet and drank some booze from the mini-bar which I know was over-priced but I was in pain and it was medicinal so stop judging me.  Then I sat down and read a book where the swanky main character toasts to the furniture and I was all “That’s awesome.  I never drink to furniture” so I toasted to the coffee table and the lounge chair and I felt very cosmopolitan but then I reread the paragraph and it turns out she was toasting to the “future”, which makes more sense but is incredibly dull.  Then I toasted the buffet and took horrific pictures of my mutilated thumbnail so I could show Victor what he’d done to me while he was out having a work meeting.   I might have had too much to drink.  Again, I blame Victor.

Day 4:  We’re supposed to be flying home but we have 7 hours before our flight so at the airport we found a guy who said he’d be happy to take us on a tour around Miami.  Because there’s nothing safer than getting into a car with a stranger who hangs around the airport.

Summary of the tour:  “Look kid!  A horsey!”

Hailey, horsey, little Havana.

“And there’s Humphrey Bogart in a car.  For some reason.”

I don't know either, y'all.

“And here’s the shop where you can buy all your animal penises.  I’ll be back to pick you guys up in few hours.”

Yeah. Go back and read that again.  It’s not a typo.

So was the raccoon giant or is the penis giant? Because I can't tell which noun is being modified. The cashier didn't know either and seemed surprised I was even asking her about penis bones. Obviously she doesn't read my blog. Also, YOU WORK IN A SHOP THAT SELLS PENISES. Know your shit, lady.

No shit, y'all. I can't even make this stuff up.

And I didn’t buy any of the penises because I’d already fell in love with Pocahontas Wikipedia who was hiding on a back shelf but I couldn’t afford him so instead I bought a bunch of necklaces with dead bugs in them.  This is when Victor threatened to cancel my credit card because he doesn’t understand art.

Why yes, they *are* totally bad-ass.

In short?  Best Miami tour ever.  And none of us got stabbed.  Bonus.

Comment of the day: Through a weird series of events, I actually own a raccoon penis bone, still in its original package… wait, let me rephrase that, still sealed in a little plastic bag. (The *original* original package would be a dead raccoon’s penis, which would be a weird thing to have lying around the house.) Anyway, I have no use for the damn thing, so it’s yours if you want it.  Also, I need to stop reading your blog at work, because screaming things like, “Oh my God, I’ve got a raccoon penis bone!” never fails to draw concerned looks from my employees. ~ Evn

I’m on a lot of painkillers

So last weekend Victor’s company had a family retreat on a cruise-ship, which would have been nice if I wasn’t terrified of water, giant squid, flying and fucking everything else involved in this trip.  Still, you can’t say no to a free family vacation (because Victor wouldn’t let me) so we packed up and headed to Miami.  Then when I was getting on the plane Hailey said “Look.  A pirate” and I started to shush her because last time she did that she was pointing at an elderly woman who had a hook for a hand but then I looked up and there was a motherfucking pirate on the plane.  Then I tweeted that out because how do you not share something like that with the rest of the world and of course no one believed me so I tried to take pictures but he’d already sat down so when we hit Miami I planted myself in front of the airplane doors so I could get a shot of him and Victor was yelling at me to hurry up and I was all “PEOPLE ARE QUESTIONING MY INTEGRITY ON TWITTER SO BACK OFF, DUDE” and he sighed grumpily but just then the pirate came out and I got a blurry camera phone picture of him.  Then a lot of people on twitter apologized for doubting me but several pointed out that he was more likely dressed as a patriot for a Tea-bagger convention and then I just felt betrayed and I was all “Fucking Republicans ruin shit for everybody” and Victor was all “You know what would be nice?  If just one family vacation didn’t end with you blaming Republicans” and I was all “This is why nobody trusts Republicans, Victor” and then he made me promise not to talk to anyone at his company about anything ever.  Apparently he forgot about that because as soon as we got to the hotel he asked me to go help his coworker stuff notebooks for the retreat which was just a horrible suggestion.  Victor’s coworker and her husband asked if I’d gone down to the ocean yet and I said that I couldn’t really appreciate it because I kept thinking about all the dead bodies in the water and they both got really quiet and I was all “You guys do watch Dexter, right?” And they were all “Oh, yeah. Dexter’s great.”  But then later I found out that they don’t have cable and they thought I was talking about Dexter’s Laboratory. True story, y’all. Victor’s coworkers thought I was freaked out about a cartoon character dumping corpses in the Miami bay. Awesome.

When we were done I walked back downstairs to our hotel room and if you looked out our front door and to the left while you stood on our suitcase you could almost see the ocean, so yeah, it was a pretty great room.  Also, the walls were paper thin and around midnight Victor and I were still working on our laptops while Hailey slept when suddenly the room next to us was filled with the voices of four drunken men who were so loud it was like they were in the room with us.


me: Wow.

Loud drunks next door:  “YOU ARE SO MONEY AND YOU DON’T EVEN KNOW IT, MAN!”

me:  Awesome.  I’ve just entered the set of Swingers.


This is when I called man at the front desk and asked him to tell the guys in 112 to keep it down and also to tell them that everyone in room 110 agrees that that skank does not deserve him except for the 5 year old who now wants to know what a skank is and the front desk guy said that he’d call the room immediately and tell them that but then he totally didn’t and do you know how I know? Because I can hear their phone, Best Western. You guys are fucking liars.

The next morning we boarded the ship and I had a mild panic attack as we got ready to be called to our muster station for an emergency drill, because there’s nothing more calming than acting out a scene from the Titanic as soon as you get on a ship.  Hailey loved it though and carried around her lifejacket yelling “This mustard is awesome!” and I didn’t say anything because I didn’t even know where to start correcting her.  Then the person doing the drill assured us that there were plenty of lifeboats which were made out of a material that makes them “unsinkable” and first of all you shouldn’t say “unsinkable” on a cruise ship because didn’t you learn anything from the Titanic? and secondly why didn’t they make the cruise ship out of the same material?  No one had an answer.  Then they showed us pictures of stuff to do on the cruise and one of the things was to get your picture made in front of A BACKDROP FROM TITANIC and I was all “Are you fucking kidding me?” and no, they totally weren’t.  Then we sailed off toward the Bermuda Triangle.  None of this is made up.

This is where I would type the rest of the story because it involves bloodloss and penises in boxes but I can’t because my finger hurts and I think it might be broken so I’m going in for more xrays in the morning.  Also, I’m on a lot of painkillers. Have I mentioned that?  To be continued.  Probably.

It's very relaxing if you don't think about all the dead bodies and giant squid and sea serpents who want to drag you down to a watery grave. Totally, totally relaxing.

Comment of the day: Why, exactly were you “fucking everything else involved in this trip”?   I can understand why Victor was upset. ~ Mojo

This is too long for one post but I’m too lazy to do two.

This is a really, really long post and I should probably break it into two parts but I suck so I’m going to tell you when part two is, and you can walk away and come back tomorrow if reading more than 10 paragraphs bothers you.  Except I just made this longer by adding this prelude.  Awesome.  Also, if you’ve never read me before, don’t start now because this will confuse the shit out of you.

You know what’s awesome?  When you write a bunch of posts about something but never fully explain it and so your 4th post in you kind of have to start from the beginning and answer all the questions that you should have answered the first time, except you realize it really doesn’t matter because your readers all have ADD too so they’ve forgotten what you posted before anyway.  That’s what’s awesome.

So…the whole Navy trip.  Many of you have asked how I got to go fly out and land on an aircraft carrier in the middle of the ocean and the answer is that I gave Guy Kawasaki a hand job.  Kidding.  I don’t like Asian men.  Kidding again.  Ha ha.  I just pissed off my husband, Guy Kawasaki, and also 4 percent of my blog readers in one paragraph.  So “yay” me, because this is an improvement.  Technically I’m not sure how I got invited.  All I know is that the Navy brings out people all the time to see what it’s like at sea because (according to them) “It’s your Navy because you as a taxpayer pay for it” and I’m all “Hell yeah, I do“, and then I remembered that I don’t pay taxes.  Kidding again, IRS.  Please don’t audit me.

So I was with a bunch of other bloggers who are all professional and awesome and some were ex-military and all were very smart and well-respected, and then there was me.  And I was even worse than normal because I am so terrified of water that I was on a ton of xanax the whole time I was there.  But I also had a lot of caffeine so it evened out like when you take speed and heroin together.  I assume.

We went all over that damn ship from stem to stern (even though I don’t know where the stem of the boat is because you never hear people say they’re there).  We met Charlie Brown the first day and I know I said that he was like the head of the ship but turns out that I was wrong and he’s all “I’m totally not the head dude and you’re going to get me fired”, except he said it in Naval-ese so it sounded more professional.  Also I showed him a bunch of sex toys I’d brought along and mentioned the inflatable sheep and he visibly paled.  It was adorable.  Also, I was really relieve to hear that Charlie Brown was not our Admiral, because although I absolutely adore him he does not have a name that instills trust, but then we actually got to meet the Admiral whose name is “Fozzie”.  Like the bear.  I am totally not kidding.  Also we met the Captain whose name is “Nasty”.  Like, that’s embroidered on his Captain’s chair.  Nasty.  


Then I mentally cursed Victor for convincing me that the Navy was uptight, because Fozzie and Nasty and Charlie Brown were all kick-ass and so was everyone else on the ship except for the one enlisted guy who looked anxiously at our group when we came in like he was looking for someone famous and it turns out he thought Hannah Montana was with us and was very disappointed.  True story.  But after that I made sure to stand next to this guy because he looks exactly like Clint Eastwood, and I thought I could pretend to be in his entourage and it would be less disappointing for the military people.  On the second day on the ship I confessed to him that I was standing next to him all the time because he looked exactly like Clint Eastwood and if we got attacked he would probably be the only one who survived, and he kind of grunted just like Clint Eastwood would do and then someone else was all “Seriously, you do look EXACTLY like Clint Eastwood” and he admitted that he’s Clint’s body double and stuntman.  Also I think he’s like the Mayor of Malibu and he has a Grammy.  Or an Emmy. Something cool.  I was a little high.


And then I said that I also planned on sticking next to Lex too because he used to be a fighter pilot himself, but admitted to him that my hopes were really pinned on Not-Clint-Eastwood because Lex just looked too nice to survive if we were attacked by Russians.  But I assured him that in my head he’d die heroically trying to save me, and I could tell that he was cool with that or that he’d just stopped listening.

Then we had a briefing with the Captain and a “shooter” whose name was “Freakshow”.  This is the part where I just nodded because everyone else was asking important questions about fuel consumption and political ideologies and I’m all “How many Cylons do you think are on this ship?”, “How many mermaids and/or UFOs have you spotted?” and “What’s the biggest secret that you’re not supposed to tell us?” but the answers were something like “What’s a Cylon?”, “None.” and “Nuclear blah blah blah” I can’t really remember because I lost interest.  BUT THEN!  Freakshow (so named because he used to work in the circus – I shit you not) took us out onto the aircraft carrier to watch jets take off just feet in front of us.  We had to wear earplugs and headphones since it was so loud so Freakshow told us to pay attention to his hand signals or we would get blown off the ship by a jet, and he said that when he got down on one knee we needed to do the same because we were ducking from the exhaust of the jet engine and that if we stood up we’d burst into flames or something.  So we went out and I. was. floored.  Honestly, it was amazing.  Even with the headphones on it was so loud it felt like it could stop your heart.  I was utterly in awe and that’s why I didn’t notice Freakshow take a knee until I felt the heat and then I quickly took a knee, except I’m naturally clumsy and the hot blast coming off the back of the jet blew me completely over and so I just sat on my ass while Freakshow laughed at me and the others looked like they were proposing to him.

This is the end of part one for people with short attention spans, or who can’t read books or who actually have work to do.

Then we met the XO (who is like the Spock of the ship, I think?) and I told him that I’d heard that our Governor recently said that Texas might consider seceding from the rest of America and I asked him if they had the accuracy to bomb just his house or did I need to just move out of Texas altogether?  He assured me that they could hit a single house with accuracy so I told him to get on that, and he kind of has to because they just said that it was *my* Navy, so if they don’t bomb our Governor it’s like peeing on the constitution.  Or something.  Then I begged Public Affairs to let me go to the brig and they were all “Uh.  That’s not really part of the tour” and I’m all “So what do I need to do to get thrown into the brig?  Because I have an inflatable sheep and I know where the captain sleeps” and they kind of looked at me, and I’m all “It makes real sheep sounds too!”  Then they said, “We’ll see what we can do” and next thing you know, I was behind bars and for the first time ever it was not for prostitution.  Kidding again.  I’m not a prostitute.  Although while I was there I totally pitched my idea for my Navy Hooker Business Proposal (Remember?  I was gonna call it “Captain Hookers”?) and all the Navy people looked a little stunned and told me that it was illegal and that “pirate law” was something that I’d apparently just made up, but I think they just said that because they realized it’s an awesome business model and wanted to do it themselves.

Then, toward midnight they took us to Vulture’s Row where we watched the jets land and take off in the darkness.  We were outside and even from the balcony the noise was extraordinary and I could feel the engines in every part of my body, almost cutting off my breathe with the sheer vibrations and power.  We all wore our earplugs and noise-canceling headphones on top of the earplugs, so we were essentially deaf as we each listened to our own pulse in our ears, watched the smokey haze settle over the tarmac and took in the smell of the jet fuel.  The blackness of the ocean stretched into a dark sky as we were forced to watch in silence while we all experienced our own unique moment, untainted by others.  And in the stillness I realized that I could fart as loudly as I wanted and no one would ever know.  And it was very freeing.

We went over ever inch of that ship, and when we finally got to bed at 1am (3am Texas time) I was exhausted.  Then a few hours later they woke us up and told us we had 20 minutes to get ready.  Then I considered calling in a bomb threat but I couldn’t find a phone and also since technically the whole ship is covered with bombs I didn’t think they’d be distracted enough by it to let us sleep in.  After more exploring we got ready to leave the ship and were told that the take-off would make us shit ourselves.  Or that it would be “dynamic”.  I think they mean the same thing.  Basically you can’t get up enough speed to take off before plunging into the ocean so they catapult the plane over the edge of the ship with a giant slingshot and then it flies off.  This is when I started taking xanax.  Then I took another one.  Then they said “dynamic” again and I went to the bathroom because I was going to pee myself with fear because honestly, I am terrified of the water.  I’ve always had a feeling that I will die drowning, and when I was in the bathroom with the other chicks I apologized to them in advance because if we ended up hitting the water it would probably be because I was onboard.  They were very understanding and supportive and assured me that we would be fine so I sucked it up and took another xanax got mentally prepared.  Then the Captain came in and opened up a certificate.  We would each get one back on land, but by chance this one was mine and he read it out loud:


And I sat there, kind of beaming stupidly, because I realized that “TailHooker” was even better that “Captain Hookers” but also because for the first time in a long time I was really proud of myself, for pushing past what I thought my boundaries were, and for (with a little medication) taking hold of my anxiety disorder and gaining a little more control of my life.  After the plane catapulted off (which felt a little like God grabbed you by the neck and threw you into another State) and when we finally landed I felt like I could breathe again and I suddenly realized that in facing my fears I’d loosened some constraints I didn’t even realize were holding me so tightly until they were gone.  And it was beautiful.

PS.  There isn’t a joke there.  Sometimes there just isn’t one.  I’d suggest going back and reading the fart joke again if you really need it.

Comment of the day: The real reason you could fart as loudly as you wanted is because when on board a naval ship such as yours, when you fart, it magically sounds like “Highway To The Dangerzone” by Kenny Loggins. ~HA Guy

Updated: Related unflattering video from my second day on the ship with no shower or make-up.

I’m not dead but I was technically in prison so I have a good reason for not posting

I’m alive.  Got back from my Navy trip yesterday and I’m still exhausted and trying to sober up but I figured you guys would be worried if you didn’t hear from me so here’s a quick taste of what happened:

I  got on a plane with Guy Kawasaki, Dennis Hall,  Charlene LiBeth BlechermanJen Leo,  Pamela SlimAndrew NystromJennifer Van GroveJennifer Jones,  Bill ReichertJefferson WagnerRobert Scoble, Andy Sernovitz and Neptunus Lex and we  landed quite violently on the USS Nimitz aircraft carrier in the middle of the ocean but I was kind of too high to remember most of it except that we were in some sort of mail plane I think, and it looked like the inside of Han Solo’s ship except with less wookies:


Then I commandeered a gun and then they tried to take it back and I explained that I’d feel safer holding on to it just in case Tommy Lee Jones comes on board and I can’t find the chef…


…and they gave me a weird look because I guess not everyone in the Navy has seen Under Siege, which seemed suspect to me and I joked that they were probably all actually Russian Communists but then they gave me an even weirder look which just confirmed my suspicions but then later when I was in the brig I realized that I was accidentally combining Under Siege and The Hunt for Red October into one movie, which actually would probably be a kick-ass movie.  I’d call it The Hunt for the Siege of Red October, part II:  Sharkey’s Revenge.  That way people would think it must be awesome because why else would they make a sequel?

I had a lot of time to think about it.

Actually, not the worst jail I've been in.

PS.  Real post about all of this coming.

PPS.  I adored the people on that ship so much it shocked me and can never thank them enough for letting come join their family for the weekend.  Also, if whichever one of those Koreas is being a bastard hurts them in any way I will lose. my. shit.  Seriously, Korea.  Stop being an asshole.

PPPS.  I just posted probably my best advice ever on my advice column.  Long story short in case you think you’re too good to read the whole thing:  Stop fucking bears.

Comment of the day: Why is Goose written on your hand? Is that because you’re hoping Tom Cruise will come and save you from the brig? Don’t you know that Goose dies in the end? I’m just saying. ~ Becky Mochaface