Category Archives: I’m an idiot

I have an orange thumb.

I just found this in my pantry:

sam i yam2

I can’t keep a houseplant alive to save my life but I can make my sweet potatoes grow into unwanted plants with literally no effort at all.  I can only imagine this means I have some sort of super power which allows me to drain the life of fern and transfer it’s leaves onto a yam.

This is a terrible superpower.

Unless yam plants are a good thing.  Are they?  Could I just put a yam-growth in a vase and use that as my new houseplant?  If they’re so hardy why don’t we grow them instead of the more easily murderable plants?  I’m pretty sure the only difference between a yam-growth and a lily is that one has a better name.  I just need to find a better name and then I can sell my accidental yam-growths and live off the proceeds.  Something like  “YaMandrake” or “Potato-Pansy”.  Maybe if I keep letting it grow it’ll get really enormous and then I can create a portable yam hedge that you can bring with you to use when you’re stalking someone in the desert.  BYOB.  (Bring Your Own Bush.)

I just tried to look up “Can I keep a sprouted potato” but after I typed in “Can I keep a” google auto-suggested “Can I keep a wild rabbit, a gun in a car, a wild turtle or a fox as a pet“.


WTF, google.  I just want to keep a potato.

Then when I added the “s” for “sprouted” google was like “OH, I KNOW WHAT YOU WANT!” and suggested “Can I keep a shotgun in my car” or “Can I keep a squirrel as a pet“.  Jesus, Google. I know I live in Texas but way to stereotype me.

When I got to “Can I keep a spr” google auto-changed the whole question to “Can you have a spray tan when pregnant?”  I don’t know, Google.  I guess?  Why are you asking me?  YOU ARE GOOGLE.

Remember when Google was there to answer questions instead of just raise more?  Me either.

Remember when Google was there to answer questions instead of just raise more? Me either.

Eventually I typed in the whole question but all the links told me how to keep my potatoes from sprouting, rather than how to grow my sprouted potatoes into a giant bush.  I considered googling “How to grow a giant bush from a potato” but I was afraid of what the auto-suggestion would be after I typed in the first part of that search, and so I decided to just give up and wait to see what happens with my potato.  It’s like a science experiment, but in laziness.

Also, I glued some googly eyes on the potato so it looks more life-like, and will be less likely to be thrown away by Victor if the potato can stare at him accusingly.  I was going to call him Mr. Potato Head but that seemed too obvious so instead his name is Samuel Ignacious.

Sam I. Yam.  Naturally smiley.

Introducing Sam I. Yam. He’s naturally smiley and high in vitamin C.

I’ll keep you posted on my big bush.

PS. Victor just found Sam and he claims that what I’m doing is a very common children’s science experiment and he was like “Seriously?  You never grew a potato plant when you were a kid?”  He says I’m supposed to cut the potato and add water and put toothpicks in it, but that sounds suspiciously like a recipe and I think he’s just trying to trick me into accidentally cooking. He insists that every child made potatoes sprout into plants and I was like, “Not us. We were poor. Some of us had to eat our potatoes, Victor.  We couldn’t all go around wasting toothpicks and putting googly eyes on our pet potatoes, Daddy Warbucks.” Then Victor countered that googly eyes aren’t supposed to be part of the science project but I’m pretty sure that just proves that he’s doing science wrong.

It’s worse than I thought. Unless I thought it was worse at one point and just forgot how bad I thought it was.

So, I saw this on Pinterest…


…and I was like, “Holy hell.  Yes.  This happens to me every damn week when I try to sign up on a new website” and so I went to pin the picture on my board and then I got this message:


So basically I tried to pin a picture explaining how baffling it is when your computer is like, “What is wrong with you?  You’ve already done this, asshole” and then my computer was like, “What is wrong with you?  You’ve already done this, asshole.”

Awesome.  Things are worse than I thought.  Unless, of course, I thought it was worse than this at some point in the past but I’ve just forgotten just how bad I once thought that it was.  I really can’t be trusted at this point.

Ps.  No worries if you miss today’s post because I assume next year this’ll happen again and I’ll write almost the exact same post all over again.

PPS.  Is it just me?  Am I just getting old?  Or is it just that we have so many things in our heads nowadays that they have to be purged often so we have more room for algebra formulas and videos of cats falling off tables?


And in other news, it’s time for the weekly wrap-up: sid What you missed in my shop (Named “Eight pounds of uncut cocaine” so that your credit card bill will be more interesting.):

  • As requested, THE BLOGGESS IS MY COPILOT mugs.  This might seem a bit sacrilegious because Jesus is supposed to be your copilot, but Jesus is always having to “take the wheel” and give people piggie-back rides on the beach and be your copilot but technically Jesus never drove, so maybe stop making him your chauffeur.  Also, why do the same people who say “Jesus, take the wheel!” always have those bumper stickers that say “In case of Rapture, this car will be unmanned”?  It seems a bit selfish.  “Jesus, take the wheel! (Unless I’m already in heaven and in that case just let this car run into an animal shelter, because fuck those cats.)”  I might be misinterpreting that though.  I haven’t got the part in the Bible where Jesus got his learner’s permit.

What you missed on the internets:

This week on shit-I-didn’t-come-up-with-but-wish-I-did-because-it’s-kind-of-awesome:

This week’s wrap-up is brought to you by Relish!, a truly cool meal-planning service for busy parents who like healthy delicious dinners, every night.  Unlike some menu planning services that tell you what you’re going to eat for the week, Relish lets you pick from a weekly assortment and choose what you’d like to make (with tons of 5 ingredient recipes). A cleverly organized grocery list is automatically created which lists the ingredients you need for a week of meals–all of which take under 30 minutes to prepare.  Subscriptions start at $5 a month, and five complete dinners for a family of four runs less than $85.   And check out their gluten-free sister site at

I think I just became a professional scientist. A dangerously unqualified one.

Yesterday I got an email from Scientific American magazine asking if I would be interested in submitting some ideas for science experiments for children.  And I was all, OF COURSE I WOULD.  After all, this is the same prestigious magazine that Einstein once contributed to.

My actual response:

Have you considered experiments regarding the proper combination of liquids?  Specifically, teaching children how to mix mojitos properly.

Technically, it’s basic chemistry (with a touch of biology if you grow the mint yourself) which ends in awesomeness. Plus, the parents would have to test the final product, so you have automatic parental involvement.  Personally, I would be very interested in becoming involved in that experiment.  Or anything involving Zombie Apocalypse preparations.  Maybe something with battle-axes.

Also, have you heard about these nuclear wolves?  Because they sound scary as shit.  Personally, I think we need to be concerned.  We may have over-planned for zombies, and under-planned for nuclear wolves.



PS.  My spellcheck says “mojito” isn’t even a real word. I think this points out exactly why this sort of education is critical in America.


To be honest, I wasn’t actually expecting a response, but I got one:

If you really want to create an experiment on the proper combination of liquids (mojitos or otherwise), can you provide some more details like the objective of the experiment, the controls and variables that you think should be present, etc.? If our edit team features it as part of the next round of BSH experiments, we’ll credit you and link to your Twitter/blog. Suggestions from your blog readers and social followers are also welcomed.

And I completely agree about making serious moves to prepare for the Zombie Apocalypse. I don’t want to scare you, but zombie fungus ants might be the real thing we need to be worried about… At least for now.

Thanks again for the response. We look forward to discussing this and other end of the world conspiracies with you further.

Which?  Kind of a bad-ass response from a magazine that’s been around since the the 1850’s. Unfortunately, all I know about science is that if you flush a lit M-80 down the toilet it will fuck. up. your plumbing.  Really, I can’t stress that enough.  Also, you should not use roman candles to “burn away” the evidence.  It totally does not work at all and just makes things worse.  Plus, did you know that shower curtains are highly flammable?  Because I didn’t.

PS.  I have no clue how to write a proper scientific proposal and most of you are way smarter than me, so if any of you have any suggestions please feel free to leave them in the comments and I’ll have the Scientific American team come and check them out.  And then we all get knighted as Professional Scientists and then we can wear white lab coats with impunity and pretend to be very important doctors who can’t be bothered to pay their bar tabs because I HAVE A MEDICAL EMERGENCY TO ATTEND TO AND THIS COAT HAS NO POCKETS FOR MY WALLET.  I’m pretty sure that’s how science works.

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.

Oh. That was…unexpected.

You know what’s awesome?  When you’re having a crappy day and the doorbell rings and there’s a guy with a package that you need to sign for and you smile excitedly at him and you’re all “Awesome!  I love getting packages!” and he looks at you weird but you brush it off because Yay! Package! and then you sign for it and you start to reach out for the package and then you realize that the guy looks familiar and that’s because it’s the guy from the pet crematorium and he’s handing you a box full of your dead dog.  That’s awesome.  And by “awesome” I mean that I’m never answering the door again.

Comment of the day: I know exactly what you mean, because I got a package today too. Except mine was full of candy, not beloved cremated pet. If i was a unicorn, I would use my magical powers to turn Barnaby Jones’ remains into candy. I don’t know if you’d want to eat it though… ~ Jamie the Very Worst Missionary

Alternate comment of the day that is technically more of a “noise” than a “comment” but one that I want to remember for next time I have to send someone a sympathy card: [sad trombone] ~ Nanette

Sad trombone, indeed.


Worst. Linkage. Ever.

Updated comment of the day: I couldn’t agree more about the inappropriate linkage. If cremating your dog isn’t going to work, then nothing will. ~ kyknoord

Bonus comment of the day because this post is very short and I need to pad it: This is what I like to do (besides black tar heroin) — Halloween time I buy one of those fake UPS or FedEx costumes and when either guy brings me a package I open the door in a rush and go “thanks I’ll take it from here!” and slam the door.  Will also get you a free pizza if you stock up on pizza company costumes. ~ Chris Illuminati

This is how my whole life goes

This is why I shouldn’t be allowed to be on twitter:

PS.  My friend MariaMelee is truly amazing and her roach spray review was like the Iliad of roach spray reviews.   She’s awesome.  I’m going to go to bed now.

Comment of the day: So…does that mean we’re not getting roach spray? ~ Steve

What’s really sad is that this isn’t a joke at all and that my mom actually was subjected to all of these emails

A series of inappropriate emails I sent to my mother which she has not responded to at all.

(This is all totally true, by the way.  That’s what makes it so very awful.  FYI: Lisa is my sister.  Gabi is my niece.  My mother is a saint.)

To: Mom

Sent: 2:02pm

Weird. I can’t even get my cat to wear a condom.



To: Mom

Sent: 2:04pm

Crap! I meant “sweater“.  I can’t even get my cat to wear a SWEATER. Why did I say “condom”? What is wrong with me?

Pretend Lisa sent this.



To: Mom

Sent: 2:10pm

Also, I just remembered that you said your computer won’t play videos so this whole thing is pointless.  Just trust me that the video was adorable and didn’t have anything to do with cat sex at all.

~still me


To: Mom

Sent: 2:12pm

OR ANY TYPE OF SEX.  It’s a video of a kitty getting wrapped up in Christmas paper.  OHMYGOD! SHUT UP, ME.



To: Mom

Sent: 2:15pm

Hi.  I apologize for being your daughter.  But really you brought this on yourself.

~ me Lisa


To: Mom, Lisa

Sent: 2:22pm

Hi mom!

You’re going to see a bunch of emails from me in your inbox but you shouldn’t read them because they’re all infected with a terrible virus.  Which I got from Lisa.  You should really just avoid her and also any emails from her.  She’s not with you right now, is she?  Because if she is you should push her down.


PS.  I found Gabi’s jacket in my car but now I’ve lost it again.  I need Lisa’s address in case I find it again.  Oh hang on, I’ll just CC Lisa on this so she can tell me.  Duh.


To: Mom, Lisa

Sent: 2:26pm

Oh.  I have made a horrible mistake.

You both should not open the emails from me in your inbox.  They are infected with a virus.  Which I got from daddy.

I love you both very, very much.


PS. Lisa ~ What’s your address?  I may or may not have something to send to you but if you don’t get anything it’s your mailman’s fault and totally not mine.  You have a terrible mailman.


So far?  No response.  Except for my sister who simply responded “You are an idiot“.  Hard to argue with that.

Comment of the day: I just sent my mom a picture of a house in Ohio where we spent 2,475 days growing up. She wrote me back and said, “Oh look, it’s that house in the Hamptons we spent the afternoon at.” ~ Suzy

Fuck Kevin Bacon. (But not in a bad way. Kevin Bacon is fine. This is a conceptual title. Stop yelling at me, Kevin Bacon fans.)

So remember a couple of months ago when I was speaking at a humor panel at Blogher but they scheduled Tim Gunn (from Project Runway) to appear at the exact same time so I demanded that my minions kidnap Tim Gunn and bring him to the humor panel, and then the PR company handling Tim Gunn caught on and I had to distance myself from the whole thing so I wouldn’t be implicated and so the night before the panel I went to see Carson Kressley from Queer Eye for the Straight Guy to convince him to come to the humor panel and just stand next to me because the only way to fight a Tim Gunn is with a Carson Kressley but then Carson was all “Um…no” and I tried to seduce him but he wasn’t into me so I told him I was a drag queen and spoke really throatily and I’m all “Seriously.  This is a wig.  See.” and he just kind of looked at me so I’m all “Fine. Will you at least sign my boobs so you’re there in spirit?” and he did but rather unwillingly?  No?  You don’t remember that at all?  Well that’s probably because I got distracted and forgot to write about it.  I am the worst blogger in the history of ever. So fine.  Let’s catch up…

I sent out these tweets in July:

  • My Blogher panel is competing with Tim Gunn from Project Runway. Awesome.
  • We must strike down Tim Gunn. Or find a way to lure him to our panel. Someone get on that.
  • Minions, activate! Tim Gunn is sweet but easily confused. Use that to your advantage.
  • But be careful. Tim Gunn easily spooks. He’ll be at the Tide booth so you just need to find a way to move the Tide booth into our room.
  • Seriously, he’ll go wherever that Tide booth goes. The Tide booth is key here. Don’t get caught.
  • Also, nothing can be tied to my name for legal reasons. If you get caught, blame blogher. They drove us to this.
  • And by “us” I mean “you”.
  • Shit! The Tide people have found this thread. Abort!
  • Tide people, I had nothing to do with this conspiracy to kidnap Tim Gunn or your booth. I just heard about it myself. So weird.

Then the whole Carson Kressely debacle happened.

Then we had our humor panel which was awesome even though I had a panic attack and ended up sitting on the edge of the stage in case I needed to crawl under it because I FORGOT MY XANAX IN MY ROOM and I’m rummaging through my purse madly minutes before we begin and a girl sitting near me is all “Are you looking for drugs?” and I’m all “Yeah.  Is it obvious?” but then someone else in the audience slipped me a tranquilizer and I didn’t take it because I didn’t know how it would react in my system but it made me feel better just knowing it was next to me and that’s why I love chick blogging conferences.  Because someone nearby always has sedatives to share.

The end.

Oh wait, no.  I still have more story.  But that would have been a good end so if you want to stop there I don’t blame you.  Then the panel ended and I ran back to my room to hide except the hotel “accidentally” kicked us out and changed the locks on us and then I got an email from the head of the company doing PR for Tide that she had Tim Gunn trapped in a hotel room and that I should come down.  And I did.  And he was lovely and charming and genuine and I found myself blurting out how sorry I was for the “whole kidnapping conspiracy thing” and he looked at me kind of blankly but still kindly and the head PR lady gave me this look like “We didn’t tell Tim Gunn about the kidnapping conspiracy” so then I tried to change the subject and I’m all “Seriously, I adore you.  Can I molest you?” and then he started blushing and I’m all  “Shit.  Above the belt, I mean” like that’s going to make it better but instead of running away he said “Certainly, Jenny”.  TIM GUNN REMEMBERED MY NAME, Y’ALL.  And then I lightly molested him and so did Alli and I’m all “Would you consider adopting me?  Or give me some sperm or a hair follicle so I can clone you?”  He didn’t respond but I’m pretty sure it’s just because he didn’t hear me because he is totally the kind of guy that would give you a cup of sperm if you really needed one.  In other words, he’s a gentleman.  William Shatner could learn a lot from him.

Tim Gunn ~ Big Pimpin'

I love this set because he looks a little scared at first but then he's all "Aw fuck, let's just run with it". Except he probably doesn't say "fuck". Even in his head. He's just *that* charming.

Then this morning I read that Tim Gunn is going to be featured in an Iron Man comic:

So basically that means I’m  ONE FUCKING DEGREE FROM IRON MAN.  I called Victor to tell him because he’s at a conference and he was all “Do you have any idea what time it is here?” and I’m like “Time zones mean nothing to me.  Iron Man!”  Then he hung up.  Probably because he was too intimidated by me and Iron Man.

PS.  On an utterly unrelated note (except for the fact that this happened the same day I touched Tim Gunn and I forgot to write about it too)  Deb and Anna and I ran right into the Oscar Mayer Wienermobile, which seemed like an ironic tie-in for a chick conference but when someone offers you a chance to stroke the Wienermobile you don’t say no.  Unless you’re Deb, who told the Oscar Mayer rep that she wasn’t that into it because she’s a vaginatarian.  And the weinie-mobile chick was like “A vegetarian?  We have vegetarian products” and Deb was all “No. A VAGINAtarian” and the girl just kind of smiled blankly and ran away.  Then I’m all “I don’t think she got it.  Maybe you should’ve just said ‘lesbian‘?” and Deb was all “Oh no.  She totally got it”.  Then someone might have put a Bloggess sticker on the wienie-mobile as it was pulling away and it certainly wasn’t me and then Anna was yelling “WHO DEFILED THE WEINER-MOBILE?”    The end. Again.

PPS.  In hindsight, I think I should have ended this at the first “the end”.  Or maybe skipped all this and just posted a link to a video of a cat taking a shower instead.  That probably would have been less confusing for all of us.

Comment of the day: So… don’t kidnap Tim Gunn? Shit. We really need to work out a better system for communication. Don’t get me wrong, this way is fun, but I’ve kind of committed here. Would it be bad… if… let’s say… someone already cut off his finger? I’m not saying it happened, but… okay. It happened. But it wasn’t me. Okay. It was me. But you said “kidnap” and everyone knows that means somebody’s losing a finger. Whatever. I’ll let him go but someone’s going to have to explain this to the Tide people. Not it. ~ MayoPie

If I see Steve Jobs I am going to bite him in the face

So I kept telling Victor I wanted a mac because all the cool people have one and he’s all “You HATE change.  Stick with your PC that I built out of Pterodactyls because that’s how long ago it was.  PC’s are awesome if you are a Republican.”  But then my friend Laura was all “Basically Macs are for dumb people who like shiny things” and I’m all “Holy shit, that’s totally me” and Victor was all “I’m just not sure this is right for you” and I’m like “Dude, I totally know what I’m doing here so stop questioning me”.  So yesterday Victor got me a mac and installed it for me and now I’m all “WTF?” because first off all, there’s no CPU.  It’s just a giant monitor and no tower thingy and I’m all “Where’s the tower?” and Victor’s like “It doesn’t have one” and I’m all “No seriously, where is it?” and Victor’s like “I thought you said you read up about these things?” and I’m all “I READ THAT IT WAS SHINY!” and then Victor was all “Huh?” and I’m like “I heard that it was shiny?” and then he walked off.  So basically it runs on magic.  Which seems fine except before when my PC would break I would just blow on the tower and keep turning it off and on until it fixed itself except it usually wouldn’t and I’d have to ask Victor to fix it and he’d get all huffy and I’d be all “Well I’ve been working on it for hours” and now how am I supposed to pretend that I tried everything when all there is a monitor and a keyboard and  also the keyboard is so tiny that I think it’s missing letters.

Also I started surfing and I kept trying to right-click and it wouldn’t let me and I’m all “VICTOR THIS MOUSE IS BROKEN” and he’s like “There’s isn’t a right-click button.  Macs are different” and then I stopped breathing for a little bit.  Also there is no “print screen” button and instead there’s a button to make the sun brighter and another one to set cruise control, apparently.  I could be wrong about these because I’m afraid to touch anything at this point.  I even had a whole Nancy W. Kappes post for you today except it’s in my email and I have to be able to copy and I can’t do that because I can’t right -click and THIS FUCKING COMPUTER IS TRYING TO DESTROY ME.  In fact, the only thing I’ve accomplished all day long is that there’s a camera on the computer that’s kind of awesome and I used it to give myself three boobs like in that movie that had the lady with three boobs.  I can’t remember the name of it and I would google it but I can’t figure out how to open another window without losing this post but I’m pretty sure it was called “The Color Purple”.


So, yeah.  Mission accomplished.

Comment of the day: The joy of that photo is that it is all things to all people.  If you want to see three boobs, they’re there.  If you want to see a massive Cleavage Canyon, your wish is granted.  But once you see one it becomes impossible to see the other, unless you blur your eyes and stare for awhile, but then your colleagues come up and they’re all, WHAT’S WITH THE THE THREE TITS? and you have to explain that all you see is a cleavage canyon, and you’re reminded how hard it is to connect with others, and you sink into an existential malaise.  Perhaps it’s best not to look at the photo.~ Dropkickjeffy

I think I got a pig heart in the mail. UPDATE: No, it’s a dog sleeping bag.

I know I said I’d have more info on the People’s Party today but apparently I’m a big fat liar.  Instead I’m going to show you a screenshot of my email.  Please keep in mind that all of these emails are from real people and are not spam. (Click to enlarge.)

Also, I just got a package from the girl who sent the email with the subject line “Pig heart in the mail”.  I’m afraid to open it so I’m going to post this and if I don’t post an update it’s probably because I’m dead.  

PS. I want to be buried in a giant pile of marshmallows instead of a coffin because it’s cheaper and also ecologically sound.  And mourners could eat them while they mourn and no one can cry eating marshmallows and someone would do that thing where they try to stick the most marshmallows in their mouth and they’d choke to death and then I could be buried with that person, like I’m some kind of marshmallow pharaoh.  Also I’d like to have a pony buried with me in case they don’t have cars in heaven.

UPDATE:  Opened the first layer of packaging.  Contains brown paper packages tied up with string.  Except the brown paper packages have robots drawn on them.

UPDATE 2:  First package contains buttons with angry lego crossdressers on them.  Also a bag to put dirty underwear in.  True story. 

UPDATE 3:  Opened the second package from pig-heart lady.  It’s a sleeping bag for Barnaby Jones.  And it’s awesome.  For me.  He hates it.

UPDATE 4:  Fuck.  It’s a duvet, which apparently means “bed cover”.  So I’m supposed to stick old underwear and towels in the first sack and then put the duvet over it and it makes a dog bed.  Which is awesome.  Except that I don’t have any old towels or underwear.

UPDATE 5:  I mean, I have underwear…just not enough to fill an entire dog duvet with.

UPDATE 6:  Problem solved.  I stuffed the duvet with a car battery.  Awesome.

UPDATE 7:  Dog refused to get on duvet.  Instead I stuffed the duvet with bag of wire hangers I was going to send back to the cleaners.

UPDATE 8:  This dog is an asshole.

UPDATE 9:  Okay, I took all the hangers out and when I walked back in the room the dog had put himself back in the bag. He looks very proud of himself.  The cats are giving me a look like “we totally warned you”.  They totally didn’t.  These cats are assholes too.

UPDATE 10:  Me: I HAVE NOTHING TO PUT IN THIS DUVET TO MAKE IT LOOK NORMAL.  Victor:  How about the dog’s old bed?  Me:  I hate everyone in this house.

Comment of the day: Look at that poor dog. If ever a dog needed Snuggie sleeves. ~ Steam me up, kid