Category Archives: NOT dismembered baby feet

UPDATED: Cats eat babies. Apparently.

I was just on the phone with my friend Karen and I was in the middle of (unsuccessfully) convincing her about the importance of guns on roadtrips and then I heard that hurk-hurk noise of a cat throwing up so I ran over to scootch Posey toward the tile and the vomit was all glittery and he looked at me grumpily because I pushed him while he was throwing up and I was all “Posey, if you wouldn’t eat tinsel then you wouldn’t throw up tinsel” and Karen was all “Your cat is eating tinsel? That can’t be good for him” and was like “No, I think eating tinsel is normal for a cat.  It makes changing the litter all festive” and she was all “And this is why I don’t have any cats” and I see her point but she also doesn’t have any guns so I think maybe this is less about cats and more about why Karen needs say yes to things more often.

But then I was all paranoid that maybe tinsel was bad for cats so I went to look it up but when I started to google “cats eat tinsel” this came up:

Oh, Google. Why can't I quit you?

Then, of course, I had to click on “cats eat babies” because I DON’T KNOW WHY.  And the answer given for why cats eat babies makes sense.  Except for the end.


Also, I did look up “Should cats eat tinsel?” and it turns out that no, no they shouldn’t.  So now I have to pull all the tinsel off my Christmas tree.  Way to ruin Christmas, Posey.

"I also ate two ornaments."

PS.  Don’t yell at me for being a bad cat owner.  I rescued Posey from certain death 14 years ago so every day is a gift.  A gift filled with significantly less sparkly Christmas trees and sad, sad holiday vomit.  Also, he has arthritis and is allergic to himself and likes to sneeze copious amounts of snot in your face while while you’re sleeping.  But he did make a music video for African orphans (true story) so stop judging him.  He’s like the best cat ever.

PPS.  Victor just pointed out that Posey may have been trying to kill himself.  Awesome. And now I’m all depressed again.

Updated: Occasionally robot websites will auto-insert links to my blog into their product posts.  It pretty much never works out for them:

"What pet foods are best for my cat?" "Cats eat babies." Well, that's unfortunate.

Netflix thinks I’m a religious psychopath

So last week Victor installed Netflix on our Wii and I don’t understand how that works so I just stared at him blankly when he tried to explain it and the entire time I’m like “You are wasting money” but he did it anyway and now I can’t stop watching movies about serial killers.  And then this morning I woke up and Netflix is all “Hey, you like dark biographical documentaries…here’s a movie about cremation” and I was all “Well, okay, Netflix, if you say so” and then I totally did like it and Victor came in and was all “Aren’t you supposed to be working?” and I was like “No.  I’m taking a break because Netflix gave me an assignment.  You started this” and then he was all “IS THAT A DEAD BODY?!  Why are you watching that?  WTF IS WRONG WITH YOU?” and I was all “I happen to like ‘dark, intellectual biographical documentaries‘ so stop judging me” and he just stared at me and so I flipped back to the menu to show him that I wasn’t just making this shit up and he was all “It doesn’t actually say ‘intellectual’ anywhere” and I was all “Well, it’s implied” and then Victor flipped through the other “I bet you’d like this” movie suggestions and all the suggestions were about serial killers and Jesus and he was like “Really? You are going to get the cops called on us” and I’m all “How did the hell did Jesus get in there?” and what’s really unsettling is that I HAVE NO IDEA HOW JESUS GOT IN THERE.  I don’t know if it’s a sign from God or if the Netflix people trying to convert us.  Either way it feels kind of inappropriate and a little pushy.

PS.  Oh.  Wait.  Turns out Netflix thinks I need Jesus because Hailey keeps watching these vaguely Christian Veggie-Tale movies.  Awesome. Netflix is sending The Passion of the Christ to my 5-year-old.

PPS.  Okay, true story?  Netflix was just like “Hey, you know what you should watch?  Grey Gardens. Here it is.  I got it for you” and I was all “OH MY GOD, I LOVE GREY GARDENS” and then Victor was all “Grey what?  It’s 2:00 in the afternoon.  Why are you still in bed?

Netflix officially understands me more than my husband.

It’s not what it looks like.

This morning my friend Kevin sent me this picture.  Because it reminded him of me:


And then I vowed never to speak to Kevin again because I’m pretty much unoffendable but there is actually a line and that line is babies-being-impaled by-penises-through-their-solar-plexuses and I was all “THAT SHIT IS DISTURBING, KEVIN. NEVER EMAIL ME AGAIN” but then he called me and was like “What’s wrong with you?” and I’m all “What is wrong with you?! Why would you even send me that?” and he’s all “Um…because it’s hysterical?” and I yelled “YOU SICK FUCK” and then he took me off speaker-phone and was all “Why are you yelling at me? This is totally your kind of thing” and I screamed “OBVIOUSLY YOU DON’T KNOW ME AT ALL, KEVIN” and then he was like “Hang on…you think that’s a penis, don’t you?” and I was all “um…yes, because it is a penis” and he was like “WTF, Jenny? Have you ever even seen a penis?  Penises don’t have teeth” and I was all “You are making this worse.” And then he sighed and demanded that I go look at the picture again.  And I did.

And it turns out I owe Kevin an apology because it’s actually a baby in a chicken suit with an alien bursting out of his belly, which I kind of understand because when my kid was that age we put her in a cow costume and I was all “Something’s missing. Probably some sort of phallic alien eating through the baby’s sternum”. So this is me, alien baby parents, applauding you. Also, in the future I’d appreciate it if any pictures sent to me had a disclaimer stating “This is not a penis”.  Unless it is a penis.  Then maybe don’t send that picture.  Unless it’s a penis I really need to see.  I don’t know.  Just use your best judgement.  There aren’t any formal rules on this sort of thing.


On a completely unrelated note, I didn’t do my weekly wrap-up on Sunday because something more important came up so I’m adding it here:

    This week on my sex column (which is satirical and relatively safe for work if your boss isn’t a douche canoe):

    This week on the internets:

    • This blog was named a finalist in the 2010 Bloggies for Best Writing on a blog and Most Humorous blog.  Immediately afterward I posted about my friend trying to commit suicide and then the post right after that contains possibly the most poorly-written conversation about aliens-that-look-like-penises ever published.  People finding my blog for the first time are probably very confused right now.

    This week on Good Mom/Bad Mom on the Houston Chronicle:

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

    Comment of the day: I prefer my version.  (My daughter was not harmed in the making of this photo.) ~ Pete

    Victor says this conversation is about me “not being able to behave like an adult” but I’m pretty sure it’s about how he loves Hitler so damn much.

    Conversation with my husband about Hitler:

    Victor:  This house is a wreck.

    me:  This house is a creative haven.

    Victor:  No.  It’s just a wreck.

    me:  Well, I don’t know why you’re telling me about it.  It’s not my job to clean the house.

    Victor: Yeah, actually it is.  Remember?  You were going to quit your job and work on your book?  And clean the house.  And do the errands.  That was the deal, remember?

    me:  Not really.  That doesn’t sound like a deal I’d make.

    Victor: “I’m going to be the best housewife EVER.  I’ll just write and clean and cook.” Sound familiar?

    me:  Fuzzy.  I was probably drunk when I said all that.


    me:  Oh.  That does sound like something I’d say.  Are you mad about the blowjobs?

    Victor: No.  I’m mad about the fact that we both work at home and that this home is a fucking wreck.

    me:  It’s not that bad.  You’re over-reacting because you’re kind of an anal freak.

    Victor:  You are using a frisbee as a plate.

    me:  What? I’m not-oh hang on, this is a frisbee.  Weird.

    Victor: *glare*

    Me:  Dude.  I’ll wash it afterward. It’s probably dishwasher safe.

    Victor:  It’s not about whether the frisbee is dishwasher safe.  It’s about the fact that you’re using a fucking frisbee to eat on because there are no clean plates.

    me:  There are totally clean plates.  I just saw this on the counter and grabbed it.  Technically it’s a kick-ass plate.  It even has a lip on it so you don’t spill anything.

    Victor:  How does this not bother you?!

    me:  IT TOTALLY BOTHERS ME. I can’t believe I ever agreed to clean the house in exchange for quitting my job.  I can’t believe you’d even think that would work.  If anything you should have known better when you made that deal.  This is all sort of your fault.

    Victor:  I’m going to strangle you.

    me:  And I’m going to replace all our plates with frisbees.  Because I’m a visionary.

    Victor:  I’m fucking serious.

    me:  SO AM I.  THESE FRISBEE PLATES ARE AWESOME.  Besides, I don’t have time to clean because I’m busy doing social media stuff.

    Victor:  What did you accomplish today?

    me:  A lot.  Social media maven…stuff.

    Victor: No.  What exactly did you do today?  Quantify it for me.

    Me:  It’s not quantifiable.  There aren’t even metrics for the shit I do.

    Victor:  Try.

    me:  I re-watched the first season of Chad Vader.

    Victor:  ?

    me:  For research.

    Victor:  The fuck?

    me:  AND I did this doodle about Hitler.

    bloggess hitler toon

    Victor:  That’s…not even remotely funny.

    me:  Dude, it’s totally funny.  You know? Because people always say ‘They only hate me because they’re jealous‘.  But then it’s Hitler and everyone really does hate him and isn’t jealous at all?

    Victor:  Not funny.

    me:  I think I just need drawing lessons.  It took me like two hours just to work out how to put a scarf on a stick figure.  And that’s why I didn’t have time to clean all the soup I spilled in the microwave.  By the way, don’t look in the microwave.

    Victor:  I’m going to lie down until the urge to kill you passes.

    Then he left and never came back.  And I had to clean the microwave because I’m responsible and also because it started to smell like clam chowder even in the bathrooms.  This is why it sucks to be me.  Also, I’m pretty sure that my husband is anti-Semitic.

    PS.  Victor says that not laughing at a joke about Hitler doesn’t make you anti-Semitic but that’s I’m pretty sure that’s exactly what an anti-Semite would say.  They have terrible senses of humor.

    Comment of the day: Your Hitler seems to be choking on a chicken bone. If that had happened to the real Hitler in the late 20’s so much could’ve been avoided. Of course then the Hitler jokes wouldn’t be as funny. ~ Carolyn Online

    I’m way too whiney to think of a witty title for this right now.

    zombie baby


    So the other day I cut through the park on the way to an appointment when I see these babies and I’m like Oh my God, those are the cutest babies ever but where are their parents and OH HOLY SHIT.


    And that’s when I’m all “Fuck.  That baby is a goddamn zombie”.  Fantastic.  Oh, and now the other baby is infected and it’s a zombie too.  Fucking great. Awesome.  That’s exactly what I needed today was to be stalked by two zombie babies.  I mean it’s not that big of a deal because they can’t walk yet so I just have to keep shoving their heads away from me with my shoe, except what the hell do I do now?  It’s not like I can kill a baby.  Even a zombie one.  And where the hell are their parents anyway and why is this my problem? GET OFF ME BABIES. And then a police officer shows up and is all “IS THERE A PROBLEM HERE, MA’AM AND WHY ARE YOU KICKING BABIES?!”

    And I’m like “No officer, there’s not a problem.  I’m just kicking these babies because they’re fucking zombies.  And it’s really less of a ‘kick’ than it is a ‘benign but effective defensive maneuver’.  What? No, actually I’m not going to lay down on the ground with my hands behind my head because that’s where the zombie babies are.”  And then I got distracted because the officer was being an asshole and that’s when one of the babies chewed through my Achilles tendon.

    So long story short?  Yeah. I had a terrible day.

    PS.  This post is really just a metaphor for the kind of day I’m having because someone sent me that picture and he was all “I thought this would cheer you up” and I’m all “THESE ZOMBIE BABIES ARE FUCKED UP.  STOP SENDING ME THIS SHIT” and my friend implied that I have emotional problems for immediately jumping to the conclusion that the baby was a zombie but I have an excuse because I’m dying.  And yes, that’s a slight exaggeration but not by much because I’m taking this chemo drug for my rheumatoid arthritis and it’s making me throw up a lot and and the outside of the bottle is all “YOU’RE GOING TO FUCKING DIE“.

    Actual text meant to scare the shit out of you, I assume:

    “Some side effects of methotrexate may cause death. You should only take methotrexate to treat life-threatening cancer, or certain other conditions that are very severe and that cannot be treated with other medications”

    Which sounds ungood, right?  But actually my arthritis has been in a remission for the last couple months so technically the worst part was just the treatment itself because it makes me throw up all the time.  So last week I convinced my doctor to cut my 10 pill dose down to 8 pills which was awesome because I stopped throwing up but then I woke up this morning and I can barely walk.  Awesome.  And what really sucks is that NO ONE EVEN KNOWS WHY THIS DRUG WORKS.  They’re guessing it *may* work because it fucks up your immune system and keeps cells from growing properly so your body attacks your immune system instead of your joints.  Because who needs a working immune system when you have an autoimmune disease that makes you so sick that your best option is to take a drug that can kill you?  Basically it’s like being stabbed in the neck to take your mind off your stubbed toe.  And that’s why today my feet feel like tiny zombies have been gnawing on them.  See what I did there?  Full circle. Moral:  Rheumatoid arthritis is worse than being attacked by baby zombies.  I think someone has said that before.  Probably Hemingway.

    Comment of the day: I think this is just evolution in action: the big baby is going straight for the brain, & the little one is trying to figure out how to eat a SHOE. I’m assuming survival of the fittest works for zombies.  I mean they’re technically dead, right? I’m confusing myself now. ~ Drolgerg

    Now I just need to find someone who sells human skin

    Sometimes I’ll be in the middle of talking to someone and I’ll be all “HOLD ON. I have to write something down because if I don’t I’ll forget it forever and I’m pretty sure it’s brilliant” and then they sit there in my office looking at me uncomfortably while I spend two minute typing furiously and then I’m all “DONE!” and they’re all “So…what did you just write?” and I look at it and realize that it’s the sort of thing that should never actually be shared so I say “Oh, something about servers and, you know…process analysis?” and they’re all “Then why did you ask me how to spell ‘labia’?” and then I pretend they aren’t there anymore and they leave. Then later I think I should go back to delete it but I can’t because I never delete anything I write so I have 187 draft blogs that are just one paragraph of stuff that even I look at and go “Fuckin-A, I need help”.  Like this post I wrote and never published last month:

    I think newborn babies are kind of gross.  They’re adorable like 2 weeks later when they start looking normal but babies fresh out of the womb are all new-boiled and look like something that had to be forcibly removed from your body.  Because they are. And everyone else thinks that newborn babies are the cutest things ever but no one ever thinks other things you had removed from your body are cute and the only thing that really separates babies from other organs are skin.  Hence, if you were to remove your gallbladder and immediately cover it with skin then it would be cuter than week-old baby.  I haven’t checked the math on this but I’m pretty sure it works and also my horoscope says “If others can’t see what you’re proposing is the coolest thing since the ipod, don’t sweat it.  Persevere!”  And that’s why I’m going to start wrapping skin on medical waste and selling it directly to customers. 

    And then I’ll look at the post again and I’ll be all “This bitch is gettin’ published” and but then right before I publish it I’ll read it again and I’m like “The hell?  I need more medicine”. Now I’ve read it four times and honestly I can’t even tell what I was trying to say. Basically I’m just posting this so that everyone who’s all “Why don’t you write something every day?” can know that there’s a lot of total shit just like this that never gets published and you should probably thank me for not making you read it.

    UPDATED: Wait. I just read it a fifth time and I’m pretty sure it’s brilliant.

    UPDATED AGAIN:  No.  No, it’s not.

    PS.  Meth is a miracle drug and I highly recommend it.  It’s like getting healed by Jesus except that instead of leprosy I had arthritis and instead of being healed I’m just too high to notice the pain.  Also, I haven’t slept in 4 days and last night I vaccuumed my cats.  I FEEL AWESOME.

    Comment of the day: Newborn babies are completely gross. When I visited my best friend in the hospital the day she gave birth to her daughter, I was holding the baby and kissed her on the cheek, and then later my friend is like, ‘I’m going to give her her first bath later’, and I was like ‘what? Hasn’t she already been washed??’ and my friend was like, ‘no, she’s fresh out’. And then I gagged and vomited in my mouth a little bit because I basically kissed my best friend’s uterus juice and that shit is not cool. ~ FruGal