Category Archives: Random Crap

Babies are the worst kind of birds.

So cupid is like the mascot of Valentine’s Day but basically it’s a baby, right?  At first I thought it was an angel which would be sort of sweet but ultimately questionable because that means the ghost of a dead baby is making you want to have sex with people and that’s weird.

Then I did some research and turns out that cupid is not an angel but is instead a God of Erotic Love (who also happens to be a baby for some reason?) and I guess it’s because sex makes babies but it still doesn’t make sense because babies are the worst and now they have wings?  Have you met babies?  They shit everywhere and they’re always barfing.  The only thing worse is if you gave it a weapon, WHICH SOMEONE DID.

I explained all of this to Victor and he just stared at me but probably because he just realized that he’s only in love with me because he got shot by some invisible aeronautic toddler.

PS. I waited until after Valentine’s Day to post this because I know some of you love it and I don’t want to shit all over it when you’re enjoying it.  Unlike certain flying babies.  Just saying.


Hailey started knitting a few weeks ago and she told me that she wanted to teach me how because it helps with anxiety and also because I keep telling her the cats need knitted hats.  Turns out she’s really good at it but I sort of suck, partly because I drop a lot of stitches but also because I get into the rhythm of it and don’t want to stop and that’s how I ended up with a scarf that is almost as long as me in spite of the fact that it’s Texas and no one here ever needs scarfs.

Hailey kept trying to help me, nicely pointing out that I’d missed a lot of stitches, that I left big holes in it and that giant knots and loose threads were hanging out of it all over.  “It’s really nice,” she said.  “But…it got weird.”

Victor walked by.  “Wow.  That scarf looks like it’s seen things.”

Hailey tried to tie up yarn that had come unraveled at the ends.  “It’s come undone.”

And they weren’t wrong.

But somehow it fit me.  Raggedy and weird and strange.  It’s come undone but honestly, who hasn’t?

But it’s soft.  It’s warm.  It’s comforting and nice even when it’s falling apart.  “This scarf is perfectly me,” I explained.

And they both looked at it with new eyes.

“It’s…artistic,” Hailey said.

“It’s certainly…unique,” Victor said.

And it is.

Also, I totally made hats for the cats and it was awesome but then I texted the pictures to myself so that I could put them on my blog and I got one of the numbers wrong so I ended up texting a stranger pictures of me and my cats in clothes I knitted and I don’t know if I should apologize or if I have a new best friend.

Trust me. He totally loves it.

Sassy beret.

Booksgiving, part 4!

Four years ago this very day I decided to give away 30 copies of my books to people who maybe hadn’t been able to pick one up yet.  I gave them out quite quickly but then lots of other people were like, “I WANT TO GIVE BOOKS TO PEOPLE” and suddenly people were buying each other books and sharing their favorites and adding to their lists of what to read and listening to others about what book they really HAD to read this year and it was fucking incredible.  Honestly the only thing that would make it better would be if we all had otters to bathe, but I can’t provide otters so it’s BYODO.  (Bring Your Own Dirty Otter)  That gives us something to aim for in the future, I guess.

We called the whole thing “Booksgiving” and have celebrated it every year since and this year is no exception.  SO.  Here’s what you do if you want a book.  Make a brand new wishlist with the one book that you want (and make sure that you assign a shipping address to it because otherwise it won’t work) and leave a link in the comments.  I’ll pop in and send a copy of Furiously Happy, or Let’s Pretend This Never Happened or YOU ARE HERE: An Owner’s Manual for Dangerous Minds to 30 lucky people.

If you’ve already read all of those then feel free to chose a different book.  Depending on how much I have left (the books are different prices) I’ll try to send other books as well.

The only rule is ONE BOOK PER PERSON ONLY ON YOUR LIST, with the exception being if you have a child and want to add a book for them too.

If you want to share your favorite book you’ve read recently in the comments that would be awesome.  Or if you wrote a book and want to pimp it out then go ahead.  And if you want to buy a book anonymously for a stranger just check through the comments.  A few books I’ve really loved this month are My Sister, the Serial Killer, The Woman Inside: A Novel, and The Hazel Wood.

Click here for a quick run-down of how to make a new wishlist (Don’t forget the step about adding your address to this specific wishlist!) and when you’re done just leave a comment with a link to your wishlist.  (If you don’t live in America just add that info in the comment so it’s easier to search for people in your area).  Make sure that the book you select is available for Prime shipping and isn’t from a 3rd party seller or a used bookstore because those can’t be shipped to wish lists.

If you decide to gift someone with a book just find a wishlist that has a book on it and buy it.  When you check out select the person’s wishlist address or registry address (You’ll just see their name and city, but not a whole address for privacy reasons).  If they don’t have an address they forgot to add it so delete the book from your cart and try another.

Now, let’s go book shopping!  (PS. This is the best pick-up line in the history of the world.)

Do you still like me?

You know when you realize a friend has stopped “liking” your stuff on social media and you wonder if you’re fighting and just don’t know it and more time passes and you get obsessed and want to ask if they’re mad at you but you don’t because it’s fucking ridiculous but it still bothers you and then you realize that maybe you’re accidentally ignoring other people’s statuses because Facebook isn’t showing them to you and maybe there are other people thinking that you’re mad at them but you’re totally not and you want to tell them that but you can’t because you don’t know who they are and then you think that you’re probably accidentally fighting with LOTS of people but have no clue whatsoever who or why and you wish you could put a status on Facebook that says “Are we still friends or do you hate me – circle yes or no” but you don’t because you’re not in 3rd grade anymore but your brain is totally still in 3rd grade so you just continue to obsess about these terribly quiet fights you are having that are also possibly imaginary?

This is what it’s like in my head all the damn time.

We don’t deserve cats, y’all.

You don’t always get to see Rolly on my feed because she’s our only pet who doesn’t like to dress up in costumes but she’s always behind the scenes and has a special talent.  You know how some cats can tell when someone is about to die and they’ll lay on their bed until they pass?  I know some people think it’s because they’re empathetic and can tell they’re needed but personally I think it’s more likely that that cat wants to eat you and can recognize that you’re an easy target.  That being said, Rolly has this strange ability to know when I’m feeling really sad.  She carries mouthfuls of cat food around while loudly meowing for me and accidentally spitting out the food in a trail behind her and when she finds me she’ll drop the cat food on my lap or in my shoe and look at me expectantly and I have to pretend to eat it or she’ll get her feelings hurt.

It’s both sweet and also a little insulting because she thinks I’m bad at being a cat and can’t fend for myself, which is really pretty accurate now that I think about it.

I don’t have an ending to this except to say that if you struggle with mental illness you need to go out and get yourself a whole posse of rescue pets because they are magic and will remind you that sometimes what you really need is to be gentle with yourself.

Furiously stabby

So if you follow me on instagram you know that when I’m stressed out I embroider because stabbing things thousands of times with tiny needles is great therapy and keeps me from stabbing assholes who probably deserve it since you’re not allowed to stab people even if it’s only lightly in the leg with a fork (according to my therapist).  I usually buy the patterns on etsy but a bunch of people were like, “You should make your own pattern” so I did and yesterday when I was in the waiting room to see my shrink another patient looked over at my work and was like, “Oh.  Well that’s…oh.”  And I’m pretty sure that’s code for “You can go in front of me because clearly you need more help” and so I explained, “It’s a dead raccoon who lives with me” and then she nodded and said she’d left something out in her car and I’m guessing that it was her sense of whimsy and artistic appreciation because personally? I think it’s some of my best work.


I think my underwear just tricked me into entering a legal agreement and from now on I’m adding a page to my books informing people that purchasing the book legally entitles me to half of all their egg rolls.

So I just opened a box of bra I got in the As-Seen-On-TV aisle at the drugstore and it came with a surprise class action lawsuit inside and now I’m questioning all my life choices.

PS.  Victor say you can’t say “box of bra'” and I disagree because I’m totally saying it and you say “box of rice” or “box of macaroni and cheese” so if you buy a bra in a box it’s a box of bra.  This is all basic common sense and I think he’s missing the bigger point, which is that I think I just entered into a binding legal  agreement with my own underwear.

PPS.  Annnnd I just noticed that the picture I took was in Spanish because I’m an idiot.  In my defense though it makes about as much sense as the English version:

I’ve taken on a writing partner and you’ll never guess who it is.

I can’t do this justice by writing it so instead I’m putting it on instagram.  Start here:

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Video #2

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Video 3

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Part 4

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Part 5

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The last one. Part 6.

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When worlds collide.

PS. If you happen to have a Game of Furiously Happy Thrones copy just email me at and I’ll forward it to the publisher who can get you a pristine, new copy with slightly fewer dragons.

Finish this.

You know how at the beginning of January people pick a word to inspire them in the coming year?  Like, “Win” or “Thrive” or “Beauty”?  I never really do these because I don’t like rules even if they’re self-imposed but this year is different because I have a word.

I have begun reading Moby Dick about 380 times in my life and always give up after 200 pages.  That book is my white whale.  But this year I decided to finally finish it so that I could stop seeing it on my reading list and I was rewarded with passages like this one:

511 pages into Moby Dick. Still no white whale. So much sperm.

I read countless passages about whale anatomy, including an entire chapter about how you can turn a whale’s penis inside out and make it into a sleeveless raincoat.  A then in like the last few pages the whale finally showed up and at that point I was 100% rooting for him to destroy everyone including me.  And then it was done.

And I felt really happy.  Because I never have to read it again.  (Apologies to those of you who like it.  You are smarter than me and probably have less ADD.)

I felt a profound sense of accomplishment in finishing a book I’ve literally been reading since I was in hight school and I decided to take that forward and let this be the year of finishing.  Of finishing the book I’ve been writing and rewriting for years.  Of finishing this blog post that I started writing LAST YEAR but then got stuck in the draft folder.  Of finishing everything that I can that weighs over me.

Maybe not everything though, because to truly finish you have to die and I’m pretty sure I’m not ready for that so I guess sometimes it’s all about setting limits to your accomplishments so you don’t end up dead.

I’m writing it here so that maybe I’ll follow though and finish.  With luck I’ll soon tell you that I’m done with my next book.  And when I get stuck and doubt myself I’ll just remind myself that Moby Dick was all about sperm and making whale schlongs into robes and that thing was a damn classic so maybe I need to be just a little less hard on myself.

PS. There were no pictures in my copy of Moby Dick so I went online to look for whale penises and now I have to go burn my computer.  But before I do I thought I’d share this from reddit:

“The whale penis is prehensile, which means it can probe in search of it’s target.”

It’s waving, y’all.  I’m never going back in the water again.


Not sure what’s “traditional” about this, but I still love it.

So I got a couple of copies of Let’s Pretend This Never Happened in traditional Chinese recently and I love the cover but I just took a closer look at the back and it’s my favorite thing ever:

The front.

And the back:

That’s me with my arm jammed in a spermy cow vagina as my sister dressed as a giant hawk tries to pull me out and it’s all over China.

That’s it, y’all.  I’ve finally made it.