Category Archives: stuff better left unpublished

Jenny Lawson: Human Shish Kabob

So, if you’ve been following the crazy bullshit that is my body trying to kill me you already know that I’m on a ton of new meds to fix a ton of broken shit, but the newest update is that my doctor called with more blood results and was like, “Girl, you’ve got ALL the anemias.  Pernicious was just the beginning.  Stop hogging the anemias” and I was like, “I don’t even know what that means” and basically it means that I’m missing a lot of blood for no reason, which sort of makes sense because I lose shit all the time, but it seems like if it was misplacing blood I’d remember, or at least Victor would yell at me for leaving all my blood around like he does about the trail of half-filled glasses of water that I leave in my wake.  “Missing blood” seems a little disconcerting, like when you’re missing time, except usually that’s because of alien abductions so at least you have a reasonable explanation.

And there can be a lot of reasons why I’m so anemic and exhausted and sick and some of those reasons are simple, and some are scary but personally I’m leaning toward “attic vampires”. It would explain the blood loss and also the rustling I sometimes hear upstairs late at night.  Victor says it’s squirrels on the roof but what would squirrels want with all my blood, Victor?  He is the worst detective, y’all.

Anywaymy doctor is also in the “it’s probably not vampires” camp but she says the anemias cause all sorts of things, including making me severely low on a lot of vitamins and other stuff you need to live, which could explain why my lab results were 30 pages of “Bitch, you are all the way fucked up.”

One of the most likely explanations is a bleeding ulcer but they need to be sure so next week they’re going to drug me up and stick one  camera down my nose all the way to my intestines.  Then they put another camera up my booty-pipe all the way to where the other camera stopped, like some terrible river cruise gone horribly wrong. Hopefully they’re different cameras, or they at least wash them well. Basically it’s like having a lot of tourists in me doing flash photography.   I considered live-tweeting it but the nurse says I probably won’t be conscious enough to make sense, but that’s pretty standard for me and twitter.  (Semi-conscious and nonsensical.  Not, “with a camera shoved up my ass”.  That is a new one for me.)  Either way, I plan on asking the doctor if I can have a copy of the pictures so that I can post the most introspective  Instagram shots ever. (Hashtag: #nomakeup #nofilter #iwokeupthisway)

I also plan to ask if they do the scopes at the same time because if so I think that would literally make me a shish kabob for a few seconds, and considering how little I’ve accomplished in the last 6 months it would be nice to at least be able to put that on my resume. “Writer, illustrator, humorist, human shish kabob.”

In more positive news, the new meds and supplements have slowly started to help with the exhaustion and brain fog and I’ve lost 8 pounds on this horrible low-carb, low-sugar diet.  Yay for small victories.

(I miss you, potatoes.)

PS.  This post needs a picture but I don’t have an appropriate one so instead here is a picture of Hunter S. Tomcat.

When he turns his face upside down he looks like an angry guinea pig sticking its tongue out.

I couldn’t put googley eyes on his chin without waking him up so I just drew some on here:

Two pets in one!

I’m too high to write this but I’m going to anyway.

So yesterday I thought it would be fun to leave free books around town and then post pictures of them so people could find them, and I finished one drop…

…and then 40 minutes later I was here:

My God, I’m photogenic. So corpselike.

Long story short, an alien was chewing its way out of my stomach and I started fainting and I couldn’t feel my hands or legs, and then I died.  Except not the last part.  But it felt like it.  Plus the pain lead to a major panic attack so basically it was a great day.  Victor was out of the State (BECAUSE OF COURSE HE WAS) but luckily, my friend Maile was there to drive me to the hospital and hold me against my wheelchair when I passed out and she stayed with me during many tests and morphine shots and she wrote down all the weird stuff I said while I was high and messaged it to me in real time because she’s awesome like that.  Also, she took that picture of me at my request so I could prove to Victor that I was in the hospital because the morphine made me worried that I was dreaming this and apparently I thought Victor would be mad when all these bills came in from my dream.

Also, the nurse left this giant thing in my bed in case I needed to vomit and when I noticed it I was like, “This is the most unrealistic condom ever”…

…and then I started talking about cosmetic vagina surgery and about how I didn’t even know what it was supposed to look like best case scenario.  Like, am I supposed to want a giant labia, or no labia at all?  What are people asking these doctors for?  Butterfly vaginas?  Tiny moths?  Vagina dentata?  I asked the nurse and she was like, “Hell if I know.  That shit’s crazy.”  She was awesome.

Also, they said I had a very elevated level of lactate (?) and I was like, “That can’t be right.  I couldn’t even breast-feed and I’m lactose intolerant.”  But apparently this was something else related to infections or shock.  In the end they gave me a bunch of meds, including one for irritable bowel syndrome and that was the one that finally made my stomach stop trying to turn itself inside out so I guess I can add that to my list of “WHY MY BODY IS AN ASSHOLE”.

I’d explain this all better if I wasn’t still on drugs to keep the alien inside me quiet.  Sorry.

PS. My spellcheck tried to change “vagina dentata” to “vagina al dente”, which is taking weird to a whole new level.  Quit it, spellcheck.


And now…time for the weekly wrap-up!



Shit I made in my shop (Named “EIGHT POUNDS OF UNCUT COCAINE” so that your credit card bill will be more interesting.):


This week’s wrap-up is brought to you by Story Worth, which is a pretty cool idea I think I’m going to try myself.  From them:”This year, give Mom a StoryWorth Book to preserve her stories. Each week, we’ll email her a question about her life – asking her to recount her favorite memory of her grandparents, or whether she’s ever pulled any great pranks. All she has to do is reply with a story, which is forwarded to you and any other family members you invite. At the end of the year, her stories are bound in a beautiful keepsake book your family will cherish!”  Check it out here.

This would be funnier if you were drunk too.

A morning in the life of me:

This morning I went to see Sisters at the movies with my friend Maile.  We were concerned that it might not be funny and we needed it be so we ordered drinks but the movie theater was like, “It’s illegal to sell you booze this early on Sunday morning unless you get food because Texas is weird” but then they admitted that the slice of lime they put on the side of my margarita counts as food, which was awesome because then we were lightly buzzed and also we weren’t going to get scurvy.  I had to pee halfway through the movie but I didn’t want to miss anything so I ran as fast as I could to the restroom, but on the way back I guess I was running too fast (and my feet shrunk because it’s cold here) so as I was running my shoe shot off my foot and flew into the air and when it fell it hit a stranger in the back.    And he was looking up at the ceiling like, “What just fell on me?” and I looked up the air, like I was also concerned that things were falling and said, “Whoa.  What just happened?” as I slipped my shoe back on (which sounds bad but my shoe barely hit him and it was really embarrassing so technically we were both victims) and then I ran back to my seat and told Maile we couldn’t leave because I hit someone with a flying shoe.  And she’s a good friend because she didn’t even blink.  Then this old lady beside us had to go to the bathroom but she lost her balance and almost toppled down the stairs but Maile grabbed her in a concerned man-handling sort of way and kept her from breaking all of her hips, so I think our karma equaled out.  (Saving old ladies > owning a shoe that kicks people in the back.) Like, technically I think we could even kick a few puppies and we’d still be up on the karma points.  Not that we would.  I’m just saying that we could, but we wouldn’t.  Which makes our karma even higher, I think.  Choosing not to kick puppies is a +2 to your karma score every day, y’all.  This is science.

So, long story short, I know this is gonna piss a lot of people off, but Sisters was way funnier than Star Wars.  Sorry, not sorry.

PS.  The booze may not have completely worn off yet.  Sorry.  For real.  Sorry.

PPS.  Also, our husbands and kids met us for lunch afterward and Victor ordered fish.  I think it’s supposed to be fancy but basically they just dropped a whole fish in the fryer which seems like the laziest way to make fish ever.  I usually don’t get why people post pictures of their food and drinks on the internet but I’m making an exception because THEY DIDN’T EVEN REMOVE THE TEETH.  I didn’t even know fish had teeth, so maybe they added them?  I don’t know how fish work.


PPPS.  Sorry again.  For all the stuff above.  The usual.


And now, the weekly wrap-up:


Shit I made in my shop (Named “EIGHT POUNDS OF UNCUT COCAINE” so that your credit card bill will be more interesting.):


This week’s wrap-up is brought to you by Garage Door Nation.  That seems like a weird sponsor but who doesn’t have or need a garage door?  EVERYONE.  Plus, they’re paying for you to read this so let’s give them attention.  They’re the leading supplier of garage door springs and other parts for the do-it-yourselfer looking to save big, including the garage door insulation kit which lets you insulate your garage for lower energy bills all year. They ship nationwide and offers 24/7 online customer service.  Check out their step-by-step free video tutorial here.

And that’s why I don’t trust science.

People always say that every snowflakes is unique, but I’m not sure if I believe it because really who’s checking? Probably somebody just looked at a few dozen snowflakes and said, “Fuck, these things all look slightly different” and then just shrugged and wrote down that “no two snowflakes are alike” because he was cold and ready to go inside and watch Doctor Who.  And even if someone called him on it and was all, “Ten points off because you didn’t show your work” then he’d be like, “IT MELTED, ASSHOLE” and no one could question him because that’s how snow works.  No one ever cares about disproving the science of snowflake individuality even though it seems like mathematically there should be snowflake twins and dopplegangers at least. It’s not like there’s a snowflake fingerprint database.   No one keeps records on snowflakes.

And that’s why I don’t trust science.


And now, the weekly wrap-up…



Shit I made in my shop (Named “EIGHT POUNDS OF UNCUT COCAINE” so that your credit card bill will be more interesting.):

  • “YOU CAN DO IT, FRANK!”  This is a nice shirt because if you happen to be walking past someone named Frank he’ll feel buoyed by your encouragement, and if you’re walking past people who aren’t Frank they’ll just think you’re a nice person and probably be encouraged to lend you money.


Shit you should buy or steal because it’s awesome:  

This week’s wrap-up is brought to you by Calm-A-Mama. “Motherhood is hard. Life is hard. Let us help. Supplement your body and soul with nourishing and restorative blends of traditional herbal and flower extracts. Gentle enough for the whole family. We support you so you can be awesome.” ~ Calm-A-Mama.  Here’s a quick video about their products.  We use a few of their products ourselves, including calm drops at night.    

Jesus. The google searches I’m going to get for this one…

Facebook just suggested I wanted to see a story entitled:

“Man arrested for breaking into funeral home to perform sexual act on female corpse”

My first thought was, “YOU DON’T KNOW ME, FACEBOOK.  That is NOT the kind of weird shit I want to know about and I really don’t appreciate what you’re implying.”

My second though was a mental image of a man performing a strip-tease while standing on a corpse, but I’d guess that’s not what happened.  I don’t know for sure because I didn’t click through.  I think it’s the wording that I find confusing.  That and, obviously, the fact that someone thinks corpses are hot.  That last part goes without saying, I hope.

I just think we can find a better phrase than “perform a sexual act on.”  There are too many variables and too much subjectivity.  Victor says there really isn’t, but I’m pretty sure if people are performing on corpses we can’t really rule anything out.

Also, I’m giving serious thought to cremation and to scrawling “FILLED WITH RAZORBLADES AND LEPROSY”  on my stomach each night, just in case .


And now, the weekly wrap-up of awesomeness:


Shit I made in my shop (Named “EIGHT POUNDS OF UNCUT COCAINE” so that your credit card bill will be more interesting.):

This week’s wrap-up is brought to you by the talented Claire Ashby, who wrote When You Make It Home, which you should buy RIGHT NOW because today it’s 99 cents.  That’s less than I pay…everything, basically. Synopsis:  Meg Michaels, a bookstore owner, has already walked away from two cheating exes. She’s learned her lesson and has her mind set on success—until she gets knocked up. Embarrassed and unwilling to discuss her situation with friends and family, she wears layers to hide the pregnancy.   Theo Taylor, an Army medic wounded in the war, finds out her secret and agrees not to reveal her condition.  The two forge a bond of friendship that blossoms into love. But can their love overcome all the obstacles that stand between them and creating a happy family?Go right now and buy it.  I just did.

I’m a murderer. Sort of.

Remember a few weeks ago when I confessed that I can’t keep a houseplant alive, but then somehow managed to accidentally grow a plant in my pantry when a sweet potato went rogue?  And then I gave it googley eyes and a name?

Sam I. Yam in happier times.  Naturally smiley and high in vitamin C.

Sam I. Yam in happier times. Naturally smiley and high in vitamin C.

Well it turns out I can’t even keep a yam alive because – in spite of my care – Sam turned gaunt and withered and started to decompose.  Sam was blossoming just fine when he was lost in the back of the pantry but when I rescued him he started dying immediately.  It’s like my love is deadly.  Like I’m an accidental Black Widow, but for plants and sweet potatoes.

We had a quiet funeral and I buried Sam, but only up to his eyeballs (which I had to remove and reset) because the spoon I was using as a shovel broke.  And also because I read that if you plant the bottom part of a dead sweet potato they’ll sometimes come back to life.

Victor could take a lesson.

Then Victor looked out his office window asked me why a sweet potato was staring at him from the yard and I explained that I was attempting to make a vegetable zombie, which is sort of true.  Then he sighed at me because apparently bringing the dead back to life is another thing on The List Of Things I’m Not Allowed To Do According To Victor.  I didn’t even mention the broken spoon because if he’s this upset about me trying to Frankenstein a potato I figured he was too irrational to deal with silverware issues, so I took the broken spoon and buried it next to Sam because that way Victor won’t find it and also it’s probably a good way to add iron to the soil.

Then Victor was like, “You don’t have funerals for spoiled potatoes  You throw them away” and I was like “You can’t throw away something you’ve named.  Where is your humanity?” and then he said that I needed to stop naming vegetables, which is just insane because I’ve done that ONCE in my whole life, Victor.  Way to focus on the negative while I’m in mourning.  Honestly, Victor could take a lesson from that upbeat potato.

But the good news is that on my way back inside from burying the broken spoon I saw something that made me smile in spite of the grave situation.

I saw a tiny little weed sprouting out of a small hole in our stairs.


I’m going to call her Shirley.