Category Archives: terrible titles

UPDATED: Don’t let my hands falling off be in vain.

This isn’t a real post.  It’s just a quick update.

Last week I looked at my list of people who’d signed up for one of the free 5,000 bookplates I’d autographed and I found out that there were actually 6,000 people signed up.  Then I sighed deeply and called my publisher and asked if they could send me another thousand and a wrist brace and then they hesitantly told me that there had been a miscommunication and that the 5,000 bookplates I thought I’d autographed?  Were actually 10,000 bookplates.  Which explains why my right arm withered and fell off when I was done.  But the good news is that my publisher still has a few thousand unclaimed bookplates so if you preorder your book by midnight tonight (March 16) make sure you sign up for the free bookplate.   You can preorder your book and sign up for your bookplate right here.  Also, if you’re preordering an electronic version of the book you can totally have a bookplate.  Just stick it to the back of your reader.

PS. Picador just announced that they’re publishing my book in the UK.  Yeehaw, Britain!

PPS. I haven’t heard if non-US publishers will going to offer bookplates, but I’ll keep you posted.

UPDATED:  Matthew Broderick and his most baffling early birthday present ever:

Better than twine.


This isn’t a real post. It’s just something cool I liked.

Many years ago, my friend (Rachael) painted a portrait of my pug, Barnaby Jones Pickles.  Several years later he was killed by a rattlesnake, but I’m pretty sure those two things are unrelated.  At least, I hope they are, because Rachael’s now doing Day of the Dead art and she just surprised me with my own portrait.  Which is completely bad-ass, but maybe not entirely worth death by rattlesnake.

Day of The Bloggess (scan)

Luckily, I’m much bigger than Barnaby Jones Pickles so I would probably survive a rattlesnake bite, and it would make a cool story.  So, I guess what I’m saying is that Rachael’s paintings are worth being injected by venom, nearly – but not quite – to the point of death.  Also, I’m not sure why she doesn’t hire me to write advertising copy for her, because this shit is gold.

PS.  Here’s her site if you want to commission your own portrait.



Victor ruins everything and also probably hates America

Conversation I had with Victor after I decided we needed to start having game night…

me: I’m signing us up for sign language classes so we’ll be really good at charades on game night.

Victor: First off, I don’t do “game night”.  Secondly, that’s not how charades works.

me: I’m pretty sure it is, but you have to learn it too because I need a partner.

Victor: I’m not going to learn sign language just so we can cheat at charades.  We don’t even play charades.

me: Well, we’re going to start.  Because it’s good for America.

Victor: What the f…?

me: Because it’s American Sign Language so it’s patriotic. Because it’s made in America.

Victor: That’s not how patriotism works.

me: Why do you hate America, Victor?

Victor: This is why I don’t talk to you when you’re drunk.

And that’s why we can’t have game night at our house.  Also, I was dead sober and I do not appreciate the implication otherwise.

UPDATED: Oh wait.  No.  He’s right.  I was drunk.

UPDATED X 2: But that doesn’t make me any less right.


I can’t think of a proper title for this.

I’m two weeks behind on the wrap-up again because I suck.  But I have a good reason because Victor’s still dealing with his broken arm (see: “Man Cold” X 80 billion).  He’s having a plate put in it next week, which is nice because that means that he’ll have to be frisked through every airport security check from now on, which helps level the playing field a bit since he always glares at me as I slow him down because apparently my shoes are more complicated than his are.  This paragraph would make more sense if I’d had more sleep.  Probably.


Let’s begin the weekly wrap-up, shall we?:

What you missed on Ill-Advised:

What you missed on Good Mom/Bad Mom on the Houston Chronicle:

What you missed on my sex column (which is satirical and vaguely safe for work if your boss isn’t a complete douche-canoe):

What you missed in my shop (tentatively named “Eight pounds of uncut cocaine” so that your credit card bill will be more interesting.):

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 I was flooded with uncomfortably awkward blog pitches.  Most were robotic form-letters attempting to get a product mentioned in exchange for a high-res photo of something that no one would ever want a high-res photo of.  For instance, an hour ago I got an email from a pr chick (named Bridget) asking if I’d like a high-res picture of Lou Diamond Phillips drinking water.

my response:

Of course I would love a high-res image of Lou Diamond Phillips drinking water.  Who wouldn’t? Please make mine poster-sized and send it to the address below.  Also, it needs to be laminated because I’m going to use it to cover one of the holes the dogs chewed in my bedroom wall and if it’s unlaminated poster paper they’ll just jump right through it like circus lions.  I prefer matte paper over glossy because it looks more classy.  Here is my mailing address:

Jenny L.  10223 Broadway, suite P #359, Pearland TX, 77584

PS.  I just realized that once it’s laminated it won’t actually matter what kind of paper you use so please feel free to use whatever type of paper all the other bloggers are requesting for their poster.

One minute later I sent a follow up:

Hi.  Me again.  I was just telling my girlfriend about your offer to send high-quality images of Lou Diamond Phillips to anyone requesting them and she said she’d like one too but she wants to know if you have any pictures of him not holding water?  If so, that’s actually what I’d like too.  It’s okay if you’ve already mailed me my other poster of Lou Diamond Phillips holding water because honestly, I have a lot of holes to cover up so I can totally use more than one. I‘d thought it was the dogs causing all the damage since I came home yesterday to find Chester LaRue (dachshund) t-boned midway through a hole in the bathroom but then my husband pointed out that our dogs couldn’t have chewed all the holes in the ceiling unless they’d suddenly learned how to levitate. Turns out it’s actually the family of otters that I put in our attic during the winter, who are chewing the holes in the walls to make nests.  I’m not sure why they even need nests.  The whole attic is a nest, otters. My husband is very displeased and frankly I feel a bit betrayed.  This is exactly why you can’t trust otters.

At this point Bridget seemed baffled but showed exceptional professionalism by ignoring the otters and pointing out that they had images of Bobby Brown holding water if that was more my prerogative.

My response:

I appreciate the offer but regardless of how many holes the otters make I would never put up a Bobby Brown poster because we’re Team Whitney.  But you know who I bet would totally want those Bobby Brown posters?  Those fucking otters. Maybe they could just use them to make their nests and stop eating my walls.  Those otters are assholes.

No response.

UPDATE: Proving that not all marketing emails are answered with vague form letters, Bridget responded with a single sentence, agreeing simply that, yes, those otters did indeed sound like assholes.

And in return for that bit of humanity I’m totally sharing this picture of Lou Diamond Phillips holding water.  You’re welcome, America.

I'll say this for him: The man has range.

UPDATED AGAIN:  Wow.  I just got an email from a different PR woman who wants me to share pictures of Selma Blair wearing a goddam scarf.  What the fuck, marketing?

BTW, this was my response to her:

I would love to post a picture of Selma Blair wearing a scarf but unfortunately I *just* posted a picture of Lou Diamond Phillips holding water and I’m afraid that back-to-back posts of random celebrities using everyday objects might be too overwhelming for my readers.  Please keep me posted if you come across any photos of Wil Wheaton collating paper.

Hugs,  Jenny

This is my second post about Abraham Lincoln today and neither of them have been useful in any way. That must be some sort of record. A terrible, terrible record.

In honor of Presidents Day.  And of me being too lazy to write a proper post.  More of the latter really.

Happy day, presidents.