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Wednesday, December 11, 2013

There are Lots of Vaginas at Bed, Bath, and Beyond

If you draw this card  it represents an opportunity of great freedom, as in the guy you are dating will suddenly tell you he's bought a ticket to see his ex girlfriend in Morrocco, which gives you the opportunity to send "The Second Favorite Text I Have Ever Sent" as follows-



"The Most Favorite Text I Ever Got To Send" was this text-
to an okcupid date I hadn't met yet who texted at 2 AM-



So, in conclusion, what I am saying is this-
Online dating can be really fun
if your idea of "fun" is sitting at home in your sweatpants cracking your own self up writing text messages to strangers.

Go to my Kickstarter campaign and donate a dollar.I have two days left for Christs sake.
Thanks :)

Here's an excerpt from my book about this one time I went super crazy in my FEMA trailer. It's towards the end of the book, just so you know.

page 402-

This is the part of the movie where you see our heroine go batshit crazy. I know, the last time it really seemed like she had finally hit bottom. Come to think of it, so did the time before that.

But life doesn't always adhere to a strict Aristotelian plot line, rather, it twists and coils back into itself like vines of circuitry on a flashing mother board. Just when you think the story has resolved itself there is always a last minute twist.

"Aww man! How many nervous breakdowns is this bitch going to have?" your husband whispers to you in the dark. "If she's going to go crazy again I'm getting another box of Junior Mints."

And you shush and wave him off, even though he's gained a lot of weight in his hips this year since you had to get rid of the gym membership and his ass is starting to resemble the round, womanly behind of your Aunt Edith- either because you are thinking-

"I almost poured myself a tall glass of Drano last week because I feel so lost and alone-If this crazy, white trash slut can pull herself out of this then maybe I can too"

or you think-

"I have wanted to see that bitch get taken down a peg or two since junior high, this is awesome!"

(In which case why don't you come on down to the trailer park and we'll settle this once and for all Bobbie Joe Seton. I'm waiting for you.)

When the scene opens the light outside is just breaking dawn. She has been pacing up and down the length of her FEMA trailer all night, stopping to scrawl a note on one of hundreds of pieces of paper that cover every surface. Muttering to herself as she slides over them in her socks. Her daughter is gone. She is alone.

She catches her reflection in the compact-sized mirror mounted above the sink and stops, taking in an image of a middle age woman wearing a hunter’s cap, four pens and a cigarette pushed into the crazy, unwashed curls escaping from underneath its fur lined flaps.

What is happening to me?

She grabs a ball point pen and a spiral notebook, sits down at the tiny, diner style table inside her trailer and begins to write down her symptoms.

"Thyroid Storm"

"What I find interesting" says the woman in a lab coat as she frowns over her glasses to read the words her patient is scrawling into a spiral notebook. "Is how she is simultaneously experiencing one reality and observing herself experience it-as if she is watching a movie about a girl reading a book about a girl watching a movie about herself." Our heroine continues to write as though she can't hear them, as though they do not exist.

"Ahhhh! A sort of meta-disassociation! Read that last part right there-" her colleague points with one hand, rubbing his bearded chin thoughtfully with the other. "I've never seen a delusion like this. She is writing down everything we say as though we are characters in the imaginary movie. How fascinating."

She adjusts the lens of the video camera mounted on the table, zooming in to a close-up of the words the girl is steadily printing on the page. "We found her roaming around barefoot by the dumpster talking about particles and some guy named Jake Gyllenhal" says the doctor.

"Will she ever recover?" he asks her as they gather their clipboards and Starbucks cups to go.

"I doubt it. I'm going to publish this case in a medical journal. After that the University will have to give me tenure."

"Jolly Good" He says heartily, and they shut the door.

I get up to pee, clutching my stomach and stumbling past the tiny sink full of dishes on her way to the suitcase sized bathroom. I can hear the escapee mouse scurrying behind the walls. The bathtub is full of dirty laundry and books.

"Why am I making myself so sick?" I wonder, hating myself. I flush the toilet and walk back down the hallway of the trailer to begin transferring my written notes into the computer. There is a piece of half eaten toast on the floor. A rotting apple core sits in the middle of one of the full ashtrays on the table. The escapee mouse has chewed into a bag of potato chips and strewn them in a clever trail back to its hideout under the bed should it need to find its way Hansel and Gretel style.

"If I can just figure out what is happening I can stop it." I think as I type. "Am I crazy enough to make myself sick, or am I sick with something that is also making me crazy?"

But even as I type up my research notes to show my doctor next week, I lose myself again in a dream.

"My mother spent my childhood lying in bed, pretending to be sick, but she was really just crazy." Ruby will say to her therapist during her midlife crisis. "I know, my Dad told me."

She will cut off all contact with me, refusing to visit me in the State Mental hospital anymore, even at Christmas. She will continue to be close with her father and Petco, who raised her with love and provided the stability her mother could not as she drifted from trailer to group home to various homeless shelters.

I look around the trailer. Greg is right about me. What kind of environment is this for a child?

Then I see the murals I painted on the walls with my daughter, giant happy suns above multicolored raindrops, otters swimming through the air up to bedazzled spaceships steered by circus mice. I see the puppets we designed out of felt lying on top of the dirty laundry, the elaborate obstacle training course for the mice who have not yet escaped; and decide that maybe I’m okay. I can’t clean, I can’t get a job, I can’t get better, I can’t be a "Normal" mom- but my child knows she is loved.

"You have to tell yourself the story of where you want to go." My dad told me once as we canoed down the Willamette River before he got sick. He pulled the oars out of the water and let the boat drift downstream. "Change your story, you change your life. You're the captain of the ship, kid."

I see my mother drinking coffee with me on the porch. We are close again, like we used to be. I see Fiona pulling me out on the dance floor, laughing and looking gorgeous in some crazy neon glitter bodysuit. I see myself having the energy to play hide and seek with Ruby in the front yard of our house. She is whole, and so am I. She is crazy about the man I fall in love with, who loves me too-just the way I am.

("Man, if there has ever been a better example of a 'high-maintenance girlfriend' I’ve never seen it." Says every future Ok-Cupid date I will ever meet.)

"No one wants to date you because you don't have your life together. It's not cute anymore. Why don't you just go to beauty school and get some marketable skills?" texts my mother. "Sitting in that trailer writing and drawing pictures of the thyroid isn't going to fix your financial problems. Greg is better for her than you are. He has a job and a home that he owns."

"After I fly down there and take the author as my bride," thinks Jake Gyllenhal as he watches the finale of ‘Thyroid Storm" on pay per view. "I'm going to slap that smug look off that bastards face. What kind of man acts like that?"

Which reality will she choose?

"This better not be the scene I saw in the preview where Jake Gyllenhal gives her a sexy massage in their underwear in the honeymoon suite on that heart shaped bed!" Trey says out loud as he throws the remote control on the ground.

"WHORE!" He screams into the night sky under a softly falling rain, shaking his fists at the gods. Then he stops, takes a deep breath and goes inside, lights some incense and sits down in the lotus position. He breathes in and out with the Universe and remembers that both he and the whore are children of God.

"I saw this coming, all right." Thinks Richard as he watches the last scene of 'Thyroid Storm' on his iphone while he waits for his next patient. "She is the bodhisattva, she is waking up."

"I think that stepfather might have been a friend of mine too." Says the ghost of Bill W. as he watches Thyroid Storm on pay per view his wife Lois in their cloud bed up in Heaven. "All those boxed wine coolers that guy had? This poor girl is clearly a dry drunk. She must have gotten stuck on Step Four. What a shame!"

"Aww Hell no! I'll tell you what she outta do God Damn it!" Yells Granny Pearl as she takes a pull from the tequila bottle in her purse. "Put yourself on some high heels, some red lipstick, and a ski mask-borrow yourself a gun from that weird looking survival guy and go hold up the Piggly Wiggly-you know the one up on Decatur where your cousins baby daddy used to work at? Get some fast cash, hightail it down to Mexico and find yourself another honey!" She laughs, slapping her knee. "HELL YES!"

"Is that you, Shitbird?" Oliver slurs into the payphone behind the great honky-tonk in the sky. "See what I tolt you? Money don’t grow on trees."

I throw the pen and spiral notebook into the trash. I can’t concentrate.

"You are so stupid." I think as I lie down and pull the covers over my head."Who do you think you are?" The answer that comes as I fall asleep is-


"Is this almost over?" asks your husband as he sits down with a box of Crazy Fish in one hand and some Reese's Pieces in the other.

"I thought you were getting Junior Mints" you say, annoyed.

"Shhh!" He whispers, pointing at the screen. "Here comes the good part."


  1. So, my BFF and I share a kindle account because I'm poor and computerly deficient. I was trashed and trying to figure out how to get your book on it when you were offering it for free and couldn't manage it so I texted her about it pleadingly. She texted me back later it had been achieved but I was probably passed out by then or spaced it. Cue to last week when I had 2 days of pure plane travel of going to see her in Mexico and then coming back in an attempt to continue my mental health battle out of an institution. I brought Bossypants with me to read, thinking it would last me but finished it the first day. Which left me nothing for the trip home. Then she informed me the kindle app doesn't use data, therefore I was allowed to use it whilst on the plane. I then proceeded to start and finish your book in a day.

    All this nonsense you don't care about to say; I really really enjoyed your book. Like I've read 2 books in the last year, Bossypants was one, yours was the other and I'm so grateful to have picked it. It was phenomenal. I do hope you keep up this blog because I'm totally emotionally invested in your life now and I want to see how you do.

    I mean that in a completely non creeper or pressuring way. But please keep writing.

    1. I'm I've read that about ten times now and each time it makes me so happy. Thank you. Send me your address- I'd like to send you something for that:)

  2. Yknow, I think I saw you before on Okcupid. I can't remember if I messaged you or not. Seems like everyone on that site is fcked up, but I think the secret is admitting you are fucked up and looking for people whose fucked-uppedness compliments your own.