The Bloggess

A conversation I just had with Victor where I respond entirely in gifs and we still don’t get divorced.

Victor:  Are you awake?

Wake up.

Listen.  I need you to take your anti-anxiety meds and come be social with a bunch of very nice strangers.

It’s for a holiday party.

It’s for my work.

Cocktail attire.

So you need to fly to South Carolina to meet me.

It’s this weekend so you need to leave tomorrow.

And pack some clothes for me too and pack something warm for Hailey.

I assume you have enough meds to last you through Monday?  If not, call and get them filled now.

And get a pet sitter for the animals.

I think you might be overreacting.

You’ll like it.  The party will have food.

And there will be cocktails.

You’ll have a good time.

I will be happy if you are there.

And later we can take Hailey to see an aquarium.

Or go ghost hunting.

So, okay?

And I won’t make you leave the house on New Year’s Eve.

Don’t freak out.  Everyone will like you.

Just be yourself.

You are so weird.

I know.

I love you too, weirdo.

WTF?

You’re not trash.

It’s fine.  Just stop freaking out.

I know.  I’ll pick you up at the airport.

You’re welcome.

Don’t go back to sleep.

See you soon.

WHAT.

Today I was driving to my shrink and it’s sort of a long, twisty, weird road to get there and I noticed another car driving in front of me for several minutes and eventually he pulled into my shrink’s parking lot before me. And then he went inside and then I did and after a few minutes in the waiting room he hesitantly said, “Can I ask you a really crazy question that I already know the answer to?” And I said, “Did you want to ask if I’m following you? I’m not. I’m supposed to be here,” and he said, “How did you know that I was going to ask that?” And I was like, “Because I saw you drive to the exact same place and my first thought was that you were following me, except you were in front of me so not only were you following me but you were so good at it that you were following me before I was even there.  And then I wondered if you were a time traveler who knew where I was going and then I realized that was probably irrational but I still thought it was maybe possible because I am open-minded.”

And then he paused for a second and said, “Huh.” And then I was like “See? You were all worried about your paranoia but now you can feel good about the fact that you don’t think time-travelers were pre-following you to your psychiatrist appointment” and he was like, “This is the most helpful psychiatric session I’ve ever had and I haven’t even met the doctor yet.”  And then we fist-bumped in solidarity.

And that’s how the world keeps turning.

Unrelated: Tomorrow I’m going to BookPeople in Austin to sign some books so if you want to buy one for the holidays just click here for Furiously Happy or click here for Let’s Pretend This Never Happened and in the comments section at checkout just say you want a signed copy or you can leave details if you want me to personalize it or draw a cat in it or lick it or whatever.  They ship everywhere.

PS. I don’t have a picture for this post so instead here’s Hunter S. Tomcat eating leftover turkey.  This is pure ecstasy, y’all.  May we all be this happy.

Yesterday I picked up my mail from my post office box and it was mainly books and bills and sweet letters and strange, lovely gifts but there was one box that sort of stood out because it was enormous and inside was a single piece of paper with the words “KNOCK KNOCK MOTHERFUCKER” written out of torn magazine letters like a ransom note:

And under it was an enormous sloth.  Or maybe a sasquatch.  Or a slothsquatch, which I’m not sure exists but totally should.

Um…what?

He had long poles coming out of his hands and his legs were long enough to wear as a scarf (not that you’d want to) and he looked at me with such longing.  “Pick me up,” he seemed to say. Or maybe “Put me out of my misery.”  It’s hard to tell.

DRAW ME LIKE ONE OF YOUR FRENCH LADIES.

And I realized that it was a very old, highly used, full-body puppet.  The kind where you strap yourself to its feet so it walks when you walk and of course I put it on immediately and I was like, “VICTOR, DID YOU GET ME AN ANNIVERSARY SLOTH MONKEY?  BECAUSE YOU TOTALLY NAILED IT” but he didn’t respond so I yelled “IT SMELLS WEIRD THOUGH.  IS IT SUPPOSED TO SMELL LIKE A LIVE SLOTH?  OR A DEAD ONE?”  And then he said something from his office that I later found out something about being on a conference call but I couldn’t hear him because he was yell-whispering and my ears were too full of excitement so I was like, “I DON’T KNOW WHAT YOU’RE SAYING. I CAN’T COME TO YOU BECAUSE I’M STRAPPED TO THIS SLOTH AND HIS FEET ARE ALL SLIPPERY.  ALSO, THE CATS FUCKING HATE THIS GUY.”  Because they did and they were hiding under the couch and I was like, “I CAN’T TELL IF THIS A SLOTH OR A SASQUATCH?  DID YOU BUY ME A USED ‘SQUATCH TO WEAR?” and he was walked out of his office and was like, “JESUS CHRIST I AM ON A CONFERENCE CALL SO COULD YOU PLEASE-” and then he stopped talking because he noticed I was wearing a sloth (or maybe a chimpanzee?) and I paused for a second to judge if he was mad that I’d opened my gift too early, but the stunned look on his face told me that he hadn’t bought the slothsquatch at all so I tried to dance some of the awkwardness out of the moment by making Mr. Noodles sing the Copacabana song.  (I named the sloth/monkey Mr. Noodles because his appendages are so noodly.  Also, spellcheck is telling me that “noodly” isn’t a word because apparently spellcheck has never seen this noodly motherfucker.)

THIS SLOTHSQUATCH ONESIE DOESN’T FIT ME BUT IT’S A GOOD DANCER.

Mr. Noodles is made of awesome.  And possibly some horror and whimsy.  And maybe some dead cats or skinned muppets.  Hard to tell.  He speaks in a high-pitched, kinda nasally  british accent and when I dance with him it’s like if Weekend at Bernie’s replaced the dead guy with an anorexic sasquatch.

“Hellooooooo!”

Then I spent most of the day posing Mr. Noodles in all the rooms of the house or jumping out of the bushes at the neighborhood kids so they could have a sasquatch sighting and then Victor got on a plane and left Texas.  But he was already planning on leaving for work so it’s not like he was fleeing.  Probably.

I’M GOING TO PET YOUR DOG…INSIDE MY STOMACH.

I still don’t know who sent it to me but I think it was my friend, Neurotic Owl.  The return address is “BASEMENT UNDER THE OPERA”.  I have a weird life.  And a slothsquatch named Mr. Noodles.  I feel like I’m winning at life today.

UPDATED: Video, as requested…CLICK HERE.

Thanksgiving is always stressful and I’m on record as being a big proponent of just celebrating it once every four years (like Leap Year, but better) but no one else ever agrees, so apparently it’s still on.  This year might be more stressful than most because this election is a bit of an open wound/dumpster fire and so many of us spent the last year arguing on Facebook with those relatives you only see at holidays and eventually writing “NONE OF WHAT YOU ARE POSTING ON FACEBOOK IS REMOTELY BASED ON FACT.   PLEASE STOP BEING AN ASSHOLE OR I’M GOING TO TELL YOUR MOTHER.”  And now you have to go see those people in person and it is going to be awkward.  So here’s my advice to you.  Print out all of the reasonable and sane articles you want to share and put them in a big briefcase and as soon as you get there just throw them through a window.  It’ll create a loud, terrible noise to distract people from their stress and it will work just as well at convincing that one crazy motherfucker in your family that they shouldn’t fuck with you.  And – BONUS – now you’re the craziest motherfucker in your family.  The crazy you know (and are -sort of- in control of) is better than the crazy you don’t know.  That’s what I always say.

If that seems too extreme then maybe bring bottle of schnapps and tell everyone that you’re going to take a shot every time someone says something reprehensible.  (Hint: Smashing a window with even the most well-intentioned of briefcases is sort of reprehensible so please have a shot for me.)

Or you could just stay calm and sober and engage in a thoughtful conversation that leads to understanding and compassion and empathy.  That last one sounds like the right answer but – just in case – I’m still bringing my schnapps, several pertinent articles to hand to anyone who picks a fight with me, and a brick to throw through the window because I just realized I don’t even own a briefcase.

Happy Thanksgiving, y’all.  I love you even if I disagree with you.

But none of your damn windows are safe.

PS. I just remembered that Thanksgiving is supposed to be about giving thanks so I’m going to try to turn this around to something more positive.

Things I’m thankful for:

My friends

My family

Bricks

Cats

Schnapps

books

you

You know what you should do when your house is messy?  Burn it to the ground and salt the earth so nothing can ever grow there again.  Or just get a second house.

I can’t afford either of those things so instead Hailey and I built a tiny house.  And by “built a tiny house” I mean we went to park and made a house for fairies.  But just the outside because architecture is hard when you’re squatting in what might be poison oak or might just be really itchy leaves you’re allergic to.  Regardless, my house is still a bit messy but at least it’s not built on poison oak or giving me a rash.  So all things considered, things are pretty good.

AFTER.

Click here for the video tour.

PS. Some of you have asked for a tour of the real, haunted dollhouse I’ve been making for the last 12 years.  Working on it.