Dear Jenny Lawson aka The Bloggess
I am writing to inform you of a recent tragedy involving your book Let’s Pretend This Never Happened. I would first like to point out that your publisher is cheaping out on the quality of paper on which your precious words are written. Had your publisher acquired high quality rubber or plastic pages, I would not, in fact, be writing to you now. You see, Jenny, (May I call you Jenny or do you prefer your Bloggess?) on or about April the 25th 2014 at approximately 7:34 p.m. your book was desecrated beyond recognition by a four-day-old baby. I would hope that you can find it in your heart to forgive the child as she knows not what she did. Though we are still reeling from this most horrific event, I assure you that we will do our utmost to make certain that the baby in question is raised to worship your words and will most assuredly join the ranks of your faithful followers one day when she is of an appropriate age. We would, however, understand if you were to punish her by way of excommunication, to set an example for others. Still, I feel the need to reiterate that the babe cannot be held wholly responsible as your publisher must take responsibility for the low grade paper on which your illustrious words are written. Had your publisher taken the proper precautions, there would be no need to explain, how an otherwise innocent baby, could wantonly and with undue force projectile feces across a room onto and into the pages of your wondrous book.
It was with heavy heart that The Church of Jenny in our community lay to rest your holy book. I would now ask, nay, beg that you speak with your publisher immediately in hope that we can avert further tragedies. I would also ask that you trouble yourself not with worry for our loss as we will be passing the collection plate at the grave-site, where many of your followers have gathered and set up camp, to raise the funds needed for our new book. We know in our hearts that the original can never be replaced, but we hope that the new book will in time help us to heal. We will also be raising funds for a bullet-proof, fire-proof glass case in which to keep our most precious holy book to prevent what would most certainly be future soilings.
Good day and bloggess,
Your faithful followers,
A token of our affection.
I’d like to know what a decent person has to do around here to win the lottery. Seriously. I’ve read all these stupid ask the universe books. I’ve got my little vision box on the table next to my bed. Every once in a while I check to make sure all my dreams are still in there. And guess what? They are. What the hell, universe, I thought all I had to do was ask? So far Brad has not left Angelina. And now George is actually engaged to some posh human right’s lawyer! So now I don’t get the vacation home in Italy! Why the hell did I waste my time cutting out all those little pictures if you weren’t going to let me have ANY of the things I’m asking for? Okay, so maybe Brad and George aren’t things. But you said I could have WHATEVER I WANT! LIAR! Do you know how many doctor’s offices I had to sit in to get those pictures? What, did you think I was going to buy the magazines? Do you know how dangerous it is to cut out pictures in a doctor’s office? Pretty sure the doctor would be very happy with me because I was keeping him in business. Some of those women fought hard for those magazines. Pretty selfish if you ask me.
Anyhow, about that lottery. I bought a ticket tonight. Any chance you could see your way clear to letting me win this one? I actually suspect I have the winning ticket. You know why? Because it’s only $5,000,000. Seriously. How am I supposed to survive on that? If you’re going to let me win the lottery, I don’t know why you have to be so cheap about it. See, I’ve been promising a lot of people that when I win I’ll help them out. How can I do that with a mere pittance? I was planning on feeding some starving people, universe. I’ve been a good girl. Have you heard about karma? Maybe you should look it up. I’m pretty sure you’re behind on my payments!
P.S. Don’t tell Sarah I’m winning. she is one of those pesky people I promised to help!
Baby poop and dog acne? What exactly has become of this blog. We used to be a self-respecting blog. We were filled with ideals when we first began. We were going to be all topical. Not like something you’d put on a sundae, or a wart, but topical, like important shit. Then we started getting too serious. And Sarah was all, “You’re too afraid of offending people.” And I was all, “Me? Afraid of offending people?” And then I realized I’d offended her so I stopped. I stopped partly because I’m nice that way. And partly because, frankly, I’m afraid of Sarah. Not afraid in the way that you’re afraid of a serial killer, or your neighbor who peeks out the window and watches you kind of afraid. Afraid in the – shit she knows stuff about me – afraid. Also, she has a mean streak. And she likes to throw food at you. I wouldn’t care, but she always throws the food I wanted to eat still. And once the gravy is in my hair, it just doesn’t have the same consistency as it has on mashed potatoes. So I stopped. I also stopped because I can’t afford to lose any more friends. And that, people, is what brings us to today’s subject: Enough About Those Bitches.
So I went to a movie this weekend. It was a pretty funny movie. But not a “I like to spend $12.00 at the movies” kinda movie. So maybe save the $12.00 and wait for it on dvd. Okay, you twisted my arm. Stop now please. Okay, seriously. STOP. I know you are all dying to know what movie it was, so I’ll put you out of your misery. It was that new chick flick The Other Woman. It was pretty funny and has some great ideas if you have an ex you’d like to get even with. Personally, I’m still a let’s pretend you’re chum and let you play with the sharks kinda girl, but that’s me. You just can’t change me I guess. But, you can get some pretty good ideas from this movie too. Anyway, the movie was funny, but made me sad. Not because of the cheating, slimeball husband. Because of the friendship. *Sigh* The women in the movie become great friends. I miss great friends. Honestly, I think Sarah is one of the few I have left. No. Nobody died. Well actually, that’s a lie. There have been a few. Wow. Bigger sigh. I miss those friends. But I miss the friends that are still alive.
I miss these friends because they are simply too busy to remember to put the time into our relationships. We are not angry with each other. Okay. One of them is. We had a stupid fight. It really was a stupid fight. But there is no way around it. Now that friendship is gone. WTF! I miss her too. But this is really about the other friends. Where the hell are you?! We’ve got secrets we would take to the grave! We held each other’s hair while we puked! We peed in the street! You hated my boyfriend/husband when I was too stupid to know any better. I hated yours as well. You dyed my father’s lawn blue! (For the record, if you drink beer and eat cotton candy, your vomit is very pretty) We’ve been through babies, divorces, affairs, death, life! WTF?! Where are you? Pick up the damn phone! Shoot me a text! Do you even have a pulse? Do you deserve me? I’m thinking not. You are so busy with your lives that you can’t take five minutes to say hello? It burns my ass that if you are hit by a truck tomorrow I will be the first one there. I will help you get back on your feet. Because that’s who I am. I thought that was who you were too. It’s harder to make these bonds as we get older. We don’t give of ourselves so easily anymore. We don’t trust like we did at seventeen. No one knows me like you do. We simply don’t have the time. You make me sad. And I don’t like sad. Last call. That’s what this is. I’m not about to beg anyone for their friendship. You make me feel like a stalker when I’m always the one to call. Here’s a thought, I wouldn’t chase a man, so why am I chasing you?
My head needs a “no vacancy” sign. What is going on? Too many thoughts at once. It has been one of those weeks. In my case, one of those lifetimes. What?! No really – what?! The issue on today’s agenda? Sybil has a penis.
Sybil, like many other women, has a problem. They have begun to think with their penis. Okay, to be clear, Sybil does not actually have a penis. So somebody please, for the love of god, explain to me what is going on? Because I really, really, REALLY want to know. Sybil, like those many women, is not a stupid woman. She is bright, articulate, educated. She has not needed anyone to look after her since she was a little girl. But something has come over her lately. Something has taken possession of her brain. Is it male hormones? Is she a man trapped in a woman’s body, you ask? Good questions! But sadly, no. She is lonely. Sit down, Sybil. I told you you weren’t going like this!
Sybil started dating this guy a while back. Unfortunately, he turned out to be a bit of an idiot and she dumped him. Ever since then, she has been looking for a replacement. Now, I don’t have a problem with a replacement. I have a problem with her desperation. She isn’t thinking rationally. She dates the kind of men that you date when you are young and stupid and don’t know better. In fact, she dates worse. She dates men that she doesn’t particularly like. She even dates men that she thinks would rape her. Now I know you’re all thinking “No way! Not Sybil!” Yes. Sybil.
Let me set up the scenario. She went on a date. The guy drives her home after said date. Sybil allows the guy to escort her to her door. He steps in to say good night. Then he moves in for a kiss. This isn’t just any kiss. Sybil explains to me later that he was very aggressive. He was very “hands on”. Luckily, for Sybil, her roommate came home and interrupted the “kiss”. The next day, Sybil tells me, she believes that if her roommate had not come home, her date might not have stopped.
“So you’re telling me, you think he would have raped you?” I asked.
“Yeah.” She hesitated, “I think so.”
This is the point where your friend tells you what a f-wad the guy is and that they will never see him again. Right? Wrong. Sybil says she is attracted to him. She doesn’t know why. She says he gives her a bad feeling. Something is off. She thinks he looks like the devil. But she is attracted to his bad boy persona. Did I mention that Sybil is no dummy? Yes. I. Did. So what the hell is going on? Why, is she going to knowingly place herself in danger? Now I know that a lot of you are going to be super pissed off at what I am about to say. Trust me. I don’t care what you are wearing. I don’t care if you are dancing naked in front of a hundred men. You are not asking to be raped. NO MEANS NO! No one ever has the right to rape you! However, if you go on a date with a man, you believe may be dangerous. If you purposely, put yourself in a situation, where you will be alone with someone that you believe is capable of rape… YOU ARE ASKING FOR IT! I don’t smear myself with blood and go swimming in shark infested waters. You know why? Because I don’t want to eaten by sharks!
Sybil says she got used to having a physical relationship. She says she now needs sex. I tried to tell her this is why god gave her hands. She says she has a vibrator, but she is used to the real deal now. She needs the skin on skin contact. Nothing can replace it. I tell her rape is not fun. She tells me she will be careful. Well thank goodness for that! Break out the champagne glasses! Sybil is going to be careful! Hot diggedy dog! I feel so relieved. Except, that I’m LYING. I don’t feel relieved. What I feel, is the urge to reach out and slap her – really hard. Maybe slap some sense into her.
So here is the deal. Sybil is one of many. One of an army of women, desperately looking for a man to fill some empty space inside. A space they need to fill themselves. So they use the excuse that they are horny. They need sex. They got used to having it. What a cop out. How do the women who have been in a relationship for twenty years and suddenly find themselves single get by? COP OUT! Stop lying to everyone. Stop lying to yourself. You’re lonely. I get that. You want a relationship? Go ahead. Find Mr. Right. (Sorry. I gagged.) But for the love of god, love yourself first. Take a class. Take a trip. Join a club. Do something. Just stop making sex your excuse for dating losers.
I think I would like to be a Buddhist, except that I think you spell it Buddist, so I might not make a good… one. I tried Christianity growing up, but decided I hated god after he killed my mom when I was ten. It’s all good now though, so don’t go hating on me, all you haters. And by haters I mean religious people.
So, Sarah told me I’m too worried about offending people. She said a good writer doesn’t worry about offending people and I need to do it more. I’m generally very good at offending people in person because I don’t have much of a filter. When it comes to writing though I spew and rewrite. Sarah says less rewrite and more spew. So don’t hate me. Hate Sarah. You should love me. I’m actually very lovable and I’m also the most interesting woman in the world. I even have a smoking jacket and a Dos Equis like that guy, but I don’t smoke because that would just be gross.
So, back to religion. I love religion. I don’t like how people have destroyed what ultimately is supposed to be a beautiful, spiritual experience. I mean, come on, people, you can read pretty much any holy book and find the same ideals. We are supposed to love each other. Love is the basis of almost every major religion. So why are so many of you spreading hate? Why have we been starting wars and killing each other over religion for centuries? Who cares who your god is? It shouldn’t matter what color your skin is, or whether you are heterosexual, homosexual, gay, transgender, married, divorced, rich, poor, tall, short, fat, thin – what matters is that you are a good, decent human being. Trust me, that’s all god cares about. He/she just wants us to be nice to each other. Whoever is out there watching over us must be getting pretty tired of our bullshit. I know I would be. Then again, I’m not god, I’m just a minor goddess on this great planet we call home.
By the way, I was never a Buddhist, but I’m pretty sure I’d like to be. Those guys love everyone – even you!
If I were a bitch, I would sleep all day and eat nothing but chocolate, bacon, nachos, and drink Dos Equis. That’s if I were my bitch. Okay, I may be confusing a few people. I may also be offending a few people. When I say bitch, I literally mean female dog – as in my female dog.
My bitch is in heat. I’ve seen bitches in heat before, but mine literally wants to do nothing but sleep, eat, whine, and generally feel sorry for herself. I’m pretty sure she must have been a woman in a past life. I wish I knew a good psychic who could do a past life reading on her, because I think we’d find out my dog killed her husband while in the midst of a PMS rage. And hey, who could hold that against her?
I guess my point is this, all women should be excused for a few days each month to deal with the curse. All women should be allowed to curl up with a good book and do nothing but eat, drink, and sleep – just like my bitch does. Well, except my bitch can’t actually read. Thank god. I imagine my ass would be in deep do doo if my dog read this. Can you imagine? Holy crap. It would not be pretty. She’d burst into tears and say something like:
Why did you say I do nothing but sleep, eat, whine, and generally feel sorry for myself?! I hate you!
You know the old saying “no point in beating a dead horse”? It’s true. NO POINT IN BEATING A DEAD HORSE! Whoa. (See what I did there?) This applies to sooo many every day issues. This could turn into one hell of a novel. But for now, we’re going to stick with what I came here for. DEATH. My point? If it’s dead, leave it the hell alone! I don’t care if it’s your dog, your cat, your budgie, your goldfish, the guy you buried in the basement, your ex-husband, (Who coincidentally could be the guy you buried in the basement) or your marriage. If it’s dead, leave it the hell alone. I can’t say this enough! Did you notice? I could say it again? Are you falling asleep? Hey! Pay attention! I saw your eyes glazing over! (But that’s another blog…)
So today’s subject is death. I would like to write a letter to my former in-laws and friends of my now (For many years!) ex. The letter would go something like this:
Dear former in-laws and friends of my ex
How are you? I am fine. (This is the proper and polite way to start a letter, especially when you plan to hit them with a shovel later.) I am writing in regards to my ex, who shall remain nameless. For now we shall refer to him as Horse. I would greatly appreciate it if you would stop, cease and desist in feeding his delusions that we belong together. But.. but you feel bad for him because he is unhappy? Awww. That is so nice of you. Now knock it the hell off. He is dead to me. Why must you encourage him? The relationships he has been in since we broke up have not worked out? You think it is because he still loves me? Of course he does! What’s not to love? But here’s a clue; we did not work out either. The relationships are not working out because he is an ass. Our relationship did not work out because he is an ass. Oh, and for your information, I’m not waiting for him. I’m not in a relationship because I’m so F-ING DELIRIOUSLY HAPPY ALONE! I don’t want him. You can have him. He’s too ass for me!
All my love, The Psycho EX Wife
P.S. I have a shovel, a dirt room, and the skill to use both.
My ex is a dead horse. The marriage died a long, painful, suffering death many years ago. It’s been dead for so long now that there is nothing left for the maggots to feed on. You couldn’t find the ashes to spread them. And let’s be honest, even if there was anything to dig up, it would be a zombie marriage now. Though a zombie marriage would likely be an improvement on the live version.
So, in conclusion, what have we learned today? Not to beat a dead horse. Much as I would like to. There is still so much room in my basement.