The Bloggess Has Cooler Shit Than I Do

Yup. That’s totally me with The Bloggess. Suck it.

No one has ever brought me a cupcake with a dead monkey on it. Let me explain.

I went to cover a book signing last night for the website I work for. Jenny Lawson, aka @TheBloggess, was shamelessly pedaling her book just because it happens to be on some famous list of books. I don’t know which list, but it has some newspaper name in the title. Let me tell you, the woman was worse than a back alley crack dealer. She sat there for hours and hours because people kept coming up to her and hugging her and stuff. And presumably bought some crack from her. I mean, a book.

The weird thing is her drugged out customers brought her peace offerings of all kinds of crazy-assed stuff. Cupcakes with fondant dead monkeys on them, superhero capes with giant chickens on the back, even metal bugs. Even crazier were the people who wanted their boobs signed.

And through the hundreds of people who wanted their books, their boobs, several baseball bats, and their prescription bottles signed, I waited. Diligently. Because I’m THAT kind of employee. And while I did ultimately end up getting a great interview with The Bloggess, I was a little put out that I hadn’t thought to bring a piece of crap from my house for her to sign. Then I remembered that I had half used carton of cream cheese in my purse (and no, I don’t have to tell you why). But I was afraid she might be lactose intolerant and if I killed her with my cream cheese, her legions of fans might come after me and half of them were holding sharp metal chickens that could cut me. I just got my book signed and went home.

After we were done, she offered me a cupcake which I think is where she hides the crack. Because she’s great like that.

Taxidermied Animals Scare the Crap Outta Me

My family has tolerated my insane fears for as long as I’ve been afraid of things. Random yet paralyzing fears, like my fear of light fixture stores and the ceiling fan aisle of Home Depot. I have a couple of obvious fears, like dolls and clowns, because who doesn’t? And for the record, I’m not afraid of clowns, I’m afraid of people who want to dress like clowns. You know their brain stems don’t go all the way down.

But thanks to Jenny Lawson, aka @TheBloggess, an otherwise extraordinarily funny woman with a host of famous friends like Will Wheaton and Nathan Fillon, I’m afraid of roadkill. More to the point, I’m afraid that someone is going to scrape up some roadkill, preserve it with an unholy expression on its satanic little face, and slap a cutsie hat on its head before standing it up on my doorstep.

I just pissed myself.

I realize the likelihood of someone actually mailing me a dead animal is not that awesome, but apparently it happens to her all the time. It’s really sad, because she’s gotten so used to it that she actually gets excited when a mystery box appears on her porch. She gets all giddy wondering what the hell kind of dead animal might be in the box. And is it wearing pants.

I get it that Jenny lives in Texas and therefore dead animals might just be part of her decorating theme, but I live in Alabama. We’re only seven hours and eight IQ points away from Texas. We hang deer heads in our living rooms. I can’t handle it. I need a ceiling fan to ward off the evil spirits coming out of Bambi’s glassy eyes or maybe a clown in full Ringling Brothers regalia to stand guard at the door. It can’t be as scary as a possessed raccoon staring at me out from under the brim of its straw hat.