Jenny Lawson writes about a lot of things in her latest release. Such as:
Holes in her brain Fucked up feet Dog’s vagina Getting stuck Non sequiturs TruisJenny Lawson writes about a lot of things in her latest release. Such as:
Holes in her brain Fucked up feet Dog’s vagina Getting stuck Non sequiturs Truisms Insurance Convos with Victor and Lisa and Hailey Being an introvert Doctors and dentists Pets Marriage Vagina lasers Cooking and cleaning Buttons Bags of dicks Pets (but sadly none of the undead variety)
And depression/anxiety/mental illness. I appreciate that Lawson has become a spokesperson of sorts for subject matter that has been NOT discussed openly pretty much ever, but I am here for the funny. I battle my own inner demons on the regular so I pick up books like this as an escape. It doesn’t help that Lawson comes off as a real one percenter sometimes either. Being able to afford treatment at all is a luxury for many. Feeling better enough to tackle a trip to Europe is nothing but a dream for most - financially if not emotionally. While Lawson still comes off very authentic, unfortunately she’s not always very relatable. I think maybe I need an entire book filled with mortifying moments. Here's one of my own …
I’m going to go ahead and tell y’all a little story about how I came to find @thebloggess because we are obviously kindred spirits with our affinity for dead critters and also because my favorite part of this latest release was hands down the public shaming of ourselves on the interwebs. Okay so about a billion and a half years ago this really not newfangled invention known as the interwebs was finally rolled out for staff at the company I worked for. While it was given to us in order to conduct any legal research that may have been requested, obviously we did not use it for work at all. I got the bright idea to do look for some sportsball paraphernalia that the children needed and typed in what any normal sporting goods store patron in the Midwest would – “dicks.com.” Now as I mentioned above, this World Wide Web was a new thang for our law firm and therefore no firewalls had been implemented. Spam blockers weren’t being utilized either. So when I say I absolutely DID NOT get the correct Dicks – I mean to tell you I. ABSOLUTELY. DID. NOT. and thanks to zero dollars having been spent on reducing pop-up advertising I did not get one site containing the wrong dicks, I got about 147 of them simultaneously. And then I couldn’t figure out how to turn down the sound because speakers had literally never been necessary in the history of ever before that moment. Oh and I worked directly across from Human Resources. #employeeoftheyear
Mitchell says I need to stop being such a crybaby bitch and most people probably can’t relate to collecting dead shit and yet somehow I do so I should STFU and give this 5 Stars . . . .
If you don't get the above, you probably don't like her quite as much as me. This offering contained a couple of *sadface* selections, but all in all it was still 4 Star worthy material that made me laugh out loud more than once. Miles Finch highly recommends the entry about the cat and the toy mouse. He completely relates that one minute black mouse is your bro and the next you just need to drown his ass in your water bowl . . . .
That is why this book is perfect for me. If you are new to all things Bravo or are wanting a housewives book featuring snark and insider scoop regarding the various personalities of the franchise, this may not be what you’re looking for (you probably want one of the many memoirs written by the stars themselves or one of Andy’s various diaries). Buuuuuuuuuuuuuut, if you are like me and have not missed one single episode of one single city since the debut more than FIFTEEN years ago and want allllllll the tea regarding creation, production, hirings, firings, boat rides from hell, dinner parties from hell, scary islands, BravoCon, and exactly what Andy does (and if he is truly the Godfather that gets these broads groveling at his feet to stay on air), then you need to grab a copy of this stat.
My husband would call my weekly dates with these gals a guilty pleasure, but I simply call it a pleasure because I don’t feel guilty at all!!!!
The best part of my day is when I get the T.V. all to myself, am in my jammies with one to three cats snuggling with me and we settle in to watch this spectacle . . . . .
And while it is getting tougher to stand by my girls (especially those like Rinna who went from being a fun-loving asshole to just sort of an asshole or Erika who truly has become a Pretty Mess or god help me poor Dorinda who appears to need an intervention, but got fired instead), do I ever foresee me not recording every catenation that could possibly be released????
Okay, so let’s talk Housewives. Are you a super fan???? Do you scream things at your family like “I MADE IT NICE!” Who is your favorite??? Hands down mine is . . . . .
How far does your addiction go? Does it stop with the wives or are you all in like me and watch all of the Below Decks and Southern Charms and other trash too???? I seriously could survive with Bravo as my only television channel. Oh wait, that’s a lie because Shelby got me hooked on the 90 Day Fiancé universe and I NEVER. LOOKED. BACK. Now 90 Days, Before the 90 Days, 90 Days the Other Way and Pillow Talk (oh my god Pillow Talk is my FAVE.O.RITE.) has even superseded my Housewives affliction....more
There are innumerable reasons to bash social media, to worry our brains are being rewired to crave likes and retweets like fucking junkies. And likThere are innumerable reasons to bash social media, to worry our brains are being rewired to crave likes and retweets like fucking junkies. And like the junkies we’ve become, we lack the attention span to even read the many well-deserved critiques on social media.
I’d say something like “buckle up, kids” but really this was so underwhelming the only thing you’ll need a seatbelt for is the whiplash my free association rambling delivery style is going to maybe provide.
So by now either you’re smart and don’t involve yourself with the toxic side of the internet which is all things relating to the Facebook and Twatter or you’re like me who happened to see a screengrab containing certain “receipts” regarding a temper tantrum and it just so happened to catch your eye due to the fact that you recognized the thumbnail sized avatar, a 4.5 Star review and terms like “assholes” and “nerds on a power trip” being thrown around. A lot of reviewers chose to respond via their rating or shelving the book as a “never ever” which is totally their right, but since I’m an actual asshole I decided to read it. Now, mind you, I don’t want to get it twisted. There’s zero chance someone who behaves badly is deserving of any of my hard-earned nickels, but thanks to having one of the best library systems in the good ol’ USofA I was able to obtain a Kindle copy in short order. I also have a terminal case of FOMO and this ain’t my first rodeo with a BBA so it is what it is.
But enough of that. Let’s get to the actual book. To begin with, I will reiterate what I always say when it comes to memoirs and that is the fact that I don’t totally get why non-famous people feel like their story is so worth telling. To be honest, I don’t get how a lot of famous people think theirs are so interesting to share with the world either. We can chalk it up to me not being a big nonfiction reader to begin with and even more so when it comes to autobiographies, but there’s just a certain level of pretentiousness that accompanies life stories. And that is certainly the case here. Pretentious with copious amounts of victim mentality throughout. I know it makes me heartless and I don’t detract from the fact that some people have had to eat more than their fair share of the shit sandwich their life, but at some point I get tired of the woe is me in every essay. I’m most definitely a glass is half empty type of girl, but JFC not everyone is out to get you and not every slight should be a fucking trigger. And maybe I was on high alert reading this because the author was so inclined to throw an absolute hissy fit because *gasp* she didn’t receive only 5 Star ratings (the HORROR!), but it is what it is and as a female I’ve spent my life having to find a public toilet while everyone in my household could just whip it out and piss in the wind wherever they are so cry me a river that you were a “cable guy” and had to hold your pee sometimes. Also it’s called a funnel and a Gatorade bottle. You’d think if it was such a monumental issue that constantly got you written up at work you’d get inventive. But maybe that’s just me. And oh wow you were a female and were paid less than your male counterparts? Or some creep tried to rub his wiener on you? Stop the presses girl ‘cause that doesn’t happen to ANYONE *eyeroll*. I know all you superfans will probably get it twisted and double down that I’m heartless (which I am), but the point I’m trying to make here is that this author isn’t sharing anything that hasn’t happened in some way, shape, or form to most other women. But the way she writes it, you’d think she was the first. And maybe some of the early reviewers aren’t used to this sort of content so it really blew them away. Who knows?
Before the event which shall not be mentioned again, this debut was receiving glowing reviews. It appears the author had a fanbase due to her blog post that went viral on the Huff Post. I knew nothing about that and had never even heard of this person or her book. So let’s talk about a different pink elephant in the room for a second. Ever since that unfortunate moment when Oprah went all in with James Frey only to discover his memoir should have probably been released as a fictional tale I take every biography that relies on “shock and awe” with a grain (or more like a pound) of salt. At the 9% mark Hough acknowledges that her siblings have a very different recollection of their childhood than she does. That’s what I call a red flag. The viral blog post reads like something Frey himself would have conjured up. And when the selling point that earned you a book deal to begin with is that you grew up in a “sex cult” and you talk about things like having little to no parental supervision while practically raising yourself and going hungry and being homeschooled, etc. only to then say how your mother packed carrot sticks in your lunchbox rather than HoHos or Twinkies makes my hinky meter goes on high alert. Once I sniff B.S. it’s hard for me to not believe nearly everything is half true at best. And being told you often received commentary of “what, did you grow up in a cult or something?” because you weren’t allowed to watch popular films or television programs only to continually reference all things 90210 again feels inauthentic. Hell, I’ve never seen an episode of Schitt’s Creek or The Office. Guess I was raised in a cult too!
And speaking of the cult. FFS how could someone make a cult story so boring???? Simply repeating the phrase “I was raised in a cult” doesn’t make for interesting content. Come on, don’t be a tease. Give us some culty insider info! I’m pretty sure if I Wikipediad “The Family” I could come up with some titillating tales. But since I had never even heard of this cult I was severely underwhelmed with what was provided. Or simply didn’t get it. According to Hough the cult leader’s son was as famous as Prince William???? Uhhhhhhhhhh . . . . . okay?
Then there’s the awful stuff that gets twisted via semantics. Men are rapists, but women who choke you and call you a whore even though you definitely haven’t consented to any sort of BDSM are not. Continually talking about being 6 feet tall and a trained military member who then could never have committed an assault because lifting another women and throwing her to the ground is something only a trained stuntperson could do. Uhhhhhh, okay???? I mean I’m an old fat couch potato, but I’m pretty sure if someone pissed me off enough I could probably channel my inner Stone Cold Steve Austin and knock them on their ass. Saying you got kicked out of the military for being gay in the aforementioned viral essay when you actually decided to break Don’t Ask Don’t Tell yourself. And again, DO NOT come at me that I think discrimination is okay – I’m simply saying she was well aware of the military's policies regarding homosexuality at the time and the repercussions that would follow when she slid that letter across the table and she received an honorable discharge with full benefits when she was "kicked out." Semantics. With a supersized side order of victim mentality. She’s not the only person who has experienced some shit. She was not alone. She was not unloved. She was not friendless. Her family didn’t disown her. Essay after essay has examples of people coming to her aid or her defense, but she clearly doesn’t see it that way.
Oh and the writing that people were supposedly so blown away by????
My original placeholder "review" (in which I simply called myself an asshole) was flagged and removed as an attack on the author. As you all know, I do not shy away from controversial books or bad behavior (I still stand behind my review of Kathleen Hale's debut despite her becoming social pariah) and now that my library hold has come in I will be starting this one in order to give it a fair chance. We'll see what side of the fence I land on . . . ....more
But for the rest of you? I ain’t playin’ around. I’m going to let Irby’s own words sell her book, but PLEASE note these are benign examples and she totally overshares about many various sex things and diarrhea and don’t even think about telling me I Suck Turtles if you read this and get offended by it because it is REALLY going to offend a lot of people. Just not people like me – probably due to all of the turtle sucking I’ve done in the past. Anyway, let’s get on with this short shitshow and the sharing of a few quotes that made me really happy Jeebus invented Poise Pads . . . . .
“Do you own a pair of skinny jeans?”
“Yes, but after I saw a picture of myself in the newspaper wearing them last summer I am never wearing those assholes in public ever again.”
“I am obviously going to die alone, in giant panties that come up to my chin, with crumbs under my tits, and a half-eaten cat face.”
“My sister did Slim-Fast once and her farts were bad enough to singe my fucking nose hairs. She burned a hole through the seat of her jeans. Not even kidding. We had to keep a fire extinguisher next to the goddamned toilet. I know you think I’m making this up but there was literal fire shooting out of her butt! It was like living with a dragon. A skinny-fat, cranky dragon who could light the dinner candles with her asshole.”
And the pièce de résistance . . . .
“Every time I see a Cialis commercial I think, ‘Oh my fucking GOD, I bet the last thing that old broad wants to do is wait for that old dude to finish raking those leaves while his boner pill kicks in.’”
Cottage cheese as the base? Why didn’t I ever think of that?!?!?! My family HATES cottage cheese so that equals me getting to eat the entire bowl all by myself.
I was also afraid this was going to be super hoity-toity. And while it does teach you things like roasting your own poblanos rather than calling every stray cat in the neighborhood to your kitchen with the sound of the can opener, the recipes were really pretty simple (and you could cheat and open a can rather than risking having to urinate all over yourself should you be infected with “jalepeno hands” – Google it, it’s real). It also surprised me by including recipes containing ‘Murica’s most favorite processed cheese food . . . .
[image]
#blech
But the other options???? Just look at some of them . . . .
Do you have super active bottomless pit teenage male humans in your home? If so, you’re in my #thoughtsandprayers because they are horrible. If you share in my suffering you are well aware that they eat all the time and are (generally) incapable of doing things for themselves without telling you that YOU’RE THE WORST! so you keep a deep freezer stocked with unhealthy selections from Costco available at all times featuring things like giant soft pretzels. But look at this "Hill Country Sausage Queso" . . . .
I had originally planned on giving this 2 Stars because apparently I’m a nicer version ofFind all of my reviews at: http://52bookminimum.blogspot.com/
I had originally planned on giving this 2 Stars because apparently I’m a nicer version of me in 2017 and I’m not handing out 1 Stars like candy, but simply taking a once-over of my notes and highlights has me looking a little like . . . .
I can’t remember the last time I read a character I despised as much as I did Ashley – and I’m someone who reads about rapists, murders and drug dealers on the regular, so that’s saying something. Ashley is the reason stupid bullshit like “Mommy Wars” exist. She is the epitome of why we can’t have nice things.
Ashley spends her days as an “accidental stay-at-home mom.” She bemoans the fact that she pretty much lives a real-life episode of Hoarders due to her lack of housekeeping abilities and can’t find time to shower or lose the paunch that’s forced her to only be able to wear yoga pants for the past eight months ever since her daughter was born, but somehow manages to make it to Michael’s Michelle’s crafts in order to drop $300 on the latest Pinterest craze or wile away the hours on social media . . . .
“What’s Facebook? It’s where moms like me post about how much we love the husbands who annoy the living bejesus out of us, and share expertly edited photos of our kids and generally talk about our lives like we’re living in an enchanted fairy tale blessed by rainbow angel unicorns. In short, it’s for lying. But I’m addicted.”
Sidenote: If you can relate to the above post and are on my friend list, please do me a favor and delete me. On the other hand, if you think Facebook is for funny cat videos and memes about how you want to kill your co-workers then please make sure we solidify our best friend status immediately.
When Ashley discovers an online competition being put on by the most successful mommy guru in all of the interwebs, she thinks that will inspire her to get her life together. I thought it would too, but unfortunately the “redemption arc” (if you can even call it that) was done at the eleventh hour and I spent the entire book screaming things at my Kindle such as . . .
The only thing I had going for me was the hope that her bubble of bullshit would burst. Which OF COURSE it did, because this was the most basic effing storyline in the history of the universe where no one really has their life together and we all just fake it ‘til we make it so we should all support each other as women and kumbaya the fuck out of life and pleasegodgivemecancertosavemefromthisstupidity.
If this one works for you, great. (Don’t forget to see the above note about deleting and/or blocking me first, though). I had never heard of Bunmi Laditan before requesting this from the library (which I did courtesy of the catchy title on the GR spam recommendation pop-up). After taking a quick looksee at a couple of other 1-Star reviews, it appears her blog/Facebook/whatever she did before this book deal is humorous and not insufferable like this book. After reading Confessions of a Domestic Failure I really have no interest in looking into her any further, however. And also, to Jenny Lawson who blurbed . . . .
“Freaking hilarious. This is the novel moms have been waiting for.”
Let’s just get things out of the way and address the pink elephant in the room. The titleFind all of my reviews at: http://52bookminimum.blogspot.com/
Let’s just get things out of the way and address the pink elephant in the room. The title of this one alone almost gave me an out of body experience and most definitely had me saying . . . .
Then she added in a homeless-as-fuck looking kitten for the cover art as a bonus and I was sold.
(Have no fear, Samantha Irby, I am far too lazy to actually leave the comfort of my couch in order to stalk you properly. It shall strictly be via the intertubes.)
Several years ago I had a bit of what you might call an addiction to the blogosphere. It started with The Bloggess and other “mommy blogs” like People I Want To Punch In The Throat and several more I can’t remember the name of now and also Hyperbole and a Half and I Can Has Cheezburger (because DUH) and Shit My Dad Says and Damn You Autocorrect and Texts From Last Night and Texts from Bennett and Parents Shouldn’t Text and one about what a dog’s texts would say and on and on and on.
Now I know this might seem insane to you guys, but I’m actually pretty fucking good at what I do for a living. And if you think I read fast? Well, you should see how quickly I can draft and file a pleading or create a closing binder. Like a boss, yo. Long story long, with an entire universe of fellow weirdos right at my fingertips and zero desire to interact with actual, real-life humans - like EVER – the rabbit hole became harder and harder to pull myself out of once I got in and I knew I could end up getting fired if I let myself go there at work. Then Jenny Lawson wrote a seriously disappointing second book that made me realize our pretend friendship probably wouldn’t work out so well after all and the entire imaginary bubble burst so I quit blogs pretty much cold turkey (and began to focus on memes and gifs – lucky you). All this is being disclosed to let you know I had never heard of Samanthy Irby before seeing this title so I can provide zero insight as to whether this is fresh material or simply “upcycled” content from Bitches Gotta Eat that has been repackaged with a mangy cat on the front.
As soon as I saw this thing (somewhere at some time ‘cause y’all know my momma must have dropped me on my head a time or twelve since I cannot remember shit), I ran straight to NetGalley in order to get a copy. Then I noticed the publication date had already passed and forced politely requested the porny library order a copy. Which they did (probably because they’re scared of me by now, but whatever it takes, right?). Oh and NetGalley? You can go ahead and decline me. You know you want to and since I managed to land a copy already there’s no need to keep pretending you’re not going to . . . .
Good news is, since this wasn’t an ARC I’m allowed to quote it. And quote it I must because you need to know if your big girl panties are actually large enough to handle what Ms. Irby is about to throw at you – a/k/a I’m pretty sure you probably need to be at least 72% asshole to truly find her relatable. Lucky for me I’m 97.4% asshole so she was my lobster.
Shall we start with the sewer rat looking mah fah with the yellow backdrop? That’s Helen Keller. Irby was forced to take her in as a roommate when a co-worker brought her crusty eyeballed self in to the animal clinic for saving and they couldn’t force her on anyone else with a clear conscience . . . .
“Could you imagine if Helen was your boyfriend? You’d wake up at five thirty in the morning for work, tiptoe around so you don’t wake up His Highness, stub your toe in the dark multiple times while hastily dressing in clothes that you won’t realize don’t go together until you’re out in daylight waiting for the bus, and spend twelve hours slaving under a brutish dictator, only to come home and find that your companion is lying in the exact spot in which you left him. Except now that the sun is up, you see that his stinky body is curled around that sweater so new you haven’t even had a chance to take the tags off yet. And then what does he do? Get up to greet you with a kiss and a shoulder rub? No, that animal yawns in your face before taking a shit with the door open and asking how soon you can get dinner ready.”
And then she wrote literally an experience I have at least weekly with someone I work with . . .
“Joanna . . . asked me the other day to give her the name of a good book I’d read recently, and . . . I stood in front of her for, like, three real minutes cycling through every book I’ve rated on Goodreads in the last three months trying to determine which one would be the most impressive. I just stood there with my ears on fire wondering if I should just say A Little Life because no one would think you were dumb if you made it all the way through a seven-hundred-plus-page book. And I didn’t; I did not make it through that book, because a quarter of the way in, this other book about teenagers in love that I wanted to read came out, so I abandoned the smart shit to spend an afternoon sobbing over a story about children.”
Not to mention how she once had to pay twenty-seven dollars IN ONE DAY to the swear jar her boss put on her desk (please boss, don’t ever do this, I can’t afford it), or how she spent her formative years waiting for the moment Drake would get up out of that wheelchair on Degrassi and come for her, or that she’d rather be dead than hot in the summer, or that she knows not only all of the cast members of The Real Housewives of Atlanta (past and present), but also all of their children, pets and significant others by name, or when buying a garment for the pool she’d like to request to “see your most opaque turtleneckini and your finest ankle-length swim bloomers,” and admits to having things called “outside pajamas” . . . .
That was the moment my husband and manchild “shushed” me because I was making it hard for them to concentrate on the ever-so-important MLB draft because apparently we’re getting a cut out of the signing bonuses this year or something?????
Maybe the most amazing thing of all is how Irby was able to mix in some real talk and serious subject matter and still keep it light (excluding one thing which I am TOTALLY going to spoil below so you don’t go in unprepared like me). She didn’t shy away from sharing about her abusive upbringing and a run-in with a pervy weirdo, her sexuality, medical problems, etc., but never in a “please pity me” way. She even offered some real truth big gals need to hear right now in case they think they aren’t allowed to have any self-worth just because they’re fat. Simply put, Samantha Irby wrote something amazing. I’ll definitely be picking up her first book Meaty sometime.
Now for the spoilsies. The goddamn cat died . . . . .
If you’re a fan, this is probably old news, but it wasn’t to me and even though Irby tried to keep it light, I still ended up looking like this at bedtime . . . .
WARNING: If you’re sitting at your ‘puter or phone crossing your fingers for an epic tantFind all of my reviews at: http://52bookminimum.blogspot.com/
WARNING: If you’re sitting at your ‘puter or phone crossing your fingers for an epic tantrum to go along with this solo Star allow me to apologize in advance for disappointing you. I had a feeling this wouldn’t end well, which is why I’ve held off on taking a gander at it for so long. Now that I have?????
Batdad: A Parody is the latest victim of the money grab which is blog (or vlog, as the case may be) to book fails. In case you aren’t familiar I’d really like to come visit your cave sometime and also, allow me to introduce you to Batdad . . .
He makes funny videos with his kids/wife/dogs/father/brother/etc. wearing a Batman mask. It’s quite possibly the best time suck in the history of creation and I can easily find myself losing 30 minutes any time I’m having a shit day watching them. Unfortunately, the magic doesn’t translate from video to book. At all. Well, except for this . . . .
That’s funny every single time - but then again it might be because I can’t stop myself from reading the commentary from all the pearl clutchers.
Bottom line, unless it’s by doing something illegal, I don’t generally give a shit how people make their money and if you’re a follower of Batdad you know dude was probably grinding just like the rest of us schmucks in order to provide such a nice home for his family. Hell, even if you are making your money pulling a Walter White or whatnot, just don’t let me know about it (because been there – done that – glad that guy’s house got foreclosed on). Anywho, for those of you who are dense and haven’t picked up what I’m dropping yet, if I was in the same position as Batdad I’d take this book deal too. He probably even knew it would suck, but it’s all ‘bout those Benjamins sometimes and four children require A LOT of Benjamins.
Speaking of Benjamin – if you haven’t had the Batdad experience, I highly recommend the videos starring little Ben. Only dude in a house full of tiny vaginas. His life is going to suck in the next few years when they all get their periods....more
While I've been witness to MANY review bumps in my time here on Goodreads in order to "collect the likes," I may be the first user to ever DELETE MY OWhile I've been witness to MANY review bumps in my time here on Goodreads in order to "collect the likes," I may be the first user to ever DELETE MY OWN REVIEW and all of its likes. Sorry if this looks familiar, but yesterday I proved that a glitch in the system can, in fact, cause me to Darwin myself on the interwebs. Now on to the "new" review : (
Welcome to what was maybe the most epic of all epic buddy reads . . .
PICTURED: Kelly (duh), Mitchell the Book Boar, David Hasselmouse, Vixen, Frank Engator, and Pauly Shore. (Not Pictured: Hannibal Lecter and Harvey Dent because they are more fallaparty (new word) and my husband says I was lucky enough to score dead Oryx and Impala skulls the first time and he won’t be re-purchasing similar items just so I can take selfies. He obviously doesn’t understand me very well. The entire point of buying these types of pets is to take selfies with them. Jeesh!)
Anyway, as per the string of crazy which are my “pre-reviews” below, I was super excited about the release of Furiously Happy. And I tried everything within my power to obtain an advanced copy. Why??? Because as Jenny’s father points out in the re-telling of a story about a decomposing giraffe head that Jenny’s husband put his foot down when it came to purchasing, but was later purchased at an auction and brought to Jenny’s taxidermist father for repair . . .
“My God. There’s more of you.”
He’s right. There’s a lot of us. I don’t even remember how I stumbled upon The Bloggess years ago, but it brought serious amounts of happy to my life. The same went for Let’s Pretend This Never Happened. Unfortunately Furiously Happy fell victim (to me, at least – please note this is only MY opinion and I still liked the dang book fine – I just didn’t looooooove it) to “second book syndrome.” It’s hard enough for a best-selling author to write another book, but it has to be infinitely harder for someone to write another non-fiction book about their own life experiences – especially when having to keep providing content on a successful blog. And therein lies the rub. My enjoyment of Furiously Happy was lessened due to the fact that I had already read most of the material. If you’re not a loyal follower of Lawson’s blog, you’ll get some serious belly laughs while reading stories of complex Japanese toilets and inopportune farts. Buuuuut, you’ll also get a lot of “Debbie Downer” moments talking about depression and medications and therapy, etc. in a very not-so-LOLable way.
I’m not interested in sharing my personal story here because TROLLS, so let’s just say I wanted to read Furiously Happy because I thought it would be like my previous experiences with Jenny Lawson which make the dark parts of life seem a little lighter. It didn’t. In fact, parts of it kinda really brought me down.
I’m not going to focus on the negative, though, because there were lots of positives. Especially in the form of The President. You see, Jenny’s idea mimics a conversation I’ve been having recently with my husband, but since she’s made of awesome she trumps me. Jenny’s idea is to adopt a kitten and name him The President so she would be able to tweet things like “I like sleeping with The President, but why do I always wake up with his butt on my face?” MY M.O. when it comes to obtaining new animals (both live and dead) is that once they are named they are officially mine. (So far it’s worked four times over with our living things and to the point where I look like I’m a big-game hunter for dead things.) Which leads us to Grover Cleveland . . .
I think he might technically be the neighbor’s kitten, but I don’t think they should let him roam around outside and if he ends up in my yard I’m fairly certain that counts as possession which is 9/10 of the law. But man, why didn’t I think of naming him THE PRESIDENT rather than just after A president????? That’s pure winning right there. Well played, Lawson.
Furiously Happy also provided some great advice that should I ever make any sort of dream board I would probably cut out and pushpin to. Things like potential responses to trolls . . .
“Your opinions are valid and important. Unless it’s some stupid bullshit you’re being shitty about, in which case you can just go fuck yourself.”
and “slut shaming”:
“I don’t get the anti-slut-shaming movement. They’re like, ‘Don’t shame the sluts,’ and I’m like, “YOU’RE the one calling them sluts.’ It’s like having a ‘Lay off the fatties’ campaign.”
and how you should reward yourself for not using words like “supposably” or “flustrated” or “liberry.” (Because really, everyone knows it’s really called the LIBURRY.)
and how to succeed at anything:
“Pretend you’re good at it.” (That advice actually came from Neil Gaiman to Jenny Lawson when she was losing her shit. NEIL MOTHERF*&ING GAIMAN Y’ALL!)
The biggest surprise that came to me while reading this book was that the person I could relate to most was Jenny’s father. He came up with some real gems . . .
“You don’t have to go to some special private school to be an artist. Just look at the intricate beauty of cobwebs. Spiders make them with their butts.”
He also proved he may be my own long-lost father (sorry Dad, still love ya, but you’ve GOTTA admit this guy is way more like me than you are) . . .
“You can make a very convincing taxidermied Sasquatch out of a deer’s ass. They don’t sell well in the taxidermy shop but it’s very entertaining when gullible people get an inch away from a deer’s butthole to stare at it with wonder and skepticism.”
I ask myself: “WHY IN THE F*&^ DON’T THEY SELL?!?!?!?!?” I mean seriously, the assquatch is the greatest taxidermy in all of mankind . . .
Did you know that today is my birthday? Well, it is. I'm sure you just overlooked it. Much like you overlooked notifying your publisher that I should have been approved to receive an advanced copy of this book. There's still time to rectify the situation. I'd hate to resort to "Ferris Buellering" you until release date . . .
"She'll keep calling me. She'll keep calling me. She'll make me feel guilty. This is uh... This is ridiculous, ok I'll go, I'll go, I'll go, I'll go, I'll go."
EDIT:
I realized today that this is the first time I was ever denied an ARC and actually was bummed out about it. Now, I realize that not everyone is worthy of a freebie, so I've included photographic proof that will forever be known as Exhibit A detailing why I am more worthy than everyone else . . .
Items 1-8: Dead things. Not only do I have a stuffed boar, but I also have a cross-dressing buck, an ORYX skull (also an impala skull - both former museum pieces which = I win), various rodents and a Day of the Dead deer skull.
Item 9: TARDIS mug.
Item 10: The Dude. Every home should have a Dude.
General area of Items 9 & 10: Magical blogosphering environment.
Item 11: Drunkenly Pinterested "Hodor" artwork.
Item 12: Pop Vinyl. (Sidenote: Jenny, do you have any Pop Vinyls? You should get one. They aren't addicting at all and you definitely can quit buying them at any time. I mean, I am living proof that a person would never buy so many of these damn things that she would completely forget about one for a month.)
Item 13: Copy of book which I already own that needs to join the stack of an additional 10 or 12 and will hopefully one day actually get dropped off at the charity thrift store. Not only am I an idiot, but I also do not find it particularly comfortable to leave my house and interact with other humans. Sound familiar?
Item 14: Cat. You can't see him because he's really squished himself up in there, but he exists. He also is not dead.
Item 15: Another cat. I don't know how he manages to squeeze directly behind that big old flower thing, but he does it EVERY. SINGLE. TIME.
(Sidenote #2: MY cats are not evil and will totally wear the yuckoon face mask unlike some other person's cat I know.)
This list should not only prove that I am deserving of a copy of your book, but it should also make you a little bit worried that we might be the same person. Lucky for you I'm only interested in becoming a professional stalker of Jeff Goldblum, so you're safe.
What better day than Valentine's Day to read a book called Passive Aggressive Notes, righFind all of my reviews at: http://52bookminimum.blogspot.com/
What better day than Valentine's Day to read a book called Passive Aggressive Notes, right? If you're like me and have been married since tiny 8 pound 6 ounce Lord baby Jesus was lyin' there in his ghost manger, just lookin' at his Baby Einstein developmental videos, learnin' 'bout shapes and colors . . .
You're probably already well-versed at being passive aggressive. Heck, if you're like me even the Valentine's Day present for your special someone can get a bit passive aggressive . . .
If you've lived in the real world for more than a minute, some butthole has probably ruined your day. Either by stealing your lunch from the company fridge or playing their music too loud at 3:00 in the morning when you're trying to sleep or not mowing his/her lawn, at some point in your life you might have wondered if everyone else was put on this planet just so they could ruin your day. The answer is yes, yes they were. But Passive Aggressive Notes will teach you how to ineffectively deal with those bastards . . .
Passive Aggressive Notes is one of the dozens (or hundreds???) of blogs that have been converted to books. I assume this is done for people like my father who have no idea what a computer is or why anyone should need their phone to be "smart." Sometimes these books are big hits, but sometimes (like in this instance) they miss the mark. If you're like me and love having strange little books sitting around for guests to flip through (should I make a passive aggressive note telling guests that books aren't allowed near the toilet????? perhaps . . .) this is a fun addition. However, it is kindatiny . . .
and the selections aren't really of "LOL" quality, so I can't give this one more than a "meh" rating of 2.5 Stars.
I did, however, place my own passive aggressive note up in what I have dubbed "the hallway of constant light." I'll update this review should I indeed have to cut a bitch : )
Kelly (and the Book Boar)
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