MAKE AMERICA PIE AGAIN!!!!

Because by god, don’t we fucking need something we can all agree on at this point??!!?!?!?!?!

“This is America, you live in it, you let it happen. Let it unfurl.”- The Crying of Lot 49

Look, I know, I really do know. I am really feeling it today. Particularly because I am a person who has a vagina. What happened last night has me even questioning whether women are people (and I know this sounds completely dramatic and ridiculous to some and to those I would point you to this very interesting article written about a month ago on Salon called “Are Women People”), when a man, simply because he is a man, can be elected to one of the most powerful and influential offices in the world despite his complete lack of experience, lack of qualifications, lack of any real solutions to any of the issues facing America or the world, lack of basic human decency in dealing with his fellow man, and lack of tact, grace, humility or warmth.

I know that his being a man was not the beginning and end of his appeal for those that voted for him. I also understand that Hillary’s appeal was…well, virtually nonexistent. Only the most die-hard Hillary supporters were able to look past the fact that she absolutely represented the Washington Old Guard and the worst of what old fashioned political double-dealing and backdoor politicking will get you. But she was, at the very least qualified. Very well qualified in fact which is why it is so maddening that she lost to a bellowing fucking spray-tanned clown in an ill-fitting suit and a red power tie with absolutely NO political experience. Politics and prostitution are the only two professions I can think of where your complete lack of experience could be considered a selling point regarding your ability to do the job. It’s completely insane. But I digress…I am not here to talk about campaigns or candidates or victory margins or the “white working class” or how or why this happened (okay, I might talk about that a little bit). I just want to talk about how it made me feel as a woman, as a feminist, as a mom and a person and what I am going to do about it!

It made me feel like no one will ever truly consider women to be equal to men. It made me feel voiceless and powerless, scared and small, sick and helpless. I am disgusted and so ashamed that this, this MAN will be the outward face of our country for the next four years. This man who judges and sexualizes women. This man who has tried to make so many of us feel so small for so long is now our “leader”. This man who is the literal and proverbial face of white nationalism and who has frothed up an Alt Right and white nationalist movement engaged solely by the fear of growing racial diversity in our country (oh, and maybe by the election of our nation’s first black president….that might have something to do with it too). Fear is incredibly potent and last night saw a record number of white males (and this is a statistical truth, not just my own brainwashed libtard assumptions) turn out to the polls to cast a vote for Trump. But for what were they really casting a vote?

They were voting with their fear, their fear that their white majority will disappear (it will, that’s just simple mathematics), their fear that their guns will be taken away (America, that’s never going to happen, we are going to be allowed to keep shooting each other to death until time runs out), fear that the “progressive agendas” were moving too far too fast (we are all going to be forced to attend HUGE gay, muslim weddings officiated by Germaine Greer and Grace Jones wherein all the bridesmaids are Ru Paul and John Leguizamo’s character from “To Wong Foo, Thanks for Everything, Julie Newmar”, all the guests are Syrian refugees, and the fucking cake is made out of kale or some shit…actually that sounds like one hell of a party…except for the kale cake. Can we, as a species just admit that no one really “loves” kale? It’s fucking terrible, okay!), and as we all know nothing motivates like fear (think “why America invaded Iraq”).

A lot of people are not ready for the America that will inevitably exist. The fight is hard, the setbacks are terrifying and it is every goddamn day but eventually THAT America will exist, the one where sexism is meaningfully and universally eschewed, the one where the lives of all human beings, no matter their age, religion, skin-tone, gender, sexuality, or ethnicity, are valued equally in the eyes of the law and our equality will be sacrosanct! The America where everyone will work to preserve a brighter, cleaner, more civil and more understanding future for the generations that follow us will absolutely exist! It’s just going to take a lot more time than we want it to….than we think we have, than we think we can bear but bear it we will because, Goddamnit, WE ARE AMERICANS! We do not stop fighting for what is good and what is just and what is right just because it’s hard or even because at times it seems impossible! It is when we are faced with what seem like insurmountable odds that we are forced to do our best work and I have no doubt that this country will, in fact be great, and it will have nothing to do with keeping it white, or keeping it insular, or keeping certain people out and other people silent! It will be because we will all rise up to include and value ALL voices and ALL faces because true democracy is about action and inclusion of EVERY person, not just the “right” people!

And it is for that vision that I am formally declaring my candidacy for President of the United States of America in 2020. I said back in March that when I fun for President my campaign slogan was going to be “Make America Pie Again” and, unlike some other filp-floppers, I absolutely stand by this statement! I will make America pie again! And since last night’s election proved to us that Americans are perfectly willing to vote someone with absolutely no political experience into the highest office in the land I think I’ve got a damn good shot at this thing! My platform is simple; I am running for basic human decency, basic human rights (food, shelter, medical care, all protections of all the laws, freedom of speech and expression, freedom from oppression and bigotry, freedom to practice whatever bullshit religion you feel most aligns with your personal ideals, but most of all your basic and inalienable right to eat motherfucking pie) for ALL, NO MATTER WHAT, AND THE RIGHT TO MOTHERFUCKING PIE! I stand for freedom, and pie, simple as that! If we cannot put a pie in every pot (chicken pot pie, perhaps?) then and only then can we truly say we have failed as a nation!!!!

Feel free and even encouraged to download the Bibliodiva For President “Make America Pie Again” bumper sticker jpeg below and share it on all your social media platforms. If you are truly committed to the cause of equal rights, equal pay and equal pie for all and want to display your pie pride outside of the internet, click on the link below and it will take you to a magical place where you can purchase your very own Bibliodiva For President “Make America Pie Again” bumper sticker that will totally exist in real life and not just on the internet! May we all eat pie and may god have mercy on our souls!!! BIBLIODIVA FOR PRESIDENT!!!!!

bumpersticker

Buy your Bibliodiva for President “Make America Pie Again!” bumper stickers & t-shirts HERE! 

Also, (drink) I did not edit this so there are probably a lot of typos but if you feel the need to point them out to me, well, you are just a fucking monster!

Also, also, just so you know how absolutely seriously I am taking this platform, here is a picture of my desk as I sit here writing this…

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Yup, that’s Pie! 

 

54 Times Comics Were Totally Inappropriate

I have to do something…to say something, anything, just so that my not saying anything doesn’t go on for any longer. I miss saying things. I miss having something to say. I miss feeling like it was okay for me to say those somethings. I miss all of you. I miss me. I will find me, soon with any luck, and I will be back. XOXO

In the meantime here’s this:

54 Times Comics Were Totally Inappropes, Dog!

dazzler

That time Dazzler showed off her talents just a little too well.

jughead-the-butch

That time that “something” happened to Jughead. But on the plus side he appears to be getting a reach-around.

take-me-down-to-gay-city

That time that Superman went on holiday to that place he’d been hearing SO much about from Jimmy Olsen. Sorry Jimmy.

that-time-that-batgirl-made-clayface-splooge

That time that Batgirl made Clayface Slpooge all over himself.

that-time-that-batman-came-up-with-the-perfect-excuse-for-just-sitting-around-looking-at-gay-porn

That time that Batman came up with the perfect excuse for just sitting around looking at gay porn.

that-time-bruce-wayne-was-not-entirely-honest-about-his-relationship-with-superman

That time that Bruce Wayne was not entirely honest about his relationship with Superman.

aunt-may-jizz

That time that Peter Parker jizzed all over and Aunt May tried to clean it up.

that-time-lois-lane-was-clearly-sodomized-by-a-robot

That time that Lois Lane was clearly sodomized by a robot.

that-time-batgirl-and-robin-had-some-big-weekend-plans

That time that Robin and Batgirl had some big weekend plans. #orgy

that-time-that-ben-wanted-to-destroy-his-weiner

That time that Ben Grimm was really, really, really hard on his wiener.

that-time-that-captain-america-got-his-junk-fondled-by-a-disembodied-hand-coming-out-of-a-cave

That time that Captain America had his junk fondled by a disembodied hand that emerged from a mysterious cave.

that-time-that-cheetah-got-a-little-too-frisky-with-wonder-woman-in-the-ladies-room

That time that Cheetah got a little too frisky with Wonder Woman in the ladies’ room.

that-time-the-joker-got-really-defensive-about-his-boner

That time that the Joker got super defensive about his boner.

that-time-that-wonder-womans-mom-contemplated-her-future-while-staring-creepily-at-a-big-lesbian-orgy

That time that Wonder Woman’s mom contemplated her future whilst staring creepily at a big lesbian orgy.

that-time-that-superman-was-a-little-too-close-to-his-naked-cousin

That time that someone really needed to teach Superman about the boundaries observed between cousins here on earth.

that-time-that-the-flash-just-fucking-needed-nuts-hunred-of-nuts

That time that the Flash just fucking NEEDED nuts….hundreds of them.

that-time-that-wonder-woman-got-stapped-to-a-giant-vibrator

That time that Wonder Woman was strapped to a giant vibrator.

time-that-batman-was-going-to-teach-robin-a-manly-lesson-in-his-batcave

That time that Batman was going to teach Robin a very manly lesson right in his Batcave.

the-time-that-superman-prematurely-ejaculated-all-over-everything

That time that Superman prematurely ejaculated all over EVERYTHING.

that-time-wonder-woman-needed-to-bite-through-her-gag-so-she-could-perform-fellatio

That time that Diana needed to bite through her gag so she could perform fellatio….obvs.

that-time-that-tony-stark-and-steve-rogers-got-a-little-too-real-about-their-needs

That time that Tony Stark and Steve Rogers got a little too real about their needs.

that-time-that-this-bitch-had-her-priorities-in-order

That time this Bitch had her motherfucking priorities in order.

that-time-that-robin-obviously-had-blown-batman-so-well-that-bruce-was-finding-it-difficult-to-stand-up

That time that Robin had blown Batman so well that Batman was having trouble standing up after the devastatingly life altering orgasm.

that-time-that-superman-needed-his-daddy-to-punish-him

That time that Superman just NEEDED his Daddy to punish him….I mean we’ve all been there, right?

that-time-that-hecules-had-no-qualms-about-living-up-to-his-reputation

That time that Hercules had not qualms about living up to his reputation.

beautyandthebeast_wrap1

That time that Dazzler stood in the rain while feeling Hank McCoy’s nipples after having finally been won over by his teddy-bearish charm.

that-time-that-superman-had-big-plans-for-jimmy-olsen

That time, after the roofies kicked in, that Superman had big plans for Jimmy Olsen.

that-time-that-hawkeye-was-a-total-being-a-total-pussy-about-tigras-pussy

That time that Hawkeye was a total pussy about Tigra’s pussy.

 

that-time-that-batman-failed-to-understand-how-consensual-age-appropriate-s-and-m-works

That time that Batman failed to understand how consensual, age-appropriate S & M works.

that-time-that-batgirl-got-a-lot-more-than-she-bargained-for

That time that Batgirl got more than just a ride.

that-time-superman-got-a-bad-blowjob-and-then-tried-to-forget-it

That time that Superman got a very unsatisfactory blow job and then tried to block it out of his memory.

that-time-that-batman-would-have-needed-to-reevaluate-his-relationship-with-robin-is-he-could-have-read-minds

That time that Batman, had he been able to read minds, might have considered reevaluating his relationship with the Boy Wonder.

that-time-that-green-lantern-and-green-arrow-got-super-intimate-but-then-had-to-worry-about-the-consequences

That time that the Green Lantern and Green Arrow totally had sex but then had to deal with the consequences of their actions.

that-time-that-robins-leather-thong-had-batmans-teeth-marks-all-over-it

That time that Robin’s leather thong had Batman’s teeth marks all over it.

that-time-that-robin-got-arrested-for-indecent-exposre-4-minutes-after-this-panel-was-drawn

That time that Robin was arrested for indecent exposure about 4 minutes after this panel was drawn.

that-time-that-red-skull-really-struck-a-nerve-with-cap

That time that Red Skull really struck a nerve with Cap.

that-time-that-mr-fantastic-was-super-fucking-sexist-on-multiple-levels

That time that Mister Fantastic was super fucking sexist on multiple levels.

that-time-that-ironman-wanted-to-play-rough

That time that Ironman wanted to play ROUGH.

that-time-that-comissioner-gordon-was-concerned-about-robins-ability-to-handle-a-boner

That time that Commissioner Gordon was concerned about Robin’s ability to take a boner….he really shouldn’t have worried.

that-time-that_oh-sweet-god-in-heaven-what-white-nonsense-is-this

That time that Captain Marvel…OH SWEET GOD IN HEAVEN, what white nonsense is this?!?

that-time-this-chick-gave-it-to-her-moms-straight-about-her-love-of-the-d

That time that this Chick gave it to her moms straight about her love of the D.

that-time-when-the-hulk-was-just-too-much-for-ironman-to-take

That time that the Hulk was just too much for Ironman to take.

that-time-that-we-totally-knew-what-hecules-and-quicksilver-were-thinking

That time that we knew exactly what Hercules and Quicksilver were thinking.

that-time-that-superman-violently-ass_raped-santa

That time that Superman violently ass-raped Santa Claus.

that-time-that-robin-finally-figured-out-that-shit-was-super-awkward

That time that Robin finally figured out that shit between him and Bruce was starting to get SUPER awkward.

what-the-shit-is-this-nonsense

That time that Robin wasn’t quite sure how to handle it.

tom-and-the-bear

That time that Batman just sat on his fat ass in the next panel while a guy named Tom got sexually assaulted by a bear. Tom had to marry that bear.

that-time-batman-was-a-one-smooth-motherfucker

That time that Bruce Wayne was one smooth Motherfucker.

that-time-that-these-three-were-clearly-compensating-for-somethig

That time that these three were clearly compensating for something.

that-time-the-boy-woner-tried-tried-eating-ass-but-did-not-realize-you-had-to-take-off-the-pants-first

That time that Robin decided to try eating ass but did not realize that it works much better with the clothes off.

wow

That time that….you know what, this needs nothing from me that it does not already have on its own. Just….WOW!

that-time-those-bandits-used-a-vibrator-on-superman

That time that bandits tried to destroy Superman with a vibrator.

beautyandthebeast_bonuspanel

That time that Dazzler apparently got raped by Beast.

that-time-that-the-green-lantern-had-his-work-cut-out-for-him

That time that the Green Lantern had his work cut out for him.

The Power of Positive Drinking*

*Originally Published as “I am an Achiever” which was a thinly veiled Big Lebowski reference

ACTUALLY I wrote this over a ago and it was first published on May 17th, 2015. I did, however, add some things to the list so there are a few new/updated bits! Enjoy!

I wrote this a few weeks ago and read it at the live reading we did at the beginning of the month, but even if you came to the reading there are some extra goodies at the end of the post. Thanks for reading and I love you guys!!!

I took my son to the park the other day and, granted it was a mild Sunday afternoon of which we do not get many in April in the great Pacific Northwest, I saw 5 pregnant women there…5!!! Oh wait, it gets even more interesting from a sociological and anthropological stand-point (said no one ever…except for maybe Oliver Sacks)! Of all the pregnant women every single one was there with their already existing child/children. And of all of the families at the park that day the pregnant moms were making up nearly half of the moms! Now, I am fully aware that it is rutting season and we are coming out of winter wherein the humans hunker down and procreate, mainly to stay warm and have an excuse to shave, but this just seemed excessive to me. As I watched the the gravid parade of moms waddling slowly from one end of the playground to the other chasing after their rapidly swelling broods, I realized that two of the five already had four children to their names!!!! That means each of those two women were currently gestating a fifth child!!!!

I can’t be the only one who becomes immediately suspicious of anyone who voluntarily has, just an unreasonable shit ton of kids, right (I say voluntarily because I am just assuming that since I saw these ladies at the park neither of them has been chained up in a basement being forcibly and repeatedly impregnated by their captors, but stranger things have happened, GO CLEVELAND)? I mean there are only a few reasons why anyone has that many kids; 1) to repopulate the planet with ready-made, home-schooled evangelical cult members 2) their religious beliefs prohibit the use of birth control (see also reason 1) and 3) sheer stupidity (see also reasons 1 and 2). All this reproduction just seemed excessive to me. I mean these ladies were clearly trying to compensate for something because they were totally overachieving in the baby-making department; they were reproductive overachievers!!!

In the face of all this extravagantly superfluous and even a little show-offy propagation of the human species I started to feel a little bit like a reproductive underachiever with my one measly kid. I will allow that I do have a pretty top notch baby (yes, I realize that he is four and no longer a baby but he will ALWAYS be my baby so shut up about it, okay!), with whom I am desperately in love. But every now and then, as I imagine all mothers do, I get sort of nostalgic for the days when he was a tiny little thing who smelled amazing and never ran away from me in the parking lot of Target. Then I quickly remember what it was like breastfeeding or staying up all night or cleaning feces off his neck and I am quickly ripped out of the land of newborn nostalgia and firmly back on earth where the worst of our problems consist of the DVR always missing the last two minutes of “The Very Hungry Caterpillar” no matter how many times I try to record it from Sprout.

Besides I may be a reproductive underachiever but there are plenty of things at which I totally overachieve! Here is a bulleted list of those things in no particular order:

  • examining my pores in the mirror for hours at a time (okay, half hours at a time, but still)
  • anxiety
  • turning anxiety into chin acne
  • binge watching “Daredevil” on Neflix (and can I just say I’m on episode 10 already and he still doesn’t have a goddamn costume! WTF)
  • oral (full stop) hygiene
  • finding spare change in the car seats while waiting in line at the drive-through for a Blizzard
  • eating an entire pound of grapes in one sitting
  • WINE!
  • sleeping in until 10 o’clock
  • eyeliner
  • plucking my chin hairs
  • angrily screaming “SUCK MY DICK!” at street harassers
  • makeup in general
  • thrift store shopping
  • cussing people out while driving
  • Simpson’s trivia
  • being continually blown away by the size of my son’s poop
  • Boggle
  • neuroses
  • remembering all the names of the characters from the “Transformers” cartoons
  • “Big Lebowski” quotes
  • moping
  • always having a corkscrew
  • laughing at my own jokes
  • stick shift (also not a dirty metaphor)
  • getting kicked in the tits while trying to put shoes on a shrieking four year old
  • scalloped potatoes (I seriously make awesome scalloped potatoes)
  • sarcasm
  • inevitably being that person in the crowded bar who is saying something embarrassing or wildly inappropriate when the music suddenly dies down
  • forgetting to put tampons in my purse
  • scheme hatchery
  • “forgetting” to pay for the items I put on the bottom of the cart (and this is just a karmic reach-around to which I am not looking forward)
  • whiskey
  • insomnia
  • always picking the line at the grocery store that will take the longest no matter how few people are in front of you.
  • reciting the plots of all the episodes of “Ultimate Spiderman” when called upon to explain what the fuck my son is talking about and why he is trying to lock you into some sort of mental combat wherein he is the “Grandmaster” and you are the “Collector” and you each have to pick a team of heroes or villains to battle for the fate of New York City,  and how you should ALWAYS pick Kraven the Hunter because Kraven the Hunter is tits, but I mean, c’mon people, this is day one shit.

I could go on, but I don’t want to toot my own horn. But you see, there are plenty of things I do well, in addition to making fabulous, if not a little free with the nudity, babies! These are the things I have to tell myself in order to sleep at night when wading through the long list of all my inadequacies…also, whiskey helps a lot with that too.

P.S. Yes, I am perfectly aware that there are people with tons of kids who are NOT actually religious fanatics….as I had to point out to a friend of mine who busted my balls the first time this was published. But if I never blew anything out of proportion, never made broad, sweeping generalizations, and avoided hyperbole and sarcasm at all times, this probably wouldn’t be a very fun blog to read, now would it? So you can refrain from emailing me to tell me about all the perfectly normal atheists you know who just happen to have 7 kids because I already know that this is a thing that happens in real life, thank you. XOXO

How I Didn’t Die at the Pool! Go Me!!!

I have been meaning to relink/republish some older posts that were deleted in the website reboot. I figure since I am too damn busy getting ready to get married in two weeks to actually write anything, now is the perfect time to repost some old shit that I have already written and pass it off as new…or not, since the jig is clearly up. Why can I not just keep my fat mouth shut? Anyhow, this was originally published on April, 6th 2015. I hope you enjoy it!

So it was a fairly normal Tuesday when I suddenly found myself childless and in my mother’s car on the way to the aquatic center to participate in something called River Run Boot camp. And that should have been the first red flag right there. As a chubby person whose laziness is depthless I should really know better than to willingly participate in anything labeled as a “boot camp” but I was so intoxicated by the idea of two whole childless hours that you probably could have gotten me to go along with anything at that point. You could be like, “Hey, Dacia! You wanna come with me to a  Hitler youth rally and then have our toenails pulled out and our feet dipped in lemon juice?” and I’d be like, “I don’t…..” and then you’d be all, “Someone will watch Bo for a couple hours so we can go.” At which point I would already be sitting in the car waiting for you and only wondering a little bit how, exactly, our toenails will be removed.

And that is how I came to be in the women’s locker room at the Snohomish Aquatic Center (or SAC if you’re into brevity and funny acronyms) stripping down in front a six-year-old autistic girl who was hiding in the corner to be away from the noise of the cacophonous hand dryers and her mother. I learned a long time ago that there is no point in being bashful in these situations and that if anyone didn’t want to see something they could just look away so I took to removing my clothing with casual efficiency. Then the mother started up a conversation and to my surprise I was not put off at all by making small talk with a complete stranger while removing my panties. “Is it spring break?” she asked me. “I have no idea.” I said. At which point I realized that Easter is this weekend and it probably is spring break…somewhere. I added quickly that my “little one” has spring break next week at which point I noticed a look of abject horror cross the older woman’s face. “He’s just in preschool, though.” I added with a nervous chuckle. This did nothing to temper her appalled expression. At which point I realized that she was asking me about spring break because she assumed I was either in high school or possibly college. There was some additional banter and then she and her daughter were off. I sort of wanted to yell after her, “I’m not a teenage mother! I had him when I was 30!” but I was admittedly pretty flattered at being mistaken for a teenager….especially while topless.

I am white girl. I know this seems pretty obvious but I am not just white, I am like a 10th degree Caucasian and whenever I have occasion to wear a bathing suit in public this fact does not go unnoticed. Inevitably I will catch someone staring at me like they are not sure if I am real or just an apparition at which point they have to look around at all the other people to see if they notice me too. Most people give up staring at me once they realize they are not hallucinating. I was relaying this fact to my mother as we entered the Jacuzzi. She laughed and then pointed out another pale girl across the pool and said, “I dunno, she’s pretty white.” I agreed as we both studied the young lady and she continued, “It is a different kind of white though, she’s less….”
“Transparent.” I offered. “YES!” she agreed excitedly, as I had intuited the exact word for which she was searching, and added something about her whiteness being “creamier” and “more opaque”. Now pay attention kids, my terrifying pallor will be a topic of conversation again.

My mom and I get out of the Jacuzzi and into the river run area which is basically a slow moving current going around in a figure 8, or at least the current seems slow, until you try to go against it, then it seems kind of like trying to wade through Nutella while wearing a lead jumpsuit. Needless to say, about 4 minutes and 38 seconds into the actual boot camp, my doughy ass is sweating like a whore in church and this is really an odd sensation. One is very rarely, if ever, aware of their sweat while actually submerged in water. I see that every time I pass the instructor whilst going through the figure 8 she looks at me with what appears to be barely concealed alarm and I know this is because I probably look like a beefsteak tomato that someone has put in the microwave. Which brings us back to my whiteness. As a 10th degree Caucasian who is nearly transparent, when I am experiencing exertion I get red; my chest, my cheeks, my forehead all turn crimson, same thing happens when I cry…which is really why I should try to do that in public less. About the third time I pass the instructor and notice the same look of concern on her face I almost scream “I am totally not having a stroke! I am just Norwegian!” Instead I just try to smile and look like I am having fun, which I actually am, but I think my attempt at conveying “I am totally having a good time and you should not worry” appeared more like “I am a sociopath that has no idea how to properly express human emotions…and also I might be pooping right now”.

In a shocking turn of events, I managed to last the whole hour of boot camp without dropping dead, much to the visible relief of our instructor. And after a brief post-boot-camp soak in the Jacuzzi it was back to the locker room, where upon catching a glimpse of my reflection in a mirror on the way to the showers, I had to admit to that I really could not blame the instructor for thinking I was going to die because I was, really, really red. But none of this is the best part!!! The best part is that while showering and getting ready to leave I found a kickass pair of Jack Skellington hairpins abandoned in the shower soap dish!!! Score!!!

Totally fucking worth nearly getting mistakenly carted away from the pool on a stretcher!

And, yes, I am fully aware that I should have turned the hairpins into the lost and found at the front desk but I feel as though it is a pretty well established fact that I am an asshole…so I didn’t do that.

Goodbye for now my dearies!

BUNNIES!!!!!

OH MY GOD, y’all! I just discovered that there are bunnies living on the grounds of the office complex which houses the newspaper where I work. I literally just spent like 27 minutes staring out the the window of the lunch room when I should have been working, just watching a bunny eating some grass. I mean, you’d think that I would have gotten bored after that long but my tolerance for watching bunnies do bunny things is shockingly high. On that same note you might think that the bunny would have gotten bored of eating grass while being ogled through a window by a crazy woman but, in his defense, he wasn’t eating the whole time, and also, I don’t think he saw me. I’m pretty sure he wasn’t one of those voyeuristic rabbits that “likes it when you watch”, although I have no way of confirming that. We did not share any significant eye contact, while he munched on grass and silently told me, with his smoldering bunny gaze, that it was totally cool if I wanted to keep watching him, I feel like that might have made things weird between the bunny and I. But yeah, as high as my tolerance for staring at bunnies is, his tolerance for eating grass and occasionally hopping about seemed to be about that same. In that, there was no awkwardness with vaguely sexual undertones between the bunny and I. I hope we can visit again soon.

XOXO

Here is your Owl, Now Please Oversee my Nuptials

As some of you may know (if you’re my mom perhaps) I am planning a wedding. It is a small wedding but a wedding nonetheless. Did I mention that it’s my wedding? It is. Someone has not only actually agreed to marry me but it was HIS idea. I mean, he totally asked and everything! Weird, right? In any case, he has found that my special brand of being annoying is the kind of annoying he wants to tolerate for the rest of forever so a wedding must be planned to celebrate our mutual tolerance of one another’s annoying-ness ….and the fact that we love each other….and to make my mother happy.

As a graphic designer (which I still think is kind of a silly thing to call myself…we should go with “as a person who likes to make pretty pictures and sometimes silly pictures of otters and barbarian teddy bears and extra fancy hamsters”) I was really excited about making the invitations. And I got them back last Thursday and I was super pleased. The next step was collecting everyone’s addresses.

I messaged my friend Jon to get his address and the conversation that we had about how OUT OF FUCKING HAND wedding invitations had gotten was kind of funny:

Me:
Need your address…for I plan to stalk you….or send you a wedding invitation. One of those.
Jon:
B) I thought you already got married. Life is gonna suck if I start having FB hallucinations.
A) was supposed to be “congratulations” but, thumbs.
Congratulations!
Me:
Thanks, no…I got engaged about a year ago. Marrying comes next.
Jon:
C?D?) [ADDRESS REDACTED]
Conformist.
Me:
I deserve that.
Jon:
Is there a date what to save?
Me:
June 25th, I chose not to send save the date cards and am just sending you an invitation. Because I did not need one MORE thing to do.
Jon:
Also, it is the goddam 21st century. You can use the internets.
People may call it lazy, I call it saving the fucking planet.
Me:
There are certain protocols that I (read my mother) will not see shirked.
Jon:
A friend got married a few years ago & there was a fucking sheaf of paper & also glossy photos involved. It hurt me so to have to recycle all that.
Understood.
Me:
Yeah, people’s invitations are totally out of control. They send them in boxes and shit! Some have live butterflies in them that fly out when you open the aforementioned box.
Frankly, I wouldn’t really want a box of mostly dead butterflies and their poop. 
Jon:
Oh! And ribbons!
Me:
SO MANY FUCKING RIBBONS!!!!
Jon:
You should tie ribbons on the necks of condors & ship them with every invite.
Do not forget to punch holes in the lids.
Me:
So you would go with condors? Because I had planned on doves but I see your point….
Jon:
Compromise= barn owls. The recipients can use them for pest control.
Me:
BRILLIANT!
Jon:
We have solved wedding invites!
Me:
And controlling pests!
Jon:
The world really should thank us by sending money.
Me:
I wouldn’t say “no” to a Nobel prize.
Jon:
You have my permission to blog about this. I will be your silent (read 50%) partner.
Me:
Noted.
Jon:
This was probably the most productive meeting I never attended.
Me:
You’re welcome!
I, on the other hand, opted out of all that craziness. There’s enough outlandish shit on which we are expected to spend money where weddings are concerned. I was not about to spring for the postage to send people an invitation that had to be housed in a goddamn box that plays music upon their opening it and also contains a legit, goddamn bird’s nest!
wedding invitation craziness

Are you fucking kidding me? I don’t like anyone enough to want to make them feel this important. 

My invitations were a very simple, 5 by 7, single-sided card with instructions to RSVP via email or phone call. I was determined NOT to have to pay more than 47 cents per envelope to send those bitches. Here’s a copy because I think they’re pretty!

invitation_redacted

I left out the address, because I know the types of folks who hang around here and I don’t want you miscreants crashing my wedding. Also, I try to avoid being embroiled in assassination plots whenever possible. And yes, I am JUST DELUSIONAL ENOUGH to consider my murder, which will probably be the result of the ill-timed use of sarcasm on my part, an assassination! I am not going to say that I have never wondered exactly how important one must be in order for their murder to be considered an assassination but I feel that I, somehow or another, pass the muster. Also, refer back to previous statements about my delusions.

I did, however, include the registry information, just in case anyone is feeling generous, or drunk or both of those things.

Also, in case you’re drunk, and/or had no idea just how out of fucking hand wedding invitations had gotten, here are some pics of some ridiculous shit! Enjoy!

IT IS A GODDAMN BOARD GAME!!!! ARE YOU FUCKING KIDDING ME!!!

It’s a Viewmaster, and the little slide wheel has pictures of the happy couple! If you legitimately think anyone cares about you enough to think that you and your fiancee deserve this much fanfare your delusions of grandeur are like, Kanye epic.

are you fucking kidding me

What the shit is this? I bet this cost more than my wedding dress!

not sure whats going on here but it looks foreboding

Does anyone else think that including a tiny noose in your wedding invitation is just a little too dark…even if it is in cyrillic?

pastel-boxed-wedding-invitation-set__full

I am so done with making people work for the information you’ve included in your wedding invitation. If I have to use a key or a decoder ring or a map to figure out to what I have been invited, you can bet your ass that I will expend no further energy on your ridiculousness and will probably boycott your wedding on general principle.

awesome-3d-decoder-wedding-invitation__full

I forgot to include special glasses in the list of shit that I want no part of. Consider them added now.

rustic-wood-wedding-save-the-date-in-mossy-box__full

Go fuck yourself.

XOXO!!!!

 

Otter Von Bismark!

The other night, well after my son had been put to bed but long before we stopped hearing the sounds of what I can only assume are the 17 pygmy hippos he lets climb into his bedroom window shortly after I bid him goodnight and shut his bedroom door we heard the sounds of Bo’s door opening and the thunderous rush of his footfalls as he bounded down the stairs to our room. When he arrived he was holding a heretofore anonymous stuffed otter and wanted to tell us very much that he had thought of the perfect name for the otter! At which point Josh popped up and said “Is it Otter Von Bismark?” which is basically the MOST PERFECT NAME FOR AN OTTER EVER!!! Sadly is was not Otter Von Bismark and honestly we kind of let the steam out of Bo’s enthusiasm with our uncontrollable tittering.

Bo had decided to name the Otter Sammy…which is a perfectly fine name for an otter. It’s just not Otter Von Bismark. I fully plan on purchasing a taxidermy Otter now, just so I can dress him up in a little white Franco-Prussian military uniform and a gold sash. I will even get Otter Von Bismark his own miniature Pickelhaube! Until then, I made a picture of Otter Von Bismark.

otter von bismark 3

And Here’a another one. Although the World War One era plane is an anachronism as Bismark died in 1898…but he was also not really an otter.

otter von bismark

I think his scarf makes him look regal! Totally fucking majestic! XOXO

The Trump Blog All 5 of You Have Been Waiting For

So there’s this election coming up and while in my real life I am anything but A-political when I am here, sitting in my awesome blogging throne* from which I do all my totally awesome blogging I tend to keep politics as an aside although I am relatively certain that most people can guess which way I lean. It’s not that I don’t have strong opinions or even that I have nothing to say on the political matters that are important to me, it’s just that I prefer that if people are going to hate me, it be for good reasons like I got drunk and pooped on your front porch and then videotaped your stepping in it the next morning when you left the house….hypothetically, or because I called you cuntrag in front of your small child because you cut in line at the zoo, or I ate the last of the Cocoa Krispies and left the empty box in the cupboard so that you thought there were actually Cocoa Krispies left so you totally got your hopes up for some delicious Cocoa Krispies but when you felt how light the box was your hopes, while diminished, were not completely crushed until you upended the box over your bowl and were met with only a feeble sprinkling of Cocoa Krispy dust. Frankly I cannot think of better reason to hate someone than that last one. Except maybe if they were a psychotic, racist, sexist, violent, misogynistic, bloated, homophobic, orange, narcissistic, delusion, mono-maniacal, smarmy, creepy, lying, repugnant, xenophobic, greasy, vomit-swelling, little fuckstain of a shriveled up oompa loompa, that might also be a good reason to hate someone. But, alas, hate only breeds more hate, just like anything else that powerful…like love, for instance. So let’s maybe not talk about why we “hate” that oompa loompa and talk about why he’s such an incapable, dangerous, and downright idiotic choice for a leader.

Of course I’m talking about Donald Trump and just like John Oliver said, I am kind of loathe to even write out his name because I am positive he has a tiny orgasm every time it is written…..or spoken….or read, not even aloud, just in your head, but he still knows because he once made a wish with a genie from a magic lamp and now he can sense it whenever bile rises in someone’s throat after simply hearing his name or seeing his picture.

 

oface

It seems like an oddly impractical thing to wish for if you ask me, but let’s be honest people, we are not dealing with a Rhodes Scholar here. Sometimes, after the Donald feels the need to reassure the American public that there are “no problems” with his dick (I find this highly doubtful coming from a man who repeatedly and in earnest talked about wanting to bang his own daughter), when I am done throwing up, I try to figure out if this is actually happening, like for real, actually happening. It’s kind of like watching Trapped in the ClosetR. Kelly’s much beloved/maligned “hip hopera” that is still puzzling stoned people everywhere as to whether or not its creator was entirely serious in the making of what the writer, producer, director and actor of the “films” would call his masterwork.

r-kellys-trapped-in-the-closet.jpg

Have I mentioned that in R. Kelly’s Trapped in the Closet he is legit trapped in a literal closet?

There is simply no way to watch Trapped in the Closet and not think to yourself, “NO FUCKING WAY THEY ARE TAKING THIS SHIT SERIOUSLY!” And that sentiment is pretty much echoed whenever I hear about the next, ridiculous, offensive, stupid and/or (usually and) appalling thing the Trump campaign has done. I can just imagine the Donald sitting around the frat house with his other white, be-polo-ed frat buddies (only because that’s where I assume he lives), high-fiving one another, drinking their way through case after case of unsold Trump brand vodka (which was absolutely a thing….just not a thing anyone wanted), and trying to think of the next absurd thing that Trump is going to say or do that will inevitably get him more headlines, more recognition and possibly, more votes.

“Dude! You know what you should totally do tomorrow, bro? You should totally talk about murdering innocent women and children. Betcha no one will call you out on it!” *shouts of bro-ly agreement* *high fives all around*

“BRO! Then you should totally talk about how big your dick is at the debates! That would totally fuckin’ crush it!” *smashes empty beer can into forehead, swigs Trump brand vodka, casually rapes coed while high-fiving his bros, posts it all the Twitter*

“Fuck yeah! You should threaten to walk out onto 5th Avenue in downtown NYC and shoot someone! Fuckin’ EPIC, Bro!” *Tweets about how he’s gonna retweet the tweet that Trump will tweet after he is forced to go on Twitter and defend his saying that he could shoot someone and no one would care…oddly enough, no one cares*

The Trump candidacy has been the most collectively head-scratching theater that the American public has ever seen. I mean this guy has Andy Kaufman beat by a country mile…unless he’s actually serious….OH GOD! You don’t think he’s actually serious about this, do you? I mean, if he is actually serious about his campaign, which, of course, is a possibility, he might be some kind of publicity savant and he genuinely and truly thinks that the hardest part of being President of the United States is getting elected….while simultaneously proving himself wrong at every turn! GENIUS!

But in reality I don’t think Trump has given much, if any, thought to what would happen after getting elected. I honestly don’t think he thinks things out much at all; what he’s going to say, how he’s going to “run a business (into the ground?)”, how or where his money is spent, what bullshit thing/building/failed casino/piece of steak he puts his name on, or to whom he might be liable if elected. I think the most dangerous thing about Trump is that Trump only cares about Trump. He is not interested in the welfare of the American People at all. The only reason he is even running for President is because it was the biggest popularity contest he could get himself into and he NEEDS validation, adulation and attention like normal, non-psychotic, non-narcissistic people need air or water. And let me tell you one thing, the leaders that are only in it for themselves and to further their personal agendas, their own need for power, worship, veneration, awe, devotion, glorification, praise, flattery, blandishments…those are the men (and I say “men” because I fucking mean MEN) who are truly dangerous because at the end of the day they are only beholden to their own emptiness at NOT having those things. And like a toddler, he will resort to any means necessary to get them. Unlike a toddler instead of throwing a tantrum, the leader of the free world can just decide to send a nuclear missile strike to….*throws dart at globe, comes up with country I cannot pronounce, picks France instead because I totally bet the Donald hates France for no reason at all*….FRANCE!

Trump may or may not be a psychopath (my money is on the former) but he is definitely dangerous. He is definitely not a leader. I wouldn’t let Trump lead a goddamn girl scout troop…mostly because he would try to sleep with all the girls and when they refused he would call them “cows” or “lesbians” and threaten to sue them and then he would rename all the cookies “Trump-mints” and “Trump-moas” and “Trumpalongs” or “Shortbread Tre-ump-foils” and then he would convince the girls that are just commodities and that if they wanted to achieve anything in life they’d better do it in a 24 karat gold-flake Trump brand string bikini while stripping in Atlantic City because that is the only way those stupid cows are going to find a rich husband, but it may already be too late for Trisha because she’s going to be 14 in a month an a half and the only thing you little bitches really have to offer a “successful” man is your youth and beauty. And don’t you forget it….MAKE ‘MERICA GREAT AGAIN!

Also, globe darts is the best sport I have ever just invented! XOXO

*”blogging throne” may or may not refer to any chair, bed, toilet, yurt, park bench (where I was totally NOT sleeping), carpet, patch of mostly dry grass, blankie, tuffet or really any flat surface available for sitting within reach of the writer.

P.S. I decided that when I run for president (because that is what wildly under-qualified lunatics are doing these days) my campaign slogan will be “Make America Pie Again” because who doesn’t love pie?!!!! BOOM! That’s at least 26 delegates right there! Also, I am suddenly feeling the need to make “Biblio Diva for President” T-shirts and bumperstickers. It’s gonna be a long night. XOXO yet again!

Just Filling the void

This is not a real post.

I totally keep thinking of awesome things about which to write but I am usually in the shower or driving or lying in bed when I should be sleeping and nowhere near a computer when these nuggets of brilliance seep up to the surface. I think I need to get one of those chalk boards that I where around my neck like Anthony Hopkins in “Legends of the Fall” after he has his stroke and can’t talk anymore.

hopkins

Dude! He also has a pipe on a string around his neck. This idea could revolutionize EVERYTHING!

 

Except for that brings up the whole issue of having to learn to write upside down and frankly, I am totally done learning new skills.

happy hopkins

If you did not cry during this scene you obviously have no soul….or no tear ducts which is a totally real thing!

Or, and I am just spit-balling here, in lieu of the bulky chest chalkboard (chestboard?) I could carry around a note pad. OOOOH! Or one of those little hand-held tape recorders (I know all the millennials are just shaking their heads at me and saying to themselves in voices full of thinly veiled pity and condescension “Yeah, there’s an app for that on your smart phone.” And to them I say “You are talking to a woman with a typewriter collection who grew up idolizing Hunter S. Thompson and for whom outmoded and anachronistic means of communication will never be anything short of wildly romantic and awesome…so suck it!”). C’mon, you can’t tell me you’ve never thought about having one of those pocket tape recorders wherein you store all your sagacious, enlightened, little tidbits of brilliance that pop into your head from time to time. I think the bummer part of that whole process would be sitting down at your desk at the end of the day or, even worse, the end of the week, to record all your noteworthy opining and unprecedented epiphanies and all you have is a note to buy more grapefruits and then two hours of continuous recording of the noises that occur inside your purse. GENIUS! Except for not really.

You know what WOULD be genius? If you had the idea to combine a few great things into one AMAZING like hash browns and masturbation and watching  Daredevil into….I don’t know, but those the the “few great things” I came up with on the fly and, frankly, that seems like a pretty damn solid list to me.

I totally forgot where I was going with this, but I think that kind of drives the point home about my needing a chestboard or at the very least a tape recorder and that’s good enough for me. I think I will quit while I am ahead-ish or at least ish.

XOXO

Let’s Be Friends*!

*no seriously!

So (drink) (and someday I will repost all the rules to the Biblio Diva drinking game so that those of you who are new to us, I’m talking to YOU Canadians, can play along at home because I have faith in you and your livers and their ability to withstand anything because they have already withstood decades worth of Tim Horton’s coffee, Molson, Justin Beiber and Nickleback) (Also, Dear Canadians, please stop telling your talentless musicians where the US border is, because we REALLY don’t need another Avril Lavigne or Celine Dion or Alanis Morisette. We already have a Kanye to deal with and he’s kind of a handful. Just point them in the other direction and they will all end up in the North Pole. Although if 3 Inches of Blood or Death From Above 1979 or DOA are asking you can give them directions…and I know you will because you are Canadian and, by nature, very polite and helpful. I feel like this is the most peaceful and humane solution for everyone) (and at this point I should just start over because even I have lost track of what’s going on with all these parentheses).

Starting over….So (you still have to drink), I super have NO friends, and I know what you’re thinking; “How is that possible?” you shriek, outraged. “You are so charming and erudite and generous and beautiful and intelligent and you know how to get free booze, like, anywhere you go and you are great at outrunning the police! Those are all tremendously attractive qualities in a human being!” except I can totally hear that you are saying it sarcastically, even if it is all true, so it kind of loses some impact…although the sentiment is appreciated even if you could not get through the delivery without laughing.

The fact is that when you COMPLETELY dismantle your life or it just falls apart in one way or another, whether by choice or by happenstance, it can make it difficult to keep people around. Not everyone is going to understand what’s going on, also, not everyone is going to care. It was easy for me at first to blame my lack of a social life on closing my bookstore or having to move far away from Renton, which was the admitted center of most of my social interactions, or never having any money (because unemployment often results in being poor). But I think it runs deeper than that. I think some people were really uncomfortable with the choices I made and it was easier for them to just fade away than to try to understand why I was making them. Now admittedly, whenever my life goes through sweeping changes it always seems to be more of a scorched earth kind of scenario than I ever intend when starting out. My chronic misbehavior is probably to blame for my instability but the thing is, I’ve always been this way. Y’all knew that when you first came along for the ride! But that’s the thing about people like me; people gravitate towards us because we are fun, irreverent, risky, a little scary, a lot crazy….and we know how to get free booze, like anywhere. We are very good at making friends but not very good at convincing them to stay.

That being said I am currently accepting applications for besties right now (I am sort of imagining people just losing their shit like when bitches find out that the episode of Oprah they are attending the taping of is the ‘favorite things’ episode)! And it’s crunch time, motherfuckers! I am getting married in 4 months (HOLY SHIT! FOUR FUCKING MONTHS!) and I need someone to stand up there with me and pretend to care about my getting married because, Goddamnit, I am already down one person who was supposed to walk me down the aisle. So, if you’re interested in being my Maid of (questionable) Honor read on.

  • You get to wear whatever you want. Within reason. No white. No blue seersucker because that’s what I’ll be wearing. No pants, it’s a wedding for godsakes! No florals, no feather boas, no tiaras, no fishnets (unless they’re like nude, then I support that move), no latex, no denim, NO corduroy, none of that 1990’s flouncy crushed velvet bullshit, in fact you can’t even come if you’re gonna wear that shit, I am already ashamed of knowing you.
  • You will literally be the only person up there with me so it’s impossible for you to be the “fat bridesmaid” because you will be the ONLY bridesmaid! Plus, I am pretty fat so there’s even a chance that you will be the “skinny bridesmaid”!
  • I won’t make you throw me any ridiculous parties because I have been to enough wedding showers to know that no one has any fun at them because who gives a fat shit about your monogrammed bath towels or your stupid fucking china pattern…let’s go get wasted and rip off a limousine! (It’s really a wonder that I have a dearth of compatible humans in my life…)
  • You must be female (sorry Sojin). While I am totally always in search of my new gay best friend (ISOGBF) I feel like my maid of honor should be an actual maid….not like a housekeeper….although if you are, that would certainly not rule you out….I am fine with whatever you do for a living…I am NO classist! I guess if you euthanized baby otters or worked on the Trump campaign for a living that might sour our potential relationship just a little.
  • Must tolerate or better yet celebrate excessive cussing, excessive drinking, excessive sarcasm, excessive laughing at my own jokes, excessive inappropriate exposure of my bare ass in public, excessive always being the person in the bar who is saying something REALLY offensive when the music dies down, excessive air concertina, excessive insistence that you “haven’t lived until you have woken up with vomit in your ears”, excessive talking of and enthusiasm for nearly all things related to Marvel or DC comics (this one’s really important), excessive squealing at pictures of baby miniature ponies,  excessive belief in Bigfoot, excessive excesses, unicorns, and children because I have one of those and it’s probably best that you learn to like him…or I will cut you.
  • Must be Catholic….not because I am Catholic or even religious but I figure if you’re Catholic you might have at least a fighting chance at keeping up with me where alcoholism is concerned. I will also consider Godless heathens of all stripes and lapsed Mormons because you guys totally kick ass to drink with!
  • You totally don’t have to make a toast or write a speech because you will probably have nothing to say about me because we will have just met and your cover will totally be blown if you get up there and start talking about what a good person I am because EVERYONE knows that’s not true.
  • I won’t make you pose for cheesy “bridesmaid” photos with your panties exposed because apparently that’s a thing. As a matter of fact I won’t make you pose for any photos, not because I don’t want pictures of you and our beautiful (and completely manufactured) friendship but because I am too poor to hire a photographer.
  • You must be my Bartlett. That is to say it is required that you will carry my flask and it will be your job to know and even anticipate when the dispensation of said flask is required.
  • Must be awesome at providing cover for someone who frequently feels the need to urinate in public, also, how are your holding-back-hair skills?
  • Must protect my secret identities.
  • Must already be able fit into the sidekick costume of your now deceased predecessor.

If this sounds like you, please submit your application to become best friends and eventual Maid of (dis)Honor in the comment section. And just so you know how serious I am about this, this whole post was supposed to be how I wanted to throw a Funko party where we all order a bunch of those blank Funko Pop characters and then decorate them, presumably while drinking wine and chatting and, with any luck, having a nice time.

Blank-Female-e-Male-DIY-Pop-Vinyl-Figure-01

So when I couldn’t think of anyone to invite (that might actually show up) to my imaginary Funko party that I may or may not have I started to get a little freaked out. That’s when I realized I have NO friends. If I can’t even get people to come decorate vinyl dolls with me even when I offer them free booze how can I expect anyone to want to be my Maid of Honor? How can I even consider asking someone at this point without feeling like a complete ass? The answer is I can’t….and I do. I am going to have to stand up there alone and I am going to have to be okay with it.

Maybe someday I will learn how to hang onto to people. Maybe someday I will learn how to be the kind of person worth hanging onto. For now….I hope I made you laugh. XOXO

Also, wouldn’t a Funko decorating party be super fun?! I would totally go to that even if I were (not a typo) the one throwing it!