Spiders love Pink Floyd, and other things about arachnids you are gonna wish you didn't know.

So you all know how I feel about spiders, and if you don't, then you are obviously super new here and have some major catching up to do. And I mean major, as in: Call in to work, make a pot of coffee, put on your footie jammies, wrap yourself up in a snuggie, light a fire, and get to reading. My history with spiders is akin to that of Bruce Willis and all those bad people with the creepy accents in the Die Hard movies. Except my stories are more realistic. And in place of a black, sassy cop, I have a black, sassy exterminator. I give it until mid-way through the reading of Spiderpocalypse 2 before you are spiking your coffee with some alcohol or sedatives and swatting at the air around you like a homeless hippie suffering from LSD flashbacks.

Lucky for me (but not so lucky for you, since I know you all love reading about my misery), I am not currently involved a Spiderpocalypse 4. Not yet, anyways. But it IS getting colder outside, and those arachnids are like old people when it comes to winter. They like to flee the cold, throw on 8 knee high socks and 8 sandals and vacation in your nice, warm, house. There's probably a few Tommy Bahama clad arachnids lounging under a table lamp in your living room as we speak. And when Raymond the Bug Man was here 2 weeks ago, he did mention that my neighbors had just done a full spider spray on their yard so I needed to keep my eyes open in case they all flee in the direction of my yard and set up refugee camps on my property. And I'm like, "Dude...why aren't you doing a full spider spray on MY yard so the refugee's will go to the other neighbor's yards? Seems like a simple problem to solve to me!" And Raymond says "Because it's red ant season and I need to treat your yard for ants and I can't treat for both at once." And I'm all "When ISN'T it red ant season in Houston? And I know they bite and build mounds taller than The Boy, but when push comes to shove, I can totally live with them. Spiders? No can do." And even though when I first moved to Houston I saw on the news that some red ants got into a nursing home and pretty much ate a man who could not get out of his bed, if it comes down to a choice, I still choose red ants. I am not old and I can get my ass out of my bed if that happens to me. Unless I'm on heavy meds. Like I was that time in college I was home alone, in bed, after having my wisdom teeth removed, and I heard the Schwan's man come into the house, use our phone and toilet, then wander around and -I'm pretty sure- stare at me, as I lay comatose and unable to make my body work cuz I was paralyzed by narcotics.

FYI: Nobody believed me about the Schwan's man. Just like they didn't believe me about the alligator on a leash in the sewer or the time the mice from The Rescuers came to talk to me about the end of the world when I had a freakishly high fever in the 4th grade.

Due to the fact that I had not eaten the day that Raymond was here, was quite exhausted from working out, and Raymond was wearing his "Trust Me, I'm Wearing A Safari Hat" hat that magically lulls me into believing he knows about nature, he won the power struggle over what kind of disgusting bug to spray for that day, and eradicated the red ants. And since I have only killed 2 spiders since then, I suppose that the refugees went to the neighbors on the opposite side of the fence. So sometimes at night, I imagine all hell breaking loose over there while I walk peacefully around my house in bare feet. Yes, occasionally I startle at a piece of pocket lint that has fallen to the floor, but I have been relatively calm as of late.

And, as usual, when one is relatively calm about something that they used to be super-duper un-mother-freaking-calm about, I came across a game changer. While I was in a google spiral from hell, I found an article titled "Green Lights Help Spiders Jump With Deadly Accuracy." Immediately I was picturing hordes of spiders standing at stop lights, waiting for greens, and jumping on people like mofos. Just like that movie "The Birds," but with spiders. But I was wrong. Thank god. Or I'd never be able to go near an intersection ever again. What the article said was that if you put a jumping spider (AKA asshole) into a room lit with green light, he will jump like a freaking psycho. He will zoom in on his prey (me) and jump, like, a million trillion feet and land on my face and dance a little "I just landed on your mother freaking face and I'm gonna set up a bachelor pad in your nasal cavity" jig.

THEN, the article said that if jumping spiders are in a room lit with a UV light (black light), they will get horny. Seriously. They will want to make the sexy time. Big time. It seems that these spiders cannot orgasm without ultraviolet light. And when chick spiders were put under UV light, the dude spiders went into a sexual frenzy.

I wish I was kidding, but I'm not.

And I wish that I wasn't sitting here, writing about spider orgasms. But I'm doing it.

And I super wish that I wasn't suddenly suspicious that the Little Miss Muffet story was actually a pedophile spider tale. But I so totally am.

It's like that one time in high school when I dated this boy who liked Pink Floyd, a lot, and we drank beer and watched "The Wall" then went into his room to make out and it was covered with posters that glowed. It was all kindsa psychedelic and funky in there. And although it makes a person look super freakishly tan when they are standing there with their unders glowing like a Vegas casino sign, it still didn't really do anything to horn me out. Which is good. Cuz I don't really want to have anything in common with spiders, other than the fact that we both have long legs. That's enough similarity for me right there. I don't need to go on Match.com and get hooked up with a horny spider posing as a person cuz both of our turn-ons are black lights and glowing nethers. I have enough issues in my life without worrying about being inappropriately groped by a spider when I'm at an arcade or trying to play a game of laser tag.

At least since this google spiral I now know the spider-infested places to avoid. For instance, if I ever feel like going to a tanning bed I'll just remember that there's probably a gang of horny spiders hanging out waiting to pounce on my naked body. So spiders are accidentally saving me from getting skin cancer and looking like an Oompa Loompa. But they're also making me too scared to get my groove on at the roller rink or go to rock and roll bowl. I also know that if I want to stay safe from spiders, I need to lure them away from me by living next door to a Pink Floyd freak with glow lights in his bedroom.

Spiderpocalypse 1, 2, and 3.

No puppies were killed in the making of this blog

So there's been a cartoon making the rounds on Facebook for quite awhile now, that people have been posting on my wall and emailing to me many times a week for what feels like eons. And in case you didn't know, an eon is the longest division of geologic time containing two or more eras. And I'm no expert on eras or any other time-related things, but I'm pretty sure that it's a really long-ass time. And actually, if I were a professor in whatever the hell it was in which they discussed eons and geological crap like that, I'd tell my students to just call it a really long-ass time instead of eon. I would want my class to be all casual and friendly and I would wear cardigans with elbow patches and I'd climb on desks and recite poetry and perform musical numbers to inspire them. And I'd also probably forget to go to class a lot and then get fired and then they'd have some sort of poetic musical situation to raise awareness on my firing and get me re-hired.

But as usual I'm way off point.

The point is supposed to be the cartoon that I adore that was given to me a bazillion and 3 times:

Now you know why so many people sent me this. If you know me at all then you know that it is THE PERFECT cartoon for me. It could only be more perfecter if the unicorn was wearing a beer can helmet full of Modelo. 

I've loved that cartoon long time, but never knew who drew it until a friend of mine (Thanks, Brent) sent me a link to this dude named Sebastien Millon's website because he thought it would be something that I would like. Well, strangely enough, it happened to be the site for the artist of this very cartoon that I adored. I nearly died as I went through all of his work. Yes, all. And there's a whole lot too. And I loved each picture more than the last. And I quickly realized something: I totally and completely understand this person's brain. The more cartoons I looked at the more I realized that this dude was somehow hooked into my brain. His artwork is super cute and perky. His characters are adorable. And on first glance you might think "Awe....that is so cute and sweet!" and then you look closer, and you read the caption, and you're like "Holy balls! WTF did I just read?" 

And that's kinda what I feel like sometimes. Sweet and normal on the outside but all kinds of WTF on the inside.

Here are a few of my many favorites:

I immediately felt a kinship with Sebastien, so I decided to send him an email. 

After sending the email I realized that since he is way more awesome than me, he probably gets waaaayyyy more email than me. And I get a lot. So I decided to write to him again and in the subject line I put "If you don't read this, puppies will die!" Since he draws lots of animals I figured that even though some of the animals in his drawings are murderers and murderees, he was still probably an animal lover and would not want to kill real-life non-cartoony puppies. Well, it worked. He could have easily been branded a puppy killer, but he saved himself by writing me back pretty quickly, and I like to think that we bonded. I mean, it's totally possible that if you asked him he may perhaps refer to it as more of a "She stalked me and I only wrote her back because I thought she might actually kill some freaking puppies and blame it on me," kinda situation. But I prefer to think it's the whole bonding thing. So we went back and forth a bit and yada yada yada, he drew this new blog banner for me that even includes little fat baby ducks with jet packs (cuz you guys know how bad I want a jet pack), and a squirrel (cuz you know my history with squirrels), and his trademark Unicorns and Bunny, and I designed a whole new blog around it. Well, I mentally designed it but hired a creative guy named Bill to actually take the stuff from my head and put it on the screen, because I am barely computer literate enough to run this blog, let alone make a whole website blog thingamajiggy.

Sebastien's drawings make me happy. They are what my Pattitopia looks like in my head: colorful, fun, perky, sweet, weird, with an underlying and sometimes blatantly overlying dose of freaky. One minute things are nice and calm, and the next minute they might go horribly awry. Like his cartoons, I think that people will be all "Oh my! This blog looks like an 8-year-old girl threw up all over it! It's adorable!" Then they'll start to read a few blog posts and be all "This woman makes me giggle AND kinda scares the poop outta me at the same time. I am so confused!" And this confusion is something that I kinda like.

I hope you guys like it too. If you don't you'd be wise to protect your teeth, because Bunny is going to kick them in. 

A HUGE thank you to Sebastien Millon for being so wonderfully gracious and lovely. AND for saving the puppies, AND for responding to my email. AND for making me this amazingly perky banner. He couldn't be any nicer. Please go see his work on his website and like his page on Facebook (links below). And thank you to Bill Downey for making the rest of the page fit in with the banner. I know you wanna kill me now because of how bossy I am, but please don't, or you'll get your teeth kicked in by Bunny too. That Bunny. He's a badass.

Sebastien's Etsy Shop
Sebastien's Website

Sebastien's Facebook Page

More Blogging Tips! You keep asking for them so here they are. But I would totally not listen to me if I were you.

For the past few months people have been emailing me for advice on starting their own blogs. I wrote a very short post about it last spring, but people still have questions. I could fake like I'm a total bad-ass mega-blogger with carpal tunnel-less hands and answer them all individually, or I could write another blog post about it and then have plenty of free time on my tingly hands to drink a beer and eat some Funyuns.

Countdown to Modelo and onion breath...

I did not go back and re-read the first post to check that I don't regurgitate exactly the same thing. I am too lazy today and am still in my work-out clothes, and I gotta be honest with you...I smell like a dead animal. So I'll just write what comes to mind right now and if any of it is a repeat, it's a repeat. You'll live. But I will try to go into more detail than I did in the other post (i.e. this will be long). And please let me preface this by saying that I don't really know why you guys are asking me for advice. I am not a professional writer. My grammar is shit, I make up words, I have no idea what punctuation goes where, and I am queen of the run on sentence. So obviously, my advice isn't gospel. It's just what I think about blogging. Some may agree and some may disagree, and that's totally cool with this idiot.

Can I be a blogger?

So you want to start a blog! First things first: Do you know how to read? Cuz that's important. If someone is reading this to you, then you probably can't read. Or you're blind. Or you're just lazy and rich and you make people do stupid things for you like that whole Puffy Diddy Daddy situation with the having the guy hold his umbrella. Douche. City. Do you know how to operate a computer? Do you know how to type? Do you know how to string words together to form sentences? If you answered "Yes" to these questions, congratulations! You too can be a blogger!

What should I blog about? 

Most bloggers write about things they like, or what goes on in their day-to-day lives. You should blog when you have something to say, and don't blog when you don't. If you blog too much your readers probably can't keep up. And if you have email subscribers and blog too much, those people might arrange a posse of spork-wielding monkeys on unicorns to come stab you in the face. Or perhaps just unsubscribe. One of those. If you wanna be a blogger but you have no idea what you wanna blog about, you probably shouldn't be a blogger. Most bloggers I know have a "thing" and that's why they started blogging in the first place. They had something they were passionate about or they just like to talk a lot and email friends and family long, weird stories (<<<<< That last one right there? That might be me).

Why do you blog?

I was always into writing. Creative Writing classes in high school and college were my jam. When any other class had essay tests, no matter what the topic and regardless of whether or not I actually had any knowledge of it at all, I could almost always score an "A" because I could say some stuff and say it well. I think I would confuse the Professor into thinking I knew what I was talking about by making it different or funny. 

I started blogging in 2008 when I went through a series of medical mishaps, one of which almost killed me. Yeah, you heard that right. It's called Multiple Bi-lateral Pulmonary Embolisms, bitches! And it's hella deadly. During my hospital time, multiple procedures, and long healing process, I wrote email updates to family and friends that were perhaps a bit silly, ranty, odd, and wackadoo, and everyone seemed to enjoy reading them as much as I enjoyed writing them. If I have any gift at all, it's finding the funny in things that aren't really funny. And that's what I did with my health situation. After all that crap, I had to have yet another surgery that contained a big fat OOPSIE that paralyzed one of my vocal cords. That's right, you guys. This big mouth couldn't talk. And what does a non-stop talker do when she can't talk? She starts writing more. Then, because of my increased email stories,  a friend of mine who had started a mommy website asked me to be a writer for them. Although I had to remain a bit focused because I had specific topics to write about, I liked it, and eventually went out on my own in 2009 and started this blog so that I could say exactly what I wanted when I wanted, with no editing or censoring of any kind. If I wanna say asshole I can say asshole. ASSHOLE!!!! ASSHOLE!!! ASSHOLE!!!

Will people read my blog? Will I become famous? 

As I said before, you should write what you know and love. Sometimes an audience finds you and sometimes they don't. If you write what makes you happy, then it shouldn't matter if you have 5 readers or 5 million readers. If you love what you do, then you will continue to do it. If you only wanna blog for attention and numbers and fame, I hate to break it to you, but you're probably gonna suck. I've seen plenty of bloggers start out really, really good and then BOOM they get to thinking they are famous. They get huge egos when their audience grows and they inevitably think that they could pretty much post a photo of their poop and people will love them. Their writing totally suffers and they just start churning out crap because they think they can. That's like a kick in the face to your readers. If you have 5 or 5 million, respect them, and keep doing what they loved you for in the first place.

I remember that when I hit 100 subscribers on this blog I almost cried and pooped my pants. I could not believe that there were 100 people who wanted to read the complete and total nonsense that I wrote. And the numbers that I have today shock, amaze, and humble me constantly. But am I famous? Hell. No. Look at the numbers most bloggers and Facebook page people have and think about it in real life terms. It's nothing. Sure, it's great that so many people like me, or like you, or whoever. But it's a drop in the bucket. Mick Jagger is famous. Keep some perspective and it will keep you from being a douche. I know that writing a bunch of stuff that people find funny doesn't make me special. And I don't approach writing this blog any differently than I did back when I had 100 readers. I still write about things the same way that I wrote about them before. The only thing that has changed is that I have grown into my style. It takes awhile to get in a groove and find your voice. The writing comes easier the longer you've done it. Don't let your numbers change that.

What should my "writing style" be?

It should be whatever comes naturally to you.  Find your own. And if you don't have one, don't steal someone else's. Sure, some people just naturally write in similar styles. Over the years I have come across a few bloggers that write very similar to how I write (The Bloggess, Fetch My Flying Monkeys, and Barefoot Foodie to name a few), and I actually LOVE them and felt like I found a few bloggy soul mates when I found them. People are sometimes similar, and that's really, really cool. But if you change your style on purpose to try and morph into someone else who is more popular with readers than you are, then it's time to throw in the towel. In my first year of blogging I had a few people actually steal entire paragraphs of mine word for word and use them in their own blogs AS THEIR OWN. And people still steal things I've written. There are coincidences and there is copying. There is a difference between naturally sounding alike and becoming the Single White Female of the blogosphere. One is kinda cool and interesting and fun, and the other is prison psych ward, it puts the lotion on it's skin, freaky scary. A few years ago I visited a childhood friend who had saved every letter I had ever written her from age 12 until mid-twenties, and we sat down and read them all. I discovered something interesting: Those letters? They could each fit in on this blog. Even the ones I wrote when I was 12. You guys could read them and KNOW that I wrote them. My way of saying things hasn't changed much. I've grown into my style, but the basics have always been the same.

Will I get rich? Will I get to poop in gold toilets and eat salads made of money?

I have never had any ambition to become a big deal or make money or be famous. I wrote because I couldn't talk and I had to have SOME way to get my thoughts out there. And honestly, I think that's a part of why I like writing this blog and why people like reading it. I'm not using my readers to become anything and I think that they get that. I am who and what I am and that's all I want to be. I am a firm believer that if you are in this for numbers and fame and money then it shows. Do some people get fame and money from blogging? Sure. A select few actually do. But the ones that I've seen it happen to weren't out to get it. They were funny and charming and authentic and likable and entertaining and sending out good energy and they were rewarded for it. They weren't clawing their way to the top and stepping on people the whole way. They were just hangin' out, doing what they loved to do and "It" just happened.

Lots of you have asked me about advertising. I honestly don't know too much about it. (You can click here if you wanna know my stock answer) Recently people have been coming to me wanting to buy space on my blog and offering me various other projects and I keep saying no. I think it stuns the people that I have said no to, and I am the first to admit that I am maybe just a tad bit controlling. This blog is all me and it's not my thing to give up any control of something that is all me. It's also not my thing to promote products I don't use and love. Plus, I feel like my readers and I have a relationship of sorts. Through the magic of Facebook we have actually gotten to know each other and my readers are my people. We kinda have a trust situation and I am not willing to ruin that trust to make money. If I had the opportunity to advertise something I loved would I be game? Of course I would. As long as I advertised it my way.

How do I get a crap load of readers?

Do the things I said before and stop worrying about getting "a crap load of readers." It may seem odd to some, but I actually don't dream about bigger numbers on Facebook or on this blog. Just like that whole "Mo money mo problems" thing, it's totally true that "Mo readers mo problems"as well. The more people that find you, the more creepers and trolls you're gonna have (read my troll blog here). It isn't fun. I have had issues serious enough that I have filed police reports and visited the FBI. I have also had trolls mean enough that a thinner skinned person would crumble. It all goes with the territory. You have to be prepared for weirdos and bitches to get ALL up in your grill. Some are crazy and some are just jealous. But either way, it can be a lot to take. So think about how open you want to be and how much you wanna share. I have been told that I shouldn't show pictures or tell personal stories. But if I didn't, what would I be? I tell stories about my day to day life. THAT'S what I do. Some are more personal than others, but I know where to draw the line. I write about the funny. But is my life funny all the time? Umm...hell no. Nobody's is. I have sadness and stress and problems just like every person in the world does, But is that what I want to write about? Are those things what I choose to dwell on? No. Luckily I dwell on the funny and if I do write about something depressing I try to make it funny, and if I can't, then I don't write about it. That's not my blog. I don't do depressing. And I don't publicize things that involve other people. I respect my family and friends enough to know where to draw the line and to ask their permission to post things that might impact them. You can be open without being OPEN. So make sure you know where your line is.

One thing I feel strongly about is this: Don't exclude other bloggers. Promote them. Let them guest blog for you. Guest blog for others. Have a Blogroll on your page to give them exposure. Tell your readers who you love and share the spotlight. If you don't you come across like a selfish asshole. If people like you they're not gonna dump you because they liked someone you promoted better than they like you. And if they do? So what. You helped someone find something they like to read and you helped a fellow blogger get a new reader. Good for you. You still have readers. Promoting others is good juju for you. And everyone wants good juju, right?

When you write a blog and let people into your world, they feel like they know you. I'm a suburban mom with a husband and a boy and a cat who has an overactive imagination and an odd way of looking at things that some people seem to enjoy. Recently a woman accused me of making things up saying that "Nobody has that much stuff happen to them just going to target!" I don't know what she's talking about because nothing much happens at Target, really. Once I found a pair of shoes in the parking lot and once I answered a phone and once I had underwear static clinged to my back. It's not like I'm telling unbelievably exciting and outlandish stories here. I'm not out on a yacht living the high life or getting rides on the space shuttle or anything. They are just day in the life stories. Nothing is made up. It's just written with fun language and goofiness, but the underlying stuff is normal mom stuff. I think that it's the way I write it that makes it fun. And it's the fact that people relate to it that makes them enjoy it.

I don't want to ever get an overblown ego or be a douche. It makes me uncomfortable when people call my readers "fans". I seriously don't think of it that way. I think of my readers as my friends and I am just writing the same stuff I used to write in group emials, but on a larger scale. I respect each and every one of them and I'm thankful every day that they are interested in what I have to say. I will never poop on that. And if I do, you have my permission to spork me in the ovarnads.

That's all. Man this was long. Sorry about that. But I hope it helped at least a few of you who wrote to me. Remember: This is just all my opinion and feelings about blogging.  I'm sure that many bloggers will disagree with me. Take what you will from it, or nothing at all. Good luck to you! I am exhausted and my Modelo is calling....

Welcome to Mantopia!

So this morning I was perusing that virtual pleasure palace called Pinterest. Pinterest is a place for women and gay men to get all aquiver about things like decorating, cooking, crafting, and other colorful, wordy, visual things. And okay, I know I know that some straight guys get on Pinterest too. Mainly to pin hot chicks on their virtual pinboards much like they used to pin Farrah Fawcett posters up on their walls but now can't because their wives will chop off their testicles. But whatever. That's neither here nor there nor anywhere else. I'm not trying to be sexist, I'm just trying to stick to the facts.

Point is, I was on Pinterest and saw a link to a blog post titled 25 Ways To Communicate Respect Your Husband, which -shockingly enough- was written by a woman. I read it a few times and lost one retina due to some involuntary spasm that made me spork myself in the eyeball. Why that spasm didn't spaz it's way over to the power button on my computer instead of stabbing me in the face, I don't know. Involuntary spasms cannot explain themselves, you guys. No matter how many times you ask them to.

As I was reading this article I felt like suddenly my dreams of finishing my Time Burger (for you newbies, that's my time machine) had come to magical fruition. I heard a whooshing sound in my ears and I kinda blacked out for a minute. Although those feelings turned out to be a result of the eye sporking situation, I did actually have a few moments where I thought I was zipping back to Little House on the Prairie times, where I would be forced to wash clothes on a rock, make butter out of whatever the hell they made butter out of,  cook all day, and tell my husband he was King of the Prairie while I let him and his "I only bathe once a month" body plow me from behind. 

I don't know how anyone could read that chick's article and NOT think they had been Time Burgered back to olden times.

The 25 ways thingy was all about showing your husband respect and love with your actions and not with words. For example, saying "Yo, dude! I love you and respect you and stuff" isn't really gonna cut it. And ya know what? I GET that. I totally get it. I think anyone with a brain gets that, because truth be told, we all want to be shown that someone cares about us. But the way that this woman was telling us to do the showing was -in my humble and always totally right on opinion- all kinds of WTF.

This is basically her list, you guys. I just made it easier for normal, non-man-hypnotized brains to understand. I put it all in my own words to get to the nitty gritty of what I hear her saying. Basically, I am taking out lots of scripture references and fluffy Stepford Wifey jibber jabber and letting you know the real deal. According to her, if you want to be a decent wife, these are the things that you need to do. Buckle up ladies. It's gonna be a total WTF? kinda ride.

1) Choose to pretend you are happy even when you're hella pissed. Smile anyways, because ain't no man likes a mad woman. And when it's time for your period and you can't control your mood, you need to go to one of those period tents like the women did in ancient times because your dude don't need no sass.

2) Do whatever your dude wants you to do. Make sure the house is tidy and dinner is ready. Don't make him ask you twice. Third time he gets to kick you in the ovaries with a steel-toed boot.

3) Listen to your damn dude. When your dude is talking to you, drop everything and stare deep into his eyeballs and listen and understand what he is saying. While you are staring into his eyes he will hypnotize you into learning your place. Don't fight the hypnosis. Let it happen. Pretend he's vampire Eric and you are getting glamored. I know it's tempting to go all Firestarter on him while you are staring into those manly eyes, but if you do, you'll go to hell.

4) Don't interrupt your dude. Even if he is saying something insane or racist or just plain old stupid. Even if he is calling you a name. Even if there is a serial killer sneaking up behind him with a bloody ax. Let it happen. Yes, you may be saving his life. But at what cost? Murder or no murder, interrupting your man is still rude and is level 10 insubordination.

5) Tell your dude how amazing he is.  Even if he is a jackass, tell him he's fantastic. Even if he hasn't bathed in a week and smells like a hobo's ass crack, tell him he smells outdoorsy and manly. He may not be perfect, but neither are you. And if you point out his imperfections, he will send you to your room without dinner. The dinner you cooked. From scratch. On a wood stove.

6) Tell your dude only positive things, save the rest for the man in the sky. Dude ain't got time for negativity. Your man is doing something that's bothering you? Kids acting like assholes? You've been feeling really sick and may be dying? Don't bother your man with that nonsense. Tell him everything's awesome and then dial up God and tell Him what's up. Why burden your man when he has better things to do? Suck it up, Buttercup. Your dude is busy.

7) Don't nag your dude. He's not your child. Don't treat him like one. Except, of course, when it comes to the whole doing his laundry, laying out his clothes in the morning, making his dinner, cleaning up after him, catering to his every whim, being careful not to set him off when he's in a mood, and revolving your entire life around him situation. It can be confusing and the lines can be blurry because you are doing all the same shit for him that you do for your spawn. But know your place and shut the hell up. Dude's gonna do what dude's gonna do.

8) Thank your dude for everything he does. Even if it's just breathing. You should thank him for being alive so you can enjoy his wisdom and awesomosity. You have been given the gift of his presence and you should thank him constantly.

9) Smile at your dude. Even if he's being a dick. And no, not a sassy or sarcastic smile. A genuine "I am the luckiest woman alive" smile. Don't worry. He won't be creeped out at all. Smiles are pretty and ain't no ugly bitches allowed up in here.

10) Screw your dude's brains out even when you aren't in the mood. Even if you have a fever of 103 with vomiting and occasional diarrhea. Suck it up, put a cork in it, and do the deed. Even if you feel deathly ill, just lay there. He probably won't even notice if you die halfway through. It's not about you anyways. Don't you know it makes your man sad when you say no to him? It's your job as a wife to show him respect, so shut the hell up and do him good. I'm pretty sure that's what Aretha Franklin was singing about in that whole R-E-S-P-E-C-T song.

11) Don't watch movies or read books with handsome men in them. This might make your man feel inferior, and your man should be the only man worth looking at or thinking about. Only watch movies about ugly people like "Elephant Man",  and only read wholesome children's books. But not Curious George. Cuz that yellow hat guy is kinda sexy and I hear he's hung like a moose.

12) Always kiss your dude when he's leaving or returning. Even if he's taking the trash out or running to get the mail. Wait. Who am I kidding? He's not doing those menial chores. You are. But even if he's leaving the room to go look at himself in the mirror and tell himself how awesome he is, kiss him when he walks out and kiss him when he walks back in. If you don't he might leave you forever. And it would be all your fault.

13) Only make food your dude loves. Even if everyone else in your family hates liver and little Susie is allergic to it and might die if she touches it. And even if the neighbors ask you not to make it cuz it makes the whole cul-de-sac smell like dead people. Even if your cat vomits all over the carpet due to the fumes. None of that matters. You make that muthafuckin' liver at least a few times a month. Dude loves liver. Dude gets liver. It's called honoring your man, bitches.

14) Always sit next to your dude. Even if he's busy doing something. Just sit there and look at him and bask in his him-ness. Even if he has to take a poop, go sit on the floor outside the bathroom door and pass him little notes that say "Do you love me? Check yes or no."  And whisper things like "Even your poop smells perfect!" You should pretend there is an invisible rope tying you to your dude at all times. He might do or say something amazing that you would miss if you had a life of your own.

15) Never complain. Why the hell would you? Your life is perfect! You don't even have to think for yourself. You get to go through your days like a mindless robot sex and cooking slave. If a contrary thought pops in your head you should punch yourself in the face until it goes away. Or pray it away. If you let a complaint pass your lips, your dude has the right to shank you.

16) Don't tell your dude when he's wrong. If he says 2 + 2 = 17, then 2 + 2 = freaking 17. The end.

17) Always look hot. Make-up is a plus and sweatpants are for bitches who wanna sleep in the barn.

18) Keep the damn house clean. This ain't an episode of Hoarders. It's an episode of Leave it to Beaver.

19) Be happy with what you have and STFU. Just cuz the neighbor lady has her own car and gets to leave the house without a chaperone doesn't mean you get to. And fancy beauty salons are for snobs. Just wear a ponytail and let your hair grow in it's natural color. Highlights are for selfish, vain, assholes, who don't spend 24/7 thinking about their husbands.

20) Do whatever the hell your dude tells you to do. Your dude knows best. Even if you ask for driving directions and he says to turn left at the second light and the second light is a one-way street , your ass better just turn left into that oncoming traffic. Seriously. Do it. Your dude said so. (This is probably a bad example since I doubt that you are allowed to drive. It's hard to look at your husband all dreamy and moony while operating a motor vehicle. Plus, you are probably way too stupid to understand pedals and knobs and stuff.)

21) Worship the frick out of your dude. Tell him he looks hot. Tell him he's a genius. Look at him all damn day. Just stare at him with admiration in your eyes so that he feels worshipped like the god that he is. Do not blink. If you can't not blink, cut your eyelids off with an exacto knife. Blinking will add up to way too much time you miss staring at his perfectness. You can't take that chance, so ditch the lids.

22) If your dude ever upsets you, STFU. Even if your girlfriends are all talking about how annoying their husbands are, you smile and say your dude is goddamn perfect. Sure, they will know you are a lying a-hole and they might beat you up for being so high and mighty, but it's never okay to let anyone know that your dude might not be perfect.

23) Forgive your dude for everything he does that sucks ass. Even #1-22 on this list.

24) Don't argue with your dude. Whatever it is, and even if you are right, you need to shut your whore mouth and say "I'm sorry." Somehow, someway, it's probably all your fault anyhow.

25) Your dude is the king of the castle. It's his way or the highway. He gets to make all the decisions. You are just the baby factory, the cook, and the maid. And not even a funny, sassy maid like Alice or Florence. You try that shit you go to hell. Know your place.


You're welcome, ladies. Now turn of the computer and go bake something.

P.S. And if your man will give you a couple of bucks for being a good wifey-poo, go visit my new Zazzle Store and buy yourself a little something. ALL proceeds go to my charity of the month.

Dear Norman Reedus: Shhh! I won't hurt you. I only want to hump you from behind.

As most of my Facebook followers know, I have a crush on Norman Reedus. Like, a mad mad crush. And by mad mad crush I mean that I have contemplated hiring some kind of voodoo priestess to make a soup out of chicken feet and cow eyeballs and alligator wieners and the crushed up toenails of one-eyed monkeys with psoriasis, and dance around a fire naked and covered in the saliva of a 3-legged ferrel pig with a mood disorder while wearing a hat made out of elephant testicles and chanting Norman's name so that he will love me. If you happen to know Norman personally, don't tell him I said all that. Just be real cool and casual and all "Hey dude, there's this cool chick who writes this amazing blog and she thinks you're a really good actor and has lots of respect for your body of work." And try to say it really serious and stuff. Do not giggle when you say "body of work" because then he might not think I respect him. And I do. I respect him and his body. Of work.

As most of my Facebook followers ALSO know, I have a thing for zombies. As long as I can remember, I have been a sucker for a good zombie flick. I can't get enough of that stuff and I have been planning my Zombie Apocalypse Survival Plan since I was but a wee lass. I think about it so often that each time I enter a new place (house, office building, mall, etc...) I instantly get some kinda Terminator-y scanning screen that pops up in my vision as I survey my surroundings and instantly make a plan for what happens if the Z.A. starts while I'm there, i.e. who will be on my team, who will get eaten first, where I would go, and what I could use as weaponry. I have plans, people. Big plans.

I've had a crush on Norman for quite awhile, but he flew to the top of the heap-o-crushes that I have when The Walking Dead premiered. Holy hell, you guys. You take an already hot piece of man and you give him a crossbow, an attitude, a motorcycle, and Zombie killing skillz out the wazoo, and this girl is sold. Cover him with dirt and have him throw on a necklace made out of Zombie ears, and my pulse is quickening and I feel a bit faint. Screw that whole "Every kiss begins with Kay" bullshit. I don't want no stinkin' princess cut diamond in a platinum setting. I want Norman to show a walker who's boss and bring me a ring made out of a Zombie tooth or a nose or something. I'm kinda getting overheated just thinking about it.

Everyone knows that one of my favorite pastimes is what I call "Surprise Buttsecksing." It really kicked into full gear when I was in L.A. last spring and I talked the driver of our "Celebrity Home Tour" bus into letting me out to S.B.S. a statue in someone's yard in Beverly Hills:

That's it...bend over and pick up the paper. What could possibly happen?

After that, I really got obsessed with the whole S.B.S. thing and I went after a few statues:

After posting a plethora of photos of me giving it to various things from behind, one of my readers showed me a picture of Norman that they found on the interwebs, and I knew then that we were somehow, someday, some way, meant to cross paths and S.B.S. eachother:

I don't know who Norman is giving it to here, but I'm giving it to my friend Stephanie.

Lately Norman has been traveling around to all these comic book and horror conventions and TONS of my followers are sending me photos of themselves with MY Norman, and I'm getting pretty pissy. I mean, sure, I'm totally happy for everyone that they are getting their shot to meet MY man and everything, but come on. They could at least give him my number. Or my email. Or the link to my website. Or a picture of my boobies photoshopped with some giant boobies over them so they look appealing. People are so freaking selfish, you guys. And it really makes me worry about the future. I mean, I know that I, for one, won't be including any selfish people in my Kick-Ass Zombie Apocalypse Team. And guess what, mofos? My friend Jackie and I are building a Zombie Apocalypse Skating Rink and YOU can't come. That's right. Jackie had the genius idea of making an impenetrable Zombie fortress/skating rink combo that is like a combination of the movies Xanadu and Dawn of the Dead. Why roam around the U.S. fighting for your lives against dead people when you can be safely ensconced in a fortress of Disco, skating, and making out with cute mens? We are each inviting 5 people to join us, and we've got no shortage of people vying for those spots. And I'll tell you one thing right now: Meeting Norman and only thinking about yourselves and YOUR needs instead of me and mine... that don't get you no spot at all. I mean, maybe you will get a spot as Zombie bait. Every horror movie needs a few helpless ditzes to die here and there. Or you could be our roller skate disinfecting person. And my feet sweat like balls when I'm getting my roller jam on. Just so ya know.

Anyways....as part of my last contest (ahem...Surprise Buttsecksing Contest, of course) I asked people to make a creative drawing or photoshop or something of me, and my reader Mary Souto made my favorite:

That's me, Norman, a Zombie fighting unicorn that I am going to call Barnaby Bad-Ass Baggins, some a-hole Zombies, and lookie lookie what's under Norman's arm. That's right. A 12-pack of Modelo, bitches. We're about to unicorn horn some walkers in the head then go drink some beers and make out in a tree while Barnaby Bad-Ass Baggins keeps watch on the ground and poops out a bunch of Pez for us to have for a mid-makeout snack.

Thank you, Mary, for this lovely picture. You're prizes will be on the way to your house soon.

And P.S. Somebody give Norman my number already. Holy hell, you guys. I've been patient as all get out, but if I get one more picture of you guys with my man I'm gonna lose my mind up in here up in here. And think about it: THIS is me WITH my mind. Do you really wanna see me lose it? Can you even imagine the repercussions?

And P.P.S. On October 26-28 Comic Con is in Austin, and guess who will be there? That's right. Mr. Reedus. I'm feeling a road trip and some S.B.S. going on. Who wants to drive?