My very favorite part of the Snuggie™ commercial is this guy.
Aw. Maybe he’d feel better if he was wearing a Necky.
This comment was in response to this relatively tame NSFW post at MrXStitch.
Wow. I have no idea what “hamster talk” is. Even if I did, I would never DREAM of doing it in your box, Janet.
I’m sorry you feel that way. I’m sorry you used a fake email address so I couldn’t tell you so myself. Most of all, I’m sorry that I am not, as you imply, getting paid to post about these things. Because that would be awesome.
I'm not having fun anymore.
Here is a gratuitous paragraph about myself.
I realize with a quiet horror that I am pretty sad today. I swirl it around like the last bit of cocoa in a mug, hoping that the separated constituents will come back together to become something I like. I remember all the times it’s been enough to say, “you know what? Fuck this. I am going to put on my favorite dress and be happy today.” I’m unbelievably fortunate that that method works for me as often as it does, but not today. Today it took me two hours to assemble my sorry brain enough to make some lunch. I walked from the kitchen table to my bedroom mirror about a dozen times, each time I still looked disheveled, distracted, and a little alien. There’s something else in my brain besides brain, in the places that used to know how to put one foot in front of the other, right now there’s only radio static and slowly swirling wisps of things I used to be able to focus on. I need to write so many emails. I need to apply for so many jobs. I need to call my mom, or anyone at all, for that matter. I need to go grocery shopping, or leave the house at all, for that matter. Okay. Starting. Now. Go take a shower. Take off your sweatshirt. Take off your slippers. What was I doing again?
It’s got to be sick and wrong that I’m taking comfort in the fact that I’m not the only one who is having days like this more and more often lately, but I am. So I’ll offer a simultaneous thanks & apology, Effie. :)
THOUSANDS of stitches, over a year of work (maybe two years?) and Jamie, aka Mr X Stitch, has completed his first graffiti cross stitch. Simply amazing.
Just received this photo of a Pukka advertisement in the wild from Jamie. So. This is really a thing over there?
I don’t really know what comment to make. I was made aware of this today and felt obligated to share it.
So this happened yesterday evening.
I found a package from my publisher yesterday when I got home after work. Remember I was still high on presciption opiates (seriously, they were strong), but even without I would have been overwhelmed.
What I did next:
- Gasped.
- Squeed.
- Almost threw up.
- Stroked them.
- Burst into tears.
- Laughed like a hyena.
- Cried some more.
- Smelled them.
- Opened one.
- Sobbed.
- Flicked through a few pages.
- Put it down.
- Fell off the sofa, on which I was kneeling, still in my coat and boots.
- Squealed.
- Whooped.
- Repeat.
These are just proof copies for reviewers and overseas publishers and the final novel will look like the central bit of the illustration you can see on the cover, but holy effing hell I’m unable to describe what it feels like to see my odd little book almost all growed up and printed and bound and my words inside and a photo of me on the back and my name, my fucking name, on the cover.
So there you have it. Another evening of lunacy with Justine.
Also, I do hope whoever reads it likes it. I’m getting a tad nervous.
And by ‘nervous’ I mean ‘fucking terrified’.
(via sniffyjenkins)
Exciting! I want to read it. Like right now!
