You Haven’t Read Jenny Lawson? SHAME ON YOU!
Jenny Lawson used to owe me $0.50, but that was in the past. Now she is my very best friend, my house is on her tour route, and we’re planning a slumber party together. Okay, not really. Not any of that is true. But, well, she did actually owe me $0.50.
Here’s what happened.
One morning, I fell down the stairs. I was in my pajamas, and the legs are too long, or else I’m too short, and anyway my pants got all tangled in my feet, so down I tumbled, ass over teakettle. It was a most spectacular sight, or so I would imagine. For myself, it was an astronomically terrific reminder of why I need to throw away piece of shit clothing that makes me look stupid. Roughly three-quarters of my wardrobe falls into this category, though, so I’m not 100% certain it’s the clothes. It may, or may not, be a fact of life that I am just destined to look stupid, regardless of what I’m wearing.
That’s not even part of the story, except that it set the tone for my day. I was all prepared to be in a pissy mood. Looking forward to it, actually. I was owed a pity-party, having had a super-crappy weekend. Affixing a glower to my face, I approached my laptop, ready to share the hate.
I read the most exciting email in the history of exciting emails. It was from the Dayton Metro Library, whom I love and adore and would donate thousands of dollars to, if I only had the funds. This is what it said:
“The item you requested has arrived and is available for pick-up at your local branch.”
Fuck yeah! That whole thing about being grouchy? Game over! My entire life just got better by reading those words. And the item in question? Only the most highly anticipated book of the year…
Let’s Pretend This Never Happened: (A Mostly True Memoir), by Jenny Lawson aka The Bloggess.
I’ve been following this funny lady’s blog for quite a while now. She makes me laugh. And she makes me feel less stupid, irrespective of the clothing I may, or may not, be wearing. That sounded like maybe I look less stupid when I’m naked, but I assure you that’s not what I meant, in any way whatsoever, because I promise I look 500 times as stupid without clothes on. No, for realz.
Jenny Lawson is, like most artistically inclined geniuses, mentally fucked up. I say this in the most respectful and loving way possible — believe me, because I’m mentally fucked up too, so I’m not throwing stones at brick houses, or glass ones, or however that phrase goes. Jenny Lawson has serious anxiety issues which sometimes cause her to hide under her desk. I can relate to this completely, except that the desk I’m hiding under does not belong to her, cuz that would just be weird. She doesn’t even live in Ohio, so to hide under her desk, I’d have to hop on a plane and show up at her house unannounced, which would simply be rude. And also impossible, since (a) I don’t know where she lives, and (b) I am afraid of knocking on the doors of people whom I have yet to meet in person. Hellz, sometimes I’m afraid to knock on the doors of people I know really well. ← See? That’s me, totally fucked up right there.
Okay, so back to my library book story. I called my husband at work and made him take the rest of the day off. He was pretty pissed, and said, NO, he could not get off work early to pick up my FUCKING library book, and to stop calling him about ridiculous things since he was very busy doing job-related things. He refused to elaborate when I pressed him to explain what kinds of tasks he was doing that could possibly bear more importance than the every-lasting happiness of his wife. And he hung up on me. Something about CONFERENCE CALL, and MEETING, and CORPORATE MANAGER blah-blah-blah. Like I give a shit about that sort of thing. Any job that doesn’t let you take off time to go pick up Jenny Lawson’s book from the library is a very STUPID job, obviously.
So then I called his mom. I told her that the hubz was being SO MEAN, and wouldn’t leave work to go pick up my prescription, and didn’t she think I had the right to be concerned that he wanted me to die. She tsk-tsked and said she’d take care of it.
An hour later my husband show up at home, red-faced, and threw the library book at me.
“Here’s your MEDICINE.
I hope you don’t DIE now.
I might get FIRED, but at least you can read your precious BOOK.”
I thanked him in the best way a wife can possibly repay her husband.
NOT THAT, YOU PERV!
I read him the good bits. Which was every single page. Over the next several evenings, I would read a section quietly to myself, only I wasn’t reading it quietly at all, because I kept cracking up. And then he would want to know what was so funny. This went on well past the due date. And THAT is why Jenny Lawson owed me $0.50. I racked up late fees.
I wrote to Jenny Lawson and explained her debt. Unfortunately, she was on vacation. UNLIKE Morgan Freeman, however, her staff is not full of a-holes, and Jenny Lawson’s assistant emailed me back asking why I felt I was owed a rap star.
NO. NOT THE CELEBRITY 50 CENT.
That would be silly. Not that he is silly. Well, I don’t know, maybe he is silly. I’m sure he’s a jolly fellow. No disrespect to Mr. 50 Cent. It’s just I wasn’t talking about a person. I was talking about cold, hard cash. Or coin. You know.
Here’s what you need to know about Jenny Lawson’s assistant, Mary: She is a Fairy Godmother. No, for realz. And also, I love her. Mary is now among the top five of my Most Favorite-est People EVER. Being not of this realm, I forgive her for not understanding that I meant FUNDS as opposed to RAPPERS.
Want to know why? Because she is sending me a signed copy of Jenny Lawson’s book in lieu of pocket change. WTF? Who does that? You totally wish Mary was YOUR Fairy Godmother, too, don’t you? I can’t blame you. Were she *MY* Fairy Godmother, I might not come out from under my desk ever again, because I’d be curled up with a good book like ALL THE TIME!
Here was my reaction to Mary’s announcement:
Ok, first of all you should be imagining a gorilla jumping up & down in excitement. Why a gorilla and not a person? Because the gorilla is *ME*, & you don’t know what I look like, so you can’t imagine *ME* jumping up and down, which is what I’m currently doing. Are you seeing the gorilla clearly in your mind? GOOD. Be sure it’s a HAPPY gorilla, not one of those angry, chest-beating types. This is a gorilla who just found out she won a lifetime supply of bananas dipped in Hershey’s Syrup. Now THAT is a happy gorilla, AMIRIGHT?
And you know what Mary said to me?
You are so silly and I love you. : )
Mary, Fairy Godmother
Mary, I love you, too. No, for realz.
This won’t be the last you hear of my love affair with Jenny Lawson. As soon as my SIGNED FUCKING COPY (hellz yeah, baby!) arrives, I will grace you with a play-by-play review. Can’t wait to read it again!
PS – Mary, will you come be *MY* Fairy Godmother, too? Pleeeeeeease?