Furiously Happy (38 page)

Authors: Jenny Lawson

BOOK: Furiously Happy

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Who wants cake?

LOOK AT THIS GIRAFFE

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. Truthfully, we don't really have room for a giraffe head, but we do have an old, decorative English streetlight in our yard that needs replacing and I thought maybe I could put the giraffe head there and have him hold the handle of a hanging lantern in his mouth. I can picture him now, staring silently, as if telling potential burglars: “Just keep on driving, ya bastards. I've got this place well covered.” Victor says it would more likely be saying, “Welcome, solicitors.
We'll buy fucking anything.
” He also pointed out that taxidermied animals rot in the rain so I made a note to ask my dad if he could drill a hole in the mouth so the giraffe could hold an umbrella over himself. Of course, then that would keep him from holding the lantern in his mouth because that would look ridiculously busy, but perhaps we could make his eyes light up like laser beams instead? Maybe something motion-activated. Because nothing says “welcome” like a surprise umbrella-wielding giraffe head staring at you with laser beams for eyes.

I Left My Heart in San Francisco. (But Replace “San Francisco” with “Near the Lemur House” and Replace “Heart” with a Sad Question Mark.)

I'm Turning into a Zombie One Organ at a Time

Koalas Are Full of Chlamydia

I'm Going to Die. Eventually.

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. It's quite freeing to write about this because I realize the chances of my walking in on a dead body in the toilet are admittedly slim, but it seems like it would be even
more
unlikely for someone who just
wrote
about her fear of walking in on toilet corpses to actually discover a toilet corpse. So effectively, this chapter is lowering my chances of that happening.

And raising the chances of its happening to you.

I'm sorry, but that's how statistics work. It's not like writing this is going to keep people from dying on the toilet.
I'm not Jesus, people.
I can't bring bathroom corpses back from the dead. They're still out there and someone has to find them, and odds are it will most likely be you rather than me since I just wrote this.

Except now that I think about it, what are the odds that you (
who just read about the minute chances of finding bathroom corpses
) would actually find a bathroom corpse now? Getting slimmer by the sentence I'd say. If anything I'm helping you.

You're welcome.

In fact, you should encourage all your friends and family to read this book to lower
their
chances of finding a bathroom corpse too. That's what we do for people we love. We hold their hair when they vomit, and we help them move, and we protect them from toilet corpses. I suggest buying all of your loved ones this book and inscribing it: “I bought you this to keep you safe from bathroom corpses
because I love you
.” That way they'll know you mean business.

Well at Least Your Nipples Are Covered

The Big Quiz

Acknowledgments

I owe an immense debt to my parents and sister for giving me these stories, and also the ability to truly appreciate how bizarre and wonderful they are. Thank you to my husband for being the straight man in this book and the funny man in my life. You are my home. Thank you to my daughter for being amazing and for letting me write about her even though she did refuse to let me write that one really funny thing about Ada Lovelace. Hailey, I assume you're not letting me write about it because you're keeping it for your own future memoir and I salute you for your foresight.

Thank you to my dead grandparents for not haunting me. Thank you to my live grandparents for supporting me even when normal people would distance themselves. I love you all.

Thank you to Neeti Madan, the greatest agent ever, who understands my weirdness and calls me after every professional conference phone call because she knows I'll need someone to tell me I'm not an idiot. Thank you to the brilliant Amy Einhorn, who continues to believe in me even though I refuse to use proper punctuation and randomly make up words. Thank you to the editors and proofreaders who are probably all angry alcoholics after working on this book.

Thank you to Jeremy Johnson for making Rory I and Rory II, and to my father for spending an entire day wiring and sculpting prosthetic limbs for my dead raccoon amputee.

Thank you to the wonderful group of people who read my stuff before it's even close to being polished and who listen to my insane chapters over and over at ridiculous hours. Laura Mayes, Maile Wilson, Karen Walrond, BrenÃ© Brown, Lisa Bir, and Stephen Parolini.
These books would not exist without you.

Thank you to the lovely and talented Andrew Kantor, who took that picture of a vicious possum so I didn't have to. You are one of God's bravest creatures, Andrew.

Thank you to Mary Phiroz, who keeps me out of jail and makes me seem like a grown-up. Thank you to Brooke Shaden, the immortal Nancy W. Kappes (paralegal), Jason Wilson, Doctor Q, Allie Brosh, Neil Gaiman, Wil and Anne Wheaton, Bonnie Burton, Deni Kendig, Kim Bauer (oneclassymotha), Kregg, Amanda, Felicia, Christine Miserandino from
butyoudontlooksick.com
and everyone else who has helped so generously.

Thank you to my dedicated readers who bought my first book even though there was a dead mouse on it, and to the booksellers, librarians, book buyers and the people who work in bookshops who write nice things about me. Thank you to the people who sneak into bookshops, find my books, and put them up front in illegal displays. Thank you to everyone who ever came to a book tour or was brave enough to suggest one of my books for their book club. A giant (and vaguely passive-aggressive) thank-you to my fellow writers and bloggers who just keep getting better and make me have to work harder. Thank you to everyone who helped me dispose of a body. Thank you to my first-grade teacher, who celebrated my weirdness. Thank you to my eighth-grade teacher, who said I wouldn't amount to anything, because it spurred me to prove you wrong, and also to glue your desk shut. Thank you to the people who voted in the poll about whether I could write “He was later drug to his death by catfish” instead of “He was later dragged to his death by catfish.”
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And thank you to everyone who realized that “foxen” and “problemly” were intentional mistakes.

Thank you to the person I forgot to list here for being so incredibly understanding and forgiving. Everyone said you'd be bitter and butthurt but I knew better.

And finally, thank you to you. For being you. You are better than enchiladas or cupcakes. Or enchilada cupcakes. Which should totally exist.

About the Author

Jenny Lawson
, The Bloggess, is an award-winning humor writer known for her great candor in sharing her struggle with depression and mental illness. Her first book,
Let's Pretend This Never Happened,
was a #1
New York Times
bestseller.
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Visit the author's Web site at
TheBloggess.com
. Or sign up for email updates
here
.

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Also by
Jenny Lawson

Let's Pretend This Never Happened

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