"Dear Victor: Wow. That … really got out of hand. I’m sending this cat in as a peace offering. I forgive you for all the stuff you wrote on the walls about my sister, and I’m going to just ignore all the stuff you wrote about my “giant ass” (turn cat over for rest) because I love you and you need me. Who else loves you enough to send you notes written on cats? Nobody, that’s who. Also, I stapled a picture of us from our wedding day to the cat’s left leg. Don’t we look happy? We can be that way again. Just stop leaving wet towels on the floor. That’s all I ask. I’m low-maintenance that way. Also, this cat needs to go on a diet. I shouldn't be able to write this much on a cat and still have room left over." That quote is just one of the many brilliant moments that fill this memoir. I had never heard one thing about Jenny Lawson before seeing this book, and yet you find yourself so attached to her, her life, her stories. You don't realize how much of yourself you're investing, because it's just that damn funny, but you really, really are. Jenny's life almost seems impossibly comic and tragic, but her earnest descriptions and witty dialogue make it clear just how honest she's being. I read this well into the night, and had to stifle my laughter by biting my pillow, which is no pleasant affair. I'm jut going to leave some quotes that will probably convince you to read this in themselves. "A friend is someone who knows where all your bodies are buried. Because they're the ones who helped you put them there."And sometimes, if you're really lucky, they help you dig them back up." "I picked up the phone to call the police, but then I considered how it would sound when I told them that I was calling from inside my bathroom, where I’d OD’ed on laxatives, and that a possible rapist was quietly passing me notes under the bathroom door." "P.P.P.P.S. Also, if you try to make a shrimp boil, but the bag of spices bursts, and so you just toss it in along with whatever spices you can find in the pantry--you can make homemade pepper spray. Unintentionally.And everyone at your dinner party will run outside for the next hour, coughing and tearing up as if they've been maced, because technically they kind of have been, because mace was one of the spices I found in the pantry. I blame whoever makes spice out of mace, and I remind my gasping dinner guests that even if I did mace them, I did it in an old fashioned, homemade, Martha Stewart sort of way. With love."Edit: Guess what I re-read and loved even more than the first time?
