A month’s worth of illustrations, plus bipartisan suggestions for the next 4 years.

While thinking (fretting) (panicking) about what the next four years will be like, I wondered, is there literally anything Donald Trump could do as president to to make me like him?

In between these illustrations, I have a few non-partisan suggestions that everyone in America can get behind.


Make the Barenstain Bears the Barenstein Bears again. I think everyone would feel better if this creepy alternate-universe conspiracy were set to rights. Just make them officially the Barenstein Bears and we’ll all feel better.


Cleaner gas station bathrooms. Sit to poo without fear, America.


Bigger fireworks. Bigger! Sparklier! Make ’em ‘uuuuuuuuuge!


Taco trucks on every corner. The Donald needs to reconsider disparaging this notion. It’d really perk everyone up.


Banning the Chicken Dance from Large Gatherings. I wrote a letter to my wedding DJ about how he must not play this song on my Special Day under any circumstances. I’m not above writing a letter to President Trump to the same effect.


Puppies. His family should adopt a shelter animal. A really cute one. Preferably a dog, not a cat, because everyone likes a dog. Cats are the snooty pets of liberal, elite ivy-tower types.


Ticks. They’re the grossest, most terrifying threat to our nation. I just scratched my bosom and found one. I’ve never been bitten by an undocumented immigrant.


And, most importantly,

Let us see inside Area 51. Please, Donny. We’re all dying to know.

I don’t recall ever being this hip.

I’ve recently found an area on the online community Reddit that’s called Reddit Gets Drawn. People submit pictures of themselves, and others sketch them.

It’s weirdly addictive to sort through these pictures for something that strikes a cord. And the recipients always seem happy with what they’ve received.

I’ve drawn a lot of these, but here are my top 4:


This child has a long and stylish Brooklyn life ahead of her.


This child is going to become a top-tier civil rights lawyer. She’s the sort of princess who would ensure more safety protocols for her 7 dwarfs.


This child is going to sail around the world in the style of Magellan, but in a yacht. He will high-five at least one mermaid of every species.


This child is going to run a vegan lifestyle blog called “Can’t Be Beet.” Not all recipes will involve beets — but many will.

I was an unstylish kid. I had a lot of jean shorts (“jorts”) and baggy t-shirts. I oscillated sharply between jumping in creeks and jumping in books.

I was not cool.

I am still not cool.

These kids have me beat. Or do they have me… “beet”?

Let The Fly Come To You, And All That.

If I’m watching TV or staring at Pinterest, I don’t have to move.

I don’t have to think.

I don’t have to exist.


Drawing is hard; I have to sort of think about what comes next.

Reading is hard; I have to occasionally look up a word, consider a scene, or flip back to understand a clue.

Crocheting is hard; I have to keep track if my counts.

Painting is hard; I have to locate the paints and clean up afterward.

You might be thinking that the point of this post is “creativity is worth the struggle” — but sometimes, it isn’t. 


Fallow fields are left alone to regain fertility.

Try being fallow every once in a while. Sometimes doing nada is a nice way to wait for a better day.

Don’t do this all the time; that’s called “giving up.”

While you’re waiting for your groove to return, try doodling. Embellished grocery lists never killed anyone.

Muffins, meetings, and being bored out of my mind.

Coworker: “When were these muffins left on my desk?”
Me: “There are muffins on your desk?!
Coworker: “You don’t remember when they arrived?”
Me: “I would remember muffins arriving. Because I would have eaten all of them before you arrived.”

I then ate one. Blueberry!


These are two entirely separate doodles joined with throwaway text.

I’ll bet the animal meeting was mostly them having off-topic conversations with each other, followed by five minutes of rapid-fire slapdash decision-making.

Boring, boring, boring; “can we just fucking vote to get this over with?”; boring, boring.


Other cultures have much warmer and more colorful motifs than ours.

This is what white people are like:


Super-boring. Nary a pattern or color in sight.

Take the Pilgrims, for example:

Boring, boring, boring; horrible decision to commit genocide; boring, boring.

When I was a teenager, my grandfather married a woman who called herself Marmee and named her four daughters after the Little Women. At Thanksgiving, she and her numerous offspring (and grand-offspring) sang this prayer in unison — while my family cowered, silently, in the Atheist Corner.

Boring, boring, boring; horrible decision to commit group singsong prayer; boring, boring.

Maybe the problem is me. Maybe that’s why I love drawing, Tetris, Minesweeper, and Candy Crush so much. Speaking of which, I need to go try to beat level 147 for the millionth time this week.

I’ve kidnapped your dog and your underwear!

A few days ago, I grabbed the townhouse’s laundry and Fuzz-Butt (our dog) (not his real name) and went over to the house.

I put the dog in the washer and the laundry in the back yard.

When the laundry didn’t romp or chase squirrels, I realized the error of my ways.

My husband must have been delighted to receive this text:

“I’ve kidnapped your dog and your underwear!”

His follow-up questions were:

“Did you just take the underwear? I had other laundry, too.”


Do you know how to use the new laundry machine? Does it take some kind of special detergent or anything?”

I replied:

“Oh no! I didn’t read the instructions! I just put ANY OLD THING in the detergent drawer! Also, the house is on fire, and the dog has escaped into the woods.


As you can see from the illustration above, that is, of course, not the case. Because I am the Queen of Laundry Day.

I knew to buy special HE detergent for the new washer because, duh, I am not going to throw several hundred dollars at an appliance just to have it explode because I couldn’t be bothered to skim a pamphlet.

You may notice that my self-portrait is a little different.

It’s because I got a very trendy haircut:


It’s super-fun.

I’d like you to know that I almost didn’t post this photo because my face looked fat in it.

But then I remembered that I have a massive cranium in all photos. Because I have a massive cranium, period.

People seem pretty psyched about the hair. Or they’re just being nice. I’m not sure; and honestly, I’m so busy basking in compliments that I don’t care.

Notes about other drawings:

Manila drawing: My husband exists for puns.

Upon researching Manila, I stumbled across the site for Star City, Manila’s bomb-as-hell theme park. Congratulations, Star City: you’re now on my bucket list. Sadly, Manila’s real sports teams have more disappointing names — with the exception of the Beermen. I don’t know if this means something else in the Philippines. I hope it refers to men who drink (or are composed of) beer. 

Sometimes your kid starts dating a black hole; this sort of thing often happens. A lady sometimes has to kiss quite a few frogs before finding a prince.

Now, if you’ll excuse me, my prince’s underwear needs laundering.