Part of an email I sent to a friend:
“I’ve actually always loved that about older books, the emphasis on words and writing as an aspect of courtship. It’s part of the reason I’m such a sucker for You’ve Got Mail (don’t judge).
“I realize it doesn’t translate exactly to modern relationships, but I can’t abide suitors who can’t write at least coherently, keep my ADD interest, and make me laugh with words.”
Quotable female friend, re: performing oral sex: “That’s one of my favorite things. It’s right up there with puppies.”
Sent to me by a proud mama:
To be fair, if I could be guaranteed a kid as great as hers, I’d drive down to the Navy yard right now and offer my unused womb to the first seaman who’d come aboard my battleship.
But as it stands, being around my friends’ children brings me a joy rivaled only by returning home to the sweet, child-free silence of my apartment.
Hm. You know, part of the reason I buy these things is that my hand is too small to reach where I need to reach.
Well, we’ll see what happens — it’s bound to hit something. At least it’s not too big, which is usually my concern.
So, Jesus made an ice cream, and it’s Haagen Dazs.
Interesting. I figured He’d have done a clever Ben & Jerry play-on-words flavor.
For Christ’s Cake, maybe, with cake batter ice cream, communion-wafer crunchies, and a raspberry swirl — get the body and blood of Christ in there? Ooh, ooh — Resurrection Raspberry swirl? Bubble Gum Blasphemy? Trespass-ion Fruit sorbet? Reese’s Piece Be With You?
But he went Dazs. Bold choice, Lord. Bold choice.
I was invited to a party at the home of a former coworker. She and I are cool, but I’m debating whether we’re cool enough that I can ask her what I really want to know before I commit to attending this shindig: will there be any cute male Singletons there with whom I can get drunk and misbehave?
I should get my new summer dress hemmed ASAP, just in case anyone’s face needs to be under it in the near future. I wouldn’t want them to get too hot. It’s called manners?
An extra post today, because I just got a delightfully random and wholly unsolicited offer of dick, and I wanted to share this video with you.
I’m going to try to re-work some of the details and post them here, but it may be another one of those things that I cannot possibly make funnier than the truth.
I’d been thinking about asking my friend Mike to be my friend with benefits.
But every time I think about saying his name during sex, I can’t help thinking of that Geico “hump day” commercial — “Mike, Mike, Mike, Mike, Mike!” (And also, ’cause…well, humping.)
I may never fuck anyone named Mike again. If we ever had sex on a Wednesday, I don’t know that I’d be able to stop myself from laughing, or at least panting, “Hump daaayyyyy” during my orgasm. It’d be really tough to keep me focused.
Is it wrong to want a vibrator purely because it’s hot pink and is pictured with cupcakes?
I’m a little peeved at the $139 price tag. Do you know how many things I could buy to put in my vagina for $139?
I found something similar on Amazon for $65. It should come next week. And so should I. Hey-o!
P.S. When you order a sex toy online, the phrase “track your package” becomes infinitely funnier.
The other day I emailed Jenny Lawson (aka The Bloggess) to thank her being awesome, for helping me through a tough year, and for inspiring this blog. It was really her and a couple of my friends that made me think people might laugh at my silly little stories.
I got this back:
SO flippin’ awesome. Her name should be Jenny Lawesome. For serious. Or Jenny L’awesome if you want to be fancy and French about it.
Smug Singleton 