In which I never learn…

Last week: “No more hooking up with friends of friends! It gets so awkward for your friendships once you sleep with the guy and then decide you hate him.”

Last night: “But…but… Look at him! Just this once? Pleeeaaaasssse?”

Gotta get dirty to get clean!


So… The idea behind “washboard abs” is that I rub myself all over him and get clean, right?

Because I’m suddenly feeling very, VERY dirty. (In the best possible way.)

(Yes, I know he’s gay, and married. And? “My special gift has always been impossible relationships.”)20140423-133520.jpg

“No, I LOVE YOU, man!” “Just say ‘thank you.'”

See, here’s the thing about being friends with exes…

I tell my close friends I love them fairly often. They mean a lot to me, and I think it’s nice to say and to hear.

But my ex just texted me something hilarious, and I had to curb my instinct to say it to him, because it’s weird now.

I think the line is, if you’ve put your tongue in my mouth, I can’t tell you I love you, even as a friend. *nod* That sounds valid.

It’s naked time!

Via USA Today: Four Stars Bare All for Allure Annual Nude Issue.Image“For Minnie Driver, 44, the timing was right. ‘I never could have done this when I was 25. No way. All I saw were the flaws. I still see flaws, but I see what’s great more—and I’ve got a banging body.'”

Go on, girl, get it.

You’d probably forget your towel.

Honest breakup reasons…

“Because you’re 42, and I don’t understand how you’re still so juvenile (not in a good way) when 42 is supposed to be the answer to life, the universe, and everything. I can’t abide that level of cognitive dissonance. I’m confused enough on my own.”

You don’t miss me by my hair, you don’t miss me anywhere…

Interesting fact about the whole “You’re Gonna Miss Me When I’m Gone” phenomenon: They probably don’t miss you when you’re gone.

I guess maybe they do if you’re Anna Kendrick.

The Origin of Smug

In case any of you ever wonder how I turned out this way, I submit as People’s exhibit A that Easter conversation with my family involved talk of gimp masks, furries, and the “classy” sex shop in the area.

Not at dinner proper, mind — we waited until dessert. We’re white trash, not barbarians.

The reason: Zombees?

My dad’s version of Easter: “Happy Easter. Remember the reason. God bless you all.”

My version: “Goddammit! There’s a bee in my apartment!” *murders bee, disposes of corpse, giggles at thought of zombie bee (zombee?) resurrecting in three days*