I have my issues with my family, but I don’t know where else the conversation would lead naturally to me getting applauded for joking that super religious folks are against abortion “because that’s one less child to molest. You’re fucking up their draft picks.”
I had a dream that Justin Timberlake came up behind me at some party, “danced” with me by grinding his junk against my ass, and fondled my breasts.
Good work, subconscious. More of this, please.
A lot of people tell me I should do standup comedy, which is adorable, but I think I’m best relegated to written snark.
Besides, I’m watching this right now, and it looks like my niche is already well represented in the standup community.
Whiskey doesn’t ask silly questions.
I wish almost every Melissa McCarthy movie didn’t look awful, because I do want to support her as a human.
Sookie St. James for life, though!
(And also, hey, maybe don’t be a dick?)
Note to self: Go to yoga. You like yoga. You need yoga.
Ahem… I SUPER don’t want to go. It’s “New Moon yoga” at 7:45, but because I am 100 years old, that might as well be midnight.
Can’t I just welcome the new moon, like, at home in yoga PANTS?
Besides, the new moon already happened this month, and I honestly don’t even know what a new moon signifies. I know it’s about cycles, so…does it have to do with my period? When you Google “new moon,” “Twilight” movies come up, so fuck the new moon.
How ’bout I just go home and make new moon nachos? Nachos are HELLA zen. I bet I can find all my inner peace with nachos.
Ah, the great moment of reckoning in any packing/decluttering mission: “Do I expect to get laid any time between moving day and October, when this box of condoms expires?”
Tossing ’em. Not SO much because I don’t anticipate getting any, more because I never want to be reaching for a condom only to find myself cockblocked by the passage of time.
I’m invited to a wedding in a few months, and I was invited with a guest.
It’s probably bad etiquette to bring a girlfriend who’ll dress me in something slutty, be my wingman, and drive me home once I get wasted enough to get naked with a groomsman in a broom closet… right?
I’ll go to the wedding alone, get drunk, and go home with the groomsman. #drinkresponsibly