I’m not supposed to be buying any more books, because there are at least 30 on my “to-read” shelf — books I have PAID for that are just sitting there, as untouched as my vagina.
But, I mean, I think if my instinct based on a first page is to buy copies for myself AND every woman I know, I should get a pass, no?
Rhetorical question — I already ordered it. Don’t judge me. You’re not my mom.
I would like this to happen to me in the very near future.
I can’t figure out how to embed it because everything (read: ABC) is dumb, but here: This is a scene from last night’s episode of Scandal, and I am coveting the experience HARD.
I’m just gonna send the guy this video like it’s office training material. Except the office is my body, and “You bettah WORK.” (Ahem. I apologize for that.)
If Scott Foley ever grabbed my hair and put his mouth on that part of my neck, we wouldn’t have even made it into the apartment — I would have just pulled up the dress and ridden him like we were in the Hallway Tour de France. And I’m not ashamed to admit that watching him do…THAT to Olivia, even just for a tragically fleeting moment, produced an actual tingle. Kerry Washington gives great sex face.
Don’t judge me, we all have our deal. Mine just happens to involve being occasionally slapped on the ass with a fashionable leather glove by a trained assassin. Whatevs.
#Scandal #TGIT #TeamJake
I never get tired of this song.
“I’m not gonna tell you what it’s about. You have to listen to the lyrics. And don’t judge me.” 💕
Don’t judge me. I STILL wanna be all prim and proper and then give Mr. Schue a lap dance.
UNF.
I may or may not be spending my Friday night still sick, eating sushi, and watching Olivia and Fitz have sex for the first time.
Yes, AGAIN. Shut up. There’s the “Take off your clothes” and the pushing against surfaces, and Olivia’s amazing lingerie and her little whimper… Don’t judge me. (And don’t worry, the Jake scene is next!)
We’ve already established that I’m an odd woman. I’m not that into flowers, I don’t wear a lot of jewelry, and I’m picky about candy. (Especially Whitman’s samplers — seriously, how the everloving fuck are those still around?) And we’ve discussed the giant, mutant teddy bear.
Basically, all that shit they try to sell men on Valentine’s Day, I want no part of. I don’t know many women who do.
But this is a Valentine’s gift I can get behind. And one that will get you behind me.
I’m always cold, especially with this clusterfuck of a Northeast winter we’ve been having. I love blankets, I love words, and, theoretically, I’d love you. I’d be wrapped in your love! I’d always have your love to keep me warm! Cheesy? Certainly. But I’d melt faster than low-end chocolate for that shit. Don’t judge me.
Smug Singleton 