This sweater is designed to let everyone know EXACTLY where my vagina is.
Well, thank heaven for this distinction. I’d hate to sully your manly journals with my silly lady thoughts.
You might want to think about emblazoning a dick and balls right on the front cover, just to be 100% safe.
I’m surprised they even allow the idea that men could write in a journal. But y’all definitely write only about MANLY things — sports, cars, power tools, World War II, The Shawshank Redemption, and barbecue.
I mean, I GUESS these items could somehow be related…if I really thought hard about it…
I’m watching Sweet Home Alabama, and even when I saw it in the theater, when he takes her into Tiffany and tells her to “pick one” engagement ring, I got anxious. That’s too many choices, I’ll be here for 14 hours. YOU pick one. I’m-a go get a pretzel.
(And by “YOU pick one,” I mean pick one at Kohl’s and use the rest of the money to take us to Italy.)
(OK, fine, not really Kohl’s — I’m not THAT bad. But he’d know which friends to call.)
“Hey, Brain? I’m not sure what’s happening here, but… You realize shopping online for things you don’t need with money you don’t have isn’t going to make you feel better, right?”
“Are you sure? Because I REALLY feel like it might.”
I saw this immediately as an opportunity for creepy strangers to read the shirt, assess my body, and offer me commentary on it. Hard pass.
(Though, my therapist and several friends agree I’ve built up my emotional walls SO high that men can’t even see me to BE creepy, so strange men usually don’t talk to me, which…SCORE!)
Well, I mean…you could just…NOT.
As far as I know that’s still an option we gals have, no?
(Seen in an interview with style bloggers.)
Today is Day 9 of my 10-day vacation, and it’s the only day I don’t HAVE to do anything.
But I started thinking about getting my apartment in order while I have time, and then about what kind of decor and furniture I want, which led to remembering I have zero sense of style, and to wondering HOW I have such a wide spectrum of things that appeal to me, like how I equally want my apartment to look like Olivia Pope’s but also just bought groovy yoga art and hot pink mixing bowls, and to “Do I want to stay in my tiny apartment or get a bigger place so I can have other rooms to play with different styles, AND an office and a dishwasher?” and to “City or suburbs?” and to “East Coast or West?” and to “What do I want from my fucking LIFE?!”, which led to a headache, and now I’m going back to bed.
That is what I want from life.
See also: Replacing this cup of coffee with water, and perhaps also Valium.