Speaking of Hugh, I just realized he hasn’t gotten any love here yet.
I blame lattelicious. Slacker!
Hmmm. The guys I posted a few minutes ago are totes adorable, but I definitely have a type when it comes to any kind of long-term devotion.
I’m a picky, picky princess.
Here are two of the many reasons to see “Across the Universe”. I could say something intelligent about the movie, but I’m totes ADD when there are such tasty things about. Maybe later.
My apologies to Mike, David and Hugh if you are troubled by these new additions to the harem. I still love you all and this in no way affects your seniority. Thank you for your patience as I work out the new rotation.
I will now read from Syndi’s Text Message to the Feminites, chapter 5, verse 12:
“We need rich men with dead mothers.”
The word of Syndi.
Thanks be to Syndi.
Let us pray….
Okay, I don’t watch commercials so I’m always late to the party as far as that goes. I’m just now getting around to this:
Mike Rowe and a truck? Ditch Joe there, and we’re good to go! All this situation needs is a sleeping bag and some Boone’s Farm.
You know, sometimes I worry that I’m too easy. Then I remember that the proper term is “liberated”.
I totes overlooked the opportunity to make a fully-boxed frame joke. Oops.
No, I really don’t have anything better to do today.
able bodied men
each comfortably seated
chivalry lies slain
no gentle breeze here
renegade climate control
wilts the tender rose
shouts and cheeto dust
oh, neglected demon spawn
call DCFS
hello, strange new hand
I don’t believe we have met
you owe me dinner
a window clatters
as the broken cord dances
the still sign abides
I shall not be outdone by my Blogging counterpart. (and also, I’m having High School flashbacks. Ooh, Mulder! Any man who, when asked if he wants to live forever, answers “Not if parachute pants are coming back in style,” is the kinda man for me.)
Mmmm, apples.
And of course, from the ever popular Tea Time pictures… (avert your eyes, o those with delicate sensibilities!)
There. See? I have officially brought celebrity crotch to the blogging masses. My work here is done. For now.
September 10, 1993. My eleventh birthday. I was just minding my business, trying to score some cake and *BAM!*
*PUBERTY SEQUENCE INITIATED*
Man, just look at him! So delicious! WANT!
So in case you didn’t know, there were just like ten fashion weeks. This year, designers thought it would be fun if they took a ginormous condescending self-indulgent dump on the collective mind of shoppers everywhere. This awesomely insane bit of fluffy Dolce & Gabbana goodness was the only thing worth having. Trust me. I looked at alllllll the pics. For the children.
Heh, I think I stole that Photoshop from Perez a long ass time ago. Naturally I had to save and caption such hilarity.
So, remember the episode where they found some weird planet where people were killed when they reached a certain age? I don’t remember what happened, but I’m gonna go ahead and guess Picard had some tea and looked concerned, the Greek alien chick sensed something but did not catch on to the hideousness that is purple jumpsuits, and Riker managed to score despite the fact that his waistline has clearly modeled itself after the ever-expanding universe that he explores. Yeah, I think that was every episode ever. So anyway, I was reminded of this episode a couple weeks ago when some old dude stopped me on the street. Being accustomed to the city, I was expecting him to ask for change or say something uncalled-for about my luscious boo-tay. But noooo, he wanted to tell me that my snuggly soft pink Gap shirt made me “a walking billboard for capitalist pigs.” He lectured me right there in the middle of the street for about five minutes about sweatshops and forests. M’kay, Gramps. How ’bout I just whip it off? I swear. Maybe Lady Godiva knew some hippies?
I saw him a few days later at Walgreens telling the manager some markers he only used once must be defective. Um, how about let’s not buy art supplies at the drug store? Do you really expect them to last for more than one protest sign?
Somebody had best Old Yeller me when I get all retired and kooky.
But back to Riker for a minute. I mean, seriously, was there no gym on the ship? Funny Forehead Dude didn’t get all puffy, and neither did Reading Rainbow Man. Sex must not burn a lotta calories. Maybe he was an alky!!!! Escándalo!
