It’s nice to bring a dessert.
Everyone should participate.
It can get pretty expensive.
I asked her for the recipe but she never got back with me.
I’m having my cat neutered tomorrow.
There’s no reason to just let him run around doing what he does.
Your nails look so pretty. What kind of polish is that?
I didn’t use polish. That’s a nail strengthener with a tint.
My daughter has the prettiest nails. They’re not very long, though.
My nails break easily, so I have to put this stuff on them.
Is he still there or did he move out yet?
We haven’t talked about it.
You can’t let him tell you what to do—it’s your house.
I can’t decide between taco salad or 7-layer dip.
Are you bringing a dessert, too?
I like to do both. It makes up for the people who don’t bring anything.
Some of them offer to just pay money, but it’s not the same.
Oh lord deliver me from mansplainers.
— Jess Zimmerman (@j_zimms) March 7, 2012
Canadians watch US politics like Americans watch Jersey Shore.
— kelly oxford (@kellyoxford) March 2, 2012
OH: Be careful of what you’re good at because you’ll end up doing it for the rest of your life.
— Christopher Butler (@chrbutler) March 1, 2012
“That’s a nice train you got there, Mr. Pig. Ain’t got many passengers yet.”
That is all.
Dare to hope, aspire to succeed, strive to excel, stop making so many to-do lists.
You are most likely unaware of how many problems you face, and that’s a big problem.
Poised at the brink of precipitous disaster, a man must pull back and consider taking the long way around or perhaps a bridge.
That which does not kill you probably left a trail of evidence and is fully prosecutable.
A scoped rifle and a clock tower will get you onto the evening news.
Fight for what you believe, and fail at it. Get up and try again. By the third time, reconsider your commitment to such a stupid idea.
Throughout history there have been moments like these when we must reflect on history.
Never open with a funny story. You’re not very good at it.
Latin Proverb: “If the wind will not serve, take to the oars.”
When the Canadian border crossing guards asked me where I was from, I was really tempted to say “the internet.”
— Hannah Waters (@hannahjwaters) January 27, 2012
Growing up, Ovid was a sometimes competitor in high school athletics. In retrospect it makes me think of extremely pregnant birds and may explain my distinct indifference toward Latin narrative poetry.
She was skinny, quick-witted, disarmingly unprofessional, alternating between stand-up patter, bardic intonations, and the hypnotic emotional sway of a chanteuse, and she was sexy in an androgynous way I hadn’t encountered before. The elements cohered convincingly; she seemed both entirely new and somehow long-anticipated. For me at nineteen, the show was an epiphany.
Springtime 1976, I was living in the cinderblock building on the glorified median strip there where they split Highway 13, and one day I went over to this one girl’s apartment, she lived right by the guy who dealt me speed, and she said, “Hey, you know who you remind me of? You remind me of Patti Smith!”
Gave her a possum grin I’m still grinning.
The finding continues a trend in which nine of the 10 warmest years in the modern meteorological record have occurred since the year 2000.
Words cannot express how undeniably proptioniferous this is.
It’s too bad that everything that happens is real.
— ASW (@TotallyAllen) January 17, 2012
I’m near-sighted, and my beard is getting whiter, so when I shave at the tub, standing at the southern-facing window, the light flecks the falling away like slow-motion illuminated snow.
4. Walk with the devil
Old Delta blues players referred to guitar amplifiers as the “devil box.” And they were right. You have to be an equal opportunity employer in terms of who you’re bringing over from the other side. Electricity attracts devils and demons. Other instruments attract other spirits. An acoustic guitar attracts Casper. A mandolin attracts Wendy. But an electric guitar attracts Beelzebub.
(From WFMU’s Beware of the Blog. Via Brian Beatty.)
We are all mise en abyme.
Did I ever tell you about the time I blew up our own mailbox with fireworks? I was a lousy prankster.