This post is brought to you by justWink. Cards just got awesome.
How your mailbox would look if I were in charge of greeting cards:
Man I like real mail. How about you? What specific greeting cards do you need in your life?
Famous among dozens
This post is brought to you by justWink. Cards just got awesome.
How your mailbox would look if I were in charge of greeting cards:
Man I like real mail. How about you? What specific greeting cards do you need in your life?
This post is brought to you by justWink. Cards just got awesome.
My friends are smarter than me. What’s the best text you’ve ever gotten? Spill it.
Do you have anything that smells more like despair?
Apparently we need jewelry that reminds us to exist now.
Oh my god, you guys. I can’t stop thinking about all those headless puppies.
(via Laura)
Actual thought I just had while watching the Mentalist:
“Oh, please. No moderately sane witch would cast a killing spell. It would come back on her double-whammy.”
It’s possible I’ve spent too much time in San Francisco.
Yesterday, once again, I found myself at the periodontist’s with a gas mask over my face. As you may recall, I don’t particularly enjoy laughing gas, as I am a control-oriented sort, but the alternative is usually less appealing in these instances.
I took a few deep breaths, and began to hear the telltale electric beat deep in my ears. The periodontist leaned in with his gloved hands, and they seemed absurdly big. I thought, “This is the only non-sexual scenario in which a man has ever had his fingers in my mouth.”
I laughed. Then I blushed. Then I became hyper aware of my tongue, and spent the next hour wracked with concern about accidentally doing something untoward. In conclusion, laughing gas is wasted on me.
Are you F*cking Kidding Me, (The Facebook Song) by Kate Miller-Heidke is very, very good. I would like you to put on your headphones so your boss doesn’t hear, and watch all the way to the end. It gets better and better as it goes along, the last line being the entire point of the song.
Via Sarah Brown, who is always right about these things.
A couple weeks ago, Bryan lost his keys, causing much upheaval. They’re the kind of keys you can’t copy, thus leaving us with only one key between us and the sitter. This morning, I saw them sitting on the dresser.
Me: Hey! Where did you find your keys?
Bryan: (slightly annoyed) I told you already.
Me: What? When?
Bryan: Yeah, I already told you this.
Me: No. I’m sure you didn’t. Where did you find them?
Bryan: Remember when I was all, “Me and a bottle of cabernet are besting the toddler?”
Me: What? What are even you talking about? Where did you find them?
Bryan: Didn’t you read my Twitters?
Me: … You mean you told me via your public Twitter? Are you kidding me right now?
Bryan: Yeah, remember I was all, “It only took six days, but I bested…”
Me: No. No. Stop saying things out loud.