“ I mean, I’m STILL moving stuff out of your place. Who the fuck are you engaged to? One of my movers??? OH sweet Jesus. I feel like I’ve been hit by the irony truck, backed over and flattened again. If you need me I’ll be spending half the time we were together trying to get over you. Enjoy getting married, and by that I mean, fuck everything. ”
Reblogging this to ask, is this whole “spending half the time we were together trying to get over you” concept a thing? By which I mean, is it kind of a big deal? Do people know it?
I’m generally interested in popularly shared guidelines like this (don’t call after nine pm! or seven?), and I don’t know where this came from but this isn’t the first time I’ve heard it.
(via novazembla)
This is a Sex and the City rule, or at least it makes a prominent appearance in the first season. I always thought it was bullshit, until I suddenly felt WAY BETTER about 7 months after the breakup of a 14 month relationship, and I was like, um, ok, maybe you people have a point.
Is that site for real? Because if it is, I see a whole bouquet of dresses that fit my rack of doom coming soon to a closet near me.I’m altering a dress. As a friend of mine would say (though probably not about tailoring), “Shit just got tangible.”
I ordered this dress two weeks ago, and since then I’ve looked at this picture probably every day out of gleeful anticipation. There may also have been dreamy sighing.
The only problem with this is that once it finally arrived and I put it on, the long, tiny-waisted mannequin’s figure had long since burned into my brain. Then I had that conversation with myself about how I’ve bought a dress, not another person’s body (a few clues being that a body would probably be more expensive, and would probably be shipped on ice, and would also be really gross), so yes, it will look slightly different based on torso length and what I affectionately refer to as THE SPHERE FACTOR. (It sounds like a Michael Crichton novel, right?) I will be aware of this psychological phenomenon in the future, and if I cannot avoid obsessing over pretty things coming to me in the mail, I’ll doctor the image to more closely approximate reality. DONE.
That said, tailoring an article of clothing while it’s on you is a challenge, especially when you have trouble reaching all the way around your Catwoman-boobs. Official birthday wish: dress form!
Soulmate.
I am so happy that you are into Black Books, because that show makes me want to snort and dance and laugh all at the same time.
Be Calm | fun. (song of the f-ing day)
Aaaa, this is awesome! I want to have this!
She does this unbelievably sweet thing where she snuggles down and puts her little cold wet nose against my arm, like, “I’m just gonna rest my eyes.”
She fell two stories onto concrete as a jumpy, feral kitten, and when she shook it off, she was in love with everyone and everything and sounded like a pigeon. She’s a sweetie. To quote one friend, “I love her. She’s like a perfectly pure soul.” To quote another: “Not a day goes by that I don’t think about your old retarded cat.”
I have a friend who refers to people (or other things) with particularly pure souls as unicorns. I think your cat might be a unicorn.
“ I wanted to be a rapper when I was a kid, but rap was so different in the eighties, it was just so innocent, like, ‘Ribbida-rap-rap-rapper raptastic!’ It’s gotten so arbitrarily aggressive, rappers now’ll be like, ‘It’s 2007, motherfuckers!’ I’m like, ‘You’re mad about the date? You gotta pick your battles, man, I mean, you get mad about that, no one’s gonna believe you when you’re mad about real stuff.’ Like, ‘You crash into my car, motherfucker,’ ‘Yeah, but you were mad it was 2007! You’re like the boy who cried “motherfucker.”’ ”
Mike Birbiglia, What I Should Have Said Was Nothing (via novazembla)
I love the phrase “boy who called motherfucker.”
Oh my god you guys, Necco reformulated Sweethearts, and they are SO. GOOD. In not-unrelated news, I have Sweethearts crumbs all over my *ahem* decolletage. I would show you a picture of that, but I think that crosses the line between sharing and creepy candy-themed soft core.
Wait, they’re no longer hard and terrible?? I must investigate.
Ok, so maybe “SO GOOD” should really read “SO INCREDIBLY MUCH BETTER THAN THEY USED TO BE” so that you don’t accuse me of terrible terrible lies when you find them only good-ish.
