If you are writing a sentence that begins, “I’m not a racist…” and the next part of that sentence starts with “but,” do not write that sentence.
There’s an article on Buzzfeed at the moment about the improbably-named Benedict Cumberbatch, who appeared in a fashion magazine wearing a t-shirt declaring, “This is what a feminist looks like.”
(Yes, I sometimes look at Buzzfeed articles that have been shared on my Facebook wall. Yes, I still use Facebook. Shut up.)
Happy Columbus Day! If you’d like to celebrate with me, meet me tomorrow at the southeast corner of 21st Street and 5th Avenue, 10AM. We’ll pick a direction to walk in, enter the first store we come across, and take whatever the hell we want.
Discovery! So exhilarating.
TERRIBLE IRONY: By the time you finish paying off your educational debt, you are too old to engage in drunken shenanigans on a weekend when you’re already exhausted from moving to a new apartment, and you settle for a nice dinner out at your favorite Jersey red sauce joint and a good milkshake. I mean, I like a milkshake as much as the next debt-free gal, but COME ON. Twenty-three-year-old me weeps.
Higher education: at what cost?
I’m not sorry I had food poisoning or that I puked in the elevator, because I had no control over either of those things, but I am sorry you had just come from the pool and were wearing flip-flops.
Good reflexes, though. Glad you thought it was funny.
What did cake ever do to deserve this? Oh, right, only bring joy, happiness, and chocolate ganache to millions of people every day.
And this is how we repay it. Go to therapy like the rest of us, and leave the cake to people who know how to treat cake right.
Did you know? The patron saint of carneys is also the patron saint of murderers. His name is Saint Julian the Hospitaller, and he once hallucinated that a deer told him he was going to kill his parents. (FYI, he did kill his parents. Don’t worry, though: he was really sorry, and did penance by building a hospital by a river to care for sick travelers. He also “rowed travelers across the river,” which sounds like another famous ferryman, not that I am suggesting anything untoward.)
The carney/murderer thing can’t be a coincidence is all I’m saying, and I thought you should know. I love a goddamn saint.
Let’s take a break from wishing bodily harm on rapists and rape apologists to consider how fantastic my hair is: it is curly, it is bouncy, it is kooky and spoingy and wonderful, and it got me pulled out of the security line at Newark Airport today so a female agent could give me a top-of-head-specific pat-down. MY HAIR IS SO HOT IT’S DANGEROUS, Y’ALL.
There, don’t you feel better? I know I do. Now let’s all get a good night’s sleep and pretend that last post never happened.
(No offense intended to anyone who falls victim to the cannibal rats. Surely, even their bereaved family members must recognize the awesomeness of this headline.)