During a phone conversation with a client today, she addressed me as “punkin”; yet, I don’t feel very “punkin-ish”.
It turns out that I have divergent tastes in light fixtures from my esteemed husband, and it hasn’t been much of a problem, though I’m almost always in charge of every single other thing in the house, including that intense locus of power and phallic energy, the remote.
The collective brain-power in our office today, if harnessed, could light up a city (well, not a real city, but maybe one of those small ant-cities whose government had recently enacted power conservation measures).
I’ll go throw myself at that exercise equipment in the vain hope that I can get the image of them at the hotel out of my head.
Sometimes scary people become adorable after their ringtone sounds, and sometimes normal looking people become terrifying.
The ancient incubus stood over Tara’s sleeping form tickling her fanny with a feather as he leaned over and whispered promises of sin into her pretty little ears.
1. An extra bowl of All Bran cereal for breakfast.
2. 24 OZ Cafe Dark from Zombie Coffee
3. Traffic Jam on I-40
Sometimes I sin because I know I can come here and confess and be absolved.
Evil crept into Tara’s bedroom smelling of Brill cream and Old Leather.
It seems that through some sort of programmatic alteration, my use of a seven-letter word in conjunction with a triple-word score for a manly 97 points has been nullified, either because of a mandatory board-format change inflicted by copyright law or the fact that God enjoys mocking me in a Book-of-Job kind of way.
With age seems to come the ability to see certain types of people as nothing more than irritating gnats.
It was the thought of hiding something so that people could find it that first excited him, but he did look forward to the seeking too.
I feel like I am cracking a safe when I call Progressive in attempts to speak to a real person: I know success has been achieved when they promise to plant a tree in my honor.
I hope I never experience those steadily depressin’, low-down mind-messin’, workin’ at the car wash blues.
Despite musical riches galore—iTunes open with a terrabyte of music, and Media Player open on the same computer with 20 interesting new songs just downloaded—I find myself listening to A Little Joy on their Myspace page.
“10,000 children per day starve in Africa — so that was thoughtful of them to use their apparent power to command God…to lower gas prices for the richest people on earth.”
Planning for the office holiday party took a dark turn when the all-Santa Dixieland band cancelled at the last minute.
Venus and Jupiter looked like eyes floating above the concave sliver of crescent moon - a smiley face the whole world could see.
Being an opponent of the CARA branch of the MPAA and everything they did, he considered movies to be overrated.
Polly found it maddening that the men in her life worried about her safety, but completely disregarded her sanity.
Old age struck quickly and without warning, and just as if it had never existed at all, the secret number vanished from within Keith’s head.
“KAPOW!” went the fireworks, and “WHOOSH!” went the flying platypus, the pigtails of the young girl rider flapping insanely behind her head, as if they were dancing in time to her laughter.
“This is clearly the work of the serial turkey violator known to his victims as You Can Call me Sir,” said Captain Jack, noting the unmistakable scent of onions, apples and cinnamon around the crime scene.
Looking back at my last two posts, I am seized with a sudden urge to give every family member a Scrine bag this Christmas.
After 44 Christmases, you’d think people would understand my deep desire to take the next one off.
I’ve carried my Scrine bag for two years now, yet nobody has ever asked me what it means.
It came as no surprise to me to see Scrine’s first American pop culture reference (one brief, obscure joke in a movie that Scrinecast was somehow the preferred, secret communication device used by many UFO fanatics) would appear to me in my sleep.
Some people think life comes with a rule book, but many of us experience life as chaos and randomness, and find it somewhat freeing.
Days like these, when HappyHoliday! attacks you with a vengeance, you just want to beat it back with all the force of early December, devoid of holidays, pushing it back into its little proper place.
Contrary to popular belief, the original lyrics to “The Sun Will Come Out Tomorrow” were “Tomorrow is just a today away,” but the producers wouldn’t have it, because they felt that it was much to pessimistic.
Joelly Fisher has great legs!
As inspired by: JadedBeauty's Bragging rights Part II
I love this new DVD technology – no messing with the cable box trying to determine what goes where – just plug the yellow, white and red connectors into the front of your television and, voila, Amelie.
I just hooked up my own DTV box and fixed my own internet.