​Not to brag, but my box of Twinkies can outlive your fancy parrot.

​I got this to psych myself up for circus workouts, but on second thought I should probably save it until I'm 80 and wear it with polyester slacks and orthopedic shoes. Those are the real power babe years.

​Which gives me an idea. I could drive a bus around to nursing homes and take some of these older ladies on field trips to Forever 21 and a few other select stores. "Come on ladies, let's get some sassy blouses!"

SORRY I'M LATE I DIDN'T WANT TO COME
PUT ON YOUR LIPSTICK AND HUSTLE
FEED ME PIEROGIES AND TELL ME I'M PRETTY

​Sometimes, when I want to kick it old school, I'll go to the post office just to buy stamps. With a checkbook.

I just dumped perfectly good food off my fork mid air because I decided halfway to my mouth that I wanted to eat from a slightly different place on the plate.

This is also a metaphor for my life. NO REGRETS.  :) 

*Ring ring!*
What are you doing?
Nothing. (Radiating my ovaries with the laptop, watching the houseplants die, preparing my breakfast ice cream, estimating the age of a freckle, sorting my lipsticks [yes, no, not any more, maybe some day, Halloween, neighbor kid's Halloween, Pinterest project, mortuary donation], clipping coupons, clipping toenails, Googling the weather.)

​I need to get rid of some gluten-free bread.  Where's that bitch Daisy Duck?*

* I'm sorry for swearing. I don't do it at people, but there's something about the very specific nexus where gluten free bread and a cartoon duck meet that just asks for it.
​
** I live next to a bird sanctuary. I have actual ducks. But I heard bread isn't good for them. The only real world application I can think of for this heinous item is if I were in a love triangle with Daisy and I needed to get rid of her to get to Donald. She would, of course, die of boredom half way through the loaf.

​What's that thing in math where something gets smaller and smaller and infinitely decreases but never reaches zero? The symbol for that should be a tiny dustpan.
​

The culture of dating is strange.

You go to dinner, sit in a booth, then watch each other *scoot* out. You literally watch each other peel two (2) butt cheeks, one by one, from hot sticky vinyl and then locomote in a manner almost exclusively used by babies and penguins to resolve this terrible situation you got yourself into.
​
Still, the human race persists.

​I'm trying to finish this box of fancy chocolates but why did they have give one an actual man's name? So awkward.

I mean, which one of these doesn't belong?

• Lemon Surprise
• Double Chocolate Coconut
• Dwayne