- Quit licking the potatoes.
- Hey! We don’t eat armchairs in this family.
- How much of that toilet paper did you actually injest?
- Would you just poop already? My nipples could slice limes out here.
I created an Outkast station on Pandora and it’s been the soundtrack to my life for the last five days. I love it. I love bopping my head to the funky sounds and impossibly witty lyrics. I love the fact that the artists rely on artistry, not auto tune. It’s a throwback to the 90s and early 2000s with a few fun recent hits flung in for good measure.
One thing, though: these people are so very spendy!
It seems there’s an unwritten (or is it written?) rite of passage in which every rapper must produce a song about what they wish to spend their newfound loot on. Common priorities include bling, booze, a ridiculous crib and “bitches.” This is where their relatability vanishes (because it was ever-so-present up until that point).
If I were a rapper, my rapper name would be Jiggy Butter Lin, and my 4:28 of incessant materialism would revolve around a new fridge, a new oven, blinds for the whole house, water skis that fit me, a backyard fence for the pup, a pair of yoga pants and, no surprise here, a noodle company franchise.
Ain’t nothin’ but a G thang, baby.
Bryan and I had gone “into town” that morning, for what I can’t remember. “Into town” is small town Iowa slang for “Cedar Rapids” or “Waterloo” or some other city that is “technically a metropolis” and has a “Barnes & Noble Booksellers” as well a “Starbucks”. We probably went to Starbucks that morning. We probably had a coupon, it being his birthday and all. We probably both ordered a venti quad iced non-fat no whip white mocha and debated the barista’s sexuality, per usual, and Googled some cursory DSM-IV dirt and funny cats and “unnecessary quotation marks.”
“Bring me my finest cigar.”
There is an unpublished instruction on most boxes of Macaroni & Cheese .
1. Bring water to a boil.
2. Boil noodles 7 minutes.
3. Strain noodles.
4. Add cheese, margarine and milk.
5. Then add 1 to 5 more cups of whatever cheese(s) you can find in your fridge.
Not a lot of people know that.
When did people stop understanding how to put together a coherent sentence?
if this is about print ad use info i put in the ad i was designing and the images from the attachment called ad idea and also put the body from the attachment called ad idea starting at Name brand accessories through…and so much more i hope this helps
Why don’t you just kill me, “Nicole.”
My little feet schlepped through the airport in hot pink sandals, straggling behind my parents and my big brother, Bryan. The plan was to return the white Dodge Dynasty rental car keys to the lady at the counter, then hop a plane headed to the Windy City. From there we’d be just four hours away from our quaint little home in Iowa.
My parents were new to the nightmare that is being in airports with children, so Mom kept one eye on my dad, leading the pack, and one eye on my brother and me. “Hurry up, Lindy,” Bryan said to me, slowing down to wait. I obediently stepped a bit faster, keeping a watchful eye on my family ahead while stealing glances from the tiny carry-on item on my shoulder. With each step I took, it teased me with little rattles, urging me to dive in, reminding me of my week-long binge as if I could ever forget.
Tucked safely inside that bag was my treasure: seven days’ worth of seashells from sandy beaches along the Atlantic. None of that cracked stuff, nothing bush league. Nothing shattered or chipped, nothing boasting a hint of dead snail. I’d gathered big shells, tiny shells, bumpy and spiraled and smooth shells. Perfect shells. I had a sand dollar and a starfish, dried out like my dad taught me.
The rental car place was up a floor above us, so one by one my family and I stepped onto the escalator, unaware of the tragedy soon to befall me and my bag. About halfway through our ascent, I dropped it. Bent to pick it up. Grabbed it by the handle. My carry-on wouldn’t budge. It was stuck inside the elevator crack. I began to panic. I pulled harder and harder until finally, the worst happened. The carry-on bag gave way.
Send help! I need ZZZZs. Cory and Camo are two peas in a pod sawin’ logs.
Fortunately for Camo I would never, ever karate kick a puppy in the shin! But Cory’s not a puppy. He is a husband. Hii-yaw!
Don’t you just hate it when it’s 9:14pm and you know it’s past your bedtime but you can’t sleep because it’s 74 degrees outside on April 2nd and you’ve got your windows open and your next door neighbor’s phone keeps RINGRINGRINGing in Dolby Surround sound for Pete’s sake?
Cory and I are approaching 6 months since our wedding, and in that time I have posted more photos of my 11 week old puppy than I have “the happiest day of my life.” I’m just so overwhelmed by the enormous amount of wedding photos burning a hole on my hard drive. It’s hard for me to wrap my mind around them all, let alone my very favorites that give me goosebumps! Our photographer (seen here) was helpful, brilliant and hands down one of the brightest parts of our day. Without further adieu, here are a few of our favorites. (Click the “Read More” link for some more pics!)
Guess who just got 1% more domesticated?
Learning Objectives
- “Trowel” is the technical term for the little shovel thing
- “Weed barrier” is the technical term for a tarp thing under the rocks
- Just when you think you can fathom planting things, a worm happens
- Hey! That wasn’t terrible. Next up: bushes for the front yard
Time for beers hard liquor vodka & OJ! GAH!
At some point in middle school, I stopped using the shift key and began capitalizing letters via the caps lock key—exclusively. It’s a bad habit that I find myself resenting at least once a day. Seriously people, typing [caps lock] M [caps lock] y name is [caps lock] L [caps lock] indy [caps lock] M [caps lock] ae got old about eight years ago.
So that explains me getting so mad mid-email today that I contorted a paperclip and fished the hateful key out of its place in a rage.
So far it’s the worst thing I ever did and I am struggling like a crack addict! Here’s hoping day 2 is a bit less torturous.
