Why do black jeans always smell funny?
Damn. Staff meeting.
That would have been a better picture without the snow in the foreground.
My brain feels oddly quiet this morning. I think it’s this lingering skull crusher. Better than yesterday’s periodic bouts of dizziness. Of course it’s early yet. Those may still be forthcoming …
“It would be a huge disappointment, to abandon the idea of the women who define modern life, and go back to sexy girls who are too young to have accomplished anything.” I’m pretty sure the only people looking for social revolution from the Pirelli calendar are third wave feminist fascists. The whole concept of the calendar is to showcase the work of the world’s most brilliant photographers’ pristine images of the world’s most ridiculously beautiful, sexy, wholly unattainable women. It is art, yes, but it’s also visceral. It is absolutely not social commentary, and it absolutely should not be. Stop ruining everything.
Who wants to look at this calendar full of average looking women glaring at you all year? And they are glaring. Every single one of them is glaring at you, all judgy. Judgy, mean, glaring women. What’s sexy about that?
I’m really starting to hate Annie Leibovitz.
Well. Enough of that. It just makes me tired. Everybody is so intent, all the time, on telling everyone else what to do, what to think, what to wear, what to feel, how to be. Why can’t you just leave people alone? No one is happy unless they’re miserable any more. What a horrible way to live.
This is a sad but also happy story.
Lots of links already.
I guess last week wasn’t as extended as I thought it was going to be. Sorry.
This just does not stop being funny.
I’m generally only the messenger. I still manage to get shot.
Ha. I was just looking at FB, as you do, and it’s so funny that I have the exact opposite view of what Leibovitz did to the new Pirelli calendar than many of my photographer friends. I honestly would have thought that as photographers they would be more on my side on this one. But I guess ideology comes first for people.
There is a dearth of anything here today. I should just make this a post about how progressives and feminists ruin everything.
Hey, Livy. What’s shakin’, my friend.
I just came across the description of a dream I had in March: I dreamed that I was re-organizing a cupboard in my kitchen full of tea and sugar, that my hair was thinning and balding, and that S.E. Cupp was in my living room.
I love my Norwegian cheese slicer. The Mister does not.
I like that lady’s sweater.
Whenever I see someone has said “on fleek” about something it takes me aback. I’m all “Wait. People actually say that??”
Twice today, hours apart, I have walked in on guys in the unisex bathrooms, when they have utterly failed to lock the door. What the hell? Lock the damn door. It’s a unisex, one toilet lavatory. Lock. The. Door.
I’m sure they were more embarrassed than I was. I’m a mom. There is very little on this Earth that embarrasses me any more.
I think the phrase “positioning statement” is unnecessarily pompous.
Stop using ideologically as if it were an adjective. Just stop. What is wrong with you. I mean honestly.
Hmmmmm. Maybe I’ll make really tiny margins.
God, I hate that woman.
Crap. I just remembered that tomorrow’s Thursday.
Season 2 of Broadchurch!!!
Netflix is never going to let me see the final season of Parenthood, is it?
What a spectacularly bizarre and frustrating day this has been.
I need migraine drugs.
I need to take my contacts out.
Apparently this is the one day of the year that you really do not want to have to grab a gallon of milk at the Galesburg Harding’s.
I always feel like an outsider trying to fit in in the knitting community.
Let’s face it. I always feel like an outsider, period.
I’m going to make a cup of tea. And think about this sweater that my Grandma Ingeborg made. The sleeves on all 3 of these sweaters are about an inch too short for my weird arms. I need my wrists covered!
I think I have longer than average arms for my family …
That brownie looks pretty delicious.
I think that brownie will taste very good with this tea. That brownie will also probably not help my skull pain.
torment, misery, sickness, soreness, affliction, tingle, throb, torture, blah blah blah
There are no synonyms for pain that are adequate for describing what I feel in my skull.
All I’m saying is, I don’t get invited to holiday parties at the president’s house.
Let’s face it, I don’t get invited to holiday parties at anyone’s house.
I have no idea why, but I read that as “We saw a tree in the park with ghosts on it.” It said lights, not ghosts.
Wait, why don’t I think I look good in red?
I think I’ll make the pumpkin bars with the cream cheese frosting again for Christmas. Those were surprisingly good for a gluten free construct.
If Stormageddon does not stop this screaming tantrum, I’m fairly certain my brain is going to start leaking out of my ears.
I was right, this brownie is delicious.
And all the rest is silence.