Waiting at the Apple store is like waiting at the DMV but in the future.

Sometimes when the dog shits in the house I kinda end up feeling better about myself, cause I go and clean it up immediately and I’m like “See, this is material proof that I am a normal adult and that I don’t belong on hoarders"

(Just so we’re clear I don’t like not take my dog for walks or some shit, it’s just been colder than a witch’s tit here and he hasn’t been asking out because it’s cold and unpleasant out and he does not approve of that even if I put his little winter coat on him.)

I get to have a quiet New Years with my husband and one of the members of Thrill Kill Kult and her husband and I’m just like #blessed

Me after the revolution, looting a Sephora: Wait, was this not what that was about?

Me flirting:

I am literally going to send you florid fetish erotica I wrote about you, but I’m pretty so it’s going to seem somehow charming instead of you know… the worst.

Sometimes I think I just like pressing the “add to wishlist” button on amazon. I have no desire or use for hundreds of fake flowers and yet here we are.

You know I’m very comfortable with being a WASP

Like WASP culture is very comfortable to me. The icy politeness, the lying to save face, the passive aggression, the fact that I’ve considered having a baby before certain elderly relatives die off so I’d be more likely to inherit more of the good furniture, all of it as comfortable to me as an old shoe, as comforting as cocoa on a cold day.

People who put phone sex operators on hold fascinate me. Also please do that.

My husband remarking on a set on a TV show: That looks like a cathouse
Me: It’s a fortune teller! Anyway, what the hell do you know about cathouses?
My husband: I used to live across the street from one.
Me: Ah, fair enough.

Note to self: “Small hairy man” excellent name for a dog.