dudes, the old reader just gave me 17 "new" posts from nads' liveournal circa 2005. I don't understand it but god works in mysterious ways, "THESE ARE MY GIFTS", etc. ~*~**~
GUYS SHE IS POORLY PHOTOSHOPPING HER PICTURES NOW ~*~*~**~ also I don't understand the ponytail extender
I find yellow baby leafs. This whole post is an exercise in homophones.
|I find yellow baby leafs.|
spot on as always, amy
I enjoy hanging out with my family and family
The little girl in me that wanted to be Snow White and or Cinderella, is just as happy as the teenage me that spent countless hours reading fashion magazines… but you know what I love the most? That all of this is painted! At first pass, I thought these were fashion photographs that had been painted over with cartoonie bits, but nope, all of these images are oil and acrylic on linen. Yep, I absolutely love that El Salvador based artist Luis Cornejo basically defaced his own perfect paintings by adding Micky Mouse hands and Pokemon hats! So clever, and so well done.
#me. hope y'all are ready for my fabulousness next month ~*~*~*~
so disappointed that the video has no sound. but I love how unnecessary this is, she still got nail polish allll over her cuticles, and great writing as always.
|Color used Covergirl Outlast Stay Brilliant in 115|
This is dumb and I hate it but I think the concept could have worked if she just used an actual dancer.
Good morning! We're a little late going today, please excuse the delay. Let's get started with "Chandelier," which has been a perfect song with a perfect video for a few months now, and which the Swedish singer-songwriter is still performing via proxy. Maybe at some point Sia will have to find an alternative to her alternative approach to performance, but for now she's got Lena Dunham in a blond wig. Elsewhere: the Sam Smith album is streaming at NPR, and Nicki Minaj released a video for her new single, "Pills N Potions."
really feeling this one, esp the steely dan. <3 dads 4ever
This is amazing. I got "Braid & Pantry"
Remember Hairpin pal Lauren Hallden's online dating loren ipsum text generator? ("Glass half-full using my farmshare. Netflix my eyes Woody Allen stepping outside your comfort zone, if you're still reading this medical school happy hour too many to list tattoos. I'm just a regular guy I enjoy making lasagna from scratch pickles fascinates me.") Now she's gone and done it again with trendy cocktail bars: the first ones I got were "Pistol & Hoof," "Bull & Hatchet" and "Brim & Crumble." Story checks out! [Name My Bar]8 Comments
FINIAL! look at all those shrunks. which hubby has a lot of cloths.
A&A 4 Forever
|Outfit Detail See this post here and here. Looking at all the locks.|
| If you look closely you can see the number. Which stand for how many lock are on it.|
I spent a good amount of my time here. Looking at all the different lock people put on the bridge. Some are hand written Also some are even engraved. I wish I would have took a picture of the lock I put on the bridge. I hand wrote A&A 4 Forever on the lock. Which is the first letter of mine and hubby name.
If you haven't heard the story of the lock bridge you can read it here.
HAVE A GREAT THURSDAY.
AAAH it's so perfect!
This is part of a week-long series celebrating the 45th birthdays of characters from Romy and Michele's High School Reunion.
Christy filed for divorce from Billy two weeks after the reunion. She had been considering it for some time, but his actions that night were so public, so damaging to their reputation that she felt the time had come to end it for good. She got the house and the kids. He walked away with one of the cars and drove it off to god knows where. No one’s seen him since he sped onto I-10. Most people think he’s long dead, but most of them wouldn’t say that outside their own homes.
Christy had to find work, but her life’s tragic turn led plenty of people in town to make her sympathy offers. She settled on a job in the courthouse that came with good pay, low stress, and the bucket o’ benefits typical of a government job. Even day care was affordable, so the kids had a place to be while she was making calls and ironing out schedules and listening to people complain to her about things she had no way of fixing. Christy Masters Christianson was suddenly Christy Masters again. But that old name now belonged to someone entirely different.
A lot of people in Tucson begin stories about The New Christy Masters with, “They say people don’t really change, but.”
“…but Christy Masters proved them wrong.”
“…but Christy Masters changed for her children.”
“…but Christy Masters became a saint after that sack of shit left town.”
And all of them are right.
She started volunteering. She made new friends. She hosted parties and invited people from all over town. She attended every parent-teacher conference. She spoke her mind at city council meetings. She donated blood every month – sometimes plasma, too! She even adopted old dogs from the shelter instead of buying a puppy. The woman was a saint.
Plenty of men were attracted to The New Christy Masters, but she turned down all their advances. “I want time to myself,” she’d tell them. “I want it to be me and the kids for a while.” How could they persist after a reason like that?
Yes, The New Christy Masters did seem perfect, but despite her front-facing brightness she still felt regret over some of her actions from long ago. The way she treated a very particular pair of girls. Two of her peers. Two girls named Romy and Michele. “What can I do?” she’d often think at night. “How can I apologize to them in a way that feels sincere? In a way that will make up for my terrible treatment?”
So one day she began writing a letter. Each night she spent half an hour on it. Deleting and adding things here and there. Explaining her childhood. Her relationship with her parents. Her relationship with her siblings. Her relationship with Billy. It was a form of therapy for her – a way of not just unloading, but discovering. Figuring out why she did what she did. Not to make excuses for it all, but to make sense of it all. It was long and it was heartfelt, and by the end it was 75 pages in 12-point font. Single spaced. She read it over one more time, hit 'PRINT,' and threw it in a big envelope. As she applied the postage, a deep unhappiness inside her was suddenly lifted. She felt better. She felt reborn.
When Romy received the package and noticed the return address, she immediately called Michele. The two met up at a cafe in Venice Beach to open it together.
“What do you think it is?” Romy asked as they shared a plate of fries.
“A bomb?” said Michele.
They laughed and ate a few more fries.
“Well, should we open it?”
“You know, I kind of don’t want to. Is that bad?”
Romy released a loud sigh. “Oh my god, Michele. I was hoping you’d say that. Like to be quite honest, I just want to throw this in the ocean and never think about it again.”
“Ooooh, fun! Let’s go throw it in the ocean! Like, a message in a bottle, but without a bottle, or even a message!”
"Exactly like that."
So Romy and Michele finished their fries, paid the bill, and threw The New Christy Masters’ letter into the Pacific Ocean. Later that day they saw Gravity. They loved Gravity so much.
Bobby Finger will just have two burgers, fries, and Diet Cokes because he's in a hurry.
THE GIF x_x I hope these blog friends do a prefect job feeling in for her. Awhile she's gone.
WHAT IS UP WITH HER FINGERS in the second to last picture??
|Outside of Okinii|
learning so much about hubby and man accessories. never knew that about ties & cuff links.
People in the Midwest/on the East Coast:
Me in California:
omg her attempt at nail art :x :x :x
Covergirl outlast stay brilliant 325 and Rimmel 656 iced honey
12-3-13 O.P.I A-ha Moment and O.P.I. Meet me at the Disco
12-3-13 O.P.I A-ha Moment and O.P.I. What's Your Poison
This speaks to me so deeply. Also San Marcos is the biggest douche magnet in a sea of shit hole douche magnet towns. Like you cannot drive down San Marcos blvd without being challenged to race with a mustang.
My friend lives in suburban San Diego and he is not a fan. He lives here due to fairly random circumstances, which anyone who ended up without a chair when the music stopped during the recession might understand.
He’s been here for more than four years and likes it no more today than the day he arrived. But he has come up with a plan for dealing with this. “I call it the I don’t give a shit plan,” he explains, as we make a left off of West San Marcos Boulevard into the Albertsons parking lot. “Oh, see, there’s a guy on the side of the road that needs help. But you know what. I live in Southern California now, so I don’t give a shit.” He pulls his used BMW into a parking space. “Oh, there’s Yogurt World,” he observes. “They have Wi-Fi. Isn’t that wonderful? Isn’t that just so incredibly generous of them? If you worked in a an office around here, as a cost cutting measure you could just get rid of your Wi-Fi, and you’d be like, ‘Hey, guys, if anyone wants to talk to me, I’m just over at Yogurt World.’ Oh, and if you want to know how much I really don’t give a shit, you see the Supercuts, over there next to the Yogurt World? That’s where I get my hair cut now.”
Albertsons is empty. His wife has instructed him to get fruit. He throws a bag of oranges into the cart. “Fruit,” he says. He also needs razors. “16 dollars,” he exclaims. “How stupid do these people think we are? They must think we’re so stupid that we’re willing to work our asses off to live in hell and spend all our money on razors. Well. They are lucky because… because why?”
“Because you don’t give a shit?” I guess.
“That is correct,” he says, adding the razors to the cart. He finds generic contact lens solution. “Three dollars,” he says. “I feel good about that. Today is a good day.”
He’s also supposed to get long lighters to light the fake fireplace in his rather enormous den. “Five-fifty!” he exclaims. “Ok guys, that’s pushing it. Not on board.” After paying for everything with a $25 Albertsons gift certificate he got from his work “to get a turkey or something” he sits in his car looking up dollar stores on his iPhone. “There is one, but it’s kind of far from here. Oh, wait, I almost forgot. I don’t give a shit.”
On the way, he gives a tour of the town of San Marcos. “There’s a pile of dirt,” he says, pointing to a pile of dirt. “There’s a restaurant I wouldn’t go to if I was dying. See that place? It looks like 14 million people could get their car fixed there at once, doesn’t it? But I don’t know what really goes on there. Oh, here is the high school. Look at that enormous football stadium. My tax dollars at work. I also pay some insanely high tax to our developer, so we can have signs that say stuff like 'Los Arboles' and 'Rancho Lindo,' just in case for a second I thought I actually lived in a real place. Oh, there’s the guy who fixes my car. He’s a good guy. That’s probably the best thing about this place. I found a guy to fix my car who’s not a liar. Oh. There’s a Home Depot. That’s a great place to get nails, if you were interested, just for example, in nailing yourself to a wall.” We drive past Mrs. Taco. “I feel like I should tell Mrs. Taco that Mr. Taco is cheating on her with Princess Pho,” he says. “But, at the end of the day… well. I think it goes without saying.”
The Dollar Store has long lighters for $3.50. “Awesome,” he says. “This is a great day.” Near the register there are other long lighters for $1.99, but he wants to stick with the ones he found. “These are BIC. They will last longer. I might be the cheapest person alive, but I also don’t want to spend all my time driving around buying lighters. Because that would take away from driving around buying other things, the activity which is the very heart and soul of my plan.”
Photo via Tricia/flickr28 Comments
Almost four years after Brittany Murphy was found dead in her Hollywood home of natural causes, new details are pointing to the fact that the Clueless star may have been murdered instead. The Examiner reports that toxicology testing was finally done on Murphy's hair, blood and tissue samples, and presented 10 heavy metals that were all present in quantities well above the World Health Organization's high exposure level.
I will refrain from making fun of Amy today due to a man killed her Husband Cousin. I'm sending you all an Amy hug thru the internet.
Starbuck = high fashion obvs
CRAZY FACES :o
|Day 27~ My slipper sock. I got from the Famliia Center.(6 years ago)|
this is so good
Edward Norton quietly killed it on last night's SNL, demonstrating a twisted wit (pun of the night, directed towards a couple dressed up as deviled eggs — "Maybe they need an eggsercism"), and a pretty good handle on impersonations of Ian McKellan, Woody (Allen and Harrelson), William Hurt, and Owen Wilson.
|Pink Peace Slipper From Meijer|
wait this is a real thing??? why aren't people falling down all the time or busting the stall doors open trying to lean against something to balance while doing this? What about the ones that are just a button on top of the tank? This is just a joke, right?
People are always saying things on the Internet all the time. But they are such teases. We like details. So we have to ask.
— Kevin Roose (@kevinroose) September 24, 2013
Kevin Roose! So what happened here?
Well, someone posted this survey that was claiming that two-thirds of Americans flush public toilets with their feet. And that just did not seem correct to me. I had never foot-flushed in a public bathroom, nor had I heard of anyone else foot-flushing. So reading that story was like being told that two-thirds of Americans were obsessed with some sci-fi series I’d never known existed. One third? Maybe that could fly under my radar. But two-thirds is a lot of people. So I’m thinking, okay, maybe two-thirds of Americans have foot-flushed at some point in their lives. That seems possible. But no, the survey didn’t say “once flushed a toilet with their feet.” It was a generalist claim. Two-thirds of people flush with their feet habitually. And so I called bullshit.
And I guess I was expecting some “LOL, no way” sympathizer tweets or something? But that did not happen at all. Apparently, a lot of people who follow me on Twitter do flush with their feet! So I got some, “Ew, really?” tweets, and some “Hope I never shake your hand!” tweets, and the whole thing was so disorienting—again, the sci-fi series—that I just had to make sure I wasn’t being made the subject of a mass prank.
Wait, you guys *actually* flush public toilets with your feet? Like, on a regular basis?
— Kevin Roose (@kevinroose) September 24, 2013
Does the realization that lots and lots of people flush public toilets with their feet make you think less of those people, and will it influence the way you flush going forward?
Yes! It makes me think less of anyone who even considers doing this. I understand germaphobia (even though I think it has given us all weak little immune systems compared to our dirt-eating grandparents). I get that public restrooms are gross. And I often will do stuff when I’m in one like reaching for the bathroom doorknob with a paper towel, or turning the handle with my pinky so as not to dirty the rest of my hand. I’m not a monster. But the practice of foot-flushing seems totally impractical in every way. For starters, you press the toilet handle before you wash your hands. (Or at least I do. Maybe two-thirds of Americans don’t!) Anyway, if you’re washing your hands immediately after you exit the stall, what does it matter whether you touch the handle or not? Are people not as thorough at hand-washing as I am? Do people, like, lick their fingers on the way to the sink? I don’t get it. And I will not bow to this insane, nonsensical practice unless someone gives me a good reason. We are a nation of proud and resilient people—not a nation so afraid of a few (soon-to-be-killed!) germs that we’re reduced to karate-kicking little metal bars every day.
Lesson learned (if any)?
Bathroom habits are one of the last great social dark spots. Basically everything else in life is a learned behavior. Even if you’ve never had sex, for example, you know what it’s supposed to look like, thanks to movies and whatnot. But nobody teaches you how to go to the bathroom. And so we all have our routines, and we don’t know any differently, and we all persist in our ignorance until someone (the Bradley Corporation, in this case) takes a survey and tells us who the freaks are. I imagine there are a few other social phenomena like this, but not many.
Just one more thing.
I will never again look at the bottom of a shoe the same way.
Do you guys who contort yourselves to karate-kick toilet flushers Purell=wipe the subway poles, too? LIVE A LITTLE.
— Kevin Roose (@kevinroose) September 24, 2013
Matthew J. X. Malady is a writer and editor in New York.
HANGING OUT THE PASSENGERS SIDE OF HIS BEST FRIEND’S RIDE
TRYING TO HOLLA AT ME