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
LIKE WHEN HE TELLS YOU HE NEVER LISTENED TO MAZZY STAR
Just a really good post all around.
|Using the Swiffer container to separated Hubby toe sock and regular socks|
|For the container holding the Q-tips I left the lid on it. For the other ones I cut the lids off.|
CLICK THE MANTELPIECE LINK. CLICK IIIIIIIITT.
Hello, hi there. This is a swamp booger. What is a swamp booger? Oh, just a deer hide that someone has stitched a face onto for decoration. Sometimes they go on the mantelpiece. From Hairpin pal Seth Rosenthal, who excerpts from Dave Madden's The Authentic Animal:
The swamp booger is the answer to the question, What are we supposed to do with all these posterior deer hides? You take the ass skin of a deer, turn it upside down so the tail hangs to the floor, secure some glass eyes near the top, and fix an artificial bobcat jaw right where the anus used to be. Et voila!
Basically, people so regularly mount the foreparts of deer that there is a surplus of orphaned deer hind parts. Sick, inventive taxidermists realized they could convince collectors that they oughta have deer asses on their walls by fashioning said deer asses into spooky faces.
Ha ha ha ha ha hawhat in the hell. Swampboogers.com has a different story:
These animals are very shy and only move in the cover of darkness. Sightings are so rare that most people have never seen one and actually regard them as a myth. In in 2003 a team of scientist stumbled into a small colony of them in the middle of the Sumter National Forest. They are now protected by Federal Law.
I'm not sure who to believe. These are, apparently, in high demand, and probably best used for terrifying sisters around the world. If anyone out there has ever come across a swamp booger before, please tell us why.29 Comments
When The Hills ended its six-year-run in 2010, pulling the camera back to reveal Kristen's limo slowly pulling away from Brody only to drive in circles around an MTV soundstage, it came as no surprise that the reality show was about as real as Justin Bobby's name.
This is so satisfying. Sometimes I wish my car was bigger for shit like this.
At the Philadelphia City Paper, Emily Guendelsberger interviews the head Photoshopper for Erotic Photo Hunt, absurdist and resolutely non-erotic bar pastime of legend. Jim Hartman's been at it for 13 years, even though he was "hired as a writer... I didn’t even know what Photoshop was when I started here; I had a really quick training thing on it. So my Photoshop skills are not the best — which I think is one of the attractions of the game, how goofy the changes are?" A few excerpts from the Q&A:
CP: [...] The Chippendales version is noticeably easier. Why is that?
JH: Well, there were very limited content choices; they just don’t have a gigantic library of pictures. We were sort of stuck with whatever they had at the time. And with the women, they’ve usually got a bra or jewelry or something on; if a guy doesn’t have anything on, it’s really tough to find five things to change. The women’s photos we have thousands to look through; with the men, the last batch we bought has about 200 photos, of which we could use about 120. It’s just very hard to find, uh, quality male erotic content.
CP: What’s the funniest Photoshop job you remember?
JH: One of the people who used to work here, she was a little more advanced at Photoshop than the rest of us — at one point she put a cat in the picture shooting lasers out of its eyes.
Recent changes at Megatouch, the company that produces these countertop bar games, also reflect the rise of the gig economy:
CP: How many people do the Photoshopping?
JH: At one point there were five of us; now we work with freelancers, aside from me, there’s three other people doing it.
See more posts by Jia Tolentino
We know that the long weekend is over, but will someone please remove us from this vehicle and put us back in bed? Just for a few more minutes? You can make us coffee while we’re sleeping. Come on, please, this is dangerous! (Via SayOMG.)
I was just about to graduate from high school when Strangers With Candy premiered on Comedy Central in 1999. I’d never seen anything like it: The series, which was co-created by and starred Amy Sedaris and a pre-Report Stephen Colbert, was an absurd, over-the-top satire of after-school specials, PSAs, and Degrassi High. And, like most shows that are oddball and ahead of their time, it was not long for this world (only 30 episodes ever aired). Yet Strangers remains a fan favorite due to its sheer weirdness and Amy Sedaris’s all-in portrayal of Jerri Blank, one of the most disturbed, gross, and hilarious protagonists in the history of half-hour comedy.
Jerri is a 46-year-old freshman, a former high-school dropout who’s now the new kid at Flatpoint High. She desperately yearns to belong, but can’t help while standing out in every possible way, from her tacky makeup to her fanny pack. In the opening credits she identifies herself as “a boozer, a user, and a loser.” The character was inspired by a real woman named Florrie Fisher, the star of a PSA called “The Trip Back” in which she speaks to a group of high school kids, trying to set them straight with her hard-luck story. Fisher’s blunt delivery, outrageous quips, and purposeful style are all very much alive in Jerri, just taken to an extreme and tied up with a demented bow.
The thing that really makes Jerri Blank iconic, is Sedaris’s willingness to take the character as far as she can, unafraid to come across as reprehensible and downright ugly. She commits HARD, frowning and smiling with a rubbery expressiveness while sticking her teeth both out and sometimes slightly to the side at the same time. The clothes just add to the character, a creation both hysterical and horrific, a monster in mom jeans who is impossible not to love.
At first, I thought I would point out how wonderfully out of place Jerri’s outfits were: the crocheted tops, satin bomber jackets, ’80s costume jewelry, and turtleneck sweaters. Then I realized that, 13 years later, her penchant for high-waisted pants, floral patterns, and all things neon is totally “on trend,” which just adds another layer of genius to the series. Jerri would fit right in these days!
Or not. But she is always the first to go for any fad, whether it’s reclaiming her virginity, breaking into a store for a pair of Flairs (the sneakers with the extra-long laces that rich kids wear), or going back to her drug-addict ways in order to attract friends. And what I love most about Strangers is that she always seems to learn some kind of twisted lesson—even after she recognizes right from wrong, and then shamelessly exploits wrong to her advantage, Jerri lands on the vaguely moral side of things (mostly because she gets caught and has to own up to what she’s done). In the series finale, she gets a makeover from the coolest girl in school, played by Winona Ryder, and is forced to choose between being popular or being herself, and in the end, she makes the right decision, sort of. “I’d rather be unhappy and plain with average friends than be happy and beautiful with friends that are better than my old ones. I’m sorry, but that’s just the way I feel!”
No matter how far she runs from her identity, Jerri always returns, frosted hair/lips and all. And you can, too, with just a few basics: turtlenecks, colorful makeup, ill-fitting denim, and anything with fringe. So tuck your shirt into your pants, grab a stolen TV, and you’ll be all set to channel the most stylish mess at Flatpoint High, knowing that in fashion, as in life, there are many second chances. ♦
what do the sparklers represent tho?
The Knife :: A Tooth For An Eye
[Released on International Women’s Day 2013]
‘A Tooth For An Eye’ deconstructs images of maleness, power and leadership. Who are the people we trust as our leaders and why? What do we have to learn from those we consider inferior? In a sport setting where one would traditionally consider a group of men as powerful and in charge, an unexpected leader emerges. A child enters and allows the men to let go of their hierarchies, machismo and fear of intimacy, as they follow her into a dance. Their lack of expertise and vulnerability shines through as they perform the choreography. Amateurs and skilled dancers alike express joy and a sense of freedom; There is no prestige in their performance. The child is powerful, tough and sweet all at once, roaring “I’m telling you stories, trust me”. There is no shame in her girliness, rather she possesses knowledge that the men lost a long time ago.