Just yesterday, I was wandering down the snack aisle, praying for a box of cinnamon and vanilla sprinkle dunkaroos to magically appear before me. Sigh.

Think Julia Roberts in Pretty Woman. Spite buying is a way to prove to the sales associate that his or her negative, preconceived notions about your buying power are shit.

But hoes made me guffaw. I’m going to pretend that it wasn’t a mistake.

I guess, but no one will want to hug, kiss, congratulate or even be near me if I’m not well fed. If I have to wear a full body bib and have a member of the wedding party feed me like a toddler, then so be it. I will not go hungry at my own party.

That’s awful and proof that you are better at adulting than I. There would be no walking around and greeting for Hoshisma. There would only laying on a cold tile floor and crying, forcing my best friend to hold my hair, mom to rub my back and husband to hunt down fresh ginger, a young coconut and warm, crusty bread.…

Yikes. I wish you guys many years of happiness as a constant suck it to your mom and aunt.

Wait, so this nonsense I hear about brides being unable to eat at their own weddings is an actual thing?! If I can’t eat the awesome food that I’ve chosen for my (extremely imaginary) wedding, then I’m saving the cash, and each table will make do with a couple of tomato pies.

I live in New Jersey and I've regularly seen military vehicles on major roads around JB MDL. I'm guessing that New Driver hasn't yet learned to estimate distance and speed visually. Or he's a complete fucking moron. Probably a good mix of both, tbh.

So we’re not going to talk about the Thomas Jefferson/ Sally Hemmings cosplay going on here?

I can’t say iron correctly unless it’s compounded with any other word. “I’m going to grab the curling iron” vs. “I need to AAARN this shirt.” It’s been an issue since I was a kid.

I make a Rosemary cornmeal cake that uses olive oil and eggs. Plus, cake mix requires a bit of vegetable oil.

The 65ish, stripper beard wearing limo driver for my grandmother’s funeral spent the entire drive to the cemetery hitting on me, trying to stand near me at the burial and telling me about other young ladies that he’d “helped” recently on the ride back to the church for repass. At the church, he constantly lurked…

When I worked in cosmetics, Rockstar 24/7 pencil was my Holy fucking Grail of go to colors. I used it on just about everyone because it jis the works.

I straight up squealed to see your response. In an elevator. Like a 16 year old at a surprise 1D (One-D? 1-D?) reunion concert. The church folk are giving me side eye.

It must be fairly new, but it’s amazing.

I still would rock those goldfish shoes...

Whatever. They're all just stealing from noted thespian and lyricist, Ja Rule.

THIS. I smell like cat pee if it's too citrusy or like a baby hooker if it's too sweet/floral. Earthy scents like patchouli are my go to.

Yes, as I sit in front of a patchouli sandalwood candle. My mom has called me a prissy, old lady dirty hippie (I'm 30).

Maybe I watch too much Investigation Discovery, but being locked in a dark room with no way to contact the outside world or get out DOES NOT SOUND COMFORTING.