@Jan74 Thank you, I was thinking the same thing.

I’d prefer him to read the thesaurus. That way, when he get to words like "luscious" or "delectable" or "succulent", I could hear that fantastic accent practically caressing each letter. Ooh, I’m getting shivers just thinking about it!

I was a pretty lithe little bastard, but I hit puberty early and ended with boobs and a belly far quicker than anyone anticipated.

I’m not a fan of Cameron Diaz; I just have never been that into her. However, I know that my best friend and I are assholes. We’re lazy, vulgar, completely inappropriate drunks who shout out sexy come-ons when we drive by hot shirtless guys (in summer obviously). We make nasty jokes, we’ve blown off work to get high,…

This is exactly the way I pack. When I cam home from a week-long trip to Vancouver, I ended up buying two different bags down there just to get everything home.

This.

Everytime I see Sarah wearing that Star of David, I want to rip it from her scrawny neck. It makes me angry to see her co-opting the faith of my family just for her personal gain.

This all looks like the stuff I would/have eaten while high.

That is one good-looking dik.

Oh thank god, I thought I was the only one. He tickles a part in my lizard brain that I can't rationally explain.

I won't judge you, but I will heart you. I'm wearing a Flash t-shirt today.

As much as I love some of these popsicles, if I'm going to eat something frozen on a stick, it's going to be a goddamn chocolate Dove bar.

Hah! I do the same thing to Sensible Shoes (aka the embarrassed boyfriend), especially when I'm driving.

They must be facing each other lest your mourners blink.

This may sound terrible, but I really want a jazz funeral, or a funeral with music. I want my body (after all the vitals have been donated) to be taken in a horse-drawn hearse throughout our downtown streets with the full-on brass band, zoot suits, singing, laughing and dancing. Because when I go, I want people happy…

Sadly, for all my litany of "motherfuckers" and "fuckwagons", I am not a man.

Happy birthday! Mine's in two weeks! June-bugs 4 life.

Ooh, good point. Although, I'd probably not bother getting married if I can have the occasional flare-up of hysteria oh, let's say three to four times a week. Maybe twice on the weekends. Does the doctor offer house-calls? I'd be a spinster for that.

I adore you. Well-played indeed.

Well, we all know what cures hysteria, don't we? A good old trip to the doctor and a bit of "pelvic massage" until we have a hysterical paroxysm and then we're good to go!