Oh thank god.

These, and the LDS commercials that would say, “But what about the OTHER places Jesus visited?”

ATL was the first airport I ever experienced, so it makes perfect sense to me. Now I’m regularly in and out of JFK/LGA/LAX, and by far hate LAX the most out of all of them. JFK security lines are a nightmare, but the facility is nicer. LGA shows its age (the part where you have to check your bags, then wheel them over…

Am I crazy (probably) or does she have kind of a Drew Barrymore thing going on here?

Thanks!

Excellent! I shall wear my favorite hat.

If you take slavery out of the antebellum south, the culture does not amount to a hill of beans; clothing that is meant to keep women down, some nice old houses, and a bunch of entitled fucking frat brats

We're friends forever now.

That's because this is one of the Five Great Comics in the world.

Here is my sincere question—

How Sweet It Is!

Well said!

But they SWOOSH wonderfully.

Ha! I'll have to add that to my dating profile. That should finish the process of completely excluding every possible New York male. :)

I was thinking about Dr. Chojnacka the other day!! (Was reading Kushiel's Chosen and flashing back to her research—wasn't it based in medieval Venice?) Also, I thoroughly and completely pooched a paper for her and she called me on it. I still have guilt.

Ugh . . . this is so hard for me! Thankfully, my name and accent are unremarkable, and I don't think I ever participated in any of these conversations (but how funny would it be if I did!). . .

It's never easy to have to scrutinize your own responsibilities around "tradition", especially when you're 19, flush with your own graduated success, and have self-chosen to belong to a social construct where Doing The Same Thing and Togetherness make up 99% of your world.

Context is everything, and I say this as a southern un-racist feminist who loves me some swooshy hoopskirted goodness who was not and never had any desire to go greek.

We were there at the same time, and yes, you have it spot on. On the other hand, I hope and pray no one has memory or record of my overly-earnest classroom tirades. (It is hard to be a know-it-all in the heady exhilaration of new-minted adulthood.)

Oh, that sound . . .