Bah. Unless you’re allergic, you don’t really have a clue how tiny the amount of airborne dander is that can set off a reaction. The friends’ houses I’ve had to leave even after the vow up and down “We’ve been vacuuming for you!” are legion.

Their offices are near mine, and I’ve seen him on the street. Teeny-tiny. Teeeeeeny-tiny.

Why do they have to stop carrying the stuff? Why can’t they just pay a fair price, with some stipulation that the proceeds benefit the prisoners?

“Do they think I’m a slut?” and “Do you think I’m a slut?” are two entirely different questions. Answering yes to the first isn’t slut-shaming, I don’t think — it’s pointing out that your circle of friends is slut-shaming.

I remember a few years ago reading an interview with already slim-woman actor Teri Polo, who was directed to lose 20 lbs in order to do that movie with Vince Vaughn and John Travolta. Both of whom were pretty porky at the time, and neither of whom were directed to lose any weight at all. Teri lost the weight by…

Ugh, I don’t sleep on planes very well. Most I can manage is a two-hour nap.

Because no opportunity to tell a mom or mom-to-be that She’s Doing It Wrong should be missed, no matter how sketchy the ‘reasoning.’

My first guess was that the objection centered on the giant red tongue-shaped thing positioned between her legs.

I don’t object to increased formality in general. I don’t mind being ‘ma’am’-ed, ever. My last name is unusual, and although easy to pronounce, its weirdness makes people short-circuit straight to calling me by my first name, even when that’s decidedly inappropriate (i.e. in court, for fuck’s sake.) So I disagree that…

But the problem is once you sit down, all you have is gaps! So you can constantly worry whether your coworkers or classmates are looking at your underwear.

My supermarket has staffed checkouts, self-checkouts, and hand held scanners (or a smartphone app) that you take with you while shopping. I scan all my stuff as it goes into the cart (and confirm the proper price), where I can pack it as I like it (no bananas on the bottom, for instance) and keep track of my running…

Little girls are socialized away from having healthy outlets for their natural competitiveness. Boys can compete but girls have to ‘play together nicely’. So all that natural competitive spirit gets shoved down through unhealthy outlets.

Once in the 7th grade, the Mean Girl told me (in an effort to embarrass me and make me look stupid) that “a teaspoon of semen has 91 calories!” I nodded and replied “Gosh, I guess I’ll have to cut back, then.” All the other girls laughed and the Mean Girl got her comeuppance (pardon the pun). I was the only time in my…

And even if she gets her fines paid for by wingnut donations, at least that’s redistribution of private wealth to taxpayer hands, which still looks like a win to me.

You know, if it were a dude behind the counter getting flashed with Subway man’s dick, response by management would be swift and terrible. But girls should just roll with it. I don’t even feel bad about the cookies that gave their lives for that whacking. And that’s saying something!

God, I just love the tongue-lolling grin he gives the ump as he runs by. Hi, Ump! Bye, Ump!

My stepsister’s husband has another woman waiting in the wings while she was getting cancer care. Remarried three months after her death. Not because it was a love affair, but because he’s a lazy sack of shit who expected a woman to take care of him. It saddens me that there seem to be no end of women willing to take…

This is because the magazine has promised its advertisers a certain level of circulation. If they don’t have enough subscribers/purchases to get them to the level they have promised, they keep sending copies to non-subscribers to do so. Apparently it’s cheaper to send free mags than it is to have to go back and refund…

I love the leg lift machine, mostly because I can outlift the boys in the gym (and no one would mistake me for a fitness type). Lower your center of gravity, boys, and you too can join the big girls’ team! Oh, wait, you can’t. You’re built like a man. Hehe.

“Have you found Jesus?”