I was a teenager in the late 1990s/early 2000s, a.k.a. the time of cool giant pants. I was very much into the skater girl look, a.k.a. baby doll tees and wide leg jeans which drove my mom up the wall. She did not. Get. These stupid pants. (Okay mom, 15 years later I kinda see your point.) She would not let me get real…

Your mom sounds like mine. She was say anything to anyone, God love her. No shame. I will never forget the time she took me shopping for my first bra and we were in the middle of Sears and she spotted a saleswoman and in a booming voice only a mom completely embarrassing her child can project, called out, “EXCUUUUSE…

For real dude. I’ve made several dips in the nerd dating pool, and while there are lots of great, normal well adjusted nerd dudes, nerds have their own particular type of scary asshole who’s almost worse because he cloaks himself in “niceness” and quickly goes into an insanity spiral if you attempt to log any sort of…

I think he’s going full troll to add to his desperate OMG it’s a joke guyz I’m just joking I don’t really want her anyway CAN’T YOU SEE I’M JOKING approach.

It’s basically Red Hots in a whiskey form. So it’s the cotton candy vodka of whiskeys.

And in case everyone wanted to know: I mostly fly Southwest. So I guess I’m asking for it.

Hey man, I didn’t ask this lady to rub in between my toes. That’s her life choice.

Diiiipppp. Ugh. I recently took a new job in Texas, returning after more than a decade away, and one of the first field excursions I had to make involved driving around for hours with a bunch of undergraduate dudes who were sharing a dip cup. It seriously made me question why I moved back.

He mostly just talked fast and spastically about how scared he was and how we were all gonna die interspersed with weird attempts to hit on me.

I used to live in New Orleans and flew home often to visit my family in Texas, and I got stuck in the middle of a ridiculous number of bachelor parties on the NOLA to Houston connecting flights. I would rather sit with the strippers.

Oh man I would die. I hate feet. I seriously can only touch the feet of my most intimate partners and will not let another human being touch my feet. Once I was surprised with the gift of a free massage at work (during a natural disaster where we’d all been working long hours) and I’d never had a massage before so I…

I am a bit phobic about air travel. I’m the spazzy person who white knuckles the arm rest and goes into meditative breathing anytime the captain mentions it’s time to buckle up because we have some turbulence ahead. But twice now I have been seated next to the only person on the plane who was more afraid to fly than I…

Ha. I moved to Texas for another university job and you’re right about it not necessarily being better but at least the economy is reasonably strong. I grew up here though. Moved to south Louisiana after Katrina to work for a newspaper for 9 years.

Are you referring to:

I was so excited. I have to watch Twitter all day for my communications job and when I saw it start trending my heart grew three sizes.

That’s what the most enraging about that slogan. As someone from Louisiana (who recently moved because my higher ed job got cut thanks to his brutal gutting of public college budgets), his state is in complete budgetary crisis. He gutted and privitized popular social programs and cut taxes saying it would benefit the…

omg, those trunks.

Holy moley.

Too late, will probably get buried but: Here’s my dad as a 1970s graduate student in British Columbia. Thanks for the eyes dad.

Yeah! I LOVE that second photo. My dad is a marine scientist too (he studies plankton, not quite as cool as a giant shark, but!). I grew up surrounded by them. Love those guys!