If you ate calamari in my car, you would be walking. 

I hate you. 

Come here, honey. Come here... I have some whisky and cookies. ::momhug::

I’m lying in my hammock in my backyard and now I’m cry-laughing.

Well, I wasn’t crying before...

Pooping three times per week would be a dream come true for this girl. When you go through chemo, one of the (many, many) long-term side-effects that nobody tells you about is fucked-up bowels. I go four, five, even six days without relief, and I’m six months out from my last chemo session. It’s miserable. 

Daaaaaaaaamn...

Man, I just said almost the same thing, but you said it better. 

Absolutely. Just because something terrible happened to you, does not make it impossible for you to do something terrible to someone else. 

Huh. I honestly had no clue. Thank-you!

The name tag is what made it art. 

Don’t we all?

Hey, now...

That smile. 

I feel like I should print out that picture of him up there and keep it in my wallet for when I feel down. Just bring it out and look at that beautiful, authentic smile, and bam, instant lift.

Wait. Audience members get paid? Who else does this?

A chin and no soul. 

Sweet. Thanks!

I do not understand Instagram or tumblr at all. The purpose. The point. The appeal. None of it (yay for them that do. It’s just not me, sadly). She has my support in this.

I have to laugh at your husband’s terrible joke.