(never mind the French subtitles, feel the humiliation)

Hmm, I seem to recall that when my boyfriend called LAPD the other week to report someone driving dangerously and erratically on Santa Monica Blvd., the cops asked him "Do you see where he's going?" and "Can you keep up with him?" I was trying to keep the car in my line of sight while my boyfriend kept reporting the…

And that's about all I have to say on this topic.

I would totally do it if I weren't a supposedly Grown Up Person who has a professional-type job. My boyfriend can get away with a mohawk still even though he is now officially an Old because he's a software developer. Law-type people, not so much.

There was the one that made me look like a boy when I was 13, so much so that my Art teacher called me "Mike" (not my name).

whoosh whoosh whoosh crackle-of-static whoosh

For some, the desire never abates.

I wanted a crimper, so, so badly in 1988. My mother promised me that she was doing me a favour by prohibiting one in her household. She would show me pictures of herself a scant six years earlier with a really bad perm and say, "Do you want pictures of you looking as bad as this following you around for the rest of…

The green shiny taffeta number looks almost exactly like the dress my mom sewed for me for the Winter Frolic at the Lawn Club in 1988, except it had a bubble skirt. My mom must have loved me, because the bodice was boned.

"The spice must flow" is one of my favourite menstruation euphemisms.

Do not miss bleeding from microtears in my ladyparts. Do not miss using ridiculous amounts of lube just to get it in. Do not miss being told that it was normal to have to use a lot of lube for vaginal intercourse. Do not miss being reminded repeatedly how lucky I was to have Biggus Dickus for a sex partner.

Also available from the same author, these gems:

Things I have been: drunk, fucked up, wasted, blasted, squiffy, squiffers, bombed, shitfaced, blotto, liquored up, rat-arsed, sozzled, smashed, pickled, hammered, sloshed, obliterated and (my usual choice) in my cups. I have only been "tipsy" when I lied to my mom about what happened last night.

I'll chalk that response up to not having read what I posted. That's fine. Zimmerman's race has zero to do with what happened. I simply pointed out that Zimmerman's race is not "Latino" or "half-Hispanic," and that Hispanic people can be of any race. I'm a white Hispanic, I know black Hispanics and Asian Hispanics and…

Dude's dad is Jewish. His mom is probably majority white. Dude is white, and had the privileges of whiteness accruing to him growing up. Brownwashing Zimmerman has been one of the many, many infuriating things about this trial.

OMGOMGOMG

You can be white and Latino. Latino is an ethnicity, not a race. I myself am white and Latino. This is what I'm getting at and it annoys the crap out of me.

I picked up a whiff of "he's Latino, not real white" from her use of "white man" in quotation marks to describe Zimmerman.

English needs more diacritic marks! It would make pronunciation easier and add a splash of panache.

That should be "cursèd" not "curséd." And now I want a crookie.