Yeah, I did OKC last summer, and the first date was definitely the "Do you actually look like your picture/Are you an insufferable jackass?" stage. There were some people I found very attractive, but they were also total strangers from the internet at that stage.

I know this is supposed to be a story about tolerance, but we all know the star-bellied sneeches are better, right? I mean, they have stars upon thars!

I've decided that if I ever get engaged, I'd prefer to just wear my own, regular rings on my left hand so that 1)huge amounts of money aren't pissed away on a fancy rock and 2)accessorizing.

During our first phone conversation (and first non-text communication ever), my boyfriend said, "Our cats probably already hate each other."

The speaker on my boyfriend's Galaxy S4 has stopped working—the phone doesn't ring anymore and we figured out today that the speakersphone doesn't work.

Below the belt, you need some sort of scraping implement. A washcloth will work, but I've found the little squeegee that comes with Veet works much better. Especially since then you don't have to deal with a washcloth covered in half-melted Nair hairs.

Somehow this month I grew The Invincible Mustache Hair. It is solid black, the same texture as a cat's whisker, and took at least two Nairings to briefly surrender. There is still a stub. It taunts me.

Ask him what he wants your portmanteau couple name to be. That's what I did with my gentleman caller. He, uh, did not have a strong opinion on it, but he also did not dump me for being weird so it totally worked?

The last time we got Chinese food, my boyfriend got something like this in his fortune cookie.

This was my hell Sunday night—8:30pm flight was delayed until 1:42am and then cancelled at 2am when they couldn't find a pilot. I had to miss the first day of Spring classes. Unfortunately I'm the instructor, so I spent a few minutes at 3:30am waiting for a rental car and crying about what a fuck up I am and how my…

From my perspective nothing ever needs to be ironed.

I recently found out that a coworker's girlfriend irons his ties for him. That was the day I learned that you can iron tires and also the day I vowed that I'll die alone before I iron a god damned tie.

I skipped The Sound of Music, but I would totally watch the shit out of this.

Garden of Shadows reveals that they're also half-siblings. So I guess I was wrong; there is technically uncle fucking involved, but I feel like "half-siblings" trumps that.

I think people stopped "reassuring" me that I'd meet someone or asking if I'd met anyone because I would talk about how I was looking forward to spinsterhood. The key is to genuinely mean it so they don't want to talk to you anymore.

No, no, no, no—knit them a really nice scarf in secret so that if they dump you, you can sell it on Etsy with a really interesting description.

I corrected something in the article on cat vocalizations.

It varies. I've experienced a range from "Well, that was nice" to stock footage fireworks. (I'm a woman who can't get off during sex without tech support.)

I hate pointed toe shoes because they make my massive size ten feet look even longer.

SPOILER ALERT: Ma Dollanganger's not an uncle fucker! (Yes, I am ashamed of myself for not being able to remember the mother's name. I'll just help myself to these powdered donuts.