i just ate your baby.
mwittier
mwittier
She is so proud of her grotesque shower bands.
When I was a kid, artificial sweeteners were newish, and I remember telling my mom that I hated celery because it “tasted like koolaid.”
George forgot his wooden teeth at home. Thus, the Snoopy grimace.
When I was a child, I couldn’t stand the smell or the flavor of celery. I found it overwhelming and disgusting: it tasted like artificially sweetened rhubarb (with saccharine/cyclamates) to me. Like something overly processed and refined, rather than organic.
I had a boyfriend who insisted that celery leaves were poisonous, so I hid them in A LOT of his food. When we broke up, I told him, so he could retroactively die about a thousand times, which he deserved to do (pathological liar, stalker.)
“Ain’t Nuthin’ Cuter Than a Fat Country Baby Eatin’ Peaches Off a Hardwood Floooor.”
To be clear, I’m not saying that they, or anyone else should spend more. It’s the MUST HAVE GRANITE, MUST HAVE STAINLESS dimwitted ostentatiousness and lack of personality that drives me crazy. They are both devoid of original thought: it’s what makes them ideal flippers. They’re creating ersatz upscale hotel rooms.
Granite shopping:
My mom yells, “This porridge is too hot!” during the first David showing. Then, “This porridge is too cold!” during the next.
They both ping my gaydar, though.
That's just it: I don't think their choices are basic because it's about resale: I think they're that tacky and unoriginal. She practically grinds up against the granite slabs, and he pees himself over whorehouse light fixtures. They've shown their house, and it's just as bad as their projects.
Yep. That actually anger me with their vapidity and bland taste.
Travertine showers, with A SHOWER BAND. A SHOWER BAND is apparently the new granite countertops and stainless appliances.
I keep going back and looking at it, shamefully.
Dads. With their humor and their mowers. God love ‘em.
Come sit by me.
Underpants Man of the Year: colloquially known as The Undie.
I regularly have to read about a third of the headlines several times, trying to suss out where the emphasis lies. Many is the time I give up and eat something. Here (note that thoughtfully, it is not avocado toast.)