Alan Cumming is on my extremely short list of men that I would sleep with.

The Rhythm Method isn't the method of contraception that I recommend. (I recommend gay sex, but that's just me.) But the idea that she wasn't even at least using the RM, just floored me.

Actually I (the lesbian "heathen") responded with, "Uhm, doesn't G-d help those who help themselves? Help yourself to a condom, or a diaphragm, or birth-control, or the Rhythm Method!"

This is not a joke.

I just gasped at the thought of Holly Marie Combs on my TV screen again (I've been an HMC fan since Picket Fences and try as I might, I cannot get into Pretty Little Liars) and then I realized that "reboot" does not mean re-Holly Marie Combs.

For me what kills it is the moment he pretty much starts mocking the fact that she'd been rehearsing what she was going to talk about (on live TV) because teeheehee, she did't know what he had planned, silly thing.

I am a significantly faster walker than my wife. When we first got together if I exited the subway station before her, I'd be half a block ahead of her in no time.

My feeling has always been that if you have to constantly qualify yourself as "nice" you probably aren't. Others should be able to discern if you are nice with your having to tell them.

Dear Brandon Wade,

One: Good for you!

I only wear underwear during my period and I do love my boyshorts for those 4-7 days but I feel much more comfortable without them.

I do not wear skirts but I do wear trousers. I wear a different pair every day (I have a lot of trousers) and then I wash them after one wearing (I have the elusive NYC in-apartment washer-dryer).

I wear a different pair of pants every single day and then I wash them once a week.

So what about... you know those of us that don't wear... anything.

Dear Stranger on the internet (aka @kittykay487),

That's an excellent choice for spirit animal!

I'm am obsessed with Nicole Byer on Girl Code. In the late spring/early summer when I was going to the gym regularly, I'd find myself having to stop the treadmill so that I could laugh out loud** at something she'd said without a major treadmill mishap.

I feel like what makes it worse is the constant chatter and problem solving discussions.

Is the bunny a six-foot tall Pooka? I'm asking for a friend.

Space is the shit.