I was about 12 when I’d decided I was going to be a Paleontologist (I’m not, btw, but that’s not the point.)

My mom worked in the music business during its hey day (80s and 90s) and has some kick ass stories. Some of my fave stories include: when Bob Dylan stepped in dog poop at our house after being rude to the always kind Steve Perry, when my mom brought a bottle of whiskey to Slash’s laundromat to bribe him to go with her…

My mom is a spitfire. She’s a tiny, fierce, mean, Irish lady. She had 6 kids in 6 1/2 years. I have a ton of great stories about her, like the time she bought a huge crystal chandelier at an estate sale several hours from our home. Lacking anything to wrap it in for the ride home, she stripped down to bra and panties,…

The story about the skirt is too cute.

My mom is a transplanted Midwestern lady living in a small island town in south Texas. There are a lot of great stories I could tell about her (she was briefly Mormon because the only church within walking distance of her family’s farm was a Mormon temple and then she got a scholarship to BYU and, as she likes to tell…

With all proper respect to your emotions, I am slightly tipsy and DELIGHTED that your sister is programmed in your phone as Sisssssssssssssssy. Adorable.

It was sometime before the Y2K crisis. I was enjoying some quality AOL time while my mother did the dishes, you see I wasn’t really allowed to use the computer or even allowed to be seen in public when my step-father was around, and he happened to at work, praise Jesus.

I was trying to think of a best, but I couldn’t, so I’m just going with badass-est.

After a particularly horrific breakup my mother was my rock. We were very close. One afternoon my emotionally abusive ex was a lunch with a date. I wasn’t at the restaurant but my mother and her friends were.

Wait what, super chilled out dude? Those were literally ALL post breakup stories. Was he confusing the winners from the previous week’s pissing contest for the current week’s topic? I am not super chill, ever, and I am also confused now.

We were out after my birthday dinner and my mom is MOM DRUNK aka a bottle of red wine into the night. We’re walking to the car and she’s like “what does ismin parking mean? Eeeeeesmin.....iiiiismin....”

It’s what God would want, because divorce is bad, you see.

here is a quote from the thing i just wrote but im sleep

i don’t know man, i don’t even get my nails done and i go to protests and i blog about shit like this, i’m just saying... some people do get their nails done and don’t go to protests and don’t spend all day writing about fucking structural injustice, and who do you think is going to change their behavior easier, your…

right but like, what can YOU do to enforce labor laws besides leaving internet comments about it? this whole article, and my TLDR version, is explicitly about the systematic structural injustice involved in the salon industry. this type of wordy grandstanding leaves me cold as hell

you’re right, the takeaway should definitely be to leave an internet comment dismissing the imperfect and incidental value of capital transfer to the people in need of capital without proposing anything in its place. there’s value in being realistic and there’s no reason that tipping more (if you do this shit, which i…

Motion that no one gets their nails done unless they can afford to tip 100% tbh

Hey now; that's not fair — the story did specify that an army and airforce base are nearby. Suggests there is a trend. Maybe they tip females better. Who knows?

Buuuut, if you can afford to pay $60 for a tab, you should give more than a quarter for a tip.

It’s not their fault.