As long as he has either his shirt or his pants off, he can talk about it as much as he wants.

Had to look it up, but damn straight it isn’t!

He was the best part of “Forgetting Sarah Marshall” or whatever that movie was.

His senscience is debatable.

You’d be living my dream...

There’s a picture of my husband’s college girlfriend (I had A LOT of work to undo what she did to him) in one of those photo cubes on the mantle of my mother-in-law’s house. Whenever nobody is looking, I make sure that photo is facing down.

I’m taking this as further proof that Pinkham is living in the bushes outside my house. I made these last night!

What if it was just “North has ballet classes twice a week”? Nobody would bat an eye.

Raw rhubarb (maybe just the leaves?) is poisonous, so the lizard part of his brain probably told him to give it a pass.

I’m kind of surprised they haven’t explored the “dessert chip”. I can tell you that potato chips and chocolate icing/melted chocolate ice cream are a freaking divine combination. If they could throw a hint of peanut butter in there... yum. If nothing else, they would have a built-in customer in women who are PMS-ing…

I’ll take one of these, please.

Growing up with a huuuuuge girl boner for Michael Hutchence, I can say that Kit Harington is a beautiful, beautiful man.

Senator, maybe. President, not so much.

5 year-old me is dying over this. As a little red-headed child, I worshipped at the altar of Shirley Temple. I begged for - and got - tap lessons. My parents patiently sat through every choreographed rendition of “On the Good Ship Lollypop” that I produced. For about 3 years I would only wear patent mary-janes with…

I want to know more about what’s going on here...

My story isn’t really a school fight as it happened in a bar, but I was in high school at the time and visiting Penn State with a friend. Anyhoo... we were in the bar and a big buffalo of a guy kept rubbing up against me at the bar. “Oops... sorry.” Palm out cupping my butt doesn’t warrant a “sorry”, dude. While we…

I’m hoping there’s some kind of magic in bringing his body back to Africa nonsense in season 3. Or maybe he’ll be cursed with immortality for being a bastard/slave trader and he’s got to suffer a bit more to make ammends.

I feel for Tamale Hipster Boy. My first encounter with a tamale was when I was 16. Our new neighbors were from the Dominican Republic. All us kids were the same age and we became fast friends. During the Christmas holidays, our families were back and forth between houses a lot. To thank my parents for making them feel…

Please keep them out of NJ. We have enough going on.

I let out a little excited squeak at that.