My mom has and my grandmother had hiatal hernias. Both are/were obese.

So I read this book called “The Five Love Languages.” It’s all about how people perceive the way that others care about them. Some people like receiving gifts, some people like it when people say nice things to them, some people like holding hands and giving hugs, some like spending time with their significant others,…

Thirty is the new twenty?

My landlord goes by “Taylor.” Says he has all his life. Then went in the military and found out Taylor isn’t anywhere on his birth certificate. No clue where Taylor came from.

I can say, “Where is the cockroach’s bathroom?”

I took one year of Spanish in HS. It all sounded like one big word to me. Kind of still does. I can’t understand it at all. It’s a beautiful language, but I just can’t understand it.

After having 3 kids myself, I almost feel the opposute of those other parents: As if I am not really living, just going through the motions. I’m stuck in a glass cage of emotion and tantrums (not mine).

I totally get it. I’m essentially in a sexless marriage (not by choice) as my husband is on antidepressants that totally kill his libido. “Maintenence sex” doesn’t exist when it’s the man who doesn’t want it. Thank God for my B.O.B. (Battery Operated Boyfriend).

Hahaha! So. Awkward.

“I Used to Love Her But I Had to Kill Her”?

For when Trump goes all Hitler on people and starts trying to deport or send Muslims to concentration camp, I’m offering refuge. I am convincing my husband to make our attic and storage spaces secretly livable. I am here to hide you!

I’ve heard that Hawaiians really, really, irrationally HATE white people. They are especially vicious toward military people stationed there. I think that may explain the murder charges.

Except that alcohol doesn’t make people do things they would never do otherwise; it just makes them brave enough to do things that their sober logic stifles.*

Unfortunately, there is one.

Hi, Randilyn, we love you.

Is mom’s name Kitty, or Buffy, or something along those lines? I can "hear" the snobbery.

My son has literally pooped his butt out. Twice. Once when was 4, and again a few months ago (he’s 6 now). Like, full on rosebud. It’s called a rectal prolapse and I can only think of Mark when it happens.

I was born in 1980 and I love Good and Plenty.

http://www.bustle.com/articles/89708…

I saw Kurt Cobain's ghost. When I was 15 and tripping balls on acid.