I love these comments -- FMTPO.
There, amongst the Porsches, Beamers and Benzes was me, a pretty young girl in designer heels, a Celine bag, a mini dress and my truck.
Maybe I can’t have it all. But, I can have a diamond necklace.
I'm pretty sure I would eat bugs all the time if I was convinced they were delicious.
I genuinely have the worst moves ever. Here's how you can, too!
Every time I lose a card (anything important really) I tell myself, "This is it! This is the last time! I will be responsible and amazing from this day forward." And, well, you know how that story ends.
My favorite comment this week is weird, and the most upvoted comment might be a little mean, and here we go!
grown ass woman
At my next grown-up shindig, I want to serve up something besides wine and beer.
Who are these demure souls wielding garden gnomes and keepsake boxes while raising America’s youth?
In the interest of not inviting my own bodily harm at the hands of my acquaintances, I have decided to approximate summer to the best of my ability even when the weather outside is driving me to listen to The National and brood about the void of human existence.
Some of my nearest and dearest friends don't even know I still do some of this shit, so consider yourself being allowed access to The Vault.
As someone who edits high schoolers’ writing in my spare time, I’ve read a lot of terrible teenage prose through the years.
Pretension is the best-case scenario, indicative if nothing else of a lively imagination.
America is playing a weird game of culinary chicken with itself, creating junk/comfort food hybrids like mac and cheese filled meatloaf.
In which the following is discussed: murder, the mental anguish of my future children, AND CRISCO.
If you give a mouse a cookie...