I miss the days before the internet, when you didn’t know some person’s every awful thought until they died and you cleaned out their attic.
THEM: You can’t go wrong with this recipe.
ME: Watch me.
“What if I took the dumbest person I know, got them severely drunk, and challenged them to finish my sentences?” — inventor of Autocorrect
THEM: I have a story about that person. Someday when I’m drunk enough, I’ll tell you.
ME: [pulls bottle of wine from purse] Let’s do this.
I want to be rich enough to leave the house-sitter notes like: “If the cheetah looks bored, jog him on the treadmill. He can watch Friends.”
I assume anyone sitting alone in a car in the dark corner of a grocery store parking lot is waiting to meet a hitman who is running late.
I once saw a real bear in the wild and said “Aww, look at him!” What I’m saying is, don’t turn to me for practical thinking in an emergency.
“Dammit. I had shit planned today.”
— a spider being carried out of the house with a cup and piece of paper
Nobody works harder than a drunk person trying to carefully whisper a secret.
I could host an elegant dinner party, but I don’t know enough people with simmering tension over long-held secrets to make it worthwhile.
Go to a suburban neighborhood, find the meanest mom with the biggest glass of white wine, and bring her to negotiate your new car purchase.
If you marry someone a few years older, one thing they love is when any classic rock song comes on and you ask “Is this Led Zeppelin?”
Every earthquake is a reminder that you drunk-ate the good granola bars out of the earthquake kit eight years ago and never restocked them.
ME: My dog’s so happy I’m working from home.
DOG (to camera): Honestly, a heads up would have been nice. I had shit planned today.
It’s 11:48 PM. You can’t sleep. Underneath your bed, there’s a creepy rustle, as the clown tries to quietly unwrap and eat a granola bar.