Maybe she was born with it, maybe she was forged in the fires of Mount Doom.
One of the sharpest and earliest skills any woman will learn is how to make a twisty hat out of a towel that can last through hurricane force winds.
I feel like Indiana Jones every time I go looking for keys in my purse.
I find joy in the small things now, like a pair of cardinals at the bird feeder or seeing my douchehole neighbor trip over his garden hose.
Float like a malevolent entity. Sting like a priest throwing holy water at you.
Married people upset because their TC’s “cheated” on them is the real matrix.
People often act like they don’t hear something that is too awful to contemplate which explains the silence I get when I tell someone I like them.
My hair stylist asked for a pic so she could assess my hair for a comeback appointment and I was just told she suddenly left the country.
The crows I feed every day attacked a UPS delivery guy that startled me so I guess I now have my own little squad of personal assassins.
I wish I could get the hell out of here and move to New Zealand. A Hobbit hole in Bag End would be nice right about now.
My cat just brought me my purse and car keys not sure what he’s trying to tell me.
Him: These candles are so romantic!
Me: They’re necessary for my human sacrifice ritual.
I love the smell of cut grass and the sound of unknown footsteps in my attic.
I hate when people do that thing in traffic that I also do.
“I don’t need more than 4 hours of sleep” I say proudly while spooning dish washer detergent into my coffee.