In short: fucking stupid.
In whole: I’m going to post it on my main site tomorrow to a) change things up and b) attempt to get this whole Q&A thing going for me because I like it.
Don’t forget! You can also hit me up on Formspring. Any topic you want regardless of medium! Anonymous or otherwise!
And thusly, I bid you a good eve.
I have absolutely no idea. I’m sure some It Girl or random celebutante started it and it just filtered through the masses. One day I just had an urge to do it. I have a vague recollection of seeing it (no idea on whom) and liking it, but only remembered so after being prompted to answer this question.
Also, it’s a way easier way to participate in the nail art trend that would have made us all feel tacky and tweenage just a few years ago than, say, this:
There are a few reasons. First, I don’t trust corporations to be inherently good or treat their people well, so unions have their place. Also, I came of age when Republican loosely translated to homophobic asshole.
But mostly - and this is important - I have a vagina.
My readers sure have gotten serious lately. Sweet!
Anywho, I actually think that in the context of women’s volleyball, the pictures are fairly accurate portrayals of what the sports tools are. I’ve read somewhere that I can’t recall and therefore won’t link to it (so let’s not think of it as 100% accurate just in case) that Misty and Kerri consider their smallish suits, ball and, yes, their bodies, as their gear. It’s all they have for the extent of three sets and 60 some odd points.
The pictures of male athletes are funny because they focus on the same parts of their anatomy as beach volleyball, but the pictures aren’t from similar sports. In gymnastics, the photographs of even the women are largely full-body because the sport is judged on lines and form and rotation. The photographs of volleyball playing bums, in theory, are focusing on the calls being made behind the player’s backs. As a light student of photography, the close crops just make for better pictures of the call.
Also I have no idea what I’m talking about.
As someone who basically couldn’t get a date to save her life, I find this questions high-larious. I am bad at talking to straight guys. Terrible. Laughable. It’s real problem. So, gentlemen reading this, you need to be super straight forward because I won’t get that you’re into me until you say it out right or jam your tongue down my throat (long, albeit funny, story). But, since you asked and I have nothing better to do with myself at the moment, I’ll go with it.
I like nerds. In one form or another. Awkward conversationalists, four eyes, whatever - I’m probably all about it as long as they have these things: passion, humor, intelligence. I don’t care about hair color or eye color or skin color or height or any of that crap that’s usually in descriptions of type.
I just need someone who can make me laugh. Not take my shit. Give good hugs. He has to give good hugs.
This made me laugh out loud. That’s right, not LOL, but actual laugh out loud. Thank you, sir or madam. Now take two Motrin, chug some water, and go to bed.
Please note that I am not actually in the market for sexting partners. I was merely sleep deprived and lamenting my lack of insomnia-sex partners.
I have got to remember that people on the internet are real.
Sorry to disappoint you, but I have exactly 0 offers. Story of my life.
I may or may not have “accidentally” broken dirty dishes in the past. The problem here, folks, is I am not a teenage boy. I am, in fact, a grown ass woman closer to 30 than 20.
Oh shit. I’m closer to 30 than 20.
Why, of course! This is all in thanks to the mother of my future ring bearer, Amy. (Brody will of course be at least 26 by the time I get married.)
To make the deliciousness, you will need:
Put the above listed ingredients into the above listed plastic bag (Ziploc or otherwise). Close the bag so that air and extra room is still prevalent. Shake like you’re being tasered until all ingredients appear to be evenly distributed (I usually stop once the canola oil isn’t en masse and the powder is no longer visible). Open and close the bag again so that the extra air is gone (no one likes stale crackers). Allow to sit overnight.
Then, if you’re like me, wake up and eat the whole damn thing before you remember you have a job to go to. Full disclosure: I actually used two 9 oz bags this time because the crappy Dominick’s I was patronizing did not have another size option. It still tastes good though.