Damn funny and sure to tickle your funny bone. He didn’t miss anything, and if he did, let him know LOL.
~ Gigi ~
Nothing sucks quite as much as being creatively stifled by your own deficiencies. I’m talking about your brain being full of ideas that don’t seem to come to fruition. It’s maddening when your dreams are full of concepts, storylines, and art, that rarely become reality. The worst aspect of it is knowing that it’s your own fault this happens. Read the rest of this entry
Evocative Photos Highlight New Zealand’s Largest Street Gang
I think these photos are beautiful and full of humanity.
~ Gigi ~
Funny and true
- The bit where Carrie goes for cocktails in Sex and the City would be 2 for £8 pitchers at her local wetherspoons.
- Whenever Hugh Grant was being charmingly English, people wouldn’t actually be ale to understand him and the local veg man would shout ‘eh what you talking about mate??’.
- The Prince Charming never arrives on a steed or even in a limousine always on the Bus.
- The weird tablet written in ancient unused script would remain unread because you only actually have to learn 2 modern foreign languages at school.
- Nobody would be able to actually understand what Chewbacca says and he would have been dropped from the group for logistical reasons. Plus everyone would be getting annoyed with his hair.
- Peoples cars would never be thaaaat shiny, somebody would have written ‘clean me’ and then drawn a phallic symbol on the back of the really dusty ones.
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In my aimless net wandering, I often come across really silly stuff that makes me laugh. Here’s little something to make you chuckle as you start your day. Just click the title to read the actual story. Enjoy! 🙂
There was no option to leave a comment on this beautiful post, so I am reblogging it, with the comment “Brava! The truth you tell here is beautiful.”
I learned to make lace when I was small, solemnly winding my bobbins with white thread then working over the pillow with deepest concentration – twisting and crossing the splints of wood, carefully weighted with scavenged beads, never learning so well that my hands could work without stumbling, but working all the same. I made my first few pieces, slack-tensioned and a little sloppy. My older female relatives and family friends inspected them indulgently but unimpressed. They were Bedfordshire women who had learned the needle arts at school, women who had been educated for domesticity, women who could not believe that I would leave school at 16 unable to knit, sew or make pastry. “I could make this,” my grandma would say, plucking the unhappy hems of my Topshop jumpers. “Didn’t they teach you anything?”
Their lives didn’t stop at what their education had fitted them for, though, because this…
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Loved this post and it’s genuineness. I think many of feel the same.
On the morning of my 39th birthday, I was grateful for two things: my hair and my boobs.
There were other things too, of course – the way Sam buried his little face in my hair at 5:30 in the morning. The way he and Drew planned how to surprise me with breakfast and cake and presents.
But my hair and boobs were on my mind the most because in the week leading up to my birthday, one friend had to shave her head and another friend found out she might be losing her breasts.
I sort of hate to feel gratitude like this—it seems like such a selfish feeling. Like by being grateful I am saying that I am grateful that YOU have this horrible disease and not me. I am grateful that I have my hair, but too bad about yours. That’s clearly not what I want to…
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Holy Hannah I laughed out loud for real and spit tea on my tablet screen. Damn that was funny.
The nightly ritual of shutting down the house is well ingrained. I moved through the rooms, checking doors and windows, shutting off lights and set up the coffee machine. My last stop before bed was the bathroom. My bath is a huge, skylighted, claw-footed-tub sanctuary. It is filled with my most intimate photos from childhood and beyond. The light blazed on and sitting on my shower curtain rod was a gray squirrel. I screamed. It screamed. It leapt to the floor. I slammed the door. There was no way I was prepared to deal with a live animal in my bathroom at that hour. I crawled into bed and hoped for the best. The door was closed, the light off and hopefully it would have somehow managed to find a way out by morning.
Strange dreams populated the night, an eery kaleidoscope of visions that all involved wildlife and sharp…
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