Tag Archives: ego jokes

good life choices

solar-powered, glow-in-the-dark, lawn-ornament meerkats

People, I deserve praise.

First up, I went to an antiques auction (and accompanying little-old-lady antiques shop) and ONLY bought a vintage wire dressform (BE JEALS) and a pair of Frederick’s of Hollywood cherry red marabou slippers because COME ON.

I refrained from throwing myself at the blblblblbl-ing auctioneer for a chance at either the 10-inch cast bronze unicorn OR the 6-foot brass elephant head OR this chandelier, which they did not sell and, frankly, should just have given to me. I mean, really.

And DAMN that hurts.

Then, I successfully friend-raped this chick, who has the audacity and/or good luck to share my name AND happens to be funnier than me, have an online empire and pepper her writing with Yiddish phrases.

Of course, this means I’m in love.

I also made soup for a sick stepdad and candies for the people who wrote my brother the recommendation letters that got him into fucking Yale with a huge fucking stipend and goddamn health insurance and I’m really doing well with not being fucking bitter about it.

Ahem.

But really, I’ve got to say, my big accomplishment in this past week was the discovery of these guys. And really, there’s nothing more to say.


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good life choices, hey world. here i am., weighty world issues

In which I begin to prepare you for the most important day of the year.

People, it has come to my attention that the most important date of the year is a mere 37 days away.

Yes, I know you’d prefer a full six weeks to prepare, but you’ll just have to hustle, now won’t you.

Indeed, the anniversary of the 27th year since my arrival in this great time falls on the middle day of the month before us.

And you’re all getting me presents. Remember, I like green, daisies and grapefruit. Also, expensive kitchen knives, the letter M, baskets and myself.

And because I am as magnanimous and helpful as we all know I am, I have begun a sort of gift guide for you. This is post number one of lord knows how many, because I like a lot of things, a lot.

Today, I picked squishy things. Because they’re squishy and that is fun, obviously.

Also, I feel throw pillows should do more than just look good; they should help you remember important things that you always forget because your brain is falling apart and your memory’s going first. I mean, hypothetically.

Like this one, for example. You might think this little number, found in alexandraferguson’s etsy shop, is just a handy maxim, like a modern-day sampler.

I say it’s much more, indeed, like a mantra or life slogan. Yep, I’mma adopt it for my calling cards riiiiiiiiiight now.

short, sweet, pithy -- it's like a pillow version of me!

short, sweet, pithy -- it's like a pillow version of me!

Aaaaaand I feel similarly about the following pillows that I can’t steal photos from UncommonGoods (GUY, I’M TRYING TO SEND YOU BUSINESS HERE) like the chalkboard bird pillow, on which I could write shit down to remember (I’m growing up!), the science project pillows, for my immediate anatomical-question needs, the continent pillows, because come on, geography, dude!, and the alphabet pillow, just in case.

To recap: My birthday is December 16th. There will be much rejoicing. You should buy me presents, and then shots.

With that, and a lortab, this egomaniac’s out for the night.

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hey world. here i am., i am serious and don't call me shirley!, weighty world issues

In which I finally get off my ass and show you the damn Halloween photos.

So, I know I owe you (ok, well, me, but still) a few apologies for late posts, skipping posts, throwing up photo posts as cop outs and the like, but instead of groveling or any form of sincerity, I’ve decided to brazen myself right on through it.

Assholes.

Moving right along.

If you didn’t vote today, lie and tell me you did. That, or remind me you’re from a country more enlightened than mine.

Election day is, of course, highly important, if only right now because it comes as the first non-hangover day for most fun-loving and/or douchey adults in the United States.

There are a lot of douches. Hate that.

I myself have no hangover, which is relatively sad, because it is further evidence of my curtailed activities in the face of the THREE WEEK HEADACHE FROM HELL. Which has been determined to not be the bacterial sinus infection that earned me two shots of ridiculopainful medication IN MY ASS (jerks!) and one healthy prescription of lortab (angels!).

Of course, I say all of this (lortabbed out) really only to introduce the following photographs.

You’re welcome.

my kind of tea party

the most important part of the evening, of course, was the preparation.

the most important part of the evening, of course, was the preparation.

it took a great many hands to lace me into the corset.

it took a great many hands to lace me into the corset.

and a knee.

and a knee.

no, really. knee to the back.

no, really. knee to the back.

KNEEEEEEEEEE.

KNEEEEEEEEEE.

i fear my breasts will never look at me the same way again.

i fear my breasts will never look at me the same way again.

of course, you've met alice.

of course, you've met alice.

she's adorable, even while laughing through cupcake.

she's adorable, even while laughing through cupcake.

even the ol' alice side-eye is sweet.

even the ol' alice side-eye is sweet.

and you'd know this cheshire kazz anywhere.

and you'd know this cheshire kazz anywhere.

she's hard to miss, really.

she's hard to miss, really.

there's a world of nutso behind those eyes. you're surprised, i know.

there's a world of nutso behind those eyes. you're surprised, i know.

my mad hatter, unfortunately, appears to have a case of the camera shys. most unusual.

my mad hatter, unfortunately, appears to have a case of the camera shys. most unusual.

that, or somehow we all happened to hog the camera from him. surely not.

that, or somehow we all happened to hog the camera from him. surely not.

the most inventive of all costumes, however, was this rendition of the bard himself, zombie female lewis carroll.

the most inventive of all costumes, however, was this rendition of the bard himself, zombie female lewis carroll.

no better a lewis carroll have i ever seen, frankly.

no better a lewis carroll have i ever seen, frankly.

which leaves, of course, your queen. in a series of...

which leaves, of course, your queen. in a series of...

the most flattering photos...

the most flattering photos...

ever.

ever.

this is my kind of tea party.

this is my kind of tea party.


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hey world. here i am., make a little bird house in your soul

In which I offer more Little Mer while I sleep off the narcotics.

There was this one photograph, a black-&-white, of a young girl in pigtails that sat over my grandfather’s chair in my mother’s parents’ house in Memphis when I was growing up.

It was a beautiful photo, and I loved the look on the girl’s face. It sought approval while smiling, coyly.

Mostly, I think I loved it because I always thought it was me.

my lovely mama

my lovely mama

little mer

little mer

Surely you can understand my confusion.

After all, the world does revolve around me. Right?

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