But I have 365 days ahead of me of making the "no, I'm twenty-nine for real" joke...
Y'all must tell your ages more often than I do. I can easily go a year without telling anyone how old I am, and I'd never heard of the above phenomenon until here. I feel I missed something.
Tried out the swank club. I see where the money goes. It's gorgeous, and has more exercise machines than God does. I only tried one room, the Loop, where they have lights that flash every 30s to get you off your current machine onto the next one. 3 rounds of 15 machines, and I'm pretty nicely worked out. And in a good endorphin fueled place, which wasn't compromised by sitting in Adam Sandler's sweat.
Cool. And eww. But mostly cool, ita.
T-shirt for the cool kids.
I don't get it. Google only gives me porn.
Just in case you were wondering: If I were King of Swaziland, each of my wives would have a Minolta she could use to photograph any car she wished to photograph.
Monkeys, however, would need a press pass.
Having been obscure, I now vanish into the ether.
I'm wearing a shirt that says
OPEN MIND
STRONG BODY
BEAUTIFUL SOUL
right now. AIFG.
Though I do feel I should put a post-it on that says "this was a gift -- the wearer does not necessarily claim these qualities for herself."
I don't get it. Google only gives me porn.
That's because google wants to have sex with you. Don't you read your spam?
Wait, no, that's nonsensical.
What I meant to say was -- it's the shirt for everyone in Paris Hilton's hacked sidekick. Whose address book seems to be no longer on line. Seth Green's phone number is upthread, somewhere, though.
Oh wow.
I thought I lost me cell at the Angel party last year. It was sickening. I had nightmare visions of some insane person calling Tim at 4am to yell at him for killing Doyle.
