i'm the lady on the subway reading your newspaper and making you feel guilty for turning the page.

the waiter snuck up on me when i was eating my steak and now i'm all embarrassed 'cause i'm not sure how much to tip someone i just stabbed.

i'm changing my profile name so people can get an email saying: "your worst nightmare" is now following you on twitter.

the closest i've come to choreographing a dance is my planned routine for side-stepping group hugs.

my only regret in life is the amount of time i've wasted gently blowing on hot soup.

does anyone have any more coupons i can hold on to until after they expire?

most of my time in shopping malls is spent correcting my posture as i pass the reflection in each storefront window.

oh nothing, just listening to my date talk about his collection of golf pencils and hey can someone call me and pretend my house is on fire?

if someone wakes up from a twenty year coma, i hope the first thing they see when they turn on a TV is mike tyson petting his pigeons.

just a reminder: the smallest penises always belong to the biggest dicks.

not sure why everyone who gets in my car keeps calling my tiny little trash cans "cup holders".

i'm the lady tweeting in the stall beside you when i know you're uncomfortably waiting for me to leave the restroom.

when i'm walking to my car alone at night, snarling hyenas and rustling leaves are pretty much the same thing.

no matter how many times i trip over my own feet, i'll always look back and blame the ground with menacing eyes.

don't forget the gift receipt; it's probably the best part of the present.

i just learned that "code 99" in IKEA means a child's missing. i also learned that parents hate when you use their kid to test closet space.

i spend roughly ten minutes each day having a one-sided conversation with my dog before we both walk away slightly ashamed. mostly me.

i once held a door open for ellen page, so i can't help but feel at least partially responsible for all of her success.

i'm really good at practicing how to pronounce something on a fancy menu for 10 minutes, then cracking under pressure and saying "that one."

i bet violas think violins are pretentious assholes.