Apparently, "For the love of God, do not text, call or attempt to speak to me ever again," loosely translates as "I love you" to some men.

I'm no expert on relationships, but I think if you starve a person out, they're going to go hunting.

75% of my frustrations in this world could be solved if there were no other cars on the road except mine.

In an effort to go from "doormat" to "assertive," I almost always overshoot and land on "bitch" accidentally.

Every time I feel sorry for myself for being single, I think of all the happily married people I know and high-five myself.

I just sneezed and said "Excuse me" to a mannequin.

Son, 10, just explained that to get a girl to like you, you just have to listen. He followed up with how hard that is to do.

Today's discovery: Two 9-year-old boys discussing girls are remarkably as insightful as two 50-year-old men discussing women.

After working out, I like to impress people with my inability to move my limbs.

By the contents of my purse, it appears I'm a grown woman who uses Skittles lip gloss, reads Captain Underpants & writes checks in crayon.

It isn't paranoia if they really are laughing at you.

My purse is deeper than some people.

Being a mom means I'm supposed to be able to find all of their stuff while they lose all of mine.

I've just had a talk with myself and I've come to this conclusion: I'm a terrible listener.

Adulthood is hard, but that’s no excuse to steal your kid’s childhood.

I can't be the only one who wonders-just for a second-if she may not exist in this dimension when an automatic door doesn't open for her.

I may be wrong, but I'm guessing the guy in the wife beater, using his riding lawn mower for road transportation, is single.

Hell is real. And, in it, there's an endless supply of laundry to be done.

It's unfair that almost all good things come in limited quantities, but the world never seems to run out of self-absorbed douchebags.

Retweeting: Because I'm either too lazy to tweet or you guys just rock right now.