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i wish i could turn a healthy sex drive into something.
other than children.
i wish memories were flammable
if you question why a woman's underwear has bows on it, you clearly don't understand how gift wrap works.
note to self: a public note to self is really for other people.
the only thing that i really want to get for mother's day is my period.
i call bullshit so often it's on speed dial
according to my kid, morsel code is for when you need to send really tiny messages.
i never dreamed that little pictures on a screen would feel like friends... yet here i am.
you're tall, dark, handsome, AND you hold doors for women, smiling warmly as they enter.
don't be so obvious, serial killer.
rage: because things won't break themselves.
i sometimes tweet to be funny, but mostly i tweet just so i don't cry.
some bruises are totally worth it.
i have the uncanny ability to piss off numerous people with one act. not the super power i would choose... but i'm gonna make the most of it
eventually you will all fall into one of two categories:
keeper or creeper.
what if raisins are just grapes that cried and cried and cried
thank you, twitter. once again you've made it completely unnecessary for me to turn on my television.
who would've thought you could get so bruised falling off someone's radar?
if you keep listing me as "naughty" and "playmate" i may just have to live down to that standard.
i love tweets that rant at inanimate objects...
like spouses and kids.
i like most people until i listen to them chew.
the following was based on a true story. no actual feelings were hurt in the writing of that tweet. aaaaand yes, the H is for huggles, if you were wondering.