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If I start removing my earrings while maintaining eye contact, you're either in for the fuck of your life, or you'd better fucking run.
THEY'RE over THERE worrying about THEIR grammar, while YOU'RE right here concerned with YOUR punctuation. YOU'RE welcome TO share this, TOO.
There is nothing sexier than a strong man who grabs you, tells you exactly what he's going to do to you, then does it...like a fucking boss.
My parenting skills these days consist of going room to room, shaking my head, announcing, "This is some bullshit!" and exiting the area.
Dear privileged white teenaged boys:
1. You are not "gangsta"
2. You may NEVER use the "N" word
3. Seriously, pull up your fucking pants
Books: Because your mind is an infinitely darker more terrifying place than any film director's interpretation.
My wrinkles are all from laughter. Except those lines between my eyebrows...those are my "WTF?" lines, and those fuckers are deep.
The ultimate betrayal is realizing you fought for something with everything you had only to discover that you were the only one in the ring.
My son, who was on the autism spectrum, graduates High School this week. I may beam with pride, but he shines with possibility.
If women came with instructions, most men would still be too dazzled by the packaging to read the warning label.
Missing someone is most painful when sitting across from them, remembering who they used to be.
You don't need to buy me things or take me fancy places. Just love my mind, hold my heart and have my back. And put your hands all over me.
I just popped over to Facebook and replied "WHO FUCKING CARES?" on everybody's status. Because, thug life.
When traveling abroad it's good to learn basic language. "I'd like a beer." "Where's the bathroom?" "I need a taxi." "Just not in my hair."
The girl at Whole Foods told me she was "peachy keen, jelly bean." So now I'm making Molotov cocktails in the parking lot.
While the world continued to turn, a remarkable man died yesterday. I just want you all to know he was here…and he mattered.
He was my Dad.
Packing my daughter's prom kit...lip gloss, stun gun, pepper spray, switchblade, and I've uploaded all 5 seasons of Teen Mom to her iPhone.
My 12 year old daughter just asked, "Mom, what's an orgasm?" I took a deep breath, then stopped, dropped and rolled right out of the house.
Twitter is absurd. But if you delve deep enough, there are some spectacular, lovely people who will support you in ways you never imagined.
Sometimes it's just much cooler to be a rebel without a cause than a self-righteous asshole who has one.