We need to talk. It’s been bothering me for like a year and a half now, and I had hoped it would go away on its own, but apparently that’s not going to happen, so I’m just gonna say it.
Not everything needs to be a crop top.
I know it’s all trendy right now, but for real, it is possible to manufacture a shirt that falls below the ribcage. And even make it look good. We have the technology.
I mean, some of us are not 16 anymore, and don’t care to dress like we are. Who let them dictate the trends, anyway? They have horrible taste. It’s Coachella and Zooey Deschanel every day with them.
Also, some of us have hit that proverbial slowing of the metabolism that we were always warned about, although I’m pretty sure I was told it didn’t happen until closer to 30.
And, some of us spend a little more time drowning our quarter-life crisis in wine and food than we used to, so a garment that doesn’t stop right at the most unflattering spot below the waist line but above the hips — you know what I mean, that little roll — would be much appreciated. Not only by us, but by the people we have to interact with on the daily.
Peace and Blessings,
Everyone who has graduated from high school and is trying to get their lives together, or at least dress like they are
And you know what?
I was absolutely right.
My family friend helpfully forwarded this to me yesterday:
She said it popped up in her sidebar and she immediately thought of me. How’s that for infamy?
She also said, “here you go, it’s all thought out for you!”. Little does she know I don’t have to think of a drink, I have a go-to already — it’s called a bottle of whatever happens to be lying around.
And a straw if I’m feeling fancy.
I don’t know if you guys heard the news, but. . . a couple weekends ago here in L.A., it. . . rained. It rained pretty hard. A lot of people were pretty shaken up. It was a dark 72 hours. Both figuratively and literally.
I, however, had a great time. I didn’t leave the couch except to change the DVD, replenish my stack of magazines, or get more food.
I also made and consumed scones, which are a fantastic rainy day thing to eat. To be honest, my mother did most of the heavy lifting on this one while I was absorbed in Les Miserables . But I did stir for a while. And I helpfully ate several of the scones so that she wouldn’t be tempted to and ruin her girlish figure. I know, it was pretty selfless. But my mom has done a lot for me, so I like to help her out sometimes.
I enjoyed these with some of my neighbor’s prize-winning blackberry jam. How hokey and country-sounding does that sound? But actually, he’s won first place at the state and county fairs for several years, and this shit is truly sensational. The only thing that could improve upon this whole experience is if I’d had some clotted cream. But I’ve been told that you can’t have everything.
via Food Network
*These aren’t traditional tea scones really, but they’re good. If you don’t have buttermilk or don’t care to get it, you can substitute milk with a tablespoon of vinegar or lemon that you let stand for 10 minutes.
3 cups flour
1/3 cup sugar
1 teaspoon salt
2 1/2 teaspoons baking powder
1/2 teaspoon baking soda
3/4 cup (1 1/2 sticks) unsalted butter
1 cup buttermilk
1/2 cup currants (optional); raisins, chocolate, etc.
1 tablespoon heavy cream, for brushing
Preheat oven to 400.
In a large bowl, mix flour, sugar, salt, baking soda, and baking powder.
Cut in butter with your fingers or a pastry cutter until it forms a coarse meal.
Add buttermilk and mix until just combined; add currants.
Transfer dough to a floured surface and divide in two, rolling each into 3/4 in. thick rounds. Cut each into 8 wedges and place on a lightly greased baking sheet or silicone mat, separated slightly.
Brush the tops lightly with cream and bake 15 minutes, until golden brown. Serve warm.
I’m holding up all right — for now. I just need some time.
It just feels like a personal affront, you know? Like, I know it isn’t, and it’s bigger than me and a lot of people are affected. But honestly, I almost feel like Anna singled me out and it’s like she doesn’t even care anymore. Like she’s more interested in shock than anything else.
And I used to like that about her, her willingness to test boundaries, but at this point I just think she’s gone too far. I’m still reeling.
I just. . . them. On the cover. Him. But especially her.
And if I’m feeling this way, I can’t even imagine how Victoria Beckham is feeling. Let’s all keep her in mind today.
When my issue comes, I may have to cover it over with a paper cover, like pervs used to do in the 40’s or whatever so they could read smutty magazines in public. That’s how strongly I feel about this. I don’t even want to look at it.
But I cannot overstate how much I hope that just for today, Heaven and St. Peter are real and he has organized a picket line at the pearly gates just for Fred Phelps.
With all the angels holding signs filled with vitriolic phrases directed at him.
And Jesus will, like, totally exclude him and not even look in his direction.
I can only hope.
See here for previous installments of People of Pinterest, my new series that will showcase the idiocy, unjustifiable smugness, and creative use of grammar and spelling that are so often posted in comments and on captions by every internet bully, basement-dweller looking to anonymously pick a fight with strangers, and self-proclaimed health expert on the wondrous site that is Pinterest. Enjoy.
First off, a sincere, non-mocking congratulations for the post itself. I just want to thank whoever at The Coveteur is responsible for this. Well done.
I’d also like to thank Gabriella, for helpfully pointing out the subtle photoshop work that might otherwise have gone unnoticed.
*P.S. The original article is really funny, even if you’ve never watched Ja’mie or Summer Heights High.
When I was little, I thought breakfast for dinner was the coolest thing in the world. Pancakes and omelettes when it’s dark out?! Whaaaat. Like I’ve said, children have odd little brains and that is why they’re so amusing.
Brunch has since replaced breakfast for dinner as my favorite meal, because I’m a classy adult now and stuff. And then I went and made this lunch/dinner for breakfast because I’m an innovator and I play by nobody’s rules but my own. Watch out.
These look like you put some effort in but they’re secretly really fast to make. Next time I’m going to make my own tortillas though, because I’m a tortilla snob and the kind from the store are just not up to my standards. But the point is: you can eat this shiz for breakfast, lunch, dinner, midnight snack, 2:00pm hungover breakfast, whatever. Shine on, you crazy diamond.
inspired by Honestly Yum
handful cilantro, chopped
green onion, diced
Cotija, Monterey Jack, or Feta cheese, crumbled or diced
Tapatío or whatever hot sauce floats your boat
salt and pepper to taste
Turn the stove on to low and warm and/or char the tortillas by placing them on the burner for a few seconds at a time, dragging them across the flame when you turn them over. Set aside on a plate and put them in an oven heated to 200 degrees, or cover with foil to keep warm.
Poach or lightly fry eggs.
Pile everything on top of the tortillas and go to town.
And not in the fun way.
I’m serious, can we somehow make this happen? Or possibly a good old-fashioned pistol whipping? Because I don’t even believe in spanking, but I feel like it’s justified — nay, necessary — in this case.
Here’s the link to his deposition. Watch it, but only if you’re prepared to become enraged.
Someone needs to tell him how completely stupid and ridiculous and transparent and hilarious he looks while strutting and peacocking for the camera. It’s so obviously a performance. It’s like that scene in The Lion King when Simba is trying to roar at the hyenas and really it’s just squeaking. It’s like a girl stuffing her bra with rolled-up socks. It’s like a toddler who thinks he’s a gangsta who would actually shit his pull-ups when confronted with, like, Vanilla Ice.
Actually no, don’t tell him — it’s too funny. I mean, it would be funny if he wasn’t entirely too impressed with himself.
Some random thoughts:
1. His lawyer needs to man the fuck up and put him in his place. I grew up around a lot of lawyers, and I don’t care how much they get paid, not one of them would put up with that shit.
2. I laughed. out. loud. when he sighed and said “I object” as an answer to a question, for no apparent reason. Someone’s been watching too much People’s Court.
3. Who does your eyebrows, Biebs? They’re a little too neat for my taste, even for a girl, but they do highlight your delicate cheekbones and creamy skin nicely.
4. When he goes all “I’m hard shit, mo’fucka, don’t ask me about ma girl Selena again” — just out of curiosity. . . what’s your next move? Cause you keep repeating it like he’s really gonna push you over the edge, but. . . it’s not like you can hit him. You can’t take legal action. If you storm dramatically out, you’re doing him a favor. Threat-making 101 — don’t make a threat you can’t follow through on. And perhaps most importantly: if you have to repeat your threat 8 times (I counted), it’s clearly not very threatening, now is it?
5. I marvel at his ability to infect even the grown men around him — theoretically well-educated professional adults — with his immaturity and temper-tantrum tactics.
6. He has the hair of an anime character.
7. I nearly peed my pants when he says “I think I was detrimental to my own career” and then is so clearly confused when they call him on it but tries to front like he isn’t and he did it on purpose and knows exactly what they’re talking about.
That should be his next tattoo.
8. How long do you think he practiced this little routine in front of the mirror? I’m going with at least an hour and a half. Right after bath time but before story time.