Sorry I haven’t been around much. Don’t worry, I don’t actually think you’ve noticed. I’ve been making sweet love to a lot of wine to the electric stylings of Mr Idol (but he likes it better when I call him Mr Bill).
My face took Mustache Monday pretty seriously this week, without authorization.
More potty shots!
Is this picture the signal of a glory hole in a women’s bathroom? Does booze come out of it? Where do I put my mouth?
(Author’s note: I don’t say potty, normally, but it kinda rhymed with shots so I went with it.)
I wanted to make a joke about how this is my private time (tea, tumblr, toilet paper, trapped in the bathroom to avoid responsibilities, what a knee-slapper), but this picture pretty much looks like I enjoy putting urine samples in glass teacups. And that I’m dehydrated.
This is happening in my dreams and when I say in my dreams I mean in my pants and when I say in my pants I mean in my face and I am a happy dream face pants girl, because more more of that goodness okay please.
Chewbacca donated his body, not to science, but to helping me pack delicate kitchen equipment. Thanks, Chewie.
We’re trying to buy a house. This is a seriously serious grown-up maneuver. Or so it seems. I mean, I still have questions about why mortgage is even spelled that way; I’m not sure I’m ready to actually have one.
Also, marriage is a whole lot more intricate than that one little word would suggest, so should I expect the same surprises and baffling events from owning property?
Maybe. But I still rilly rilly wannit. It feels so right, it can’t be wrong… Right?
This is the inside of the bathroom door. Am I to assume that:
1. A tidy murder is a happy murder!
2. Big backsplash = big fun
3. There’s a portal to another dimension back there, and we’d better just keep that under wraps, hadn’t we?
I’m scared.
Surprise work party is surprising. (The accompanying saw noises are pretty freekin scary.)
Absolutely Abominable.
(Those are last night’s PJs. Not what I’m wearing now. It’s not ALL fun n games at the Toast residence.)
GPOY
I think this counts as a threeway.
Also: Pop blockin’
If this pose ever happened I’d definitely be all, “Ow! Easy! Your thumb is totally digging into my butt crack. Can we change positions? My neck is getting stiff. Maybe it’d be easier if we were on the bed? Do that thing where you go on the side. Do you feel a draft? I think the dog pushed the kitchen door open again.”
(via parasitehilton)
