Busted
You can tell he’s fantasizing about sucking the life out of an infant — just look at him.
You can tell he’s fantasizing about sucking the life out of an infant — just look at him.
After living the past several days in an “Are you effing kidding me?” fog, today I have been treated to a handful of digital dispatches from Nashville (with love) and a box sitting at my front door containing OH MY GOD, ARE THERE COOKIES IN THERE? And yes, yes there are. Were. Okay, there are still some left, technically, and I’m sorry, but I just cannot remember what I did with them so I guess…
I have the strangest feeling that this flyer is missing crucial information. Date, time, general location, check. Warning for early birds, check. General idea of what’ll be for sale, check. Hm.
I’m going to start locking selected posts. If you’d like the password, shoot me a note via the three billion ways you can contact me (many of which are listed on the contact page above).
Working nights sucks on its own, but then you have to contend with the fact that society gives no shit that 8 a.m. is your 4 a.m. rude awakening from Lindsey Turner on Vimeo. Yes, I am 80 and don’t know the difference between rap and hip-hop. Shut up.
There is no excerpt because this is a protected post.
The Babytime people are delivering the crib tomorrow morning and an electrician is coming to repair some outlets so I can move all this stuff into the back bedroom, which needs to be the new office. I’ve got yardsale stuff stacked everywhere and it’s impossible to move stuff when there is no spare room to move other stuff out of the way. I cleaned a spot for the crib and decided I’d had enough, and…
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