What does it mean when a movie passes the Bechdel test, but not the reverse-Bechdel test cause no two men talk to each other? #Bridesmaids
Our nights are filled with alliances made and broken. I’ve never been particularly good at negotiation or betrayal, and that’s probably why my house is usually the first to go in the Game of Thrones. I’ve become that guy who sucks and consequently poses no threat at the thing everyone is into, but still plays cause it’s always worth seeing the bluffs and calls, the bold alpha strikes, and the development of grudges.
I’ve never gotten along with the caffeinated, shaky, socially awkward guys who frequent the rare binders at the comic book store, perhaps cause they remind me too much of an adolescent version of myself. But this is our own version of geekery, with our own rituals, and the company is never anything less than entertaining.
Dear ginger tea with honey: where have you been all my life?
The three levels of friendship:
1) enter address in GPS
2) address saved in GPS
3) no GPS needed
People are forgoing their heavy coats for light jackets, even a litte skin. But winter still lingers in the crisp air, a reminder that it hasn’t been long since those frigid nights, but that it’ll soon be warmer and brighter. On the right days, I can wake up with the warmth of the sun on my face, drive with the windows down, and eat dinner in the daylight.
The cats sit intently by the back door for hours, listening for any birds come home for Spring. They haven’t heard any since last year, and for Byron, that’s pretty much a lifetime. Nowadays, I measure time by how much heavier feels every day. There’s a comfort to be found in knowing that your cats are growing and healthy.
It feels like so much of what I used to cherish has fallen to the wayside. Like I’m relentlessly trying to catch up on sleep, on time spent with friends, on guitar practice, on various projects, on getting to inbox 0. With time now such a valuable resource, I’ve been re-evaluating things to salvage as much as I can. Figuring out the difference between what I truly enjoy and what I enjoy because I think I should, between what I need and what I want.
It’s strange to think that I’ve ended up here, and yet it’s hardly different from where I was not so long ago. Life is always interesting, no matter what age you are, and regardless of how you think you’ve settled into it. If you’re doing it right, at least.
He’s a great guy who looks particularly nice in a skinny tie. His deep, smokey eyes seem to slay every woman he meets, and even the ones he hasn’t yet. There’s a strapping masculinity that you like, carried in the angles of his face, but a gentle smile reveals his true personality.
He’s intelligent enough to challenge that mind of yours, but so down-to-earth that you’d never feel inadequate. He’s constantly creative and a musical genius, and I know you’d appreciate his work as much as he’d appreciate yours, even if they’re in different mediums. He can let loose and have a great time, but he’s responsible enough to know when to stop. He’s confident, but modest. Funny without being crude or clownish. Thoughtful and kind. Generous with his time, his thoughts, his possessions, and his life. He’s the total package, but most important of all, I know he’d make you happy.
And while I’ve always been unbearably jealous when I think of you with anyone else (and maybe I chose him cause I like to think he reminds me of myself), he’s the only guy I wouldn’t mind you being with if it can’t be me, cause it would be such a waste otherwise.
How is it that the word inadequate isn’t in the built-in Mac dictionary? Maybe they don’t want people using that word to describe it.
You know you do too much online shopping when you have every detail of your credit card memorised.
Remember when I used to write about everything? When there were a million distractions to keep me warm, and all the lyrics captured a moment I never wanted to forget. The changing seasons, the goosebumps beneath my fingers, the taste of affection; it all lived on in my songs, and I wanted nothing more than to put it all on paper.
I’m trying to get there again. Not with dramatic, sweeping changes, but by rebuilding brick by brick. I can make it if I focus on putting one foot in front of the other, living day by day.
So I’ve been cherishing the little victories, cause they all count. And luckily, life is full of them.
How crazy would I be if I started saving my cats’ whiskers?
Does anyone else get really nervous about driving into the middle groove at oil change places?