First, some embarrassing photos:
That hair! What was I thinking? (Don’t miss the West Texas concho leather belt.) But, on the other end of the spectrum, this hair! What was I thinking? Read more
So, in case you have had your nose stuck in the Prima Pars of the Summa this summer, and are wondering why I have so rudely used the word “pussy” in a blog post, perhaps begin with this explanation here. As someone who has been known to raise a ruckus in front of a religious icon (namely, Duke Chapel) with minimal cost to my own hide, I am impressed by these women. I hope to be more like them when I grow up. Read more
Valentine’s Day is a stupid extension of the Disney Princess Apostasy, yet I still want to be swept off my feet (or at least to have my feet rubbed.) But before I get started on love, I need to vent about football.
I missed the Superbowl this year. Growing up in Texas, the Superbowl youth party was a Tradition on par with “O, For a Thousand Tongues to Sing.” The holy elements are uncontested: Velveeta and Rotel in a crock pot, little sausages in bright red barbecue sauce, and so many peanut M&M’s we’d make ourselves sick. It did not matter who was playing. By the logic of the land: Football is Good; Bad Football is Football; hence, Bad Football is Good Football. But this year I had a sick daughter, so I missed the Ferris Bueller car ad and all the hullaballoo surrounding the Bridgestone Half-Time Show. Read more