Home. Wow. I’m already calling it home. Well, isn’t that what any place is? Any place that you share with someone you love, I mean?
Honestly, what good is owning a castle if the person you love doesn’t want to share it with you?
The wonderful, amazing, but occasionally distasteful and sometimes even horrifying world where most people are incredibly decent and well meaning, but occasionally you do encounter someone who is going to try to use you, or even abuse you, and when that happens, there isn’t always going to be a bodyguard – or parent – around to rescue you.
Instead of being wakened to the sound of birdsong, like princesses in books, I was wakened to the sound of Rommel shrieking as Fat Louie beat him senseless for getting into his bowl of Fancy Feast.
But there it was, the Pacific Ocean... huge, stretching almost as wide as the sky, a living, writhing thing, pushing up against a comma-shaped strip of white beach.
And yeah, okay, the majority of guys I have met since moving to California have turned out either to have psychopathic killers stalking them, or were actually psychopathic killers themselves. But that’s really not a very good excuse for falling in love with a ghost. It really isn’t.
Make new friends but keep the old. One is silver and the other gold.
I’m going to ignore the haters, get out of this bed, and get to work doing what human beings were put on this planet to do: leave it a better place than they found it.
All I can say is, be careful what you wish for. It just might come true.
My prom life is over. And so, I am afraid, is my life.
Ostensibly female but lack of breast size lends to disturbing androgyny.
Because when it comes to our men, we Renaldo women don’t mess around. We play for keeps. And we have the battle scars to prove it.
Oh, Michael, soon we’ll be parkin’ in front of Grand Moff Tarkin Enjoying veggie moo shu to the beeps of R2-D2 And maybe even holding hands while gazing upon the Tatooine sands And knowing that our love by far has more fire power than the Death Star And though they may blow up our planet and kill every creature living on it Like Leia and Han, in the stars above, they can never destroy our love – Like the Millennium Falcon in hyperdrive our love will continue to thrive and thrive.
I don’t like movies where people’s heads spin around, or where things come bursting out of their stomachs. I like movies with beauty makeovers and dancing.
But he’s wrong, because my dad definitely has testosterone – at least one testicle full –.
Because it is bad enough living with a neurotic cat, a drum-playing Algebra teacher, and a woman in her last trimester of pregnancy. Throw in a dowager princess of Genovia, and I’m sorry: Book me a room on the twenty-first floor of Bellevue, because it’s the funny farm for me.
Maybe that’s my secret talent. I have the amazing ability to resemble a snowdrop. My parents must be so proud.
But do I want his tongue on my mouth?
Dirty dishwater is better than none.
Men enjoy the hunt, you see, and once their quarry has been taken, they tend to lose all interest.
Get to the point, Dad. I have a country to run.