Like any great athlete who retires after winning it all, American Pharoah is entitled to the good life. Or, in his case, the great life. Much has been made recently of the Triple Crown winner’s post-career living conditions, which can best be described as a mashup of MTV Cribs and the best spring break you ever had.
Why is it that every time you call a business office, medical office, government agency, even a retail store, you are greeted with an automatic response that immediately instructs you to “listen carefully, as some of our menu options may have changed.”
As a lifelong resident of the great potty-obsessed state of North Carolina, let me just say “Thank You!” to my Governor, Pat McCrory, and the wise leadership in the General Assembly for the passage of House Bill 2, which, among other things, ensures that I, and my daughter, will never be accosted by a rapist pretending to be a transgendered woman while we’re doing our business and freshening our makeup. Saints be praised.
Will someone please explain the “tiny house” craze to me? Everytime I see an article or a TV show about these “little dynamos” I have to wonder if their passionate fans have never heard of a mobile home.
Since some of the Republican candidates seem to be having trouble with behaving decently and civilly to one another during the debates, why not force Trump, Cruz, Rubio and whoever’s still standing by the time you read this, to respond to every question posed by the moderator with one of Facebook’s new “graphicons”?
I didn’t see the label until I got my new “mom jeans” home from the store. All I knew was that, after a stressful hour in the dressing room, they were the only jeans that came close to fitting AND I could sit down in them without that unpleasant “biscuits popping out of a can” thing going on above my backside.
My neighbor, an unapologetic non-cook, made an amazing sounding meal last week. Fresh cod topped with a miso glaze and served with smashed purple potatoes and lemon asparagus. She assured me it was delicious.
While most of you were enjoying the Super Bowl with family and friends or maybe getting a jump on doing your taxes last week, I was focused on one thing and one thing only: The start of the Chinese New Year. Finally, it’s my time. 2016 is the Year of the Monkey and, for those of us born in the monkey years, this is very good news indeed.
You have to wonder about the Hollywood masterminds who decided to open any movie on the same weekend as “Star Wars: The Force Awakens” (and then, apparently, kills Alvin and the Chipmunks in their sleep.)