“It was thick, the fuzz, then rich, then colder and thinner at the bottom. A few more drinks and I was sure that the substance I was drinking was from another world. I don’t know how they did it, but the butterbeer feels like it changes density as you drink. It’s chilled, too - the butterbeer will be kept just above 32 degrees when it is served in the park. As for the taste, it is described as a cross between “butterscotch and shortbread” - I think that’s probably accurate. I’ll also say that I’ve become a fan of a personal homemade butterbeer recipe involving creme soda, rum and schnapps - but this, a non-alcoholic beverage for park guests of all ages, far closer matches what is likely served in Hogsmeade of literature. What surprised me was that, the more I drank, the more I liked it. It is a solid beverage, a solid “brew” if you will, that has a consistent taste and is not too sweet or strange. It holds its flavor the whole way through, and let me just say the cream on top is excellent for giving the drinker a butterbeer moustache. I’m finding difficulty in describing it more, except to say that it must be tried and will not disappoint.”—
Mugglenet’s review of the butterbeer (and other culinary treasures) which will be served at The Wizarding World of Harry Potter.
everything else in my life is going swimmingly. why don’t i ever allow myself to stop and enjoy the testicular fortitude that is my career? i’ll tell you why.. because even in my ‘i’m a single, fabulous, fuckalicious woman who don’t take no shit from none of you’ mind, society/life/other people/reality tv/boners/whatever tell me ‘shouldn’t you have a dude in your life to be fulfilled?’ because no matter what… people are always going to say to me, ‘really? a girl like you is still single?’ as if it were MY fault.
well, it’s not. and i don’t want to settle down.
i just wanna fuck.
zomg mc is on fire right now. seriously. give this woman a goddamn access cable tv show ON THE DOUBLE. thanks.
'The reason everyone is sick of this word is because everyone uses it so much. I think a better question to think about is “Why am I using this word so much?”
There are certainly a lot of annoying people in the world, “hipsters” do not have a monopoly on douche-hood.
You don’t hate hipsters, what you hate are assholes. You don’t hate someone because of their haircut, you hate them because of the smug, shit eating grin floating underneath it. Or because you don’t like the way that they hate things different than you hate things. You know, tangible, important shit.
Now, there may be a case to be made about the correlation between the number of ridiculous retro fluorescent pieces of flare some douche accessorizes his beard and DJ bag with, but cracking on a dude because his costume is comprised of slightly different configurations of patterned cloth than your own personal costume isn’t really the type of high degree of difficulty banality smashing we’re looking for here. What, do you hate reality tv and neo-cons too?’
Yes, everyone is soooooooo over hipsters. Yes, we pretend to hate talking about them/anything related to them/the movement/etc. But, like those grocery store checkout line celebrity gossip rags, we can’t always help ourselves from sneaking a guilty peak in our dirty dirty need to indulge in the mobswell. I can’t, anyway. Ahhh… the hipster-hating. It’s like a secret undercover boyfriend I can’t talk about but love having clandestine rent-by-the-hour motel relations with. Gross… but satisfying.
That said… I do like the way this response was phrased. TOUCHE, MY FRIEND. TOUCHE.
From this day forward, we will not allow you to produce children. Starting tomorrow, we will be breaking into your homes and performing abortions on everyone. And notice that I said everyone. It doesn’t matter if you’re pregnant or not; you are getting an abortion. Not able to have children? Doesn’t matter. 95-years-old? Abortion. Christian? Double abortion.
• start out with my part out • rock out with my cock out • hang out with my wang out • roll out with my pole out • chill out with my dill out • wig out with my twig out • mellow out with my fellow out • cool out with my tool out • make out with my snake out • run out with my gun out • fizzle out…
one of the managers i work with constantly tells me it’s time to settle down.
i’d rather shit a cactus then settle down, get married and pop out babies.
last night i had dinner with my pregnant friend, Lori. she was the last person i thought would ever have a kid. she told me she had a breakdown yesterday morning because she’s not ready to have a baby. i almost passed out thinking about the kind of corner she’s backed herself up into.
you want me to settle down? are you kidding me? last time i checked my uterus hadn’t turned into the sahara. i’ve got plenty of time. 27-years-old is too young to be tied down.. and it’s too young to be considered an old maid.
In case you hadn’t realized, it has somehow become uncool to sound like you know what you’re talking about? Or believe strongly in what you’re, like, saying? Invisible question marks and parenthetical “you knows?” and “you know what I’m sayings?” have been attaching themselves to the ends of our sentences? Even when those sentences aren’t, like, questions? Declarative sentences, so called because they used to, like, you know, declare things to be true? Okay? As opposed to other things that are, like, totally, you know… not? They’ve been infected by this tragically cool and totally hip interrogative tone? As if I’m sayin’, “don’t think I’m a nerd just ‘cause I’ve, like, noticed this, okay? I have nothing personally invested in my own opinions, I’m just, like, inviting you to join me on the bandwagon of my own uncertainty?”
What has happened to our conviction? Where are the limbs out on which we once walked? Have they been, like, chopped dow with the rest of the rainforest? Y’know? Or do we have, like, nothin’ to say? Has society just become so filled with these conflicting feelings of (gibberish) that we’ve just gotten to the point where we’re the most aggressively inarticulate generation to come along since, you know, a long time ago? So I implore you, I entreat you and I challenge you to speak with conviction; to say what you believe in a manner that bespeaks the determination with which you believe it. Because contrary to the wisdom of the bumper sticker, it is not enough these days to simply “question authority.” You’ve gotta speak with it too.
“We were not strong, only aggressive; we were not free, merely licensed; we were not compassionate, we were polite; not good, but well behaved. We courted death in order to call ourselves brave, and hid like thieves from life. We substituted good grammar for intellect; we switched habits to simulate maturity; we rearranged lies and called it truth, seeing in the new pattern of an old idea the Revelation and the Word…She, however, stepped over into madness, a madness which protected her from us simply because it bored us in the end.”—The Bluest Eye, Toni Morrison (via smut-to-go)
Isn’t it phenomenal to finally hitch up your big girl britches and get that load off your chest with your boss? Actually commit to a conversation (out loud! Irl!) that you’ve been rehearsing for weeks in your head?
And to feel, afterwards, that you really accomplished a bit of good? That you managed to both keep things upbeat and professional and also keep your directness and honesty intact?
For a girl who’s forever more inclined to stay silent and agonize/fester than to speak up when things seem less-than-ideal… This is a major accomplishment.
[high fives self]
Feelin’ good. Feelin’ proud. Feelin’ very lucky to have great people in my life, both in the job and in the rest of my little personal universe.
Good. Because you guys? I am so fucking close to being able to go to bed. And I can not even begin to tell you how excited I am about this fact. I am going to sleep so fucking hard — like it’s a sport.
And hopefully, all of that works, otherwise I’ll be whining again tomorrow. Also, last night? I…
Pep talk: When opportunity comes your way today (or tomorrow… or whenever) you are gonna grab it by the hair and not let it go! You are going to take that opportunity back to your place and make sweet, sweet, consensual love to it. Then you’re gonna raise, like, a million baby opportunities, because from one opportunity will come many. You’re just swimming in awesome chances, my friend.
because this is what you do. get up. blame the liquor for the heaviness. call in late to work. go to the couch because the bed is too empty. watch people scream about love on Jerry Springer. count the ways it could be worse. it could be last week when the missing got so big you wrote him a letter and sent it. it could be yesterday, no work to go to, whole day looming. it could be last month or the month before, when you still thought maybe. still carried plans around with you like talismans. you could have kissed him last night. could have gone home with him, given in, cried after, softly, face to the wall, his heavy arm around you, hand on your stomach, rubbing. shower. remember your body. water hotter than you can stand. sit on the shower floor. the word devastated ringing the tub. buildings collapsed into themselves. ribs caving toward the spine. recite the strongest poem you know. a spell against the lonely that gets you in crowds and on three hours’ sleep. wonder where the gods are now. get up. because death is not an alternative. because this is what you do. air like soup, move. door, hallway, room. pants, socks, shoes. sweater. coat. cold. wish you were a bird. remember you are not you, now. you are you a year from now. how does that woman walk? she is not sick or sad. doesn’t even remember today. has been to Europe. what song is she humming? now. right now. that’s it.
Sunshine streaming through my windows and freshly brewed coffee steaming from a teacup are an infinitely preferable duo of waker-uppers than my usual quick-run-let’s-go-panic-omg-late-for-work-where-are-my-shoes-is-this-outfit-ok-seriously-did-I-shrink-this-or-am-I-just-fat-today-ughhhhhh-wait-damnit-did-I-take-my-medicine-I-want-diet-coke-what-time-is-it-now-shit-I-forgot-to-recharge-my-iphone-damn-it’s-cold-outside-why-do-I-still-live-in-the-Midwest-hell-Allison-just-get-your-ass-in-your-car-and-book-it morning routine.
saturday night i found myself at the epicenter in south boston for the”minds matter spring gala”. the venue was packed with about 600+ young professionals, cocktail dresses, suits sans ties, suits and ties and even two guys dressed as Lloyd and Harry from Dumb…
I spent a day knitting the ugliest motherfucking necklace of all time. I thought it was going to be fabulous. It really is hideous. Now I am watching the mens curling final - fuck I am old - I don’t even understand curling. All I know is the third on the Canadians side is fine and the skip on the…
dear ferleann, you’re my new favorite. seriously. xxoo allison