...Ever since I made the decision to drop a few pounds—way less easy than it sounds, by the way—I’ve become obsessed with my size, and in so doing I’ve inadvertently allowed my inner critic to have a voice. And you know what? She’s a bitch. Like now when I see my underpants in the laundry, I no longer think Soft! Cotton! Sensible! Instead I hear her say Damn, girl, these panties be huge.”
“Your inner critic has terrible grammar.”
“I know, it’s the only way I can take away some of her power over me...
Stichwörter: humor
Maybe I've moved to the dark side, but it's clean and nice and we never run out of toilet paper.
Jen LancasterStichwörter: growing-up
Yeah, I'm over forty, flighty, and fluffy- I'd say I'm not ideal bouncer material.
Jen LancasterHell hath no fury like a middle-aged woman in a fuzzy pink robe, hopped up on a winning combination of allergy medicine, Alias reruns, and anger.
Jen LancasterI mean, six years ago my electricity's being cut off and my car's getting repossessed and I'm being evicted from my apartment, and now I'm all "Yeah, havin' dinner with Rudy in the Hamptons, what of it?
Jen LancasterI've determined the ideal job for me is one where I can write clever essays about my life and my employer will give me enough money not only to live a comfortable existence, but also to buy many, many new pairs of shoes.
Jen LancasterWhen did the cell phone become a license to be rude? And why must I be subjected to your personal conversations?
Jen LancasterI have to pause the video while I corral the dogs in the other room. They howl in protest, and I tell them they are harshing my mellow and Yogi Beef Jerky’s going to be pissed."
Such a Pretty Fat: One Narcissist's Quest To Discover if Her Life Makes Her Ass Look Big, Or Why Pie is Not The Answer
If I were a lesbian and had a thing for narcissistic ex-sorority girls? I’d totally do me."
Bitter is the New Black: Confessions of a Condescending, Egomaniacal, Self-Centered Smart-Ass, or Why You Should Never Carry a Prada Bag to the Unemployment Office: A Memoir
This quick foray onto the toilet has been no different an endeavor than any other time I’ve used the restroom in my adult life. Try then to imagine my surprise when instead of the waste going down the u-bend like the thousands of times previous, the bowl’s contents go not gentle into that good night.
Instead, they shoot directly up at me . . . at approximately 80 miles an hour.
As I leap backward, slamming into the glass shower door, the only thought going through my now-banged head is, When did I eat corn?"
Pretty in Plaid: A Life, a Witch, and a Wardrobe, or, the Wonder Years Before the Condescending, Egomanical, Self-Centered Smart-Ass Phase
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