jennitive

Miss Bunny Sinclair (Miz Bunneh Sin-clay-uh!)

New from Mattel, Summertime Fummertime Jenn, in previously unreleased colors! Some dissembling required.

It seems I’ve cobbled together a blissfully convincing delusion. Again! I might apply the adjectives impressive or hilarious, but only if this were happening to someone else.

Be that as it may, here is A Large mp3 of Songs about Eyes.

Behind my group of condominiums is a small neighborhood of tall, peaked-roofed townhouses. The properties are new, but styled to look old, or at least somewhat European, with eight-foot Gene Kelly lamps in each driveway. My car and I loop around their cul-de-sacs every few midnights, headlights too bright and eyes half-closed.

Cf: Momus_I_Am_A_Kitten

I put highlights in my hair on a whim an hour before guests arrived, and they turned out POORLY. (The highlights, not the guests.)

I let Hank out and he ran under the deck.

I drove off the road, just a little bit.

I accidentally locked Hank in the basement.

I referred to Wheat Thins as “you know…those…Wheatlings?”

I read the same paragraph several times.

I posted and posted.

There are similarities between the reviews for the Sex and the City movie and Marie Antoinette, and the former, especially, deserves much of the criticism.  What bothers me is the apparent heart of many of the complaints, the idea that decadence and heartsickness are the province of women alone, and therefore not worth examining.

Dylan.

Hank’s cousin?

The real Hank.

Delicious specimen.

I doesn’t has it!