I stopped at the McDonalds drive thru on the way down to my cousin’s wedding two weeks ago. The car in front of me pulled up to the menu board. The driver rolled down the window to order.
And that’s when I realized the driver was a mime.
The thing they don’t tell you about getting a puppy is that you start to spend a disproportionate amount of time worrying about dog poop. Continue reading
I made Jamie Oliver’s “Working Girl’s Pasta” last night. “Pasta Puttanesca,” as Jamie explains, is Italian for “Whore’s pasta.” Though he’s not really sure why: “Maybe it’s because the dish was cooked very quickly, with no effort involved, or maybe it’s something the local prostitutes used to eat at home – who knows?!.” Continue reading
Walk a mile in my underpants 