But you probably missed the sale on Maine coon cat calendars from at Down East Magazine.
This cat is basically the feline equivalent of one of those women who can have orgasms without even being touched. He has rub-face but there isn’t a hand in sight.
I was looking around Etsy (fucking sue me) for a gift the other day, and on the page that details the art categories, I noticed…
That’s a bowl, right? For weed? Is Etsy based in Portland, or is this the world we live in now? To be clear, I’m not upset about that, I just want to know so I am aware of what’s acceptable.
I normally don’t get in a tizzy about things like this, but what the fuck is a MANSIZE tissue?
My sneezes are just as important and deserve just as money as a man’s, thankyouverymuch.
Time for a new game: of these portraits of Victorian ladies, which ones were taken on psych wards and which ones are just, well, your average Victorian lady?
(I could have kept going for ages, for the record.)
Email Siobhan for the answers!
LET IT BE KNOWN THAT ID NEVER ABANDONS A PROJECT! NOT EVEN IN THE FACE OF PUBLIC RIDICULE, LEGAL THREATS OR CERTAIN DEATH! (Okay, so maybe not that last one…) For nearly four years now, I’ve pitched to everyone who would listen (my husband, my former boss, Jeff Stark of Nonsense NYC) my idea for a portable padded room, constructed of an old trailer of some kind. On the side could be a big sign that reads, “For all your public nervous breakdown needs!” and the artist (that’d be me) could drive it around the city and invite the marching suits inside to have a good old fashioned freak out.
One minor problem with this plan: I have zero experience in construction. Or design. And I’m just an okay driver, but we’ll put that on the back burner for now. As for the first two problems, I think my problem is solved, because I’ve recently discovered Danish creative director Jonas Hallberg’s genius tiny office.
Perfekt!
Dear Jonas,
Will you please collaborate with me? This project haunts my dreams; I shall not rest until the portable padded room is a reality.
Love,
ID
or does this immediately strike you as gross?
Via the Guardian, which I really didn’t think was porn, but maybe I’m wrong?
PS In my dream last night, a book reviewer called me “chubby” and then I was so upset that they (reviewer and whatever publication they were attached to, I guess?) offered me $1.1 million. I was still upset, which should have been the clue that I was dreaming, because in real life I’d like be, “SO worth it!”
Guys, remember when I had my psychic dream? THIS is what we were wearing.
Groovy.
I really should have a category called Whimsical Haberdashery, but I think I might be done adding categories. I mean, at a certain point, expansion becomes procrastination, no? Speaking of procrastination, I wanted to work today, but I went to a family wedding last night so I was tired and lazy and ended up watching a lot of (really good) movies and eating an entire medium pizza by myself. A day that sounds funny in the context of a Girls episode––millennials, they’re so stupid and yet witty!––but is actually just kind of sad in real life. But you know what isn’t sad? This drawing of a meringue hat, which I told my husband I wanted the other day. It was done by Will Cotton, my new art crush. Will, can you make me one of these IRL? Great, thankssomuch.
My friend KM, who has helped me reach so many literary milestones, recently told me about a house in the posh neighborhood in London where her aunt lives. Apparently the woman who owns it was upset that the neighborhood council didn’t approve her plans to install a swimming pool (noise and all) so to get back at them, she painted the facade of her home in red and white stripes. Honestly, I think it looks pretty cool, and think the neighbors should continue to oppose her swimming pool plan so that their lane remains the cutest in the borough.
Yum
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