I don’t care much for cake pops. Cake? Yes. Cake that has been crumbled and overhandled and mixed with icing and then dipped in chocolate? Meh. Not for me. They are adorable to look at, however, and it’s amazing to see how much my children like them. More than they like Taylor Swift—which, based on the number of times I have heard the lyrics “we are never ever ever getting back together” this morning alone, is a heck of a lot.
Speaking of Miss Swift, I kind of adore her. And her wardrobe.
I can’t figure out why people would ever want to work at Seattle Grace Hospital. It seems quite dangerous—what with all of the plane crashes, drownings, and losing limbs.
I was surprised by how much I loved Pitch Perfect. Yes, I said loved.
I am not a fan of room service.
I am loving the new show Nashville, which means that it will most definitely get canceled soon.
Farewell Milwaukee. Deer Tick. Tigers on Trains. Middle Brother. The Lumineers. The Barr Brothers. They will change your life, I swear. (Related: I also sometimes steal lines from Natalie Portman movies.)
I don’t understand the concept of yoga jeans. Are they meant to be worn for yoga? Are they made of lycra spandex? Are they the same as pajama jeans? (Related: I am easily confused.)
I don’t like that Facebook makes decisions about my friends *for* me. I see the updates of exactly 11 people. I usually just assume that no one else uses Facebook. I am assuming incorrectly, it turns out. Facebook just wants to be a total a-hole.
I love oxblood, even if the name makes me think gross thoughts.
I sometimes tweet and fb the same exact update. And I will defend it until the end of time. I know some people frown upon this, but I have completely different audiences in each medium, and get completely different feedback in both places.
I give a f%^k about an Oxford comma.
I find olives offensive.
I do not think Buffy the Vampire Slayer was the best show on television ever.
I quite liked Gone Girl and was totally satisfied with the ending. See also: The Sopranos. See also: LOST (oh pick your jaw up off of the floor. I didn’t love it, I was satisfied.)
I have hipster tendencies. And they have rubbed off on my children.
Opinions. I have no shortage of them. And I like to share them. This is obviously the reason why I never run out of blog post ideas—my head is filled with opinions.
Here’s the thing about opinions. Share them, share them, share them. By all means. But just please be gracious about giving them and about receiving them.
You love cake pops? AWESOME!
You hated the ending of Gone Girl? GOOD!
You hate indie folk music? THAT’S OKAY!
You love room service? GO FOR IT!
You are not a fan of the Oxford comma? As long as you don’t write for me—by all means, don’t use it!
Agreeing to disagree—it’s the new black!
This is something that, admittedly, does not come easy for me. It was hard for me understand that it’s okay for people to not like the same things that I like. It’s okay for people to wear different clothes, to listen to different music, to watch different shows, to eat different things, to have different opinions on eating in hotel rooms. But I get it. I *totally* get it. And truth be told, it makes the internet a much more interesting place; it makes the entire world a more interesting place. I mean, you guys, my kids love the overloving shit out of olives.
Just please, for the love of all that’s important in this world, can we just all agree that LEGGINGS ARE NOT PANTS?!