Is there a more beautiful bit of foliage than that found in the Japanese painted fern?

“We all create stories to protect ourselves.” – Mark Z. Danielewski
What have I gotten myself into?
Running on Newbury Street is definitely a choice.
One made mostly by buffoons, especially when a single block over there’s hardly any pedestrians.
The puppet here was one of the scariest things in my childhood, but I survived, and nobody comforted me when she wreaked her terror.
Gen X is just made differently. Don’t fuck with us.
Remember that year I tried to wish all the mothers I knew on social media a Happy Mother’s Day?
That went as well as I should have expected but didn’t.
Have you ever seen a woman with her fly down?
I don’t think I have, but maybe I’m just not looking.
Non-functional decorative buttons are often the sign of a hobbled mind.
Some may be surprised to find out that I’m not a gold-star gay. I’ve dipped my dick into more than one lady’s pond over the years – though the statute of limitations has long since run out.
I hate that I can no longer tell what promo shots are real and what are AI and fan-made.
This world is doomed when truth and reality no longer exist.

Me: I work with someone who loves pugs – is this a pug?
Store Clerk: That’s a cat.
Me: Oh… ok. Thank you.

Wrestling with demons that refuse to remain dormant.
Vestiges of winter seep into the night.
The heart isn’t ready to thaw.
Regression…
Too blessed to be stressed, my ass.
(And if you know, please tell me, because I sure as fuck don’t.)
{See the clickbait here if you like the jockstrap peek.}
Final indicator of attaining full adulthood: talking bowel movements with the besties in a painstakingly-detailed group text. We just don’t care anymore.
Has anyone else ever pulled a pair of pants from the dryer and in complete exasperation realized they’re too wrinkled to iron or steam, and then just chucked them?
Umm, me neither.