Ah, 2007, my friend. You were a good year to me. Like remember when we had the Tila Tequila Drinking Game in which we had to take a shot whenever Tila said, “I’m a bisexual”? You knew how to have a good time, 2007. Let’s hope 2008 is just as fun as you are, and even more of a riot than 2006.
Here’s a rundown of my favorite posts, videos, and pictures from these exciting, expensive and exhausting 365 days. Thanks for reading.
I felt like I was back in my short-story writing class with the idiot, who smoked pot in the woods and got water for his bong from a puddle, explaining that the robots added to the “dream of fiction.”
I don’t know what’s more awkward to hear, a bad writer admitting she’s a bad writer and bringing it up a notch with a compliment that makes no sense or being recognized as having secured the advancement of man. I seemed a lot smarter when my mouth was full of cheese.
My pants are so big, they’re like two windsocks sewn together. I’ve gotten offers from used car lots to borrow my conical leggings so they attach it to a high powered fan and turn it into one of those air-blown balloon attractions used to attract customers.
Granted, if you’ve had a camera examining your crevices for a few hours, then you have every right to announce the amount of pain. But not in front of me, dude, especially when I’m waiting for my husband who may or may not have cancer. Let’s get all Depeche Mode and enjoy the silence, mmmkay?
And in a neighborly way, I offered, “If we make too much noise, let us know because none of the people staying there before ever said anything.” But what I should have said is this, “NEVER let us know if we make too much noise.”I tried to think up a sexy way to say, “Let’s not go into the bedroom yet. I have to find the airpump first.”
I’m trying to think of a witty name to call the escrow idiots. Es-hoes? Doesn’t work. That sounds like I’m dissing some latinas. Break out the cervezas ’cause es hoes esta aqui! Note to self: must hone biting comments, need not be bilingual.
If someone had told me two years ago, “Mona, don’t spend $171 on MAC makeup because you’ll need that money for your unborn child,” I would have said, “You shut your mouth with that baby talk. They’re offering FREE SHIPPING!”
When I was 13, I committed the requisite teen errors in judgment such as the time I decided to show off the new dance move I learned from MTV’s The Grind which in retrospect, should have been called, “The Slutty Limbo.”