I thank God EVERY DAY that I didn’t marry Jessica Simpson.
Continue to point out my obsessive habit of deleting shows off the TiVo. DON’T COME CRYING TO ME WHEN WE RUN OUT OF SPACE AND THE WHOLE WORLD COMES CRASHING IN.
Agree to go to my 10-yr high school reunion with me, even though everyone there is going to be Southern, inarticulate, and eerily well-versed on the intricacies of NASCAR.
For responding, “What baby?” when that woman looked at my tummy and asked when the baby was due, and secretly relishing her mortified stupor as she apologized and tried to disappear.
Robert & Shana Parkeharrison
The Problem With Music, by Steve Albini
It’s been nearly a week since we discovered that we’re having a baby girl, and the enduring image from the thirty minutes spent with that cold piece of machinery on my belly is the tiny footprint she kept shoving toward the screen. My baby has feet! Both Jon and I had been silently worried in [...]
My Morning Jacket: It Still Moves