i just want to conquer people and their souls

This man is my new hero and style icon. Sometimes you just have to show those bears who's boss.

Hello readers! How would you describe your commute to work this morning? Were you trapped in your car, being subjected to some early morning traffic? Did the radio not play what you wanted it to? Did someone cut you off? Was your commute mildly unpleasant, the transportation equivalent of a melon-heavy fruit salad? Guess what I did? * Note that I simply chose this morning's subway incident. The subway is like the lottery: some days could hold the elation of escaping into the armpit of a tall businessman, other days one may experience the sweet terror of being trapped in the car with an actual crazy person. The NYC subway commute is life's version of craps, except you always roll "Snake Eyes" and never a Boxcar. If you are a loyal reader reader (ha!) you will be familiar with my morning commute ; it is a science, nay, a religion. Getting out of the door is only half the battle, my friends. Next comes Satan's Playground, otherwise known as the New York City M...

I nominate the kid at the far right of this glorious picture as our collective teenage id.  He/she embodies exactly how I felt whenever I was forced to interact with my family from the years 1992 - 1997. What are they? Cells? Leaves? And do I spy a gunt?   All of these photos come courtesy of my new favorite time suck . Here are just some of my favorites: Unlike the first photo, everyone here seems pretty stoked to be involved: You don't need real children to have an amazing family photo: This one's for the Manimal; this is his dream family. I hope one day he reaches the lofty style heights of Pops in the middle. I like everything about this photo: If I ever need to announce my impending motherhood, I think these two have the right idea: And finally, my absolute favorite. I think this will be our next Christmas card:

Ah, trees. Who doesn't love them? They create nice air for us to breathe, they let us climb them and construct nests, forts and other miscellany in their comforting branches. Symbols of strength and wisdom, they nurture us in so may ways. This makes it very hard to say what I am about to say. Readers, not all trees are wooden representations of mother earth's beauty. No, some are dirty, wanton even scandalous. These trees ruin any forest unfortunate enough to count their vulgar trunks and skanky branches as members. I first became aware of these harlot trees after the Manimal, his brother T-More and their friend JoSi decided to hike in Yellowstone National Park. Upon their return I decided to peruse Manimal's holiday snaps to see what the young scalliwags had gotten up to. Imagine my horror when I came across these: I know. Shocking, right? At least the Manimal wasn't party to this; he was just taking the photos. No stank-ass tree bitch gonna steal my man! No ...

Well readers, here it is: the final installment of my epic Travel Tips: Tasmania Edition . In this final post, I will guide you through the lower portions of this fine state.   If you'd like to catch up, I suggest you read parts one and two first. So, on to the Tips. After the loitering miscreants of The Spirit of Tasmania , the speeding bogans of Davonport and the various other human flotsam and jetsam we had encountered in the north of Tasmania, its capital city, Hobart, seemed as glamorous as Monte Carlo. See what I mean? There were shops, cafes and people wearing pants! I would suggest packing your fancy flip flops... just in case. To add to the general feeling of hateur, my brother and I immediately decided to pronounce Hobart in our own ways, as a sort of homage to this fair city. I decided to capitalize on the fact that everyone was already greeting me with the respect and adoration universally shown to Americans abroad and pronounce it Hoeburrt , really taking c...