As the 30-something queer female partner of a man with a Christian mother who keeps a no-swearing household, I would not be proud of him if he wanted us to spend Christmas at her house in separate bedrooms. I would be really annoyed.
Can you do Cheryl Cole? And Nancy Dell'Olio? I have so many things I want to understand.
I love this. Please let it be a regular thing that lives a long, long time, till every WAG and every ex-member of Steps has been explained to us all.
@brent_cox Bonus: on the Conduit route lives the city's saddest horse, in a paddock just off an on-ramp. Wave hi to him!
@bookish It was filled with the rotting bodies of their relatives!
Collect Pond was a dumping ground for the tanneries in the early years of the city, and then they filled it in, poorly, and tried to build the 19th C version of Luxury Condos on top of it. That didn't work out because the swamp gas from the decaying horses beneath the landfill kept burbling out. The neighborhood quickly went to seed. They re-filled it in later, and better, but it's still kind of eerily humid and rat-filled down there. Convenient place to eat your roast duck on rice during jury duty, though!
Alternate explanation: the texture of the neon sugar coating of a Peep has a bad, almost tin-foilish teethfeel. I can easily imagine being high and feeling that in my mouth and thinking I had accidentally ingested glitter and starting to panic. I can also imagine being high on different drugs and accidentally ingesting glitter and laughing and laughing, but there would be no peanut butter involved.
Ed Balls's candidacy for leader was at its most thrilling during that brief shimmering afternoon when a Lib/Lab coalition seemed possible. If our cousins on Knifecrime Island were to have a government made up of a smiling progressive cooperative headed by a Prime Minister Balls they really would be the greatest nation on earth.
Just not on the melty side of room temp! Because that will make things harder on you again, because everything will stick to you, and no amount of wiping will make it like the pan better than it likes you, and you'll wind up with butter and crumbs all over your face and your clothes and your wine-with-ice glass, which you'll stare into, mourning your dignity.
Ian Gillan hit on me in a crummy bar on the Upper West Side in 2005. I don't get hit on much, so it was weird to begin with. I thought at the time that "I'm the lead singer of Deep Purple" was just a really poor chat-up line. Googled him the next day and it was actually him, though.