*SNARL*

Apparently, researchers are looking into a "sweet tooth" gene. In the immortal words of one Mr. Chandler Bing, I KNEW IT! *raises angry fist at sky* When I get up there, great-grandpa Schmitz (and great-grandpa Mayer, too, apparently - SUGAR IN YOUR VEGETABLES? REALLY?), you and me? We are gonna have some words.

Also, Universe, I'd like to have a chat with you as well. So yeah, I had a MAJOR HUGE RIDICULOUS EMBARRASSING thing for Adrian a million and a half years ago but must you continue to have him pop up most unexpectedly like that? MUST YOU DANGLE HIM LIKE THE PROVERBIAL CARROT? SERIOUSLY? This is not helping in my ongoing quest to continue not liking his not-stupid ass self, okay? OKAY?

NOT ON, UNIVERSE.

My parents don't like anything ostentatious. And they really don't like fire.

My public service announcement for the day (week? decade? whatever?): this bra is the best thing I have ever had the pleasure of putting my boobies in. My God is there ever LIFT AND SEPARATION!

I'm such a girl, people! Just because my nipples point in the right direction now and I have cleavage for days, I'm all giggly and shit and every time I go to the bathroom, I like hug my breasts. This is a sickness. Or so very fucking awesome it's ridiculous.