Some of my best friends...
I have known my friend T for about 15 years. Yesterday she told me about her butt crack and boobs. Now, I hate the phrase "too much information," because I think it is overused, and regardless, your brain will find a way to store that information, or it will be automatically sent to the mental rubbish bin. So, instead of saying "tmi," I will just say that I don't know how to file those new facts about my friend's derrier and breasts. Should it go under "trivia," "science and health," "friend facts," or "grab bag?"

I hate to be a stickler for details, but...
There is no such word as "nother," as in "a whole nother level." Take out the "n," please.

I'm straight. But like my hair, I have my own idea of straight. Not the common notion of what straight is. For example, I wouldn't mind bringing a date to a gay dance club. Why? Because they have great music, I don't have to act all macho, and my date wouldn't get her ass grabbed by some drunk frat guy.

I am so not ghetto fabulous. I'm not a ghetto superstar. Hell, I'm not even on the ghetto B-list.

I finished writing my play. Yay. My brains are now leaking from my ears. But I'm done. Now, for the re-writes! Sheesh.

Pootie Tang is one of those movies you have to catch from the beginning, or you'll miss all the character development and story arc.

When you spend your Saturday morning swinging from a trapeze, making sure you're positioned right so you don't rip any muscles or dislocate your shoulder, the rest of the weekend seems so easy.