You start singing that dreadful Mariah Carey song as soon as the last turkey slice is cut and surprise surprise you actually own It’s A Wonderful Life.
Do yourself a favor and learn to love your privilege. There are enough people out there who will hate it on your behalf.
Once you know you can outsmart your parent, you can become a monster.
I knew I would lose most of my friends when I became an atheist, and it took me about three years to be able to publicly admit my new belief. I’m still nervous.
The year I turned seven I overheard my mother discussing a child abuse case she was working on with my father; the little boy wouldn’t make it from the injuries he sustained. She said he wouldn’t let go of her hand when she went to see him.
I haven’t spoken to her for the past four months, and I’m beginning to consider my long-term plans. Do I accept her back into the fold? She certainly has not changed. Then again, do I continue to ignore her? She is my mother after all.
Two Christmases = twice the presents. Parents who feel guilty about us “growing up in a broken home” = even more presents.
I didn’t want this cute, friendly young salesgirl to know, but I couldn’t wear Abercrombie to bed and still respect myself in the morning.
His reaction is priceless.
We’re taught we should be bold and passionate by bringing our loves flowers and making grand gestures like standing in the rain with a boom-box over our heads like John Cusack in, “Say Anything…”