Ok, let’s do this A Warren Harding thread!! Wherein I reveal A. The coolest thing about him B. The nickname he gave to his most favorite appendage (yes, that one) Buckle up kids, Warren Harding was a real piece of work (that’s what she said)

Posting so much bc I have a social thing almost every night this week and that's a little nauseating.

I'm making my bed with holiday flannel sheets.

If everyone were being honest, what percentage of the responses to "post a gif from a movie you've seen more than 6 times" would be porn?

I haven't done anything too stupid yet this weekend but I guess I still have a few hours.

One of my favorite things about the Irish policeman is how much he despises U2.

Today I will find out just how load bearing the white chocolate that's been in the fridge for going on 16 years was.

I hate that he looks so happy.

I was actually thinking of Jason Clarke, who is Australian. The brain filing system is fascinating.

We're so cozy but if we don't move one of us is going to pee the bed. Not sure if it will be Pignoli or me.

Why don't the streaming services do playlists - like every Christmas show of every series from the 80s, 90s, etc?

I like it when you all are sassy.

NYC, where you're stuck in traffic at 1230am bc you're an idiot.

I just left therapy after a very hard session and the last of the fall leaves are circling and crunching and the moon is bright and bold, and maybe I can be the person who I long to be. But first I need gas and to find out how my Irish policeman escapes death.

to commemorate alan dye moving from apple to meta, here's one of his best quotes

Nobody is playing 3D chess bc our brains have rotted and sprouted weeds.

The Irish cop in my mystery series dreamt in Molly Bloom and I was both delighted and cringing out of my car.

Every night, right about now, I really want to read a book. I don't.

Goodbye to all that pie. Welcome Cookie Season. What are we making this year?

Back in 1991-2, I had a crush on the shy boy in the marketing department of the publishing house where we both worked. His name was Holden McCormack. He died of AIDS related pneumonia, probably, no one said it aloud. I like to say his name aloud sometimes.

I need a sign from the universe but make it kind.

I named my fists Milli and Vanilli because they've not had a hit since the 80s.

My mom, who will be 86 on Dec 18th, and is in pretty good health except she's bad for mine, has started a new hobby - preparing for death.

I call my fists The Nun and The Priest bc you'll never see them coming.

Is it failure or a win if you still have leftover pie on Monday? (It's apple crumble, not homemade, but still good. Needs ice cream.)

So many things about this are awesome: Every member of the ensemble is fun to watch, the blue suits are perfect against the adorably busy background of the TD, the music is tremendous, the physicality of playing instruments really comes through … just the whole thing is utterly fabulous.

Listening to Last Christmas because it is an all-time banger and George didn't die on Christmas Day for you to disrespect his memory by participating in Whamageddon

Good morning. This week is going to feel like a month. I think we can do it?

Went to a holiday fair yesterday and one of the vendors was selling a Stars Hollow coloring book that she had "designed herself." It was all AI slop. Among actual artisans! And she said it was her bestseller!

Has there ever been a bad sentence that included the word "slippers"?

A raccoon is getting railed on my terrace and it is LOUD.

My social battery lasts about 37 minutes and it had to run for 3 hours today. I am dead.

A story Stoppard told several times, in several places:

I left my butter out overnight and it's still not warm enough to bake with. My kitchen is apparently 60 degrees. My bedroom, on the other hand, is 85. Thank you, steam heat and old house, for making me feel like menopause all winter long.

Started to make it. Had a breakdown. Bon appetit.

Forgot the dog bed had an underside for awhile and found a whole entire other dog under there.

Happy Pie Breakfast Day for all who celebrate.

I didn't have heat and hot water when I woke up this morning, and a nice tech came on his holiday and fixed the ancient furnace one more time, and now the radiator cranking has made me tear up. Thankful indeed.

Started to make it. Had a breakdown. Bon appetit.

James Acaster is so good at being the most emotionally intelligent 12 year old you've ever met.

Once again stunned by the lack of chocolate in this (my)house.

Do I want to do crafts with a cocktail or bake cookies with a cocktail or eat cheese with a cocktail?

I just did a little burlesque with a flannel sheet. Tis the season.

Reset the days since crying over a dog on the internet to 0.

The potatoes aren't reward enough for leaving the house at 7am. I must also promise myself a little treat.

Whomst has cursed me with the Kenny Rogers verse of Islands in the Stream?

Ordered the wrong potatoes for the only dish I was craving so I'll have to go to the store in the morning? Help me, Yukon Golds. You're my only hope.

My map lady warned me THREE TIMES yet here I am stuck in stubborn ass traffic.

I'm trying to say yes to invitations before I stop getting invited to things. So invite me, I'm not exactly fun or interesting, but I'm a decent simulacram.