(All below pieces of writing are the property of Hallmark Cards, Inc.)

I take my coffee like I take my men; hot, stable, comfortable sharing his feelings, nice job, likes cats, not clingy or too dependent on his mom.

I like to think that the vending machine guy knows me by name because I’m nice to all people and not because I’m often standing there waiting impatiently for him to show up.

My favorite angry hand gesture is to give someone the finger by cranking my other hand like I’m opening an old-fashioned car window.  This is one of many things you would never know about me because I’ve never been that mad at you.

If my favorite childhood doll could talk, she’d probably just scream “Shut Up! God!”  So, maybe it’s better she couldn’t.

My credit cards were suddenly all maxed out, so I suspected identity theft.  But it turns out, no.

Drunk guy at bar pick-up lines:

I want to hear your hopes and dreams, after I go vomit.

Is it hot in here?  Because I can’t stop sweating.

I want to buy you a drink.  Can I borrow ten dollars?

I can see you and me growing old together, or me and your friend over there, either one.

Can I have your boob number?  I mean, your phone boob?

It’s totally inappropriate to cuss, so when I’m absolutely frustrated, I do what my grandma did.  I cuss.  My grandma was awesome.

That day in fifth grade, when we got the lesson in human sexuality, they should have had a slide that diagramed the male commitment phobia.