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Dated seems to be a euphemism

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group hug // random confessions:

I assume a lot are fake, but eh.

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Dear nobody in particular

Letters from Jennie…:

Praise God that He does work all things together for our good! He brought several wonderful friends into my life who led me out of my cynicism and finally helped me to see that I had been completely duped by Christian feminism. By the time I came back around to a biblical worldview, I had met my future husband and had moved back home with my parents. I quit my job before I was married and have never looked back. In fact, I constantly thank God for getting me out of that mire and putting me in my place! My lifework now is my home, husband and children, and I glorify God for the beauty of His perfect design for the family.

Why, oh why can’t we go back to the English Renaissance of the 12th century when women were treated as equals in the marketplace?

Full text reprinted below the break
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Riggs

Driving 70 MPH on a Southern California freeway is no big thing, people do it all the time. This ‘limit’ begins to increase as the number of vehicles dramatically decrease each hour after the sun as set. So when I tell you that the other night we were driving home at the rate of 82 MPH, well that’s not really worth writing about.
So what if I told you that while speeding down the road, trying to shave minutes off my best time from Orange County to Los Angeles I looked up from the dash gauges after hearing a peculiar noise to see a white BMW, fifteen yards in front of me, also traveling at 82 MPH but sideways, perfectly perpendicular to my own car.

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Bobby Gorin is presentable

Craigslist is a really weird place. Still why not pick up a used couch in the same place you pick up a life confession from a Homicide Detective? That is convenience. (text copied in the read more link for posterity)

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See Spot; Run

Found on http://www.notmydesk.com/seespotrun.html

I was flipping through a copy of Sports Illustrated while waiting to get a haircut, and I read an article about sports team mascots, like the San Diego Chicken and the Phillies Phanatic. Apparently, these folks get paid quite a bit to don furry, huge-headed costumes and run around the stadium, annoying fans, players, and officials, and I thought, hey, why not me? I’m small enough for the costumes, and I often embarrass myself in public anyway. This way, I’ll be getting paid, plus no one will be able to tell it’s me.

Then I remembered: I’ve already done it. Sort of.

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June the Hitchhiking Mannequin

In the spring of 1988, in the name of I don’t know what, we decided to send June, a mannequin who had been a fixture at our office in San Francisco, to the temperate and tolerant state of Florida for Spring Break. We got her up in her best Suzie Wong dress and her Blanche duBois mules, and put her on the side of the freeway just like any other hitchhiker, with a destination sign and a small suitcase. In the suitcase was a letter of introduction and a handful of self-addressed, stamped postcards. Call it a concept.

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Emails from strangers

For as long as I have had email addresses there has always been one (and only one per address) person who keeps sending me personal information due to what I can only assume is mistaken identity. Here are emails from one of the addresses:

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