Caprice Crane's Blog, page 48

Ridin' dirty.

Ridin' dirty.

Would you like some cocaine with your coffee?

Would you like some cocaine with your coffee?

This is love.

This is love.

This paint by numbers life is f*cking with my head, once again.

This paint by numbers life is f*cking with my head, once again.

I've had these types of astonishing conversations with...

I've had these types of astonishing conversations with people.  Though, I'm often not as nice.

And in bizarro news of the day...

Someone tweeted at me today asking if my last name is "Chase." (No, it isn't. I'm gonna guess they made a fake last name to go along with the fake story?) The person mentioned in their tweet that I was "called out on 'Wait, Wait, Don't Tell Me' as a fake answer. "

Whatever the eff that meant.

Knowing nothing of this program, I didn't understand what the hell they were talking about. Now, having listened to the program, I… can't say my life was missing it.

However, I can say it would appear I might have missed my calling. And if this writing thing doesn't pan out, I now know this is an option:

http://www.wbur.org/npr/131794492/Bluff-The-Listener

I'm sure my mom won't mind showing up and I can totally work the gold sequins.

Hey, NPR: Next time, get the name right and feel free to provide an amazon link to my books. Thanks.

Who's got it...and who does not have it.

This is my friend Jaq:

.

Gorgeous, right? I know. Here's another:

Yeah, she's a model. She knows she's got "it." And she also knows who… doesn't have it.  

In fact, recently when some girl was getting a little too close to her fiance (sorry guys, she's taken), she informed the young lady that her man was off limits but she could "feel free to move to LA and ride her coat tails."

She's a giver.

Which brings me to the reason for this post. Today I received my birthday gift in the mail. Jaq had warned me it would be coming a month late but assured me it would be worth it.

Here it is:

Yup. It's a Snuggie. Don't get me wrong, I appreciate the gesture. It's the thought that counts after all. Additionally, I appreciate the fashion-forwardness of the leopard print. Truly inspired.

But what says, "I've given up on life," more than wearing "the blanket with sleeves?"

Not a whole lot.

But it gets better, cherubs.

Have a look:

Yup. That's a matching leopard Snuggie for Max. So, I can not only give up on life (in style) immediately… I don't have to do it alone.

My dear friend has decided that it is over for me. O-V-E-R. But, at the very least, she wants me to be comfortable.

I just called Jaq and thanked her profusely, but she was busy and couldn't really talk. She's in Miami, with her fiance, at Art Basel. "I really don't give a shit about art ," she said, "but I'm pulling up to my friend's house now and we're going to the Vanity Fair party." 

Yeah, that's cool. I'm home. On Saturday night. Alone. Well, with my dog.

And we have matching Snuggies.

A level of shame I never even knew existed.

Who's got it...and who doesn't.

This is my friend Jaq:

.

Gorgeous, right? I know. Here's another:

Yeah, she's a model. She knows she's got "it." And she also knows who… doesn't have it.  

In fact, recently when some girl was getting a little too close to her fiance (sorry guys, she's taken), she informed the young lady that her man was off limits but she could "feel free to move to LA and ride her coat tails."

She's a giver.

Which brings me to the reason for this post. Today I received my birthday gift in the mail. Jaq had warned me it would be coming a month late but assured me it would be worth it.

Here it is:

Yup. It's a Snuggie. Don't get me wrong, I appreciate the gesture. It's the thought that counts after all. Additionally, I appreciate the fashion-forwardness of the leopard print. Truly inspired.

But what says, "I've given up on life," more than wearing "the blanket with sleeves?"

Not a whole lot.

But it gets better, cherubs.

Have a look:

Yup. That's a matching leopard Snuggie for Max. So, I can not only give up on life (in style) immediately… I don't have to do it alone.

My dear friend has decided that it is over for me. O-V-E-R. But, at the very least, she wants me to be comfortable.

I just called Jaq and thanked her profusely, but she was busy and couldn't really talk. She's in Miami, with her fiance, at Art Basel. "I really don't give a shit about art ," she said, "but I'm pulling up to my friend's house now and we're going to the Vanity Fair party." 

Yeah, that's cool. I'm home. On Saturday night. Alone. Well, with my dog.

And we have matching Snuggies.

A level of shame I never even knew existed.

Can i see your boobies?

Pay the $4.99 per minute like everyone else.

Must…not…make…tuna joke.

Must…not…make…tuna joke.