buttsadelphia

the salem bitch trials, on tour for the first time since 1692! next stop: philadelphia.

[panic-eyes]

MOAR ADVENTURES IN BAKING

Welcome to Adventures in Baking, aka the ANGRY CHEF. Above is the shit I tried to make tonight, which went kind of well but not really? Who knows. Who am I to judge my own food! Anyway, this is a Smitten Kitchen recipe again, this time for pumpkin muffins. I decided to try and make these because a) I felt like baking, oddly, b) the recipe seemed easy enough not to screw up (ahaha), and c) absurdical's birthday is tomorrow! My thought process went something like: "Birthday! I can make these pumpkin muffins! Bitches love pumpkin." Then, after confirming that absurdical is one of those pumpkin-loving bitches, I headed to the store to get the ingredients.

Now, this time, I actually had flour (FRESH flour, I might add), so that was good. But I needed to buy canned pumpkin and also baking soda and vegetable oil. Apparently these are things you might need when baking? I remain skeptical. But I bought that shit anyway. Above are all of my ingredients, taking up space. Not pictured: eggs. Suck it, eggs.

Behold, the pumpkin! In canned form! That is some nasty shit. I just had a British house guest who couldn't understand the American obsession with pumpkin. Clearly, she should have taken a gander at this drool-worthy, gelatinous mound of orange mush.

Here are all of the ingredients* mixed together, aside from the flour. Appetizing, no?

Once the flour goes in, we get this smoooooth pumpkin soupy soup. Looks pretty good, actually! I was feeling pretty proud of myself and immediately got to pouring the batter into the l'il cupcake cups.

Then, a sprinkling of cinnamon sugar on top (GOD HOW WHIMSICAL AM I)

And into the oven they went! Humming happily to myself, pleased with my accomplishment, I set about cleaning up the ingredients. Oh, yes, the ingredients! Remember how I threw an asterisk (*) next to that word a few captions ago? Yeah, that's because when I went to clean, I realized I had completely forgotten one of said ingredients! HAHAHA. Yeah, that box of baking soda that I went out of my way to buy? I was in the middle of putting it away when I realized that hey! I'd never even opened it.

But, you know, baking soda, what even is that anyway. I know it's supposed to do something important, but honestly, is it really important? I mean, it's not like baking is based on science or anything, right? RIGHT?

Urg. FUCK YOU, BAKING SODA, YOU SLIPPERY FUCK.

To my surprise, the muffins still came out of the oven looking lovely. I thought I had triumphed over science (SCIENCE, HA, SCOFF MUCH) until I went to actually try one. And, uh...yeah. Science is a bitch.

The muffins aren't inedible, but they are a little...pudding-ish in consistency? Not fluffy like they're probably supposed to be. Which I guess is my fault for forgetting the baking soda. But they taste AWESOME, like fall in a little crinkly paper cup, so I'll probably try making them again soon. In the meantime, I'll just force absurdical and our other friends to choke down these ultra-dense muffins. Because that's what friends do. They choke. With love.

STAY TUNED FOR MOAR ADVENTURES IN BAKING AT SOME POINT MAYBE WITH THE ANGRY CHEF!

[panic-eyes]

when your building’s fire alarm goes off on sunday at 4 pm

(image via swagpony)

CLOSE THE PORN

No, seriously, close it, and then close the laptop, then set it aside because it might form an allegiance with the fire (if it hasn’t already) and you’re not prepared to deal with that kind of treachery when you’re not wearing pants.

Realize the alarm stopped.

Rush up from the couch and put on a shirt.

Think for a second. A long, hard second. Really think. About stuff.

Put on pants.

Listen to your neighbor across the hall open his door and then close it.

Stand absolutely still to listen for either a) a fire or b) people getting the fuck out.

Hear nothing.

Wonder if it’s because no one is home or they just don’t care.

Wonder if it’s soon enough to shower because you were planning to, you were, but then the fire alarm ruined all your plans and how can you live after all this shit has gone down, like seriously, it could go off again at any --

THE FIRE ALARM GOES OFF AGAIN!!!!

FOR MORE THAN 3 SECONDS!!!!!!!!

SHIT, THAT GUY ACROSS THE HALL OPENS HIS DOOR AGAIN

What if he leaves this time? What if he goes outside? What if other doors open and other people follow? What if there’s actually a fire? What if you’re outside for hours in this gross t-shirt you’ve slept in all week and no bra and these pants and no makeup? Shit, seriously, when was the last time you washed your hair? Thursday? And no makeup?  What if everyone else in your building was like, going out to their afternoon sports-watching event and totally ready to look like a humon so they can stand outside and confidently make small talk with their neighbors but no, you had to change back into your schlub form after your morning supermarket trip, because carrying groceries back into your ritzy supermarketless ghetto on a day with 90% humidity is gross, okay, and you needed a break.

Decide that, okay, if other people are going outside, then you’re going to put on a bra and talk about how you were just sitting there, unwinding on a Sunday afternoon like people do (right? do people do that? people in their twenties? or are people your age recovering from hangovers?), watching your (uhhhh TV SHOW TO BE DETERMINED QUICK WHAT IS OBJECTIVELY POPULAR BUT NOT TOO POPULAR RIGHT NOW? EMMY DARLING A BONUS) DVDs, totally about to get into the shower and then this happens.

Fire alarms, right? This is so college. 

Haha, exactly, at least it’s not December!

(Wait a second. You’ve never met a single neighbor in the 15 months you’ve lived in this building. You’ve seen Guy Across the Hall like, twice, and you think a woman lives a couple of floors above you, and then there’s Loud Coughing Guy down the hall, but they could all be... not real.)

(Maybe you never see them because they’re all young and hip and like, fire alarms, whatever, man, whoever’s running this “alarm” thing needs to call them when it’s 2004 again and their drunk-and-stoned computer science hallmate starts an electrical fire in the kitchenette, then forgets that the water bottle they brought with them to cook is filled with vodka. Eyebrows were lost that day, man. This shit’s got nothing on that inferno.)

(More likely is that they use their tiny apartment as a third closet and are spending their afternoon somewhere else and if the whole building burns down then whatever, man, so they lost 10 pairs of shoes, their winter sweaters, and their other Twin Peaks Gold Box DVDs.)

(Your imagination is filled with drawling hipsters. Why is that, exactly? Oh, is it because enunciating isn't cool anymore? Maybe it was canceled with Frasier.)

(Ooh, no, Neil Patrick Harris totally enunciates on How I Met Your Mother. Then again, Neil Patrick Harris is literally perfect in every single way.)

(You spelled Harris “Harisss” the first time -- get it together, will you?)

Realize the fire alarm stopped after 6 seconds.

Hear guy across the hall close his door again.

Sit down on the couch again and tentatively pick up the computer.

Calm your nerves with this Aimee Mann cover of Coldplay’s “The Scientist.”

Wonder about the appropriate wait time before you can pick up the shattered pieces of your life and show that very likely non-existent fire it hasn’t won by showering in water and freedom.

OH, BREAKING BAD, THAT’S CURRENTLY REALLY COOL!!!! Why haven’t you watched that yet?

[panic-eyes]

#overit

absurdical: why the fuck am i signing up for pottermore

citysleep: i don't even know what that is except that it annoys me

absurdical:

[panic-eyes]

a children's compendium of photos and ensuing commentary based on the search term "daniel radcliffe equus"

absurdical: WHAT THE absurdical: i can't stop staring

absurdical: jesus fucking christ what the fuck was this play

citysleep: STOP RIGHT THERE, FOG absurdical: HAHAHA citysleep: MY MIGHTY PENIS COMPELS YOU absurdical: I WILL COLLECT THIS FOG WITHIN THE DIMPLES OF MY BUTTOCKS absurdical: IF I CANNOT BANISH YOU, FOG, I SHALL CONQUER YOU

citysleep: ilu horse absurdical: PRETTY SURE THAT'S THE PLOT OF THE PLAY absurdical: 'ILU HORSE' BY SOME-DUDE

absurdical: [quoting] Through Dysart's questioning, it becomes clear that Alan is erotically fixated on Nugget (or Equus) and secretly takes him for midnight rides, bareback and naked. Alan also envisions himself as a king, on the godhead Equus, both destroying their enemies. citysleep: Nugget citysleep: that's his penis' name, too absurdical: oh yes citysleep: lil nugget absurdical: asdkjnfglksdjl

[panic-eyes]

when you reach a certain age, every conversation is about how you've reached a certain age.

me: okay

new admin in our cubicle farm

has been here like 2-3 weeks

she's like in her late 30s/early 40s

but she's spelling out her email address on the phone just now

JUST NOW

and said "no, P as in POWERS, like AUSTIN POWERS?"

i............. can't believe that is a pop culture reference i still get.

friend: damn, that is a pretty old reference

i was gonna say "way to be hip for like, thirteen years ago, lady" except yeah IT WAS THIRTEEN YEARS AGO

me: HAHAHAHA

that is SO many years ago

SDKGUFHSg

THAT WAS

HALF OUR LIFE AGO

friend: you broke me

[panic-eyes]

ADVENTURES IN BAKING FOR MENZ OR OTHER FOLKS

So, listen. Anyone knows that if you want to get a manz, you have to know how to bake him a pie. And it can't be a pie that will murder him because then you'll have no manz. So, with that in mind—and also mainly because I got invited to a dinner party and was asked to bring dessert and I yearn to impress people who probably couldn't care less—I decided to bake something this week! Something that didn't involve dumping a can of Diet Pepsi into a bowl of chocolate-flavored powder or reading instructions off a Manischewitz box. It wasn't pie, though, it was those crumb bars up there, so I have no idea why I brought up pie.

This recipe is from Smitten Kitchen, and the author of the blog claims that it's incredibly easy to do. But she is not me, so what does she know. Also, it involves making dough from SCRATCH, and how easy can that be? But I was lured in by the beauty of that photo above. "Look how pretty!" I said. And I was filled with an ill-advised desire to be the girl who makes pies for her manz even though it's not a pie and I have no manz.

Anyway, I had to buy most of the ingredients for this not-pie because I never bake, so I didn't own things like baking powder and cornstarch. (Now I do, though. Help?) What I didn't buy was flour because I already owned flour, for some reason. But I didn't realize that it was kind of, uh, old. Not until I dumped it in the bowl, that is. But it had been sitting in tupperware, so I figured it was probably okay? I weighed the possible outcomes:

1) This shit will taste musty but because people don't want to hurt my feelings, they won't say anything about it. Lose for them, win for me. 2) Everyone will get food poisoning and probably blame it on something that I didn't make. Again, lose for them, win for me.

So in went the stank flour. Along with two sticks of butter (gross), which I had to mash in with a FORK? Do you know how hard that is to do? People who bake must be strong as hell. That shit took years.

Then I had to ZEST A LEMON which is something that no sane person should do. I made some goop with the lemon's juice and gave all these berries a goop bath. I ended up buying twice as many blueberries as I actually needed, so now I can chuck the extras at local children. Look how blue they are! Those are some fucking blue-ass blueberries. It was a shame to cover them with more of the stank dough.

See, not as pretty.

So then this shit went into the oven for 45 minutes. By this point, I had spilled flour all over everything I own, so cleanup took a little while. I spent the rest of the time watching old Bloodhound Gang videos on YouTube. (When I was 18, I thought the line "Like a scrotum, here it is in a nutshell" was very funny. Admitting this sort of thing will also not help to get you a manz. Or maybe it will?)

SO THEN IT WAS DONE. And it actually looked good! Pleased with my accomplishment and amazed that I hadn't burned down my new apartment, I threw that shit in the fridge and went out for beer and liquor. When I got home, I had plans to cut the things into squares for the party, but before I made it into my apartment, I ran into my new cute upstairs neighbor who expressed interest in a) my name, b) how long I had been in the building, and 3) where I lived before. Then he told me to "have a beautiful night" and, being somewhere between flustered, amused, and horrified, I missed my golden opportunity to show a manz my wondrous crumb bars.

("Crumb bars" is now a metaphor for "sweaty underthings," btdubs.)

Anyway, it was all good because cutting these things and extracting them from the pan turned out to be even more of a pain in the ass than making them in the first place.

All that shit was left over at the end. But have no fear—I scraped it up and ate it all. Because if hunching over a pan to chow down on dough leavings after midnight isn't sexy, then I don't know what is. The world owes me a debt.

Anyway, ta-da: not-pie, aka blueberry crumb bars. They don't look nearly as pretty as they do in the Smitten Kitchen photo, so clearly I need to work on my pastry cutting and also get some mood lighting for my kitchen. If they go over well and no one dies of food poisoning, maybe I'll make them again, now that I own baking powder and cornstarch and 18 lbs. of additional blueberries. Or maybe I'll punch myself in the head! STAY TUNED.

[panic-eyes]

POINT/COUNTERPOINT: HARRY POTTER AND THE ART OF THE ADAPTATION [DH2 SPOILER FREE]

In this feature, absurdical tackles the recent release of Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows: Part 2, the impact of changes made in its journey from book to film, and the overall questions faced when realistically adapting a novel so rich in detail and world building into a palatable film.

Providing the counterpoint is 19-year-old absurdical, who in 2004 is endlessly reloading The Leaky Cauldron and MuggleNet for the latest news on the production and upcoming release of Alfonso Cuarón's Harry Potter and the Prisoner of Azkaban, and is quite concerned about the choices being made in adopting this pivotal book in the series. Let's begin. Present absurdical, the floor is yours.

POINT FROM PRESENT-DAY ABSURDICAL: Okay, DH2 is totally the best of the eight Potter films and here's why: IT CUT THE CRAP AND GOT TO THE POINT, which is EVERYONE DIES and -- no, seriously, EVERYONE DIES. Also, it really accentuates the main arc of the Potter universe, which is that the series should have been called Severus Snape and the Crap He Took from You, Harry Potter, Because Your Mom was Perfect and Your Dad was a Cunt. 

DH2 came in at just about two hours and that was fantastic. What did we really lose? All that bullshit speechifying in the Great Hall about the power of love and absolute power corrupts absolutely? FUCK THAT. LET'S FLY THROUGH THE AIR AND MORPH OUR FACES WITH RALPH FIENNES, totally not thinking of the inevitable fanvid where this sequence is slowed down and the score is replaced by the Spice Girls's 2 Become 1. The changes made were worth making; better to have an exciting film than to have most of your audience fall asleep during Hour 4 of Hallmark Presents: Can't Buy or Torture Me Love, Voldemort, So You. Will. Lose. Let Me Explain How! In Agonizing Detail!

COUNTERPOINT FROM 19-YEAR-OLD ABSURDICAL IN 2004: WHAT?!!?!?!?! WHO THE FUCK IS DAVID THEWLIS?!?!!? WHY ARE HE AND HARRY TALKING ON THIS SCENIC MAKEOUT BRIDGE? WHAT THE FUCK IS GOING ON?!?!?!!? YOU GUYS!!!! REMUS IS A DESTITUTE, TERMINALLY UNEMPLOYED WEREWOLF WITH TRUST ISSUES AND AN EMOTIONALLY DAMAGED, SPOTTY PAST -- HOW COULD HE AFFORD ALL THOSE EXTRA CHINS?!?!?! oh my god i bet he sold everything sirius left in their ~shared rooms~ because they were ~so in love~ and then sirius betrayed lily and james and ~broke his heart~ -- NO. THIS IS NOT OKAY. DID JOHN WATERS SAY THEWLIS COULD BORROW THAT MUSTACHE? THIS IS SUCH FUCKING BULLSHIT. CUARON, YOU ARE ON NOTICE, MOTHERFUCKER. THIS IS NOT ACCEPTABLE.

POINT FROM PRESENT-DAY ABSURDICAL: Oh no, I wailed, what do you mean they cut out the 200 pages of wandlore from the book? And the elaborate backstory of a ghost in the castle who's been hanging around for 7 books but finally gets 30 pages to herself to talk about some other ghost who doesn't matter and the costume jewelry that came between them? Look, the changes made were made for good visual storytelling, so when Ginny's dialogue is reduced to "good luck" and "NOOOOOOOO" and a kiss on the stairway, it's because she's more useful to Harry and the narrative flow when she doesn't talk. You get a lot more out of Ginny when you can just look at her and know that if Harry lives through this, he will get to hit that, and that's what really matters.

COUNTERPOINT FROM 19-YEAR-OLD ABSURDICAL IN 2004: AW HALE NO.

IS THAT -- MR. CUARON, IS THAT A WEREWOLF? IS THAT SUPPOSED TO BE A FUCKING WEREWOLF? Look, buddy, I don't mean to be racist (I do; it's okay though, I'm Hispanic, you're Hispanic, it's cool, it's like siblings teasing each other -- you mean every word of it until someone cries and tells Mom, you little bitch, but just remember that snitches get stitches and I can pick your bedroom lock faster than you can pick your nose), but is this some kind of cultural thing where weird creatures are always bipeds (lookin' at you, renderings of the chupacabra) so you had to bring your lil' bit of flair to "1993" England and give us a fucking WERECHINCHILLA or a VELOCIWOLF or whatever the fuck this is? You have COMPLETELY RUINED my mental image of Remus and Sirius curled up together as quadraped canines somewhere in the woods outside London while Remus suffered through the full moon and Sirius gently nuzzled his neck and got him through it, and then they changed back into humans, tended to each other's wounds, and had hot still-looked-down-upon manlove. You have ruined everything, sir, and I will never forgive you.

POINT FROM PRESENT-DAY ABSURDICAL: Here's the thing -- when you're working with a book as detailed as Deathly Hallows, or any of the Potter books, or Tolkien, maybe even that Game of Thrones thing I might never read, you're working with something finite -- IT'S CALLED MY ATTENTION SPAN. Do I want to hear Dumbledore babble endlessly about the nature of life and death, or do I want to see Jason Isaacs get bitchslapped in a boathouse? I want to see Jason Isaacs get bitchslapped in a boathouse, and if you ask Jason Isaacs, I think he'd say the same, too.

COUNTERPOINT FROM 19-YEAR-OLD ABSURDICAL IN 2004: JESUCHRISTO DE LOS SANTOS, WHAT THE FUCK HAPPENED TO YOUR FUCKING FACE. DO I START WITH THOSE TWO CATERPILLARS FIGHTING FOR YOUR UPPER LIP? WHAT ABOUT THOSE SCARS? shit, can dogs really claw themselves across the face like that? WHO ARE YOU? WHAT ARE YOU?

Okay, look, I've come to the conclusion that this movie is going to SUCK THE HAIRIEST WERECHINCHILLA BALLS THAT EVER BALLED, not just because the plot of the book itself makes no sense and because there's no way the pivotal scene in the novel (HUGGED HIM LIKE A BROTHER!!!!) is going to make it into this movie intact, but because this guy, this fucking guy, just doesn't GET the source material. Harry Potter and Prisoner of Azkaban is about the Prisoner of Azkaban and the bittersweet memories of that prisoner and his werewolf boyfriend and their lost friends, their lost youths, and the future they can still make for themselves with this second chance they've been given. Oh, and the kid with terrible eyesight they're totally going to adopt.

IF FUCKING CUARON HADN'T THROWN ALL THAT AWAY AND SMUGGLED ALL THAT HOPE INTO THOSE JOWLS -- I MEAN SHIT, CAN YOU BRING THAT ON BOARD LIKE CARRYON OR DO YOU NEED TO CHECK THAT SHIT. 

[panic-eyes]

We watched someone eat this tonight. Actually, two someones. I imagine it was like eating that overgrown 16-lb. baby.

[panic-eyes]

Visit Original Link

citysleep: our blog is just going to be us saying "fuck you" to each other

absurdical:  BUSINESS AS USUAL YEAAAAAAAAAH

[panic-eyes]

what does your birth month say about you?

Always worth updating with new, relevant data gleaned from the latest scientific facts. NOTE: now with tons of suggestions on how to celebrate your birthday awesomely! FINE PRINT: VOID WHERE PROHIBITED. Like August. Ugh, bite me, August. You're void and prohibited, how the fuck do you like that?

JANUARY: What? Who? You want me to go out in this weather when there's a windchill of -10 -- no I don't care if you grew "up north", that is really cold here -- and eat/drink with you x number of days after my New Year's Resolution to be an asshole who can eat cake and drink alcohol but chooses not to in lieu of talking about how much better I am for avoiding such intense, loathsome vices? I'm sorry. I won't get you a card.

FEBRUARY: Congratulations! You were born in THE WORST MONTH OF THE YEAR. Your cheery disposition, optimistic outlook, and determination to brave the very worst life has to offer you (like a birthday crammed into a month so short that it's like a tide pool of misery on the Western calendar) makes you someone to be left alone with the cat at parties.

MARCH: Between St. Patrick's Day and a lingering sense of being entitled to spring break, this is the month of binge drinking. If you have a birthday this month, you don't have a birthday this month. 

APRIL: Notable April birthdays: my dad! (YAY!); Hitler (boo); pot (...). If you were born in April, there's a 98% chance you will find spirit tunnels something worthwhile to do with your time, and you'll just have to live with that while the rest of us side-eye you. Hard. 

MAY: No pressure or anything, but your birthday parties will define everyone's summer, so you better make it fucking awesome. Oh, and you'll also have to compete with graduations, bridal showers, weddings, and baby showers, so there's a good chance you'll either have an elaborate Gatsbian food-and-drink festival that will live on and by which all other parties will be measured and found wanting for years to come, or you can cry into your Chili's dessert of choice while your parents stare and wonder how they failed you.

JUNE: Sorry, man, but like, between helping everyone move and feeling the first desperate urges of I need to find someone to make out with all summer, I just don't know who gives a fuck about your birthday. Oh, but like, we'll probably end up with you at one of our three usual restaurant-bars, laughing and having a good time as the camera slowly pulls away because shit will play out as it usually does; it'll be one more nice night with your friends, and you're okay with that. You're pretty chill, June; what are you doing later?

JULY: You are an only child who is forced to confront Life with Siblings when your birthday celebration is merged with someone else's and you have to prove your superior worth as a human being by wearing the stupidest restaurant decoration you can find. When you wake up, you'll find a simmering pool of resentment where your liver used to be. Life will never be the same again. 

AUGUST: No one wants to be alive for your birthday, which begs your friends to answer the question: Why are you alive? Are you worth this much sweating? Will we ever be happy again? I bet we'll be happy again if this August-borne one were no longer here... Don't worry, though. This is just a symptom of heat stroke.

SEPTEMBER: The humidity breaks! Unfortunately, people born in September tend to be the less cool, more crazy versions of people born in October, so it's best to tell people you're a Libra and hope they assume you were born in October.

OCTOBER: YOUR LIFE IS A GODDAMN GIF PARTY ALL DAY ERRYDAY. YOU KNOW WHO WAS BORN IN MOTHERFUCKING OCTOBER? EVERYONE AMAZING. 

INCLUDING THIS BITCH. FUCK, CAN YOU EVEN FUCKING FATHOM WHAT IT'S LIKE TO BE BORN IN OCTOBER?? THIS MONTH IS SO FUCKING AWESOME, OUR GEMSTONE WILL KILL YOU. IF YOU WERE BORN IN OCTOBER, CONGRATULATIONS -- YOU'VE ALREADY WON.

NOVEMBER: You're moody and pretentious because this is the month in which everything in nature begins to die a slow, painful, but beautiful death. You really like movies that bring characters back together after circumstances force them to evaluate where they are in their lives, and if that's the right path for them. You wonder when your reflection will show who you are inside. You only like Thanksgiving if it's honest and open, and if the evening is lightly seasoned with tears -- happy, bittersweet, as long as there's feeling.

DECEMBER: You were probably conceived in a bar. No one ever comes to your birthday parties because they're crammed between getting everything out of the fucking way before their winter solstice holiday of choice. I guess someone somewhere loves you.

[panic-eyes]

Philly's been named by GQ as the sixth worst-dressed city in America. As a native NYer, I'm not surprised by this; whenever I wear black, I get at least three comments about how I am "sooooo New York," which leads me to believe that no one ever taught Buttsadelphians that black is a) always stylish, b) slimming, and c) the opposite of white and therefore not an unusual color choice.

But, really, I see this placement as kind of unfair. ANY city in the U.S. is going to look like ass fashion-wise, compared to NYC. Also, Buttsadelphia smells awful all the time, so why would we wear trendy, fancy clothes when we're all going to end up smelling like urine and burnt meat? Not to mention the shot of hot steam we'd get right in the vagine if we walked over an open sewer vent while wearing a skirt.

The good news is that in a city full of walking Phillies t-shirts, it's really easy to look fashionable if you put, like, half an ounce of effort into it. So, take heart, people. Even if you own one fitted cardigan, you're already ahead of the game.

[panic-eyes]

Here's a handy guide to the morning routine items you can forgo when you oversleep and you're running late for work.

Starting with the easiest to forgo.

flossing brushing your teeth washing your hair (your natural oils are good for you or whatever) blow-drying your hair washing your body washing your face eating breakfast (mmm, breakfast) changing your underwear changing out of pajamas checking tumblr checking twitter checking email