Kourtney Kardashian had a fancy “Breakfast At Tiffany”’s-themed baby shower last week for her third baby with hot asshole Scott Disick (I mean that in a nice way, congrats to the dad-to-be!), but that’s incredibly boring, so she followed it up with a pajama party at IHOP. Keep reading »
Sometimes people do smart things. Like, really really smart. Take for example, this group of four women in Detroit. After a meal at the International House of Pancakes (please tell me they got the Butterscotch Rocks ‘cakes), these gals decided to skip out on their bill. They took off, a waitress chasing them out the door to get their license plate number as they piled into a Mercury Cougar. Then, the driver lost control of the car, and it went careening into…the side of the restaurant. Everyone ran. But then the driver had to come back to get her car and apologize for the incident. Turns out, she had $200 in cash in her wallet, and totally let her friends talk her into bailing.
The only time I’ve ever skipped out on a bill was when I kept (kept) asking the waitress for a check, and an hour later, she still hadn’t brought it. So I left without paying, conscience clear. Have you ever dined and dashed? Keep reading »
Have you ever dreamed that you slept with your father? Or rode a mechanical bull while a coworker watched? We have and were disturbed for months. Fortunately, dreams don’t always mean what you think they do, and having sex with your father is nothing to worry about, so long as it only happens in your subconscious. Here, we ask psychologist Veronica Tonay, Ph.D. to decode your crazy dreams each and every week, so that you can sleep at night, and dream some more.
THE DREAM IN QUESTION: I had a dream Brad Pitt and George Clooney made me their sidekick. George wanted to go to IHOP for pancakes. They tried to figure out the back way to get in so paparazzi wouldn’t catch me and take photos of me as their “lady friend.” I didn’t like the dress I was wearing. We arrived at the back entrance of IHOP. I was wrapped around the motorcycle with my crotch pressed into Brad’s back. It was more me and Brad, and George was nearby. I didn’t really care about George. I didn’t mind the paparazzi taking photos of me though. My hair was windswept. I looked fierce, storming towards the entrance in my boots and my wrap dress, feeling tiny between these two, big men. Brad kept rubbing the small of my back. It was a GLORIOUS dream. — Stealing Angelina’s Husband, New York, NY
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