My sister and I argue a lot.

Usually it's over a misplaced movie quote or a she was totally in that other film, she just had a different nose sort of thing…

But mostly it's over who tried to kill the other last or who's turn it is to make coffee.

Thankfully, however, there's an app for that.

(Not the killing part, of course, because I totally think that throwing that glass light fixture at my face totally trumps me shoving a handful of jelly beans down her six-week-old throat. Which totally makes me the nicer sister. So neener.)

You simply make a list, add some people, give it a shake, and then it randomly chooses a person to get off of their lazy ass and make a fresh pot, clean the litterbox, or yell at a kid.

It also picks blog giveaway winners.

Because I  use paperclips to hold my hair up am a  repurposing goddess like that.

My thumb! My thumb!

I only count four fingers here... Alright who stole my freaking finger??

Congratulations, hon. I'll email over your details in a bit.

Speaking of Irish guys…

Somehow my quick trip to the bookstore on Friday night ended up with me hanging out at a little bar that once claimed decorating fame via the numerous over-the-shoulder-boulder-holders hanging from its smoky old ceiling…

One of which belonged to me…

Back in the day when the only thing I had to spend my money on was booze and outrageously expensive lingerie.

(And since I was obviously the type of girl who tacks up her bra to dingy bar ceilings, the booze more often than not came pretty damn cheap…)

As I was sitting there sipping on my Newcastle watching peeps play a rousingly boring game of 'find the difference in these two pictures of porn stars', I realized that I probably spent more on that bra ten years ago than I have so far this year in GROCERIES FOR A FAMILY OF FIVE.

I am currently deciding on how to close the letter demanding its return…

Because I'm fairly certain that "Sincerely," just won't cut it in this situation.

And in other news that totally sucks…

It's eighty freakin' degrees outside and my super-hot-sexy (yes, that's one word) winter boots are taunting me mercilessly. I can hear them snickering, I tell 'ya.

My bank account has decided to send me twice-daily awfully cheery text messages letting me know that I'm broke.

And considering that all of the lights in the back half of my old (though charming) house abruptly stopped working and the little bar that connects the lever to the drain in my bathtub suddenly split in two all in one week, I think it's pretty safe to say that my luck holds true  in all things in this world.

Happy bloody Monday, folks.