All right, I’ve been thinking. When life gives you lemons? Don’t make lemonade. Make life take the lemons back! Get mad! ‘I don’t want your damn lemons! What am I supposed to do with these?’Demand to see life’s manager! Make life rue the day it thought it could give Cave Johnson lemons! Do you know who I am? I’m the man who’s going to burn your house down! With the lemons! I’m going to get my engineers to invent a combustible lemon that burns your house down!

When the days get hotter, it’s time to chill out with some frozen lemonade.

We are smack dab in the middle of spring, and before anyone knows it, it’ll be summer soon enough. A regular old lemonade is fine and dandy, but if you’re throwing a sweet springtime party, there’s no better refreshment for guests of any age.

What you’ll need (makes 6-8):

  • 1 can lemonade frozen concentrate
  • 1 cup milk
  • ½ can (7 ounces) sweetened condensed milk (or more or less to taste)
  • 2-3 cups crushed ice
  • grated lemon zest
  • whipped cream
  • ice (ice baby)
  1. Start by blending the lemonade concentrate, milk and ice.
  2. Add the condensed milk and blend. If you want your lemonade with a more sour kick to it, add less. 
  3. Pour and top with whipped cream and lemon zest.
  4. Serve while wearing something adorable from 24/7 Comfort Apparel that, hey, you could get for 30% off from now until the end of April!

Note: anything you don’t drink can be frozen and saved for later. (and we’re not against making this drink for adults, either ;) )

In summer
grass should be green, not the color of 
piss and


with a tartness like 
my brother sitting on the living room floor,
eye swollen and bloody because the pigs
called him one
even though he has nothing left to spend, to slice off himself and fry, nothing to lose in the heat of 


my body burning from the inside out, I am 
outside where my first love stacks his coffee mug 
next to someone else’s
in a black bin, plastic melting softly like an apology after a big fight,
the sunlight kind as children on my shoulders and this is the only
summer romance I will feel
it does not matter how many skeletons live in your closet-
spring cleaning has already thrown them in the trash so everything is hollow and emptiness,
and you cannot be

when there is nothing left to hate 

simply exist in the piss-colored world and suck on


until your lips pucker from holding them in your mouth,
in my mouth is where I hold his name,

Will I spit it out?
I will spit him out.

He stings like bare feet on asphalt 

—  Katie Quines, “Lemonade”