The "Brown Sugar" pantyhose that I just bought at Target. On sale. It felt like my legs were wrapped in cellophane, and it created so many wrinkles that it looked like I needed Botox. I think I'm more of a "Raw Turbino Sugar" pantyhose girl.
I'd really been jonesing to use a steam cleaner. I had these visions of dust mites dying a horrible death by scalding steam. I had all these plans to power clean, sans chemicals. So I rented a steam cleaner from U-Haul. But it was really a carpet/upholstery cleaner. And I ended up having to buy cleaner to use with it. But I suppose it was gratifying to see all the byproduct of gunky swill. (This may be the only time in which it is gratifying to see a byproduct of gunky swill.)
Ex-boyfriends are not supposed to get married. They should remain celibate. If they DO decide to marry, they should not marry someone who disallows me to be friends with my ex. Oh, and I shouldn't have to find out through Google---seven months after the fact. Even though they've talked with me numerous times in those months. I'm just sayin'.
Drinking to feel better. Recently, this didn't work out for me.
My memory. Lately, I have had difficulty discerning whether some mundane details or conversations were reality-based or froms dreams I had. This problem may or may not be related to the previous entry.
My body. Twenty-six was the year of keeping Akron General in business.