I have issues with solo exercise. I can’t just “pick up and go” despite how spontaneity is one of the major perks to both methods of transportation/recreation. Basically it’s because I’m totally chicken shit.
When you buy a stun gun, your girlfriends show shock and your guy friends say “Don’t tase me, bro!”
After the shock, the girls say “Don’t tase me, bro!” too.
Apparently the designers at Badgley Mischka, Oscar de la Renta, and Marchesa have learned nothing from the bold, blonde pixie with perennial pink eye.
You’re assigned to do a lot of unsexy traveling. You are aware of your own snobbery, but are determined to succeed whether surrounded by strip malls or farmland. What do you take with you?
We saw Prince live on Saturday, and it was amazing. The air? Electric. Some thoughts.
I finally caved and booked some time with a chiropractor – which, interestingly enough, has spurred me into a “reclaim thyself!” mode fitting for the over-emphasized resolutionary month of January.
Iris tagged me in a chain status (So glad we’ve moved on from chain letters; what a disrespect to trees!) to “list ten albums that have stayed with you over the years in some way.”