If I was ever to get a tattoo, other than the teeny heart I already have on my shoulder, I'd want one like the woman who runs the shop on American Pickers has. It's like an elaborate, intricate bib necklace. Very cool.
But unless and until they develop a better way of removing old tattoos, I will not be getting any new ones. I'd erase that teeny heart if I could. So I guess I should probably stay away from the bib necklace thing.
The only time I listen to much commercial radio is when NPR is having a pledge drive. I'm not proud of that.
There seems to be a niche in the blogosphere: Upper-class white women garnering massive amounts of sympathy (and fame) (and money) for less-than-fatal problems. You would think that having a severe anxiety disorder and going out on a book tour would be mutually exclusive, but evidently not.
Every October, the thrift stores fill up with people looking for Halloween costumes. Folks, contrary to popular belief, thrift stores are NOT full of zoot suits and flapper dresses. They ARE, however, full of bad fashion circa 1990, so if you want to dress up as your aunt for Halloween, you're probably all set.
I am rapidly approaching my fiftieth birthday. Other people have said that as they near this milestone, they are inundated by enrollment mailings from the AARP. Me? Nada. Maybe the AARP doesn't want me. FINE! I wasn't gonna sign up anyway. I'm only fifty, not ninety, for Pete's sake.
How long is too long to wait for food in a diner? Twenty minutes? Thirty? I'm just curious ...