TV
Finally, a series I am going to follow on Hallmark.
This is not even a contest between languages. This is a weapon of choice, thank you very much. It’s the show in the slaughter house. It’s what I choose to let others see. Mind you, it’s just a blog. My therapy. And you don’t know me just because you’re sometimes reading my writing. I am not a blog. If, however, you know what I am, do comment. I’d be happy to review your suggestions.
And that would be including “gay” in your nickname, but then you’d indicate you’re bisexual further in your profile.
There was this joke that a true lady would rather be separated from her husband than from her bag. I now have a question. What happens with the husband when the lady meets with these bags?
(before you click you should know this is a pro-bono post)
In this aritmetic logic, I’ve lost a mirror and I have gained ared wine stain.
I broke a glass, he broke a six feet tall mirror. Then he spilled a glass of red wine on my white covers and couch. What should I do?
What was the 20 something female guard in the supermarket wearing today? A black t-shirt reading “security services PMS”.