This weekend my sister and i were discussing our first years in the United States and school lunch.
We laughed remembering how mom would always pack our lunches in embarrassing packaging and how we never got cute little lunchables or capri-suns in our bag. Sometimes she’d place a banana right next to our sandwiches, causing my ham & cheese sandwich to taste like a banana-ham and cheese sandwich.

In school hating cafeteria food was the cool thing to do.
but I was never cool.

I LOVED cafeteria food.
Those little plastic baggies of apple juice, the fruit cups and buttery-buns, the mystery meat sloppy joes and corn dogs; I loved it all. and here my peers were complaining about how “disgusting” it all was, and sadly, i’d pretend to be in agreement.

If only they knew that when they’d throw away those little cardboard boxes of heavenly chocolate milk, my heart ached.


Am i the only woman that finds hairy men attractive? I don’t mean gorilla hairy, just ” rawr! i have hairy arms and i am manly,” hairy.
I recently attended a music conference put on by Billboard magazine and noticed that almost every single guy waxed his eyebrows, and/or arms and looked way too clean-cut.
speaking of hairy, another favorite romantic comedy
When Harry met Sally.

my top 5
my resolutions

Today i closed the door on my middle finger and my nail is now a lovely shade of light purple. i hope it does not fall off.

if you’ve ever taken a college french course, perhaps you can relate to this little anecdote written by one of my favorites
Me Talk Pretty One Day
Me Talk Pretty One Day- David Sedaris

At the age of forty-one, I am returning to school and have to think of myself as
what my French textbook calls “a true debutant.” After paying my tuition, I was issued
a student ID, which allows me a discounted entry fee at movie theaters, puppet shows,
and Festyland, a far-flung amusement park that advertises with billboards picturing a
cartoon stegosaurus sitting in a canoe and eating what appears to be a ham sandwich.
I’ve moved to Paris with hopes of learning the language. My school is an easy
ten-minute walk from my apartment, and on the first day of class I arrived early,
watching as the returning students greeted one another in the school lobby. Vacations
were recounted, and questions were raised concerning mutual friends with names like
Kang and Vlatnya. Regardless of their nationalities, everyone spoke what sounded to
me like excellent French.
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