Sunday Nothing went as planned yesterday. The material was backordered for my sofa. The mini-split guy couldn't come afterall and will be here tomorrow, or Manana, whichever comes first. And that lovely Street Sense was beat by a slight nostral. Life goes on.
I've ridden horses most of my life and only find true happiness with like-minded friends. I play cello, but very badly. I swear like a sailor, thanks to my Mother. I can belch disgustingly. I still seem to be living through these hot-flashes and have my Obama sticker on my bumper.