valentina

Ghost in the machine! Sorry!

So I can't figure out a way to delete my repeated posts. Beg pardon for the technical faux pas that I stumbled into!

I don't know what happened! I was told that I didn't have access to post my comment and then it showed up three times! Oh oops... So I'm editing my repetitive comment.

Since I took Russian as my foreign language in college and that led to taking Russian geography and Russian history, I actually ended up with a Slavic Studies minor in my great liberal arts education. I can still read Cyrillic, and honey, it's been a really long time since I was in college. I can't translate the words, but I can read and pronounce them. Well, I pronounce them poorly -- I was pathetic at speaking Russian -- my professor told me I would have been better suited to speaking French. But nooooo, I had to take a language with a different alphabet and one that I couldn't speak very gracefully. But I'm happy I did it. I'm sure you're a lot better at it than I ever was, but I love the language and the culture and the history of that part of the world.

Yes, thank you -- Jon Cryer... I was totally blocking his name. He was great as the Duck-Man. Very endearing. Annie Potts was in that movie, also... she played the record store manager who was a surrogate big sister/mom figure for Molly.

I kind of have a soft spot for Bratpack movies, although "Sixteen Candles" is my favorite because it is so utterly idiotic and the dreamboy in that movie is so freaking purdy.

I wandered over to your blog to tell you that you are enabler for telling me about Club Fife in my blog. Those little thongy things look very comfy and it's very comforting to have some basics that feel nice and look good when you just don't have the energy to wear the full-scale diva pantie-poos.

Your story of your boy's stir-fry reminds me of this place called Hu Hot... do they have one in your town? It's a stir-fry do-it-yourself buffet where you pick out and dish up the noodles, the meat, the veggies, the sauces, and you give it to the cooks and stand in line as you watch them cook it. True abominations can be produced at that place. Even if you do a good job, you might get the aftertaste of some culinary orgy that was cooked on the grill right before you. But it's all-you-can-eat, so the one in my town is constantly clogged by "eaters" (as opposed to "diners") who equate quantity with quality. But when I left that place, I was rip-roaring bitchy, so maybe there's something about a really confusing stir-fry that just heightens the irritability factor.

But I hope retiring with some yummy BPAL olfactory influences made you awake feeling much, much happier...

80 or 90 pairs? Color me green with envy! Do you do some shopping online for the underlovelies? If so, where?