My Own Private Waiting Room: Cash Cab ok TV, Nilla wafers in my belly, and a cold glass of Dr. Pepper. My dad is visiting for the weekend. We will celebrate my birthday at Chicago’s Blues Fest.
I am 27 today.
My free drinks are going to cost me a $15 cab ride. I need them. Now.
I like my curly hair, and the giant wooden strawberry on my wall.
He looks sweet and innocent, but as soon as he gets a chance, he’s going to kill me for not giving him more of my Belgian waffle.
The perks of unemployment: sunny days spent in parks with my dog and books.
