It’s a Tuesday. A school day. And while I can’t smell anything right now, if I could, I would smell toast.
During the holidays, I love to send Christmas cards to my family, but I’m always scrambling to find their addresses. Addresses I’ve been sending letters to for years. I just never write them down or save them. Because I am nothing if not inefficient!
Maybe I’m misremembering, but isn’t there a G-20 rule that Pitbull is only allowed to be played strictly between the hours of 11pm and 4am? You know, the timeframe when you can shamelessly acknowledge that you somehow know every word to every Pitbull lyric. Of which there are three.