Damn, Mail-to-Blogger! Whenever I write a post via my cellphone, Blogger screws it up. So when my posts are one big blob of messiness, blame Blogger (and my clumsy fingers). I like to take advantage of all the things blogger offers; I just wish I could do it better.
Bear with me, please, as I become more adept at blogging.
Some of you might not be aware of this but Chicago has morphed into the fiery pits of Hell, with atrocious sunburned feet to boot. See, this is why I hate summer, for this exact reason. Why do people insist on wearing flip flops in the sun? I can't tell you how many hundreds of sunburned feet I witnessed just last week alone. Jan managed to drag Diana and me to the beach on Sunday, where we both proceeded to bake and die immediately. Jan didn't care -- he was busy working on his "sex tan." You know, the kind where there's a dramatic tan line around the hips. The Swedes sure know how to tan, don't they? you would think with them being Nordic that they would just burn to a crisp, but no -- golden brown goodness all the time. This weekend, Diana's apartment was a cooling center. We conked out with old Glamours and iced raspberry-lemon tea. I don't know why Diana is afraid to throw away magazines. I swear there is a 1997 issue of Glamour with some supe