I should be knee deep in watching “Dancing with The Stars” right now. Me, a chocolate elcair and cup of hot tea should be curled up on the couch willing Sugar Ray Leonard not to cry due to his inability to master the pasodoble. I should be, but instead The Husband has hijack the TV and is fully absorbed in a documentary about a guy who survived for 76 days on a raft out on the Atlantic Ocean. Which to be honest, is a lot less superficial than a bunch Hollywood celebrities jiving and cha-cha-cha’ing across a sparkly dancefloor, but a lot more boring thats for sure. And in my current state of boredom, I decided to break with tradition and opt not to watch paint dry, cos that would first of all require me to paint something, sidenote: not going to happen, so¬†instead I decided to take stock of my fridge magnets. Now I know it may sound like I’m being intentionally boring, but I assure you, I’m not. In my current state of “nothing better to do” they grabbed my attention and as a result, all you lucky lucky blog readers out there get to participate in the mind numbing festivities via a snapshot of my fridge. Misery loves company y’all. Misery loves company.

As you can see, I make a point of picking up a magnet from every new country or state I travel. I’ve been doing it since I was 16. My dad hates it. When I moved to the US from Ireland, I left my parents fridge looking like the windshield of a car, full of dead and splattered bugs, but instead of a windshield it was a fridge, and instead of bugs it was magnets, get it? Ok enough. I’m just rambling now, so its time to shut the self down.

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