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February 12, 2010
After trying in vain, for at least five minutes, to remove my nail polish in the way I've been doing since the Pleistocene Epoch, it dawns on me: Rather than questioning the integrity of the nail polish remover, perhaps I should've questioned my ability to select the correct bottle from the cabinet.

I apologize, Rubbing Alcohol, for cursing you.

Moments later, I realize I'm right to doubt the nail polish remover. It refuses to live up to its name. The polish stubbornly refuses to budge. Way to hold a grudge, Nail Polish Remover!

(I am clearly living la vida loca.)