![](https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEidFDKZ_4Kory0jbPuuDi2iSCUMPcX10gBzShjAvvO9e_3bCo4nFzOY6HZSzulyfXecdzkg0j40tvidhzvS6JHNYODjMN6Xu2MmF-w7RGt8Nrz7EGdLydfkYgxSsTXzz8ZtYIGAD3ca50k/s200/design.jpg)
![](https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgvuQhMmAy387o4Pi-vYsz3f2sOeEQZX7rIV3nAZPKW9Ab9D7PFzvcVgn8_scOfp7j3bVig-7uQMB7QpKILR62H_ykAHLkCCPVJtwStYEDaGoAFoHbrV9i7IfHgT3Kx1nqOuCD5X-XE1Zc/s200/design.jpg)
Not that I am an expert at it. I simply make an effort, wherever I have lived, and always on a tiny budget. Which makes you get pretty inventive, and at times, reckless. I have so many paint-stained articles of clothing that I still insist on wearing, including an ugly, brown, workout top that has bright orange stains on it. Stains on the BOOBS.
Ross shakes his head in shame whenever I walk out of the house with it on.
Also, I have a mental list of design sites that I frequent. Like Design Crisis (run by two Austin girls!), Desire to Inspire, and - of course - Apartment Therapy. They are my version of internet porn.
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