less pretty, more woman

So either the green beer I un-grudgingly consumed the other night in honor of Saint P had been clandestinely drugged by sore-throat-infested leprechauns who proceeded to make out with my latent, lime-stained lips, or some bug flying though the smog landed on my tonsils and decided to lay babies. Either way; ouch. I should take my delicious glass of raspberry Emergen-c and go to bed, but instead I am going to sit here and blog you to death. Or myself; whichever reigns triumph.

Mmm. In other not-helping-me-get-better news, I just ate a whole cookie that was not cooked. An uncookedie. Here's hoping salmonella and streptococcus don't decide to throw a co-ed party in my immune system...

Ah, Los Angeles; city of smog-filled dreams... You're like a beautiful, expensive hooker with perfect veneers masking your dirty nicotine habit. If I was Richard Gere, you'd be my Julia, but instead of falling in love you'd covertly carry on with your wanton ways while I continue to buy you expensive dinners in hopes of one day winning your jaded heart.

At least you have a sunny disposition.

I almost bought a puppy out of a box on the side of the road the other day. I picked him up and as he nuzzled into my wonderbreast we made eye contact and I could swear I heard him whisper "mama". Then I glanced down at his brothers and sisters, staring up at me all puppy-eyed, and my heart filled with cliches about rescuing them from this dog-eat-dog world of idioms and alley cats. Then, quicker than you can say octo-mom, I remembered that I can barely feed myself some days and that puppies can't live on raw cookie dough alone. And so I walked on; dreaming that my dog-eared son would one day find an Angelina-clone of his very own.

Maybe one day I'll hyphenate my name and adopt a litter, but until then, my friends, you'll find me chasing a fanciful, fishnetted-dream; a green ale in one hand and couple of crisp american dollar bills in the other...

Love,
-ajelina