day late and dollar short

Holy shit people like to write. My blog has been added to the blog list for one of the "rhymes with -an" friends. So, I naturally had to check out the company on this list. I never knew all these people had so much to say. Was I too involved in my own dealings to notice that they had large brains and lots of words to share? Did they try to share them with me one time but I was too busy blotting the martini stain on my skirt to hear? Why did I not know this? How could I have been so selfish? Who am I? Where did I get this pair of jeans from and how do they make my ass look so wide?

My former roommate Dave told me years ago that I should start a blog.

"It's a good reason to write."

Apparently, other people and I'm talking like 2 million other people agree. That's like every other person in Los Angeles. I'm so behind the times. I should have been blogging when Dave told me to start but, instead I was too consumed by trying to graduate from high school and finishing my community college apps. Yeah, we call them "apps" because it's shorter than saying "application." Just like "reej" is short for "reeject." But I "dig." Digress.

"Sex it up," the boyfriend says when I tell him today's post is shaping up to be somewhat boring. How can I sex up an entry about reading people's blogs? I think a sense of humor is sexy. But, I'm not feeling funny today. What else...Vin Diesel...money...success. Am I typing out loud? I could probably wrap Vin Diesel-money-success into one but, I can't find any photos online of Vin winning an award. Curious.

"That's hot," Paris Hilton says when something is sexy. Well then, the mountains north of my office building are the sexiest things in town. (Note: When I say MY office building, I want to clarify that I don't actually own the building, I merely occupy a 8' x 8' cube of it. Real estate is not my thing.) They are hot because they are on fire. Literally. I took a couple of photos which I will upload later. This is where I live. It smells like BBQ outside and my eyes are watering and my voice is raspy. God (sp?) or one of the other execs up there is pissed. Someone wants their minions to quit actin' the fool and take care of shit. We've been bad minions. Someone up there needs a S'more to make them feel better. I'm talking econo-value-pak-family-size type S'mores and they're looking for a place to roast their marshmallows. Not sexy.