Short, sweet, to the point. It's how the message gets across, and it's how communication should be at work.
Naturally, my day so far is going extremely well. Abba is playing in the background and the words to this blog are tap dancing/pole dancing in the forefront of my mind. I have nothing of substance to say, except an introduction to yours truly.
I am a 57-year-old obese Himalayan man, who you may or may not recognize from "To Catch a Predator" Season 3 Episode 8.
Ok that's not true at all. In reality, I'm just a 20 something girl trying to make it through life without getting a hernia.
So far, so good.
I currently reside in Los Angeles (moving next month), land of starving actors and starving hobos. Which one am I? Not sure yet. I'm just cruising along, trying to get pictures of celebrities, but not for money.
Speaking of the pa-pa-paparazzi, they were following me the other day in Beverly Hills. I mean, give a girl a break. I was innocently walking toward the pricey, yet delicious Lemonade restaurant, hoping to find some scraps in the trash when I see camera man literally emerge from a bush. That was the cue, I guess, because then at least 3 more dudes climbed out of their respective hiding spots (the trash can, under the stairs, behind a large dog) and started snapping photos of me. Too bad I hadn't worn my new JCPenny brand track suit. I always have the worst timing. I guffawed at their audacity and started to answer their silly questions like who I'm wearing, who I'm doing, etc.. when they stampeded past me and told me to get out of their way. Apparently, I wasn't the hot topic of the day. A couple behind me happened to be more photo-worthy:
Benji Madden and his Australian girlfriend. If you squint your eyes and blur them, you can see me at 4 clock, wondering why they were stealing my thunder. Whatever.
Anyway, I'll be the next big thing. Much like Lindsay Lohan.
A woman can dream, a woman. can. dream
Well, that's all for the in-depth look into my life today. Gotta go get the update from my friend who is now more knowledgeable about bj's (not the wine cooler). Until next time, keep your pants on. Or don't.
