Not Yoko Ono

I am an arrogant little butterfly with every color provided by makeup slapped half-hazzardly across my face. I buy enough product to moisturize the desert. I am hoping that one day, trees will actually spring forth from my skin from all the moisture I give it. I remember hearing a comic that procalimed women were from another planet, only here to suck all of the moisture out of the world. It was funny, but blatantly true.

I had a stange dream last night, that found me in a music studio, in a "Yoko Ono" type situation. It was odd, and all I really remember of it, is standing up and screaming, "I don't want to be Yoko Ono. No girl wants to be Yoko Ono." You can feel free to figure that one out.

Before I leave for the job, I have nothing to do. I have read more books in the last 6 months, than most people read in thier life. I recommend Shadow of the Wind and Broken for You. I do have my sister's baby shower to attend on the 9th. I still can't wrap my head around my rowdy sister being a mom, but that belly of hers, forces me to realize that there is a baby in there, and it's going to be coming out. A nice little niece named Alexis who will be called Lexi. What a pornstar name that is!


I leave the day after the baby shower, go to Lubbock, than Dallas, and from there, I travel non-stop until at least July. My god, I can't wait to begin. I have sucked all of the moisture out of San Angelo and it's time to search other fountains.