A N N A J O H N ' S D I A R Y

Call the wambulance, I dislike CoHei

The difference between my old neighborhood and new one can be summarized as succinctly as this; in Georgetown, street vendors hawked Gucci knock-offs. In Columbia Heights, someone just tried to sell me a "new", large, "Betty Boob" vinyl purse; it came in three tacky colors. There are so many things wrong with that sentence, not the least of which is that someone thought it a wise idea to counterfeit "Betty Boop". What kind of market is there for this shit? And why did I choose to live among them/it?

I'm going to shower off my distaste, the "afterglow" of my super-shitty "Bollywood Masala" dance class (first time! might be the last!) and my disappointment and go back to my old neighborhood, for brunch and an appointment. /end pathetic whine

Happy Anniversary, Parent(s).

I love St. Patrick's day, but not for any predictable reason.

Thirty-six years ago today, an 85-lb woman and a 110-lb man were married in a Greek Orthodox church somewhere in California. The bride wore cream, then peacock blue. Her hair was glamorously piled up; his massive collar pointed down.

A year later, the tiny couple would have a suitable 8-lb baby who would grow up to be much taller and fatter than either of them.

The end. ;)