Williams Syndrome

i have slipped into a deep, inconsolable, depression.

last night i saw michelle williams of destiny's child second draft fame and i said nothing to her.  nothing.

i mean, i spent numerous formidable teenage years driving around in my friend's mazda 626 blasting some DC (oh yeah we abbreviated their name and totally understood each other when we referred to them as such and i'm sure we were like the only fans ever to do this. whatevs).  7 o'clock in the morning on the way to school.  10 o'clock at night driving one mile radius circles around the popular gas station to see if any of our other friends had shown up yet to hang out in the parking lot (did i mention that there isn't a whole lot to do in suburban minnesota?) because we, obviously, couldn't be the first ones there.  point being... we'd pop one of those cd's into our discman, plug in the tape adapter, and wear.those.records.out.

this morning i woke up giddy from my MW of DC sighting and began telling everyone i knew who would be even remotely excited about this.

(read this one bottom to top, and try not to pee your pants when "anonymous friend" calls me blue ivy's godmother)

this is the cuban restaurant we were at.  you know, because michelle likes to keep it real.

hope you were ready for this jelly.

love, blue ivy's godmother

ps - a great big bootylicious thank you to savannah at rolled up pretty for today's link up!  go check out her hot new gold glasses.