Pass the Zoloft, please.

Good Afternoon or Morning or whatever time it is~

I must say, I wish I was of Aztec decent. She looks gorgeous. Let's just face it. There is a lack of pics of gorgeous black women out there. Don't get me wrong, by no means do we hold the last place ribbon on beauty and attractiveness, but we do hold the last place ribbon on art that shows how beautiful we are. What do you normally see with black or African art. Strength, faith, persistence, and sometimes hostility. Never anything like the little Aztec beauty above. Although the closest I could find happens to be one of Disney's Pixie Friends. I pixie named "Lily." Pictured above the Aztec girl. She's adorable, and a start. She even has the booty to boot!!!!!

I'll get off this kick. It seems the more I dwell on this, the less happy I get with America. At least at Pixie Hollow multicultural isn't a word and everyone has an equal stake. Finally something good to teach girls: There's no prince charming, people of all backgrounds can live together and use each other's differences for the common good, and everyone is beautiful. I am beginning to respect the evil empire known as Disney once again.

I have been enjoying the audio book Dearly Devoted Dexter, over the last couple of days, and with much gusto, I rented the first season of Showtime's Dexter a spin off of the books. It was a little slow to get into, but now I'm hooked, give it a shot.

I must leave now. I need to shower and all the other fun stuff involved in getting ready for work. The new Cash Sup should be training today. People come and people go, but it seems your favorite demon is cemented to the floor. My life is an empty snack machine except for the three bags of Munchos. Nobody ever wants the Munchos.

I can't wait to get over this Goddamn depression. As my therapist says, " Your just cycling. We'll continue to monitor your moods and perceptions before we adjust." Adjust my ass. She means shoot tranquilizer darts into the demon. Whatever. At least there would be change.

Sometimes the mind, for reasons we don't necessarily understand, just decides to go to the store for a quart of milk.

Diane Frolov and Andrew Schneider, Northern Exposure, Three Doctors, 1993

Yokai Kifujin