Hey, y'all,

My friend Roban just called to tell me his balls are on fire. Poison Oak had him in its ugly, painful grip. He said I was a sadist for laughing hysterically. "My balls are on fire and you think it's funny?"
Sorry mate, but I do.
Speaking of balls and fire, I missed my weekly dose of the Russell Crowe reality series "South Sydney Story" last night on the VS channel. I hope to catch a rerun of my fave footy team's woes this week.
Last night, I was busy negotiating the 300,000 plus crush on Santas Monica Boulevard in WeHo last night.
Gay Pride is alive and I've never seen more lavish, creative or electrified costumes in my life. I prayed nobody would set their balls or other extraneous parts on  fire with the amazing ballgowns lit up like the old Disney Electric Parade floats (ah...memories light the corners of my mind etc.).
I, A.J. got a wee bit claustrophobic with so many people but the atmosphere was jovial and I sneaked into Dorothy's Surrender and bought my "I Love Lucy" desktop callender for 2008. I'm gettin' organized.
Speaking of balls, there were some hot guys out on the Boulevard last night. Yummo!
The news of the day is mind-bogglingly weird and it's only 9.50am.
Dog the Bounty Hunter (whom I'd always fantasized as being another of my future ex husbands) was caught on tape saying the 'N' word six times.
Production on his show has been suspended.
Say it ain't so, Dawg!
You of all people, a racist?
Well, that's just the start...but I'm off to the pages of my book and want to get back to my paranormal chamber of love and the Queen of Pentacles.

Aloha oe,

A.J.