Sick Dog.

I am a sick dog. Well, more like a sick sea lion. I have a nasty cough, and it's ruining what I have left of my vocal chords.

Yesterday was alright for some part. I bought the best shoes in the whole entire world, (Steve Madden thanks for being my foot lover.) and my coffee was good. There was a bit of an awkward 2 hour patch though, without going into detail, I hate it when people kill my good shoe high mood. 

Today, I'm in bed, drinking OJ (simpson) and eating french bread and brie. it's my at-home remedy. I haven't been out of bed, except when I cough so hard I throw up. Unnecessary detail, I'm sorry. Everything hurts.

MRAH.

Timing. I think the "theme" of my life, so far, is timing. I have the worst timing. I'll probably be like 50 when I finally find someone to love, and unable to bare child. My birthday is bad timing, my love life is bad timing. Damn. DAMNDAMNDAMN

enough of my complaining. FUNNY MOM QUOTE OF THE DAY: "Kelli, you have to get used to eating Salmon if you're going to grow up and marry a nice jewish boy!"

OOOH mama.

love (or like, shwaaa)