I start with Regis & Smelly every morning.  I follow the duo up with a dose of Ellen.  I literally dance with her every morning for one minute, sometimes 1:04.  But now I’m on vay-k, so I’ve been sleeping half past Ellen.  I made up for it while at Ivy’s for lunch. I was afraid they wouldn’t let me into the restaurant with my big fat ass…essory.  My D100.  I don’t care what you’ve heard.  It does too matter, and I’ve been feelin’ it.  I’ve been discriminated against for the size of my Nikon.  You’ve got enormous breasts and enormous celebrities, Beverly Hills engagement rings the size of walnuts, and then you have me with my enormous mouth and camera body.  "Sorry.  You can’t come in with that." 
"But I see other people inside with cameras."  This is my idea of pleading, on my toes peering inside looking at what everyone else has.
"Yeah, those are little cameras.  Yours is big."
"Yes, I know it’s big, but this is my vacation, and I’m staying at this hotel.  You’re telling me I can’t take pictures of my own friends at the pool?"  Yes, that’s exactly what he was telling me, and later, all of my friends, as each of us tried to sneak the mass that is my camera into Sky Bar.  Pregnant women’s bellies really don’t look like that under shirts, and no handbag is ever big enough to house my digital camera.  I was screwed, and worse than that, around here, I’m the enemy.  Apparently, I now need to invest in a camera the size of a stick of gum.  It’s the one time I’ll say it: smaller is better.

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