Scary headline of the day.

I wish Yahoo!News could have fudged this a little and said, oh I don't know, "over 650 people sickened" or "nearly 700 people sickened" instead of threats of the coming Apocalypse. Just a thought.

I knew this wouldn't be good!

Yeah, so we are officially on hour 16 of this cleanse.

And I would just like to come up with a list of things that don't suck nearly as much as both the raging irritability and hunger pangs I feel right now. Please note the sarcasm as it is listed below:

1. Definistration- It just doesn't look fun.
2. Getting your hair cut into what you think is a really cute, stylish bob- and then seeing your ex boyfriend with his new girlfriend that has locks and locks of gorgeous hair worthy of a shampoo commercial.
3. Spraining your neck while having jack rabbit sex (I'm looking at you, Carrie Bradshaw).
4. A traffic jam... when you're already late. (All apologies to Alanis. Especially since your old man is now with some new hussy.)
5. Flipping through the stations, seeing your favorite movie ever is on- the one you haven't seen in years, realizing it is on Telemundo.
6. Mosquitoes.
7. Work-related things that I cannot list here for fear of becoming unemployed during the worst economy since the Great Depression.
8. Young Republicans.
9. All of the Oscar nominated films this year that weren't also nominated in Sci-Tech categories. (Sorry, but this year I think the big action movies kicked the asses of pretentious award-bait movies in terms of relevance, entertainment, and everything else.)
10. My biweekly incapacitating migraine headache.

Food for thought.

And fuck you, Gwyneth Paltrow, and your cleanses.

Well if Beyonce did it, it must be safe!

SO! I had the brilliant idea yesterday that I was going to try the Master Cleanse diet. Made famous by Beyonce, the Master Cleanse is a quick way to drop about 20 lbs and clean all of the toxins out of your body. Yes, I know that most of the weight will be water weight and quickly packed back on... but I figured I could try it and at least make you guys all laugh along the way. I will post pictures (as soon as I find my USB thingy for the camera) and keep you updated on my status. If a week goes by and you haven't heard from me, it is because this killed me.

I'm serious.

No, not really. I don't think you can die from lemons, cayenne pepper, and maple syrup but I will be cranky. So if by Friday I'm posting a blog in all caps and calling for a fatwa on everyone at Krispy Kreme, please don't hold it against me.

Betcha thought I would do an Oscar post...

... but you were wrong (I hated the Oscars last night and fell asleep during them for the first time ever- but I did try to make a real time blog, I just got bored). Anyway, I will have my grandparents lovable and hilarious comments on the occasion later in the week. If you really need Oscar, go to Pajiba or Deus Ex Malcontent. Those are funny.

Instead, with 1 month to go until the dreaded 2-6, I would like to post random birthday cakes that amuse me.

(Debbie Does Cakes)

Aaaaaaand that's about it.

(I would like to have it brought out to me by a guy in a Doc Brown costume. Or, you know, Christoper Lloyd since he's not doing too much these days.)

I'll tell you where you can put your "issues"...

As I have hinted in the past few previous posts, this weekend was another rough one for me. Yes, I got drunk (not as drunk as I was in Boston) and yes I had a great time (still not as good as Boston, as it did not involve a cabbie affectionately named Bootleg). And then something weird happen: the girl I was out with, the one I actually really like because she was older and therefore supposedly more mature, decided that everything that I was doing was morally reprehensible.

Morally. Reprehensible. Followed by ??????

Keep in mind, this is a woman that had her crazy days in her twenties as well.

Among such lovely quotes as "I don't respect you for using guys to get your free drinks" (I spent lots of money on buying everybody else free drinks but the one or two I got for free was what really pushed her over the edge) and... well actually I'm just going to copy and paste in this situation:

"I have no respect for someone who does not respect themselves. If you want to pound drinks and flirt...your prerogative. There is a huge maturity difference between 25 and 35. And frankly, you flirting with my EX...is completely uncalled for and I won't put up with it from you or anyone in my presence. If you need a guy's attention to make you feel good...by all means...get your 'therapy'. Just know it is in the end unhealthy, gives you a bad reputation, and loses friends."

I know, I know. I'm a horrible person for posting this. Just like I'm a horrible person for posting John's MySpace message and PVille Guy's emails. I just think this is funny.

The biggest reason is that (and I know that most of you out there don't know me) this could not be further from the truth. I had quite a charmed life, that I won't deny, but I had to grow up really quickly. "Immature"*** is not a word I would think to describe myself, but more importantly it isn't a word that most of my family (who watched me go through a lot of heartache and suffering with my mother and her long list of problems) would consider calling me either. About my "bad reputation," bad rep with who? I have like four friends out in here. Well, probably three now after this debacle. So, I'm not too too worried about having rumors flying around about things I didn't or did or was thinking about doing. As for "threrapy," I have my therapy: THIS BLOG.

I don't like to blame the way things happened to me for the way things are. As I've survived two major heartbreaks (John and Pville) in a row, I learned that using your past to justify your present doesn't get you anywhere. So I'm not going to go into what "I've been through" to convey the message that as far as level-headed 25 year olds go, I'm pretty good.

(Also, this excerpt makes me sound like the town floozy. I've slept with a small, small selection of men in the past few years and I drink only when I'm out with friends. I can pretty much always get my ass home and up out of bed the next morning so I'm not planning on joining The Program anytime soon- even though I think it is a wonderful, wonderful thing that saved my mom's life.)

In case you were wondering, I did manage to fire a few rounds back at her. Don't worry, it's not Alanna and this person will not be receiving her own tag much less a knick-name on this blog.

***VERY IMPORTANT: I realize that this blog was devised on the premise that I'm not the bigger person and I do childish things... but this actually made me realize how crazy I was acting before with John. I don't take any of it back, because it still makes me laugh, but I will think twice about how I act towards him in the future. It's almost like there's a big mirror in front of me and I'm like "OOOOOH, that's FUUUUUGLY." Except on the inside. So more like an x-ray. Of emotional health. I'm confusing myself now. Long story short, if it makes me a hypocrite or not, this lady's off her rocker.

UPDATE: I have been threatened with a restraining order. So... not quite sure how that's gonna work.

Amazing.

So I got to work horribly early this morning and in my half-awake/"why-the-fuck-am-i-here-right-now" state, I came across this quote on Alex Blagg's blog. (Alex, as you will read on his blog, used to write for Best Week Ever tv.)

"When I die, someone had better fucking BLAST this at my funeral (it’s only meant to be played at the highest possible volume).

As you listen to it, try to think of me on the bow of a small yacht, flying across the Miami shoreline, high on cocaine and shooting an Uzi into the air while screaming at the top of my lungs."

I'm still in the throws of giggle fits.  If you grew up with this movie like I did, you get it.  And after the horrible few days I have just had- this is the best thing ever.  Hands down.

UPDATE: I just came back to listen to this song again.  And again.  I have to say, picturing myself in Alex's fantasy- AWESOME.  

I think I need help.

Here it is everybody, the one thing that will make everyone NOT want to read this blog anymore...

Well, wait. Before I come right out and say it, I need to build up to it. Of course.

Every year about this time for the past seven or eight years, there's a cultural phenomenon that takes over the TV sets of Americans everywhere- though really not a surprise given the history of America and more specifically, America's obsession for talent. I could get into how it is a flagship for capitalism and bla bla bla, but like I always remind you all- intelligent conversation is best found somewhere else.

Aaaaaanyway, "American Idol" is everyone's guilty pleasure, rock star fantasy, and train wreck come true. As much as most people hate it, they don't get the ratings they do from no one- someone is watching it. And someone is buying up all those Kelly Clarkson CDs and Carrie Underwood iTunes(es?) and googling David Cook everyday (wait, am I the only one who does that?). So, you know what I'm talking about and chances are you've seen an episode or two if you aren't in a complex awaiting the return of the messiah.

So. What I have to say to you is this:

I really like Ryan Seacrest. Like in an awkward uncomfortable sort of way.

It happens every year when Idol starts up. He smiles into that camera and says something corny and I get chills. I was jealous when he was mauled by Bikini Girl this year and I want to reach through the TV when he hugs those bubbly girls who come out of the room clutching their golden flyer.

Maybe it's that familiar face I see every night on E! that reminds me that things are going to be ok as long as he's around and bringing me the latest details about Suri Cruise.  Maybe it's his witty repoirte with Simon Cowell as he walks the line between friendly and flirty.  I don't know what it is, I don't know what is wrong with me.  But...

Seacrest is hot.

Awkward and questionably gay, too.

But so, so hot.