Crazy is the New Black (I Hope)

Okay, fine. I’m crazy. I get it now. My head, whirring around with constant thoughts of celebrities and shoes and schedules and lists, has taken over and it’s turning me into madwoman. Randomly, in the past month or so, I’ve just been kind of a mess of racing thoughts. I can convince myself to be paranoid about car rides or brain tumors or diabetes. I’ve literally talked myself into having everything from headaches to acne. So, natch, I decided that I’ve snapped.

Last month, I finally bucked up and visited a doctor and explained that “Doc, I've lost it, I think. I am driving myself crazy,” and then I just cried for no reason - Ugh, what a girl. She listened, was very nice, and explained that I am probably suffering from anxiety attacks. I helpfully suggested that maybe they should do a full body scan and maybe do some sort of extensive neurological testing to pinpoint exactly what is going on and how I can quit . She laughed off my suggestion and said “It’s really not uncommon. It’s not.” And then, as if to add insult to injury, she suggested that maybe working out would help. I was all “What are you, Jillian Michaels?” Instead of explaining to her that I simply don’t like working out and I don’t think it will make me feel better to do something I hate, I kind of just hung my head and nodded. Accepted my punishment.

So the doc was all “It could be stress” and “It could be a seasonal thing” and “It could be the fear of your future” and, my favorite, “It’s probably nothing.” So…uh…riiiiiiight…okay. None of that is really helping, here, lady. None of that changes the fact that all of a sudden, I’m freaking out over the protests in Wisconsin because I’m assuming they are going to lead to mutiny and then how will we stop the anarchy?! Wait, what? How did I get THERE, you ask? I have no idea…my mind just wanders and then BOOM. The worst-case scenario just sort of pops up and suddenly the purse I just bought isn’t cheering me up like it did yesterday because Wisconsin is ruining everything. RUDE. You can see why I think I’ve gone insane, right?

Anyway, so back at the doctor’s office. The very nice, patient, understanding doctor suggests I take some good ol’ anti-anxiety pills for the road. I interrupt her Rx writing, in protest. I explained that I don’t WANT to take medicine. I don’t know what it does exactly, and I’m worried it may interfere with my very infrequent use of Advil and cause a blot clot or something. She says, markedly less patient now, “You are the exact opposite of patients I typically see. But I’m giving you the lowest dose humanly possible. It’s not going to do anything except calm you down and interrupt your racing thoughts.” And, she assured me, it won’t turn me into a zombie, when I explain that my sister takes anti-anxiety medicine to fly, and then she just falls asleep for hours and that’s why she can’t fly alone.

Does this happen to any of you? Do you guys ever get into these modes where you just can't, like, LOGIC your way out of it? Good lord, I hope so because otherwise I'm a medical anomaly which greatly adds to my anxiety. I would love to hear your stories/reactions/suggestions if you've ever cartwheeled down the steep anxiety slope. You know what they say: insanity misery loves company!

Dear Santa: Here's Your Naughty List

I’m in a perpetual state of outrage today. I want to run to my window, rip off the plastic, and scream “I’m mad as hell, and I’m not going to take it anymore!” at the top of my lungs. What is going ON with people right now? Okay, so first, last night I read that an extremely talented Iowa Hawkeye football player, Derrell Johnson-Koulianos, was arrested for a number of drug violations. One of them was that he was LIVING IN A DRUG HOUSE. What a total moron…what a disappointment. Do people not learn ANYthing from other athletes who get arrested for stuff like that? And Brett Favre - HELLO!? Are you kidding me with the picture texts? Get it together, dudes.

Secondly, today I learned that the total JOKE that is the Justice System has failed again. Without getting into too many details, I’ll say this. The case Federated Insurance brought against my brother-in-law over 2 years ago has had a trial set for January on the books for over 6 months. Now that we’re getting close to FINALLY tasting justice, there appears to be a “scheduling error” and it’s been postponed. I think they mean “We still don’t have a shred of evidence that anything illegal has taken place.” In my opinion, I think they’ll be spending the holidays panicking, hiding their mistakes, and coming up with $25 words for “We’re effed”.

But what has really gotten my goad, the proverbial straw breaking my camel’s back, the sharp pain in my fleshy backside is Kanye West. I copied his latest album/musical self-gropefest last night from Geo’s iTunes (thanks, Home Sharing!) So luckily, I didn’t have to pay a cent for it. I listened to it today, and discovered a secret. The best parts of his songs are the parts featuring other performers. The collaborations. The non-Kanye self-aggrandizing parts. And as I skipped through his pukey auto-tuned sections, it hit me. Kanye West is truly a celebrity I would like to fall off the face of the planet.

At one time, I followed him on Twitter because I thought it’d be a nice break in the day to read some total bonkers, nutjob rambles. I was wrong. Instead, my Twitter feed would be full of his nonsensical hate-fueled threats to Matt Lauer, Taylor Swift, and other completely innocuous people. Get a different hobby, man. So, I unfollowed him (he’s probably still reeling). I just can’t take it anymore. The sad thing is that musically, he’s crazy-talented. But I just realized I don’t care anymore.

Chances are, a lot of “geniuses” were insane in the membrane a la Mr. West. Van Gogh should have been medicated before his chop-off-the-ol’-ear trick, and I’ve seen Amadeus enough times to know that Mozart was one note away from the loony bin. But these guys let their work speak for them. They didn’t have platforms like Twitter from which to spew their particular brands of madness. So, I wish Kanye would take a cue from those dudes, and fall into obscurity. He’s lost touch with reality, which is just cliche. He’s not the first, he’s not going to be the last. But now is the time to go the way of Lauren Hill and live inside his own private la-la-land.

So, between the d-baggery of athletes, the morally-suspect (if not illegal) actions of big companies, and the celebrities who prophesize themselves as if they are the second coming of Crystal Clear Pepsi, I am over it. Something has got to give. There's got to be a tipping point where people stop acting like idiots and start behaving like proper humans. Is that really too much to ask? I really hope not. If it is, I'm totally moving to Sweden like Elin did to get away from Tiger. Sounds like the Promised Land to me...

P.S. There is actually a great song called Runaway by Kanye West that would be PERFECT for this post, but I'm definitely not posting it. Plus, I think he took down all the "unauthorized" videos of his songs. Seriously. D-Bag.

Good Thing Hipsters Don't Read Blogs Anymore

I looked up the meaning of “hipster” today. That’s right, I went to good ol’ urbandictionary.com just so I knew for sure what I was saying when I snarl “UGH, HIPSTERS". Turns out, too many hipsters are web-savvy and know how to enter their own meanings on urbandictionary.com. Here are some gems:

“The Hipster walks among the masses in daily life but is not a part of them and shuns or reduces to kitsch anything held dear by the mainstream. A Hipster ideally possesses no more than 2% body fat.”

“…a subculture of men and women typically in their 20's and 30's that value independent thinking, counter-culture, progressive politics, an appreciation of art and indie-rock, creativity, intelligence, and witty banter.”

Okay, so riddle me this, Hipsters. Where, in all the definitions of “hipster” does it say you have to be a total D-Bag whilst shunning conventions? I had the unfortunate opportunity to wait in line at the grocery behind two hipsters last night, and I gotta say: Idiots. Total idiots. The guy and the girl were trying to scan a loose apple. For like 5 minutes. And they dawdled around like they were the only people in store. The guy was wearing glasses with no lenses in them (I could tell, because he stuck his finger through the frames to rub his eye) and French-rolled jeans with an ironic Polo tshirt on, as if he's trying to say, “Take THAT, societal norms! I am dressing like an 80’s homeless person and it’s cool because I am NOT FITTING IN!!” Yes, bravo, young lad. You’re really proving to everyone that you are different. By wearing exactly what all the other hipsters wear. COOL.

I know not all hipsters are like this. I know that there's a breed of wannabe-Hipsters, or Whipsters, who probably give the good ol’ fashioned hipsters - the creative, eccentric, tight-pants-wearing, advertising-firm-working, A Clockwork Orange-reading pioneers - a bad name.

But, much like crazy people, these Whipsters flock to me like I’m a half-off sale at American Apparel. There was the couple at the grocery store, the guy with fake glasses (what IS it with the fake glasses!?) who spilled his beer all over me at the bar who shrugged and said “Guess I need a refill”, or the moron walking through the DON’T WALK sign while I’m making a legal right turn. When I yelled “Don’t Walk, Hipster! Can‘t you read?!” He yelled back “Reading is for the bourgeois!” Okay, fine, he didn’t yell that, but if he had even remotely acknowledged the world around him, I imagine that’s what he would have said.

The point is this: I don’t care what you wear, what music you listen to, what your political views are, or how many pairs of leggings you have. I really don’t. But for the love of God, have a little basic awareness of those around you. You’re no more special than I am. You’re not. I don’t care how many times you’ve been to the Salvation Army to buy your clothes, or how you‘ve refused to eat anything but soy since 2003…you can’t just la-di-da around the world and ruin my day. I’m not asking you to go to med school, or eat a burger, or even [gasp] buy an American car. I’m just saying that you’re kind of just acting like jerks. Let’s pull it together, shall we?

(As an added bonus, and if there’s any question left as to what a “hipster” looks like, allow me to direct you to Look at this F&*#@!% Hipster for some ridiculous examples. It’s an awesome time suck, though not for people who are easily offended. For the record, this website was introduced to me by a rad dude who is, arguably, a hipster, Geo’s friend Guam.)

Stacy Square!!

Hey y’all!! Stacy here! I’m an alter-ego Pharon concocted once during college to help her cope with late night studying, and then I reemerged during one of her old jobs when she discovered REAL stress. I LOOOVE studying and working hard!! I have infinite energy, and Pharon has asked me to guest blog tonight because that wussy girl was too tired. Poor thing. But double YAY for me! I’m totally stoked to be here, you guys. And I know we’ll be fast friends for life! So, while Pharon snoozes the deep sleep of people who don’t want to enjoy every single second of life, I’m going to take over for her.

You guys? I am so loving life right now. Unlike Pharon, I woke up ready to get the day started! I love mornings! There is so much promise and hope to each new day. I enjoyed a beautiful run around the neighborhood, smiling at all my neighbors and handing out high-fives to all the wonderful kiddies on their way to school. I love other people's kids! Then I came home and paid all my bills - early. I spent hours doing my hair and putting on makeup and ironing my clothes.

Pharon never irons clothes. She doesn’t even know where the iron is. Does she know we even HAVE an iron? Poor thing, probably not. She’s such an adorable little mess...

Then I went on another run because I love exercise. Then off to the food shelter to feed the homeless! I just LOVE volunteering whenever I have a spare moment. I mean, what ELSE would I do? Watch T.V.? Grody. I have way too much energy to sit and stare at OTHER people living life.

So, these days I’m kind of busy. I’m getting a Ph.D. in English, Rocket Science, and Medicine. I mentor kids on the weekends and am a foster parent for abandoned pit bulls and rats. I’ve started my own business where I design and print my own wrapping paper, and it’s really catching on. Susan Sarandon is my biggest client. I love saving money and studying the stock market to fully understand how to best invest my money. I’ve just become fluent in Mandarin Chinese and sign language, and last night I was informed that I won both a Betty Crocker cook-off and an MTV VMA.

Even though I’m a little busier than usual these days, I totally jumped at the chance to guest blog for Pharon. She kept begging me, saying “Come on, man! I need you to do this for me. I worked all day and my head hurts from snarling at people all day.” Poor Pharon. Doesn’t she know that she’d have more energy if she just ate vegetables, smiled all day long, went on a couple runs everyday, and didn’t drink wine while she cleaned the house? (I don’t drink. Blech! Never touch the stuff. It slows down my brain and makes it difficult to do the complex math problems that I love so much.)

I’m the Angelina to Pharon’s Jennifer Aniston. I would totally adopt a billion kids, but right now, what with my house doubling as a halfway house for teen runaways battling depression, I just don’t have the space.

So, you can probably see why Pharon keeps me around right now. I like to step in and take over her life when she’s too tired or angry or uninspired. Though, she doesn’t have me come around a lot, because she also thinks I’m horribly annoying. Oh well! I have this awesome little feeling that Pharon will want me around a lot more now. I’m always ready to go, I’m up for anything, and nothing ever makes me mad. I think I might bring Pharon a glass of warm milk and maybe I’ll run out and buy her a Nature Sounds machine. I like knowing she’s getting a good rest. Meanwhile, I’ll off for a late-night workout session followed by a quick trip to Mars to search for elements that will cure cancer.

Okay, nice to meet y’all (BTW, I’m also selectively Southern)! I can’t wait to totally hang out again! I’ll bring some homemade scones! Hugs and Kisses!

<3 Stacy

Yes, I WOULD Like Some Cheese With This

I keep having this urge to whine incessantly lately. I don’t mean, like, complain and then elaborate on my emotions. No. I mean WHINE. Like a baby. My reaction to people, situations, and actions all evoke this “Waaahhhhhhhh” from my nose and throat that I haven’t realized, until now, even existed as a tone in my body. You haven’t posted pictures from Halloween yet? Wahhhhh. Geo starting a job where he’ll be working until 9 p.m. every night, thereby leaving me to the testosteroneless house alone? Wahhhhh. All my birthday ice cream cake is finally gone? Double Waaaaaahhhh.

I can’t stop it. It feels really good. It’s like when you’re sick with the flu or something, laying in bed and cradling a garbage can like a newborn child. And it feels really good to just roll around and moan. UGHHHHHHHH! UGHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH! You know, like a zombie? That’s my whining these days. It’s cathartic. It’s constant. It’s, as of yet, highly ineffective though.

So I’ve been whining a whole lot lately. Some might say I'm whining "too much". Wrong, jerks! Regardless, I started doing it, and now I can't stop. Maybe it’s because I feel like I’m stuck in this baby-onesie-sized world right now, and it's the most basal response available. Like, my house is feeling smaller and more crowded every day and I feel more and more claustrophobic. And I can’t open our fridge any more without like 6 random Tupperwares of leftovers spilling out and on to the floor. I just want the damn butter! WAHHHHHH! Plus my room is basically uninhabitable. The only surfaces not covered in clothes (Clean? Dirty? Who knows?) are my bed and the 1 square-foot of carpet in front of my mirror where I attempt to put on makeup in the morning. But it's too messy now, and I don't have time to clean it. Wahhhh!

As I mentioned though, this whining is not doing too much for me. It's just not a good color on me, and I'm sure it's really very obnoxious. And it hasn’t really urged anyone to alter their offending behavior, or change an undesirable answer. I don’t really care, though. It's working for me. I like how it calms down my face. Instead of sneering at the maddening person, I can just go all slack-jawed and whine. Less wrinkles that way, too. And when I’m all agitated and twitchy with frustration, the waaaaaaahhhhhhhhhh is like FOCUSING all those clumsy words into one sound. I’m actually ascending from the common language into a more complex yet simultaneously basic communication device. People do that crap in meditation all the time, right? Don’t hate me because I’m enlightened…

But maybe it’s because I’m regressing. I’m around entirely too many people who are way younger than me these days. Or maybe I’m like a bear, which hibernates into cozy catharsis in the winter, slowing down everything in his body. It’s like, “I’m not going to explain to you, at length, why you are irritating me, or why I think you and/or you’re idea is dumb. All I can muster is WAAAAHHHHHH and a half-assed attempt at swiping your picnic basket before trudging off to my cave for a 6 month nap.”

Whatever the reason is, I fear the WAHHHHHmbulance is here to stay. I like it. I like the guttural reverb, and the brief purification of emotions. It's lovely. I just wish people didn't hate it so much. God, why do people haaaate it??? Wahhhhhh...

Crazy People Have the Worst Manners

City living is great. I love 99% of it. What I DON'T love is the crazies that seem to gravitate towards me when I'm minding my own business, walking around downtown. I intend to prove here that I am, for reasons unknown to me, frequently the target of loud, ranting, cracked out rages. And I do NOT handle it well. I typically live by the motto “Live and let live”. But these unpredictable, obviously either over- or under-medicated people find ME, and hone in on me. I never know what to do or say, or how to act. What would YOU do in these situations??

Case #1: I was downtown waiting for my bus to go home from work, listening to my iPod. Three very homeless, very drunk, very loud people came and stood about 3 feet away from me. The 2 men were openly discussing the prostitution habits of the 1 woman (whose name I caught to be Mary). Then they all decided to go find some drugs, and the woman suggested using her “talents” to score. After deciding her skills were sorely lacking, the men wondered aloud, “Couldn’t we just steal a purse?” I clutched my Kate Spade tighter than I ever have in my entire life. My blood pressure nearly killed me when Mary came over to me, got right in my face, and spewed “Hey! HEY!” I took an earbud out of my ear. “Yes?” “What time does that [expletive deleted] #10 bus get here?” Me: “I don't know, sorry.” She snarled her toothless grin at me and spit out: “Bitch”.

Rude! But here comes the Crazy. The woman then went back with the men. Man #1 says, “Mary. Mary. You got some poo poo on your jacket.” Mary’s all “It ain’t poo! It’s…chocolate!” Man #2: You ain’t got no chocolate! It’s poo!” Mary’s all “IT AIN’T POO!” So, Man #1 takes a step towards Mary and says “Let me taste it.” HE PROCEEDS TO LICK THE MYSTERIOUS BROWN SMUDGE ON MARY’S JACKET. After a second, Man #1 smacks his lips and says, “Well, it’s definitely poo, but it ain’t yours.”

Oh. My. Gah.

Case #2: About a week ago, I again was waiting for my bus. A quiet, average-looking, albeit very smelly, couple was sitting on the curb next to me, passing what I assumed to be a crack pipe (Thanks, Intervention!) back and forth. I got a little nervous, and started to ease my way to another bus stop when the woman started screaming at me. “DON’T WALK AWAY FROM ME! I WANT MY [expletive deleted] MONEY AND MY KID BACK! DON’T MAKE ME CUT YOU!” And then she yelled like this for about 45 seconds. I froze. I had no idea what to do. I casually slowed down and peeked back over my shoulder at her. Turns out, she was yelling at a guy on a bike about a block away who, I’m assuming, she did not know. But the blood didn’t stop rushing to my head. What if she had a gun? What if she started to think I was the one with her baby/money? At that point, I was too freaked out to walk to another bus stop for fear I’d draw attention to myself and get “cut”. I just stood there, feet made out of cement, staring straight ahead and listening to the couple threaten everyone from the biker, to the stop sign, to the cabbie that passed by. I’ve never been angrier at my bus for being 1 minute late.

Final Case: Which brings me to this morning. I got off the bus, (SERIOUSLY! I need to find a new bus stop!) and started to walk to work. I noticed a very unstable man who I’ve seen before, and he was yelling at the top of his lungs about the racist people who "took his spot on the last NASA flight". I tried to cross to the other side of the street to avoid him, but he kind of jogged up behind me. I had my iPod on, of course, and pretended not to hear him when he screamed at me, “HEY GREY JACKET! GIMME A DOLLAR! I’LL TRADE YOU FOR $0.50!” Now, I’m no financial analyst, but it sounded like a pretty bunk deal to me. So, I kept walking. I heard him stop running and he yelled, “NEXT TIME, THEY TAKIN' ME UP IN THAT FANCY SPACESHIP AND YOU’LL BE SORRY!” I don’t even know what that means, but I’m worried for Buzz Aldrin.

Does anyone else have these run-ins in their neighborhood? What are people supposed to do? I feel like a bad person for being so, I don’t know, suspicious. I have GOT to stop watching Intervention and Drug Wars because I’m starting to suspect everyone has a gun and nothin’ to lose. And maybe I need to start driving to work. To hell with public transportation! If I get stabbed by a woman with poo on her jacket, I highly doubt anyone will say “Well, thank God she didn’t leave a giant carbon footprint!”

Braaaaains

Another weekend, another set of lessons learned. First off, fake blood is, well, not removable. But before I get to that very useful tidbit of information, I just want to say one thing. Saturday was the 3rd Angel Birthday for my niece Sophia who passed away from SIDS. I spent the day with my family at Pine Haven pumpkin patch. It was really wonderful to spend time together, enjoying the weather, and thinking of Sophia. And in addition to all this tragedy and grief, my brother-in-law is being sued and harassed by his former employer, Federated Insurance. And while I spent Saturday night with 8,000 people dressed up as zombies (again, more on that later), this disgusting excuse for a company is the real soul-less, blood-thirsty monster. I urge you, when you have the time, to check out my sisters blog at www.fedupwithfederated.com. Their actions are nothing short of merciless and evil. So, yeah, please check that out if you haven’t already.

Okay, so apparently every year for 6 years, people get dressed up as zombies and stagger around the West Bank moaning and yelling “Braaaaains!” I have never been on this Zombie Pub Crawl before, but this year, Ally and I went and bought the make up and got all zombified. Ally was a Zombie Geisha, and I was a Zombie Mental Patient. And we. Looked. Good.







Another lesson I learned was that when they advertise “drink specials for zombies” what they really mean is “No drink specials, and in fact, Pharon, beer is way more expensive than you thought.” So, my wallet is significantly lighter…and bloodier. Yeah, there was a lot of fake blood around. And it got all over me. I had some that I applied myself, but I came home with a lot more of it. It’s still on me. It like STAINED my skin. My hands, legs and stomach all looked like I was slapped repeatedly. So yeah, I don’t know how to get it off. Note to future zombies: Don’t put fake blood on anything you can’t cover up for work on Monday.

But it was a pretty fun night. Seeing 8,000 people dressed up as everything from Zombie Santas to Zombie Marilyn Monroes staggering around the city, moaning and begging for braaaains was quite a sight. And being part of it was great. One bonus of dressing as a zombie for a Saturday night was that I was really comfortable. I wore scrubs and a white t-shirt with flip flops. It was like wearing pajamas. And there was cheering going on, which I love at any event. “What do we want?” “BRAAAINNS!” “When do we want ‘em?” “BRAAAINNS!”

But, now all I want is bed. And when do I want it? Now.

Wednesday Winner

I don’t have the energy to build this up the way it deserves. I just got back from an awesome Book Club, and I’ve got a lot on my mind. So, without further ado, I now present: THE WEDNESDAY WINNER!!



Polygamists! Yay! One man, several wives. Listen, I don’t get it. I really don’t. I just recently accepted the whole idea of one person + one spouse. So why you’d ever want more than one, I don’t know. But polygamy is the “Jon and Kate” of this season. Remember all those shows with parents who had like a zillion kids? Well, now it’s a zillion spouses. It’s everywhere these days. Tina and I have seen approximately a half dozen shows about polygamy this week. And let me tell you: it’s hilarious.

I mean, not only is polygamy illegal, it’s just unfortunate. But for some reason, these people really think it’s the bee’s knees. Some dude decides that he needs tons of wives to fulfill his spiritual destiny. Who am I to judge? Well, when you put it on TV, I get to be a judge. There’s a new TV show called Sister Wives where three women are married to some dude. They love it. One of them basically admitted that she could never just be married to a man. She’d be unhappy. She needs “sister wives”. In most other situations, someone would tell that poor woman to maybe just not marry that guy. It doesn’t seem like a good situation when you marry someone, hoping that at least one other person will come in to take some of the heat off.

But, as I mentioned, Tina and I have learned a lot about polygamy this week. For some reason, these shows are hot like fire. All these women sit around and talk about how they are soooo happy to be the “third wife” or the “sixth wife”. What? They just hang out and wait for their night with their husband. Until then, they just kind of raise their hundreds of kids. It’s the weirdest thing to me.

So, this week, this whole Polygamy thing made for some good conversations in the Pharon Square household. I now have 2 girl roommates and one male roommate. The chicks rule the roost. I can’t, for the life of me, understand why someone would choose that lifestyle. All that estrogen!! It’s so…so…undesirable. But again, the whole polygamy thing is the trend of the season. Polygamy is the new black, apparently. And it’s fascinating. It’s new. It’s funny. It’s not me. Which is why, this Wednesday, I declare polygamists the Wednesday Winner. They make me laugh, and more importantly, they make me happy I’m not them. Congratulations, polygamists! I don’t know how you’ll split this honorable award, but I’m sure you’ll find a way. You always do…

And the Emmy Goes To...

Okay, VH1, I give. I love you and your incessant way of showing sub-par shows until my eyes glaze over and the remote drops from my hand. The way you frequently show them in marathons makes my heart swell. What they’ve figured out at VH1 is the golden rule of television programming. Air mediocre shows, and air them all the time.

Yes, any network can take a whole host of top-notch actors, pay them buttloads of money, and spend millions of dollars on writers and editors and create a great show. Go right ahead, NBC. But what VH1 has managed to do is completely remove the quality cast members, the big budget locations, and those pesky plot lines. And people flock to audition for these shows. Willingly. Repeatedly.

There are three types of shows on VH1, as far as I can tell. There’s the Redemption Shows featuring formerly quasi-famous people making one last stab at their 15 minutes of fame. This includes shows like Celebrity Rehab, Celebrity Fit-Club, Surreal Life, Flava of Love, Rock of Love. To an extent, any of the “I Love the 80‘s, 90‘s or New Millenium shows also fit in here, based on the questionable quality of social commentary given by D-listers like Hal Sparks, Mo Rocca, and Biz Markie. I wonder if they work for Rubik's Cubes and Backstreet Boys Cds.

Then there are the shows that launch the careers of so many impetuous young men and women who will eventually end up back on the Redemption shows (ah, the circle of life). These are shows like Tough Love, The OCD Project, The Pick-Up Artist, and You’re Cut Off. Personally, these are my fave. The cast members are on their way to their own show a la Flava Flav. It’s like I’m watching the process of concentrated carbon turning into a diamond. Or, whatever makes cubic zirconia. You start with no-namers, pick a quick and vague theme, have Dr. Drew appear in some way, then just throw in a twist or ten. All hell breaks loose. Stars (or black holes, whatever) are born.

Finally, there’s actual MUSIC on VH1. Yes, people. There is a Music Video Countdown Show, and every morning they air Jump Start. These are shows that feature ACTUAL MUSIC VIDEOS. A concept that once ruled the world sadly disappeared after Carson Daly started going grey. Bands pay big bucks to make videos! Where are they airing them!? The answer, my friends, is from 5 a.m. - 8 a.m. every weekday morning on VH1. And lest ye forget, VH1 also brought Pop-Up Video into my life. My one suggestion to the programming geniuses at VH1, if I may be so bold, is to bring back Pop-Up Video. Immediately.

I don’t need more medical dramas. And until they make CSI: Minneapolis and fire David Caruso, I’ll pass. My one beloved scripted show, Lost, is gone forever, and I don’t get HBO. So unless you want me to slit my wrists, please stop asking me if I watch True Blood. I don’t. I watch The Top 100 Songs of the 90s.

NO WIRE HANGERS!

At the risk of sounding crazy, I have to tell you guys something: I think I’m crazy. Today at work, for zero reason at all, I just got overwhelmed with questions and sounds, freaked out and just mentally shut down for a few hours.

Everything and everyone was agitating me. And it’s not even like normal annoying stuff either. For instance, I was really really upset that the air conditioning at work was giving my legs goose bumps because I just shaved this morning. All those seconds of hard work and razor burn for nothing! GOD!

Also, I was wearing pants that were too big, and a shirt that’s a bit too small, which caused major annoyances at my waistline. And whoever made these pants also sewed the stupid buttons and zipper on the wrong side and slightly off-center. Don’t they know anything?

Suddenly my skin felt too small for my body, my fingers wanted to throw up, and it was not out of the question that I would start hurling profanities at the biography of Mister Rogers that sits on my desk.

Why do I get like this? Is it the weather? The long work week I’ve already had? Biology (you know what I mean, ladies…)? Or is this like the first sign of insanity? I AM at the age where all kinds of mental disabilities come to the surface, after all. Is this how schizophrenia starts? There was definitely a moment today when I think I may have heard a voice in my head saying “God, you’re weird.” What if, when I thought I was out to dinner with Geo, I was really by myself? I mean, things definitely calmed down as soon as I got home and started talking to Geo and Sanna. Ohmygod, what if Geo and Sanna are just alternate personalities manifested as roommates?! Surely someone would tell me, though. Right? RIGHT?

I can just see it now. Years from now, people will tell stories like “Well, I knew she was crazy back when she started talking about her ‘roommates‘ all the time, when she really lived alone,” or “Remember the summer of 2010 when she was still pretty normal, but she got super angry at buttons and zippers??” I would hate to end up on E! True Hollywood Story (why I’d be on, I don’t know….) and hear my mom tearfully say something like “She was such a happy girl. And then all of a sudden, she would only wear spandex and she never shaved her legs again.” My dad would hold her hand, and say something like, “Martha, we did the best we could. The girl was just never quite right.”

Then again, maybe it’s stress.

On Why I Can't Respect Lindsay Lohan

Last week, I put a hilaaaarious status up on Facebook. “I just can’t stop thinking about Lindsay Lohan in jail. I hope she’s okay.” See, it's funny because it's not true. I can’t stand Lindsay Lohan. I think she’s irritating and bland. She’s made some mediocre movies, put out an album (allegedly…has anyone actually heard it!?), she was like a pseudo-lesbian for a minute, and she just does all these other almost-totally wackjob things, but she doesn’t do anything 100%. It’s like the kid’s got no heart.

For instance, Amy Winehouse really gave the whole drug addiction her all. She weighed like 23 pounds, all of which was in her hair, got some weird tattoos, and started talking to people who weren’t there. And yet, she’s an incredibly talented musician. That’s a girl I can get behind. I’ll buy her next album (if there ever IS a next album). I mean, I bought Britney Spears’ album after her hair grew back, someone removed all sharp objects from her house, and her dad tightened up on her funds previously allotted for mushrooms. The girl knows how to put on a show, and that’s a success story I’ll support.

But little Lindsay Lohan. My God, woman. Take some pride in your work. She can’t even stay in jail for 100% of the time she’s supposed to. At least she had the decency to take the time to write “F*&K OFF” on her fingernail for her sentencing hearing. Atta girl, Lindsay!

My feeling about celebrities is this: whatever you do, do it big. (Caveat: The only exceptions to this rule are people like Mel Gibson, Screetch and Spenser Pratt. These guys are certifiably insane, yes. They went directly to Crazy and never looked back. But I just plain don’t care about them. I mean, drug-addiction, political rants, unfortunate mugshots, and drunken nuptials are one thing. Racist and sexist rampages, ugly facial hair, and pathetic publicity stunts are quite another. These things are simply unforgivable.)

Am I asking too much? I think not. I’m just saying that hey, if you’ve got a major character flaw and you can’t seem to stop flashing the paparazzi when you get out of the car, embrace it. By all means, go ahead and start a fight with that plate of chili fries. But tomorrow, show up to work on time and bring enough of those chili fries for the whole cast. And yes, go right ahead and have illegitimate kids and/or "sexcapades". But at the very least, get your butt on Oprah, look nice, and talk about your other projects! That’s all. Robert Downey Jr. can do it. Madonna and George Michael have done it about 30 times. Even Brad Pitt. He’s dating a vampire who spawns babies just by spreading her wings in foreign countries, but the man puts out good movies. It all works because they work. And they work hard. Which, in turn, makes me care.

Is it really getting to the point where I have to root for the sober musicians, the un-tortured actors with healthy egos strictly in tact? Ugh, I really hope not. I don’t know where Tom Hanks is, and Kelly Clarkson hasn’t had an album out in years…

So, Lindsay, the rule of thumb is if you’re going to be a disrespectful, lazy, egotistical, adderall-popping junky, at least have the decency to be an actual actress.

I Put the "Ph" in Phobias

For no particular reason, here’s a list of some irrational fears I have.

* Wearing dirty clothes and not knowing it. I put on a pair of pants a few days ago before work, and if I had not had the, eh hem, hindsight to check out my own butt in the mirror, I might not have seen the giant spot from God knows what plastered into the left cheek of the pants. I wonder what shirt goes best with humiliation. I also get scared of staining clothes in an unfortunate place. I once spilled my red Crystal Light on my lap. Had I not been wearing black pants, I would have just about died from embarrassment.

* Not having enough money at a check-out. There is nothing more frustrating than being behind someone at the grocery store who either doesn’t have enough cash on hand, or their credit card isn’t working properly. I fear that I am going to be that person holding everyone up behind me, hearing their murmurs of disgust, “She shouldn’t be buying all those bagels and bottles of wine if she doesn’t have money.” The worst part of this fear manifests itself in parking lots where you pay as you exit. I check out my cash situation before I even park, and then I spend a few minutes making sure I’ve got more than enough again before I leave, and that I have it ready in my hands before pulling up to the booth. The fear that I may have to back up, potentially causing a line of other drivers to do the same thing, re-park, and get out and find an ATM is palpable.

* Eating a Band-Aid. The only thing worse than finding a Band-Aid in your food at a restaurant is not finding the potential Band-Aid. Since I’ve never actually found one in my food, I have put myself in danger of having eaten like a dozen in my lifetime.

* Feet. This is no secret to anyone who knows me. I hate feet. I can’t look at them, I can’t stand it when people look at mine, and, under no circumstances, are feet to come in direct contact with any parts of my skin. Feet are horrible. They smell. They’re either bony and bumpy, or thick and swollen. They have all kinds of rough areas. So I’m pretty much on constant alert for any offending feet in my immediate area. When my mom is feeling particularly wicked, she’ll poke me on the leg with her toe and I’ll freak out. The one exception to this fear? My niece’s feet. Her toes feel like little pieces of rice, and smell like her cotton socks. They’re soft and I simply don’t mind them at all.

* Inadvertently Stealing. I can walk around Target for hours. I like wandering from department to department. And by the time I get to Electronics, I’ve forgotten that the lip balm I picked up in Cosmetics is in my hand, not my basket. So I’ll start piling my stuff on the conveyer belt to check out (only after making sure to have enough money, btw) and I’ll come thisclose to dropping the lip balm in my purse to free up my hands. I’m terrified that I’ll be walking out of the store, alarms will sound, and I will be caught stealing $3 lip balm.

You Are Not Reading This

I went to see the movie Inception with Geo tonight. If you feel like having your mind blown, or you’re just sick of having some speck of grasp on reality, definitely see it. The premise of the movie is that a bunch of dudes (and the wonderful Ellen Page) construct dreams, and then enter them and go messing around in them. Mind trip.

So I came home thinking about paradoxes. You know, “a true statement or group of statements that leads to a contradiction or a situation which defies intuition” (thanks, Wikipedia!) For instance, if you go back in time and kill your grandfather, you’d never be born which would then mean that you could never go back in time because you’ve killed your grandfather and you don’t exist. But if you didn’t exist, you wouldn’t go back in time to kill your grandfather, and you would still be born.

Yeah, I’m deep like that.

Okay, so I’m thinking about all this after the movie. I’ve got all these circular logic thoughts running a marathon in my brain, and just when I start to get to the point where I’ve almost lost my mind and have started considering that I am, in fact, living in a dream within a dream, and I’ve briefly grasped the concept of infinite space and time, Geo starts talking to me about skiing movies. And he asks who I want to invite skiing with us next year.

I almost screamed “Next year?! How do you know that next year isn’t actually tomorrow!? If we make plans to go skiing, what happens if we DON’T go skiing? What will happen to the world then?!” and other toooootally normal questions.

Let’s get something straight here. I’m no mathematician. I never exactly thrived in Science, either. I like literature and ideas rather than finite truths. I’m not that big on “The Right Answer” (as my high school math tests will prove). And every once in awhile, I possess the ability to blow my own mind because of this. I don’t mean that I get all existential and go pondering the meaning of life, but I do appreciate a really awesome moment of “Um, wait. Let me get this straight…” and then spend a handful of minutes considering things like the Butterfly Effect. The problem is actually saying these things out loud to people. Especially people smarter than me. I’d hate to explain my idea of, say, how big the universe is to some brainiac who‘s studied Astronomy since he was wearing Jetsons underoos. I prefer meddling around in my own head and trying to figure out my own meaning of what I know and believe.

What do I know and believe? I know that I know nothing, and I believe I’m correct.