"My old best friend Heidi had gotten engaged to a TOTAL jerk, the Earth was destroyed in a nuclear holocaust...."

If you, too, are shamefully addicted to The Hills, you should really watch this.

And yes, I said shamefully, and I didn't mean to write shamelessly. Oh, no, I have TONS of shame that I can't get enough of this show. I hang on every word that Lauren Conrad says in her raspy-yet-come-hitherish voice. My insides well up with hot rage whenever Horse-Toothed Spencer comes on. Seriously, there has to be a plastic surgeon in L.A. that can reconstruct his lips so he doesn't have that stupid sneer all the time. And Heidi! She's such a brainwashed train wreck. I'm compelled to feel just a little bit sorry for her. But then she and Spencer do some more stupid shit, and I hate her all over again. And when Elodie told Heidi in the last episode that "she can't even tell right from wrong anymore," and that it's "so sad?" Oh my god. Awesome.

I think my favorite, though, is Audrina. She just seems to coast through life with fantastic hair and beautful skin, and a pair of gams I would sell my dog for. Even though Logical Me knows that her sweetness is probably stemming from the fact that she's sort of dim....whatever. I am actually pulling for her relationship with Justin Bobby to work out, even if he is a total chode.

Manhattan.

Man, what a downer of a post to leave up for so long. We will now return to our regular programming.

We'll call this post:
What I Learned From My Recent 3-Day Trip to Manhattan.

1) One of the biggest regrets of my life took place long, long ago, when my parents were ordering me my Big Girl Going Off To College Luggage. This was before rolling carry-ons were the Norm, and I remember my mom and dad saying something like, "Oh look, Em: they offer an option to have wheels put on your luggage. That would be convenient." To which I said: "Wheels? Why would I want wheels on my luggage?" Then I probably haughtily re-applied my Blue Raspberry LipSmackers and retreated to my room to call my friend Lizzy and whine to her about how lame my parents were.

Flash forward to Emily on 09/10/2007, fumbling around O'Hare with her ridiculous non-wheeled duffel bag, cursing under her breath at her Teen Stupidity. We'll just chalk that one up to being one of many things that, if I ever write an autobiography, will fit into a part of my history I like to call "Perpetual Head Up The Ass: Emily's Teen Years."

2) I overpack. My sister underpacks. We are polar opposites. Anyways, this led to a few foibles on our trip. Mine had to do with an emergency FedEx shipment of clothes I hadn't worn being sent to my parents, to allow space for new purchases. My sister's involved multiple trips to Duane Reed for Band-Aids to cover the blisters on her feet from her one pair of shoes, and being self-conscious that her business attire wasn't cut out for the flashy New York Business Scene, reinforced by a bum on the street calling her "elegant."

3) If they would let me, I would live at the Nintendo World Store. All I'd need were some Pokemon sheets, my plush Yoshi and a Nintendogs alarm clock. I would then spend the rest of my days laying in bed with the trusty DS, rotating between Animal Crossing, Brain Age and Picross.

4) My Midwestern urge to fill awkward silences with witty banter is completely lost on New York waiters and cashiers.

5) But the cabbies! Oh, the cabbies. All of my cab drivers were extremely nice, laughed heartily at my jokes, and were totally helpful. I want to think this is because they're just like that, but maybe word got around that there was a red-headed Midwesterner in Manhattan, who can't do simple math to make tips so was making up for it by just "rounding up." Waaay up.

6) Manhattan businesswomen are a whole breed unto themselves. A breed we like to call "Complete and Utter Bitch." I got practically knocked to the ground by not one, not two, but three different women while I was walking. However, the last one was worth getting hit by her Chanel bag, because that chick was busy having the most entertaining cell phone call I've ever had the pleasure of overhearing. She was talking all about "that selfish prick" who "practically broke up" with her that morning, so she "threw his cell phone out the window. That will show him. What a fucking bastard."

****

So that was what I learned from my brief trip to NY. I didn't take nearly as many photos as I should have, but that was mainly because if I stopped too many times to catch a picture, a Manhattan Businesswoman probably would have pinned me to the ground and eaten out my heart for some added protein before she hit the gym for 2.5 hours of elliptical.

New York: I love you. But you're so big - I'm going to have to visit you like 20 more times before I feel I've seen enough of you. But not until I save up some money, because Holy Shit, you are expensive.

Poor Babe.

Babe got her tumor biopsied today.



I felt funny adding photos of Babe with her tumor to the photo set I have of her on Flickr. Here's this set of Babe, right, and oh here, look: that's the tumor that might be cancerous and kill her. At the same time, though, it makes me feel better. Like maybe people will swap their kitty tumor stories with me and it'll make me feel a little less guilty/sad/powerless. Or something.

Sigh. I don't fucking know.

Downgrade.

So I don't know when my plan for tonight to "eat healthy and work out" morphed into "eat hawaiian salad for dinner and play DS on the couch," but I feel like Greater Beings were at work making this change. And whoever they are forgot to drop me the memo, until it was too late and all of my energy to do anything had been sucked out of my body through my nifty little stylus.

I will now slightly redeem myself by going and reading a book. And laying on the bed.

Alright, alright.

Ok.

Who do I have to kill or have sex with to score one of these guys?. My favorite out of the set, who I coined the Luscious Lip Monster and felt had charm that behooved a rendering in MS Paint, I believe already went to the uber-famous, witty, and delightfully self-depricating Mrs. Kennedy. I can't grieve too much; the LLM will have a good home with her.

But seriously: Erin. I can't afford a plane ticket to AZ. So is there someone you need snuffed out in or around Chicago, or a friend - preferably male - in the area that hasn't gotten any lately?

I will put out for Zombie.

So hey, guess what.

I was contacted by these guys to have this photo put in the book version of their website. I said sure, because, well, I mean, whatever. I was flattered. The site is cool, and I'm a sucker for people telling me I'm beautiful.

WeFeelFine.org, you had me at "Inbox: 1."