 Shirtless Lucas |
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My friend just called and sounded amusingly groggy as she reported that she's lying in the hospital watching Days of Our Lives at three centimeters dilated. If hearing Sami scream her lungs out at John Black in a rainstorm as he does some more Matrix-style slow-motion bullet dodging isn't enough to send her straight to ten, I don't know what is. I'm really hoping that she can hold out another five hours or so because I really want to be there to take the party pics. I told her I couldn't promise that I won't pass out or puke but that I'll do my best to reign it in. I have a fat-assed headache right now. My face is sporting a lovely case of leprosy right now due to the fact that I finally bucked up and went to the dermatologist. He put me on Retin-A and Benzaclin, and frankly, I'm a little scared of both, but what are you going to do? Sport zits and a perpetual oil slick for the rest of your life? No ma'am! I'm assured that this peeling will not last forever, and it's really only my chin, but boy, is it unattractive. I have this to say about American Idol and this only: if LaToya doesn't win, it's all a crock. It's all a crock anyway, surely, but she is so clearly the best that I can't even be entertained by this shit for much longer. Of course, everyone loves George Huff and I thought he was so endearing last night that I wanted to crawl through the television and kiss the top of his sweaty bald black head, but LaToya is so far and away better than these bozos that I can't even stand it. She sounded great last night and shame on everyone for not recognizing that -- even though her song was admittedly kind of blah. Jon Peter Lewis and John Stevens are a joke. I really think that in the end, it's going to have to come down to George Huff if only for the fact that they can't kick out all the guys and he's so much better than those two and he's so likeable and either LaToya or Fantasia. I don't know why I continue to watch this nonsense, but I do. I couldn't even watch Diana DeGarmo last night because all I could think about was the dance that Shelley and I had to do to that song as eighth grade cheerleaders and it produced such painful flashbacks that I nearly swooned. I simply must say more about Days of Our Lives. It seems lately that nary a day goes by when Melissa and I don't touch base as if to pinch each other, like, "Is this really happening?" Did Marlena really just kill Alice by force-feeding her one of her famous donuts? Are they actually defaming the visage of dearly departed Macdonald Carey in order to make Tom Horton's ghostly head float around Salem issuing warnings about the Serial Stalker? Are we really being forced to endure the likes of the intolerable Jan Spears and the spectacularly pointless Lockhart family at the expense of slain characters like Jack, Tony, et al.? Most importantly, why are we still watching this garbage? And then one of us reminds the other that it's simple. It's all about shirtless Lucas. 
About this time in ...
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