That's Crap and You Know It

The fact that it is only Tuesday can only point to one thing: The universe is clearly against me. The fact that Eva Longoria claims to be addicted to Krispy Kreme donuts and admittedly eats dozens at a time can only point to one thing: She's clearly spending as much time vomiting as she is eating. I like a gal who's got a plan. All this time I was just eating and letting my body digest the food. That's one point for bulimia, and zero points for having a brain and a flawless esophagus.

I was reading through the best and worst fashion pages from this past Sunday's Emmy Awards and was blown away by the ridiculousness of the headings. "Desperate Housewives Set New Trend of Strapless Evening Gowns!". Seriously? I guess they're right though. It's been like a week since you've seen somebody in a strapless gown at an awards show. That's one point for the vapid and fabulous, zero points for common frickin' sense.

Sometimes I want to be a red carpet reporter, just so I can tell everyone on it how insanely ridiculous they look, sound, and are in general. And then I would eat an entire box of donuts in front of them and watch their amazement at the fact that I can hold them down without consulting a therapist or visiting the ladies room with the back of a toothbrush in hand.

I don't know though. Maybe if I had nothing to do all day but work out and obsess over how my thighs look on network television - maybe I would eat nothing but egg whites and notebook paper, but I prefer to think that I would just probably exercise a little more than I do now (which is absolutely never) and then tell Star Jones and Joan Rivers to kiss my humongous ass.

Uh oh. There goes my modeling deal with Abercrombie. And to think I went to all that trouble to get a lobotomy for nothing.

Maggie