My Own Planet

Sex and the Screaming
Actually, not a lot of sex and way too much screaming, courtesy of Sarah Jessica Parker, who could learn a thing or two from Jennifer Love Hewitt. (And while we're at it, they could both learn a thing or two from normal celebrities who only use two names, or better yet, just one, like Madonna.) Anyway, as much as I loved the first three seasons of SATC, I must say, I am really not a fan of the fourth. I'm just glad I'm only paying $5 a month for HBO instead of shelling out the 60 bucks when it comes out on video. So far, Carrie has managed to scream hysterically in nearly every episode, mostly over things that aren't even worth screaming about (i.e. squirrels). And while I thought SJP's fake screaming was cute the one time she did it last season, it has quickly become quite annoying. It's like Ramona Quimby's father used to say: First time it's cute, second time it's funny, third time it's a spanking. Or something like that.

As for shows I actually like and founded Preservation/Appreciation Societies for (no, I am not making that up), I am totally psyched for the Saved by the Bell E! True Hollywood Story. I can't believe I actually know someone who got to have lunch with Mark Paul Gosselaar and Tiffani Amber Thiessen. (Again with the three names! What is with you people?)

And finally in television news, those of you who were wondering whether Will & Grace was on its way to becoming Will & Grace & Leo--it seems your answer is yes.

What a world, what a world
The holiday torture so feared by me in the previous post actually turned out to be not that bad, as my dad got violently ill the night before Thanksgiving and couldn't make the journey to my grandparents' house. (He's better now, in case you're concerned.) My mom still grilled me in the manner of an FBI agent, but fortunately, I was eating at the time, so I was able to just stuff my mouth full of turkey and nod. Then I distracted everyone with old family pictures until it was time for them to go home! Brilliant! Then I watched The Wizard of Oz with my grandparents and they both talked about how they had gone to see it in the theater (or, as my grandmother still says, "the picture show") when they were little.

Things to be thankful for: Sex and the City comes on in 20 minutes, I still have 2 hours of taped shows that I was too busy to catch last week, four new magazines and a book and a half that I have left to devour, and more than 15 hours until I have to face the crazed holiday shoppers at Pottery Barn.

Number of days left in mourning period over lack of job (i.e. number of days until I force myself to get off my ass and start looking for jobs again): 5
Number of days in mourning period that I suspect my parents will unceremoniously torture me about lack of job, thereby intensifying mourning period: 1
Number of days left in life (according to The Death Clock): 20,638

Here are some questions to ponder: Did I go to see Rounders with Holly freshman year? If not, why not? And if so, why don't I remember it? Also, what prank did Kristin Buel and I play on Adrian, and why don't I remember that either? What is wrong with my long-term memory?? And does Dave Alexander think I have a drinking problem?

No time to find the answers to these and other questions. Must go to start my new job at Pottery Barn. What a thrilling life I do lead.

Good things about Christmas songs on the radio all the time: They actually play jazz on FM.
Bad things about Christmas songs on the radio all the time: They also play a disproportionate amount of Mariah Carey and Celine Dion.

I wonder if Kristin Buel's mom reads my blog. I do not know Kristin Buel's mom, but somehow this makes me nervous.

Reality bites
Number of job offers this week: 2
Number of rejections from jobs this week: 3

I should mention that both job offers were for holiday retail jobs, and all three job rejections were for actual full-time magazine jobs. So apparently this prestigious degree I have from the Missouri School of Journalism inherently qualifies me to work in retail but not, as it were, in journalism.

If you go to North Carolina State University, you were apparently the 1,000th visitor to my blog. Congratulations! I'm not even going to labor under the pretense that I'm giving you a reward because I'm fairly certain I don't know who the hell you are.

Might as well face it, I'm addicted to...TV
Yes, that's right: not love, not crack cocaine. I am addicted to television. I'm sure you all can obviously tell from the amount of writing I do about television on this blog that I like it a great deal. But it is only recently that I've realized that my love for television is in fact an addiction. You know how some people get addicted to alcohol or drugs to escape the things that are wrong with their lives? Yeah, that's what I do with TV. And I personally think it's a better escape because not only is it mindless, but it also lets you live vicariously through someone else for a while, thus forgetting about your own problems. Also, I suppose it's a bit healthier than cocaine. I just really wish they had warned me about this in the D.A.R.E. program.

By the way, just because I'm suffering from this crippling addiction doesn't mean I know what the hell is going to happen with Will & Grace any more than the rest of you do.

OK, so I just cried for the entire last 10 minutes of Will & Grace. The sad thing is, I probably would have cried even more if Eric McCormack hadn't looked so stupid in that yarmulke. What is wrong with me??

Ladies Who Lunch
Today, I got to skip work for most of the day to attend the Birmingham Antiques Show, sponsored by our magazine and the Junior League. Which means I got to spend most of the day with the titular Ladies Who Lunch. I think I was the only person there without a designer handbag. Anyway, some highlights of the day:

-During the flower arranging demonstration, some dried lavender caught on fire in a mason jar right in front of where our staff was sitting, and Stacey, our office manager, attempted to put it out while the rest of us cracked up.
-At lunch, I witnessed a Junior League member nearly get run over by a guy pushing this huge cart full of bottled water.
-After lunch, my co-worker Tina and I walked around the show, which mostly involved us making small talk with the lady at the food samples table so we could stand there eating the food samples, and drooling over a brand new BMW Z4 convertible.
-During a presentation by interior designer Dan Carithers, he uttered the following phrase: "Creamware is a jealous mistress."

Ah yes, mischief and mayhem at the Birmingham Antiques Show! Unfortunately, tomorrow, I have to stay in the office and actually do work. Ugh.

Industry news
God, what a boring title. It looks like something that would be on Adrian's blog. (Just kidding, Holovaty.) Seriously, though, it has been a big week so far in my little blogging universe. So, in case you haven't been keeping up:

Dave Alexander started a blog. And then absolutely everyone else beat me in saying how cool this is.
Heather's blog, "Enrique and the Butter," is turning out to be even better than I expected and has pretty much ensured that I will no longer be getting e-mails with subjects like "Do you want me to kill you, my little watermelon seed?"
Hannah has not yet had the baby, but I fear she may be traumatizing it by subjecting it to excessive viewings of Law & Order. Only time will tell.
Kate reveals that she had a crush on Michael Jackson at age four. Something tells me she and Chase would have been great friends at that age, had they only lived in the same state.
Speaking of Chase, 20 bucks says he never moves to L.A. Ten bucks says he does move to L.A. just to spite me for that remark.
Anne, much like me, revels in the joy of blogging peer pressure. And writes a story about giving sedatives to a cat. Anne, darling, please get some sleep.
Holly expounds on the age-old maxim that money can't buy you love (or something like that), and tries to conceal her bitterness at having chosen a far inferior hosting site for her blog.
Doug covets statues. All together now: "What the...?"
Justin still does not update. Sigh. I blame Jen Moeller. Then again, I like to blame Jen Moeller for most things, including but not limited to why I can't read anything with out wanting to copy-edit it and why I can't go into a Thai restaurant without nearly having flashback panic attacks about the John Pham incident.

Queen of Peer Pressure
Yes, that is my official title now. Heather "The Butter" Janes has also finally caved and started her own blog, which I predict will be highly entertaining, much like "The Butter" herself. In her premiere entry, she mentions her two great loves, butter and Enrique Iglesias (I suggested she call the blog "Die, Anna Kournikova, Die!" but she obviously was not a fan of my blog titles either). To think, when I first met her, the two great loves of her life were Val Kilmer and toast. She has come a long way indeed.

Why does this stuff always happen to me?
So this morning I went to the YWCA to volunteer for our intern community service project. When I got there, I told the woman I was with Southern Progress, and she just looked confused and asked me something about domestic violence. I was like, "I don't know," and then her face lit up and she was like, "Oh! Are you a volunteer?" The more I think about this, the more I am convinced that this woman thought I was there because I was seeking shelter from domestic violence. God, are the circles under my eyes really that bad?? I know I didn't sleep well last night, but still. Perhaps I should invest in some concealer.

Then, on my way out of the office this afternoon, I said good-night to the night watchman, just like I always do, and he usually just responds with, "You have a nice night." Well, tonight he started going on and on about cake and whether not I had gotten a cake. I said, no, that I had not gotten a cake. He asked me if I liked pound cake, and I said yes. Then he told me that he would bring me one, and I could just put it in the oven and cook it for so many minutes. I was like, "OK, great!" and then left. I am so confused. Why is this man giving me a cake?? Is he giving everyone a cake, or just me? I have no idea what's going on.

It's a blog!
After my constant urging, Hannah has started her own blog. Yaaay! Never underestimate the value of peer pressure! Hannah will be having a baby any day now, hence the title of her blog. She did not, as I suggested, name the blog "Get This Damn Baby Out of Me Already!" Also, she is not, as our friend Heather suggested, going to name her baby The Butter. Heather, meanwhile, is still considering that as a possible name for her future child (although the rest of us are praying fervently that she doesn't procreate).

What dreams may come
Holly's dream about her teeth falling out made me think about one time when I was reading about dream analysis in Seventeen, and they were talking about teeth falling out as a common symbol in dreams. I thought to myself, "That is so dumb. Who would ever have a dream that their teeth were falling out?" And that very night, I did in fact have a dream that my teeth were falling out. (I'm sure you couldn't see exactly where that story was going.)

Anyway, according to the dream dictionary on Oxygen.com (note: I am not in the habit of reading Oxygen.com, it's just the first thing that popped up when I typed "dream + teeth falling out" into Google), this is what teeth falling out means:

In Freudian theory, the loss of teeth is related to anxiety about the penis, possibly castration fears. Dreams of losing teeth are common as we grow up and older. They may symbolize transition and/or the aging process; loss of power/potency (also typical with respect to a work situation); emotional injury.

Umm...I would venture to say that Holly's dream is probably not about the first part of that paragraph. I wonder what it means when you have two hours to take a math test, but your sister and your senior English teacher are at your house and they won't shut up so you can get the math test done, and then your dad comes to try to take the math test away from you, but you yell at him and try to hide because you only have like 5 of the 37 problems done. I think it means that I'm glad it's the weekend.

Q: What is the perfect way to spend a Friday night when it's raining, you're exhausted, and you've had a hectic day at work?
A: Put on your pj's, eat ice cream for dinner, listen to David Gray, then curl up in your bed and watch a movie. Speaking of which...

To Justin, for his homework:
The sexiest scene in modern cinema is the dance scene in The Thomas Crown Affair (the re-make, not the original). And if you have to ask why, well, um, give my condolences to Kristin.

Happy Appropriate Music Day
Yes, that's right, I have proclaimed today Appropriate Music Day because my radio has behaved in a very swell manner today by agreeing to play songs that were very appropriate for the actions that I happened to be engaged in at the time. It woke me up today with "Walking on Sunshine" by Katrina and the Waves, and my rush-hour drive home was accompanied by Limp Bizkit's "My Way." Good job, radio! I expect you'll go back to your usual sub-par behavior tomorrow.

In other music news, I have found a brand new song to fall in love to--"Be Mine" by David Gray--thus replacing Norah Jones's "Come Away With Me" as Official Song to Fall in Love To. However, this cannot be considered part of Appropriate Music Day as my current love life consists of living vicariously through the cast of Felicity, which is to say that it is nonexistent. So unless Scott Speedman suddenly shows up on my doorstep, I'll have to file this one away for future use.

Note to Scott:
Don't worry. I got up to the door of the Notorious G-A-P and remembered all the nightmares I've had that I was working there, coupled with that pained look I used to see on your face as you folded white T-shirt after white T-shirt. So I didn't even turn my application in, which is too bad because my fake answers were pretty damn good. I did get a call from Pottery Barn, though, and I'm afraid I could never say no to them because the truth is, I would sell my soul for a red ultrasuede slipcover and a Manhattan leather armchair, and perhaps a substantial employee discount would ensure that I don't have to do that.

The wily Ukranian strikes again!
I should have known Holovaty would try to claim my prize. If said prize was actually something more substantial than just a congratulatory e-mail from Paul and free advertising on his blog, I suppose I would have to call for a recount. As is, I am content to share my glory with Adrian.

Celebrate good times, c'mon!
Hey, remember that time on Friends when Ross wanted to play "Celebration" by Kool and the Gang on the bagpipes at Monica and Chandler's wedding? That was funny. Even though I think David Schwimmer has let his character get stupid beyond belief, sometimes I do still have to laugh at Ross.

Actually, the point of this post was not to reminisce about Friends, but to express my joy that this week seems to be going far, far better than last week. Here are some of the reasons why:

-I got a free review copy of "Shopaholic Ties the Knot," which is good because a) I need a book to read, even if it is a silly book, and b) we almost never get fiction books because we're an interior design magazine
-Karen, our editor-in-chief, stopped me today to tell me that she really liked an article that I wrote
-Had a pretty good interview tonight at Eddie Bauer, although I kind of hope I don't get the job because the manager said I would have to work on Christmas Eve and the day after Christmas, which would be a problem because I was kind of planning on being in Kentucky then. I guess I could always quit right before Christmas, but that feels wrong.
-Managed to get about 10 holes in my tights BUT managed to a) stop them using clear nail polish and b) cover them up by using a black pen to draw on my exposed skin. Hmm...did not think to check if either pen or nail polish was non-toxic before putting them on skin, so I might die, which would definitely be bad. But I probably won't.
-Heard from people in Michigan today re: potential job, and they still haven't made a decision yet. Even though I do not really want this job, this gives me hope that maybe the people at the jobs that I do actually want are still making a decision and are not in fact blowing me off as I thought last week.
-Even though I did technically hit a car on my way home from work, I was only going like 1 mile an hour, so there was no damage, and the lady was very nice and didn't try to pretend that there was damage.
-Downloaded songs from the new David Gray CD to listen to until I have enough money to buy it, and they are very good.
-Get to go downtown tomorrow to meet with designers to try to track down fabric names for the book that my boss is writing. I love meticulous, time-consuming tasks like this, especially when they involve going somewhere.
-Tonight is my guilty-pleasure TV night, including Life with Bonnie (I am probably the youngest person who watches this show, but I love that little red-headed kid), Less Than Perfect (Andy Dick being stupid in an office again...doesn't get any better), and The Real World: Las Vegas (you already know why I like that one).
-Today in the mail, I got a new Uncommon Goods catalog and the last issue of my nonexistent Vanity Fair subscription.
-And finally, the number one reason why this week is better than last week: I was the 3,000th visitor to Paul's blog! I have already written to him to claim the prize.

The Crap
So today I filled out my application for holiday employment with The Gap, which I sometimes like to call The Crap, in reference to the lack of any sort of wearable clothing in their stores lately. (Scott can attest to this fact, as every time I came into The Crap in Columbia while he was working there, I would say, "Why don't you guys have any good clothes?" as if it was his fault or something.) Also, sometimes I like to call it The Notorious G-A-P, based on the name that my friend Bri called one of our other friends when he was wearing one of those sweatshirts with a big logo on it. Anyway, because this was an application for The Crap, I really spread it on thick when it came to the questions section of the application. An example:

Gap application: What didn't you like about your previous jobs?
Me: I was sometimes bored because there was not enough work to do.

Ha. Hahaha. I was so proud of myself for that one. OK, it is partly true, but I left out the part about how when I did get bored, I would usually just surf the Internet. Still, I hope they don't call me for an interview because I could never say something like that with a straight face.

Why didn't anyone tell me there's a new David Gray album? I blame Rolling Stone. Would it have killed them to at least mention it? Reason #572 why I HATE THEM.

Random thoughts for tonight:
-I wish I was Jennifer Lopez. Or Felicity.
-Crap! I forgot to go to the library.
-Whoever is propagating this myth that Macintosh computers never crash obviously never had to deal with the i-Books at the Memorial Union front desk.
-Of all the stores I am applying to for a holiday job (Eddie Bauer, Smith & Hawken, Bath & Body Works, Pottery Barn, Restoration Hardware, and the Gap), I want to work at Pottery Barn the most.
-I should call Nikki to see if she is in fact coming to visit me.
-I want an Ella Fitzgerald Christmas CD, although it still seems a bit early to be playing Christmas music.
-That's probably because it's 80 degrees outside.

Shocking!
It is once again that time of year when I become so unnaturally charged with static electricity that I run the risk of seriously injuring myself every time I touch something metal. God, I hate winter.

It's not yet 10:00, and already I have managed to a) spill coffee on myself, b) get a hole in my tights, and c) accidentally unplug my computer twice. This does not look good. At least it's Friday.

Lunch with Tex
OK. So there is this guy, a fellow intern, whom everyone calls "Tex" (because he's from Houston and went to UT), but whom Eric and I call "The Down Like a Clown Guy" because he actually used that phrase in an e-mail when describing his enthusiasm for meeting for drinks. (His real name is Jason, in case you're interested.)

Anyway, I had never had any real interaction with Tex other than receiving the "down like a clown" e-mail. But today, some of the interns went out for lunch, and I ended up sitting at a table with Eric, Kristin, Sallie, and Erin (the people I went out for pizza with the other night, or, as Kristin put it "all the cool people") and Tex. Besides incessantly using the phrase "That is tight!" and referring to an entire group of people as "scary Larrys," Tex also offered the following story about his time working at some sort of big advertising or marketing firm in Houston:

"When I bought my first suit, everyone there made fun of me. They were like, 'Is that rayon??' and I was like, 'No, it's a poly-cotton blend!' and they said, 'Son, put on wool and shut the hell up.'"

Just for the record, "It's a poly-cotton blend" must be one of the best comebacks of all time, right behind "I have a female cat," which Ross said to me in the sixth grade when I insulted him.

Anyway, I guess it goes without saying that Eric, Sallie, Kristin, Erin and I spent the entire lunch shooting each other sideways glances and trying to control our mirth.

Gaaaaaaah
Pizza and beer do not heal, they only delay the agony, and, consequently, cause more agony by making financial problems worse.

I. Am Going. To Scream.
This has been the worst day in all the history of days. OK, if not the worst, at least in the top 10. HR seminar at work made me freak out about lack of job, stressing about car problems and arguing with dad took up the rest of the morning, had to eat lunch at desk due to lack of car and made mistake of answering phone during lunch break, only to discover that it was editors telling me I have to re-interview and re-write my story because they've suddenly decided the focus should be different from what it is now, even though I was told yesterday that my focus for the story was "great," managed to again mess up with the fax machine and send same fax four times, production staff has suddenly taken up the vacant cubicle next to mine and are constantly yelling to each other to try and figure out their new software program. Anyway.

My original plan for the evening was to scrap my previous plans for dinner with some of the other interns and take a bubble bath, crawl into bed and watch TV, and possibly cry and/or scream somewhere during this process. However, upon further consideration, I think what I really need right now is pizza, beer, and a good bitching session.

So this is how stupid I am. Tonight, I was leaving my apartment to take my car in to the mechanic. I left a lamp in the living room on, thinking I would be back soon. But as I was walking down the stairs, I reasoned that I was still wasting electricity, so I reached over the ledge that separates the stairs from the living room and turned the lamp off. Of course, instead of walking back up a couple of stairs to turn the stair light on, I thought I would just walk down the stairs in the dark. What's the worst that can happen? Besides me falling down the entire staircase and cracking my head open on the front door, I mean? But I figured as long as I held onto the handrail, I would be somewhat OK. By the time I got down to the bottom of the stairs, I was so proud of myself for not falling that I took my hand off the handrail and took a moment to congratulate myself on having been able to walk down the stairs in the dark. Then I stepped onto what I thought was the landing, but of course it was not the landing, it was actually the last step, and I fell onto my knees, nearly cracking my head open on the front door. Nice.

All this just to get to the car place, where they tell me that I'm basically going to need all new brakes and it's going to cost way more money than I actually have. Gaaaah.

Sunday afternoon shopping, or Some people need to learn when to shut the hell up
During the course of my shopping today, I have encountered not one but two incredibly annoying people. The following are my tales of woe.

Story #1: "Honey, there's 150 more just like it"
At the Liz Claiborne outlet in Bessemer today, I found the cutest little Burberry rip-off purse for only $10. Score! So I went up to the cash register to pay for it, and the lady who was checking me out began to make small talk about how cute the purse was. I agreed, of course. But then she starts going on and on about how at that price, the purse would make such a great Christmas gift, and it would be such a fashionable statement, or some crap like that. And I'm thinking, what kind of idiot would buy a purse that they just bought themselves for all of their closest friends? I'm not too wild about my friends buying things I already have even if it's by accident (and I don't know a single girl who is), so I'm certainly not going to buy them all purses that match mine. I try to explain this to the woman by saying, "I guess it would make a good gift, but I just don't want anyone to have the same purse as me." She looks at me like I'm the stupidest person on the planet and says, "Well, honey, there's 150 more like it over there," which I feel was a gross exaggeration because there were only in fact about three. Anyway, at this point I just want to pay and get the hell out of there, so I hand her my credit card, and then my ID because my card says "see ID" on the back. She looks at it, and then says, "Do you have another form of ID with your address on it?" WTF?! Um, no. My student ID, social security card, credit card, library card, movie rental card, insurance card...none of these have my address on them. My passport doesn't even have my address on it, but that's beside the point because why the hell would I need a passport to go to Bessemer. Anyway. She says my social security card will be sufficient, and after scrutinizing it thoroughly, she explains that they always have to ask for two forms of ID for an out-of-state license. Well, this is news to me. Of all my years shopping out of state (which have been a lot, considering that the closest mall to my house is actually in Tennessee), I have never once been double-carded when trying to buy something. And it's not like it's a $3,000 Fendi baguette for crying out loud; it's a $10 Liz Claiborne purse! I could tell she was one of those people who really takes pride in her job and the fact that she does everything by the book, which is just really sad because she works at a Liz Claiborne outlet store.

Story #2: "Mommy, everyone says you're weird"
Tonight at Target, after roaming the aisles with some parents who obviously could not control their children (evident by the fact that the kids were screaming and running all over the store), I made the mistake of getting in line behind a woman who was buying $600 worth of bathroom decorations for her kid. (I would like to say at this point that I am appalled that her total was that high since she bought the cheap towels and didn't spring for the Martex Royal Velvet Egyptian cotton towels, which are the most wonderful towels ever and only like $8 per towel. Anyway.) During the hour (so it seemed) that it took for the checker to ring up all of this bath stuff, we were all treated to a recounting of a) this woman's entire family history, including how her mother abandoned her and she had to go live with relatives when she was 5, and how she adopted the daughter for whom she was buying the bath stuff from another family member, and b) her family's entire medical history, including her own struggles with menopause and her ex-husband's heart problems. (According to her, it was "meanness," not his three heart attacks, that finally did him in.) Somewhere in the midst of this fascinating story, the little girl walks up to her mother and says, "Mommy, everyone says you're weird." I tried very hard not to burst out laughing. That is one perceptive kid.

A trip to Adrian's favorite store
As of tonight, I am the proud owner of a Delia's discount card. For every $20 I spend, I get a punch on my card, and then after I spend $200 or so, I get $20 off my next purchase. What in the world is a 22-year-old doing with a Delia's discount card, you ask? Read on...

So it all started when I went to the Galleria in search of an outfit for tomorrow night's Madonna-themed Halloween party. (Yes, those of you with good memories, I was Madonna two Halloweens ago, but I have since given away everything from my Human Nature Madonna costume except for the whip. Not sure why I kept the whip actually, but I feel it might come in handy someday.) Anyway, I had narrowed my Madonna choices for tomorrow night down to three: Evita Madonna, Ironic Madonna (with Britney Spears T-shirt), or Drowned World Tour Madonna. I tried a wrap dress at The Limited as a possibility for Evita Madonna, but upon realizing that I do not in fact have the figure of J.Lo, I quickly nipped that idea in the bud. So the search began for a plaid skirt or a Britney T-shirt. After browsing all the usual plaid-ridden establishments (J. Crew, Eddie Bauer, American Eagle), I happened upon Delia's.

To my surprise, they did not have a Britney T-shirt, but they did have a plaid skirt that was just about perfect (or, after wandering the Galleria for upwards of an hour, absolutely perfect). Of course, the only size that fit nicely was XXL. I tried telling myself this was because I have to wear the skirt over pants for my costume, or because all of the clothes in Delia's are designed to fit anorexic 16-year-olds. And who knows...maybe XXL is actually like a size 12 or something. Or maybe I've been eating Halloween candy all week instead of working out. Anyway.

As I was waiting to check out, what should come over the loudspeakers but a remix of "Shine Sweet Freedom," which was my favorite song when I was actually the appropriate age to be shopping at Delia's. Anyway, a girl who is probably too young to remember the original "Shine Sweet Freedom" rang me up and gave me the aforementioned discount card. I didn't have the heart to tell her I was just buying something for Halloween and probably wouldn't shop there again. Or maybe I took the card because I saw some really, really cute pjs, and socks, and this suede jacket with really, really soft faux fur lining...hmm...well, come on, I already have the discount card, the least I could do is try to fill it up!

Incidentally, I wonder if anyone who is not a gay man (and when I say gay man, I mean that to include myself, Kate, and Diana) will even know what Drowned World Tour Madonna is supposed to look like. Perhaps I should take a picture with me. Or a gay man who can explain the costume to others.