All or Nothing Attitude

Ever since my mom's cancer diagnosis last year, I've revised my attitude on so many things. I've re-evaluated much of my life and decided to focus on what means the most to me. I've completely revamped my reaction to unfortunate situations, ones that used to send me into dramatic meltdown mode - Oh, I popped a tire. It's not the end of the world. I didn't get the job? Bummer, but it's okay. I know it sounds cliche, but ultimately, I realized that nothing is promised and the best I can do is embrace every day, every conversation, every dance, every meal, every hug like it might be my last.

Recently, I read the story of a remarkable woman, Heather Von St. James, who was diagnosed with mesothelioma, a rare, aggressive cancer caused by exposure to asbestos, at the age of 36, just three months after giving birth to her daughter. Despite the grim reality of the disease and the fact that most patients don't live 15 months beyond diagnosis, Heather forged ahead with the support of her doctors and husband, Cameron. After intense treatment, which included the removal of her left lung, Heather made a complete recovery from her dire diagnosis. Nine years later, she works to spread hope to patients and raise awareness about mesothelioma and asbestos exposure.

Via

I knew very little about mesothelioma before hearing Heather's story, but it's important to be aware of the symptoms of the disease and the dangers of asbestos, which was used in building materials through the 1970s and still is not banned in the US or Canada. In Heather's case, she was exposed to the fibers by wearing her dad's construction work jacket as a child. The cancer, which affects the lining of organs (particularly the lungs), wasn't diagnosed until she had serious trouble breathing.

Now, Heather uses her difficult story to inspire hope in other patients. As a result of her struggle, she has adopted a 'live in the moment' attitude, an 'All or Nothing' mentality that allows her to throw caution to the wind and live loudly. In honor of National All or Nothing Day on July 26, I wanted to share her story to encourage you to truly embrace your life and live with no regrets.

It's amazing how bad news can actually inspire you to become a better version of yourself, to live more authentically, and to face and share your emotions. More than anything else, my mom's cancer diagnosis has opened my eyes to the incredible life I have and makes me want to fill it with as many amazing people and memories as I can.

Everyone has something they've always wanted to do, but haven't yet out of fear or hesitation. It's not always a daring endeavor, like skydiving or jumping off the high dive. Sometimes, it's simply gathering the courage to share your feelings about something, making an overdue doctor's appointment, or telling someone how much they mean to you. Whatever it is that you've been meaning to do or accomplish, I encourage you to do it this Sunday on National All or Nothing Day.

You only have one life. Make it count.

Working on You.

Let me start by saying this: I’m a hopeless romantic who has always stated that all I want in this life is to love fiercely and be loved equally. I stand firmly by that statement, but for the longest time, I genuinely believed that the instant I found a loving boyfriend, all the rest of my problems would vanish.

This line of thinking is troubling for several reasons.

First, I’m a rational thinker, a logical person. Why I thought the addition of a singular human being to my life would eradicate all my other grievances is beyond me. What does a boyfriend have to do with struggling to pay for groceries, getting over my phobia of flu shots, accidental car wrecks, or the DVR not recording Cupcake Wars? Absolutely nothing.

Second, I spent so much energy focusing on my love life (or lack thereof) that it’s no wonder I had other problems. Even in hindsight, I don’t blame myself for wanting to meet the right guy, wanting to fall head-over-heels in love, and having that love be reciprocated. I don’t blame that often lonely, perpetually-single or mistreated version of myself for wanting true love when seemingly the rest of the world had already found it. But, if I’m being completely honest (and this isn’t easy to admit), I worried about it and cried about it…way. too. much. 

Finally, I’ve realized that you can’t find answers in someone else. The cure to all of your emotional ailments - heartache, disappointment, sadness, anger, frustration – ultimately lies within you and how you choose to deal with things.

Now, don’t get me wrong. I’m currently the happiest I’ve ever been. The moment Wheat walks through the door after work is the best part of my day and I’m thankful for his wit, his smile, his hugs, and his heart every single day. In a lot of ways, I was right. He was worth every heart break, every “just friends” response, every tear, and every second of the wait. Finding true, reciprocated love is everything I wanted it to be and so much more…

But, girls (and guys), I’m here to tell you that it doesn’t solve every problem. You’ll still apply for jobs you won’t get. You’ll still gain ten pounds and hate dragging yourself to the gym. You’ll still cry because you miss your mom and your best friend. You’ll still stub your toe, somehow burn pancakes, and struggle to keep in touch with friends. You get the picture.

Yes, it’s nice to have someone who loves you and wants to help you through that stuff (and in another moment of honesty, I can truly say that Wheat does more than his fair share of the heavy-lifting in my life…and no, that is not a fat joke). But long before I had Wheat to tell me he loved me, I had my best friend, my sister, my brother, and my parents to tell me. They were the unpaid therapists in my life, listening to me complain, making calls on my behalf, sticking up for me, and putting up with me unconditionally. They still do. 

So, I guess what I’m trying to say is you control how you deal with things - not your boyfriend, your best friend, your mom, or your mailman. My problems haven’t magically disappeared just because I’m madly in love. Neither will yours. You might have someone to hold your hand through it, but you probably already have that somewhere in your life. 

Working on yourself and trying to be a better version of yourself is the best way to make things happen. I know it seems strange, but the only way to get rid of the bad in your life is to focus on the good and try to be better. Easier said than done, I know.

The instant I decided to focus on myself, follow my dreams, and work toward the life I wanted, things started to change for me. I left my parents’ house in a complete funk, disappointed in myself and completely lost. I moved to a new city where I knew almost no one, started graduate school, and thrust myself into something completely unfamiliar, in hopes that I’d find out I liked it. Luckily, I did.

The longer I worked at it, the more independent, motivated, happy, and healthy I felt. Taking charge of my situation didn’t fix all of my problems, but it certainly kick-started the process.

So, after years of crying over the wrong guys and desperately wanting to find the right one, I decided to focus on me. I decided to make myself a priority and worry about things that were actually under my control. And just when I finally started to feel better about myself, I met Wheat.

Coincidence? I think not.

But the same concept still applies. I always remind myself that it's not Wheat's job to fix my life (although he often does). I'm still in charge of my own happiness and the better I feel about myself, the better he feels and the better we are together. 

So, Brittany (and others), stop looking to others for answers. You've likely got them right in front of you.

Sleepless nights.

It has taken me quite awhile, but I think I'm starting to realize something.

We are all searching. Every single one of us. We are searching for God, answers, love, jobs, acceptance, happiness, understanding. We are searching for things and we don't even know what they are. No one, absolutely no one, is perfect. We are all broken, fragile and imperfect, constantly searching for things we may never find.

I want a job. I want to fall hopelessly in love. I want complete happiness. I want to find God and I want to know why I'm here. I'm starting to come to the realization that some of these things may never happen. We search for love in the wrong places. We think we can find self-worth in temporary things. We invest so much of ourselves, expecting a tremendous pay-out that was never promised to us in the first place.

So, what's the point?

I think I've found it. It's not about the end result - the temporary gratification you find in a significant other or a well-paying job. Those things can be stripped from you in an instant by forces outside of your control. It's about what you make of it and how you get there.

We decide how we handle situations. We make our own decisions. We decide how we respond to others' decisions. If we remind ourselves that we, too, are broken and searching, we can tolerate anything. Understanding that everyone is in the same ultimate position can provide comfort and tolerance, caring and understanding, empathy and patience. Nothing is easy. We are just trying to find something, trying to make our way in the best way we can. If we can find peace in the knowledge that no one and nothing is perfect, then we can live freely.

Unrealistic expectations of those we love, of things outside of our control, and of ourselves cause so much pain. All we can do is our best and hope that others will do the same. No one is perfect and nothing ends perfectly. A book isn't filled with pages of the ending. It is filled with the journey that leads there.

When we realize that we can't control every outcome, we become much better at accepting the results. Accepting the ugliness of the world is the first step in noticing its beauty. Trying to understand someone else's struggles will help you realize that we are all the same and that we all need support. I am a firm believer in the awesome power of love, encouragement, understanding, and tolerance.

We are all searching...but no one has to do it alone.

My problem with MTV.

Recently, I realized that I have a problem with almost every program that has ever been aired on MTV.

I’m not just referring to the channel’s completely deceiving name (MUSIC television). In full disclosure, however, I am bothered by the fact that actual music videos are only shown for a couple hours each day and said music videos are played at a time when only freaks and vampires are awake – myself included, of course.

That being said, I have a genuine issue with nearly every show in the history of MTV (or at least those I’ve witnessed myself). Here are some examples:

Beavis and Butthead. I have no problem with cartoons. In fact, Family Guy is one of my all-time favorite shows. I do, however, require that it has some semblance of intelligence behind it. Beavis and Butthead doesn’t – at all. Also, I’m probably still offended that, throughout my childhood, my sister (whose nickname was Z-Bo) and I were often referred to as Z-Bis and Britthead.

Singled Out. As a child, I often watched this show with my dad. At the time, I thought my dad was interested in the workings of the human mind and how psychology influenced dating and attraction. In hindsight, I realize it probably had more to do with Jenny McCarthy.

The Real World. Every single 20-something has probably flirted with the idea of submitting an audition tape for The Real World. It seems like an incredible opportunity to meet people and live for free in an impressive house in a bustling metropolis. I’ve always been bothered, however, by the program’s lack of overweight cast members. You usually have the black one, the over-drinker, the angry one, the Southern belle, the gay one, etc. I always thought I could provide the show with something new, an intellectual, overweight girl who struggled with her body image, yet provides some insight and rational thought to the house. I quickly realized, however, that MTV is much more intrigued by beautiful people, getting belligerently drunk, starting irrational fights, and hooking up with complete strangers and other housemates – all things I wouldn’t do. So, count me out. Also, think about the future career implications for previous cast members. No one is ever going to hire these kids after seeing them throw up off the side of a balcony, punch someone in the face, or flash strangers in the street. After one year of touring the country and being paid to attend nightclubs to promote attendance, they will be likely be unemployed and laughed at in the grocery store, until they are hired by MTV to take part in the Real World/Road Rules Challenge.

Total Request Live. I won’t lie to you – I was obsessed with this show. During the Carson Daly era, I would rush home from school to watch the show, vote incessantly for the Backstreet Boys, feel like a rebel for knowing all the words to the Eminem songs, and cuss out N’Sync under my breath for being #1 on the countdown and offering two things the BSB couldn’t provide – an overweight member and a member with dreadlocks (I now realize they also offered a gay member). However, when Carson left the show, the music videos were shown for shorter and shorter amounts of time until they were barely shown at all. This, of course, baffled me because it completely went against the original premise of the show. Voters were requesting to see music videos, not hear Quddus and Vanessa Minnillo drone on and on about music news.

Pimp My Ride. If I could choose anyone to remake my car, I would not even consider Xzibit.

Jackass. I absolutely loved this show at the height of its popularity. I think I was blinded by my obsession with Johnny Knoxville (really, an obsession – I had a t-shirt, a pillowcase, the DVDs, etc.). Now, however, I am annoyed by the show’s impact on every single male that has watched a full episode. Really, it doesn’t matter how old they are. After watching an episode of Jackass, every single guy I know wants to do something daring and often attempts an absurd stunt with his friends, even if said stunt isn’t nearly as entertaining as an obese man chasing a midget or getting a tattoo while riding a go-cart. True story: I once saw my brother’s friend light a firecracker that was lodged between his buttcheeks.

My Super Sweet 16. I know I’m not the only one who wants to punch these kids.

16 and Pregnant. So, we go from immature 16 year-olds throwing temper tantrums about party favors and celebrity guest performers to immature 16 year-olds who are actually supposed to raise another human being. This premise is absolutely terrifying.

Cribs. At first glance, Cribs was MTV’s attempt to completely depress viewers by allowing celebrities to showcase their breathtaking houses and amazing cars to a sector of the public that was struggling to pay the rent each month and probably drove a 1996 Jeep Cherokee with a broken muffler and a dent in the side. However, after watching roughly 100 episodes, I realized that I should actually be feeling sorry for the celebrities, not the other way around. Their refrigerator is always empty, the house completely devoid of people, tiki torches inexplicably lit for a pool party with no guests. How lonely. I think I’ll take my comfortable, cheap-motel-like house over an enormous mansion with absolutely no one inside.

…which brings me to…

The Jersey Shore. There are almost no words for this show. I’m ashamed to admit that I can name the cast members and have watched more than a few episodes. As hard as I try, I can’t really justify it. I might watch it in order to feel better about myself – an attempt to quench my insatiable ‘holier than thou’ thirst. Maybe I watch it because I’m genuinely entertained by their absurd comments and am interested in the events of their lives, but I’m leaning more toward the former explanation. At any rate, it blows my mind that the most popular show in the history of MTV has no plot whatsoever, unless you count eight sleazeballs who drink, degrade others, hook up with complete strangers, consider fist-pumping a valid dance move, claim to be Italian (yet embarrass actual Italians), tan, work out, and fight like children a legitimate storyline. I know I don’t. I sincerely hope that no one takes this show seriously or wants to emulate them in any way because quite frankly, I think the minds of the cast members of The Jersey Shore aren’t unlike the houses on Cribs – large empty spaces with absolutely no one inside.

So, in conclusion, it has become blatantly clear to me that MTV’s programming doesn’t have to be remotely good in order to succeed. In fact, it should probably be incredibly, mind-numbingly stupid.

Houston, we have multiple problems.

You know something is wrong when:

- You are 23 years old, you DVRed the Oprah finale, and you watched it by yourself, crying and eating red velvet ice cream at 4:00 AM.

- You had a brief fantasy that included a 2-day Jeopardy champion.

- There is more dog poop in the dining room than in the backyard.

- No one realizes that we are in the midst of the longest labor stoppage in NFL history (75 days).

- Upon seeing there is no milk, you put the bowl filled with Raisin Bran into the fridge rather than pouring the cereal back into the box.

- You flirt with the idea of moving to Canada after America voted Scotty McCreery the next American Idol.

- You see less sunlight than most earthworms.

- Kim Kardashian is engaged to Kris Humphries and you aren't.

- You forget what color the carpet is in your room.

- You find yourself wishing you were a pair of Jets QB Mark Sanchez's dress pants.

- You take the time to write a list like this.

Yikes.

Lost at 5:00 AM

A couple weeks ago, I read Stephen Chbosky's The Perks of Being a Wallflower and found one of the most incredible lines I've ever read in a book.

So, this is my life. And I want you to know that I am both happy and sad and I'm still trying to figure out how that could be.

It's so honest. That is exactly how I feel - a combination of two opposite feelings. Happy and sad, confident and self-conscious, loved and alone.

I try to tell myself that I'm in control of my own feelings. I may not control the events around me, but I do control how I react to them. I can drown myself in sadness or I can move on. I can sit around and wait or I can take control of my life.

This past year has been really hard for me. It may not seem like it, not even to friends and family, but I've been struggling. I feel like I'm searching, but I'm not sure for what. I used to have so much ambition and huge (often impossible) dreams. I used to feel everything so deeply, so passionately that it was almost a fault. Now, I'm becoming numb, forgetting what it is to feel.

I'm trying to convince myself to snap out of it. I remind myself that many others have things so much worse. So, I suppress my emotions, feeling guilty for having been upset in the first place. That usually works for a while, but it always rears its ugly head and I'm right back where I started.

I just feel lost. I want to be the old me again, but I don't know how to find her.

Doomsday 2011

If you know me well, you know the following three things about me:

1. My sleeping hours are quite different than the rest of the country (seriously, check the timestamps on my blog).
2. I think way too much...about everything.
3. I can be pretty dramatic.

All three of these details combined to create a very interesting moment for me this morning.

All day, Twitter and Facebook have been blowing up with statuses regarding the upcoming rapture. I've detailed my life-long struggle with my faith in previous blog posts, so I won't launch into my personal beliefs now. However, it should be no big surprise that I do not believe that the rapture will occur today or that the world will end on October 21, 2011.

Still, I cannot help but wonder about the apocalypse. I blame my all-encompassing fear of death and self-imposed quest for religion. (By the way, is there such thing as a God-fearing agnostic?)

I realize that the rapture isn't the end of the world...yet. I also realize that most Christians do not claim to know the date of the rapture. The rapture is when all of God's chosen believers will ascend to Heaven while the non-believers get to chill on Earth and deal with apocalyptic goodies like earthquakes and fires. According to most of the Christians I know, I won't be making that once-in-a-lifetime trip with Jesus. Comforting.

So, I'll probably be stuck here, blogging about how much the end of days completely sucks and how much I miss Tim Tebow already.

No, but seriously, the notion of the apocalypse (and the rapture, for that matter) completely scares me. Although I think Harold Camping's rapture prediction is complete bogus, I can't help but wonder what if.

Tonight, at 1:00 AM, I was sitting in my kitchen, completely alone and feeling sorry for myself. So, I sat and I thought for a couple hours about how scary the end of the world would be. I thought about my life and how I'd feel if it ended right now in hellfire and brimstone. I thought about all of my friends and family who think I'm destined to spend eternity in hell because I can't get myself to make the leap of faith, no matter how hard I try.

Every morning (weather permitting), around 5:30, I go outside and sit on my porch to watch the sun come up. This morning, the morning of someone's supposed Judgment Day, was no different. I stepped outside and walked to the end of my driveway. As I tread barefoot through the grass, I inhaled deeply. There was a chill in the air that made my blood pump faster. The sky, filled with bright pinks and oranges, was slowly becoming lighter, while the moon made its gradual descent into the dense treeline of my backyard. Fog hung low on the grass of my neighbor's beautiful yard and crept into the church parking lot across the street.


I stood there for nearly an hour, watching the fog slowly dissipate, breathing the cool air, listening to the birds chirp, and watching the breath-taking colors dance in the clouds. I thought about the rapture, my life, my family and friends, and eternity. Before turning back toward my house, I took another deep breath and finally, I smiled with relief.

If the world did end today, I think I'd be okay with that.

Grab some tissues.

Between my brother leaving again, my dad falling off our roof, the Pens' playoff elimination, two weddings, Michael Scott leaving The Office, Casey Abrams leaving American Idol, and frustration over my future, I've been more than a little fragile lately.

So, it wasn't too surprising that I sobbed like a teething baby when I saw this commercial yesterday.



Come on, Google Chrome. You know I can't handle that stuff.

At any rate, I'm heading off to Oxford tonight for their year-end festivities and a long overdue reunion with college friends. Yes, I'm still living vicariously through my sister and CJ. One day, I'll grow up.

Have a great weekend, everyone! Any suggestions for Man Meat Monday?

Love is all you need.

No one would ever describe me as a girly-girl. I love sports, I don't wear any makeup, I avoid Taylor Swift like the plague, and I hate shoes. So, most people are surprised when they learn how much I love weddings. In fact, I've been chastised by many loved ones for my fascination with the royal wedding. However, it's quite easy to explain: I love love.

I have spent countless hours struggling over religion. I have actively tried to find God. I ask questions, I do research, I try to create moments where I might feel connected. I've attended church services, I've read the Bible, I've prayed, and still I end up right where I began, feeling confused, afraid, and alone. Only recently have I started to see that you simply can't believe in something you don't.

The older I get, the more I realize that the only thing in this world that I believe in unwaveringly is love.

This world is an ugly place. I often find myself disgusted and heartbroken with the state of things. I'm surrounded by hate, lies, betrayal, jealousy, loneliness, unfair judgments, cheaters, violence, and sadness. Horrible things happen to good people, justice is often left unserved, and life simply isn't fair. Tornadoes devastate Alabama, killing hundreds and leaving thousands homeless in one night. An entire group of people face constant harassment and continue the fight for equality into the 21st century, simply because of their sexual preference. Courageous soldiers give the ultimate sacrifice for their country, often without recognition from the news and their fellow countrymen.

Even on a night like tonight, a night that many thought would never come, I can't help but notice the ugliness. While trying to accomplish something much more important for the good of the country and the world, our president was forced to waste time releasing his birth certificate to quell absurd rumors started and perpetuated by fear mongers. While on my Facebook, I can't help but be shocked by the hateful words of some. Partisan differences cause people to senselessly argue over who "gets credit" for the killing of Osama Bin Laden. People celebrate without reflection, posting racist remarks that degrade an entire group of people and religion. Conspiracy theorists abound. I worry that this news will trigger more attacks, angering terrorists into devastating retaliation.

Initially, I was shocked by the celebrations tonight. This is a time that calls for appropriate reflection, not wild, drunken, naive celebration. Call me crazy, but I cannot celebrate a death. I will, however, celebrate the justice being served. This closure is long overdue. Many, on BOTH sides of the aisle, have worked tirelessly for this day. However, the job is not done. Bin Laden's message doesn't die with him. There is a lot of work left to do and the world would be a much better place if we could be Americans while doing it, not just Republicans or Democrats.

However, amidst the chaos, petty differences, hate, fear, and racism, one thing remains overwhelmingly clear to me: love - an incredible love of country that I haven't seen since September 11, 2001. Fans at the Phillies/Mets game check their phones in unison and begin to chant "USA! USA!" Citizens gather outside the White House and on the streets in New York City to celebrate. My hope, my optimism, and my faith in the world is restored by nothing other than love. Whenever I am discouraged by harsh reality, I am encouraged by the love of others. I find my own personal peace in loving others and being loved in return. I know we can accomplish anything, as long as we do it with an open mind and love in our hearts.

Friday, I watched Prince William marry Kate Middleton and I smiled at the hope it represented. Yesterday, I witnessed the marriage of two very close friends and I cried because their love was perfect. Tomorrow, one day after another line was written for the history books, my brother leaves for yet more training because of his unwavering love of country. I've never been more proud in my life.

So, make fun of me all you want. I watched the royal wedding. I cried at a friend's wedding the next day. You know why? Because I know that John Lennon was right. Because, despite the horrors and absolute ugliness of the world, love, whether you find it in...

...your country...


...your friends...


...your soulmate...


...or your family...


...whether you find it in a complete stranger or in God Himself, love is truly all you need.

Childhood nostalgia.

I really miss being a kid.

Let me be clear. For all intensive purposes, I'm still a kid. I live at home. My parents feed me. I'm still unemployed (ugh). I have friends my age that live on their own, have careers, are married, and have kids. So, in the grand scheme of things, I'm still a kid.

BUT, I miss the simplicity of childhood. I miss not worrying about my appearance, my health, finding a job, finding a significant other, maintaining friendships, and what happens next. Life used to be so simple...and it was awesome.

I remember playing in the backyard with my brother and sister. We pretended we were British explorers. We would speak to each other in horrible accents, wade around in our creek, then pretend we were climbing a dangerous mountain when, in reality, we were walking up our hill. We would approach my mom as if she were a stranger. We'd say, "Oh, hello there, mate. We've been lost all day and just came across your inn. May we stay the night and have a nice supper?" She would play along. "Oh, yes. Of course. In fact, I have three kids about your age, but they are out of town. You could even borrow some of their clothes for the night."

I remember peeling dried glue off my fingers. I remember hand claps and Goosebumps books. I remember choreographing intricate dances with my siblings and friends, then selling my parents tickets for the performances. I remember pogs, slap bracelets, and the Pokemon craze. I remember recording my favorite songs on cassette tapes and begging my mom to buy me the new Spice Girls singles. I remember wanting to marry Billy the Blue Power Ranger because he was understated (unlike attention whore Tommy), wore glasses, served as the brains of the operation, and clearly had an emotional side. I remember playing Mario Brothers, Duck Hunt, and Mario Kart 64 for hours.

I remember going to the skating rink, although I couldn't skate, because it was the cool thing to do. I remember being jealous during the couples' skates and hanging out primarily in the food court/arcade area. I remember my absurd crush on Josh Server from the original cast of All That. I remember playing MASH and keeping everything in trendy trapper keepers. I remember obsessing over Beanie Babies, naming my real turtles after the Ninja Turtles, and being terrified of Furbies. I remember the Macarena, Doug and Patty, and Mike O'Malley's stint on Guts. I remember fluoride rinses at school, Heads Up 7-Up, exciting trips to the Dollar Store, and every awesome Disney movie. I remember Saved by the Bell and 'the Blue Barracudas win the half pendant of life!'

I remember every line in both Ace Ventura movies and all the words to "Happy Happy Joy Joy." I lived by Total Request Live, worshipped Carson Daly, and screamed like a maniacal teenybopper at every mention of the Backstreet Boys. I read The Boxcar Children and The Baby-Sitters Club. I ran through sprinklers, slip 'n slid(?), and ate ice cream every single day. I bought Tiger Beat magazine and covered my room in posters. I rocked the Easy Bake Oven, Skip It, Bop It, and Nano Pet craze. I'm still annoyed by Ferguson Darling, Steve Urkel, and Danny Tanner. I cut the goo out of Stretch Armstrong, secretly ate Play-Doh, and stayed up late to watch Tales from the Crypt.

I remember when this was the hottest thing I had ever seen:



Oh, that's right. It still is.

Basically, I miss being naive, carefree, and constantly happy. That was the life. Adults could do no wrong, alcohol and drugs weren't a factor, I wasn't concerned about what others thought of me, and I wasn't aware of the ugliness of the world. Sometimes when I'm worried about my brother in boot camp or stressing over my future occupation and relationship status, I wish I could go back to the days when my biggest issue was the Backstreet Boys being #2 on TRL.

Back your shit up, N'Sync.

American Idol CATASTROPHE

Tonight was almost the biggest American Idol injustice since Chris Daughtry's untimely exit in season 5 (sorry, friends...I wasn't an Adam Lambert fan).

There is absolutely no justification for Casey Abrams not making the top 10.

I know that I'm biased. Casey has touched a deep part of my blues-loving, jazzy soul that hasn't been affected by an American Idol contestant since my beloved Taylor Hicks. The instant I heard his beautiful scat on "I Don't Need No Doctor," I was sold. When he sang "Why Georgia" with an upright bass the following week, I knew he was my favorite. The next week, however, he sang "Why Don't You Do Right?" with his upright bass and I melted to the floor Alex Mack-style. You must watch it.



This was my exact reaction.



In all honesty, that performance is the epitome of sex. Jazzy, classy, bearded sex. In fact, I might be pregnant now. That wonderfully-placed scat literally tore my pants off. His musical talent FAR surpasses almost every other contestant in the history of American Idol. He is all kinds of Ray Charles and Marvin Gaye with a hint of Frank Sinatra. He has more soul than a Southern Baptist preacher and his raspy growling will forever be the cause of my sexual frustration.

So, consider this a call to arms. Vote for Casey. If not for you, then for me. I'm selfish that way. This is proof that America forgets what MUSIC really is. I'm guilty, too. I haven't voted yet, but you better believe I'll be calling a million times next week.

On the upside, if Casey doesn't win Idol, he could tour the country playing in small, intimate club settings. Picture it. Casey. Upright bass. Smoky jazz club. Drummer playing the hi-hat. Someone playing muted trumpet. All three in suits and ties. Dim lighting. Scats all night long. Me. Front and center. Throwing my bra on stage.

Sidenote: If Scotty McCreery wins, I will move to Canada.