So I got my permanent crown on Tuesday and flew back into LA last night. I'm mad that I had to be gone so long that it actually feels weird to be around my boyfriend, but I'm SO FUCKING GLAD to be back amongst the free and living.
Immediately upon my waking up and turning on the TV this morning, I was accosted by yet more Paris Hilton Prison Drama. Apparently she left prison this morning and attempted to live under house arrest without the consent of a judge...because of "undisclosed medical reasons", which I'm pretty sure refers to Paris being a Skank. Um? That condition was "disclosed" long ago. Go back to prison and shut the fuck up for a month. Aw, close-up of Paris crying like a baby in the back of a Patrol Car, which elicits absolutely no sympathy from me. Sorry, You're 26. WELCOME TO CONSEQUENCES. I wish people would pull together a little fucking humility and/or dignity.
Update: The judge remanded Paris back to jail and she started screaming in the courtroom!
Here's even a quote from the news! “It’s not right!” shouted Hilton, who violated her probation in a reckless driving case. “Mom!” she cried out to her mother.
Bahahahaa. Not FIVE MINUTES after I typed that sentence about humility and or dignity, Paris breaks down crying and sobs for her mama.
Only in LA would this be continuously Breaking News, and these are my people. I love it.
I changed the channel just in time to see the late, great Mr. Rogers singing while he feeds his fish, "I like to take care of you, yes I do...yes I do." This show always brings tears to my eyes; he's so sweet. His mom made him those sweaters.
Oh, and then an ad for some Hostage Negotiator Drama starring Ron Livingston, as though we could accept him as anything other than that sweet and lovable goofball from Office Space and Sex and the City.
Dear Ron Livingston,
You are never going to be a smoldering sex symbol. You just don't have the jawline for it! Nor the speaking cadence. Sorry.
And now some shouting Republicans. I love TV. On to more important things...
Tonight I see Morrissey in concert. This means that 50% of my Mission To See The Smiths will have been completed (last year I saw Andy Rourke - the bassist - at one of his DJ gigs at the Mink in Houston)...I can't believe I'm using periods for these sentences. I should be using fourteen exclamation points, but I'm trying to play it cool. And failing. Completely. OMG, Morrissey. OMG.
I have to tell you something. Are you ready? Okay, here it comes.
That is all.