Dear Christian Bale: Please be my boyfriend. Yours truly, Andria

I didn't watch any of the Live 8 concerts. I hate to be a poopie pants, but I really just don't give a shit. I especially don't like a bunch of egomaniacal millionaires and/or billionaires telling me to give money that I don't have to help crazy third-world countries that are likely never going to improve, no matter how much money we send them.

When Bono sends me ten grand to pay the hospital bills that my insurance company is dumping on me (and that's only the bills I have SO FAR), then maybe I'll feel a little more sympathetic.

Now I'm cranky.

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I went over to Kay and DMX's for dinner to celebrate DMX's birthday. She made this casserole that comes from my southern Grandma that is chicken-y cheesy goodness. She also invited DMX's best friend, Briton, his brother DB, and Barney and Angela.

Have I mentioned what a goddamned idiot Barney is? He is a giant child. He pouts, acts stupid, and doesn't like any food that doesn't look familiar. He and Angela came over to my place for dinner once, and I made spaghetti with turkey (I don't like to eat red meat very often), and he refused to eat it because it was turkey, and not beef. He sat there, the entire time we ate, with his arms folded and a scowl on his face the whole night.

While Kay, DMX, Briton and I have had the casserole a ton of times, Barney's never had it. When it was served, he took one look at the pan and walked out of the kitchen. Asshole. Then he went to Del Taco and got about seventeen heart attacks' worth of crappy food.

I hate being around him. I hate that my smart beautiful friend settled for him. I fucking hate that Angela made a joke a million years ago that he had a crush on me (which, unfortunately, I don't think is a joke), so he calls me Muffin now. Everytime he says it my skin crawls. *shudder*

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I hope you all watched America's sweethearts on "Being Bobby Brown" tonight. Goddamn, do I love me some Bobby and Whitney.

My favorite part of tonight's episode was when they were having dinner at some restaurant with the gayest kajillionaire on the planet, Prince Jeffrey of Brunei, when Bobby jumps up and announces that he is going to the restroom, and that he needs to take his cigarettes because he is going to need it for the massive shit he is about to unload.

Or the part where Bobby's brother goes up to the Dalai Lama and says, "Mr. Lama. Bobby Brown. You know. Bobby Brown." The fucking Dalai Lama. Like he's going to give him a high five and bust out a verse of "Humpin' Around."

The Dalai Lama looks puzzled, so he tries one more thing. "You know. Whitney Houston's husband." Still, he of course had no clue.

I love the egos involved with these people.

And, I don't know if anyone else noticed, but Whitney has some bizarre pouch-thingy going on with her stomach. It almost looks like she's pregnant.

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I hate when I think of hilarious things to write about, and then I forget about them by the time I actually get around to typing this shit out.

Dammit. From now on I am keeping notes.

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I may have to cave and go see "Batman Begins" this weekend. Christian Bale is too hot not to go see it.

Although, every time I see him, I think of him talking about Huey Lewis and the News while he's hacking someone into pieces.

I also really want to see "Hustle and Flow," but it doesn't come out for two more weeks.

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Hot Mailman is moving in this weekend! Weeeeee!!!!

Too bad he has a thing for chicks that like to hang out at church eight days a week.

Plus, he's a postal worker. They're like Chows. They're cute and fluffy and all that jazz, but there's a good chance they'll turn on you.

Speaking of dogs, Celestia's car still smells. Even though she took it to some industrial cleaning place and asked them to clean her seats.

Ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha.

Does it make me a bad person to get such joy from this situation?

I didn't think so, either.

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Am I the only one that notices my comments section is often funnier than my actual entry the comments start out about?

Damn you, funny commentors.

I need a new template. This one is blah.

TGIF, everybody.