Who the fuck is Alice?

If you aren't watching "Being Bobby Brown," then I don't think we can be friends.

Seriously. Stop what you're doing and turn on Bravo. Or better yet, you can come to my house and watch ALL the episodes because they will live forever on my tivo. These people are INSANE, and it's fantastic. As the loverly Dixie pointed out, all they do is eat, smoke, and bitch.

They also sing. Everything. Everywhere. And dance. I was joking about this to Kay, and she said, "Well,they're singers." Well, I do accounting all day, and I don't start doing 10-key wherever I go, or spontaneously just start reconciling peoples's bank accounts. Like I said. INSANE.

Last night, they were at a restaurant, and Whitney told the waiter she wanted an appetizer. "Do you have the gorgonzahh? The gorgonzahh cheese and pears?" I am guessing she was talking about gorgonzola. After her delicious gorgonzahh and pears, she announced to Bobby, the waiter, her friend on the cell phone, and the cameras, and anyone else that would listen, that she was going to take a big shit, and that she was going to be on the toilet all night.

God bless them. I never ever ever ever thought I'd say this, but thank god for reality tv.

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Interpol tickets are going on sale tomorrow, and I am sad that none of my suck-ass friends know who Interpol even are.

I am beginning to think if it's not Toby Keith or Kelly Clarkson, they're clueless.

That's kind of scary.

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Last night, in my dreams (one of which was HOT HOT HOT), I dreamed about this song I used to hear at the Irish bar we used to hang out all the time, that I haven't heard in years. I can't remember the name (I think it might be "Who the fuck is Alice"), but the chorus says "I don't know where she's leaving, or where she's going to go. I guess she's got her reasons but I just don't want to know. But I'll never get used to not living next door to Alice. Alice, who the fuck is Alice?" Anyhoo, it's about a transvestite, or a transsexual, I think. And last night I dreamed the entire song. It was tres bizarre.

I don't even know what the point of telling that was.

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Thank god it's Friday.

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Last night, I was talking on the phone to a lovely, lovely man (I didn't even try to burn my house down this time!), and we were talking about travel.

I have a paralyzing fear of flying.

Like, bad.

But, before I die, I have to see two places: Italy, and England. Those are the only two places I really really really want to go.

I need to get over my fear and just do it. It's not as bad as it used to be, though. I used to have panic attacks when I drove by the airport.

Now's the part where you all say, "Wow, she is fucking nuts."

I know it's completely irrational, and I'm more likely to die in my car, but my car's only a foot off the ground.

Not 35,000 feet.

The last time I was in a plane, was a few years ago, coming back from Vegas (the fact that the flight is just under an hour was a huge selling point - not to mention the extreme drunkenness).

I was sitting in my seat, with my head between my legs focusing on my breathing so as not to DIE (ok, not really. The fact is, I was so drunk I could have been sitting next to a clown *shudder* and I probably wouldn't have noticed), when Kay started poking my shoulder relentlessly.

Finally, I asked her what the hell she was poking me for, and she told me to walk to the bathroom, and to look at the seats on the left.

So I did.

HOLY.SHIT.

Rick Springfield was sitting in a seat on the same plane I was.

Now, laugh if you must (even though it breaks my heart to know that you would mock Rick), but you have NO idea the lovestruck fool I was for this man as a young girl. I'm not the only one, either.

I had posters all over my walls, watched General Hospital every day, and named all my stuffed animals Rick.

He was the first concert I ever went to (and god bless my Dad, because he couldn't stand it, and he still went), and I still have the t-shirt in a box somewhere, along with my Madonna Virgin Tour t-shirt. And the 49840 Depeche Mode tour shirts I have.

When I saw him sitting there, still super cute and dreamy, I almost turned into one of those idiot teenage girls that can't breathe because they're losing their fucking minds at the sight of the Backstreet Boys. I got all dopey, and just sort of stared, and probably drooled a little, too.

He saw me, and I felt completely stupid, but I couldn't help it.

I mean, come on. It's Rick Springfield.

HELLO.