Yes, that was a 23-year-old boy who came out of the ladies' room. Yes, I did make out with him.

Don't worry, I'm not going to give you a weekend recap. Unless you want me to tell you that on Friday night I stayed home and went to bed at 10:00 pm (and rs27, I blame you for the fact that I watched not only The Duel 2, but also Daisy of Love. Daisy of Love is like crack! I can't wait to see what happens next! Ugh). Or that on Saturday I went to the gym (where I made my calves so sore I'm still hobbling around like an old lady) and did some rock climbing (where I bit it so hard I now have rope burn up my arm and I nearly yanked out my belly button ring). Because you don't want to hear about that crap.

Saturday, I hung out with my friend Dee Dee and her neighbor, Peaches. Where I was told one of the most awesome bad sex stories I've ever heard (it definitely competes with Maxie's soft-serve story). You'll have to check back later to read it. Hopefully she'll give me permission to tell it, since she's told the entire state of Texas and I won't even give up the guy's name.

Anyway, after the first bar, Dee Dee and I bounced to another place. Peaches doesn't really have a lot of going out stamina yet, so she took her lame ass home.

I am doing a horrible job of telling this story. Just ignore all the other crap.

I had to pee really bad, so I headed off to the ladies' room (what? That isn't what you do?). There were two girls standing in front of me, waiting. Ugh. Why do we all have to pee at once?

So the door opened and out walked...a boy. Um. It says "Bush" on the door, dude. You get what that means, right?

Anyway, the other two girls go in together. I'm sure they stripped down to their panties and had a water fight in there.

You're welcome.

I said to the boy, "Uh, you get that you were just in the women's restroom, right?"

He said, "Yeah, but I really had to go and there was someone in the men's room."

"Yeah, but now I really have to go and you made a line for my bathroom."

He said, "Oh, sorry. You can just go in the men's. I'll stand out here and guard the door."

Now, I really had to pee. But my experience with men and restrooms is this: Ya'll are all about 12. Not only do you frequently piss on every available surface BUT the toilet (I used to work at Whataburger, trust me, this is a true statement), you also tend to try the door handle when you know there's a girl in there (happened to me no less than two years ago at a Halloween party). So I was a little wary.

"Okay, but I'm locking the door and when I come out if you're not still standing here, I'm going to be pissed."

And apparently, it was love. Or something. Ick, ew, ugh. I just freaked myself out with the L-word. For the rest of the night, he was attached at my hip, talking to me, trying to be clever.

After my third blueberry vodka and cranberry juice (seriously, it was DELICIOUS), it seemed like a really good idea to give him my phone number when he asked for it. I even thought it was kind of cute when he immediately called me to make sure I hadn't given him a fake number. Which, frankly, I do all the time to those retail people who ask.

Me: Um...how old are you, exactly?
Him: 23.
Me: (Looking over at Dee Dee, who is CRACKING UP) Oh no...
Him: What? How old are you? Like 21, 22?
Me: Oh no...(much laughter)
Him: What?
Me: 29.
Him: That's not that old.
Me: (juice is now coming out of my nose because I have choked on it from laughing so hard) Uh huh...

He said he "really liked my personality" (read: boobs), and he'd "really like to hang out sometime" (read: make out).

He asked if I wanted to hang out the next day, and I said okay. And boy was that weird. He is...so 23. And I am...so a puma (look, I'm not old enough to be a cougar and besides, HE picked ME up).

My favorite moment from the "date"?

Him: Blah blah something about movies, blah.
Me: Have you seen the new Star Trek movie?
Him: No, but I really want to. Have you seen it? What did you think?
Me: I've seen it. It was okay. The characters were good, blah blah, but I didn't really like the story, blah blah blah...
Him: Oh, I just found this out, but did you know that there were like two other Star Trek movies before this one?
Me: (blank stare)
Him: I don't know if they were any good.
Me: (blinking)

...

Me: Um, you're kidding, right? If by "two" you really mean "ten."
Him: Really?

Oh geez.

But he has very good manners and seems to think we should "do this again sometime."

And yes, he has a job. Something about inventory logistics. And no, he doesn't live with his parents. At least, I don't think so. Oh no...

Oh crap, now I have to respect Kim Kardashian?

Does anyone know how I go about that?

It seems that she's speaking out against all the people who called her fat...which seriously, people, can we talk about this? The woman is not fat. Obnoxious, but not fat. Famous for no reason, but not fat.



But I do kind of love it that she's cool with admitting she has cellulite. Who doesn't? And at least she pretends to be uncomfortable that everyone stares at her ass all the time. Though, really, I think it's possible she brought that one on herself.

I feel naked without mascara.

Does anyone else have this problem?

I don't wear much other makeup, but I feel totally naked without mascara. And chapstick, but I don't think that counts as makeup. Plus, I never leave home without my tube of Burt's Bees.

Last night, I watched Dancing with the Stars. It's just painful. Steve Wozniak, Steve-O, that one chick who used to be Heff's girlfriend and now is trying to be famous for...anything else. It was a LOT of bad dancing. With a super dramatic (not) double elimination at the end. Which, I suspect was to get rid of Steve Wozniak. And it worked!

Last night's performers, musically speaking of course, were some horrible guy who couldn't decide if he was singing country, pop, or rap (I know, you don't "sing" rap, but I had to be consistent. Shut it.) and Boyz II Men. Wow.

It seems that we just like music that really blows now. The first guy was TERRIBLE. I feel certain that he must have gotten picked on at school as a kid. Now he's in his 40s and trying to do the same music as Britney (sort of), but with a country and rap twist, while he dresses like that emo kid we all avoid like the bubonic plague. Except of course, that no one can avoid the bubonic plague, so it ends up on national television. It was painful.

Later, Boyz II Men performed. I'm going to admit that I was mildly excited. I loved Boyz II Men back in the day. Motown Philly. Back. Again.

Yeah, no. Remember when they used to be able to harmonize? Well, they can't any more. I was hoping that atrocity they called the National Anthem at the World Series a couple of years ago was a fluke. But no. The backup singers were the only reason that they didn't sound exactly like a cat sliding slowly and painfully down a chalkboard nails first. And they lost a boy...where did he go? Maybe he was the only one who could really sing? The skinny one has filled out nicely, though, I will say that.

Speaking of "reality" television, I'm thinking that the people in charge of running our country should take more of a reality television approach to solving our current economic crisis. Or this business with car manufacturers. Or, well, anything. Think about it. People get really fired up about this American Idol crap, right? Maybe set up a show where the "contestants" are actually solutions to some of our bigger problems. And let the people call in to vote. Or something. Possibly a drag race or hot dog eating contest is in order. C'mon government, get in there and get people excited!

It's just an idea. I mean, if millions of people can watch some "older" woman try to get with some younger men and care, why not care about the state of our health care system? Make it sexy!

(Because this Idiocracy thing? Is happening.)

Oh, and HAPPY BIRTHDAY TONY! Sorry you couldn't take the day off.

And the obsession begins...

Last night was the premiere of America's Next Top Model (ANTM) (and why can't I ever just type "America"? I always type "American," then erase the "n." Oh, well.) Cycle 12. How has Tyra still not gotten calf implants? Seriously. Those things are just puny, woman. You were a supermodel for cryin' out loud.

Lucky for me, my friend Mamanda is also an ANTM freak. She chose to prioritize LOST over ANTM on her TiVo, though, so she had to come to my place to watch it. She's getting ready to leave town for 10 months (10 MONTHS!) in Peru, so this is the only episode she'll get to see if the aliens at HULU can't make it happen. They better. Who else am I going to obsess with? We're probably the only females over the age of 16 or so who watch this show.

And no, I'm still not going to read those damn Twilight books.

Mamanda and I went for sushi (her last sushi for 10 months...you wouldn't eat sushi in Peru either), then crashed on my couch for the two-hour premiere. Last season was kind of a snooze-fest, from what I hear (I missed it due to my head being up my ass while in a relationship), so we weren't sure what to expect.

It started in Vegas. With 34 girls. They all had to dress up like goddesses and embody some un-embody-able quality in a pho-to (this is what is sounds like to me, every time they say it). Yeah, really, how would you embody success? Justice? Truth? Go ahead. I'll wait while you make it come through in a pho-to.

Done? Couldn't do it?

That's what I thought.

Almost immediately, Fo became my favorite. She's adorable and apparently not Asian, though she looks it. She calls herself a "Blaxican." I'm guessing on the spelling, and please do not direct your racist comments at me, I'm quoting here. She is just the cutest thing I've ever seen, right down to the smattering of freckles across her nose and cheeks. Her real name is Felicia, but she gave herself a kick ass nickname, so we decided to use it.

Unfortunately for the rest of the girls, Mamanda and I had to make up our own nicknames. Hehe.

If you've never seen the show, it is an extravaganza of screaming and crying and drama and ridiculousness and skinny girls. And Tyra Banks. Personally, Miss J is my favorite. He can walk a mean runway. Mister Jay ain't too shabby either, but he wears a little too much makeup for my taste.

All the girls get together for some kind of unmade-up pho-to, conducted by Mister Jay. Then all the girls meet with Tyra, Miss J, and Mister Jay and show off their stuff. Usually there's a lot of crying and ridiculousness involved in this process. Each girl has to do what she can to stand out, you see. So they talk about their babies, their abusive husbands, their stripping gigs, how their moms didn't love them, how all these other bitches are intimidated by them, etc. You get the idea.

One cute little girl brought in her pen collection.

Tyra ripped her a new asshole. "Oh, these pens are important to you? Name five supermodels who are working right now." Yeah, that's important in life. I guess it is, if you want to be on Tyra's show. And c'mon. It's cycle 12, sweetie. Don't you think you should read a fashion magazine or two before you stand your ass up in front of Tyra Banks with your pen collection?

I sympathized with her, though, because she reminded me of my 15-year-old cousin. And because she had a lot of pens.

They narrow down the field after the interviews, and then everyone has to do another pho-to. This is the one where they have to embody truth, justice, and the American Way...with their eyes. Whatever. They always look ridiculous.

Then Tyra announces the girls who will live in the sweet mansion thingy in NYC.

"The first name that I am going to call...is..."

Really Tyra, work on that tense problem, eh?

And our finalists are:

1. Fo!
2. Googly-Eyed Blood Freak
3. Bergdorf Goodman
4. Jesus Freak, the Street Preacher
5. Mocha Choco-Latte
6. Prom Queen
7. Smushy Face
8. PUERTO RICO!
9. Burn Victim
10. Cornflake Girl
11. No-Waist
12. Afro-licious
13. Six Head

I'm already waiting for the day they send Mocha Choco-Latte home. She was in the bottom two in the first episode, but I know she'll be around for a while. Tyra has a soft-spot for the dark-skinned girls and the producers really like drama. This bitch has already pissed off nearly everyone in the house.

Googly-Eyed Blood Freak just hurts my eyes. I think her eyes are on upside down. And she's apparently obsessed with blood (I'm obsessed with bones, so I don't judge, but I wouldn't be spouting off about it in an interview with Tyra freaking Banks, yo). She's jealous of everyone who's ever had a nose-bleed because she's never had one. And she thinks they're beautiful. Um, yeah...freak. And her eyes are on. Upside. Down. She looks like that thing from The Grudge. I know she's hiding in my bed, waiting for me. Cause she wants to make me bleed.

Afro-licious is insanely tall. I love her. And her lips. Are. Awesome. Nuff said.

Now, I know I'm going to seem insensitive about this whole "Burn Victim" vs. "Burn Survivor" thing. And I probably am. But here's the thing: if you were in a fire and you almost burned to death, but didn't...yeah, you're a burn survivor. If you poured hot coffee on yourself when you were a baby...not so much. Yes, you have been burned. Yes, you have scars. Yes, I totally think you're brave for trying to be America's (yes, I typed "n" again) Next Top Model. But I don't know if I can call you a "survivor" unless you almost died. I'm a bitch, what can I say?

If you've ever watched ANTM, you know that they're always talking about "wind in the hair." It's a way of walking down a runway in which the model looks as though she has a wind machine on her. Or something. I speak English, not Model. Well, apparently, Six Head (cause her forehead is just that big) has what Tyra's is now referring to as "wind in the face." Because she looks like she's trapped in a wind tunnel all the time. Yeah. I wouldn't have thought that was a good look, but what do I know?

Jesus Freak calls herself a Street Preacher (and talks about Jesus all the time), which I personally think contradicts her whole dressing-like-a-whore-in-ripped-clothing thing. Her eyebrows really need some help.

None of the other girls are worth talking about. At any given moment, Mamanda and I were like, "Is that PUERTO RICO!? Wait, no...it's Smushy Face."

Next week - MAKE-OVERS! Stay tuned.