Let me begin this entry with some sad news: Freda, the wife of Don Geronimo from the "Don & Mike" radio show, died Sunday in a head-on collision in Ocean City. I found out about this last night on the evening news, and I couldn't help but cry, because as a commenter on DCist wrote, it's like I've lost an extended family member. Freda would always call into the show and lovingly scold Don for being such a crazy retard, and Don would end each show by saying "Love you, Freda; Love you, Bart" (his 20 y.o. son). I listened to this show all the time in high school and Don's sense of humor is reflected in my blog every day. Keep Don and his family in your thoughts today!

Moving on...

Oh man, my "Starve Wars" T-shirt finally arrived in the mail yesterday, and I want to wear it sooo badly, but ironic apparel is not allowed in the office, so I will just wear it on the weekend when I go back to the Green Lantern (just kidding). But seriously, the shirt looks great on me (my god, it's a size medium, I am getting so FAT) and I owe it all to Trent for pointing it out. P.S. It's his birf today!

Anyway, wanna guess what HASN'T come in the mail? No, not more porn from Michael Lucas (he sent me his latest Auditions DVD, I will post a review later this week). Actually, it's the CEO of Marvelous Market who has failed to apologize on behalf of the bitch manager who works across the street from my lofty pre-war apartment with hardwood floors and a doorman.

Surely you remember this fiasco. Obviously, it's been, like, two weeks so I'm totally over it, but it nevertheless pisses me off that I sent the letter over a week ago and I still haven't heard back from anyone at M.M. Now, I'm not really one to talk, since whenever you guys send me e-mails, it takes me like 6-8 weeks to reply, but this is slightly different.

Oh well, who cares. So I must tell all of you about the greatest achievement in Western Civilization since the advent of reality television programming: it is called "CVS selling alcohol!" Oh my god, it is simply brilliant. I live right near one of the few CVS stores in The DC that sell beer and wine along with greeting cards and feminine products, and it is just too convenient for words. Yesterday after work, I needed to pick up some self-tanner and hairspray at the CVS, which justified a quick detour just two aisles over to the wine section. I picked up a $6.99 bottle of red spumante, popped it in my freezer when I got home, and enjoyed it one hour later during the very-special episode of "Hell's Kitchen" aka THE BEST SHOW EVS.

If you haven't seen this show, then you are missing out. The host - Chef Ramsay - is such a huge frightening asshole that Fox airs a parental advisory before each episode. The great thing about this show is that you not only see the pressures put on the chefs and wait staff, but you also see the obnoxious patrons who bitch about their ceasar salad not being cut to their liking and are just totally oblivious to the drama in the kitchen.

When I first watched "Hell's Kitchen" and saw Chef Ramsay tear into the contestants, it was enough to make me cry. I remember last summer when I was waiting tables, and the head chef would just scream at anyone who made a little mistake, and even though you wanted to defend yourself, you COULDN'T, because it would ruin the flow of the evening and everything would get messed up. It was definitely not unusual for me to break down crying on a particularly stressful Friday night shift. So when I watch the contestants on "Hell's Kitchen" take the abuse from Chef Ramsay like little bitches, I can totally understand. It's hard work being a chef, and "Hell's Kitchen" makes that clear.

Augh - enough about reality tv. Before I go, I want to share this little anecdote about my bus commute this morning.

Every day, I sit in the same seat on the bus, with my black messenger bag, my bagged lunch, and my iPod plugged neatly into my ears. Usually I listen to something shitty and unbecoming, such as the Lindsay Lohan CD, which is why I keep the volume down, to avoid offendeing fellow passengers and to also avoid embarrassing myself.

So half way through the route, some limp-wristed specimen boards the bus and sashays to the seat behind me. He has an iPod too, but even with mine plugged in, I can STILL hear the awful sound of techno music blasting from his earphones. Oh my god, it was a total auditory abortion, like the soundtrack to the life of an aging meth addict. And of course, everyone on the bus can hear it, and they all turn to look at ME, as if I'M the one playing my music too loud!

So for the entire bus ride, passengers keep turning their heads to me with dirty looks, openly judging me for my awful taste in music (which I will own up to, since I was listening to Lindsay at the time) but ALSO for my terrible manners, which is RIDICULOUS, because all the blame rests on the guy behind me!

Augh, anyway, I figure that once I get off at my stop and the awful music remains blasting, then my name will finally be cleared. But of course HE GETS OFF AT THE SAME STOP AS ME, so everyone on the bus still thinks I'm a crazy homo who's stuck in a k-hole and is convinced it's still Saturday night at Nation.

Not that I care what anyone who takes public transit thinks of me, but still.

Have a great day, everyone!! Is there anything fun going on tonight?