You Found Me Out, New York Magazine!

And you've captured me beautifully. The glasses, the hair, the shoving a pill/Altoid in my mouth. My thanks. I'm truly blessed...and even more famous.

I don't need the tranquilizers on the subway anymore and last night marked a first as I also resisted Couples Therapy, the Ch1 special where celebrity has-beens rehash their toxic relationships. I realized, after DMX gave up his bottle to the counselor, that Vienna and Kasey now bore me to tears.

Celebrities should no longer be allowed to name their children. Jeremy Sisto and his babymama named his child Bastian Kick. It's abuse, like Dish trying to sing.

Tebow with the Jets? I'm not sure why this excites me. Maybe breathing life into this cursed franchise?

TG and I are now going to watch American Idol. We haven't followed it, but TG likes the show. I just enjoy the sunshine that is J.Lo and pretend that Steven Tyler is my secret daddy. I vote for Bar-Voice Blonde or Mr. Ponytail.