Girl Week

Oh. My. God. YOU GUYS!!! We're looking at six days until I camp out in the Great Woods parking lot with Alicia and Kristen, drink my face off in a lot full of tweens and their Moms, and rock out to some Kelly Clarkson.

OhmyGodOhmyGodOhmyGod. Dudes. This is going to rule.

On any given day, there is a barometer of how I'm feeling, and it's called my iPod. If you turn on my iPod and an artist appears on the screen, you'll have an accurate representation of my frame of mind. For instance, Code Red is Bright Eyes or Tori Amos. This is the absolute, shittiest, ohmygodmakeitstop mood I can be in. Code Orange would be Nine Inch Nails. I am not so sad I have given up hope, but am still yelling at my problems and telling them I'd like to fuck them like an animal. Or something. Code Yellow would be Kelly Clarkson. My anger is well-produced, effervescencent, and at the teenage level where I know I should be mad at that guy I was dating yesterday for not talking to me today in the cafeteria but instead macking on my best friend, but I don't have the history of shitheads pulling this on me to really lose all hope. Code Blue is the Indigo Girls, because most of their songs are about eventually finding peace. Code Green is Rihanna or Madonna or all the poppy crap I listen to at the gym or when I'm dancing in my apartment in my underpants. Like you don't do that.

But, if this weren't enough fun for one week, Project Runway begins its third season on Bravo on Thursday. (EDIT: Wednesday. I was going to watch on Thursday.) I'm missing it because I don't have cable, but I'm still excited. I have a huge girl-crush on Heidi Klum. She's lovely, she is the prettiest pregnant woman on the planet, she has the best chirpy German schoolgirl voice, and she's married to Seal, who I also love. I also have a crush on Tim Gunn, who aids the SIX-TEEN DESIGNERS through their various tasks. He's gay, but he's honest without being nasty and can take a joke ("Whatever happened to Ahn-dray?"). I want him to come and take me under his wing and tell me how to live my life in his calm, erudite manner. ("Amy, it's make it work time. Calm down. Make it work.")

He's a fox.

I'll be enjoying the pleasant pursuits my membership in the female gender offers this week. Mass-produced chick rock and a peek at the world of fashion with Heidi Klum and Tim Gunn. Oh, and vodka.