“Don’t tell me it’s not worth fightin’ for
I can’t help it - there’s nothin’ I want more
Ya know it’s true
Everything I do - I do it for you”

Oh Bryan, how many times have I secretly turned that song up in the car, letting that raspy voice of yours lull me into a romantic haze? You’re my secret boyfriend. And that song you sing with Sting (my other secret boyfriend) and Rod Stewart (who I don’t want to be my boyfriend at all) where you all urge me to make it “all for one and all for love” has the ability to transport me out of my cynical cloud for two whole minutes.

I’m not ashamed of my secret soft spot for soft rock. I’m not embarrassed that whenever a Backstreet Boys ballad mysterious turns up on my iTunes, I let it play out entirely, soaking up every syrupy sound wave. In this complicated world, soft rock is there to pretend things are simple. Love is love, heartbreak is heartbreak, and everyone is willing to die for a lifetime with their soul mate. After weekends full of “hey baby, why don’t me and you go into the bathroom and make out?”, it’s always nice to know Phil Collins is there, waiting to tell me he “can’t stop loving me” as many times as I feel like replaying the track. Read More »

Nicole Richie is whacked!!! Someone needs to throw her into an unmarked van and force her to live in a psychiatric ward until she can start acting like a normal human.

Not only did Nicole throw a barbeque on Memorial Day that almost killed Mischa Barton, but the invitation to that barbeque is so stupid I have a headache (any and all punctuation attempted by yours truly):

“My fellow Americans, its that time of year! To celebrate our country by drinking massive amounts of beer. Let’s stand together as one, live the American dream, take shots, pass out, & wake up with our pants ripped open at the seems. Let’s glorify this day in your sluttiest tops and your tightest pair of tsubi jeans. Even though we have no fucking clue what Memorial Day really means!!”

Richie ends her email with: Read More »