She said WHAT?!

Last night Kara DioGuardi confirmed to America that she really is just talking out of her ass.

Following Michael Lynch's rendition of India Arie's "Ready for Love," Kaka had this feedback to give:

"I hate to admit, I've never heard that song until you chose it. I went to listen to it and I have to say you did an incredible job with it, you really did. You mastered the intention behind it even though you're so far from that in your own personal life. You got to the true emotion of the song. It was tasteful. It was lovely. It was one of my favorite performances."

Hm. Interesting. Wasn't it Kara who boasted last night about her success in the industry as a song writer? Yeah, certainly she's doing her competitive research. Here's a new term to add to your b.s. repertoire, DioGuardi... industry awareness. Even I, who do no more than listen to Gaga on repeat, have heard that song. Hell I was even singing along myself... as I do every episode... in front of the mirror... with a hairbrush microphone.

And not for nothing, after hearing that song ONCE you were able to get a full understanding of the "intention" and "true emotion" of the song? I would venture to guess you weren't even able to do that with Sisqo's 1990 hit masterpiece, "Thong Song."

Kaka was right about one thing, however; It was a lovely performance. But it was NOTHING compared to my boo, Lee's performance of "Treat Her Like a Lady" or Andrew Garcia's interpretation of "Forever." Who could I have done without last night? I hate to say it... but Shabang. Her performance was about as tolerable as a bleach cocktail. And Tim Urban? So help me God if I have to watch him perform ever again. Oh well... the sun is shining... let's focus on the good, shall we?

Someone Hug Tony Dovolani

For a long time I've thought that the sound of forks scraping against china was the most annoying sound in the world.

I was wrong...

What is the really most annoying sound in the world? Kate Gosselin. Coincidentally, Kate Gosselin dancing is also the most annoying sight in the world. Last night I was so pained by Dancing With The Stars, I needed a fistful of tylenol and a tall glass of wine just to make it through the first hour. I'd like to meet the person that decided to devote 3 hours of airtime a week to this garbage... and then I'd like to stick him in a small room with Kate and see how he likes it.

And let's be clear--it's wasn't just Kate who made me want to slam my head through the mirror ball last night. Majority of the "stars" (cough. yeah right. cough) had the collective rhythm and musicality of a deaf, blind, and rabid dingo. Though, I can't really say that either... Buzz Aldrin has the rhythm and musicality of Michael Jackson... at this very moment.

But more appalling than the lack of any dance ability whatsoever, was the lack of any class. My sincerest apologizes to the professional dancers of DWTS. Never in all of my seasons of viewership have I ever seen such unwarranted bitching. Exactly who do you think you are, soap opera actor I can't even name? Or once-recognized, bad-girl TV star of the early nineties who has not aged well? You're obviously on the show because you've hit rock bottom so SUCK IT UP AND DANCE.

Someone needs to give Tony and my boo Mark Ballas a big hug. I'll volunteer for Marky poo.

Hit the Road, Kat... And Dontcha' Come Back

Breathe in... breathe out... now say it with me... "Ahhhhh..."

Holy Denny Duquette it's true! Katherine Heigl has flipped her last bird to the cast and crew of Grey's Anatomy, Entertainment Weekly confirms. What exactly does Izzy's departure mean for us loyal viewers? Well, I would venture to guess it would mean a lot less deer, a lot more shirtless Karev scenes, and bountiful rejoicing on set.

I can picture it now: Shondra Rhimes passing around the peace pipe, the writers going shot-for-shot with each other, McSteamy streaking through the set (yum...more of that please). In fact, I have it on good authority that the moment news of Katherine's peace-out leaked, the entire Grey's set turned into a scene from Godspell with Bailey taking the lead on "Oh bless the Lord my Soul."

It's no secret that Katherine Heigl was about as pleasant as a mammogram, stinking up the set with her cigarette smoke and bad attitude. She made it quite clear she was too good for that silly little medical dramedy that catapulted her lifeless career from the day's of "My Father the Hero" and the made-for-TV Disney hit "Wish Upon a Star" (thought I must admit, both are personal faves of mine). So what's next for this superstar? Perhaps some more earth-shattering, big screen hits in the likeness of "The Ugly Truth."

Fictional life at Seattle Grace doesn't seem to miss Izzy much, either. In fact, the show has been seriously stepping up its game recently. This distracting sexual chemistry between Dr. Hunt and Dr. I Love Hunt is doing more than enough to fill the Izzy/Karev void. Though, I must admit, I will look back fondly on Izzy's earlier Denny-filled days. In fact, let's take this moment to remember her with warm admiration in the best scene of Grey's to date (followed shortly thereafter with the pinnacle of Katherine's acting career):

Ricky Ricardo

Every Wednesday it's the same routine: Go to work. Talk about LOST. Try to do work but can't because you're thinking about LOST. Talk about LOST some more. Go to happy hour. Stumble home. Try to re-watch LOST drunk...

Last Wednesday my co-workers and I started talking about what our parallel LOST worlds would be like. You know... if that pivotal life-changing moment never happened (i.e. "your island") and you continued to live your life as you would have. One of my friends said his "island" was coming out of the closet, so in his parallel world he would still be living in Virginia Beach, pretending to like girls but really dreaming of Chase Crawford. Another friend admitted that her "island" was moving from Texas to New York. She still says y'all and frequents Texas Independence Day concerts so her parallel world would look a lot like this one... minus the surplus of skyscrapers and metrosexuals.

Then it was my turn. An event that altered the intricate fibers of my future, eh? Was it being pantsed in the 6th grade? My freshman 20? The day I decided to top a cream cheese bagel with tomato sauce? (Don't knock it 'till you've tried it). Nope... none of the above would really have changed life as I know it. Maybe I haven't landed on my island yet. Or maybe... I'm a Richard.

Like Richard, or as we learned last week, Ricardo, my parallel life is identical to my current one. See, because Richard is about one trillion years old, his island life began decades before the days of Dharma or Oceanic flight 815. Poor little guy; living an infinite life on the worlds creepiest island without his wifey or any known nookie for that matter. There's a new special place in my heart for Ricardo. His sad little puppy dog story and Spanish accent is really boosting up his sex appeal.

Which brings me to my next point: When is Ricardo gonna get any? I mean, the poor bastard has lived far too long in his physical prime to be deprived of any hot island action. What's not to love? His mysteriousness? His fluent Spanish? His eyelashes that would bring Madonna to tears? Yep... he's the whole package. But who on the island has the sexual prowess to satiate the needs of man who's had blue balls for nearly two centuries? Well, there's only one real answer here: Ilana. Girlfriend sure knows her way around a gun and could probably benefit from getting laid. I say it's a win win for both parties! Someone alert J.J. Abrams...

Air Bud, Alex Mack, and Edsica

So last night I ventured out with manfriend and a few of my fave femmes. It was supposed to be a low-key evening; you know... just some PBRs at Bro J's and late night karaoke. That is until I got this text:

"There may be a Gossip Girl in our entourage. Keep it on the d/l though."

After a couple dozen nervous farts, I learned that this particular Gossip Girl was of the earthy-variety and was bringing along her Gossip-Boy boyfriend. You guessed it: Jessica Szhor and Ed Sextwick. As you could imagine, my first instinct was to Alex Mack myself into a giant puddle of lady jizz (I mean, that is what that stuff was, right? See video below). But no; using the little remains of my sanity, I pulled myself together in a tastefully slutty ensemble and pre-selected a karaoke song list so exquisite it would give even St. Simon an erection.

So there I stood, double fisting PBRs and bartering for cigarettes to take the edge off. At some point between sober and not-so-sober, Jessica's apparent bff walked in, equipped with a Dooney & Burke blackberry condom and Euro-looking boyfriend. What didn't come in tow? Chuck and Vanessa. One. Big. Tease.

A tease comparable to Little J last week as she so skankilly offered up her V-Card and then denied it pre-swipe. Good for you, Jenny! Just because he's one part dangerous and two parts sexy doesn't mean you have to throw away the goods. And let's get real... Damien will always be Air Bud at heart.

Ah, and speaking of last week's episode, I almost forgot to gloat. Of course Mommy Dearest is a lying satchel of Fendi. That creepy non-accent screams woman scorned. What happens when you turn your back on your own child, eh? This woman is about to get a strong dose of Karma. I hope someone puts a curse on her hoo-hah.

American... Idle?

Is it just me? Or is this season of Idol about as exciting as a wet paper towel? I feel as if my favorite restaurant decided to stop putting salt in their ciabatta bread. Have you ever had salt-free bread? Well, let me assure you... it sucks.

Sucking much like the talent this season, in fact. During last night's result show, I actually prayed to St. Simon to do the unthinkable and send both Paige and Tim Urban home. Now don't get me wrong... I'm as superficial as they come. Of course there can be no such thing as an unattractive idol; but don't let that be the only reason to keep Tim "I may be cute but my voice is as annoying as white noise" Urban. COMEON now! I'm pretty certain that if you had to listen to that kid on the radio 24/7 there would be a dangerous jump in highway collisions.

That's the problem with this show. Our fate is in the hands of pre-pubescent teens exploring their new found pee-pee sensation. Get a clue, youngings... in a few years Tim Urban is going to look like Papa Joe Simpson and you're going to be thinking to yourselves, "I probably should have voted for that more-talented other hot guy... Crystal."

All jokes aside, Crystal, Lee and Siobhan (or Sha-bang, according to my Dad) seem to be the saving graces of season 9. I propose that they just knock everybody else off and have these three duke it out amongst themselves for the rest of the show. Though, this still wouldn't mean we won't have to suffer through any more unfortunate accessory incidents. Don't understand what I'm referring to? Think back to the feather earrings, plastic necklaces, and hair flair of the past few weeks. Seriously... who dresses these people?! They all look like garage sale casualties.

And speaking of garages, why is it that these dumbass Ford commercials just keep getting gayer by the week? Just thinking about the amount of money Ford is spending to make people fast forward their placements makes me want to vom. I have an idea... Ford should just give Ryan some more money for drugs. "Ryan's awkward behavior has been brought to you by Ford Motors." That'll guarantee some viewership.

Well, we can't exactly complain about Ryan not bringing excitement to the table. Hell, if I were Ryan Seacrest I'd probably need some speed too. Check out the crazy eyes in the video below where Ryan gets the munchies and tries to eat St. Simon (Feel free to FF to the 5 min mark... I wouldn't want to make you sit through that performance).

Warning: Tigers Syndrome Sweeping Hospitals in the Seattle Area

It appears that everyone at Seattle Grace has come down with a case of the Tigers. For all of you un-medical, lay people types like myself, please review the following medical advisory:

Tigers (Ty-gers') Syndrome: (from the Greek: ἀράχνη, Panthera tigris, "douchous maximus") mental disorder which fixates all of one's thoughts on the vagina. Symptoms include talking incessantly about the vagina, spreading ridiculous un-truths about the vagina, developing elaborate metaphors around the vagina, or just the innate desire to whore oneself out. A permanent cure has yet to be determined, but temporary remedies include a strong dose of peen or walking in on an old lady in the buff. If you believe that you may be suffering from Tigers Syndrome, please consult your health care provider. Or better yet, rush to your nearest blockbuster and rent a copy of that Colin Farrell movie with the full frontal nudity.

Now that you've been briefed on the dangers of Tigers Syndrome, please spread the word. Awareness is the first step to finding a cure. While some of you might be thinking, "where does a silly little blogger get the medical authority to pioneer and diagnose such a serious a medical condition?" it's important that you know I've watched an exorbitant amount of medical dramas in my lifetime. So much, in fact, that I have earned a BS in Television Medicine (and no, that doesn't stand for Bachelor of Science).

Moving on... Yes, it is my esteemed medical opinion that a Tigers outbreak has been sweeping the halls of Seattle Grace hospital. All of this "Your heart lives in your vagina" nonsense is proof of that fact. Correction, your heart does not live in your vagina; it is located sub-sternal, center thoracic, superior to the stomach with the apex on the left. Suck on that, 10th grade biology.

One would assume that world-class surgeons would know full well that the heart does not live in the vagina. Alas, one of the side effects of the syndrome is making outrageously fantastical claims about the vagina. And "prepping the surgical area?" Clearly the vajayjay is all these people can think about these days. Meredith, Christina, Lexie, Alex, Bailey, and McSteamy seem to be the disorder's primary carriers. To be clear, Callie and Arizona may not be affected. There is a difference between those fixated on the hoo-hah due to Tigers syndrome and those fixated on the hoo-hah because they are lesbians by nature.

This message has been brought to you by the American Doctors Association, Elin Woods, and the naughty minds at ABC.

Happy St. Patty's Day

Dearest Friends,

As you drink your body weight in carbombs (or if you're at work wishing you were), I'd like to make your day a little brighter with the below. It's pretty much an all time fave of mine... ESPECIALLY on St. Pat Pat's. See, it combines everything you'd ever want from today... Leprechauns and Stupidity.

Chuck Yeah... It's Back

My apologies for the posting hiatus... I was too busy sewing prescription pills into my ugly sweater and scotchgarding my sofa. But enough about me (don't get too disappointed)--let's catch up with our favorite Upper East Siders... Where they're shopping, who they're boinking, and who they're suddenly related to.

In effort to respect my elders, I've decided to start with GG's Matriarch and Patriarch, Mr. and Mrs. Lillian Rhodes-Vanderwoodsen-Bass-Humphrey. Well, they're about as happy as you would imagine two Republicans would be on the day Nobama shoved health care reform down America's throat. Speaking of shoving things down people's throats, looks like our not-so-happy couple have been engaging in some extra-marital tonsil hockey. Yep, Lily made the mistake of slipping the tongue to Serena and Eric's absent father while Rufus has become the building manslut. Tisk tisk, Lilfus... tisk tisk.

In lighter news, Serena and Nate are aglow with new love. On second thought, it's more likely that glow is the result of sweat beads from non-stop sex in kitchens, and living rooms, coat closets, etc. In fact, Serena is so oversexed, she has dismissed the social norm to wear pants in public. The only person in New York opposed to that? Blaire bear. As if it were weird enough that she is a constant earshot away from the no-no bumping between her ex and her bffaeae; Now she must spermicide the whole apartment for fear of getting preggers from sitting on the couch. Thank God for Scotchguard... and for this quote: "It appears my advise has gone the way of the clog."

Speaking of ugly shoes, it looks like Dan and Vanessa are gonna try and give it a go. Imagine if those two procreated? I bet they'd have the kind of kids that "enjoy school" and "read for pleasure." Woof... I'll pass. Though if they're anything like their Aunt Jenny, perhaps their bohemian roots will get the better of them. Ahh... home sweet family drug ring.

And at last, the leading role in all of my late night fantasies... Chuck Bass. In true prime-time soap opera fashion, Chuck's not-so-dead birth mother has revealed herself. Call me crazy, but I don't think we're going to see Chuck making ceramic hand prints anytime soon. Something about this woman still gives me the heebies. I've always said, never trust a woman with a locket.

So in preparation for tonight, make sure you thoroughly disinfect your kitchen. To stress the importance of that, I've provided the video below. Enjoy your lady boner!

The Soundtrack to My Nightmares

You know you're a couple episodes into a season of LOST when your dreams stop resembling sexual fantasies about Chuck Bass and begin to resemble hardcore acid trips.

The other night I dreamed that I was walking down a city block lined with dead bodies. Every time I walked passed one, he or she would come back to life and continue about their business. Then Katherine McPhee and I walked into a house where all the bodies were naked ladies. They started coming to life and doing dishes and making coffee... in the nude of course. As this was all happening, Katherine got scared that her father was going to come back and kill her, so I distracted everyone by doing a tap dance.

While this dream might not scream J.J. Abrams to you, it's a subtle reminder that this show will seriously eff with your subconscious brain activity. Take Tuesday night for example--arguably the BEST episode of LOST in quite some time. It's now confirmed that the island is a battleground between good and evil, and we're slowly but surely losing all the besties to the dark side. Claire, whose season 6 return is a huge step up from her wonderbread performance during seasons 1-4, has become smokey's lap dog. And now Sayid? Sexy Sayid? He's sure gonna be a seriously bad-ass edition to Faux-Locke's (aka "Flocke's") arsenal of evil.

Now, I'm especially convinced that this past episode was incredible, not only because I still have chills, but because every time I hear "Catch a Falling Star" I start to twitch. There you have it, folks... the new soundtrack to my nightmares. Undoubtedly the creepiest song out there. Don't think so, eh? Well watch the below and then decide:

Incident Report: Precious Stolen Hours

Monday was a sad day.

Not only did someone at the office steal my turkey breast and havarti sandwich (who does that?!), but it was the day that I realized I had wasted precious hours of my life. 18 to be exact. After Monday's night finale of the Bachelor, I can say with utmost certainty that it was the most torturous season of the show to date. So torturous in fact that I wrote the following note to ABC (please excuse my gross grammatical errors--I was only limited to 500 characters):

Ive been a fan of the show since S1. What Ive like most about it in its recent seasons is that its given the contestants in which the audience became emotionally invested w/ another chance at love. Trista, Meredith, Jen, DeAnna, Jason (eh), Jillian = great, grand, wonderful. But then you give us Jake!? Ive never been so embarrassed to say I watch the show. Seriously, try and find a bigger loser. I dare you. Oh wait, you already did... Ali. Way to go, ABC, I hope cablevision drops your sorry ass.

Ok, probably not one of my finer moments, but hey! I am a woman scorned! And let's be clear, it's not because I'm pissed that Jake picked Vienna like all the other crying vaginas in America. I mean, sure, he and Tenley the Disney princess would have been a match made in heaven... scratch that... middle America circa 1950; but do you really expect a guy with a working peen (though that's up for debate) to chose a pill popper who "danced" for him on national TV? Yeah, no thanks. He's going to pick the girl that gives him the pee-pee sensation, whether she be tranny-looking or not. Odds are that Jake hasn't ever had his no-no's played with. My guess is that he picked the girl most likely to that very thing.

And you know what? I actually liked Vienna. Ok, I said it. All the poor girl did was talk about Jake. Sure she was annoying and hard to look at, but if I was stuck in a house with Ali the 16-year-old mean girl, Tenley McAntidepressents, and Rozlyn the super-whore, I probably wouldn't be friends with anyone either.

But back to my point, I'm not pissed because Jake picked Vienna--I'm pissed because every word that came out of his mouth this season made me die a little inside. And then... on top of it all... I have to listen to "On the Wings Of Love?" You've got to be kidding me. Poor Chris Harrison nearly pooped his pants with laughter when Jeffrey Osborne showed up during the after the final rose special.

So to sum up, I'd really like those 18 hours back. I'd love to say that it's over and that my hours are secured in an armored safe box, but it appears that ABC is like one great life-stealing bandit. Now they've added Jakey to the DWTS cast and Ali as the next bachelorette. F.M.L. Oh well, at least Jimmy Kimmel feels the same way I do:

Casting, Costuming, and Other Grievances

So I caught up on my Grey's from last week in preparation for tonight's episode. I know what you're thinking... YES, I still watch Grey's. Geeze, enough with the interrogation, people. Let's just hope that tonight's epi won't make me want to reach through the screen, grab a scalpel and slice my eyes out... again.

In the episode entitled "The Time Warp," it was lecture day at Seattle Grace. Yup... Thrilling. In their speeches, Callie, Bailey, and the Chief took a gander back in time to when the Chief wasn't bald, Bailey wore a weave, and Callie still loved peen. Ohh the good ole days.

In the Chief's flashback, the audience got a first row seat to the adulterous nookie between him and Meredith's momma. And who did ABC cast to play the wretched Ellis Grey? The sexy Sarah Paulson. Sure, it's believable that the woman who could charm the heart of Cupid himself would one day look like the grim reaper. What? You, didn't watch Cupid during its 7 episode stint on ABC? Maybe you are more familiar with her performance as Mel Gibson's sexretary in What Women Want. "It's OK, I just use the company phones to call my boyfriend in Israel."

Bailey's flashback was a little less palatable. We learned that in her first year as an intern, Bailey was fourteen years old. Not really, but you expect me to believe that an educated 26-year-old woman would sport braids, glasses, a pink turtleneck sweatshirt and a jest? Comeon people, the year was 2003... NOT 1989. What is it with TV and Movies and throwing glasses on actors and making them fashionably retarded to make them look "younger?" And then they cast Fran Stalinofskivitchdavitovichsy from Dodgeball as Bailey's resident? You got it... the deadliest woman on earth.

Ah, and then there's Callie. Nothing really jaw-dropping here--just a subtle reminder that she used to speak dong... and quite fluently I might add.

Moral of the story, it took me about 10 minutes and 18 Fresh Step kitty litter commercials (seriously, ABC?) to realize that this episode would have absolutely no impact on the next. Oh well. At least we all learned a lesson here: if you're having a medical emergency, have the ambulance avoid Seattle Grace... it could be lecture day and all the docs might be too busy reminiscing than saving lives.