Just so you know, this morning I stood in front of my bathroom sink, Valium in one hand, coffee cup in the other. I took a swig of coffee, and put the emergency Valium back in its bottle.

But I am about two minutes away from a nervous breakdown.

My list of things I MUST do is about 20 items long, the list of things I would LIKE to do (such as get a haircut) is twice that.

Episode three offered us a plethora of cliches from which to choose:

1. It's a dog's life.
2. Going to the dogs.
3. Walkin' the dog.
4. Dog eat dog.
5. Every dog has his day.
6. What a bitch. (oops, maybe not)
7. Dog in the manger
8. You can't teach an old dog new tricks.

That last would be Laura, whom I do so want to adore, and yet, conversely, whom I am coming to loathe for the very same pretentiousness and twee that so appeals.

To be specific, when she thought that the year's hottest fashion accessory was going to be a horse (!?!), she immediately changed into riding boots and jodphers. She had riding boots and jodphers in her Louis Vuitton cases when she moved into the Atlas? She, or the producers, are definitely streching the limits of my credulity with that one. But. It's Laura, so, maybe she did.

When she found out that the accessory is a micro dog, she got all squeamish and put it in a purse so that she wouldn't have to touch it. She has five kids, and she can't physically touch a dog? Puh-leeeze. That dog has got to have a better pedigree than her kids, and is certainly as clean (if not cleaner) than an under-5-year-old boy.

Which brings us to the subject of old dogs/new tricks. Her design, while yes, very chic and all, looked almost exactly like her cocoon coat with the giant fur collar from episode one. And her palette seems to be all down there in the white/beige/grey/tan/ecru/mushroom/taupe/toast/greige neighborhood of totally boring. If she doesn't come up with another shape and some real color in the next challenge, I see her leaving sooner than later.

As for the little bitch fight between her and Keith? Excuse me while I snore, even through her painful attempt at a little ghetto-tude while explaining that she was protecting her man. Or boy. Or what ever.

I loved Kayne's ensemble, and his matching little doggie cape. The model's coat alone was a masterpiece of construction, with the lining made from the skirt material. I thought he should have won, since his was the most matchy-matchy of all the designs, and seemingly the most meticulously made.

Robert is still going through Barbie withdrawal, I think, what with the treacly pink boucle. Still, he nailed it perfectly when he said he was going for a Jackie O slash Barbie look. His little dog suit, with the constructed slot for the leash/halter was also perfectly acceptable.

Uli's look is another one-hit wonder. Again with the rope straps. She stole the back from Vincent's Miss USA (not Miss America as I said last week. RJ was outraged that I didn't know the difference between Miss America and Miss USA. Hey, I have enough addictions, pageants are not one of them. So sue me.) The three tapering bands going to the middle of the lower back? The very features that Miss Vera Wang and Miss USA loved the most about Vincent's olive green slip.

I will grant Uli major color sense and an ability to do pattern on pattern as well as the masters of the form: kimono designers. But how many times can I see a rope neck and a halter top before I spew?

Katy made the perfect little dog hoodie. Was there a dress too? I didn't notice.

Alison's piece was edgy and hip, I could see (and I'm sorry to have to say this... I may have to punish myself) the Dread Paris Hilton trotting around in it with her matching little rat dog. Of course, it was much too long for Paris, seeing as how one couldn't see the models "pink stuff", and we know that would never do for Paris. And the material wasn't trashy or see through or a horrible color, so that would have to be redone. But if you squint enough, you could see Paris wearing that.

Vincent's design was deadly dull, and his affection for odd hats and large sunglasses is beginning to pale for me. I think I'm the last person in all of PR fandom to actually have a soft spot for Vinnie the Tool, but, hell. He may be a burn out, but he's my kind of burn out. The hat on the dog actually made me laugh a little. The part where the dog did the catwalk rubbing his head the whole way, trying to get the damn hat OFF was fulling entertaining, and exactly what one wants from one's reality TV.

Michael's set of matching dresses was under represented. We didn't see him sketch, shop or sew. There was no lingering camera work. I for one wanted to see more of that. What was up with the interwoven neckline pieces? How did that work? What kind of fabric was he working with? Why don't we get more of Michael? And was that little doggie in the matching dress not adorable?

Bradley. What can we say about Bradley? He needs a shower. He needs to shave. We saw all that trauma of Bradley not getting anything together, (and who needed that claptrap? I would rather have seen Michael.) only to have the judges rave on the runway. And over what, exactly? A blue and gold version of Daniel V's "orchid inspiration" from last season. That bubble/balloon top over a pencil skirt? Pardon me while I stiffle a Very. Big. Yawn. I hated it when Daniel V did it, and it isn't making me any more appreciative this year.

Jeffrey did another raggy, asymetrical, overly long-sleeved schmata. Done and done again. For such a freakazoid ("All I know about pageants is Jon-Benet Ramsey"? EWWWW) he really doesn't have much in the way of an out of the box vision. Maybe it's the pin-point pupils that make it hard to have one.

Finally, I come to Angela and Keith. Holy shit. Which one of those two assholes is bigger? Keith, he of the My-Shit-Don't-Stink Brotherhood, or Angela, I-have-a-story? A story? Angela had an entire series of American Girl books in her head. Or not. Maybe not American Girl, maybe more like Nancy Drew on bad acid. Which could also explain her designs.

Keith refused to dress the dog. Flatly refused to participate in the challenge. "MY girl doesn't dress her dog like a baby doll. MY girl has an exotic breed and it doesn't NEED any dressing up." Well allrighty, then. Which was a pity, because that dress really was a magnificent piece of work, and even making a wide collar out the orange fabric would have been an acceptable solution to the challenge. But no. He refused to play with others. Heidi and Nina were not happy. Miss Vera Wang was not happy. Did we get to hear Ivanka Trump tell him "you're fired?" (Admit it, that would have been great.) No. They sent poor lumpy Katy home, and she at least dressed the dog. In a HOODIE! This refusal to participate really made me miss Michael Kors. You just know that he would have ripped Keith's head off and (figuratively) pissed down his bloody neck stump. Sigh.

Let me see if I can relate Angela's opium dream. It went something like this. My girl is an English headmistress at a summer art camp for children. In Paris. And she's throwing a big picnic for her dog's birthday. The children are very young, 5-8. (Question: if she's English, are the children English, too? Because I think even the Brits would balk at sending junior to sleep away camp in Paris at that tender age.) So Angela made a million billion little hand-stitched yo-yos and applied them on a purple version of her ubiquitous bubble skirt. (Ditto for doggie shirt). This skirt, unlike Alison's entry, WAS short enough for Paris-the-girl. Hardly what a British headmistress (even at an art camp in Paris-the-city) should be wearing while out with the tykes. It had a blouse. The blouse was sleeveless, belly-bareing, and breast exposing. Hardly what a British headmistress (even at an art camp in Paris-the-city) should be wearing while out with the tykes.

The fact that even Ivanka Trump knew that it was inappropriate attire says a whole fucking lot. And Nina gave the unhappy "We are concerned about your taste level" statement that does, and should, send ice coursing through the veins of the designers. Miss Vera Wang looked like she would have been happy to send Angela back to the "off the grid" organic farm she lives on. Again, I have to ask, where was Michael Kors when we needed him?

Until next week, keep your scissors sharpened.

One of the funniest things I read during my college years was the Deteriorata, a spoof of the Desiderata. It appeared in the National Lampoon, and was written by the great Tony Hendra. As my life slips out of my control, and I have to recite the Serentity Prayer over and over in my head, I thought the time had come to revisit something that is a little more relevant to me, and little more to my way of thinking.
Deteriorata

Go placidly amid the noise and the waste and remember what comfort there may be in owning a piece thereof.

Avoid quiet & passive persons unless you are in need of sleep. Rotate your tires. Speak glowingly of those greater than yourself & heed well their advice, even though they be turkeys; know what to kiss & when.

Consider that two wrongs never make a right, but that three do. Wherever possible, put people on hold. Be comforted that in the face of all aridity & disillusionment & despite the changing fortunes of time, there is always a big future in computer maintenance. Remember the Pueblo. Strive at all times to bend, fold, spindle & mutilate.

Know yourself; if you need help, call the FBI. Exercise caution in your daily affairs, especially with those persons closest to you -- that lemon on your left, for instance. Be assured that a walk through the ocean of most souls would scarcely get your feet wet. Fall not in love therefore; it will stick to your face.

Gracefully surrender the things of youth, birds, clean air, tuna, Taiwan; & let not the sands of time get in your lunch. Hire people with hooks. For a good time, call 555-4311; ask for Ken. Take heart amid the deepening gloom that your dog is finally getting enough cheese; & reflect that whatever misfortune may be your lot, it could only be worse in Milwaukee.

You are a fluke of the universe; you have no right to be here, & whether you can hear it or not, the universe is laughing behind your back.

Therefore make peace with your God whatever you conceive Him to be -- Hairy Thunderer or Cosmic Muffin.

With all its hopes, dreams, promises, & urban renewal, the world continues to deteriorate. Give up.

Copyright © National Lampoon. Written by Tony Hendra.


Desiderata

Go placidly amid the noise and haste, and remember what peace there may be in silence.

As far as possible, without surrender, be on good terms with all persons.

Speak your truth quietly and clearly; and listen to others, even the dull and ignorant; they too have their story.

Avoid loud and aggressive persons, they are vexations to the spirit.

If you compare yourself with others, you may become vain and bitter, for always there will be greater and lesser persons than yourself.

Enjoy your achievements as well as your plans.

Keep interested in your own career, however humble, it is a real possession in the changing fortunes of time.

Exercise caution in your business affairs, for the world is full of trickery.

But let this not blind you to what virtue there is; Many persons strive for high ideals, and everywhere life is full of heroism.

Be yourself.

Especially, do not feign affection.

Neither be cynical about love; for in the face of all aridity and disenchantment, it is perennial as the grass.

Take kindly the council of the years, gracefully surrendering the things of youth.

Nurture strength of spirit to shield you in sudden misfortune.

But do not distress yourself with imaginings.

Many fears are born of fatigue and loneliness. Beyond a wholesome discipline, be gentle with yourself.

You are a child of the universe, no less than the trees and the stars, you have a right to be here.
And whether or not it is clear to you, no doubt the universe is unfolding as it should.

Therefore be at peace with God, whatever you conceive Him to be, and whatever your labors and aspirations, in the noisy confusion of life keep peace with your soul.

With all its sham, drudgery and broken dreams, it is still a beautiful world.

Be cheerful - Strive to be happy.

'The Desiderata of Happiness' by Max Erhmann, Copyright © 1948 by Bertha K. Erhmann

Lots of new photos over in the photo blog. Check them out. Or not.

I'm off to watch Eureka, on the Sci-Fi channel. It's no Firefly, but it'll do.

I can't afford to buy out my brother's share of the parental units' home.

The insurance company no longer wants to insure it.

If I put the insurance in my name, I lose the homestead exemption on the house, and the only policy I can get would be state pool insurance, which would also mean that I couldn't afford it anyway.

If we put the house on the market, it is a dead market and we'll be looking at who knows how long until we see a sale.

If we put the house on the market, it would need to be completely emptied, a job which would take a couple of very hard weeks of labor. I don't have any more vacation time, and I can't ask my brother to do it, because it would be very, very bad.

So. What the fuck do I do now?

I'm going around in circles like Conan on the wheel of pain. I can't see any way out of this, except to sell the house (unwillingly) and take two weeks (at least) of unpaid leave to get the house ready.

This is not the scenario my parents planned for. There must be another option. What it is, I have no idea.

On the upside, however, this seems to finally be the stress level at which I stop eating. I should be down to a size 4 by the end of the year. A suicidal, anorexic, miserable and probably chain-smoking, two-fisted drinking size 4, but a size 4 nonetheless.

Wish me luck.

I'm sort of at a loss for what to say about last night. Do none of these people know the meaning of the word 'hubris"?

The challenge was to design a pageant dress for Miss America, who was there to tell the designers what she wanted, and then to judge how well they did. The guest judge last night was the inimitable and formidable Grande Dame of Evening Wear, Miss Vera Wang.

First the ground rules. They will each design a dress based on her requirements, and then pitch their designs to Miss A. She will pick seven designers who will then pick an assistant from the remaining seven designers to help them construct the dress.

So the designers as a group heard what she wanted "monochrome, earth tones - stay away from white, play down the bust, show off the back, make me look taller" and then had half an hour to sketch. Angela didn't sketch anything, though, because she was too busy trying to convince Kayne-the-pageant-designer to make her his assistant. I'm amazed that he could draw anything with that harpie over his shoulder. Wahwahwah. Much eye rolling from the other designers who saw exactly what she was up to. As usual in these sorts of shows, that nagging and ragging came back to bite her on the ass.

Sketches. Pitches. A few creepy Daniel Franco/Heidi Klum lingerie episode echoes are heard to reverberate. Laura is a pro. Kayne is Mr. Pageant and lets Miss A know it. Mooooolan's design looks great, despite my hopes to the contrary. Jeffrey's doesn't suck either, damn it, and Miss A likes his pitch of her being an empowered goddess-woman.

Back in the workroom, Miss A announces her choices for team leaders and the magic button bag is brought out so that random selection determines the order of picking assistants. Pageant boy picks Barbie boy in a great syncronicity of talent and style sense. Laura picks Michael (coffee filter dress) which also produces a powerhouse of a team. Keith snatches up Bradley; Shmoo goes for Alison. Uli gets Bonnie (one of the two women who look alike to me, and who have sportswear experience) and Mooooooolan takes Katherine (the other one). That leaves poor, poor, put-upon Vincent, who gets the last kitten in the box, the interesting Angela. This would be the part where all that nagging came back to bite her.

Vincent is gracious about it, although he gets her name wrong. But, hey, if I didn't work in an office where everyone wore name tags, I'd still be saying "You There", so once again, I have to cut Vinnie major slack.

And they're off to Mood to buy fabric. Kayne goes for a beautiful golden something or other and decides to layer it under what looks to be a sheer mulberry chiffon. The combination is stunning, but somebody (JEFFREY) feels the need to snark about "sherbert is NOT an earth tone". There is lots of charmeuse and chiffon and drapey stuff, and then we see Angela ragging on Vincent. She's whining about lack of time, and we're gonna have to leave before you pick fabric and wahwahwahwah. Finally Vincent asks her, very politely, to put a cork in it, because she's making him nervous and she made her point about 10 iterations ago. Me? I would have just bitch-slapped her until she shut up.

Back to the workroom again, and we see everybody working nicely together. Some more together than others. Katherine keeps trying to get Moooooolan to tone down his corset top. He's doing some very interesting and complicated work with ruching, and really, it only needs to be simple ruching. She explains that all that bulk in the bodice and hips is going to frighten away a woman, who will rightly think that it just makes her look bulky.

Robert and Kayne are kind of like Satan-ino and Nick, if Satan-ino WERE Nick. They are too much fun together. Jeffery is seen to be an egomaniacal asshat. What a shock. We only glimpse Laura and Michael (and I would have liked to have seen more: what an interesting pairing that would have been.) Mostly we get to see Vincent (and his olive green satin) getting ragged on by Angela. "I don't like your design. I made something like that in college. Let ME do the draping so that it looks better. I don't want any part of your crap. I don't like it. I'm going to go off in the other room and eat worms." And she does, so that when Vincent DOES want her help, she's nowhere to be found.

Finally, and after more stuff that I don't feel like reviewing, we get to the good part: the runway. Most of the dresses are forgettable. Jeffrey's vision of empowered goddesshood looks like crap. The pieces don't flow together right, the fit is awful, the draping is off. Moooooolan's dress is unfinished at the hem, because his model was taller or longer waisted or some such thing. Sure enough, all that dark brown fabric across the bust and hips makes his poor model look thick. More drapey stuff, more floating stuff. Uli's dress is better than I expected. Laura & Michael's dress comes out and it is, of course, stunning. It is sleeveless, with a deep scoop neck and a plunging back. The skirt is full. The interest comes in the beading or crystals which, very New Look Dior-style, are clustered more densely at the waist and then spread out above and below, to emphasize the wearer's shape. It is absolutely magnificent. It is also white. Oops. Kayne and Robert send out an absolute confection. The colors are stunning. The halter slash be-jeweled necklace is gorgeous. The cloud of silk organdy at the hemline and reaching up to the knees is sheer glamour. The model overworks it, frankly.

Vincent trots out his vision and it is the only dress with any real color. There is a plunging v-neck, with a little open rhinestone heart at the end of the plunge, between the breasts. Though sleeveless, there is a futuristic (and very couture) sort of cap sleevelet that almost looks like a Jetson's epaulet. The back is low-cut, but the straps of the dress come down in another deep vee to the small of the back, emphasizing the width of the shoulders, and the narrowness of the waist. The seams look like they are princess-style, which also emphasizes the contours of the wearer's body. I would wear this in a New York minute.

Vera Wang is the guest judge, taking Michael Kors' place. Is this not wonderful? Vera fucking Wang? judging evening gowns? I swoon a little.

There is the usual designer explain yourself, you're in, you're on the line. The bottom two were Mooooolan and Vincent. Moooolan, taking a cue from Daniel Franco, accepted that it was his vision, his styling, his choices and that if one team member had to go, it should be him. Angela immediately jumped in to tell the judges that she hated the dress, had no input in the dress, TOLD Vincent that the dress sucked, and as she paused to draw breath to continue, Miss Vera Wang said something to the effect that it was a gorgeous dress, in her opinion, and that except for the epaulets, something that would be a show stopper in a pageant. So. There, Miss Smartypants, Monday morning quarterback.

Miss America finally made her choice, and it was the delectable sherbert and bronze delight from Kayne the pageant guy. He's thrilled. She's thrilled. Vera Wang is thrilled. Robert and Heidi and Nina are thrilled.

Mooooolan is out, and Angela is told that she can stay, but to suck it up, ho, and quit being such a backstabbing whiner. Told you that stuff will come back to bite you. Vincent survives to design another day, and I could not be happier.