Long ago and far away, all of the Jews in my hometown lived in one house: my grandparent’s house. Then my parents moved to their own place, and a couple of years later, my cousins moved down the street from us. But in between, the old house on the river was the nexus of our family. My Grandma Dorfman lived with my cousins, too (she was my uncle’s mother-in-law). I remember the first time I ate one of her pierogis. I was maybe 4 or 5, and it’s really one of my earliest memories. My mother had driven to the big house for something…probably the pierogis… but I refused to get out of the car. Since this was the 50s and a tiny little town, I got left in the car while Mummy went inside. When she came out, she stuck her arm in through the car window and offered me a bite of some soft, warm, pale little dumpling thingy. I was uninpressed, and tried to refuse, but she managed to stuff it in my mouth anyway.

EPIPHANY! Oh. My. God. The taste! The melting quality of the feather-light dough! The fried onions and mashed potato filling! I immediately demanded to be taken out of the car and up to the kitchen for more of that stuff. Grandma Dorfman’s pierogis were legendary (and remember, the women in my family consider cooking to be a competitive sport, so there is stiff competition for that word… Grandma Kanarek’s cinnamon sticky buns…Mummy’s macaroni and cheese…Southern Cousin’s lemon bars… anything chocolate from the Girlcousin’s kitchen… Great Aunt Annie’s green beans and aphids (yeah, legendary in a bad way: she couldn’t cook for shit, poor thing)) Well, over the years, Mummy and my Auntie Em tried to get the recipe for pierogis, but Grandma Dorfman cooked by feel and taste. Measurements were “a handful” or “until it tastes right”, and even then, that changed. A handful might be deemed not enough later in the recipe and then another pinch or dribble might be required. Or might be required to come out, if say, the eggs were small and there seemed to be too much flour on the outside of the well into which they were broken.

So the pierogi recipe exists, sort of. I have, over the years, made them with butter, with goose fat, with yukon gold potatoes and Idaho Russets. I take them to Auntie Em for taste testing, and they always fall short of her mother’s ideal. I have searched and Googled, and explored the world wide web for years, and still can’t quite find the right recipe.

Here’s what it must have: a dough made with a boiled potato. It must be kosher. Although I thought the goose fat came closest in taste, Auntie Em says that it’s a dairy dish, and therefore, could not have been made with schmaltz. Butter, yes. Sour cream, oh hell yes. But it was a dish from the poor shtetl, so it had to be minimal and cheap. Flour. Water. Potatoes. Onions.

Can anyone out there on the interwebs help a sister out? I must have pierogies. Please. I’d even knit you a scarf.

When I was a sophomore at the University of Miami, I received a nasty shock on the first day of my graphic design class. We were going to be doing photography and we would have to have a single lens reflex camera. So much for my extra cash. I had to buy a camera. I didn’t want to. I hated the very thought of being forced to take pictures when I would rather have been drawing. I complained, bitterly, the whole time I shopped for my little Pentax. I complained, bitterly, while I shot 36 frames of black and white film. I complained, still bitterly, while I learned to process my own film. I was still complaining as I pulled the film off the reel, and held it up to the light to see what I had done. Were there images? Were they in focus? Had I screwed up the processing? And the answers were yes, yes and no. And I stopped complaining. I was entranced, enchanted and thoroughly bitten by the photography bug. It became my minor. I had keys to every darkroom on the UM campus. I shot for fun, I shot for profit. I lived in the darkrooms. I even got a job years later from someone who remembered me as a girl who never had a tan, because I was always up to my elbows in the soup. My hands smelled like photo chemicals; my nails were yellow.

I can’t tell you how many rolls of film I put through that Pentax. I can’t tell you the thrill that getting my first Nikon gave me, or the heartbreak when it was stolen. I replaced it, a couple of times. I still have the F2AS, and several lenses, multiple filters, multiple focusing screens, flashes, cases and tripods. The first design for the studio that the RLA and I intend to build next to our house even had plans for a dark room. But I haven’t shot a roll of film in years. I have been shooting with a digital camera. First I had a Nikon Coolpix, now I have a Sony that is so tiny, it’s smaller than my wallet. I carry it everywhere, and if I say so myself, take some damn fine pictures with it. But.

But now I want a new Nikon. I want a digital SLR. I want interchangeable lenses. I want to be able to focus manually. I want to be able to manipulate the f-stops and exposures. I want the heft of an SLR, so that hand held long exposures are possible. I want a Nikon D40. But the cost is prohibitive, and my old equipment isn’t worth very much on Ebay. Not that I want to sell it. But it’s worth more as a memento or a film prop than it is as a working camera, and that just pains me.

I’ve been trying to ignore this desire, but it is an itch which is demanding to be scratched.

A BRIEF UPDATE

Before I start in on Project Runway, let me say that Ming has begun eating again, and drinking out of the water faucet. He’s doing fine, but now I have to put JoJo, the dog of very little brain, on a diet. She’s gained a little weight, probably from eating all the fallen avocados.

CUT TO FIT

Open on the girl’s dorm where Sweet P is missing the joy that Chris brought to the work room. And just that fast, we are over in the boy’s dorm, where Jack has a hugely swollen upper lip. He mentions that he thought he’d had a pimple in his nose, but that he’s starting to think, what with the horrendous swelling and pain and all, that it’s a staph infection. The Number One Surrogate Daughter mentions hand washing and keeping one’s fingers out of one’s nose as a possible preventive measure. I remember, but do not discuss, a dark day in the late 70s when cocaine consumption caused me to get a nasal pimple, and just the memory of that pain makes my eyes water. Trust me when I tell you that if you ever get, or think you have gotten, an internal nose pimple, DO NOT ATTEMPT TO POP IT. Or even touch it. I just can’t imagine that Jack stuck a finger up his nostril to get at something he thought was a pimple. And if he did, well, I won’t say he deserves what he got, but I will say that there is no more likely consequence than that which he experienced.

Ice pack applied, and jokes made, we are ready to head off to Parson’s. Once more, there is no model selection because the regular models will not be used. Instead, a parade of normal, off-the-street (oh, STOP, not that kind of off the street) women come onto the runway wearing grossly oversized clothes. We are told that these women have all lost tons of weight and that what they are wearing is their favorite outfit from before the loss. One woman is wearing a wedding dress. A typical, leg-of-mutton-sleeved, polyester satin, cinched bodice, train and lace and sequins and beading wedding dress. The designers’ challenge will be to take the old garments and make new looks for the woman with whom they

paired. It should be a design suitable for the everyday life of the woman, and yet still express the designer’s style.

Laura, who is the woman in the wedding dress, gets Squinty Steve. Squinty Steve is not happy with this. In fact, his words are: “Oh. Dear. God… Death on a stick.” The rest of the names are pulled out of the button bag, and as always, Sweet P is the last puppy in the box. She’s become sort of stoic about it at this point.

The designers have until midnight to work. But first, they have to complain about not working with model-sized women. Victorya starts. Then Kevin, who is straight and wants you to remember that, announces that this challenge is just for him, because he loves, loves, loves to design for real women. Christian, predictably, is not so chuffed. He gets as his model someone with as many issues and demands as he himself: no sleeveless, no color, no patterns, no skirt. Deal, darling. Steven whines about the poly satin, acetate lace, sequins and beads that he has to repurpose for daywear. They get $10 and 15 minutes. Whoof.

Jack is looking scarier and scarier as the morning goes on, and calls to his primary care doc result in him having to take more aggressive treatment for his staph. Which translates into, you gotta leave and go check in to a hospital, sweetie. He is devastated, as are we all, because this means no more shots of him waltzing around the dorm in nada but his towel or his briefs. No more piggy back rides for Christian. No more stripping off his pants in the workroom. Rami of the Heavenly Arms better step up to the plate here and supply us with more nudity or semi-nudity. Or Kevin, who, while he is straight, has some meticulously sculpted facial hair and a body that seems to have been around the gym more than not. Not that I watch this show for the hot gay men, because let’s face it, until this season, there weren’t any. Santino in a towel? Ewww. Jeffrey-the-pinheaded-shmoo? Even and especially clothed, double Ewwww. Jay McCarrol? Who are we kidding, people? And poor Daniel Franco never lasted long enough to get down to his tighty whities, and who knows how that would have worked out, anyway? But I digress. There is crying, there is hugging. There is Christian saying, with a complete lack of affect: what a nice guy. how sad.

WEIRD INTERLUDE

Ricky is wearing his pants, or his model’s pants, inside out. Rolled up to capri length. And prancing around in strappy gold sandals which he claims he is doing because he and his model are about the same size.

BUT FIRST, A SURPRISE

Tim comes into the work room to tell the designers that the models are there for a half hour fitting session. But first, gather round. We have a surprise. This elicits as much enthusiasm as you would expect by week five, which is to say there is groaning, eye-rolling and a sense of dread. Mais non! It is a happy surprise. The powers that be needed a certain number of contestants week by week, and with Jack’s unexpected departure (at the beginning of the hour) they have decided (and purely to keep the competition high, they assure us) brought back Chris! Yay! And there is much rejoicing. Since he came in late in the day, Chris gets to spend the night in the work room.

And so the models come in for their fittings. Chris is most sympathetic to this challenge, because as a person of size, he has experienced the yo-yo weight thing. We see Christian with his model, where he not so sympathetic to the issues, and is telling his model that he is not (again I must quote) “a miracle worker, lady. I can’t give you an ass.” No, but he can play one on tv. Chris sees the struggle that Squinty Steven is having with the wedding dress, and he is jealous. What he could do with that, he sighs, if only they could swap.

Tim makes his turn around the room, and showing the wit and panache we love, asks of Christian, “How fierce is this?” Very, says Christian. Yes, allows Mr. Gunn, it is very you. As is Elisa’s design. Which is not so fortunate, because her model is not a crunchy granola eating, airy-fairy space alien, but instead a normal woman who wants normal clothes. Tim tells Elisa to edit herself, to clean up her design and to actually respond to her client. Next, Tim checks up on Squinty Steven. In an understatement of enormous proportions, Tim tells Squinty Steve that not using any of the wedding dress but a little bit of lace for collar and cuffs on a black dress is “very courageous.” Snort. When he finally makes it to Chris’s station, Tim warns him about his (Chris’) tendency to design costume rather than couture. And then he says “I’ve made more bad decisions at 3 o’clock in the morning than I can count.” This makes everyone in my living room howl, and ditto for the designers in the work room. We want names, says someone.

It’s time for Christian to make one of his egotistical pronouncements. And so he says the following: “Don’t these bitches know? that I am way better than them?”

RUN RUN RUN AWAY

It’s the morning of the runway, and fear and insecurities abound. Chris, who woke up not even sure if he had worked, sees that his outfit is done, but wonders if it’s good. Squinty Steven says that he just can’t sew fast enough. Kevin, who is straight, is also confident. Jillian says that she didn’t want to use the material she was given, so she was able to find the exact same shade of red at Mood, and she bought that and has made a dress (which is, admittedly, kick ass). Christian is confident that he’ll be the winner and then says that what Chris made was pure costume, and that what Elisa and Steven made was godawful hideous. And, damn but I hate when that little emo elf is right. Ricky cries that Penny (his model) made him remember what he loves (other than those awful twee little hats that I wish he’d 86 already). Then all of the designers pitch in and help Squinty Steven pin, glue and staple his dress onto his model and get her shoved out the door for the runway.

The guest judge today is Patric Robinson, the head designer for the GAP. Really? It takes a designer to make cheap chinos?

The first model out is Sweet P’s. She has on a nice olive halter dress, made from her old tent. She looks happy and good. Jillian’s red dress is hot. The only part of the original garment that she used shows up as black piping along the seam lines. Ricky has retailored his model’s clothes into skin tight capris and a gauze-y tunic top with some nice trim. She too, looks happy. She is not wearing the strappy gold sandals Ricky tried on. Chris, bless his little heart, has made a fair enough top and a pencil skirt. With a floppy red bow at the waist and a red fishtail godet in the middle of the back. Oh well, you can take the boy out of drag, but you can’t take the drag out of the boy. It fits the woman, though, and is nicely made. Kerry is a fierce walker. That would be Christian’s model. She is fierce in her fierce ensemble that looks remarkably similar to the fierce ensemble that he made for Bitten and for the three-bad-trends-in-one challenge fierce ensemble. In fact, I will go so far as to say that for all her bravado, Christian is a one-trick emo pony, and that trick relies heavily on the sense and sensibility of Miss Vivienne Westwood’s atellier.

Victorya has made a lovely bottle green velvet/silk sort of tank dress for her model. Elisa has made layers and layers and layers of crap and accessorized with some really awful boots. I think they are the same awful boots that Brittney Spears is always photographed wearing. Yeah. Those. Kit’s model comes out in a fresh little short dress with a chiffon under-layer that sticks out below the hem. Kevin has made a strapless, architectural bustier with black leggings. The woman wearing it is thrilled to pieces with the look and her smile and her walk make it absolutely clear how she feels. She sells it. Squinty Steve’s nasty, glued together dress comes next, and nobody looks comfortable or happy. The final look belongs to Rami, who’s been hiding the arms lately, and it is a simple, tailored skirt and a top with some interesting draping. Draped, and yet fitted. It’s a nice top.

LINES FORM ON THE LEFT AND RIGHT

Six designers are pulled from the line. Squinty Steve, Christian, Chris, Kevin, Jillian and Elisa. Without Heidi saying it, we know that these are the top and bottom scores. Kevin gets the first critique. When asked, the model says that she feels incredible in her outfit, and Michael Kors says that they could tell. That she looked like she loved it, and isn’t that what fashion is all about? And in my living room, the girls and I say “Amen and hand to god.” Elisa explains her outfit for her model thusly: she is a mom, and so I wanted to create a “day trousseau” for her. Now, ignoring for the moment that that phrase makes absolutely no sense whatsoever, it is still an awful mosh up of nothingness. Heidi and GAP guy point out that the look looks nothing like what the customer would wear. Michael Kors says that one never, ever wants to chop up a figure like that, and certainly not someone who just lost a ton of weight and is trying to show a new, sleek figure. NinaGarcia puts in the final nail by saying that this outfit is ALL Elisa and NO Tracy.

Jillian is called out for not using her material, but as she hoped, the workmanship of what she made and the fact that she was able to match the color so accurately overshadows that little faux pas, and the dress gets raves. “Sexy without hootchiemama” is what the judges call it. Sexy and tasteful. Two words that one so seldom hears together on a reality show.

On the other hand, Squinty Steven is not praised for what he did when he ditched the original garment. MK says that his model looks like a French Maid. NinaGarcia says that she looks like a French Maid at a funeral. There is nothing anyone can add to that.

Christian and his model get points for fun. The judges say that the design is pure Christian, and yet purely commercial. The model says that she’s not taking it off. Ever. Good lord, woman, don’t encourage him.

Chris hopes that his look is sexy but sophisticated. His hopes are dashed when Michael Kors says that all that’s missing is a beret and a cigarette and the woman would look like Shirley Maclaine back in the 50s playing a French hooker with a heart of gold. Ouff. That’s harsh. Accurate, but harsh. And we roll right into deliberations, where the recap goes like this: Kevin’s model was loving her look; Christian used his model’s clothes to make a Christian outfit; Jillian made an impeccable/beautiful dress; Elisa has stumpified her model; Squinty Steven disappointed the universe by not taking advantage of those miles of poly satin and acetate lace; and Chis made a nice top for a Paris Hooker in the 50s.

YOU’RE IN OR YOU’RE AUFF

Jillian is in. Kevin is in. Chris is in (huge sighs of relief are heard from Miz Shoe’s couch). Christian is the winner and gets immunity in the next challenge. Christian interviews that: “Winning is great? Because I can be a commercial hack if I want to.” The last part may not be an exact quote. This means that Elisa and Squinty Steve are the bottom two, and although Elisa’s piece was more about her than about her client, Steve committed the unforgivable sin of turning something joyous (a wedding dress) into something fit for a funeral. And even worse than that? It was boring. So say goodbye to Squinty Steve. Awww, he was funny. Good thing we have Chris back. Next week looks like it’s going to be one of those recyled/organic/not known to be suitable for sewing materials challenges.

The night we’ve all been waiting for is finally here: the night that we find out who will be America’s Next Top Model and mumble her way through an agonizing year of Cover Girl commercials. We open on a Tyra voice over recap… will it be Jenah, the tomboy with a bad attitude (and honestly, compared to the stank hos of this and other seasons, I still am not seeing what is so awful about her attitude. She didn’t bitch about the rat weave, she didn’t wipe dirty underwear on anyone, she didn’t torture Heather, she wasn’t an obvious pig in the house, she quit smoking when they told her to, she didn’t roll her eyes at judging, she took direction and gave great photos, so where’s the bad attitude? More like bad editing, if you ask me.  Will it be Salacious D, who has been cast as the commercial girl, even though she is clearly Tyra’s pet and the Cover Girl sponsor’s pet and the photographers’ pet? Or will it be Chantallobotomy who is so unmemorable that I can’t even remember what they said about her, but who has confessionalized at least once an episode that she was destined to be a model, that it has been her life-long ambition to be a model and that it is God’s will that she be a model.

Whatever. TYRA MAIL! Yeah, yeah, yeah, tomorrow’s the big day. Salacious D says that she’s come so far, Jenah says that going home is not an option and Chantallobotomy with the astuteness and clarity of thought that she has come to embody says that somebody will be going home. For now though, they are going to the Cover Girl shoot where they meet Brent Poer (the Cover Girl rep) and their lip gloss du jour. They also meet someone who is familiar with being a Cover Girl. That would be last year’s winner, Jaslene, so maybe he’s just familiar with being a Cover Tranny. In any event, any words of wisdom she imparts are unintelligible, so what’s the point?

First up for filming is Chantallobotomy, who says that she isn’t 100% ready. Mr. Jay tells her that her delivery is like: “I’m reading lines and I’m a dumb model.” Well, do I say thank you for the honesty or get all sarcastic about the obviousness of the observation? She is going to embody the essence of a color. She loves delicious fruity lip gloss. Uh huh. Next is Jenah who steps into the frame and promptly goes blank. We hear the crickets. After eleven takes, Mr. Jay calls for the cue cards. But Jenah says no to that, that she isn’t going to be that girl. So on the next take, she nails her lines. She is doomed, I say, because she has been given the old lady up-do, and we are seeing some major roots action. She wants to embody a happy me. Mr. Jay says that Jenah doesn’t read as shy and insecure, she comes off as a snot.

In comes Salacious D, and she is greeted by Brent Poer with enthusiasm, favoritism and a fawning show of love. He totally fluffs her. She gets on the mark and promptly sucks. She keeps bugging her eyes. On Take 12, Mr. Jay tells her that they need the bright smile and twinkle that she has shown in her photos. She interviews that she just can’t put the words together right. On Take 17 Salacious D gets sad and needs a minute to compose herself. Proving that she has taken all of Tyra’s wisdom to heart, she walks off set to cry (and not ruin her eye make up). Then she comes back and I guess does fine, because we don’t go back to the commercial, we cut to the still shoot. The photographer is Jim Deyonker and hes asking for sexy and fun. Chantallobotomy is asked to give flirty eyes. Jenah takes a nice shot, except for the horrible up do. We don’t even see Salacious D’s shoot. But we do see the judging, where Tyra says that this is the second most important judging of the season. The guest judge is Qi Gang, the designer in whose show they will stomp to the death on the runway of fame and fortune.

It is time for the annual and excruciating question: Who has the most, and who has the least potential in the house… Salacious D goes first and says that of course, she has the mostest, and that rude and disrespectful beeyotch Jenah has the least. The least personality, the least hope of winning, the least potential, the least of the least. Chantallobotomy predictably announces that she is the girl with the mostest, hands down. And yeah, that Jenah is the pits. Chantallobotomy wouldn’t want her to win, because she wouldn’t want her little sisters (or anybody’s little sisters) to have that dour old puss as a role model. Jenah respectfully disagrees with both of the other girls and says that just because she isn’t all bubbly all the freaking time, that doesn’t make her an evil person or a bad role model. And for good measure, she says that Chantallobotomy has the least potential because she is so painfully amateur.

Now the judges judge: Nigel says that Salacious D is stiff, but that she managed, despite that, to smile with her eyes. Mr. Jay reported that it required 20 takes to get a usable chunk of footage. Gang says that she makes him believe in the fruity lip gloss. Tyra shows how to give a variety of smiles, which apparently, Salacious D did not do. Chantallobotomy has natural charm says Twiggy, but Nigel says that she was technically bad. Mr. Jay says that she is so tewtally the girl next door, and completely believable. Jenah is told that she was so unbelievable that the judges think she was mocking the commercial. She was dissing the client. Once more Jenah tries to defend herself by saying that just because she ain’t spewing rainbows everywhere she combs her hair she isn’t a bad role model. She cries. She tells Tyra that she had to raise herself and her sisters. Tyra tells her that she, Jenah just had some sort of break through and just found herself, the real Jenah on the other side of the Great Wall of China. And they finish the flaying of Jenah by telling her that she took a great photo. Which she did, except for the old lady hair and make up. Commercials.

Jaslene gargles her way through a recap of her year as a Cover Girl, and we see that she has made great strides in learning to talk, which means nothing because going from 20 marbles and a mouth full of oatmeal to only 5 marbles and a mouth full of oatmeal still means that you can’t understand a word she says. She is also wearing a pair of the hootchiest, chonga earrings this side of Little Havana. I see that her personal style hasn’t changed an iota. More’s the pity. Back to the judging room, where the final two will be determined.

Chantallobotomy gets the first picture, and she weeps that she’s been dreaming of this moment for a long time. Snore. Salacious D and Jenah step forward. Salacious D, you came in with experience and yet girls like Jenah here totally outshone you. But we believed in you, and we kept you and you got stronger. Jenah, you came in with no experience and took amazing photos that rival today’s top working models. Today you had a breakthrough in now we know the real you. There’s a career out there for you that can be kick ass. Leave us now, and go get real work, because Salacious D is the

other girl in the top two.

Yet another photo shoot, this time for the cover of 17 magazine, and the editrix, Ann Shoket is back to bore us senseless with her innocuous babbling. But first, we have to listen to Chantallobotomy do a rundown of her greatest hits: meant to be here, my destiny, God’s plan, blahblahblah. Give it a rest, already. And finally and at long last, we get to the fashion show. It will be held next to the Forbidden City, and there will be a cast of extras dressed like Ching Dynasty warriors filling the enormous courtyard. The runway is long enough for a 747 to take off from. Backstage, we see that Jaslene will be in this show too, leading off. She is sitting in a make up chair, fanning herself. Please, girl. Salacious D and Chantallobotomy ask Jaslene for some words of wisdom. Confucious-like, she tells them that when she first won, she’d be in the bathroom before a show, talking to God. Here is an exact quote: “I’m like oh my god, God, I’m still weeping in fear before a show.” Words fail me.

Salacious D has some great hair and make up, as does Chantallobotomy, who also has the better dress. Chantallobotomy declares that this is her moment, and Salacious D says that no, it’s now her destiny. The show opens with Miss Jay, Twiggy, Nigel and Tyra (former top models and/or runway coaches all) strutting the runway to their thrones at the other end of the courtyard. Nigel, pervy though he may be, still has it. So do Miss Jay and Twiggs. Needless to say, Tyra throws down some serious shade for her proteges to try and live up to. Jaslene goes first and works it, at least according to Tyra. Salacious D is looking good. Chantallobotomy is meh. Salacious D does her second pass and confessionalizes that people watching her? is the best, and I quote: “People watching me? Life just don’t get no better than this.” The Number One Surrogate Daughter notes that Salacious’ grammar, however, can and should be better. Chantallobotomy comes out in an amazing dress with about six miles of train, and promptly ensnares one of the stilt walkers who are accompanying the models down the runway. He takes a major tumble. She cries, but continues walking. She cries about her destiny again. She says that she “broke character”. Who knew that models, when they stomp down the catwalk, were in character. You mean to tell me that the vacant stare and bitch face is character, and not nature? I, for one, am stunned by this revelation.

And it is time for the final judgment. Miss Jay says that Chantallobotomy took baby doll steps and walked too fast on the runway. Twiggy says that Chantallobotomy got too nervous, and that Salacious D owned the runway. Nigel calls Chantallobotomy weak. Tyra says that Salacious D was using too much shoulder and booty, as opposed to Chantallobotomy, who was too stiff. Miss Jay says that Chantallobotomy has a high fashion body, but can’t work it. Salacious D can control her body. Tyra says that she didn’t think either of these two would be finalists, she thought that they were too commercial and would go home early. Tyra says that one of them came from Austin and the other from LA, and that explains their inner beauties. Hey, listen, I gave up trying to understand Tyra years ago. And so, the winner of this year’s ANTM is (and I know that all of you are as shocked as I) Salacious D, aka Baby Tyra, graduate of Tyra camp, believer of all things Tyra, and chosen winner somewhere around week three when the guy from Elite met her and said she had the total package.

As she weeps for the final time, Chantallobotomy tells us that God still wants her to model. And God want Miz Shoes to ridicule the shit out of people like Chantallobotomy, so we’re all fulfilling our destinies, Luke.

According to the vet, that’s the only way I’ll lose Ming this time around. The diagnosis is pancreatitis, and the body’s response to it is anorexia… which no matter what affects me, I cannot develop, and lord knows I’ve tried. So. Ming gets to go to the day spa (aka the vet’s office) for feeding and observation, and I get to take the five-hour emotional exhaustion nap. But the little fuzz ball is back home for the night, complaining as only a Siamese can complain, and as far as I’m concerned, that makes everything all right in this world.

It is also the finale of this season’s America’s Next Top Model. Since Binaca is out of the running, and Salacious D isn’t such a hobag, it won’t be ANT Skankho. It won’t be anyone memorable, either, but this is what we expect. Surrogate Daughters 1 & 3 are coming over for the fun, so the RLA is going to have to run for cover, or at least testosterone, because the squealling and trash talking is going to be formidable.

And so another episode of let’s freak out Miz Shoes and make her smoke like a chimney has come to an end. Thank you.