I pre-ordered The Bob's new album this morning, before I even finished my coffee. The RLA himself drove me to the train this morning, the first day he's been out and about since last week's emergency appendectomy.

There were no disgusting people on the train, unless you count the Very Pregnant Woman in the belly-baring cropped, spaghetti-strapped t and those atrocious stretch-knit gaucho/capris that seem to be everywhere but the trash heap of fashion history, where they belong.

Then I got to work and everything went to hell in a hand basket. Yesterday I finished entering the data into the national hospice registry for all forty of our programs. Said data includes zip codes. All zip codes for all counties where we serve. We are in Los Angeles, and Phoenix, and Miami and Philadelphia and Chicago. We have 40 programs. They each serve multiple counties. Did you know that there are fifteen pages of zip codes for Los Angeles alone? It's been a fun three weeks.

Today I began the task of dropping cds, dvds and vhs tapes into envelopes for delivery to 150 people. That's 150 inter-office envelopes with the last name crossed out, the new name written in and a location if I have one. Some people get more than one copy of each format.

This mindless repetition is why I love my job. I know, you thought I was going to bitch about it, didn't you? But it isn't the endless pushing and pulling of paper that makes me wish I had another. No, it's the little things like the one person who won't take their phone off forward, making me trot down the hall every time someone calls for her. Or the power play of she won't gather information for another department her own self, she has me drop what I'm doing to pull the papers together for her. She's the person who talked to the other department. She's the one who knows what they want. She's the fucking media person, but I am the lowly dogsbody who gets to do the grunt work. All the grunt work. All the time. Sometimes even at the same time.

Having a sick hubby has shortened my already somewhat truncated fuse. So this morning, when the woman pushed past me to get on the train first, and then took the seat next to me and started applying her make up (of course) I said to the woman across from me who was rolling her eyes at the sight, "Well, at least she's not picking her face, I've seen that, too."

We both snickered and then the make-up applying woman got all offended and asked me if I had something I wanted to say directly to her. I did. And I did. I said: "If you need to wear make up to appear in public, shouldn't you have it on BEFORE you appear in public?"

She said that EVERYBODY does it. (Boy howdee, I haven't heard that argument from anyone older than 15 in forever.) I just gave her a supercilious sneer and said that, yes, and everybody picks their nose, too, but that doesn't make it right or nice.

Snap.

I've been staying away from this issue, but the Girl Cousin sent this to me, and I felt the need to pass it along:

"If the Arabs put down their weapons today, there would be no more violence.

If the Jews put down their weapons today, there would be no more Israel."

That, in a nutshell, is the truth of the situation. And I am soooo fucking tired of hearing about the death of "civilians" in the Arab states, and the death of "Israelis" in Israel. The implication is that all Israelis are... what, exactly? All soldiers? Not innocents? Deserving of their deaths in a school bus, or a pizza parlor or a shopping mall? Because those places don't sound like military targets to me. But to hear the world press yammer on about it, they aren't civilian targets.

I am sick of the Hammas and the Hezbolah hiding behind the shields of women and children and then claiming that Israel (politically correct phrase that really means "The Jews") are guilty of brutality and wholesale slaughter of innocents.

I am sickened by the whole Mel Gibson story. The arms-length intellectualism of analysis of his "alcoholism" and "non-anti-Semitism". Bullshit. The man, to quote my SisterFriendGirlFriend, "drank the bad Kool-Aid" and needs to be treated.

I am tired of the creeping tide of anti-semitism that is rising across the world. I am tired of the attitude that says just ignore it, it isn't that bad, it's only a few people, it's blown out of proportion, it can't happen here.

Oh, it is happening here. And there. And everywhere. And I am tired of it all.

Excuse me, but if you cheat, lie and bully your fellow contestants, whose fault is it if you get thrown out of the competition?

So Keith got clocked, finally. Last week he refused to dress the doggie, and lost for his arrogance. Then he complained that he should have won. Except that he didn't actually participate in the challenge. Whatever, huh, Keith? This week he also overspent his allowance at Mood, and then whined his way into a discount. Which looked like cheating to me, and probably everyone else who was watching when Kara Saun almost got tossed for using comped shoes.

For the last four weeks we've had to listen to this a-hole dis the other designers and wahwahwah about how his is the only piece on the runway with any decent construction skills. Or decent design.

This week, we found out why: he's had the cheat books under his bed. On top of which, according to the Most Excellent Tim Gunn, he also skipped off the set without permission and went to do a few hours of internet research.

Classy guy to the end, Keith left by bitching that by ratting him out to the producers, he -Keith- was made to look a fool and had his reputation ruined and is a laughing stock. Well, yeah, maybe. But it isn't like the other guys stuffed the contraband under your pillow while you weren't looking. You brought it all down on your own head. Asshat.

With Keith out of the way, the designers went about completing this week's challenge, which was to design a three piece set of separates for INC. Jeffrey-the-Shmoo and Alison were only slightly handicapped by the loss of their team leader. Laura and Michael were seriously handicapped by having as their team leader the yoyo-happy Angela. Bonnie (the other of the two sort of lumpy women who designed sportswear) was team leader to Bradley and Uli. Robert the Barbie guy headed up the final team of Vinny and Kayne.

And you know what? I thought all four teams produced some amazingly boring, trite and unattractive pieces. An ANORAK? PUH-leese. Who the hell is still wearing anoraks? The saddest part of this is that until I looked at the Bravo web site this morning, I still thought it was Bonnie's team who made that.

Angela won despite herself, but only because she listened to Laura and Michael who absolutely would have none of that bubble skirt/yoyo rosette crap. They managed to wrangle her down to only 6 rosettes. Four as buttons on the front of the cropped jacket (excuse me while I yawn) and two for no reason on the back of the popped collar.



Vincent played nice with others, even though he thought that Robert's design was lame. He just kept saying, "Well, Robert's the leader. This is Robert's vision, I'm just here to make it happen. Even if I do think it looks like a matronly stewardess." Which it did. Blouse with an overly-large Superfly collar. Pencil skirt with a slit up to the model's ass crack. And the lame-ass anorak.

Bonnie's work was so boring I can't even bear to think about it, but I will say that I last saw that cowl neck that ate Manhattan on Pam Dawber when she was on Mork & Mindy.



Jeffrey made some very nice pants, with buttons at the (tight) ankles. He and Alison also made the most disturbing top I've ever seen.



Would someone please tell me what the fuck that is? Are those leg holes? Wouldn't that make the top a crotchless body suit? Arm holes, for making the top a crop top by folding it up in half and sticking your arms through both sets of holes? Nasty. Just nasty.

Given the choices, I can see why Angela's design won, but that's kind of like saying that for a fat girl, you don't sweat much.

Next week is yet another American Style Icon Getting A Makeover. And it looked like the models got to fight it out for something. Which ASIGAM they were going to be? Which designer they want to dress them next?

I hate to say this, but I sort of don't care. Is the bloom off the rose for me and Project Runway? I hope not.

Very fast:

1. power surge on Saturday blew my internet connection at home and I haven't been able to fix it, yet. DItto on the answering machine

2. took the RLA to the ER at 2:30 AM (Sunday-Monday)

3. surgeon took the RLA's ruptured appendix out at 8AM Monday

4. I'm on dog/hospital/house/work duty until further notice

I haven't eaten, but I have had 2 martinis. All bets are off until further notice.