The train wreck that was last night's Oscars telecast

I will begin my post-Oscar dissection with this lovely quote from my boyfriend, stating his feelings on last night's telecast: "Why are we watching this show with people we don't know, accepting awards we don't care about at an event that is irrelevant. Thank God there's a repeat of the Family Guy Christmas Special."

I must concur. Last night's Oscars ceremony was a complete disaster, probably the worst I've ever seen. As much as I like Anne Hathaway and James Franco, they fell flat as the show's hosts, as in flatlined. They were lifeless, without natural chemistry, painfully boring. Tragic, considering they're both very talented actors. However, having chosen them to host the Academy Awards was a mistake, a momentary lapse in sound judgment.

There was a mildly entertaining video montage to kick off the show highlighting the best picture nominees but as soon as the show went live, with Anne and James on stage, the whole thing fell apart. It was awful. I felt like the audience was laughing out of pity because frankly, why else would they be laughing? Nothing the hosts said or did was funny.

Another mistake: asking Kirk Douglas to present the Best Supporting Actress award. Yes, we all know Kirk is a Hollywood icon and we adore him. BUT, the man still suffers from devastating after effects of a stroke. His speech is slurred and erratic. This does not a good presenter make. If he was making a speech after receiving a lifetime achievement award, that would be different. I would have gladly and patiently listened to him. 

Dear Academy: please make sure your presenters can speak clearly and swiftly. Listening to Kirk Douglas trying to be funny was like listening to nails on a chalkboard. I know this may not be a politically correct statement to make but since when do I give a flying f*ck about political correctness?

The writers made the best acceptance speeches last night, notably Aaron Sorkin, for the screen adaptation of The Social Network and David Seidler for the original screenplay of The King's Speech. Those writers, they're a witty bunch. Colin Firth's speech after having won the Best Actor award was also pleasantly amusing, and, it's Colin Firth. Anything he says just sounds so... yummy.

Apart from a few scarce, barely entertaining moments, I sensed a tangible undercurrent of apathy at this year's Oscars, especially from a younger generation of actors such as Mila Kunis and Justin Timberlake. Perhaps these awards are slowly but surely losing their appeal and on their way to becoming relics of a past era.

If a repeat of the Family Guy Christmas Special is much more appealing than the Academy Awards, then perhaps slipping into insignificance is not a bad thing. And just to be clear, the Family Guy Christmas Special is a masterpiece, not to be easily outdone by beautifully adorned, self-congratulatory Hollywood glitterati.

Fun with CNN Souvenirs - Episode 3

If you missed the first two episodes, catch up on all the action here:

Episode 1

Episode 2

**These episodes are solely a product of my own imagination. Any resemblance whatsoever to actual events is purely coincidental.

Anderson: My God. That was incredible.

Sanjay: It was wasn't it.

Anderson: I think I went blind for a minute there.

Sanjay: Has your wife ever made you feel that way?

Anderson: Can we please not talk about her?

Sanjay: Sorry. I just, I can't help it.

Anderson: You know I can't give you what you want.

Sanjay: I know.

Anderson: But it's not like I can't give you anything. 

Sanjay: Tell me a secret. Something no one else knows.

Anderson: Why?

Sanjay: If you tell me something, I'll tell you something.

Anderson: Again, why?

Sanjay: 'Cause it's fun. And it'll bring us closer together.

Anderson: I don't want to lead you on.

Sanjay: I know where you stand. It's ok. But come on, what's wrong with having a confidante? Someone you can entrust with your deepest, darkest secrets?

Anderson: I don't trust anyone.

Sanjay: You can trust me. 

Anderson: And why would I do that?

Sanjay: We've been lovers for weeks. You know you feel the same intimacy between us that I do. And it's easier to share something than to try and carry it alone.

Anderson: (pause) For the past five years, I've switched the tags on my wife's clothes to make her think she's wearing designer stuff but really, they're all cheap knockoffs.

Sanjay: What!

Anderson: I know. It's terrible. I'm so ashamed. She trusted me and I let her down. 

Sanjay: No, I mean, why are you buying her clothes?

Anderson: She doesn't like to shop.

Sanjay: She doesn't like to shop! 

Anderson: No. 

Sanjay: Something is very, very wrong with her.

Anderson: She's been depressed for a while, that could explain it. Although she's never really liked shopping since I've known her.

Sanjay: I don't know what to say.

Anderson: About me or about her?

Sanjay: Well, what you're doing is despicable, practically unforgivable. You have impeccable taste and you're dressing your wife in ghetto rags. That's harsh man. Harsh.

Anderson: I know. I'm a cheap bastard! And if she ever finds out, I don't know what she'll do. It's eating me up inside.

Sanjay: It must be since you're letting Soledad hold you hostage.

Anderson: What? How do you....

Sanjay: How do I know? I didn't until just now. But I know what she's really after and I'm going to give you the information she wants. The question is: will you tell Soledad or will you be honest with your wife instead?

Anderson: Don't tell me anything. Please.

Sanjay: I know you're a good man Anderson, you'll do the right thing. I'm going to give you the recipe for the chocolate that, if eaten regularly, melts away excess weight, tones muscles and gives you a nice, healthy glow, without self-tanner or damaging sun rays. Do you really think I'm that naive? I hold the secret to what every woman wants - a perfect body via regular ingestion of chocolate. You think you're the first to try and get it from me?

Anderson: So, all this time, you've known...

Sanjay: Yes.

Anderson: Why didn't you say anything?

Sanjay: Because your wife set this up, to find out why Soledad has such a hold on you.

Anderson: What! How do you know my wife! 

Sanjay: Let's just say I owe her, a lot.

Anderson: She set you and me up? But I thought Soledad set us up, and, obviously, you know why.

Sanjay: That's what Soledad thinks, too.

Anderson: I've done terrible things. Why would you want to be with someone like me? 

Sanjay: The heart wants what it wants. 

Anderson: You still haven't answered my question: how do you know my wife?

Sanjay: She's been keeping secrets from you too. She set me up with a Prada wholesaler - I haven't paid full price in months. It's changed my life. I owe her big time.

Anderson: How does she know Prada wholesalers? She hates shopping!

Sanjay: That's where you're wrong. She pretended to hate it because it turned into an ugly addiction that she didn't want you to know about. That's why she sends you to do it for her, you have self-control, well, most of the time.

Anderson: Does she know what I've been doing?

Sanjay: What do you think? I'm just here to confirm her suspicions.

Anderson: Oh my God. I'm such an asshole. 

Sanjay: She's kept things from you too. 

Anderson: Why wouldn't she come to me?

Sanjay: She was afraid you'd be angry.

Anderson: My God. My poor little cupcake. I need to see her. 

Sanjay: I understand. But first, here it is, what Soledad's been looking for. I trust you'll do the right thing.

Anderson: She has no power over me anymore. That little conniving bitch is gonna get what's coming to her. 

How will Anderson avenge himself against Soledad? Will he admit his affair with Sanjay to me? Will Sanjay be willing to give up Anderson for me? Find out on the next episode of Fun with CNN Souvenirs.

You don't have to be a writer! Just a headline-generating skank!

Soooo..... apparently, Jesse James has signed on with some publisher to pen a tell-all book. (Insert sound of crickets here.) Your enthusiasm is overwhelming. Much like mine was when I discovered this little tidbit of information. 

What exactly would Jesse James have to say that would be even remotely interesting? Is he going to try and justify his cheating ways? Oh wait, he already did that. But I'm guessing he's gonna recycle that shit 'cause, I mean, come on, you can milk that "poor me" teat 'til it's dry and crusty. 

I'm guessing the book will go something like this (I may have embellished some details. Ok, most of it is just plain made up. I'm trying to make a point here. Stick with me people.): 

Before I became famous with my (surprise, surprise) reality show, I was nothin' but white trash. I grew up poor, in some nondescript trailer park (like a zillion other kids in the US). My momma was a prostitute and my dad was a drunk. That's why he beat me. 

And my momma, well, she was workin' on the streets so she was never around to protect us kids from dad's "fits". Then, when I was a teenager, I joined a gang, smoked dope and was bangin' anything with a tattoo. That's when I discovered my love of motorcycles and chicks. One became my saving grace, the other my downfall.

You gotta understand, I was tryin' to fill a void inside me with all the sex (yawn). I had such low self-esteem from my pops beatin' on me and my mom whorin' around, I felt like a nobody. Screwin' skanks filled up the emptiness inside me. 

And even though I was married to a smart, attractive, sweet movie star, my horrible childhood compelled me to continue to pursue unhealthy and hurtful behaviour. Every time I stuck my dick into a new vagina, it lessened the pain of my daddy's blows, which weren't just physical but emotional too. 

You see, it's not my fault I'm a lyin' whore. It's my daddy's and my momma's and the sad, sad circumstances of my early life. So basically, I can't take any responsibility for my actions as an adult since I was abused as a child (barf).

I'm engaged again, and y'all know that's gonna work out 'cause I went to therapy and shit after my split from the movie star and I'm all better now. I was able to blame my parents for everything that's gone wrong in my life, and now I can move on and be in a healthy relationship. 

And if that don't work out, I can blame the movie star for not "understanding" me. 'Cause it ain't my fault.

But I may have to reveal some intimate details of my marriage to the movie star so's I can cash in on her celebrity to sell my crappy ass book. You know how it is...

The yoga of TV

A colleague of mine recently loaned me the first season of Three's Company on DVD. Watching this show once again instantly brought me back to my childhood, when re-runs would air Monday to Friday. Back then, most of the sexual innuendo went over my head but I loved it nonetheless. It was one of those programs that felt like a warm security blanket, that made everything better, if only for half an hour.

This could explain, in part, my addiction to television. Certain shows, at different times in my life, filled a need to escape, created a safe environment for however long the show lasted. Back in the eighties, shows like Three's Company, Family Ties and the Dukes of Hazard were among my faves. 

Every Friday night, I'd always try to sneak in Dallas which aired immediately after the Dukes of Hazard. I'd sit quietly in our rec room, which was downstairs, while my parents were milling about upstairs and hope my mother wouldn't notice it was past my bedtime. Sure enough, every time, as soon as she heard the Dallas theme song, she would call me up to bed. Damn, I would think, foiled once again!

When I got a little older, I was allowed to stay up later to watch Miami Vice, which led to my unhealthy obsession with Don Johnson and the disintegration of my promising acting career.

In the early nineties, when I was struggling with homesickness and low self-esteem during my first year of university, Beverly Hills 90210 was my saving grace. The kids on the show were also in their first year of university, albeit richer and in a warmer climate. I escaped into their college experience to momentarily forget my own which, although academically successful, was wrought with difficulties, not the least of which was contending with one of the coldest winters I can remember, an apt manifestation of how I was perceiving my environment at that time - cold and inhospitable.

I also had a fiery affair with a short-lived remake of a vampire program, Dark Shadows, starring Ben Cross. After only one season and one hell of a cliffhanger, it went off the air. I was incensed. This, of course, was an early harbinger of my later obsession with vampires, pre-Twilight. Don't get me started on that bullshit... When the spoof Vampires Suck is better than the actual movies, somethin's gotta give.

The mid to late nineties were peppered with great sitcoms: Seinfeld, Friends, Frasier, Roseanne. And, irony of ironies, my dad introduced me to Sex and the City in 1998. He was watching it one night and hollered: "You gotta come and see this!" And then I was hooked. 

These days I'm all about HBO and Showcase and shit. They're producing some of the best TV ever. And it just keeps getting better. Although I would be remiss if I didn't mention two of my network faves, 30 Rock and Modern Family.

Throughout my life, television programs have been there, like a faithful friend, momentarily suspending reality and allowing me to escape into some other universe. Not that my life was filled with hardship. Quite the opposite, actually. I was, however, struggling with what everyone faces in their lives: self-doubt, low self-esteem, perfectionism (my own), relationships with family, friends and boys, societal expectations, etc...

Say what you will about TV and, for the most part, its ever devolving content, it still provides a reprieve from reality, from fears and frustrations, demands and expectations, and simply allows me to be. It's the yoga of TV.

Gaga is gaga for fame

I came across this article on PopEater.com recently, and took immediate offense to Lady Gaga being compared to Bjork. I get a little peeved when people riff on Bjork for that now infamous swan dress she wore at the Oscars and have previously expressed my opinion on this. 

Bjork is a talented artist, unconcerned with garnering fame or with others' opinions of her work or her wardrobe. Her originality comes from a place of truth, its genuineness palpable. Lady Gaga, on the other hand, strikes me as someone trying desperately to remain in the limelight by mistakenly believing she's blazing a new path with her outlandishness. 

Newsflash Gaga: that path was carved out a while ago by none other than Madonna, a veritable pioneer in the art of reinvention of the self and shocking the masses with overt sexuality, an artist whose sound you eerily seemed to replicate during last Sunday's Grammy awards. 

Arriving at the Grammy ceremony in an egg, claiming she's "in incubation" before her performance, stating that she doesn't have sex because she fears her creativity will be stolen via her vagina, all these things reek of warped delusions of grandeur. Lady Gaga can actually sing, she's got the talent but it's diluted in the wake of these ridiculous stunts that only irritate rather than inspire. 

Fame is merely a by-product, something fluid and fleeting. Talent is real, concrete. If only Gaga would focus on further developing her actual musical talents and her own unique voice rather than trying to out-do the likes of Madonna and Bjork, she may be taken a little more seriously. People tire quickly of disingenuous posturing. Sure, it was fun at first, now it's just lame.

The Bachelor trumps romantic date on Valentine's Day

A Valentine's Day morning at our house:

The boyfriend: Hey, wanna go skating tonight?

Me: The Bachelor is on tonight.

The boyfriend (laughs hysterically): So this is what it's come to.

Me: It's a great way to celebrate Valentine's Day - I mean, it's about romance and finding love and stuff.

The boyfriend: Uh-huh.

You must understand, skating in Ottawa is a special event. The longest outdoor skating surface in the world, the Rideau Canal, is located in the heart of downtown Ottawa and it's "an experience" to skate on it what with the beautiful scenery, hot chocolate and scrumptious Beaver Tails. If you don't know what Beaver Tails are, come to Ottawa and find out. It'll be worth the trip, I promise.

So me saying no to what could have been a nice, romantic Valentine's Day skate, and opting instead to stay home and watch reality TV is really, well, sad. However, watching The Bachelor at our crib is a family affair. The boyfriend, the stepdaughter and I watch this show with great enthusiasm and running commentary, especially since we're noticing a trend with the male bachelors. 

They swear they're in it to find true love but end up thinking only with their penis. How do we know this? Because they keep the crazy bitches and eliminate the nice girls. Don't get me wrong, the nice girls are just as pretty as the manipulative wack jobs, except they seem emotionally stable. I guess that's not appealing.

That's exactly what the current Bachelor, Brad Womack, is doing. Sometimes, he appears to be thinking clearly, and makes logical decisions. But most of the time, the three of us are incensed by his incomprehensible attraction to nasty ass, sometimes abusive women. 

What's the deal Brad? One of them is outright crazy, with fairytale-like delusions that she was "meant to be" on the show and thus Brad should pick her. Another confessed that she purposely sabotages relationships because she feels no one can deal with her past baggage. 

And yet, there are a couple of women who are genuinely interesting, attractive and not constantly thinking about themselves but about Brad, and how he's feeling throughout this arduous process of picking a mate for life. Kudos to Brad for keeping some of them but why he's kept the crazies and booted off the other nice girls is beyond my comprehension.

I'm quite aware of the fact that the extent to which this enrages me is disturbing in itself. It's a goddamn reality show, for Christ's sake! Why do I even care! And yet, I do, dammit. I want Brad to be happy. I want him to find a suitable partner. But he's f*cking it up big time. I wish I could have a little sit down with him, tell him he's gone astray and who my picks would be. 

Then again, maybe that's my wish to exert control over him, and then I'd be no better than the bitches I claim are intolerable. 

 Chris Harrison, why do you do this to me! Why do you subject me to these mind games! They're f*ckin' me up man!

I'll trade you my apple for your gold iPhone 4

It's been a while since I've done a celeb.rant (meaning: spirited commentary on celebrity bullshit of epic proportions). While perusing Pop Eater recently, there was such an inordinate amount of celebrity stupidity that I couldn't resist weighing in on it.

Russell Brand and Katy Perry in couples therapy

I'm surprised it took this long. I mean, really. It's Russell Brand! Ex-deviant sex addict. There's no way he can keep his junk in his pants when Katy's not around, at least not for a "lifetime". Katy, what the f*ck were you thinking? Give your head a shake girl.

Jude Law and Sienna Miller Split

I'm surprised it took this long. I mean, really. It's Jude Law! Ex-deviant sex addict nanny f*cker. There's no way he can keep his junk in his pants when Sienna's not around, at least not for a "lifetime". Sienna, what the f*ck were you thinking? Give your head a shake girl.

Tom Cruise, Scientology under investigation for human trafficking, free labour

If you didn't get the memo, Tom Cruise is f*cking crazy; a grossly self-aggrandized science-fiction cult zealot. Katie Holmes has to have been lobotomized (there's no other explanation for her coupling with Tom or her fashion choices) and Suri doesn't have a hope in hell of escaping. But I guess if you've been raised Scientologist your whole life, you aren't aware that humans didn't descend from aliens.

Jennifer Aniston claims she's really happy - really she is!

WHO F*CKING CARES!!! Jennifer hasn't done anything since Friends except churn out shitty rom-coms and date douchebags. 

Ashlee Simpson files for divorce from Pete Wentz

WHO F*CKING CARES!!! Ass-lee hasn't done anything since... since... what the f*ck has she done?

Nancy Grace can't believe Lindsay Lohan isn't in jail

Nancy, call me. I think we're soul mates.

Victoria Beckham owns a $35,000 custom-made 24-karat gold iPhone 4

What's the vaginal equivalent to "small penis"?

Fun with CNN Souvenirs - Episode 2

If you missed episode 1, click here. 

**These episodes are solely a product of my own imagination. Any resemblance whatsoever to actual events is purely coincidental.

Soledad: So, what did you find out?

Anderson: Nothing yet.

Soledad: Nothing? It's been weeks! What have you been doing?

Anderson: I have to establish a relationship first. Sanjay needs to know he can trust me.

Soledad: And how long will that take?

Anderson: I don't know. These things take time.

Soledad: Time is not a luxury I have. You know that. 

Anderson: I'm well aware of the situation. 

Soledad: Then what's the hold-up?

Anderson: I'm almost there. I can feel it. He'll open up to me any day now.

Soledad: "Any day now"? That's not good enough. I needed this information yesterday, last week even!

Anderson: Hey, back off, ok? I'm doing the best I can. 

Soledad: I beg to differ.

Anderson: You can always hire someone else to do your dirty work.

Soledad: Oh pooky, you know you can't get out of this one. 

Anderson: I could if I decided to come clean.

Soledad: Do you really want to do that?

Anderson: It's better than being under your thumb.

Soledad: Ahh, poor Andy. It's your own damn fault for getting yourself in this situation in the first place.

Anderson: There's always room for redemption.

Soledad: Ha! You think your nasty-ass wife will be forgiving? I highly doubt it.

Anderson: Hey, leave her out of this! 

Soledad: Ooh, touchy. Don't tell me you still have feelings for that wretched woman.

Anderson: I said, leave her out of this.

Soledad: Oh my God, you still love her. After everything she's done, you still love her.

Anderson: My marriage is none of your f*cking business. 

Soledad: Well, this changes the game a bit, doesn't it.

Anderson: I don't want to talk about it. 

Soledad: Fine. But I hired you to get things done, and you're sleeping on the job.

Anderson (to himself): More like sleeping with the job.

Soledad: What did you say?

Anderson: Nothing. 

Soledad (looking at her watch): I have to go. I'm expecting better news the next time we meet.

Anderson: Whatever.

Soledad: It's your life that hangs in the balance, not mine.

Anderson: We'll see about that.

Soledad: Is that a threat?

Anderson: No, it's just... conjecture. 

Soledad: Don't toy with me. I can make your life a living hell.

Anderson: What do you mean "can"? You are making my life a living hell.

Soledad: So sweet of you to say that. Ciao for now.

Anderson (mockingly): Ciao for now. 

Sanjay: I can't do this anymore.

Me: Sanjay, you have to. To save my marriage!

Sanjay: It's not all black and white anymore. (pause) I love him.

Me: What? But I thought...

Sanjay: I know what you thought, but...

Me: How... I mean....

Sanjay: I don't know. It's so... unexpected. I just... he's so...

Me: I know. 

Sanjay: I told him I loved him the last time we were together.

Me: What did he say?

Sanjay: He couldn't say he loved me back.

Me: I'm not altogether unhappy about that.

Sanjay: I understand. You're not... jealous?

Me: Sanjay, there are things I've done. Awful things. Anderson deserves some happiness, and you're giving him things right now that I can't.

Sanjay: But I can't keep doing this. It's tearing me apart. 

Me: Can you bear it just a little while longer? For me?

Sanjay: I'd do anything for you. You know that.

Me: Thank you. It'll all be worth it in the end, you'll see. I won't let you get your heart broken.

Sanjay: It's too late for that.

Me: Baby don't say that, you're making me sad.

Sanjay: Well, it's true. You of all people should understand how I feel.

Me: I do. But I'll make it all better. I promise. 

Sanjay: Do it fast, because I'm falling hard.

What information does Soledad want Anderson to extract from Sanjay? Why would Sanjay do anything for me? What does Anderson need to "come clean" about? Find out on the next episode of Fun with CNN Souvenirs.

Wanna be my best friend?

Not too long ago, I unearthed a diary I wrote when I was 12 years old. So far, it's explained why I'm not a famous actress. It's a veritable treasure trove of insights into my young, still forming psyche. Today, I thought I'd share with you what I found out about my friendships back then, that is, in 1986.

Apparently, the "best friend" bond was taken very seriously in 6th grade, as seriously as a monogamous, exclusive relationship. No joke. Check out this excerpt from January 29, 1986. (Names have been altered to protect the innocent.)

Dear Diary,

I had an interesting day today. I was playing with Joanna and so Darlene thought that I was her best friend. But I told her we weren't. But she doesn't trust me so she didn't believe me and I'm never going to be her best friend again. Then Darlene called Christine and told her that Nadine and Savannah were B.F.'s which wasn't true. Nadine and Christine were good B.F.'s. But Christine believed Darlene and now she's Darlene's best friend. Then, we played with the boys a little and we got in trouble by the principal but it wasn't too serious. Well, I had a great day.

I'm trying to determine if I was simply much more emotionally healthy back then or in total denial. After all that drama, I declare I had a great day. What exactly constituted a bad day in 1986 for 12-year-old me? Getting gang raped and shanked in a dark alley? Not that that actually happened but I'm trying to imagine the severity necessary for me to have declared: " You know, today wasn't so great."

What is becoming apparent in this excerpt, however, is my future sluttiness - playing with the boys and getting in trouble - my innocence was already compromised, there was no turning back. 

Also, note my use of abbreviations, i.e. B.F. I was clearly ahead of my time, heralding the day when writing in abbreviations would become the norm. LOL. 

Here's another excerpt, dated February 12, 1986, which vividly demonstrates the apparently dysfunctional, toxic friendships I was involved in:

Dear Diary,

We had a little fight today. Darlene asked me if I was Joanna's best friend and I got mad so at 4:20 that afternoon I became Christine's but I'm Darlene's now. Anyways, Darlene called me five times and she was crying four times. She ripped her Corey Hart poster because of me. Joanna called her twice for me. Besides that not much happened. We got our picture taken and I think everybody took a nice picture. Well, that's it.

I'm amazed at the precision of my memory when it comes to the exact time that I became Christine's BF. These days, I'm lucky if I can remember what happened an hour ago. 

Also noteworthy, Darlene's severe distress over my defection from our exclusive friendship. I don't think any man has ever cried over me or ripped a Corey Hart poster in broken-hearted despair. 

You must understand, back then Corey was the shit and he had a hit album out, possibly his only hit album, but whatever... He was DA MAN. Ripping a Corey Hart poster would have been akin to... oh, I don't know, to boycotting iTunes or something. (How am I supposed to know what matters to kids these days?; teenage stepdaughters notwithstanding.)

Following all this intense drama, is my ever so nonchalant statement that "Besides that not much happened". Dude, the whole day sounds like a total washout - chalk full of crying, destroying personal property and gnashing of teeth. 

I'm not sure what the equivalent of that would be in 2011, but you can bet your ass I would be finishing off the day nursing a potent drink and declaring what an atrociously awful day it was. 

Perhaps there's something to learn from my 12-year-old self who could so easily brush aside personal slights and fights with loved ones, and go on to declare that "everybody took a nice picture". I don't recognize this part of myself anymore because the 36-year-old me holds on to a grudge like a crack addict to a pipe. 

I have a hard time remembering most of the pleasant, beautiful moments in my life but ask me what someone said in November 1998 that pissed me off and I'll be able to tell you in two seconds flat. Sad, I know. 

I haven't yet begun to delve into the other volumes of personal diaries I found, the next one starting in 1991 at the tender age of 16 but I suspect, given my present self, that it's a slow and steady downward spiral. 

"But Sassy", you may be thinking, "why are you so hard on yourself? We've all made mistakes." (Pause) You know what, you're right. I f*cking ROCK, diaries notwithstanding...