"Hey look! It's Miss Iowa.....'s Boobs!"

So, who can guess how I spent my Saturday night?

No, silly, I didn't hold up another liquor store. Stop right there. If I were speaking to any one of you people reading this face to face, this would be the point where I'd be sorry I ever asked that question. The correct answer -- if you care to take a moment away from compiling that mental list of hilariously illegal/inappropriate/borderline racist things I could be doing on Saturday nights -- is that I was watching the Miss America pageant from start to finish.

Oh, shut up. Don't judge me. I know for a fact that more than one of you has paid money to see a Hillary Duff movie in theaters. Nobody's perfect. Actually, I thoroughly enjoyed the "scholarship competition." I saw enough teeth and big shiny hair and perfect bodies and identical noses and wide eyes filled with hatred and emptiness to rival the test tube society of Gattaca. I kept wanting to yell at those parents and grandparents in the audience screaming and holding signs for their loved ones onstage, "It's OK to conceive a child in love! Take your chances with nature! Maybe if you weren't so worried about having a child genetically predestined to have such white teeth, Miss California could have had a soul! Think of Ethan and Uma! Love! Love!"

I was a little disappointed when the Midwest was not represented in the top ten, but it was a minor setback. It's not like I was upset enough to stop watching or anything. I don't remember the top ten's actual names or the states they represented, I just remember Miss Suspiciously excellent hair, Miss Half Chinese Almost Ethnic, Miss The Black One, Miss Skin Cancer, Miss Seven Foot Weird Eyed Mutant Thing, Miss "Well, I'm Greek so..." and Miss So Skinny Don't Give Her a Hug or You'll Puncture a Lung. Boy were they one dapper bunch! Rhinestones, cleavage and heels galore. I think I have ten new role-models, guys.

Now, don't be fooled by their beauty. They have to grapple with real issues every day just like you and me. Oh man, the question and answer segment was marvelous. I've never seen so much bizarre nonsensical babble accompanied by such pride and gleeful self-assurance. The question was, "How has an event from your childhood shaped who you are today?" I don't remember what Miss Mutant or Twinky from Maine said exactly, but Miss Almost Ethnic tried, for thirty hilarious seconds, to convince everyone she had overcome racial prejudices in her youth. The first words out of her mouth were, "Well as you know, my dad is Chinese..."

In the end, Miss Mutant was crowned -- much to the joy of Sarah, who was watching the ceremony with us and leading a chant: "mu-tant! mu-tant! mu-tant!" Miss Mutant took the crown from the former Miss America: Miss If She Wasn't High, She Should Really Do Something About That Lazy Eye. There was singing and crying and confetti and it was over as quickly as it had begun.

Next year will be my year.

Hey you. Stop with the laughing.

P.S. Out of curiosity, how do you guys feel about the song, The Christmas Shoes? My roommate loves it, but I find it tests my gag reflex.

An Official Apology to Miss Christa Jobeth

Christa, I have been thinking of you lately and all of the crap we put you through on account of your crippling inability to align your opinions of hottness with those of society...Or those without drugs and imaginary friends.

If you recall, we discovered this disorder while playing our brilliantly constructed "Who's prettiest?" game. It was a game where we went through each choir section and decided who was prettiest. That game inspired such equally amusing hits as, "Which soprano will cry first?," and "If the Whole Choir Wrestled in a Pit of Jell-o, Who Would Emerge Victorious?" I won't go into the details of those games because the rules are so complex that it would be tedious for me to transcribe them here. (Wow. You know, for a group of fairly intelligent people, we were way too easily amused. It must have something to do with my dancing hampster collection. Everything always circles back to them) Time and time again, you lost at that game. And, losing "Who's Prettiest?" is fairly difficult due to the fact that there aren't supposed to be any winners, losers or objects (see rules outlined above). That's why we proceeded to ridicule you and your defective hottness determinant. Colleen may continue to do so for as long both of you live, but that's between the two of you. I resign. Here's why:

A couple days ago, I let it slip that I don't get Brad Pitt. Don't get me wrong. I thoroughly enjoyed him in Mr. and Mrs. Smith and I respect the fact that he's more attractive than most human beings, but the guy just doesn't really do it for me. I don't get worked up the way some people do when he licks his luscious man lips. Ever since I revealed this about myself, I too have received endless ridicule. Nay, make that cold, smoldering hatred. I may as well have revealed that I don't really get ethnic people. When I said, "Brad Pit doesn't really do it for me," what Sarah, Emma and Pam heard was, "I'm an evil fascist." Now, whenever a Brad Pitt Movie comes up in conversation, there's an awkward pause so everyone involved can shoot me a look that says, "better not talk about Brad around obviously a-sexual Caitlin. We might awaken other dormant abnormal tendencies. Next she'll turn out to be a homicidal maniac. Or she'll blaspheme Orlando. She's a dangerous fool!"

I can't take the heat. Christa, I don't know how you've put up with it for so long. I commend you and extend my profoundest apologies. Now, if you'll excuse me, I have to go find myself an awesome poster of Brad and his awesome chiseled jaw and his awesome rippling pecks and his awesome cold dead eyes. Because Brad Pit is awesome. No. Really.

P.S. the other day, I told a girl that I didn't have my driver's license. She replied, "Yeah, you seem like you wouldn't." Um...ok. Wait, hey! Do I have to open my mouth to mark myself a social leper, or am I just that weird looking? I must know.