News Flash

OK, so I woke up early this morning, and opened up my email inbox, only to find a most disturbing message from my GF Lori. It contained a news flash so shocking, so absolutely unthinkable, that I immediately had a vaso-vagal reaction and briefly lost consciousness as my body tried to protect my mind from the unearthly horror before me. "Oh, no, Kelly-Girl, what is it??" you ask, sharing my terror, poised at the ready to summon emergency response personnel. Give me a moment to compose myself...OK, here goes.

It would seem that the K-I-D is dating....Kellie Pickler. Oh, God, there it is again, I just threw up a little bit in my mouth, and I'm seeing spots.

Seriously? Of all people? Kellie-Freakin'-Pickler? In the words of my aura-reading-studying-to-be-a-shaman Mother, JesusMaryAndJosephYouHaveGottaBeFrigginKiddingMe!! So now, not only has he ignored my repeated entreaties for free-ticketage and backstage-passitude, but he is dating a reality-TV-chick. With fake boobs. And she spells her name wrong. Now I understand that she's a singer, and may even be considered by some to be marginally talented, but really. Would we even know who she was were it not for American Idol? I think not. So, in my opinion, she is nothing more than a country-music-version of Spencer and Heidi, and she can take her obviously-augmented self and go back to from whence she came. And, yes, I did say "whence." She might have to look that one up, but I said it.

Now, deep in the reaches of my reality-based cerebellum, I know that things would never work out between me and the K-I-D. He tends to like chicks who are, shall we say, slightly more inflatable than I am, and let's face it our lifestyles are not exactly compatible. Can you see him tooling around P-town with a Highlander full of Chicas? I think not. But I know you my Lovelies, you can so picture my bikini-clad self hanging out poolside in Vegas, partying like a rock star, because let's face it, I am wicked, wicked hot. But the K-I-D hanging in the Suburban D? Not so much.

I guess it's the same old story, the bane of all of us smart chicks--dudes that we dig choosing to be with girls who aren't exactly. Now "she" may very well be smarter than I give her credit for, but...um...no, sorry, I can't go there. So yeah, I will continue to worship at the shrine of the K-I-D, because no matter what he does off-stage, he is still a very talented cat who puts on a tremendous show. I will put aside my differing opinions on his love-life, and gladly accept the long-awaited tickets, passes, and swag as a salve for my bruised ego and crushed and broken dreams. All he has to do is call me. I may be hanging out poolside with my new IB, Mr. Mathers, but I would pick up the phone. Well, I'd probably let it go to voicemail just to get back at him for making me wait, but I'd gladly go to the show. Fo-Sho.