i'm cooler than you

like, OMG i love celebrities. i mean, really, it's a shameful admission, but it is true. yes, i read celebrity gossip. a lot. i know such useless information as the following: singing is merely a hobby for scarlet johansson; lance armstrong and kate hudson are dating (i totally bet matty mcconaughey hooked them up! remember when matty and lance were running around shirtless all the time? awesome!); tom cruise is fucking-crazy-as-hell (duh); BRITNEY (love her!) is staging a comeback (part IX) by doing a Vanity Fair cover shoot that pays homage to julia roberts (i actually really hope this story isn't true, because if so, LAME, brit. julia roberts hasn't been cool in like 10 years. why can't you resurrect your career by doing something totally awesome like a live concert atop the statue of liberty complete with fireworks and dancing bears? that'd be sweeeet!).

anywaaaaaaaay, despite my total affection for celebrity gossip, if there's one thing i'm good at, it's playing it cool in front of a celebrity (unless the "celebrity" is aaron carter and rachel morgan is 17 and beyond excited to see the flesh-and-blood brother of her boyf, nick carter. under said circumstances, rachel morgan cries. true story). growing up in LA, i saw stars allll the time, and i always knew that it is definitely not cool to act like you're excited to see whatever celebrity is in front of you. therefore, i developed the following mantra: "see a star? act like you don't know who they are!"

well, i got another chance to pretend i don't care about celebrities today. i've lived in my new apt for over two months now, and until recently, i've paid little-to-no attention to this nearby hole-in-the-wall restaurant down the street. it is in a totally nondescript strip mall, and i'm such a snobby bitch that i'd never look at the place and be like, "omg! that looks great! let's eat there!" however, thanks to yelp, i heard that this place was really good and that they had really great buffalo and ostrich burgers (ummmm i don't eat those animals). adventurers we are, momma b and i decided to hit up this teeny eatery for lunch, and we ordered some food to take back and eat at my apartment (so we could play with lulu!!). anywaaaaaay, momma b and i place our orders and sit down to wait for our food when...

rachel morgan spies a man in the corner. he is sitting by himself at the counter, eating some sort of burger and playing with his fancy schmancy shiny new black macbook pro. as momma b prattles on endlessley (something about her new hairstyle? an explanation as to why sleeveless turtlenecks are timeless and classy a la jackie o? ugh, mommy.), rachel morgan studies the man intently. he is really, super-duper, totally and ridiculously smokin' hot. rachel morgan eyes everything from his kinda-dorky-looking shoes, to his expensive and cool looking jeans, to the super badass necklaces he is wearing. he oozes sexy like the la brea tar pits exude the distillation of organic matter. if i were a dinosaur going extinct and looking for a place die, i would totally wade into his irresistible, gooey black pool of hotness. please lord, let his incredible sexiness fossilize my remains forever. i mean, how hot would that be... to live forever in the GAVIN ROSSDALE tar pits?!?!?!?!?!?!

yes, friends, this hunka-hunka-burning-hot-sex was the one and only gavin rossdale, aka mr. gwen stefani, aka lead singer of the grunge super-band, bush, and aka the total obsession of every girl at my junior high school in 1994 (um, glycerine was like MY JAM in the 7th grade). and there he was, sitting all by himself while momma b shoved an onion ring in my face and urged me to taste it (um, earth to momma b. i am NOT eating an onion ring in front of gavin rossdale.). as momma b waited impatiently for our food to be ready, doubt began to creep in. was it really him? was it really mr. machinehead, sitting there so nonchalantly in the middle of the valley? i crept closer, praying that he would get on his cell phone and utter something - nay, anything - in that super-hot british-accented-lead-singer voice that would confirm that he was, in fact, gavin rossdale.

well, ladies and gentlemen, god loves me (despite what you bible-thumping a-holes might say about a hedonistic, jew/agnostic, angry little lesbo who believes in pre-marital sex, aliens, evolution and other such sacrileges). lo and behold, my new boyfriend gav-gav (he asked me to call him that after we tottttaallly made out on the hood of momma b's station wagon. sweeeeet.) raised his phone to his ear (OMG i wonder if he was talking to gwen?!? or someone else famous? omg i wonder who his friends are?!?!) and began to speak. it was like a choir of angles erupted in my ears! there it was: his rich, delicious british accent! even more exciting, there it was: a tattoo on his inner left wrist that read simply, "kingston." for those of you who aren't as embarassingly obsessed with celebs as i am, kingston is gav-gav and gwen's super cute son (BTW, how cute is daddy gav-gav and his kingston tattoo?!?! like, sigh.)! IT WAS HIM AFTER ALL! yay!!!

anywaaaay, back to my i'm-too-cool-to-care attitude. when our food was ready to go, i shot one last longing look at super-stud gav-gav and bolted out the door. "that was weird," i said casually as momma b stepped into the bright sunlight. "what?" she asked. "oh, nothing, really. just GAVIN ROSSDALE sitting there!" my body tingled with excitement at the mere memory of his face, but i was determined to play it cool to the end and marched over to momma b's car, ready to leave gav-gav forever (we'll always have that steamy makeout session..... sigh). "what?! who?!" asked momma b, walking back towards the restaurant and staring in the window for approx 30 seconds ( FYI, MOMMY, that is NOT discreet, and it sure-as-shoot ain't cool), hoping to catch a glimpse of his royal hotness.

sigh. i guess some people will just never get it. if gavy-gav-gav had suspected that one of the 7 other people in this teensy-weensy restaurant had recognized him, he wouldn't have acted as naturally as he did! however, because i pretended to be too-cool-to-care, i had the chance to observe my future husband in his natural environment! i had tickets to the gavin rossdale hotness zoo! i watched him eat - just like he does in real life! i watched him chat on the phone - just like he does in the wild! i observed that he drinks yellow vitamin water - just like a real person! i watched him fiddle on his computer (trust me, i def tried to see what he was working on. it looked like something with words. my amazing beauty probably inspired him to write a song for me, so let's just all assume that's what he was typing), no doubt (bad pun intended), exactly as he does whilst sitting at home with his celebrity wife and son!

it was amazing. sigh... if only his zoo sold souvenir t-shirts.

call for entires: grown-up science fair

thanks to my new favorite time-waster (and, indirectly, E, who introduced me to this totally addicting feature), stumbleupon (seriously, check it out: http://www.stumbleupon.com/)
i recently discovered a website that listed a series of ridiculous and inane science fair projects enacted by kids who are obviously desperate for a passing grade (wii exercise as a science fair project??!? an experiment "testing" the effect music has on teenagers having sex?!?! seriously, are we entering another dark ages?!). i instantly remembered my own feeble attempts at a science fair project: how do different types of fish interact with each other (a shameless ploy to get more fish. i had a pet fish that i won in a carnival, who lived for like 18 years, and i was desperate to get fishy friends for dear old SWAT)? what happens if you bake cookies without using one ingredient in each batch (a shameless attempt to make and eat cookies. i was kinda a fatty.)?

it occurred to me that many children, when faced with the good ole' science fair project, desperately grasp at straws in the quest for an easy, fun, easy, not-boring, easy, and interesting project for their science fairs. well, adults, get your glue sticks and glitter letters ready, because i've decided to enact an ADULT SCIENCE FAIR!! yay!!!!!!!!! contain your enthusiasm, people!!! lets pretend, for just one moment, that we are all assigned a science fair project; what would you do? if adults, like children, want to spend as little time and energy as possible on a science project (seriously, can you blame the kids for putting forth such half-assed efforts? homework sucks!), what would an adult science project look like? here are a few of my ideas:

• title: how long can a human go without masturbating? problem: how long can an adult go without touching him/herself? hypothesis: as discussed in the infamous seinfeld episode, pretty much everyone masturbates, pretty much 90% of the time. materials: lube, napkins, calculators. procedure: open and frank discussion with friends over many bottles of wine. hilarity ensues. data: everyone does it, 90% of the time. analysis of data: everyone does it. conclusion: people are pervs.
  
• title: how many beers can one person drink before they fall over? problem: after a certain amount of alcohol is consumed, can an adult human still stand? hypothesis: after 2 classy six packs, humans of average size will fall over. larger humans (fatties?) will be able to consume more alcohol before collapsing. procedure: drinking many beers. no one keeps count, because everyone is drunk. data: the amount of alcohol one consumes is commensurate with body weight. analysis of data: fat people can drink more. conclusion: everyone who drinks beer is an alcoholic and could fall over (breaking through a glass pane window that needs to be fixed within 24 hours before your roommate comes home) at any time.
  
• title: is it better to pay your credit card bill or your phone bill? problem: many young professionals (and those pretending to be professional) find themselves in a financial stalemate. if forced to choose between paying your credit card bill or your phone bill, which do you choose? hypothesis: desperate young adults are terrified about becoming ensconced in bad debt, and will therefore choose to pay the credit card bill. procedure: a six-month study revolving around the impoverished mid-20s adults who did not go to (graduate. i WENT. i just didn't FINISH, k peeps?!?!) law school, and observing whether they choose to pay a phone bill or a credit card bill when financially strapped. data: the majority of adults pay their cell phone bill when push comes to shove. analysis of data: this is likely due to the fact that people would rather die than go without cell phones. conclusion: cell phones are god.

so, friends, if you were forced to do a science project tomorrow, what would you do? which scientific endeavor would you pursue?!?! leave me a comment letting me know... i'm desperate for an experiment here or there...

xox!

memorialize me

as we continue to roll ahead with year five of the awesome iraq war (it's such a patriotism-inspiring event! it's like a clash of the titans! highly-trained US soldiers facing off against guerrilla fighters and homemade bombs! operation iraqi freedom, whaaaat whuuuuuttt!), perhaps it is appropriate that this memorial day, we take a moment to remember the 4,081 soldiers who have died in iraq, whether we like the war or not. (insert moment of silence so rachel morgan doesn't come off as too crass when she casually moves on to a lighter topic. she seriously does care about the troops! tie a yellow ribbon around oak trees, bitches!).

anyway, all of this "memorializing" business got me thinking about how i would like people to memorialize me (i believe that this is a natural progression in the chain of thought: 1. memorial day 2. celebrate troops on memorial day 3. we should celebrate everyone 4. we should celebrate me!!!! 5. rachel morgan day!!!!!). obviously, my upcoming birthday (june 6th marks my inevitable descent into the dark days of "late 20s.") will make the perfect date to celebrate rachel morgan day!! therefore, i rachel morgan, am proud to announce that hereafter, june 6 will be known as rachel morgan day! it will be a day when we celebrate rachel morgan's incredible contributions to society, and we will thank her for her tireless sexiness and all-around super-powerful awesomeness. yay!! hip-hip-hoorah! on this blessed day, it is decreed that all citizens, squatters, illegal immigrants, tourists and passersby that inhabit the united states on june 6 must adhere to the following guidelines:

1. wear pink. how pretty would it be if everyone, everywhere wore pink on rachel morgan day??! picture it: little boys and girls swathed in magenta; president bush in a bubble-gum pink suit?!? and, OMG, wouldn't the klansmen look nice in a pretty dusty-rose instead of that drab old white they wear? i think it would really spruce up their image too, and do wonders for recruitment. after all, white isn't exactly the most flattering color, and i think the klan could see a serious boost in their numbers by brightening up their uniform - even racist morons like to look cute!

2. eat soup. soup is the national food on national rachel morgan day. this delicious, often under-appreciated food will be required to be the main focus of at least one meal for every person across this fine US of A. if any peasant attempts to resist this decree, he or she shall immediately be thrown into a huge vat of chicken noodle soup, where the dissenter will boil/drown and be made into "chicken soup for the cannibal's soul," and will be served as dinner at all federal prisons. people soup! i'm a evil dictator now! YAY!

3. obviously, since rachel morgan day is a national holiday, everyone will be exempt from work! this ought to give people plenty of time to ruminate on my many wonders, but i also hope that everyone will be able to enjoy themselves on this miraculous holiday! however, since i know SOME PEOPLE (old people, fundamentalist christians, infants, recovering addicts, nuns, republicans, virgins) are resistant to fun, i will also decree that between 9pm and 12am, everyone must PARTY HARDY! omg, how fun would that be?!? everyone, all across the nation, partying (not to mention celebrating ME!!!) at the same time... picture it: rednecks shootin' some squirrels in the woods and drinking some Natty Ice, slutty sorority girls (i can say that because i've lived it) whoring it up more than usual while drinking out of the ice luge at DKE, and even classy ladies like barbara streisand cutting loose, taking some jello shots and then puking in some decorative vase salvaged from the remains of anne frank's house!!! how FUN would that be?! PARTY! WHOO!

since i'm not trying to impose toooooooo many regulations on my fine fellow citizens, i think those three decrees ought to be enough to ensure that everyone thoroughly enjoys their rachel morgan day. now, someone go adopt me a whale for my birthday, or off with your heads!

xo!

click me, baby

so, as some of you may have noticed, i put a google adspace on my blog, thinking that my thousands of daily readers might click on it and help rachel morgan make a little moolah (click on my ads, bitchezz). momma and poppa b admitted that they click on my ad "all the time" (seriously, can't you see my parents sitting at home clicking over and over, trying to help their darling princess make lik 8 cents? hilariously cute, aren't they?!), but i don't think anyone else does, mainly because the ads aren't particularly enticing.

i don't know too much about the details as to how this ad thingy works, but i know that the ads that appear are selected based on picking up the keywords in my blog. there have been ads about paris hilton, lindsay lohan, fortune cookies... all things that have been mentioned in my blog!

today, i think i hit a new low. i juuuust finished posting my last blog, when i noticed that a new ad had appeared: "how to confront an alcoholic." HAHAHAHAHA. i laughed for like 3 minutes, until i realized that google was confronting me as an alcoholic. apparently, my blog makes some mention of alcohol. like once or twice. and apparently, google has a problem with that. well, google, FU. i don't neeeeeed you and your snooty advice. suck it.

on (not in) love

maybe its the birds-and-bees BS and this whole springtime thing, but it seems that recently, everyone around me is walking around like a googley-eyed teenager, giddy with happiness and (ugh) in love. now, i'm as on board for the whole romance shebang as much as the next chick, but sometimes, it feels like i'm the only person in the world not pining away for some suitor. don't get me wrong - i'm not one of those people who becomes bitter and bitchy when single (the bitchy part is really just my general demeanor), but i'd like to take a moment to point out the following to all of you lovesick monsters blindly roaming the earth talking, thinking and dreaming about some lover:

• i get that you like him/her. i get that you REALLY like him/her. i TOTALLY GET that you want to camp down, adopt like 16 chinese babies, buy some minivans and start wearing unflattering, high-waisted mom pants. that's wonderful! i'm happy for you! but telling me 10,000 times? that may make me smash your brain with a bowling ball. of course, i'm not saying that you shouldn't tell all of your friends how happy you are - just, please, attempt to discover a new topic of conversation. maybe you need a hobby? take up knitting! learn how to make booties for the children you and mr/mrs amazing-wonderful-perfect-omgsooohot-lover will have some day! i'll listen (actually, i probably won't listen to that, either) to you talk about like pearling or whatever it that knitters do. it sounds fascinating.


• please, buy a freaking watch. i've noticed this phenomenon occurring over and over again for a couple of years, and finally, i must say something. somehow, when two people are in love, they enter the twilight zone, and time ceases to operate as it does for the rest of the world. as clocks stop ticking, these people enter the realm of what scientists call "couple time," wherein everything takes approximately six times longer than it does in the real world. for people suffering from this affliction, a task as simple as getting dressed can take up to an hour. for example: lover A tries on an outfit, discusses said outfit with lover B, then tries on a similar variation, discusses this ensemble with lover B, who then gives in to romantic urges and decides to have a quick bang-fun-fest, and finally, lover A tries on outfit number one again. by the time lover A and lover B show up wherever they're supposed to be, people are pissed (just so you know, i am perfect and on time to everything. you should all be ashamed of yourself.)


• wow, OMG, so nice to see you again, dear friend! oh, and who is that with you? of course, its your significant other! i forgot that you'd glued yourself together!! now, i know the life of conjoined twins (not "siamese," people. i've watched probably 15 specials about conjoined twins, so i feel like i know their struggle) is highly appealing (what with all of that glitz and glamour of wearing custom-made pants with 3 legs!! sooooo in right now!), but why is it that you want to become one? do you get lonely while you're in the bathroom peeing? is the thought of facing the day without your partner knowing that you had 6 pretzels at 1:23pm too much to bear? will you die if you (gasp) have dinner with a friend without schmoopsy-poo there to provide backup in case your friend suddenly and inexplicably morphs into a brain-sucking zombie?


• rachel morgan: "hey, _____, what are you doing today?" lovestruck dumbass: "oooh not too much. doing some laundry with mr/mrs incredible, then we're going to the aviary to watch the baby tawny frogmouths hatch! it's so exciting!" rachel morgan: "you like birds?" lovestruck dumbass: "yeah! mr/mrs incredible is an ornithologist, and i'm just, like, totally into birds!" rachel morgan: "but you always said you hated birds and that if you had a BB gun you'd rid the planet of the squeaky little bastards..." lovestruck dumbass: "ugh no way! i totally love birds! its the christian thing to do, you know." rachel morgan: "um, aren't you a jew?" lovestruck dumbass: "well, i used to be, i guess. mommy and daddy aren't too happy about it, but mr/mrs incredible showed me the light, and now, i'm like totally SAVED! hallejuah!" rachel morgan: "well i was calling to see if you wanted to hit up our favorite sushi place sometime this week?" lovestruck dumbass: "ew! sushsi?!? i would never be so barbaric as to eat an animal! mr/mrs incredible and i are totally going vegan!" **** this kind of crap happens ALL the time. get an idenity of your own, people.
  

these are just a few examples of the bones i have to pick with you happy-sappy, lovey-dovey people. you all suck.

ps: when i start dating again and totally do all of these things, don't rub this blog in my face too much :)

b-a-d-a-s-s

no matter how much i talk myself up on this blog (yes, i am aware of the fact that i come off like an egomaniacal bitch whose primary concerns include: me, my cat, drinking, me, headbands, me, drinking, me. at least i included little lulu on that list), there are certain circumstances under which i would crumble like a block of feta left to sit in the sun all day whilst being picked at by pigeons who don't know that i poisoined the feta because i hate birds so much, and consequently, fall from the sky like the winged-rats they are.


anywhoooo, last night, while chatting with the ever-so-delightful K and E, i discovered one such situation that would cause me to literally have a total and complete mental, physical and emotional collapse: prison.

could you imagine it?! ME? IN PRISON?! omg. we all know that i would not only be someone's bitch within the first five seconds of walking in the door (seriously, some huge scary woman named "chopper" would have me following her everywhere, carrying her contraband prison cigarettes and would always refer to me as "chopper's girl"), but i would also be miserable without eyeliner, my cell phone, low-fat chocolate soy milk, moisturizer, DVR, lip gloss, my car, nail polish, fresh salads with goat cheese... realistically, it would not be pretty. soooo thankfully, i'm not murdering anyone anytime soon (and i'd never get caught, anyway. i've already got like 15 places picked out to stash a body where the climate and wild animals nearby would dispose of any trace evidence i may have left behind. watch out, yo - i'd have mad skillz as a serial killer), because that would be the end of rachel morgan, for realz.

talking about what would be my inevitable utter and complete meltdown in the prison environment got me started thinking: what other situations would i not be able to survive? how would i deal with being lost at sea? could i handle a bear attack? what would i do if i had to walk 10 blocks through the ghetto? would i weep uncontrollably if forced to attend a NASCAR event? as each question sped through my mind, a pattern quickly emerged: i coulnd't handle any of those circumstances (don't give me a hard time about the NASCAR thing, people. i hate crowds of trashy people with mullets and cheap beer. honestly, that sounds like the seventh level of hell to me).

upon making this realization, my initial reaction was to be slightly disappointed in myself. was i so spoiled and so imbued with a sense of entitlement that i'd become incapable of dealing with anything outside of my day-to-day life? apparently, yes (duh). however, my initial disappointment quickly dissapated when i realized that the situations i was imagining SUCK, and that people who find themselves dealing with such terrible things deserve to be there! sure jail is like totally the worst place ever, but people who end up there f'd up in the first place (and yes, i'm talking to you, paris hilton. our reactions to jail life might have been reasonably similar, but i'm too smart to be getting DUIs and driving with suspended lisences, hobag!). someone lost at sea would also totally deserve it too, probably because they're dumb and think, "oh this raft looks sturdy! lets test it out!" (jenny from end of L word season 4 - you are annoying and dumb and i wished you had been lost at sea forever, but then i would have missed you being a total crazy psychobitch in season 5, so welcome back to the mainland!).

furthermore, my strong religious background (hahahahahahahahahaha. jk jk jk, peeps! i'm practically the anti-christ, but whatevs. i do love me some jezzy-jesus!) has led me to realize that that no matter what terrible situation we're in, baby jesus up in heaven would never give us a challenge that we can't handle. thats why, when i found out that i'd have to borrow my mom's mercedes station wagon for like 5 days (UGH!) while my car was in the shop, i didn't panic. i just took a deep breath, told myself to calm down, and said, "sweet jesus knows i can deal with this. you can do it, rachel morgan!" so, guys, if you ever find yourself in the pokey, remember that if anything terrible happens to you while you drop the soap, it's what god wanted from you, so take it like a champ.

xo!

an educational tour of the united states of america numero tres

as you may remember, i've been posting these crazy-rachel-morgan-version of state slogans that i wrote a few years back. this one is equally nutso. enjoy! xo!

Illinois – "Mile After Magnificent Mile." As a freshly minted Chicagoan, I'm proud to say that I know this slogan refers to the stretch of Michigan Ave. that has all the snobby shops, ritzy restaurants and upscale hotels. However, in my world, Chicago's "mile after magnificent mile" refers to its endless row of bars, clubs, pubs, saloons, taps, taverns, breweries, watering holes and beer gardens. It's amazing! Drunkenness beckons at every doorway, calling my name and tempting me with its sweet, sweet ambrosia! Mile after magnificent mile of cool, crisp, refreshing beer whispering, "Raaaaccchhheeeellll….. Drink me, Rachel. I'm so lonely without you… I need you, Rachel…" Sigh. Hats off to you, Illinois, for your mile after magnificent mile of debauchery and drunken fun.

Iowa – "Life Changing." Having been to the state of Iowa, I can assure you that when I entered the state, I was a short, bratty Jewish girl, and when I left Iowa, I was still a short bratty Jewish girl. What was supposed to change, exactly? Was I supposed to develop a sudden and uncontrollable craving for corn? Should I have given up my city girl lifestyle in the hopes of finding sweeter, simpler times tending to chickens on some godforsaken farm? Was I supposed to meet the man of my dreams over a bale of hay, get married in a small neighborhood church and pop out six kids before I'm thirty? Sorry, Iowa, but none of those things are going to happen – no matter how many times I visit your fine state. Ew, especially that part about all those babies.

Indiana – "Start Your Engines." Wow, Indiana. Your state slogan actually references an event featuring NASCAR drivers. Now, I'm not one to make sweeping generalizations, but when I think NASCAR, I think of guys with mullets and beer bellies and half-naked girls with bad highlights and too much lip liner. Ok, fine. I'm going to just go ahead and say it. ALL NASCAR fans are white trash. Its like written in the bible or something. Indiana, are you trying to advertise for yourself by saying that everyone in Indiana is a NASCAR lovin', toothpick chewin', wife beatin' white trash hick? Sure, that ploy might work with the people in West Virginia, but that's an even whiter, trashier state. PS: its not going to help your cause that Indiana is still a KKK stronghold. If there's anything more white trash than NASCAR, it's traipsing around in robes and ranting about the superiority of the white race.

Kansas – "As Big As You Think." I must say that I'm a little disappointed that Kansas didn't go with the schmaltzy, adorable, easy route here. Imagine if the Kansas slogan was, "There's No Place Like Home." How cute would that have been? Get it? Like from the Wizard of Oz, when Dorothy clicks her heels together, says, "there's no place like home" a bunch of times and returns to Auntie Em on the farm in Kansas? That would have been so cute and might actually make me want to visit Kansas, unlike, "As Big As You Think." Basically, that slogan says, "there's a whole bunch of empty flat land in Kansas. In fact, there's even MORE nothing than some imagined!" Bad choice, Kansas. Everyone loves Dorothy (and her little dog too), so why not capitalize on the built-in audience of Judy Garland loving gays and little girls who aspire to be princesses rather than promising more nothing than one can fathom?

Kentucky – "Unbridled Spirit" I think the whole "unbridled" thing is supposed to reference horses and the fact that Kentucky has that big derby horse race thing. I don't know - I've never really been into the whole "hanging out at the racetrack" scene. However, there are two things I do know about Kentucky. One is that my mother's family is from there, and the other is that if my mother's family is any indication, the people of Kentucky could be accurately described as "Hill Folk." I'm not kidding. Some of my mom's favorite stories are about spending childhood summers with Grandpa Dewey, whose eye had been shot out and only wore overalls, and "Baby Grandma," "Fat Grandma" and Grandma Oda (don't ask why she had three grandmothers, two of whom were called by fake names – it's a long story). I specifically recall her fondness for reminiscing that "Fat Grandma" liked to wear dresses without underwear, so that if she was out and about and needed to pee, she could just squat and go right then and there. Yeah – explains a lot about the way I turned out, huh? Anyway, Kentucky, if that kind of stuff is what you're all about, own it. Try: "Kentucky: Whatever, We Pee Where We Want!"

Maine – "It Must Be Maine" The first thing I envisioned when I read this slogan was some Ponce de Leon type European explorer "discovering" Maine, infecting Native Americans with various diseases, sticking a "Maine" flag in the ground and happily sighing, "Ah… It Must Be Maine!" Like what is this slogan trying to say exactly? That the trees that grow in Maine are so distinct looking and unique that as soon as one crosses the New Hampshire/Maine border it is obvious, based on nothing more than appearances, that "it must be Maine?" In all fairness, I've heard that the Maine landscape is very beautiful – but is it really so distinctly "Maine" that it warrants such a distinguished slogan? Perhaps, "Maine: A Pretty Part of the Country" would be more fitting.

Maryland – "Seize the Day Off" Oooh, Maryland! I like this one! It sounds like my kind of state – where everyone takes the time to enjoy life and have some fun. I can picture it now; happy, sweatpants-wearing crowds dance through candy paved streets, drinking delightful beer and celebrating life. Citizens are granted three hundred vacation days a year, and employers often encourage employees to "seize the day off" whenever they just don't feel like working. It must be a place where people fight for their right to party, cheat on their diets, lounge lazily on the couch and enjoy afternoon cocktails Monday through Sunday. Maryland, if all of this is true, you should change your name to Heaven and expect to be bombarded with the entire population of the United States.

Massachusetts – "Make it Yours" For some reason all I can think about when I read this slogan is the way cracked-out Paula Abdul tells contestants on American Idol that they need to make the song their own. You know what I'm talking about. Paula sits there, her botox-injected eyes pulled open to give her an insanely wild look, wearing something ridiculous like eight flowers in her hair or a live tarantula on a chain to create "dramatic effect," and grinning like a crazy woman on speed. After a contestant performs, she'll clap awkwardly with her acrylic-tipped fingers pulled far away from each other so that the palms of her hands are the only part that touch, and she'll beam at the singer, wipe a faux tear from her eye, and say, "You really made that song your own." Apparently, Massachusetts is the Paula Abdul of the United States. When New York gets on stage and does his rendition of "New York, New York" exactly as Frank Sinatra would, Massachusetts shakes her head sadly and says, "You look great, tonight, but I need to see you make the song yours." But when Georgia gets up and unleashes the country version of "Georgia on My Mind," Massachusetts gives her a hysterically crying standing ovation and says, "Way to make it yours!" California, who is clearly the critical, snobby Simon Cowell of the country, looks at the teary mascara running down Massachusetts' face and tells Georgia that he thought her performance was "wretched." Ok, I officially have an overactive imagination.

Minnesota – "Explore Minnesota" Minnesota, this is definitely in the bottom ten state slogans when it comes to creativity. First of all, urging tourists to "explore Minnesota" really does not offer anything specifically tempting. Like, what am I going to find if I do indeed "explore Minnesota?" What if I only find a bag of dead rats and six pieces of dried, hard licorice? Although I sincerely doubt that's what I'd find in Minnesota, this slogan is so vague that I can't in good conscience cross it off the list of possibilities. Minnesota, do you see my point? How hard would it have been for you to offer something enticing to "explore?" Just saying, "explore me," is only appealing when its being said by someone really hot, naked and on your bed, and sorry, Minnesota, you're just not my type.

Mississippi – "Feels Like Coming Home" I think that Mississippi is trying to go for the whole Southern comfort, homey feel with this slogan, but it does not work for me. It may work for Elvis, who was born in a one room shack in Tupelo, Mississippi, but my time spent in Mississippi felt nothing like "coming home." While perusing the thirty variations of confederate flag and "Git R' Dun" t-shirts at the truck stop/gas station, at no point did I find myself saying, "Hmm… this feels just like home." I was not inspired to reminisce about my childhood while scanning through the radio stations and finding no options other than Christian talk and country classics. In all fairness, my encounter with the state of Mississippi was largely limited to the car and the road, but I can assure you that its impression in no way urged me to explore anything further, and certainly felt nothing like any home I was accustomed to. Mississippi, if you're looking for a boost in tourism, I'd suggest playing to your strength, which in this case, is obviously Elvis. Everyone loves The King. Try, "Mississippi: Birthplace of Elvis."