So it's Friday the 13th, y'all, and you know what that means! Well, maybe you don't, so let me tell you: it means that everyone across the nation is celebrating their Lucky Day!
Seriously, I think everyone I've ever met has confided in me that Friday the 13th is their "Lucky Day". Some bad shit will go down and I'll shrug and go, "Well, it is Friday the 13th!" and they'll get this shocked expression and bubble, "Which is, like, so crazy because Friday the 13th is actually my Lucky Day!" Well, aren't you an original. It's amazing how all these longstanding superstitions are actually antithetical to the documented truth. Hey, maybe later we can break a mirror for good luck!
Whatever. Friday the 13th is a day like any other day. Nothing happens today that couldn't happen last week or next week or any other day. Well, except for USA's Friday the 13th Marathon, which I guess makes it a good day in my opinion. I love cheesy horror movies, especially when they've been edited for television, and Friday the 13th is by far my favorite franchise of the bunch. Better than Halloween, better than Prom Night, better than Nightmare on Elm Street, and much, much better than Night of the Living Crapfest. Excuse me -- "Dead". Well, except for Friday the 13th Part V: The New Beginning. That movie is dead to me. Go for parts 1-4 and 7. 7 rocks my world.
As for my part, I'm pretty indifferent about Friday the 13th, the day. I mean, sure, the power here has already cut out three times -- the last time in the middle of writing this entry, as a matter of fact -- but at least I put my underwear on the right way this morning. Admittedly, last Friday the 13th sucked rocks big time. I was frazzled and starved, and I had an hour-long interview that took three and a half hours, during which time my car got towed and impounded. However, that was also the night that Jessica took May Day and I out for head-sized margaritas, I got drunk for the first time, and we hollered at Reba McIntyre when her porsche pulled up to the light outside Kinko's while our drunk asses were trying to bust in so I could pick up my order -- Kinko's was closed, people. Kinko's. Closed! -- and Reba waved at us and we freaked out. Ah, that was a good night.
And speaking of Jessica, run, don't walk, to her diary, ultratart.com, because she's got an important message she's trying to get out. I fully endorse the cause and feel exactly the same way, so imagine it's both of us saying those things. Well, the first part, the second half is all her.
Which brings us to the final item on our agenda. Dude, Zach Braff needs to stop sending me all these love letters! I'm serious. It's beginning to freak me out! It all started pretty innocent, I guess; a couple years ago, I started seeing his picture in magazines and ads for his new show, Scrubs (Thursday nights at 8:30 EST on NBC), and I was like, "Hmmm, I could almost swear he's looking right at me!" That's when I started getting the letters. They were cleverly disguised as fliers and credit card offers, and the occasional Have You Seen Me? leaflet, but the code was an obvious one to crack. Take this one, for instance:
You could already be a winner!Yes, that's right, you and two of your friends could be heading to Las Vegas on a free flight from KLM Airlines, riding in style in a lavishly appointed limo with a private driver. All you have to do is fill out the attached form and mail it back within 30 days!
Like, please. Obviously, it's a friggin' proposal! "Two friends"? He so means my parents. He wants to meet my parents! And Vegas? Who goes to Vegas except to get married by an Elvis impersonator in a whirlwind ceremony at a makeshift wedding chapel sandwiched between an IHOP and a brothel? And 'the attached form' he wants me to fill out is plainly some kind of cleverly disguised marriage license.
And as if the constant letters weren't bad enough, now I'm getting these phone calls. You know, where there's a moment of silence, and then "Cathy" from "AT&T" picks up (like that's her real name) and starts delivering me coded messages from Zach about how much he loves me. Last night was the final straw, however. I tuned in to Scrubs, just out of curiosity, of course, and there's Zach Braff, making flirty eyes at me and saying things like, "Hey, go out with me," directly at me! Like, he's not even trying to hide any more! And then, at the end of the episode, he shamelessly shucked his shirt and started shaking his ass for my benefit. I mean, not that I'm complaining or anything, but he really needs to deal with this obsession before he becomes dangerous. I think tonight I'll go find his house and hide in the bushes with my telephoto lens and nightvision goggles, just to make sure he's not doing something crazy like trying to break into my apartment so he can steal back the hair I took off his jacket last week when I tracked him down at The Bistro and snuck into the coat room. Man, it's tough having a celebrity stalker. You can get into all kinds of trouble! Fortunately, today is my Lucky Day.