OMG, Prince Harry is single!

I'm not much for tabloid news. There, I said it. I don't feel smarter, or richer, or better informed when I know where Brittany is in rehab or who some some skinny chick in a designer dress is blowing this month. I don't care who Jennifer Aniston marries. If she shows up at my house with a fruit tray and propositions, that's another matter, but frankly, I'm not holding my breath. I am holding my breath for Sandra Bullock, however, just for the record.

Of course, I'm not a teenager. Not anymore, anyway. On most days. Teenagers love that shit because they have such inflated senses of self-importance. Debbie and Tyrone breaking up is the end of the world! OMG, oceans are going to rush over the beaches and take out entire communities in their grief. Teenagers like to gossip loudly in malls or other unfortunate public gathering places, hoping to be overheard, because surely the adults passing by will be impressed that the blonde one got invited to Tony's party, and secretly wish themselves they could go, but they are so old and boring, but everyone wants to go to Tony's - whoever the fuck Tony is and whyever they should care that he's convinced some morally challenged 30 year old to buy him shitty beer while his parents are in Idaho for the weekend. It's Tony! Teenagers, all listen closely: Tony is not a real celebrity. His breakup with Jami'ka is not nearly so interesting as Prince Harry's breakup with Chelsy Davy, the law student who he's been seeing for 5 years, probably because Harry is in the army and she's in law school and that has got to be hard, but dude, what guy is going to want to follow up that act? She's been doing the potential next king of England for the last 5 years. Talk about performance anxiety! He's so cute though and doesn't at all seem like a total dick like his father was, OMG poor Diana, right?

That was just an example. Ahem. And now, the NY Times, so I can get depressed over the state of the world and have my ego deflated over a crossword puzzle I can't finish until girlfriend bandit starts asking about breakfast - the Sunday of an adult who is very, very not famous. Well, at least Tony and Qu'a'liitay won't be gossiping about what I wear to the grocery store this afternoon, and I might just go looking like shit just because I can.