This Can Only End in Tears

It saddens me to put up this picture, to put up this post at all.

We L.A. natives are used to seeing a fair amount of police chases. The local news outlets are infamous for billing pursuits as *BREAKING NEWS,* and they follow, commentate on, and film these idiots being chased by helicopters and black & whites until the bitter end. Thankfully, the end that the typical chase meets isn't so bitter... The suspect usually gives up, or is spike stripped / pin maneuvered into submission, and is subsequently arrested. All is well in L.A., and now back to our regularly scheduled Judge Judy.

...That didn't happen tonight.

After a hugely bungled chase (on the collective part of the Pasadena and Covina PDs), the high/drunk/insane motorist ran red light after red light before eventually plowing directly into a car in a Covina intersection. It was horrific to watch.

I'll save you from having to find it on YouTube (unless you'd rather just bite the bullet), and share the particulars here: the chase started in Pasadena around 11pm and worked its way through the San Gabriel Valley. Newscasters said the driver was a DUI suspect, and though the car was registered in North Hollywood, they couldn't confirm if the driver was in fact the registered owner. They had between three and six squad cars in pursuit (depending on the stage of the chase) and a helicopter overhead - all pretty standard. Once the suspect entered West Covina, the Covina PD expressed an interest in using the pit maneuver to stop him... But by the time it was ok'd through proper channels, the suspect had driven out of Covina, and so the Covina PD essentially washed their hands of him. Some 20 minutes later, the suspect stopped the car, and for a few minutes it appeared that the chase might be coming to an end. At this point, the police had the perfect opportunity to either box in his vehicle or set up spike strips a little farther down the road, just in case he took off again... Which is exactly what happened. The police missed their opportunity, and instead of taking a proactive stance against this obviously unstable driver, they allowed him to continue on, running half-a-dozen (or more) red lights along the way. He eventually T-boned a little Mazda at 45-50mph just before midnight.

After the cars spun out and the suspect opened his door and kicked his dog out (??), he proceeded to resist arrest for the next 10 minutes. During this time, every officer on the scene tended to the suspect. Not one person looked after the dog that had run out into the street (and still hasn't been found, despite an effort by nearby residents), and - perhaps more importantly - not a single cop stopped to look into the innocent victim's mangled wreck. It was only after they had the suspect mildly subdued that one of them even bothered to check on the victim.

...And he didn't run to the victim's aid. Didn't appear to call for backup. Didn't try to pry open the car door. No. He shined his flashlight in through the cracked windshield, appeared to say something (apparently to the victim inside, who was unresponsive) and then sat back and waited for the fire department. When they arrived, the LAFD was equally as slow to respond, spending a good portion of the critical hour walking around the car and surveying the situation. An ambulance waited idly by.

One of the KCAL newcasters, perhaps reading my mind, inquired "maybe this is the wrong thing to say, but shouldn't there be some sort of, I don't know, expediency?" Yes, yes there should have been. But there wasn't. KCAL pulled back on their helicopter camera, and it became apparent they believed the victim was dead on impact, thus explaining the incredibly lackadaisical approach by the first responders. They cut the coverage off shortly thereafter.

Here's my question: even if you *think* someone didn't survive a crash, don't you make every effort to be quick & responsive and MAKE SURE??

As luck would have it, ABC and KNX-1070 have both reported that the victim miraculously survived... no thanks to the LAPD and LAFD.

The pursuit came to an end in Covina, where the suspect T-boned a car at the intersection of Puente Street and Barranca Avenue.

The condition of the victim, a woman, was not immediately known. However, police said she is believed to be alive.

KNX newsradio reported that the victim was brought to County USC Hospital - a good 30-40 minute drive from West Covina. I watched the CBS News feed on Ustream, and the ambulance drove on in silence; no sirens, no emergency lights. Despite optimistic reports to the contrary, I found the grim visual evidence sobering. If this person is in fact alive, it is truly a miracle... Especially considering that no one - from the cops, to the fire department, to the damn paramedics, hastened to save her.

. . .

I'm finding it hard to sleep tonight. My thoughts are with her family.



PS
If anyone reads this and has updates, feel free to tweet them at me, or post them here. Also, if anyone knows what became of the dog, I'd love to hear about it.

UPDATE: (Tues 10:53am)
According to CBS News, the driver of the Mazda is in moderate condition -- she made it through the crash with a fractured neck and broken pelvis. The driver suspected of DUI has been identified -- Edgar Angarita, 45, who is being charged with felony evading. He's lucky that's ALL.

This is SO beyond my Bedazzling capabilities

I will die if I cannot have this dress...

Picture courtesy of JustJared

BEHOLD OLIVIA WILDE IN ALL HER GOLDEN GLOBE GLORY!

I like fashion -- I mean, I do have girl parts, after all -- but it's not all that often that I fall in LAFS (love at first sight) with a particular frock. This, however, is no dress from Windsor.*

*(aka where I bought at least one of my prom dresses some 10-odd years ago)

Hell, it's not even my usual fave off-the-rack designer, BCBGMaxAzria.



No. Olivia Wilde's gown is mouthwatering, chocolate perfection. The Marchesca Gods have gratuitously smiled back upon themselves, and the only thing that could make this dress fly any higher on my personal Pedestal of Fashion Greatness would be if it had hidden pockets in the sides. Cause you all know I loooooove me some fancy dress pockets.

But pockets or no pockets -- I want to have BABIES with this dress. Luscious, sparkly, molasses colored babies. I mean just look at it. LOOKIT!!!!

Picture courtesy of The Huffington Post

Hey, YOU with the catatonic stare & germy hands. Do not touch that dress! IWILLCUTYOU!

::ahem:: Sorry. I just lost my mind for a second. Done now.

The crystals! The sequins! The tulle! I think I died and went to fairy-princess-Barbie-doll heaven. Indeed, this truly *is* a ballgown fit for a Princess. A Princess with money to burn.

...So which one of you is gonna make mama her knock-off, hmm?

I will pay you back in chocolate-sequined-covered babies. Or perhaps just chocolate.* Your call, really.

*(I have been known to make some RIDICULOUSLY GOOD chocolate fudge brownies with sea salt and homemade caramel sauce. Ask Justin.)

PS
Yes, I did see her 4-5" solid gold spiked heels under her ballgown (not pictured here), and I wasn't in love. Sorry, Christian Louboutin. I still love your other shoes, though...

What is this, a school for ANTS??

I feel it's only fair to warn you, dear reader, in advance: I'm not feeling very funny tonight. Instead, I'm waxing thoughtful -- which is not to be confused with sad/angry/mad/depressed. If you're on board, great! Read on! If not, I suggest you go here, here, or even here. If you stay, I can only promise you one Funny per this entry.

And here it is! A picture of a cat dressed like a chicken. *LOLOLZZZ!!*
. . .

You're sticking with me? Good for you! Cause I have a question... Based on a scale of 1-10, which of these sounds best: a 4 or a 5? A 7 or a 9? The natural reaction and the obvious choice is to pick the highest of all the numbers available to you, right? And if these numbers were attributable to conquests at a bar, it might be forgivable to guzzle one-too-many shots of Patron and go home for the night with someone subjectively labeled a '4' or a '5.' All in good fun, no one gets hurt, ha ha ha ha. ...But what if I told you that these numbers pertained to schools, and the 1-10 score essentially rates each school based on their cumulative test scores, adjusted for each state and student population?

Sheds a different light on things, does it not? Suddenly, the preference for a '9,' but the settling for a '4' or '5' isn't ok. We're no longer talking about a one night stand with a barmaid -- we're talking about the fate of our children.

I realize the comparison might be a little crude, but you'll have to forgive me; I went to a '4' school. ...And a '5' and eventually a '9.' (For the record, Justin spent all four years of his upper education at Trinity High School, a solid '7' -- bless his heart.)



From GreatSchools.org...

The test results for all schools are sorted from low to high and divided into deciles, or 10% portions. The bottom 10% of schools get a rating of 1, the next 10% get a 2, on up to 10, which indicates the school's result is in the top 10%. If there are several identical values that overlap from one rating decile to another, they are given the higher rating.

Well isn't that something. To get a '4,' is to say that your school ranks in the bottom 40% of schools relative to your state/county/city. And when you live in L.A. -- a veritable BASTION of scholastic aptitude -- to get a '4' relative to other schools in the LAUSD, or even in the state of CA, is to basically be illiterate and completely dyscalculic.


This is where I spent 9th grade. At Birmingham High School, in Van Nuys, CA.

*Birmingham High circa 1998, via the Tomahawk yearbook*

It should be noted that in the picture below and to the right, you may notice some numbers written below my laughingly awkward 9th grade photo...

This handwriting is the work of my mother, who liked to write in my yearbooks and remind me of how proud she was and how much she loved me. This particular year, she decided to do it right under my photo. And in pager code.

But I digress...

My 9th grade year was spent in the J-Magnet, which was a somewhat separate entity that operated as an incorporated part of Birmingham High School. When not taking core magnet classes, however, I was mainstreamed into the main BHS population (quelle horror).

Birmingham is in fact, my '4' school. But are you surprised? I mean, the the 4-year graduation rate is under 50%.

If you read the article (and I encourage you to), you'll discover that a significant portion of Birmingham students start out there and quickly realize they're in a so-called "drop-out factory." So they do what they can to get out; some give up and drop out, yes, but it turns out a lot of BHS freshman do what I did: wake up, smell the coffee, and transfer elsewhere.

Some things have changed since the time that I attended, however. In 2009, Birmingham left the LAUSD and formed an independent public charter, and the J-magnet broke away from BHS and has since become it's very own independent school (an '8!'): the Daniel Pearl Magnet High School. Though the Daniel Pearl kids now have their own campus (adjacent to Birmingham), it's not a totally symbiotic separation. DPMHS may have smart kids, but there are simply not enough of them. Without the Birmingham affiliation, the new school is suffering from under-enrollment and heavy teacher displacement. Birmingham's had a hard time too, because without the Daniel Pearl kids to provide a much-needed boost, Birmingham's test scores have dropped significantly since the journalism magnet separated.

For those of you who are wondering what brought on this whole train of thought in the first place... J and I were watching 'Waiting for Superman' earlier tonight, and though we only got half-way through it (J has a cold and got sleepy -- send him love and lots of baked goods), I was appalled. Don't get me wrong, I've always been well-aware of how flawed our nation's schools are -- '4' school! -- but to hear and see just HOW BAD it really is... Here in L.A., in D.C., in the South, everywhere... It's just shockingly egregious. Really, there's no other word for it: the state of our school system and all of the bureaucracy around it; it's just egregious.*

*Incidentally, I used the word 'egregious' in a 5th grade classroom game of Hangman, and got chastised for using a word no one else could possibly guess. And it was a *private* school. If I could speak with my 5th grade teacher today, I would tell her she should teach the rest of her students what it means, thus negating the issue and better educating the rest of the class.

Regardless of whatever impact my 'lost year' at Birmingham may have had on me (for the record, I made a few great friends whom I still see/love - academics be damned!), my story has a very happy ending... I was lucky enough to successfully complete a School of Choice application and ended up attending Santa Susana High School in Simi Valley.

Notice how we're all happy and theatre-y?

Santa Susana was the best thing that ever happened to me. The school was conceived as a performing arts / technology magnet, and when I enrolled the campus had recently been converted from a junior high, and had only been in existence for about a year. It was small -- serving around 800-900 kids -- and there was LOADS of personal attention. Unlike matriculating at Birmingham, where you were TRULY just a number to most of the teachers, and practically all of the administration, at Santa Su everyone knew your name. And they cared.

I haven't seen the rest of Superman yet, but so far one thing is abundantly clear: kids do better in schools where the parents, teachers, administrators, unions, and district personnel (a) work together for the greater good and (b) CARE ABOUT EACH STUDENT INDIVIDUALLY MORE THAN THEY DO THE BOTTOM LINE.

Sorry for the scream-y caps, but I felt it important enough to shout. A note to parents out there: you can live in a great area and enjoy above-average socioeconomic status (Encino, anyone?) but that won't make any difference if the school you send your kids to sucks. And, evidently, schools can suck in any neighborhood -- black, white, hispanic, rich, poor, or middle class. (Though, unfairly, they are much MORE likely to suck in areas that are poor.)


For comparison purposes, let's look at these school's Academic Performance Index scores...
Birmingham (Encino/Lake Balboa area): 653
Chatsworth High (where I attended 1 semester of preemptive summer school): 717
Daniel Pearl Magnet (Encino/Lake Balboa): 776
Santa Su (Simi Valley): 838

That's right, 838. And it's not because of the location, or more money (SVUSD schoolteachers actually get paid LESS on average, than a starting teacher in the LAUSD). It's because they're dedicated to their school, their students, and the snowball effect all of their current hard work will have in these kids' future lives. There's a reason why it's one of a handful of schools to earn the distinction of being a California Distinguished School. If only all schools (and really, all kids) should be so lucky to have the opportunity.

I wish I had a moral to this story, or a neat way to solve the problem of how we should fix our schools... But I don't. I can only tell you what I, as a daughter of a teacher who's experienced three different types of education (9 years private school, 1 yr public school (LAUSD), and 3 yrs at a public/independent magnet) would do, if I had children. I think I'll sum it up in 5 steps:

KRISSY'S 3:30AM PLAN TO HELP HER AS-YET NONEXISTENT CHILDREN STAY IN & LIKE SCHOOL (AND DO WELL TOO)!

1) Stay OUT of the LAUSD at all costs. Unless it's an amazing charter school.
2) Figure out what my kid is interested in, and *play to that.* Trust me, it helps when (as a student), you're actually interested in what you're learning. I'd pick a public magnet that caters to my daughter's particular interest over paying for a private school (which academically will yield close to the same results, actually) any day. If they're interested, they'll want to learn.
3) Become an involved parent. The best schools - regardless of status or location - are the ones that have a super-involved community behind them. Roll up your sleeves and prepare to do lots of fund-raising bake sales, hold tutor parties on the weekends, etc.
4) Listen to my child. If they say they "don't like school," chances are they don't like something about wherever it is they're attending. Either the teacher is bad (and yes, sometimes they are), the material seems too hard, or someone's picking on them. Listen to them. Work with them, and do EVERYTHING in your power to make it easier/better for them, so (again), they'll like school and want to learn.
5) If the solutions to #4 fail, try another school. There's no shame in admitting that something's not working and going somewhere else -- even if it's less convenient for the parent. I did it after 9th grade, and it was the best decision I ever made.
*A huge tip of the hat to my mom, for driving me all over the valley (15 miles plus!) in order to always cater to my best interest. :)

Thanks for sticking with me, folks. That took over three hours to write. Three hours!! Oy vey. To reward you all for making it to the end (cause I barely did!), here's one more Funny. You're welcome.

Merry Christmas, Here's a Job!

Ahh... Smell that? That is the smell of success. It smells vaguely like garlic salt.

After months of enduring unemployment, borderline-poverty, illness, and the eventual Great Sadness of the Decade, we've finally caught a break: J has a new job.

If we were both women / possibly sisters and had a trampoline, we'd be doing this.

Does this make everything all better? Hardly. But it's a start. A HELLUVA start. A new start, hopefully, that will no longer entail the possibility of having to put all of our crap in storage and move in (e.g. crash on the sofa) with my mom and her terrier in a 1bd apartment-turned-condo some 35 miles away from our current location. Cause, y'know, that would've gone splendidly.

Above all else, I'm grateful for J. He's being rewarded for his patience, perseverance, ability to handle inordinate stress and pressure, and intelligence. I couldn't be more proud of / happy for him.

This cat is also quite happy and proud. Rainbow pride!

Now that I've gotten the 'pride' emotion out of my system, let's delve into the next one in line, shall we? I call it 'grelief.' A mixture of the words 'greed,' and 'relief,' it's designed to encompass the messy emotions associated with being able to resume a certain lifestyle.
.......(i.e.).......

'I can get my HAIR DONE and go to TARGET and we can MOVE! and EAT OUT and I CAN GO TO TARGET, and we can send Maggie to the GROOMER and I can get my CAR FIXED, and ICANGOTOTARGET!!!!'

Ohh, Confessions of a Shopaholic. The Sophie Kinsella book series is so superior to the movie. Sorry, Isla Fisher.

I realize that I'm jumping off the deep end here and making it seem like we'll now be rich and famous and go swimming in all of our Target purchases. Or if not, that we'll at least be firmly back in the middle class. To insinuate as much would be incorrect; we're definitely still flying by the seat of our pants (in coach), and we won't be buying anything extravagant in the near future -- Christmas is still very much canceled (and we won't be flying back East). But hey, I'm just happy that I can pay my monthly medical premium now... Ten days late. Oh well. Suck it, Health Net*.

*Who just raised my rates. Again.

Goodbye

I am heartbroken. Miserable. Wretched. And the worst part is I feel like I'll never be happy again.

J's and my beloved dog, Kiley, died today. It hurts to even write that... As if it makes it more real than it already is. I said this on Facebook and I'll say it again: today is the worst day of my life.





For those of you who never got to know Kiley: I'm sorry. You truly missed out. For he was the most gentle, sweet, blindly kind, loyal and loving being you could ever come across. I say "being" because he was so much more than a "dog." Rather, to those who knew him, he was a kindred spirit; gentle and happy, intuitive and intelligent, and coincidentally covered in fur. He was my first baby. And I loved him more than life.

Kiley and I had a rather auspicious start... On March 4th, 2003 (my mom's birthday), I found Kiley running around by himself -- dragging a heavy, red leash -- alone in the rain, in the dark, scared and unsure... Traipsing around the gate of my mother's apartment complex in Chatsworth. I tried to stop traffic; to follow him... Only to be brutally rebuffed by drivers who stopped only long enough to ask 'is that your dog?' and upon being told 'no, but I'm trying to help him,' they split. Their help (or lack thereof) was of little or no consequence, however... He refused to come to me. Alas, my first attempt at saving this poor, sweet, lonely dog ended in defeat.

Dejectedly, I parked my car and headed upstairs to my mom's flat to explain to her what had just transpired. After a quick exchange of cards, hugs and flowers for her birthday, I relegated myself to my post by her balcony widow, looking out for the little black baby dog I'd seen earlier. Not five minutes later, he reappeared, attempting to be coaxed by a pair of strange women. Not having appropriate footwear for the purpose of saving a dog, I borrowed a pair of my mother's tennis shoes (two-sizes-too-small), and grabbed a piece of a muffin from a Starbucks pastry bag that my mom had yet to eat.

In a flash, I dragged my mom downstairs and told her her we should split up in opposite directions, so as to have better odds of running into the lone stray. We did, and as luck would have it, I ran into him first. I approached him slowly and methodically... Reaching out with the muffin and cooing sweet, reassuring words all the while. But he wasn't an easy sell. Instead, he took off in the opposite direction, forcing me to chase him down for a quarter of a mile, in the rain. Yep. He made me work for it.



Eventually, I cornered him in a remote area of the complex, and (in an effort to be as non-threatening as possible), sat down in a puddle on the concrete. I held out the muffin. "Come here, boy... That's a good boy. Come here, sweetie." I coddled and cooed, but he wouldn't come. This boy did NOT want my muffin. He did, however, come close enough for me to eventually grab his leash he'd been dragging. And as soon as I did take it, he became a different dog: attentive and almost confident. He let me take him all the way back to the front of the building where my mom was waiting. She was shocked I'd even found him, much less brought him back. Together, we went upstairs.

Over the course of the next few days/weeks/months, I discovered what he was all about: he had a microchip put there by LA Animal Services but had been abandoned by his previous owners... Abused, malnourished, neglected, left for dead. ...You name it, and that was his history. In fact, upon being notified (via the microchip contact information), his previous "owners" didn't even know he'd been missing. It had been four days. Upon receiving the call, the "owners" hung up on the LAAS officer. Period. Done. Couldn't care less about their dog. So I (gratefully) took him home.



What ensued over the next seven-and-a-half years can't even be described as a "beautiful friendship," for it was more than that. Some people called us Besties. Some called us Soulmates. I describe it as the purest, most unconditional love I have ever known. Kiley and I could speak without saying a word. We could exchange a mere look and feel mutually loved and comforted. We both spent our formative years in dysfunctional relationships... He with his previous owners, and me with my dad. And though we weren't part of the same species, we found a special comfort within each other. And once J came into the picture, he became the center of both of our worlds. There was nothing we wouldn't do for him... Granted, he was always an incredibly easygoing dog with regards to 'doggie demands' (so our job was easy), but truly, he was our Prince. And he earned that title every day with his undying devotion, loyalty, and unconditional love.

People have patted me on the back over the years for 'saving him.' But really, he saved me. He saved me from feeling alone in the universe, unloved, and without purpose. And truly, that's what he gave me (among many other things): Purpose. He gave me a reason to get up in the morning, to come home and night, and to smile when all else in my word seemed lost. He was my Raison d'etre. And now he's gone.

It's worth noting that Kiley was sick at several times throughout his life with us: an infection here, Demodetic Mange there, stitches-due-to-Maggie-biting-him-in-the face half a dozen times... But nothing held a candle to what we went through this year.

When Kiley first got sick back in September, we were optimistic enough to believe it was an infection. After a round of antibiotics he seemed better -- and though we still took it easy with him, we thought we were out of the woods. ...We were wrong.



As I've consistently worked 5-6 days a week over the last few months, J spent the majority of time with him. He watched our baby -- our 1st baby -- go from robust to thin, from clear to bleary-eyed, from hopeful to listless. After a battery of tests, a 4-day hospital stay, and eventually an ultrasound, we were told our 12-year-old dog had a condition called Gallbaldder Mucocele. For many dogs in this position, surgery is an option. For Kiley, it was not, due to a combination of age and weight loss / frailty (he went from 65 to 43 lbs over the course of the illness). At the time, we were just so thrilled to hear that it wasn't liver cancer -- as we had feared -- that we were ready to hit this head on. So we went at it with a vengeance. Age and circumstance be damned!

Our doctor prescribed no less than six medications for Kiley, which we administered to him twice a day. That's a lot of pills. Still, he was such a trooper... After the hospital stay (wherein he only ate a quarter-can of food over the course of about a week), he was weak and thin. J and I knew we were facing an uphill battle. ...But we stayed with it. J painstakingly fed him minimum of three times a day, administering pills and petting/comforting him all the while, and we paid what can only be described as a moderate car payment for the luxury of medication. And he seemed to improve. Over the course of about two weeks, he ate -- with a voracious appetite -- whatever we gave him. Yes, he was cold at night (we have him a hoodie), and yes, he was frail (we helped him up the stairs and gave him all the love in the world), but it seemed he had turned a corner.



And then last night happened. Last night, wherein he threw up every hour to hour-and-a-half (almost on the dot). For those of you who have followed our story, yes -- that was what happened when we last hospitalized him... But the difference all lay in his demeanor. In September, though he was sick, he was in good spirits. He wanted to go out, he danced when he could, and he lit up when we walked in the room. This time... This time was different. The fight was taken out of him; the life, the joy, the desire to go on... All gone. All that was left was our emaciated, sweet and endlessly loving, but tired, exhausted and helpless boy. It was time.

I'm not going to lie; this was - by FAR - the hardest decision J and I have ever had to make in either of our lives. It didn't help that right up until the end... Kiley still managed to wag his tail against the ground when I entered the exam room. It was the most bittersweet glimmer in an otherwise heavy, precipitous fog punctuated by heavy sighs, lethargy, slowed breathing, red eyes, and (ultimately) a failed liver. He was suffering... And we knew it. But trust me -- to actually go through with putting a dog to sleep is the worst moment of your life. To agree to it, sign the papers, and ultimately hold your dog's head as he lays and first struggles against and then succumbs to the shot is an overwhelming agony that I wouldn't wish upon anyone. It is the worst torture I can ever imagine. It's like visiting the 7th circle of Hell. And suddenly, it's over... And you're holding your lifeless dog in your arms, watching his eyes get all-the-more bloodshot while his whiskers unconsciously twitch (long after he's taken his last breath and his heart has stopped). And then (if you're me), you just lose it.

Even now -- a mere 12 hours (exactly) since his death, I know we did the right thing... Yet I feel like I let him down. Like he trusted me, and when I promised him it would be alright and that I would never let anything bad happen to him, I failed. I lied. It wasn't alright. He's no longer here.

A piece of me is forever gone. There is my hole in my heart that will not -- cannot -- be filled. The throbbing muscle has been ripped out of my chest, and I have no idea how to go and and continue living as if nothing ever happened. I mean, due to his various fears and insecurities, I unconsciously learned how to walk, talk, and move objects without disturbing him. Together, J and I became super-humanly adept at snapping to in the middle of the night (even out of a deep sleep) when we'd hear him pace, pant, or heave. Just because he's gone doen't mean I can retire the feeling from my subconcious. Instead, I channel the over-doting on poor Maggie, who has no idea why Mommy and Daddy can't stop crying.

Kiley was the first 'person' to ever love me unconditionally, and he was so much MORE than a dog. He was my Bestie. He was my Soulmate. He was the male canine (so as not to impugn Maggie) love of my life. I would have given him my liver, if I could.

Here's to Kiley. The most universally loved dog of all time. I love you.

Famous By Association

The phone rang earlier today. It was Alexis. "Hey, Kris, do you watch So You Think You Can Dance?" "Yeah, why?" "Well d'you know Melinda?" "Oh yeah, she's one of Billy's students. The tapper. We're rooting for her!" "Huh. Well do you remember her doing A CHORUS LINE WITH US??"

dot.

dot dot.

dot dot DOT.

"What?"

"I'm pretty sure she was in Chorus Line with us. But she was just really little back then." "Like how little? Wait... was she the little brunette 15-year old?" "Yeah! I think so!" "OMG. THAT SAME MELINDA IS SO YOU THINK YOU CAN DANCE MELINDA??"

Fast forward to some hasty googling, and lo and behold! Here she is, in all her 2001 glory:

YOUNG ARTISTS ENSEMBLE'S A CHORUS LINE - 2001

Crazy. If she wins, she'll get to go on Entertainment Tonight and the ilk, and they'll have one of those 'Behind the Music Dance Star' segments, and this picture will crop up, and I'll point at the screen while simultaneously yelling 'I knew her! I *danced with* her! THERE'S A PICTURE TO PROVE IT!!!'

Then I will sell a story to the Enquirer about how sweet little Melinda is really dating Colin Farrell on the sly, and since I can be billed as an old friend (aka 'reliable source') everyone will believe it. It will all go according to plan until and unless you were to ever actually meet her. Then you would know she's way too sweet/good for him and that I lied through my new veneers that the Enquirer bought me. Oh well.

Good on her. Little Melinda was always a good dancer and now she's done well for herself. This is, by the way, further proof that if you grow up in Conejo theatre, you will eventually make a name for yourself in reality competition TV -- a genre blazed by our very own Kamahni Huck, Delaney Gibson, Adam Lambert & Katharine McPhee.

So who's up to audition for Big Brother with me...? Again.

PS
Now having watched the full episode, I will still vote for Melinda... But AMY AMY AMY (with Kent and Courtney) was the best number of the night. Loved it.

Feeling Gleeful...

Hello, my name is Krissy MacQueen [Winters], and I aspire to be an underdog. No really, I do.

Confused? Let me explain.... Cause this is serious. Like, potentially life-changing stuff.

...No, I'm not pregnant.

I am, however, vying for the chance to do something so spectacularly huge that it has the potential to make my life all sunshine and rainbows. And gold stars... So, here it is. My one and only plea -- for the love of Matthew Morrison -- vote for me to be on the best show of all time, Glee!



For those of you who didn't know me between the ages of 14-19, let me fill you in on what you missed: I was one of those kids. A sheer, unadulterated choir nerd / dance junkie / drama queen / musical-theatre-obsessed Gleek. ...Yeah, so I was essentially the same person I am now. Only smaller and without laugh lines. I digress.

To say that FOX's Little Show That Could strikes a chord with me (and most people I know) is an understatement. I love that show like a fat kid loves cake. From the very first episode, I've fantasized about getting to be one of the McKinley High kids... And now, I actually have a chance -- a slim one, but a chance nonetheless.

That's where YOU come in! Yes! *You!* Be a part of history!!

In case you haven't heard, the producers of Glee are holding a nationwide casting call on MySpace. Yep, MySpace. Memba that place of wonderment? Well if you don't, that's ok. I've figured out a way for you to help me anyway. (See the bottom of this entry.)

Basically, the premise of the audition is as follows: be between the ages of 16-26, be a member of MySpace, upload a <1 minute monologue and a short musical audition (singing a song from a limited pre-set list), and sit back and rake in the gold stars. Yep -- GOLD STARS!! Ahh, and thus enters the part of the equation wherein you shower me with enough gold stars to sew together a 2nd hideously ugly twinsie dress for Ashley.

Umm... sorry, Mary-Kate.

Anyway, while a person's accumulation of gold stars doesn't appear to be a deciding factor in whether they win the contest, it certainly provides exposure and a MUCH needed boost for the entrant (me!) when it comes time for the producers to review select audition videos. Basically, in order to not get lost in the abyss and have any real chance at this, I need you to give me many, many gold stars, OVER AND OVER AGAIN.

Ohh unlimited voting... How I love/hate thee.

So there it is. Do me this favor, this one small favor (repeated as many times as you can, ad nauseam) and I will be forever grateful. And I may or may not give you a kidney, should your need for one ever arise. But c'mon, Votes for Krissy on Glee for a kidney (or the slightish promise of one)? SUCH A DEAL!!

Do it. Root for the underdog. Because truly in a situation such as this -- less than 4 days to get as many votes as possible when other people who auditioned AFTER me have tens of thousands of gold stars -- I am the underdog... Which makes me fit in with the Glee kids all the more. But actually, I'm not even there yet! At this point, I'm not even a full-fledged underdog. I'm like a sub-underdog. An aspiring underdog. Yes...

So now that I've convinced you to help me (and sort of insinuated there might be an eventual kidney in it for you), let me tell you how to go about it:

IF YOU HAVE A MYSPACE LOGIN:

Open up a new tab, sign in, click here, pause the 'featured video,' and click that 'Give a Gold Star' button like you're in a race to get carpel tunnel. Then convince your network of friends to do the same, either by being obnoxious and berating them with messages, tweets and Facebook status updates (there might be TWO kidneys in it for you then! I'll figure out where to get the 2nd one once I get on the show and make some money). Or, simply ask nicely and show them this post if it helps. :)

IF YOU *DON'T* HAVE A MYSPACE LOGIN:

Use the one I created for you, specifically for the occasion! Just open a new tab and go to MySpace.com

Log In: 'krissyonglee@aol.com'
Password: g1eefu1
(Note that those are number ones in the word 'gleeful,' replacing the 'l' consonants.)

Then refer to my link: http://www.myspace.com/gleeauditions?link=4723057 ...Click 'give a gold star' repeatedly!! And don't forget to spread the word. But please don't promise them kidneys too -- those are only for my first-degree Gold Star Anointers.

Also, join my Facebook Army of friends who support the Campaign to Get Krissy on Glee!

Thank you all for your time, and with putting up with the byproduct of marketing oneself: obnoxiousness. Once this is over, I promise to reduce my obnoxious quotient by at least 45.3% (79%+ if I get on the show)! I really can't thank you all enough in the meantime -- for putting up with me, for helping, for your support, and most of all just for being my friend. I truly love you.

Peace, Love, and Glee,
Krissy