The Della site is chock full of female-friendly information to help me buy my new Dell computer. It even offers handy Tech Tips, geared to women! Let’s check them out, shall we?

1. Get smarter: It’s easy to turn your netbook into a completely portable eBook reader. You can download the free Adobe Digital Editions software to manage your eBooks or access more than 28,000 free books at Project Gutenburg.

Books?  I thought it was just my job to shut up and look pretty.

2. Get healthier: Track your exercise and food intake at free online sites like Fitday. Use your mini to track calories, carbs and protein with ease, watch online fitness videos, map your running routes and more.

Sitting behind a computer screen has long been the key to fitness.

3. Eat better: Find recipes online, store and organize them, and watch cooking videos.

Wait, I thought I was supposed to be watching my food intake. Now I’m supposed to be in the kitchen. This computer stuff is awfully confusing. No wonder Cathy is always so stressed.

Tina Fey is the only person who ever made this funny.

4. Get organized: Remember the Milk is a free, tweakable online task manager that’s easy to use: you track your time, make lists and send yourself remembers with Google Calendar and Google Tasks. Lifehacker is a great place to find out about the latest online productivity tools to make your life simpler, easier and better.

Clearly men have superior intellect that has no need of task managers and time management tools. But as a woman, I need to “send myself remembers” to remind me of my “brain ideas” (men, you have these too, but they are known as “thoughts.”)

Malibu Stacy knows! "Thinking gives you wrinkles!"

5. Chill out: Stressed? Your mini can be your meditation buddy as you take mini-breaks throughout your day (schedule them, with reminders, on your calendar). You can find free guided meditations, download meditation podcasts, watch yoga videos, create soothing slideshows of images and music and even bliss out to Visible Earth images courtesy of NASA.

Hang on, ladies, there’s too much thinking going on! We don’t want you putting together too many of those brain ideas into coherent thought sentences that may spell out trouble in the long run. Here, look at the pretty pictures!

6. Travel smarter: Your lightweight, packable netbook can transform your traveling experience, whether you’re commuting across town or backpacking the globe. Use your netbook to vlog and blog about your journey; translate your blogs into other languages; help you convert currency; track the weather; collect, edit and upload photos; entertain you in airports, trains and buses.

A computer can keep me connected while I travel? Next you’re going to be telling me that they make phones that don’t have to be plugged into the wall!
7. Stay in the clouds: “Cloud computing” is a buzzword for what your mini does best: save money and time by using free online apps for everything you need-meaning you don’t need to buy, install or update a bunch of space- and memory-hogging applications on your computer itself. No matter what operating system you have, it’s easy to find free and low-cost streaming media and online apps. Use Google Docs to create and share spreadsheets, presentations, reports, forms and more; edit, store and share your photos online as well. Any time you need to transfer data to or from your mini, you can stream it, port it via removable SD cards or USB flash drives or plug in an external drive.

Wait, I thought it was a diet, exercise, productivity planner and relaxation device. You mean that I CAN USE IT LIKE AN ACTUAL COMPUTER?!

As a woman, I understand that companies are going to want to market to me as a vagina with legs, but does it have to be a dumb vagina with legs?

Dear Dell: I want a computer that’s fast. That’s cheap. That’s plug and play and comes with a built-in video camera.

And maybe that’s pink.

(I am a woman, after all.)

What do you think?

Simple, I’d tell them – it’s their job to sit and be pretty. (And occasionally act.) It’s my job to write.  I wasn’t trying to compete because we’re not supposed to compete. Some people are born tall blonde supermodels. And then there’s everyone else.

However, I’ve noticed over the past few years that more and more celebrities are encroaching upon our personal space, those creative niches we’ve carved out for ourselves. Swine flu isn’t going to wipe out humanity: celebrity hobbies are.  The problem is that we’ve gone from “I’m not a doctor, I just play one on TV” to “well, I once acted out a tracheotomy on ER so I’m positive I can take out your appendix with this paperclip and a fountain pen.”

It’s time to stand up to these oversized egos and tell them that just because they’re famous doesn’t mean that they’re good at everything else, too.

Please join me in my crusade against Celebrity Hobbies that Must Be Stopped.

1. The Musician.

Offenders; Billy Bob Thornton, Keanu Reeves, Jared Leto, Eddie Murphy, (Too Many To Name Them All.)

Billy Bob threw a hissy fit when his acting career was mentioned during a radio station interview in Canada last week.  What’s his problem? Doesn’t he realize that no one listens to the radio anymore?

And it would be a crime against the Internet if I didn’t post this:

2. The Painter

Offenders: Billy Dee Williams, Jane Seymour, Peter Falk, Sylvester Stallone

"Oh Shit." Limited edition print available from Billy Dee Williams. This is not a joke, kids. The name of the piece is really "Oh Shit."

A friend and I were once having dinner with Peter Falk’s wife Shera, which is probably my most random name drop, ever, when she started talking about his art studio. You gotta hand it to him, she told us, it’s a totally legitimate reason to look at naked women all day. I desperately wanted to ask if he used his glass eye as an excuse to touch their boobs (“I only got one good eye, so I gotta get real close!”), but a) she was hysterically awesome and b) she was picking up the check.

Also: I refuse to call Sylvester Stallone “Sly.” It’s as if he used his nickname and the muscles and the art career so we wouldn’t notice that Sylvester is kind of a dopey name. SYLVESTER.

3. The Fashion Designer

Offenders: Sarah Jessica Parker, Chloe Sevigny, Jennifer Lopez

Usually when a star is dressed well, it means they have a good stylist. In Chloe Sevigny’s case, I don’t think anyone is going to take credit for her look.

I call this look "Skanky Holly Hobby."

It should be pointed out that in Sarah Jessica Parker’s defense, it’s probably not as difficult to pretend to be a fashion designer as it is to pretend to be married to a straight guy.

4. The Hot Sauce Maker

Offenders: Michael Anthony, Joe Perry

Did you know that Celebrity Hot Sauce Market was huge? Neither did I! Never in my life did I think to myself, “I wish I had something like the fat bass player from Van Halen in my mouth, but, y’know, spicier.”

5. The Scientist

Offenders: Kathy Ireland, Jenny McCarthy, Tom Cruise.

Why is it that I never tire of Crazypants McGee?

Tom Cruise knows psychiatry. Jenny McCarthy can cure autism.  Kathy Ireland became a pro-life supporter in her 30’s “because of the science.” It didn’t have anything to do with her born-again Christian-ness.  Listen folks, you look good in a swimsuit ’cause you won the DNA Olympics.  It doesn’t mean you actually know what DNA means.

Honorable Mention: Novelist. I’m lookin’ at you, Boomer Esiason and Ethan Hawke.

Any more names to add to the list?

Just what the world needs: a Scientology buddy comedy.

The movie-making machine is pooping out remakes, sequels, and my favorite: movies based on TV shows.  My favorite part about turning TV shows into movies is that you hear executives tell you that you need to “put a fresh spin” on it and “revitalize the source material.” This is also known as “putting lipstick on a pig.”  It’s the “twist” that will make people realize that it’s more than a TV show. The Brady Bunch? Take their groovy 70s family and place them in contemporary times! The Honeymooners? What if they’re…black?

With that in mind, I’d like to share with you my five TV shows that should be movies, with my Awesome Story Spin (ASS).

1. Show: B.J. & the Bear

Premise: B.J. and his pet chimpanzee bear travel the country in his semi. Hilarity and hijinks ensue.

ASS:  Golfer Vijay Singh

New Premise: V.J. & the Bear!

A world-famous golfer loses and bet and has to travel from tourney to tourney in a semi with a chimpanzee who will now act as his caddy. Hilarity and hijinks ensue.

2. Show: Cop Rock

Premise: Police drama + Musical =  Proof that in the early 90s, Steven Bochco could get anything made.

ASS: Zac Efron

New Premise: Mall Cop Rock!

After graduating from High School, Zac Efron discovers there’s not a huge demand for shaggy-haired guys who break into song and dance numbers, so he gets a job as a Mall Cop…where he breaks into song and dance numbers.

3. Show: Thunder in Paradise

Premise: Two ex-NAVY seals become mercenaries in Florida, along with their super-boat Thunder.

ASS: Thundarr the Barbarian

New Premise: Thunderr in Paradise

Thundarr, Princess Ariel and Ookla the Mok travel retire to Florida, giving up that whole “saving the Universe” business, only to discover that the Universe isn’t quite done with them yet.

4. Show: Manimal

Premise: From the opening credits:

Dr. Jonathan Chase… wealthy, young, handsome. A man with the brightest of futures. A man with the darkest of pasts. From Africa’s deepest recesses, to the rarefied peaks of Tibet, heir to his father’s legacy and the world’s darkest mysteries. Jonathan Chase, master of the secrets that divide man from animal, animal from man… Manimal!

ASS: Tim Gunn

New Premise: Garanimal

Tim Gunn is a shape-shifter who trasnforms from man to animal when he spies bad fashion.

5. Show: Charles in Charge

Premise: Scott Baio is a live-in nanny.

ASS: Karl Rove

New Premise: Karl’s in Charge.

In order to avoid testifying to Congress, Karl Rove takes a job as a live-in nanny for a family of liberals in the Pacific Northwest.

Holy crap, that last one doesn’t suck too bad.

Or maybe I’ve been working in Hollywood a little too long…

What TV show is begging to be made into a movie?

I wasn’t sure how I felt about the whole waxer bait-and-switch, as I try to keep Total Strangers Looking at my Woo-Woo to a minimum. Cady (“with a dee why”) must have sensed my apprehension, because she turned, smiled, and said:

Don’t worry, I’m Pamela Anderson’s Personal Waxer.

That was the only encouragement I needed.

I ripped off the paper thong, put on my pants, and ran as fast as my stubbly crotch would allow.

Which leads me to the subject of today’s article: Top Ten Worst Celebrity Name Drops.

1. Nicole Richie’s Personal Chef

Her personal chef probably went to the Cordon Bleu School of Diet Coke and Blow.

2. Donald Trump’s Hairdresser

A clear case of how people never tell celebrities and rich people the truth about anything.

3. Paris Hilton’s Gynecologist

Much like Pamela Anderson’s waxer, I don’t want hands that have been near Paris’ crotch to be near mine. I imagine her ladybits to be akin to Dante’s circles of hell.

4. Natalie Wood’s Swim Coach

Turns out Number Two cannot be used as a flotation device.

5. Shane McGowan’s Dentist

They call him Yuck Mouth, ’cause he don’t brush…

6. O.J. Simpson’s Glove Salesman

You’d think he would have sold the Juice a pair of gloves that fit.

7.  Sharon Tate’s Realtor

You know that one of the big selling points on 10050 Cielo Drive was that it was “private.”

8. Tom Cruise’s Wife

Always look on the bright side of Xenu, Katie.

9. Michael Vick’s Dogwalker

The pit bull owner side of me wants to throw this guy in a hole and set him on fire. The human side of me that’s capable of empathy and forgiveness? Still wants the bastard to burn.

10. Phil Hartman’s Marriage Counselor

You may remember him from such films as This May Be the Most Tasteless Thing I’ve Ever Written. R.I.P., Phil.

What are some of your suggestions?

What computers looked like when you still had to go to a store to buy porn.

Not only did I have my own personal copy of Oregon Trail and Lemonade, but there was also…Ask Freud?

I knew that Freud was some sort of doctor, as I had seen his name while scanning through the World Book Encyclopedia in the school library (c’mon, I was a nerd.) I ran the file, and a pink head filled the screen.

Ask Freud a Question.

What should I do with my life? I typed. (I was a serious eight-year-old.)

Please elucidate.

What should I do with the rest of my life?

Interesting. Tell me about your mother.

In two questions, my eight-year-old hopes were dashed on the reality that Freud wasn’t the answer to all of my problems, but an 8-bit image and a random comment generator. It didn’t stop me from firing the program up every few weeks and asking it wildly inappropriate questions that I learned from the porn stashed in the basement.

(Although it was Freud, so maybe it was appropriate.)

My husband and I were discussing apple emulators the other day (see previous parenthetical about being a nerd) and I wondered what happened to Ask Freud. Alas, outside of one comment on a message board six years ago, I can’t find any record that it ever existed.

But I soon realized that we don’t need Ask Freud. Simply fire up the Search Engine Shrink and the Internet will answer all of our burning questions! Except…which search engine gives the sort of advice you’re looking for?

There’s only one way to find out.

The Relationship Question: Should I break up with my boyfriend?

Google

First answer: Love is not enough to make a lasting relationship.  Yes, I feel it best you break up with this man.  First of all, you are obviously not ready to settle down because of those feelings of what you want to do and be.  You want to fly and he wants to keep you tied down.

Google = Oprah.

Yahoo!

First answer: A quiz. Copout, answering a question with a question?

Yahoo! = Psych major.

Ask.com

First answer: Katie, dump him. He’s playing both sides of the fence and he’s probably told his boyfriend the same load of bull. I have nothing against bisexual people. To each his own. But if you want to be in a monogamous relationship this dude needs to be shown the door NOW.

Ask.com = Your mom.

The Sex Question: Should I have sex on the first date?

Google

First answer: Is sex right on a first date? There’s no question of right or wrong in these cases. That’s a value judgment which reflects society’s double standards on sex, particularly with regard to women. It also does not take into account the gender differences in approach to sex which often dictates the situation.

Men are from Mars, women are from some bizarre planet that compels them to buy self-help books.  Google = Oprah, once again.

Or Google just took a women’s studies class and will soon be entering into an “experimental” phase.

Yahoo!

First answer: A YouTube Video of a dating/advice show. I would have watched it, but the woman’s voice is practically an advertisement for ball gags. This is why we have internet dating, so no one needs to hear you sound like the love child of Betty Boop and Kathy Griffin. (Oh wait, that’s me.)

Yahoo! = Public Access version of Dr. Drew.

Ask.com

First answer: Long story short: Guy meets girl on a dating site on Friday night. She shows him her naughty bits on a webcam. He drives to her place and they have sex all weekend. And he never hears from her again.

I’m not exactly sure what the problem is, here.

Ask.com = Fiction. Or how I met my husband. (Kinda.)

The Etiquette Question: Is it okay to masturbate on a friend’s couch?

The age old-mystery of why old people keep the plastic on their sofa is finally answered. Now if you'll excuse me, I have to bleach my retinas.

Google

First answer: A story about catching a roommate’s friend masturbating on the couch. Horrifying and wrong.

So, no.

Google = Oprah, if Oprah had Miss Manners on talking about jerking off on a friend’s sofa.

Yahoo!

First answer: A story about a horny lesbian masturbating on a friend’s couch. Hot.

So, yes.

Yahoo! = Hot lesbians answer the important stuff.

Ask.com

First answer: Something about Mad Men, deer penis, and royalty.

Ask.com = Your therapist, if he was Hunter S. Thompson.

What’s the stupidest thing you’ve asked a search engine? And your answer to the last question?

But Shaggy’s not the only animated guy toking up in the back seat of the Mystery Machine. Check out the secret drug addictions of these ten cartoon characters.

Defendant: Yogi Bear

Drug of Choice: Marijuana

Maybe Boo Boo is his drug mule?

Shaggy’s not the only one indulging in a spliff.  Perhaps Yogi grows his own in Jellystone National Park. An omnipresent yearning for pic-a-nic baskets and Ranger Smith paranoia are both signs of the pot smoker.  Plus his mention that he’s “smarter than the average bear” is a version of the “I swear, I’m not drunk” tell.

Defendant: Underdog

Drug of Choice: Anabolic steroids

You put your weed, I mean anabolic steroids, in there.

He’s a mild-mannered Shoeshine Boy – until Polly Purebred’s in trouble. Then he pops an “Underdog Super Energy Pill” and he morphs into a canine version of Superman. In the mid-to-late 80s, they edited the pill-popping scenes out.  That way no one would know what steroids are!

Defendant: Sherman (of Mr. Peabody and his boy Sherman)

Drug of Choice: LSD

LSD or the creepiest master/slave relationship ever.

Sherman is “owned” by a “genius dog” named “Mr. Peabody” and takes “trips” in the “WABAC machine” that go “back in time.” ‘Nuff said.

Defendant: Wilma Flintstone & Betty Rubble (of The Flintstones)

Drug of Choice: Valium

Off to have a gay old time!

Wilma and Betty are the cave precursors to Hot Chicks with Douchebags. Although Fred and Barney are less douchey than dopey. The only way that they haven’t gone all Bam-Bam on their men has to be a healthy dose of Mother’s Little Helper.

Defendant: Morocco Mole (of The Secret Squirrel Show.)

Drug of Choice: Hashish

Drug stupor or just constipated?

He’s from Morocco. He’s got beady eyes. And he wears a fez but no pants?

Defendant: Jem (of Jem and the Holograms)

Drug of Choice: Ecstasy

If Ziggy Stardust and Britney Spears had a baby. Truly, truly outrageous.

When her father died, he left her Synergy, a holographic computer designed to be the “ultimate visual entertainment synthesizer.”  I’m sure he left her his happy pills, too. Jem single-handedly introduced rave culture to the tween set.

Defendant: Speedy Gonzalez

Drug of Choice: Crank

Crank use = no teeth.

This one’s pretty obvious. Although I discovered that Speedy, as well as being a speed freak, was also a pimp. Maybe he was chasing his high some 72-hour weekend as well?

Defendant: Elroy Jetson (of The Jetsons)

Drug of Choice: Ritalin

Elroy's birthday wish was to find out he was adopted. The second was to stop playing 'horsey' on Mr. Spacely's lap.

Brilliant. Focused. Straight-A student. Never gets into trouble. With parents like clueless George and perfectionist Jane, this kid’s gotta be on something.

Defendant: Natasha Fatale (of Rocky & Bullwinkle)

Drug of Choice: Diet pills.

Hot. Mean. And into short dudes.

She’s a former model and a past Miss Transylvania who’s managed to keep her figure. All before heroin chic!

Defendant: Tom (of Tom & Jerry)

Drug of Choice: Vicodin

I miss classic cartoons.

He’s been hit on the head with hammers, with frying pans, with baseball bats. He’s been set on fire, drowned, run over, blown up. Like a feline Timex, this housecat takes a licking and keeps on ticking. What’s his secret? I say liberal doses of Vicodin.

What sort of drugs do you think the characters of your favorite cartoons/comics do?

The penis: what can’t it do?

Here’s one thing it can’t do: get or maintain an erection as it gets older. That’s okay, though, the drug companies have come to your rescue! It’s just their advertising that’s a wee bit confusing. Here’s a look at the advertising campaigns from five of the most popular ED drugs.

Viagra

I love Elvis.  Elvis – even fat Elvis sweating gravy in that white polyester jumpsuit – is manly. And if Viagra was around when the King was alive, I bet he’d take it.  Add in the idea that Lisa Marie’s “Church” probably wanted a slice of that Fat Elvis money cake and we’ve got Viva Viagra!

Now there’s that guy, you all know him: he’s constantly bragging about the chick he’s banging. She’s always a Playmate, a Supermodel, or lives in Canada.  But do guys hang out and jam about how they’re going home to bang the wife? According to Viva Viagra, they do.  (William, a Sneeze Reader, agrees.)

A longtime blog reader once confessed to me that he didn’t get all that excited about the thought of having sex with his wife. I told him that she probably wasn’t doing the dance of the Sugar Plum Fairy over the thought of his old, saggy Nutcracker either.

Rock Hard Weekend

Rock Hard is one of the “natural” performance enhancers, promising to get it up and keep it up for 72 hours straight.  Guys, I’m going to let you in on a little secret here: there are precious few women that want to have sex for 72 hours in a row. Even a couple of hours and it feels like you’ve been humping Velcro. Yeah, I know Sting has Tantric Sex which lasts for days with his wife Trudie Styler, but he’s also filthy rich and probably pays people to crap for him. The rest of us like to shower and walk the dog and catch The Real Housewives Marathon.

Rock Hard Weekend works the party route with the “Rock Hard Red Carpet.” (I was hoping that meant an entire lineup of redheads, but alas, I’m the only one that crass.)  The Hollywood shindig is staffed (ahem) with an assortment of skankalicious babes paid to hang out and let you think you have a shot at nailing them. Hot chicks to shill product is nothing new. What I don’t get are the famous dudes that show up to pimp the product. Isn’t that advertising that you can no longer get and keep it up?

Guess Gene can't rock-n-roll all night anymore.

Cialis

Every Cialis ad ends the same way: An older couple. Taking baths. Outside. In separate tubs.  I’ve been on a few nice vacations in my life, but I’ve never been somewhere where they dragged a claw foot tub into the wilderness so I could clean myself.

Where are the native people holding the water buckets? Where are the towels? What abut shoes? The thought of myself at age 70 trying to get my saggy ass out of a slippery tub and walking barefoot and butt naked through the wilderness makes me want to break a hip now and get it over with. Not to mention that the only thing I want to do after a bath is nap. I’m already an old person.

Levitra

The current Levitra ads say “See Our Ad in This Old House.”  There’s the problem: home remodeling magazines are the gateway drug to antiquing. The issue isn’t that you can’t get it up because you’re older. You can’t get it up because you’re a woman.  Although it made me wonder about why they don’t feature gay couples in ED ads. Get with it, drug companies! You can double your sales!

Enzyte

Enzyte is another “natural” male enhancer. But instead of using rock stars and skanky babes, they use…Santa.

Maybe there’s some sort of Secret Santa Fetish that I was previously unaware of, but I’m pretty sure that no one wants to sit on Santa Boner’s lap. Especially when he’s Bob from Accounting.

Don’t get me wrong: I support the Penis Economy. I look forward to the day that my husband and I have old people sex. But these drugs sell themselves. Dump the ad agencies and use that money you were spending there for something really important. Like developing a cure for cancer. Or jetpacks.

What commericals drive you batty?

Now you need to understand that I’ve been blogging for twelve years. There’s precious little that embarrasses me. My life is the virtual open book, each humiliating moment mined for as much material as I can possibly wring out of it.

But what I’m about to tell you may perhaps be the most mortifying words I’ve ever committed to the screen:

I watch The Real Housewives of Orange County.

I don’t watch them because I harbor some burning desire to move south and set up shop in a gated McMansion Community, or because I yearn for expensive chain restaurants, lopsided bolt-on boob jobs and a leatherette tan.

Sure, they have huge (probably mortgaged to the hilt) houses, they drive expensive (probably leased with an inch of their life) cars, they have huge bling (probably charged on a maxed-out credit card) on their fingers.

But they’re terrible human beings.

Like a Crayola Box of Evil.

The housewives gossip. They backstab. They’re mean to their husbands and overindulge their children. I understand that hot can make up for crazy. And obnoxious. And even dumb. But I still have a difficult time figuring out how any of them became housewives in the first place.

Which brings me to the real reason I watch The Real Housewives of Orange County: it’s the one hour out of my week where I am certain to feel morally superior.

They’re the worst people in the history of people, Will said to me one evening.

You might be right, I responded.

Which got me to thinking:  how do the Orange County Housewives rack up to some of the worst people in the History of the Universe?

Hitler:

Those of you born in the 1990s may know Hitler as the head of the bad guys in Call of Duty. (Or as a recent commentator on Oscar Fashion on this very blog.)  I know him ’cause he wiped out a good portion of my mom’s family during World War II (and made it impossible for me to complain about anything as a kid. No matter how much you think anything sucks, you can’t compete with Hitler.)

During the course of World War II, Hitler slaughtered nearly 12 million people in concentration camps, mostly Jews, but also Russians, Gypsies, Homosexuals…anyone that didn’t fit into his German Nationalist World View.

The Real Housewives of Orange County:

The Housewives exercise a reign of terror over their section of Orange County, casting a critical eye at anything that doesn’t fit into their Miracle Whip worldview. A recent (and let’s face it, probably free) meal at one of the nicest restaurants in Napa Valley had housewife Tamra Barney complaining

Where is an Olive Garden when you need one?!

During the course of a single Bravo television season, repeated viewings of The Real Housewives of Orange County will kill twelve million brain cells.

Who’s Worse? Hitler.

C’mon, he’s Hitler.

Joseph Fritzl:

In April of 2008, it was discovered that the Austrian man had kept his daughter prisoner in the basement for 24 years, fathering seven of her children.

There's creepy...and then there's this guy.

The Housewives: The Housewives have each produced their own demon spawn (minus this season’s new addition, Gretchen Rossi), but instead of locking them in their million-dollar-tract-house basements, they’ve released them into the world.  Overindulged, over-entitled, underemployed – who has time to work when you’ve got to do beer bongs with your bikini-clad mom and her fake-titted friends at Lake Havasu? In short, they’re the reason the rest of the world hates us.

Lady, Joe Francis will pay you to put your shirt back on.

Who’s Worse: The Housewives.

Fritzl is a monster, but it’s not his kids’ fault that their dad is insane. The Housewives are evil incarnate raising their demon spawn and releasing them into the world.

Simon Cowell:

The American Idol judge is responsible for also foisting America’s Got Talent and Celebrity Duets onto the public, creating a safe haven for washed-up celebrities and reality star wannabes everywhere.

Cowell’s best known for his biting criticism on Idol, usually starting with “I don’t want to be rude, but…” I don’t mean to be rude, but the guy is a douchebag. Of course, this is not news. But he may have single-handedly created the douchebag economy, as well as a platform to celebrate the least talented among us.

The Housewives: Celebrating the least talented among us is what the Housewives are all about. Never has so much been done with so little.

Real Housewife Lynne could teach Simon Cowell how to get rock-hard pecs!

Who’s Worse: I’m gonna go with a tie on this one.

What embarrassing  TV do you watch?

There’s the Falsely Accused Hobo, the Nicest Peeping Tom Ever! Hobo, the Casino! Hobo, the Hobo Who Loves Buckets, and the Hobo Handyman Who Saved Christmas (my personal favorite!)

Lest you think I’m being unkind, I would readily categorize myself as the Hollywood Writer Hobo. At some point we all had jobs, maybe, sort of, but now we hang around the house in our underwear with no discernable income or purpose. Although occasionally the Hobo Record Club leaves us music on our front lawn.

Say what you will about Hobos, but our Hobos are polite.

Yesterday I returned home from a lunch meeting to discover that a group of them had gathered in the driveway. The Falsely Accused Hobo (FAH) was standing with our Nicest Peeping Tom Ever! Hobo (NPTE!). And another guy that I didn’t recognize.

As I got out of the car, I realized the third member of the trio had an Italian Accent. Apparently part of some Hobo Exchange Program I’m unaware of.  FAH confirmed my suspicions when he introduced his friend from Italy.

NPTE!: You’re from Italy?

Hobo Exchange Program Hobo: Yes, yes I am!

NPTE!: I love Italian music!

FAH: What do you listen to?

NPTE!: Only the most famous Italian musician ever!

HEPH: Who’s that?

NPTE!: Chuck Mangione!

What’s your best neighbor story?

I hate Valentine’s Day.

I’ve always hated Valentine’s Day, whether I was single or otherwise coupled.  I recently found myself in a greeting card store purchasing a wedding card for a friend of mine when I passed the Valentine’s Day display, which looked like they split Cupid open and shook his red heart-shaped entrails all over the place.

I realize that I’m not the typical female in some ways. When I say I don’t want to celebrate Valentine’s Day don’t buy me anything to my husband, what I mean is don’t buy me anything for Valentine’s Day.

I don’t mean when I say don’t buy me anything I mean don’t buy me anything typical, so I am expecting a hot air balloon ride followed by dinner at that restaurant where we will feast on baby panda, and then maybe, just maybe I’ll let you touch my boobs, and if you don’t I will sulk and withhold sex for an undetermined amount of time until you ask what’s wrong but I’ll say nothing’s wrong because you should just know.

Don’t get me wrong – I love presents, and I even love days that people are obligated to buy me presents (my birthday is October 8, for anyone who’s wondering.) But Valentine’s Day is the fire sale of holidays, where unoriginality is rewarded.

Will and I have already had the talk: screw Valentine’s Day. However, for you guys who do choose to celebrate (and if you do, I hope you celebrate Steak and Blowjob Day, too!), I’ve compiled a list of Crap Women Don’t Want for Valentine’s Day.

The Vermont Teddy Bear

The Love Bandit will set you back $69.95 (ahem) and isn’t wearing pants.

Is your girlfriend in the seventh grade? Wait, don't answer that.

The last time a grown man gave her a pantless stuffed animal and used the phrase “Love Bandit” she ended up having to testify in open court.  And don’t believe the commercials, guys.

Anyone that excited over a teddy bear is probably a closet furry.

Flowers

I’ll admit it: I love flowers. (I may not be a typical female, but I still do possess a vagina.) However, would you go to a restaurant advertising their best meal at double the price for half the portion? ‘Cause that’s what you’re getting on Valentine’s Day, my friends.

And I’ll let you in on a dirty little secret: women like to get flowers at the office to make their female co-workers jealous.  You’re not getting them for your girlfriend, you’re getting them for Janice in Accounting.  However, if you want to bang Janice in Accounting, this might be a good way to open that door.  (But it also makes you a scumbag.)

Lingerie

A lot of women – myself included – love the idea of lingerie. But most guys have zero idea how to shop for it. Cheap lingerie is scratchy – imagine wearing a jockstrap made of sandpaper – it doesn’t exactly get you in the mood.  The fit has to be exactly right for a lot of lingerie to look good, unless you’re a Victoria’s Secret Model.  If you’re reading this, you’re not dating a Victoria’s Secret Model.  And even on the off chance that you are, it’s like getting her a work uniform for a gift.

Hot? Yes. Your girlfriend? No.

(The same goes for nurses, catholic schoolgirls, and nuns.)

Candy

If you’re going to get her candy, get her good candy. But be prepared for her to bitch you out that by you getting her a box of candy she had to eat a box of candy and  now she’s fat and no one will ever want to have sex with her again and if you loved her you’d know that but you are clearly blind.

But if she really likes candy, get it on February 15^th. Then you can get her twice as much candy for the same price. That’s love.

Herpes

Imagine the Vermont Teddy Bear commercial. Now substitute this adorable herpes doll.

Awww, it's herpes!

The true secret to gift giving can be unlocked with these three little words:

Listen. Remember. Buy.

And with those three little words, every day can be Valentine’s Day.

(Which means every day can be Steak and Blowjob Day.  You dig?)

Do you celebrate Valentine’s Day? What’s the worst present you’ve given or gotten?

Don’t forget to enter the contest to win a $350 gift card to Patagonia. The competition isn’t that stiff, one person has entered.