I don't understand . . . but I guess that's okay.

Sorry, nothing really funny today. Today I'm feeling more . . . introspective.

So, the thing is, I've always considered myself to be a pretty ambitious person. This is coming from the person who really, genuinely wanted to be the first female President of the United States when she was 6. As I got older, my ambitions got a little smaller, a little more realistic. I wanted to get straight A's. I wanted to star in the school musical. I wanted to make it to BYU, and then to law school. And I wanted to practice corporate law for 15-20 years before becoming a judge.

The thing is, life kind of gets in the way. A lot of those things happened. And a lot of them didn't. Disappointment hit me hard, I remember, every year that I tried out for the school musical and every year I was put in the chorus. It was still fun, but it wasn't what I wanted, and I was used to getting my way. I was headstrong and demanding and independent and, let's face it, really smart. That helped me succeed in school, which to me was all that mattered. I was a really talented musician, too, at least with piano. I had a lot of good talents, and I had a great family, and my upbringing was solid and relatively painless.

I was confident about college. I was ready to go. High school was fun, and college was going to be better. That's what I always figured, anyway. It was better, in some ways, but in others, it was really, really hard.

Mental illness hit me like a sledgehammer my freshman year. I didn't know what it was; I thought I was just weak and stupid somehow. I didn't understand my depression; and later, I didn't understand my anxiety and anger and mood swings.

To be honest, I still don't understand. I look around me and I feel like all I see are happy, healthy, well-adjusted people. I'm jealous of them, so jealous it makes me feel sick sometimes, when I see people in happy relationships or when I want to go to a friend's party but I just can't. The social anxiety is too bad.

I have a good public face. No one, not even my family, knows what's going on inside my head if I don't want them to. If I ever tell anyone that I struggle with mental illness, they're always surprised.

I don't understand this, still. My life is so different from what I thought it would be. It's not bad. It's not a bad life. But it is different, and I feel like I'm still reaching for something above me that turned to dust and blew away a long time ago.

I guess I'm just wondering . . . is this it? I've graduated college with a good, solid degree in advertising, I have a good, solid job. I have debts to pay off, but overall I'm doing okay.

Is okay all I ask for? I used to demand excellent. But after the past few years of falling and falling and never knowing when the bottom was going to drop out on me, maybe I should just be content to stay still.

It's weird, being an adult. But I guess it's not so bad. Most of my friends have grown up and moved away, but I'll be staying close to family for the next few years. They've been my rock, and I'm not quite ready to leave them yet. I think I feel a little left behind. A little bit forgotten.

And I still don't understand why some things are so hard for me. I don't understand why my social phobias about dating are so bad that they cripple me. I don't know why God gave me these weaknesses, or why they stop me from doing exactly what He wants me to do: have a family.

I don't understand, but . . . I'm doing okay, and maybe okay is going to have to substitute for extraordinary for now. Maybe forever.

I guess I just have to wait and see.

Weekly Song Breakdown: Katy Perry's "Last Friday Night"

Let me first start by saying that while last week I was writing about a song that I had initially liked but had been ruined by mainstream media, this week I am writing about a total abomination that makes baby alpacas cry and if you like it then you are probably a terrible person.

P.S. I hate Alpacas, but that's neither here nor there, really.

Anyway. I hate Katy Perry in general; I think she's a skanky, talentless attention whore with awful style and worse taste in men. And I hate her music in general. So when she came out with this new song, "Last Friday Night (T.G.I.F)" I figured it would be pretty ugly.

I had no idea.

Quite apart from the rampant immorality and lack of any reality whatsoever, this song lauds and encourages property damage, alcoholism, and spending addictions.

It is the property damage and total costs of the activities in this song that I want to address primarily.

Let's begin.

Here's the first verse:

There's a stranger in my bed
There's a pounding in my head
Glitter all over the room
Pink flamingos in the pool
I smell like a mini-bar
DJ's passed out in the yard
Barbies on the barbeque
Is this a hickey or a bruise?

So a stranger in her bed. Nice. I'm assuming they had sex, and, judging by her other decision making skills, I'm assuming it was unprotected sex with an STD-ridden hobo. Now, according to CBS news, the average lifetime cost for HIV/AIDS is $618,900. So we're already off to a great start.

Next we have a DJ passed out in her yard. Good, well-known DJs cost at least $2000 for a couple of hours, so let's bump it up to $3000 (as you'll see later in the song, Katy Perry has no qualms about maxing out her credit cards).

Total costs so far: $621,900.

"Barbie's on the barbecue"? Is that like some kind of code or something? Or did they literally put a plastic Barbie doll on a barbecue? Hang on, I'll look it up.

Nope, nothin'. Does anyone know? Please tell me. Please. I need to know.

Okay, so now we move on to:

Last Friday night
Yeah, we danced on table tops
And we took too many shots
Think we kissed, but I forgot
Last Friday night
Yeah, we maxxed our credit cards
And got kicked out of the bars
So we hit the boulevard
Last Friday night
We went streaking in the park
Skinny-dipping in the dark
Then had a ménage à trois
Last Friday night
Yeah, I think we broke the law
Always say we're gonna stop, a-woah
This Friday night, do it all again (do it all again)

So they "took too many shots." I don't drink, so I don't know how many is "too many," but judging by the number of people die from alcohol poisoning on their 21st birthday for doing 21 shots, I'll just go with that number. I am given to understand that shots at an upscale L.A. bar cost about $15 each, so let's give this little section a total of $315, and that's assuming that Katy Perry paid only for her own shots. Let's go with that, because $315 is about how much I pay for rent every month and it sickens me that she'd spend that in one night on alcohol.

Okay, now we come to one of the clinchers that made this song the next one I broke down. She "maxxed out her credit card." Oh. My. Heck. Do you know how ridiculously high a credit limit someone like Katy Perry would have? According to my research, it'd be something like ONE. MILLION. DOLLARS. Even if she could pay that off within a few months, the interest would be INSANE, something like $24,093.

This brings our total up to $646,308. Appalling.

But wait! There's more!

Next we've got: they went "streaking in the park, skinny dipping in the dark." She says "I think we broke the law." You THINK? Try, you DID. Streaking is a class B misdemeanor, and if she didn't get jail time, she'd be paying at least $3000 for bail and the fine.

And finally, we have another one of the main reasons this song is an affront to decency everywhere: she's going to "do it all again" next Friday. All. Again. Next. Week.

Even with the exception of contracting yet another STD, that means she'll still be paying about $30,408 every week, and that's assuming she doesn't have to get treated for alcohol poisoning or go into rehab or pay successively more and more for public streaking until it's 15 in prison.

Okay, this is getting emotionally exhausting, so here's the last verse:

Trying to connect the dotsDon't know what to tell my bossThink the city towed my carChandelier is on the floorRipped my favorite party dressWarrants out for my arrestThink I need a ginger aleThat was such an epic fail
"Don't know what to tell my boss." So, she lost her job. She has no source of income to pay off this horrendous amount of wasted money. Fine.
The city towed her car. That's at least $150. It's CA and they're desperate for cash, so we'll double it. $300. The chandelier is on the floor. IF she replaces it, that will probably cost like $4000. And she ripped her favorite party dress. Judging by celebrities' wardrobe costs, let's chalk that up to another $4000, and that's being kind.
Warrants out for her arrest. Probably for streaking. I'm not even going to get into that.
She needs a ginger ale. That's pretty acceptable. $1.50.
Total: $657,609.50.
One-time AIDS cost: $618,900.
Costs per week: $38,709.50.
I don't . . . I don't even know what to say to that. ESPECIALLY since she's apparently lost her job and has no way of paying for all this. I'm disgusted.
And that's why I'll throw a party when Katy Perry eventually goes the way of Lindsey Lohan and Britney Spears and winds up in rehab and prison. Good riddance.

The Weekly Breakdown: Adele

Okay, guys, I've been doing some out of the box thinking lately, and I thought that I'd share my powerful and poignant insights with all of you, because that's what I do. I'm a giver.

Anyway, I was listening to the radio the other day when Adele's "Someone Like You" came on. My first thought, of course, was, "Oh for #&$*%'s sake, not this again." I started out really liking it, but I unfortunately made the mistake of liking a song before mainstream media got ahold of it, so by the time I got sick of it, the radio people decided it was cool enough to play 3 times an hour, every hour.

At any rate, I didn't change the station because I was seriously just that lazy, plus I was merging and you know how Utah drivers are (if you don't, count your many blessings). So I listened to it, and as I did, a disturbing trend emerged, resulting in the following insight:

Adele is a creepy, psycho stalker.

Let's break this thing down, shall we?

Start with the first couple of stanzas:

I heard that you're settled down
That you found a girl and you're married now.
I heard that your dreams came true.
Guess she gave you things I didn't give to you.

So far so good. She's reminiscing, presumably to her audience (us), or maybe is, like, facebooking the guy. It's a little accusatory with the "guess she gave you things I didn't give to you," but it's still acceptable. Then we move on to:

Old friend, why are you so shy?
Ain't like you to hold back or hide from the light.

I hate to turn up out of the blue uninvited
But I couldn't stay away, I couldn't fight it.
I had hoped you'd see my face and that you'd be reminded
That for me it isn't over.

Wait, wait, wait. Seriously? She just told us, just above, that this guy is married now. So we can probably assume that they've been broken up for quite some time now. And in response to that, Adele is actually surprised that this guy is "so shy"? When she's showing up "out of the blue uninvited"?

So let me get this straight. She and this guy date, they break up (who knows why) (probably because she's a creepy stalker), and he moves on like a normal person. So he gets married, and they lose communication. So then, probably years later, maybe this guy even has a kid (see "she gave you things I couldn't give to you" line above), Adele shows up out of freaking nowhere because she, and I quote, "couldn't stay away, couldn't fight it." The whole purpose of her visit is to get him to "see [her] face and be reminded that for [her] it isn't over."

I've got news for you, Adele. This guy has a family now. He's moved on, it's probably been years since he's even thought about you. And you decide to show up (maybe ambushing him at work?) (or stalking him to his car?) (with a rag of chloroform and a nightstick?), uninvited and tell him that it isn't over?

Oh, honey, it's over. Way over. Like, a judge with a restraining order over.

And this is all bad enough, but then she has the gall to say, and I quote:

Never mind, I'll find someone like you
I wish nothing but the best for you too
Don't forget me, I begged
I remember you said,

"Sometimes it lasts in love but sometimes it hurts instead.

So she came all this way just to tell him that she's moving on? That's pretty sad. It screams of a desperate need to be approved of. And she tells him that she wishes nothing but the best for him? After he's already forgotten about her? I promise that he doesn't care what you say, Adele. And yeah, I bet he won't forget about you now. You come to his door after years of absence and beg him to take you back. He's not likely to forget that. He's more likely to need therapy after you tracked him down like a wild animal to first beg and then imperiously inform him that you're going to move on.

So that's why I think that Adele is a freaky stalker who writes music that must haunt her exes. (And yes, it's "exes," not "ex's," since the apostrophe s implies ownership and even though I bet Adele would love implied ownership in this case, unfortunately for her, it still doesn't make much sense."

There you go. One beloved song crushed AND a grammar lesson all in one. You're welcome.