This is why you pay $1,000 a month for cable

Project Runway. That's it, that is the reason for cable to exist in this moment in my life (that and Lost, but y'all fools already know that)--and the justification for shelling out stupid scratch to be entertained--when I'm not listening to my Ipod. Oh, wily technology. Of course this is money that could go to help support a family in a downtrodden land. But guess what? Fuck that noise. They can't recreate Barbie's look in less than 24 hours and work that shit on the runways. Either you are in or you are out. Damn third-worlders.

But that is neither here nor there.

What is here and there is my obsessive love for the the PR. A love that has me looking forward to Wednesday nights at 10. I mean do you understand how I shake with joy knowing that I have Lost at 9 and then PR at 10? I could effin' cry. Shit, this is better than 40 acres AND a mule.

Now I love models--I mean they truly are the backbone of our society, but really, what do that do but be tall and become crank addicts? Project Runway is about artistes! (If you take Marla out of the equation--thank God the old lady got the boot last week, she was downright narsty to Diana, my little confused and sweet Asian friend---damn hack.) They make clothes--and they make them in basically no time. Dang, it takes me a dog's age to saw a button on some shite and there is always a 50/50 chance I might break out into a sweat because of the trauma.

I never was into the first season of PR--I was like whatever. How is it going to be riveting to watch a dude named Scarlett and some angry fat friend of Dorothy get their pleating on--but honey chile, ewww...this is my shit! I watched the first episode and I was like these people are some straight up fools and that is a fierce dress...work it out tricks!

Let me be completely honest, I was sucked in by the promos showing my man, Andrae wearing lil sweat short and crying like a first trimester pregnant illegal alien girl--who just crossed the border with no family, muling heroin up her ass, and a dream--when he was on the chopping block during the first elimnation. They told him to keep his shit in check and guess what...he has! My man mad a gorgeous jersey dress (that I would love to wear if I didn't have my little/big badonk-a-donk-donk) and won last week's challenge with Daniel--it was partner week! They created a day to night outfit for Banana Republic and they worked it out. (Ed note-um, that would be me too: Chloe and Emmett's dress was my jammie-jam-jam, but I totally see why D & A won.)

Now this is where I get ugly:

I love me some drama in my television...and nothing says drama more than Santino Rice, the designer/contestant from LA. He is so extra and over the top I want to punch him in his pussy. Of course this makes for good TV--and makes me hate him. The fucker is talented but he is mean to the other contestants, is bringing my man Nick down (that Greek brotha is talented, and needs to tell the Rice man to suck it), and is going to get popped in the face by a judge soon. Or at least that is a dream of mine. Santino, God don't like ugly.

And finally to the Klum. Ms. Heidi Klum, and her foreign ass, is the greatest host, and don't forget--bitch looks good pregnant. Make her big as a house and she will still turn it out. I love how when she has to kick off contestants she gets all slightly Third Reich. You need to know your place with the Klum cause she will throw your ass in an oven before you can say "chiffon" and "that dress needs a dart".

Moral of the story: Project Runway is it. And reason number #478 as to why I know it is it...cause my dude totally is into watching it with me--like he's not humoring me. When a lad starts tripping with his lady about the inner working of the judging process on a show like this you know you got a keeper. Tear.