Lemondrop

My doctor has told me that to help with my depression, I have to get out of my apartment more. The sun works as a natural mood elevator and may actually help make me feel like living again.

Oh, don't feel sorry for me; I'm super-melodramatic. I was born this way. I do wanna live, I'm just bored. I should get out but there are no computers or CNN outside.

I am clearly watching too much TV.

Click here to keep reading.

The CNN Connection
I'm addicted to those shows on CNN. I spend my afternoons with Mike Galanos; then comes Jane Valez Mitchell, who is like Nancy Grace-light, and finally there's the real Nancy Grace. I love Nancy Grace! (And Sue Moss.)

Nancy is having a contest to find out who her #1 fan is and the horrible thing is that I am actually her #1 fan but feel too bloated to make a video. So I guess a Nancy Grace fan with more or less gas will win that contest.

I think I would cry if I met Nancy. She's my hero. I found out that my grandmother feels the same way. So now I know that every day at 5 p.m. my crazy, 4-foot-11 Portuguese grandmother is watching CNN just like me. We just so happen to be watching Nancy Grace, who just so happens to have a book called "The Eleventh Victim" (NOW IN STORES!) at the same time.

The Nancy Grace Scenario
My boyfriend is depressed too, so if we made a baby it would probably be so depressed that it would never stop crying and then I'd have to shake it a lot. I'd snap for sure!

(My boyfriend can't stand Nancy Grace. When I watch Nancy Grace he puts headphones on and sits at his computer. He just doesn't get it. Nancy's awesome.)

"Go to sleep honey, mommy says to go to sleep. Everything will be OK after you go to sleep. Don't fight. Don't fight it. Just give in."

Then, like your everyday TotMom, I'd pretend my baby was taken ... stolen ... ripped from my loving arms by a non-descript "dark" man whom I can't identify in a photo lineup.

Next steps? I'd immediately start an organization that gives aid to the families of lost children. You'd always see me photographed in a "Help me find my baby" T-shirt. I'd look as hot as possible all the time, simultaneously pouting and looking like I've been crying.

Media Studies
Some women, like Smother Mother, freak out and start confessing. You gotta do it Casey Anthony-style and deny, deny, deny. "Miss Arabia, we have your bloody hand print and your DNA at the scene, a trail of blood leading back to your apartment, and the whole thing is on videotape."

Then I'd just lie, lie, lie to my family, lie to the staff and other inmates at the jail, lie to the world even though they all knew I did it. Lying, while hoping I end up with an O.J.-type jury. It happens every day in this country.

Casey, we all know that you did it. You killed your daughter. The only people who don't know or refuse to admit that you are 5000 percent guilty of killing your daughter are your parents, which sickens me because I think they know you did it and are trying to save your life anyway.

That is so wrong. I choose to judge them, and I say, "BOOO" to Cindy and George Anthony for knowing in their hearts that she did it, yet pretending they don't know the truth to save their murdering daughter's life. The same psychopathic narcissistic woman who is responsible for the murder of their one and only grandchild. These people are effed up.

To do: OK, as soon as Nancy Grace ends I'm going to go outside and get some sun. I'll take the dogs for a nice long walk.