Confessions...

TGIF. I love Fridays. Who doesn't? (probably people who work on Saturdays)

Know what else I love? Mariah Carey.



I so want to hate her. I really, really do. I don't particularly like her music. Though I can certainly admit that she's got talent, I don't particularly care for her breathy, overly fluffy songs.

I once saw an episode of MTV Cribs that featured her brownstone in Manhattan. She had separate closets for her shoes and her nighties. HER NIGHTIES. Because apparently, if you're Mariah Carey, you have to have a closet full of unmentionables to prance around your $800 jillion home with your 800 jillion celebrity boyfriends.

I've never been so conflicted in all my life. (except for that one time when I wanted to buy jeans with pocket flaps in the back and my little sister said pocket flaps would make my ass look bigger but I bought them anyway because that's how I roll) Like those jeans, I knew it was wrong, but I just couldn't resist. I hated her and yet, I wanted to be her.

And here she is, decked out in what I'm sure is the most expensive Lycra on the planet, with her cute dog and her fabulous shoes and her curvy lady things.

Damn you, Mariah. You complete me.