Fergalicious

You guys, I need to make a major confession. See, I haven't really said anything about this for fear of being teased—and because Shelby really patented this rallying cry—but I think I might be secretly in love with Fergie. Yes, it's true. I haven't said much about this because, well, it's kind of embarrassing...but this adoration goes back a long, long time. When I was a little woodpeckah, I parked my fanny in front of the television every single afternoon to watch Kids Incorporated on channel 26, and I had THE hugest crush on the cute blonde in the group, one Miss Stacy Ferguson.

Now, clearly, this "crush" was really just one more in a long line of hints that I was going to grow up to be a big ol' flaming homosexual, but I didn't know this at the time, and I used to fantasize about marrying Stacy when I grew up. When Stacy reemerged a few years ago as the busted-ass, totally ho-ey female singer who joined the Bleak Eyed Peas onstage for their idiot rampages, I was simultaneously thrilled and appalled. (Thrilled because, hi, Stacy had a new life and a new career AND a crystal meth addiction in her past...appalled because, let's get real, she always looks like a hot mess of epic proportions).

I've tried to move past my crush and dismiss Fergie as a one-off who'll lapse back into obscurity someday, but...I dunno. I listen to "London Bridge" nearly every day on my way to work, I'm salivating over the upcoming release of her first solo album, The Dutchess (LOVE that title), and I'm insanely jealous of the fact that she gets to play with the weewee of the most beautiful man on the face of the planet whenever she wants. Seriously, Josh Duhamel? Mmmm...break me off a piece of that!

So I raise my Grey Goose to you, Fergie Ferg. Keep giving us Jagger, keep giving us swagger, keep giving us the goods, bitch! I love you!