a communications blackout period

Reporting live from my couch, 9:30 pm, Saturday, July 26, in the year of our Lord 2011.

I am wearing a sundress and no bra.  I am drinking a Sam Adams.  I am watching the second season of The West Wing.

It's making me wish that I was in DC.  You know the old exhortation Go west, young man?  I hear Go east, young woman in my head all the time.  But that's neither here nor there.  Here I am, on my couch in Los Angeles.

I should be at a party, but I'm not.

In the meantime, Toby Ziegler is singing my life with his words.

"The last the flight control has heard from Galileo was 11 minutes before landing, when all systems were operating normally.  Then it entered what they call a communications blackout period, and hasn't been heard from since.

I know how it feels."

cure for a bad day/week/life

Get in the bathtub. Balance your toes on the tap. Put on your iPod. Find some 90s music. And -- here's the real trick -- sing along as loudly as you can, damn the neighbors. Then text some boys.

Works, I swear.