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Alert level: Cuddly

Blogs are so, like, stupid.

iCan't believe iHave one.

Misery loves danish

Subway: drink fresh

Can you believe I only know three people who have blogs? Lame.

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  Annie Barrett is a writer living in New York City. Annie Barrett. Annie Barrett is probably insane. Annie Barrett doesn't care. TH

This week's UNCALLED FOR! award goes to a KFC commercial featuring a pink-sweatered mom coming home to her hungry husband, son, and daughter with a huge-ass bucket of chicken.

She tentatively says something like "I got original recipe for you, crispy strips for you, and popcorn chicken for you..." and her voice trails off as if she's deathly afraid that all three of these were really bad moves.

Suddenly the son stands up. He's shaking his head, slowly, for maximum effect. Is he pissed? Is he pleased? Oh, Christ, I have to find out right now! The boy starts clapping, and within one second the dad and girl are on their feet. IT'S A STANDING O FOR MOM! They're not going to kill her! They love her taste in chicken. Because it's theirs. Applause! Way to go, honey. You didn't fuck it up.

As if the standing O wasn't bad enough, the mother then puts her hand to her heart and gasps in relief. She can't believe that her family's so happy with her about the damn chicken. Her near-tearful reaction implies that this will be the highlight of her week. (Note that there is no third of the bucket dedicated to her own preferred style. Chances are she won't even eat the KFC because it tastes like shit.)

Really? This is what we've been reduced to? KFC, this despicable commercial was... UNCALLED FOR!

Currently loving: Corner Bakery sugar cookies from the Birthday Box
Currently hating: KFC, for making me crave crispy strips right now

This month's headshot (left) was taken around 5 a.m. while I took a breather underneath the huge Christmas Tree in Washington Square Park. You can see the bottom of the arch to my left as I'm gazing gleefully at the colored lights. Under the influence, they seemed SO MUCH MORE AWESOME.

Since I'm a nice person, I won't post the equally idiotic photo of my tree-squatting companion. Actually, I'm not that nice. I'm just lazy and don't want to crop it.

Whoosh! I'm 25. Cue balloons.

Thanks! And now for some self-analysis in the form of...

***Things Annie Barrett wanted to do before she turned 25***

Embrace her inner dork: Check!

Earn lots of money: Boo. Check-minus.

Decide on a career: Eh. Get back to me. Actually, it's not even a goal anymore. It's a crap goal anyway, if you think about it. I'll be fine.

Live in a studio apartment in a major city: OH MY GOD -- CHECK-PLUS!

Write a book: Crap. Check-minus. And having written a book's worth of drivel about The Real World: Austin downgrades me to a a check-minus-minus. Cue tears.

Read a book on the history of vending machines entitled... wait for it... "Vending Machines": Check. Who needs the last one when I've got this?

Eat her way through Italy: Check, check, check, check.

Switch teams: Check! Once you go Mac, you never go back. (I'm holding up my iPod in that photo. Guess you had to be there.)

Choose a favorite color: Check. It's this.

Speak a foreign language fluently: Huh? Prego? Prego! Melanzane!

Establish a first-name basis with the friendly little waiter at Isle Thai: Check. I order takeout from there about once per day and he seems to love it with me. I'm lovin' it with him too, but it's gotten to the point where I'm so afraid he'll stop loving me if I don't leave him a tip (for takeout!) that I keep leaving tips. It really defeats the purpose of picking up the food in the restaurant, which by the way is seven large steps away from my front door. A 25-year-old should really know better.

Ditto on the sketchy, leering guys at Bleecker Street Pizza: Check. They also wave at me when I cross the street and step out of cabs. Sometimes it's weird. I don't always need to acknowledge the connection, you know? Am I a bitch?

Become a first-class bitch: Check! Even though I still fly coach. Like Julie Cooper, "I just like to keep it real."

Buy 97% of her food from the two tiny restaurants closest to her tiny front door: Check.

Use the headline "The Supreme Court Rules!": Not yet. And probably never.

Consume three Entenmann's raspberry danish in one sitting: Nope.

Attempt digital photography: Check. And, um, check.

Be fabulous: Depends on how you look at it, but I say check. If you don't, suck it. Actually, while I'm at it...

Conquer every woman's dream of being labeled "Amazonian" by a jealous, quite honestly rat-faced peer who assumes this is an insult: Check! Grazie.

"Drink her way to freedom" on a weekly basis: Check!

Start a shitty blog: Amazing. Check! I'm doing unbelievably well here. It's almost as if I made up this list just this moment to convince myself that I'm doing really well here -- in life! Weird.

Enough of that. To be honest, I never thought of things like that. I don't like limits, timelines, or really any sort of linear thinking. Trying to think that way doesn't make sense for me. I was pretty much grappling for everything on that list. (Fine, except the book. I hate the book.) The only items that kept coming up as things I'd really have wanted to do by now involved eating. I couldn't very well put "Enjoy Indian-food lunch buffets to an unhealthy degree." "Find the perfect nacho platter." "Pour soy sauce directly into her mouth in order to fully saturate the sushi that's already inside." You guys would be appalled if I did that. Right? Probably not.

Let's hear it for birthday bowling.

Currently loving: Footballers' Wives on DVD (thanks Kristian)
Currently hating: wilted seaweed salad