[Live footage.]

Just moments ago, Rick Santorum suspended his presidential campaign. One of the many perks of “working” from “home” is that in between critiquing last night’s performances on DWTS, which I record faithfully, I can tune in to the occasional breaking news press conference. As Santorum announced his intention to drop out of the race, I couldn’t keep my eyes off Karen and the tears welling up in her eyes. Don’t lose it, I thought. Please don’t lose it. Because if you lose it then I’m going to lose it and if I lose it I will spend the rest of the day looking all puffy. Actually typically when I see someone cry I start laughing as a defense mechanism which does not serve me well in group therapy and at funerals.

Santorum said that he and his family decided over the weekend “at the kitchen table” that he would suspend his campaign. So many candidates seem to make key political decisions around the kitchen table, which I find somewhat suspect. Do any families really have a designated kitchen table anymore? And if they do, do they really sit there for prolonged periods of time? I tend to make critical decisions while eating dinner and drinking wine in front of the TV like normal people. I’ve found that alcohol is very important when you’re making life decisions because it deludes you into thinking that you’re making the right one.

Happy Easter Monday! Alleluia! I’ve been working Alleluia into every other sentence as of yesterday since you’re not allowed to say it or even think it during the Lenten season. In Catholic school we were taught that if we did we’d end up in purgatory with all the public school students. Gross.

I trust you all had a good Easter with family and friends or maybe alone but remember that being alone isn’t the same thing as being lonely. It’s even more pitiful. I spent the better part of yesterday running around my neighborhood with a makeshift Easter basket (two Christmas collection Starbucks mugs) in order to steal the candy-filled eggs before the children got to them. (Seriously, parents. You need to think of better hiding places than OUT IN PLAIN SIGHT.)

While you were in a chocolate-and-mimosa-induced coma, Newt Gingrich admitted that Romney is the “most likely” GOP nominee, which came as quite a shock to me. I thought this was going to go all the way to the convention, even beyond the convention, probably beyond the general election, leaving Gingrich still trolling for superdelegates after Obama is reelected.

I think you have to be realistic. Given the size of [Romney's] organization, given the number of primaries he’s won, he is far and away the most likely Republican nominee.

Yes, one has to be realistic. You can’t go on for months in a quasi-delusional state thinking you can win when everybody knows you can’t. I’m pretty sure there’s a pill for that. I mean, the man makes Michele Bachmann look stable. Gingrich also said that he and Romney are “at peace” now. Right. They’re a regular Nancy Kerrigan/Tonya Harding. Plus the two have so much in common: “We’re both grandparents. We really see this as the fight for the future of our grandchildren’s country.”

In more important news, Tim Tebow preached at a church in Georgetown, Texas yesterday to 15,000 people. Why anyone would want to celebrate the Resurrection with a football player is beyond me. It’s like having the assistant coach teach my high school geometry class. He compared everything to a football field. No wonder I still have no idea what the Pythagorean Theorem is.

According to the church pastor, “In Christianity, it’s the Pope and Tebow right now.” Wow. One’s the successor to St. Peter and the other is the quarterback for the New York Jets. Although I must say that Pope Benedict’s impromptu Tebowing at the Basilica during Easter service was quite impressive.

Dude. Being a Christian does not make you an American hero. And God doesn’t care how many football games you win. So stop genuflecting in the end zone. He’s got more important things to worry about.

Alleluia! Tebow is risen!

Today is Holy Thursday, otherwise known as the day before Good Friday, when things get really depressing. If you eat or drink anything on Good Friday, you’ll live out the rest of your days as a marked man, one who has been claimed by Satan for eternity. Unless…unless…

You hire the Teen Girl Exorcism Squad. Brynne, Tess and Savannah are three teens from Phoenix who perform exorcisms in between horseback riding, home schooling and purity balls. “We’re just normal girls who do something extraordinary for God,” Brynne said. No. You’re not normal.

The girls’ exorcism mentor is Brynne’s father, Rev. Bob Larson, who has been doing this for 30 years. The reverend claims that about 50 percent of the population is affected by demons. I am not surprised by this statistic at all. In fact, I just assume that everyone I meet has been infiltrated by the Prince of Darkness until they prove otherwise. This is why I greet people by throwing holy water on their face to see if it starts melting.

Classic signs of possession include speaking in tongues, reciting historical facts the person wouldn’t know otherwise, or having superhuman strength. If reciting historical facts that the average person wouldn’t know then I guess I’m possessed. But I’d rather be possessed than stupid.

Larson has been accused of fraud and taking advantage of vulnerable people. Of course they’re vulnerable. THEY HAVE DEMONS INSIDE OF THEM. Naturally the girls are currently weighing “several offers” for reality shows. Think The Hills meets Hell’s Kitchen.

A writer for UK’s Daily Mail has received a lot of grief for her column about being hated on for her looks. I’m sure most of you, if not all of you, would find it impossible to relate to her dilemma. But as someone who has suffered her entire life because of her unparalleled beauty, I’d like to applaud Samantha Brick for her courage in saying what all of us beautiful people are thinking: “There are downsides to looking this pretty.”

From a very early age, I knew that my otherworldly looks would prove to be the bane of my existence. When I was just three years old someone told me I looked like a “toddler Grace Kelly” and I was marked from that moment on. In elementary school I was always asked to play the role of Mary in the Christmas play and even then, the nuns would tell me that I was much prettier than her. I received a brief reprieve in junior high because I was a “late developer” and thank God for that. The other girls were already feeling threatened by me as evidenced by their frantic note-passing whenever I entered the room.

High school was especially brutal. Now I was a cheerleader and even if you’re an ugly cheerleader you’re pretty much guaranteed a spot in the in crowd. Imagine being a cheerleader with looks that kill. (Think American Beauty times 100.) Boys were too afraid to ask me out so on most Saturday nights I would sit at home staring into the mirror, tears streaming down my face, screaming at my reflection, WHY MUST YOU BE SO GODDAMN BEAUTIFUL? When I was passed over for prom queen, I knew the vote was rigged so I showed up at the prom wearing a homemade tiara and sash. I was done with being punished for my looks.

Or so I thought. As I became an adult, things just got worse. I tried dying my hair brown to see what ugly feels like but that didn’t stop other women’s boyfriends and husbands from trembling at the very sight of me. I was turned down for jobs more than once because the company was afraid that no one would get any work done with me in their presence. Even after I got married, I found myself having to wear BIGGER AND BIGGER diamond rings to dissuade men from buying me drinks. Of course it never worked so I would try to hand off the drinks to the hideous single women in the bar. It breaks my heart to know that those little trolls will never get free drinks on their own.

Every single day I have to gently remind my husband that he’s a lucky guy. That I could have had any man I wanted but I chose him. That I could still have any man I want if he gets out of line. So to all those haters out there, just remember that being a modern-day Aphrodite isn’t all it’s cracked up to be. But wine helps.

Politico has just released an eBook all about the 2012 GOP race, “Inside the Circus,” which I was totally going to read until I saw that there was a $2.99 price tag attached. What am I, made of money? I called them to see if, as a member of the media, I could get a free copy but no such luck. So instead I’ve taken to calling them every five minutes and then hanging up. Kind of like high school.

They have released a few excerpts. Naturally here’s the one that caught my eye.

A bad back doomed any chance Perry stood to break through. It became an open secret that he was using painkillers in sufficient dosages to keep him standing through the two-hour debates. The manager of a rival campaign was at a urinal in an empty bathroom in Hanover, New Hampshire, before the Bloomberg News debate on October 11, when he heard someone come through the door loudly singing “I’ve Been Working on the Railroad.” Wondering who was making all the noise, the campaign manager turned his head and saw, to his surprise, the governor of Texas. Perry came down the row of about twenty urinals and stood companionably close by. Nonplussed, the campaign manager made a hasty exit; as the bathroom door closed, he could hear Perry still merrily singing away: “I-I-I’ve been working on the ra-a-i-i-l-road, all-l-l the live-long day . . .”

I can’t decide what’s most disturbing about this anecdote. The fact that Perry was apparently heavily drugged during his entire campaign? His choice of a urinal “companionably close by”? Or that the proud Aggie is singing a song with the same tune as UT’s alma mater?

Not that Perry’s impromptu bathroom ballad is particularly strange, given the rest of his campaign, but I can tell you that I’ve never sung while in a public restroom. I avoid public restrooms at all costs but when I do have to use them I am too busy holding my breath and doing my best to ignore the woman in the stall next to me who is HAVING A CONVERSATION on her cellphone. Seriously? Would you want to get a phone call from someone who’s sitting on a toilet?

(My worst experience with a public restroom was when I threw up on a plane. Yes, I was crouched over an airplane toilet. I’d love to say that this was one of the lowest points in my life but you have no idea.)

If this excerpt is any indication of the rest of the book, I wouldn’t waste your money. I can come up with better shit than that.

So yesterday I played the same April Fools joke that I do every year when I call my dad and tell him that my book is being published and he always says, Thank God you’ve finally made something of yourself and are no longer an embarrassment to the family and then I say APRIL FOOLS I’M STILL A LOSER. Gets him every time.

Yesterday also happened to be Palm Sunday, the beginning of the Christian Holy Week. You’ve got a few days off before things really get going—Holy Thursday, Good Friday, Holy Saturday, Easter Sunday—although you should spend that time reflecting on the mess you’ve made of your life because you’re hopelessly lost and selfish. Now just in time for Easter, Newsweek (which I mistakenly assumed had died years ago) put out a cover of “Hipster Jesus.”

Are you kidding me? That’s not Jesus, that’s like an unshaven Bradley Cooper in a Members Only jacket for his next role in the Hangover trilogy. And what is Hipster Jesus doing, exactly? Trying to hail a cab in Manhattan? Who would pick this guy up? HE’S WEARING A CROWN OF THORNS. As someone who has been to many different Catholic churches I can tell you this. Not one has a crucifix of dying Jesus wearing a lumberjack shirt and hair extensions.

(The cover story is written by Andrew Sullivan who argues that Christianity is in crisis. Sullivan is a lapsed Catholic, which means he has zero credibility.)

Editor’s Note: My Observer column from Friday in case you missed it which I’m almost certain you did.

Handle Without Care
As the Supreme Court took up the Affordable Care Act this week, the Texas congressional delegation did its best to save us from a lifetime of tyranny.

I assume everyone has heard about the pink slime controversy and if you haven’t and are still eating ground beef you’ll most likely die in the next couple days. (Use them wisely.) Pink slime consists of processed bovine scraps treated with ammonia and used in hamburgers. To some, that’s gross. To others, it’s a delicacy. And by “others,” I mean “Rick Perry.”

Perry, Iowa Gov. Terry Branstad and Kansas Gov. Sam Brownback pledged to sample some pink slime while visiting a Nebraska beef plant today, paired with a nice chianti. You’ve got to hand it to them. They’re putting their lives at risk to show Americans that slime is not only nutritious, it’s delicious. I have actually put my health on the line at several wine tastings by sampling all the wines before anyone else, just to make sure it’s not liquid poison. You’re welcome.

I apologize for not posting yesterday. I was trying to find the Supreme Court hearings on TV until I remembered that the Supreme Court CAN NOT be televised because they are not just mortal beings but the Greek Gods of the Pantheon. So instead I busied myself by drawing sketches of the justices while watching an Everybody Loves Raymond marathon on TBS.

The one I'm most proud of. Done with charcoal and colored pencils.

In case you haven’t been keeping up with the Affordable Care Act arguments, here’s the bottom line. This case will decide whether uninsured people should be forced to participate as tributes in the Hunger Games so only one uninsured person will survive, making our lives easier. Naturally the victor will then have to purchase health insurance at insanely high premiums. (No, I’m not obsessed with the movie. Although I have taken to setting my clothes on fire and riding around my neighborhood in a chariot.)

Luckily Congress is still televised or we would have missed this gem of a video of Rep. Bobby Rush getting kicked off the House floor for wearing a hoodie, which has become a rallying cry of sorts in the Trayvon Martin case after Geraldo (Geraldo?!) said that it was to blame for the boy’s death. Naturally when Rush put the hood over his head, the white members screamed in terror and began brandishing the sharp edge of their American flag pins at the scary black man before he was tackled by security. Well he was ASKING for it. (Hey, white people. Barn jackets are next.)

Personally I’m always careful about what I wear so as not to threaten anyone with my Herculean stature. I’ve had people actually cross the street and shield their face when they see me coming. I mean, why else would they do that if they weren’t intimidated by me?

Yesterday after watching The Hunger Games, I realized two things about myself. One, I would totally be capable of breaking someone’s neck with my bare hands in order to grab the lone bag of parmesan goldfish from the cornucopia and two, I wouldn’t form an alliance with anyone because I wouldn’t want to become emotionally attached to someone I plan to gut like a fish.

Today the Supreme Court commenced three days of oral arguments on the Obama administration’s Affordable Care Act and people were camping out last night in order to get in, mistakenly thinking they were outside an Apple store. If I lived there I would probably do the same thing, assuming I could bring in my “W IS STILL NOT MY PRESIDENT” sign. They shouldn’t let anyone in who can’t name all nine justices. (The one you’re forgetting is Breyer. Everyone forgets Breyer.)

Naturally both supporters and opponents have gathered outside the Supreme Court and according to USA Today the law’s supporters were “accompanied by a brass band, a loudspeaker and a Chihuahua.” Ah, yes, the chihuahua. The universal symbol of mass demonstrations and civil liberties.

One of the tea party protesters said that she believes it’s unconstitutional to force people to “purchase a product simply because we live and breathe.” Don’t worry. Without preventive health care you may not be living and breathing much longer. Another tea partier noted that the supporters were “pretty organized” because they were “handing out premade signs.”

Plus, they’ve got the smallest breed of dog on their side.

Politico is reporting that Rick Santorum received $95,000 in speaking fees that he previously failed to disclose. I would have dressed up as Santorum and given a speech for half that sum. One of the events he spoke at was the 2010 Messianic Jewish Alliance of America annual conference. The alliance is similar to the group Jews for Jesus or, as I like to call them, Christians. Although practitioners of Messianic Judaism embrace Jewish heritage, they also believe that Jesus is the son of God. This is kind of like saying that you’re a vegetarian but you still eat bacon. THEN YOU’RE NOT A VEGETARIAN.

Critics of Messianic Judaism say that it’s just a front to convert Jews to Christianity. Oh that’s ridiculous. Everyone knows that Christians need the Jews to bring on The Rapture so we can be saved and Jews can fight the world wars. We can’t convert all of them. (I have lifted this verbatim from scripture.) But if Mormons can call themselves Christians, why not Messianic Jews? There is also a counter group called Jews for Judaism which was created for the sole purpose of converting Jews to Judaism. Who are the proselytizers now?

Apparently the the Messianic Jewish Alliance initially tried to get Sarah Palin and then Canadian Prime Minister Stephen Harper as speakers but Rick was their “next call.” Trumped by the Canadian Prime Minister again!

It’s difficult to fully understand Jews for Jesus until you read the stories of real people, like on the website Jewish Gentile Couples, which offers profiles of Christians married to Christian Jews.  Such as “Meet Stephen and Laura Katz: How I Married a Shiksa Goddess.” (Not kidding.) This is actually similar to a group I tried to start called “Salvadoran Irish Couples: How I Married a Bilingual and Still Can’t Understand Half of What He’s Saying.”

Tomorrow marks the two-year anniversary of the Affordable Care Act (also known as “Romneycare”) and I will be performing an interpretive dance on a makeshift stage in my backyard that will best express my feelings about my own experiences with the health care system since it was enacted. It’s broken up into three acts: Prescription Drugs; Access to Mental Health Care; and Coverage of Spa Treatments.

Personally I’ve been disappointed with the prescription drug benefit as my 27 medications are still the same price. I suppose they could be cheaper if I agreed to generic but everyone knows those are just sugar pills and then you’d have an unmedicated crazy woman running in the streets screaming for cotton candy on your hands. As far as mental health care, seeing my team of psychiatrists and clinical researchers on a daily basis has proven unsustainable. And don’t get me started on spa treatments. Apparently chemical peels are not considered “medically necessary.” Please. I’m almost 35. My crow’s feet have crow’s feet.

I’m not familiar with the benefits of the Affordable Care Act since I’m not on Medicare, I’m already insured and I don’t have any preexisting conditions unless you count “awesome.” But there’s a tool on the Obama website that can help you determine how the act benefits you specifically. Since I’m always interested in what’s in it for me, here’s what I found. No lifetime cap on disease treatment. Free preventive health services. Tax credits. Unlimited birth control pills. Mandatory plasma donation. Ten free visits with a death panel. And finally, help with a living will in case you break your ankle and don’t want to be resuscitated.

To no one’s surprise Mitt Romney won Illinois last night so CAN WE PLEASE END THIS? I have more important things to do then watch these primaries. OK I don’t have any other things to do but I can make some up. Watching Santorum is even more painful than watching Romney. And last night at Santorum’s speech, one of his daughters was sporting a side braid. As in, a braid on only one side. No respectable toddler would be caught dead with a side braid, never mind a teenager. I wore a side ponytail once in elementary school but was forced to take it out because the nuns thought it was satanic.

Speaking of throwbacks, a Romney adviser is catching some heat for saying that once there’s a definite nominee, everything changes. “It’s like Etch A Sketch…You can shake it up and we start all over again.” Apparently the Romney adviser was responding to a question about whether the primaries have driven Romney so far to the right that it would hurt him with more moderate voters in the general election. But to Santorum, this shows that Romney is not a consistent conservative. “He will say what he needs to say to win the election before him, and if he has to say something different because it’s a different election and a different group of voters, he will say that, too,” he said.

We’re talking about a CHILD’S TOY here, people. A toy that always kind of sucked. Oh, look! I drew something and now it’s gone! What do you think happens to all your drawings you bring home from school? Your mother throws them out when you’re not looking. Same principle. Not to mention the fact that the screen was coated with aluminum powder. Something about that doesn’t seem safe.

Simon Says was a much better toy. Those florescent lights were positively hypnotizing. It was like Close Encounters of the Third Kind. And it made my memory what it is today. Slightly compromised but semi-functional.

Last night’s shutdown of DFW Airport will go down in my Life of Eileen Smith Part III composition book as one of the worst travel experiences of my life (and you know how I hate to complain about air travel). My ill-fated journey on American Airlines started off in Ft. Myers, where my return flight to Austin had been delayed due to “weather” like “violent thunderstorms” and “tornadoes.” I was stuck there for three hours but luckily I was able to entertain myself by striking up conversations with my fellow passengers (I KNOW YOU’RE NOT SLEEPING LISTEN TO ME) and hanging out at Great American Bagel. Both locations. Different terminals.

Once we finally boarded they kept reminding us about the inclement weather just to make sure that we all knew our lives were in danger. I think we circled around DFW about 28 times before they announced we had to land in Houston to refuel. How does that happen? Like you decide to take off with a half a tank and notice mid-flight that the empty signal was on? We sat on the Houston runway for a while before taking off again. When the kid behind me said, Wow! We get to take off again?? I thought, oh, to be a child, excited even though you should be filled with rage.

Long story short (I kid, this is about to get a lot longer) we landed in Dallas at 2:30AM by way of… San Angelo. It was the scenic route. Obviously all connecting flights had been canceled and apparently every single hotel was booked. Terrified, I started scanning the airport. Sleeping people everywhere covered with filthy threadbare airplane blankets, some on the floor, some stretched out on chairs, some face down in the trash. I am better than this, I thought. It cannot end this way. Somehow I got a room at the Doubletree (fine, I stole someone’s identity and I would do it again) and checked in at 4AM after screaming at the front desk man to give me every single warm chocolate chip cookie he had left.

My flight today was delayed for two hours but at that point I was just happy to be going home. I settled in to my aisle seat and closed my eyes, picturing a babbling brook, until some guy woke me up by yelling at the flight attendant that he couldn’t possibly check his suitcase because it had a delicate musical instrument in it. OH REALLY? MY VOICE IS A DELICATE MUSICAL INSTRUMENT AND YOU DON’T SEE ME MAKING A SCENE. FINE. NOW I’M MAKING A SCENE.

Suffice it to say I have no idea what’s going on with the Illinois primary except that this is a MUST-WIN state for Romney just like every other state. What is that supposed to mean? That if he doesn’t win Santorum will be the nominee? There have been many “must-win” events in my own life that I haven’t exactly “won” but that doesn’t mean my life isn’t going exactly according to plan.

I assume you’ve all been enjoying yourself at SXSW. Dorks. Of course I will be celebrating the one true holiday this weekend, that of St. Patrick’s Day, the patron saint of my ancestors and yours if you’re lucky. I’m heading out of town to visit my father in Naples for his birthday and if I mention what birthday it is he would withhold my allowance. Contrary to public opinion, there is an Irish pub in Naples. All you have to do to find it is follow the line of green Tommy Bahama shirts.

Every year around this time the Irish get offended about something because it’s Lent and not eating starch three times a day is enough to make anyone crazy.  (Don’t worry. God will let you eat that corned beef crap on Saturday.) This time Nike has drawn the wrath of the Irish because of its just-released Black and Tan sneaker. JESUS MARY AND JOSEPH. Black and Tan is not only a delightful mixture of pale ale and dark beer. It’s also the name of the paramilitary group that suppressed the Irish during “the troubles.” Nike has since apologized. Like that’s supposed to make everything better. The damage has been done. I’m never going running again.

Have a good one. Order a Guinness.

As someone who went to school in the South, I’m not surprised in the slightest that Santorum won both Alabama and Mississippi last night. (No, I did not grow up in the South. The suburbs of Washington DC are not the South. I have never had one of those tragic southern accents. Only a hybrid Boston accent that was cured with years of speech therapy.) When I arrived in North Carolina, I was horrified by how many of my fellow students were conservative. Meanwhile they were horrified to see a used Honda tooling around campus.

Despite the fact that Santorum is a fellow Yankee, he beat Georgia native Gingrich, mostly because Alabama and Mississippi consider Georgia too “high-brow.” But don’t worry. Newt isn’t giving up just yet. He still has so much to teach us about history! We’re all so stupid! He uses such big words! Please. Even Rick Perry knew when to get out and he has half the brain that Gingrich does. And we’re so happy he’s back. If only to save us from The Hispanics.

On Monday, the Obama administration blocked the new Voter ID law saying that it disproportionately harms Hispanic voters. Naturally Perry was not pleased, calling the decision “continuing and pervasive federal overreach.” In a statement the governor said that the law requires nothing more than the type of photo ID needed to board a plane or receive a library card. Clearly Perry has never tried to get a public library card. I’ve never felt so exposed in my entire life as I did when I walked into the Yarborough branch. Luckily I had hired a private investigator to do opposition research on me before those bureaucrats were able to discover that I read the entire Hunger Games trilogy.

Apparently if you don’t have a driver’s license or a passport you can also show your concealed weapon license to vote. Again with the voter suppression. The Hispanic weapon of choice is the butterfly knife. (Disclaimer: My husband’s Hispanic. He does not own a butterfly knife that I’m aware of. He also votes although I notify the precinct judges every time he goes to the polls.)

Last night, outfitted in my Hillary 2008 t-shirt (not an uncommon occurrence), I watched HBO’s Game Change. Apparently Sarah Palin spent most of the campaign in a catatonic state on the verge of a nervous breakdown or as I like to call it, Monday. (OMG!) I can’t wait to see the movie they make about the 2012 Republican primaries, starring Wink Martindale as Mitt Romney, Kirk Cameron as Rick Santorum and Jonah Hill as Newt Gingrich. Also Daniel Craig will play a mystery candidate in order to attract women viewers.

On Friday I wrote a short piece about Rick Santorum and Catholics on Politico and received the following positive review on Twitter:

your comments in Politico were not only offensive, they were incorrect. Traditionalist Catholics do not want Latin to be the language of the United States. Nor is he on par with Gibson, who denies the post Vatican-II Popes. Santorum accepts Vatican II, he simply prefers the old rite. Before you start your condescending bullshit again, do some research.

Please. Condescending bullshit is my research.

The main reason I’m obsessed with Santorum’s beliefs is because I can’t believe we belong to the same religion. Of course I had little choice in my church membership as my parents baptized me when I was roughly six days old, essentially SPEAKING FOR ME before I could speak for myself. I can hardly blame them since spending eternity in Limbo as a little defenseless baby just isn’t appealing.

Over the weekend Santorum won Kansas and is hoping to use that momentum to win tomorrow’s primaries in Mississippi and Alabama. Romney won Wyoming along with the highly coveted Northern Marianna Islands and Guam. (Why is Guam allowed to vote in our primaries? Where is Guam anyway?) Tomorrow Hawaii and American Samoa will be holding caucuses as well. (Why is Hawaii allowed to vote in our primaries? Where is Hawaii anyway?) I’m not sure how many of Gingrich’s non-concession delusional victory primary night speeches I can listen to anymore. Last week I ended up throwing pizza crusts at the TV in anger and the cheese smudges are still there.

I didn’t get the memo that today is International Women’s Day, also known as International Womyn’s Day because YOU CAN KEEP YOUR E, MEN. I take International Women’s Day very seriously, choosing a different world culture to honor each year. (Last year was the United Kingdom and I dressed as a member of the royal family. Prince Philip, if you must know.) The day is ostensibly meant to celebrate women. One day? What is this, Mother’s Day? I celebrate being a woman every single day by purchasing birth control pills in bulk.

But apparently International Women’s Day has become one big old pukefest, according to Jen Doll at the Atlantic Wire, with such celebrations as giving flowers to women and wearing red lipstick in a “Rock the Lips” campaign (“because women rock!”). Flowers and lipstick. I feel empowered already. Many places are handing out free cupcakes. Please. Like women aren’t fat enough already.

I don’t know about you but I think what we really need is an International Single Women of a Certain Age Day. People could make contributions to your pity dating fund and send you flowers since you never get any.

/what?!

The big news last night is that Romney will still be the nominee despite what the pundits are saying. They are trying to keep their jobs, people. What, you think they want to end up blogging at area Starbucks, their names being distorted every single day until they don’t even know what their names are anymore? I still wake up in a cold sweat wondering if my name really is just a jumble of roman numerals.

As I mentioned yesterday, what I was really interested in was the Catholic vote. Once again, Santorum couldn’t deliver. The only reason Romney is winning the Catholic vote is because the two Catholics in the race suck so bad. (The Vatican’s words, not mine.) But let’s be honest. I can’t be the only one who needs a break from the Republican primaries. Luckily I have the perfect story. Please feel free to print this out as you may want to use it as a bedtime story for the little tykes.

A New York woman has been charged with promoting prostitution despite claims that she is a “dedicated suburban mom,” or as I like to call them, “Georgetown law students.” Please. I’d like to know how any suburban mom could possibly find the time to promote prostitution in between ballet classes, tennis lessons and play dates. And then there are the kids. OMG! She also apparently rescued pot-bellied pigs. In more ways than one. OMG!

And yet Anna Gristina is being held at Rikers on a $2 million bond in what defense attorneys claim is an “unfairly sensationalized case.” Prosecutors counter that she is an “arrogant, multimillion-dollar madam” who peddled underage girls and has a black book of names of wealthy and powerful clients. Gristina is Scottish, which explains everything. (An Irish woman would never get caught. Or you better hope so. Because I have a little black book of my own, although it only contains names of the poor and the powerless.)

The five-year investigation on Gristina allegedly found that she’d made millions of dollars over 15 years. This case has been in the making for five years? A PROSTITUTION case? Who is she, Eliot Spitzer? They’ve expended more resources on her then on potential terrorists. But then, as we’re all learning, sex is its own form of terrorism.

Today is a very important day, and not just because it’s another day for you to start changing your life so you can become the person you were meant to be, not the tragically flawed person you see in the mirror every morning. It’s a critical day for the Republican presidential race. Ten states are holding their primaries and caucuses: Alaska, Georgia, Idaho, Massachusetts, North Dakota, Ohio, Oklahoma, Tennessee, Vermont and Virginia. This marks the only day that anyone cares what North Dakotans are thinking.

All eyes are on Ohio and its juicy delegates. If Santorum wins Ohio, Romney’s still fine. If Romney wins Ohio, Santorum’s not. (Naturally Gingrich will win Georgia as it is the state that birthed him. He may even be able to pull off an upset in Alaska due to Todd Palin’s support.)

Here’s Nate Silver’s guide to the latest primary projections. I trust you will all be tuning in tonight to watch CNN’s 12 different panels of experts. (As usual I will dress as one of the pundits. Tonight it’s Gloria Borger.) And naturally I will be watching to see if Santorum can win the Catholic vote and who will win the feminist/slut/prostitute vote. Follow me on Twitter (@EileenDSmith) to keep up with my insightful tweets, which usually go something like this: “I made a casserole shaped like Mitt Romney’s head! #CasseroleShapedLikeMittRomney’sHead.”

I am no longer without a laptop. I am whole again. So this morning I’m back in Starbucks with a MUCH SLEEKER laptop. To illustrate how light it is, I walked across the store to retrieve my latte balancing it on my head. And then I placed my latte on top of my laptop and walked back to my table. I should have been a model but apparently “model-like looks” are more important than “impeccable balance.”

I trust you all have been keeping up with your Daily Dose of Contraception. It’s fascinating. Especially all the attention surrounding that Georgetown law student who testified to Congress that she wants the government to pay her for having sex, or something like that. At least that’s what Rush Limbaugh said and I’ve been a devoted listener of Rush Limbaugh for years. In fact it would be fair to say that much of my politics has been influenced by what Limbaugh says. Here’s what he said about Sandra Fluke after she testified in favor of a contraception mandate for private insurance that would include religious-based institutions.

What does it say about the college coed Sandra Fluke, who goes before a congressional committee and essentially says that she must be paid to have sex? What does that make her? It makes her a slut, right? It makes her a prostitute. She wants to be paid to have sex.

Can you imagine if you’re her parents how proud of Sandra Fluke you would be? Your daughter goes up to a congressional hearing and testifies she’s having so much sex she can’t afford her own birth control pills.

Fluke is having so much sex, it’s amazing she can still walk. So, Ms. Fluke and the rest of you feminazis, here’s the deal. If we are going to pay for your contraceptives, and thus pay for you to have sex, we want something for it, and I’ll tell you what it is. We want you to post the videos online so we can all watch.

So much has been made about the “slut” and “prostitute” comments that we’re missing the most disgusting part. Rush Limbaugh is into online porn. He’s probably roaming sex chat-rooms right now looking for sexually active law students who might be interested in an old salivating masturbating repulsive slob like himself.

Over the weekend Cardinal Timothy Dolan decided to weigh in by asking Catholics to become more involved in the political sphere because this holy war on contraception cannot be won by the Vatican alone. As a Catholic, if I’m going to start praying for anything it will be for the end of fighting in Syria, or for all the families who can no longer pay their mortgage, or for people whose lives have been ruined by natural disaster, not for the end of birth control.

Now we hear there’s a right to sterilization, abortion and chemical contraceptives. I suppose there might be a doctor who would say to a man who’s suffering some type of sexual dysfunction, ‘You ought to visit a prostitute to help you.’

No, that’s not Rush Limbaugh. That’s the Cardinal.

It’s not just the leadership who’s hopelessly out of touch with mainstream Catholics, it’s also conservative Catholics. Rick Santorum, who was profiled in yesterday’s NYT, has lost the Catholic vote in EVERY SINGLE PRIMARY. I’m not sure why he thinks he can speak for Catholics when they’re not even voting for him. The article follows Santorum’s journey from “nominal” Catholic to Mel Gibson Catholic but by far the more compelling faith journey was that of his wife, Karen. When she was in her 20s, she broke with her family and the church when she became involved with a liberal activist doctor 40 years her senior who had founded an abortion clinic.

What in the what? This is the couple that holds themselves up as the holiest of holies? Hypocrites.

And last week Santorum did the unthinkable. Referring to JFK’s landmark speech on freedom of religion and separation of church and state, Santorum said that it “makes him want to throw up.” As a self-proclaimed member of the Kennedy clan, I find this intolerable. Not only does Santorum make me want to throw up, he makes me want to throw up and mail my vomit to his campaign office. But I wouldn’t want to waste the stamp.