As a young girl I rocked out to True Blue like it was going out of style. I sang Like a Virgin at the top of my lungs in the shower when I still thought a virgin was Jebus' mom.
In my teen years, I turned to Madge for sex advice. Probably not the smartest or non sluttiest move but hell she was my own mother's idol, so why shouldn't she be mine?
Today, the most famous woman in the world turns 49. Unfuckingbelievable. I feel like she was 20 three years ago. I really feel like an old hag.
Happy Birthday Madonna. Thanks for teaching me about bisexuality, adoption, yoga, fingerless gloves, and fishnets. As Homer Simpson would say "Keep on a Rockin'".
In unrelated (actually blood related) Madonna news...
On Top Chef last night, two competing teams had to throw together a restaurant, decorations and all, in 24 hours.
What you may not have noticed, because he was never identified, was that one of the patrons was designer Christopher Ciccone (brother of Madonna, of course, who is incidentally celebrating her 49th birthday today).
We think Christopher Ciccone should appear as a judge on every episode, because, like Simon Cowell, Ciccone does not mince his words when it comes to judging what's put before him.
First the decor:
CHRISTOPHER: The chef should know better than to put a scented candle on the table. (putting it on the floor and covering it) And it's dead now. And I need a new napkin.
Then the food:
CHRISTOPHER: It wasn't the best lamb. The meat wasn't cooked properly. I thought it tasted like metal.
DALE: Like metal?
CHRISTOPHER: And if that's a vegetable medley, I'm a monkey.
DALE: I will let miss Sara know.
Top Chef needs to be shaken out of its stupor a little bit, and a biting, straightforward critic like Ciccone could be the perfect ingredient.