I am now officially a braceface. I was really really worried that I would look so goofy everyone I passed on the street would make fun of me, but now I see how unlikely that scenario is. I mean, who really cares about someone else's teeth? And these braces are not even that obvious. But I was so worried for so long about how I would look, I forgot to think about how I would feel. And I feel really uncomfortable. I can't smile, I can't eat solid food, I can't rub my lips together and I can't really talk. People say it takes a little while to adjust, but at this point, I can't imagine ever adjusting. My mouth feels so strange.

About year ago, I was waiting in a movie theater lobby with my friend Pat. A Queen song was playing, and Pat said, "Sometimes I think about the world, and I get sad that Freddie Mercury isn't in it." I have been thinking about that a lot lately. Freddie Mercury was the first, and I think only, star that I really felt connected to on a deep level. Sure, as a kid, I was into Mariah Carey and Whitney Houston and Paula Abdul (all of whom turned out to be so remarkably stable!) and I wanted to meet them so they could take me shopping or whatever. But as I grew older, my musical tastes shifted. I started listening to Queen right before Freddie Mercury died. The tabloid covers announcing his death are emblazoned in my memory — I felt cheated out of ever even having the ability to fantasize about being his friend. Even as a fantasy-prone kid, I knew there was no use in pretending to be friends with dead people.

So, why did I feel such a strong connection to Freddie Mercury? Because when I was about ten years old, I realized that I would never be a Paula or a Whitney or a Mariah. I connected with freaks and misfits and queers. And Freddie Mercury was, arguably, all those things, with bad teeth to boot, and yet he could charm and excite tens of thousands of people at a time. He was my hero. Lindsay ("You're the best friend that I've ever had. . ." ) and I used to listen to Queen together all the time in middle school when we both began to realize and appreciate that we were unusual. But there was one poppy, happy song that I was never really into as a kid that I have been listening to nonstop lately. And that is "Don't Stop Me Now." Every time I listen to it, I get a teeny bit sad that Freddie Mercury is not in the world anymore. But I get excited that I am.

. . . and his name is Cohutta.

I swore a million times I would never watch the stupid unnecessary drama fest that is The Real World ever again, but it was a hundred eleventy-two degrees last night and I just didn't have the strength to change the channel. I don't regret it, though, because Cohutta just might be my favorite person to ever appear on TV. At first I thought he was a hired actor playing an adorable country bumpkin — I literally could not stop laughing at everything he said. Highlights: his bewilderment over why his new roommates couldn't pronounce his name; his comparing himself to Crocodile Dundee; his calling his dad (granddad?) back in Georgia and exclaiming how the Real World house was the nicest place he'd ever lived and dad/granddad drawling back, "Well, you've only lived in them two places." AND — there was actually footage of him doing dishes! Cohutta, you're the best!

Unfortunately, from the previews, I see that my new friend is going to engage in some yelling, but I promise (again) not to be watching this stupid show, so he can remain pure and awesome in my mind.