I started out last night slightly bitter over my discovery that I failed to make the list of VH1's "Top 40 Hottest Rock Star Girlfriends ...and Wives" list. (That's exactly how they wrote it, to, dangling the wives along in tiny print, behind ellipses--as if relegated to the last limousine in the procession, while the girlfriends whoop it up in the band's car, amid a tidal wave of Champagne foam and sequins.) I failed, you guys! Oh, the tears, the gnashing of teeth! I washed down a handful of Xanax with some Slim-Fast (French Vanilla), and wobbled toward the bed, shoving over two of the three guitarists already sleeping there, to cry myself to sleep (after watching Conan--that guy cracks me up!).

By the time I woke up this morning, I felt renewed, however, knowing that by omitting me from the list, VH1 was sending me a message and doing me a favor--what else can I ask of a major cable network?--and in essence, telling me to get back on my cleansing diet. I'm not ashamed to reveal that I slipped off the diet after 14 of its recommended 21 days. I refuse to call it a failure, as that is self-defeating and negative, but it is a lapse. I'd love to attribute the lapse to some major surgery, or doctor's intervention, but that would be dishonest, and dishonesty clogs the adrenal glands, causing illness, so I'll admit that I was just lazy, and get back on the wagon. Or the horse. Whichever thing means "dieting toward hottness."

I went to the health food store to stock up for this new regimen, and came away with $75 worth of groceries that half-filled two plastic bags. I was miffed that the pimply faced skinny cashier girl left the bags on the counter and turned her back on me to greet the pimply faced skinny guy cashier who approached weakly gripping a stack of one-dollar bills in one pale hand. And yet: does not picking up my own groceries make me that much stronger? And hotter? (Strength = hott, y'all.)

One of the items I bought was a jar of powder sold under the brand name Cafix. "100% Caffeine Free!" reads the label--an oddly bland photo of a plain white china mug full of some dark liquid, sitting next to a dissolute croissant. I liked the name--it sounded like it might contain heroin, which underscores the manufacturer's comprehension that caffeine is addictive. I imagined Cafix as analagous to methadone: Not the real thing, but it'll get you by. Neglecting to read the ingredients, I stirred up a big mug of it today when I got to work.

Lacking a teaspoon--the recommended measure--I poured a pile of the powder into my travel mug. (I keep it at work in case I need to travel anywhere where I might be thirsty.) The powder was light and fluffy, not at all like Folger's instant crystals, and when I added water, resulted in a pleasantly foamy liquid. It tasted like hot, slightly bitter water. The ingredients are listed as: Malted barley, barley, chicory, figs and beet roots. While not what I might have dreamed up on my own, that's close enough to coffee for me. I plan to drink a lot of this stuff, despite its unsettling neutrality. (It's from Switzerland--what do you want?) And anyway, one serving contains only five calories, so I should be able to live off this for at least two years, maybe three if my doctor renews my diet pill prescription.

Because y'all, if I don't make that Top 40 list next year, I will absolutely plotz. To see my name up there with the likes of Heather Locklear and Shannon Tweed... I can't even imagine the joy! And then we could all hang out together, sharing body glitter and swapping groupie-strangling tips. Sure, they might look at me as an outsider at first, possibly becoming jealous over my luxurious hair extensions and defined thigh muscles, but when I reveal my secrets for removing tattoo ink from a thong, they will take me in their silicone embrace and claim me as a sister.

Is that really so much to ask?

Star of the day. . .Liv Tyler