By Anne Baker

I have an addiction.

Like most addictions, mine controls my life. Without it, my pupils begin to dilate, my palms become moist and my mouth develops the distinct feeling of cotton. My addiction is my biggest burden, because I know it would bring me nothing but shame if my friends and family knew how I spend so much of my time and energy. I know I shouldn’t, but I can’t stop. I want it. I need it. I have to have it.

Hello, my name is Anne and I am addicted to Perez Hilton (Hi, Anne!). Drugs it is not, but I still think it’s a shame there isn’t a 12-step program for an addiction to celebrity gossip websites.

Wherever I go, I have the insatiable need to know the most minute details of the lives of the rich and famous. Who’s in rehab? Is Nicole eating again? Has Amy Winehouse quit the pipe? How far off the deep end has Britney gone today? Whatever it is, I have to know.

It started off innocently enough. At the gym, I would casually watch the E! channel to distract me from my cardio. But it soon escalated. I would dive into the latest issue of People and Us Weekly, but it was purely social, I swear. I only did it at parties. But before I knew it, the addiction spread; the veins in my eyes bulged an angry red from too much time spent staring at the computer and almost all my sentences began, “Well, according to Perez