Five months have passed since the launch of the hit CultureMap column, Trendysomething in SoMo. What began as a tiny blip about life in a vaguely made-up neighborhood called South Montrose erupted into an unprecedented Internet sensation. I, a recent college graduate, meek and equipped with a shiny new liberal arts degree that came with few prospects, became The Fresh Prince of SoMo — the arbiter of all things cool in America's third largest city.

Once I caught wind of Olympic skater Johnny Weird being mistaken for myself, I knew I'd reached worldwide celebrity status. But very few deal with overnight fame in the best way, and I am not one of those very few. The intensity of life in the limelight affects the psyche in unimaginable ways. The pressure to maintain a fascinating lifestyle left me with no outlet for escape — until I found purple syrup.

Somewhere between the outbreak of H1N1 and the waning of flu season, I found myself stricken with a hacking cough, and after a string of failed homeopathic remedies, I turned to Robitussin to reduce the pain of my ailment. The resulting giggly sensation and crisp Kool Aid flavor had me hooked from the beginning. An even more glamorous lifestyle ensued: weekends at Mary-Kate's Lake Jackson timeshare, lunches at Tiny Boxwood's with Chamillionaire and purple drank-soaked bashes at Hotel Derek.

But with fame always comes darkness. I soon found myself commiting classic celebrity slipups: caught in acts of public indecency, exposing my junk and looking for sex on the Internet. On one particularly raucous night, I was found passed out after driving my H2 into Mecom Fountain, clutching a bottle of Robo. Arrest warrants began to form piles at the front door of the SoMo Toho. The tabloids ate it all up, especially the illicit affair with my parole officer. But all I wanted was more. My life was spiraling out of control, and I couldn't get enough.

Today represents a drawing line in my fall into purple oblivion. I arrived a few hours tardy to the party at the CultureMap offices, wearing my now-signature three pairs of sunglasses and a Winnie the Pooh onesie I'd lifted from a CVS in Stafford. Sitting down at my desk, I opened my file cabinet to pull out my morning stash. As I mindlessly cut my Jamba Juice with codiene, I felt somebody grab my hand. It was my officemate, Shelby Hodge. All she needed to say was, "Enough," but instead she went with the classic, "You are a hot, purple mess."

"Is this an intervention?" I screached. I reached for my phone and keys just before I heard the "click" of the double bolted lock. I wasn't going anywhere.

Well, no - I was going to rehab.

The entire staff has already located a peaceful rehabilitation center in the scenic Rio Grande Valley, where I'll have the time and space necessary to swim out of this ocean of cough syrup. I will miss my post at CultureMap, but I am eager to fulfill my life-long dreams of studying Kabbalah, learning Native American sign language and writing fan mail to Justin Beiber. I've made great friends out of colleagues here, but this rehab has a star-studded guest list that includes Rikki Lake and Joey Fatone; I hear that Shannen Doherty and I are arriving on the same helicopter. Wish me luck on this next chapter of my life, and don't miss me too much — my story is being made into a Lifetime Original Movie to be released in 2011.

XX,

Stevie T.