Slimed.

Breaking news! GHOSTBUSTERS 3 is coming!

Whoever said Hollywood is only chasing the almightily dollar must be

pretty embarrassed right now.

Dear Lindsay Lohan,

While I do not have mental health training, I do own a long-term subscription to Entertainment Weekly and have a honorary advanced degree in Teeveeology, so I feel fairly confident when I say this: You do not have a hoarding problem. You have a messy problem.
 
Yes, the amount of stuff you have is technically "a lot," which is the exact technical term for the measurement of junk owned by any 20-something feamle who has been in the Hollywood machine for twenty-plus years. As a starlet, you have been given clothing and accessories and bought clothing and accessories and maybe "borrowed" some extra clothing and accessories. You do not have not enough money for an assistant to put things away and a maid to clean and a hot carpenter to make you a rotating shoe closet*, but your racks of clothes organized by color and shoes neatly in boxes with a color photo on the front of each box and the clutter in extra bedrooms, a.k.a. , out of the way? Not Hoarding.
 
Stop watching reality TV, go donate to charity the many pants and sparkle tees you could only really wear two rehabs ago, slap on a nicotine patch and begin the long soak needed for your tobacco-stained fingers into something bleachy. And get thee to a shrink for everything else.
 
Your friend,
Wretch


*Overboard shout out!

Oh, Vanity Fair! You are adorable!

Up and coming young Hollywood actresses, eh? The ones "the ones looking to breakthrough and become household names"? I don't see Gabourey Sidibe in this spread. You know, that fat, black girl who just got her first Oscar nomination? Maybe she would just ruin the look of your size two, white girl buffet.

Judy.

Judy was a rescue puppy - I found her at this shelter when she was four months old.*  She looked exactly like a Yellow Lab, which is what I thought she was, for a month. Soon after bringing her home, she began to spring brown and tan spots, and her muzzle lengthened and her body morphed, and this was no mellow Yellow Lab. This was some weird, anxious, terrier/pointer mix. And while I like all sorts of dogs, I very much had chosen her for her suspected Lab breed - I wanted someone who would be mellow around small children, because we a) had small children and b) lived next door to a playground. And when you live next door to a playground, you quickly discovered that you need to keep your downstairs bathroom clean at all times, because mommas and their toilet training toddlers will bang on your door.

Judy was terrified of small children. I assume she was not socialized enough during that puppy developing psyche window before I brought her home. She liked adults well enough, and was not interested in chasing cats, but a small, quickly moving child made her bare her teeth in worry and defensiveness. We enrolled her in all sorts of puppy classes and really stayed on her, and she was fine with our kids, but we kept her from neighborhood children, just in case.

Fast forward five years. We lost everything and had to start over in California, and our landlord would not allow us to keep Judy. Thinking it was temporary, we sent her to live on a relative's farm, which suited her so much better. There were acres to run and only grownups there; she quickly mellowed and became a different dog, but it still ate at my heart, because I come from the school of Never Giving Up A Pet. Ever. You make a commitment, and you don't just hand over a pet like a pair of shoes that don't fit anymore unless that pet is a danger to your kids or your environment is no longer the best one possible. Judy loved her new life, although I missed her terribly and I still can't stand that we gave up my kids' dog, not on top of everything else they had lost.

Well, Judy's back. She's old, and her breath smells like Damp Corpse, and she sits sideways because her hips no longer work the way they are supposed to. But the mellow stuck. And my kids no longer have lost a dog. I'm a big fan of the whole "full circle" thing.

*Massachusetts is one of the largest importers of rescue puppies. The spay-and-neuter campaigns are so successful that they can ship puppies from Puerto Rico (the "Save A Sato" program, like Judy here), and from other areas, because the shelters are not overrun with local puppies. The airlines charge a nominal fee to ship the puppies on flights that have room in cargo for dog crates. It's a very cool system.  And most of the Satos (slang for "street dog")look alike.

This makes me tired.

My New Pink Button

Hey, gals, do you suffer from the Labia-blahs? Go from labi-blah to labi-beautiful!

Because NO PART OF YOU IS EVER OKAY.

I am going to make a mint by selling googly eyes and wee felt berets for men. Except I am not, because that would be stupid, because what man is going to adorn or bedeck his genitals in order to fight the shame he has about his body? It doesn’t happen.

Is this vag rouge a joke gift? Are we solving a real problem? How many women actually walk around worried because they feel their pigment is unsightly? Because, if someone with whom you are or with whom you wish to be intimate is in that region, and he or she is criticizing your pigment? Your biggest problem is not your pigment, baby, it’s that the person in your bed is doing the sex wrong. Push them – push them – out of your bed.

Boggled by Google

The delightful Bloggess wrote a bit about the mysteries of The Google. I read it and said, "Yeah, right" (in my head), because there was no way people were actually googling those things, right? She totally doctored her Google search page for humorous effect, because No. And then I tried it. And I got this:

So, not only did The Bloggess not falsify her Google search, which is a relief because I think that's a felony, but also? People are even scarier than I thought. Plus now with more stupid.

And why are we here?

Wanna burger?

I am working on my professional web site ("a portfolio thingy" is, I believe, the technical term), and it only took me twelve seconds to work in the words "penis puppetry." But that's because I interviewed them, not because I performed with them. Which I did not do. Seriously.

Although, if you were hiring a copywriter, wouldn't you want one who knows how to properly describe the act of making a balloon animal out of one's genitals for profit? What if I didn't know how to use the term in everyday copy? I might write "penis puppetry" in place of "customer service," and that could really redirect the tone of your trifold brochure.

It totally pays to hire a professional (copywriter, not weener puppeteer. Although one should probably be trained in either case). I find the penis puppet fellows have quite the following in Australia, with the call for many a show, and not so much in the Midwest of North America.  I don't really want to think about that too much, nor do I suggest you go to their site and click on the "Trick Of The Month." Except that you really should.