celebrity stalking

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How come if some idiot in Mississippi hit a woman, called her a c^nt, and said she deserved to be raped by a pack of n!ggers (in addition to slurs against Mexicans, etc.), he would be called a “bigot”…yet when a celebrity does it, we want to say he is “mentally ill”?

I am eager to see what angle Mel Gibson’s PR machine takes on this one. Surely – Gold help us – they won’t send him to rehab for some disorder that causes his assholeness. Please let’s just call this what it is – an asshole being himself. Can one redeem himself from assholeness? Why, yes, absolutely. But not without honest, soul-searching work on the part of the asshole himself. And, let’s face it, that’s probably not going to happen.

So my proposed plan is that Mel buy himself an island where he may live freely amongst his own. (This could be next to Cheater Island, since some of the residents will inhabit both places.) Who shall we send to Asshole Island? I nominate Lindsay Lohan (too many reasons to list), David Duke (to serve as Expert Asshole), Paris Hilton (I know you aren’t seriously asking me why she needs to go to Asshole Island), Spencer Pratt (if we still know who he is), and Tonya Harding (just for vintage assholeness). What a reality show this could be! Seriously, Mark Cherry, CALL ME!

Who do you nominate for Asshole Island?

P.S. Not to be judgmental or anything…

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You know, I think the world would be a better place if we all resolved to be more like Dolly Parton. Seriously, every time you see that woman, she’s laughing and loving people. Maybe we should consider sending her over to the Middle East to negotiate peace. If anyone could do it, it would be Dolly. So, in an effort to spread joy today, I think we should review some Dollyisms:

I’m not offended by all the dumb blonde jokes because I know I’m not dumb… and I also know that I’m not blonde.

If you don’t like the road you’re walking, start paving another one.

You’d be surprised how much it costs to look this cheap!

The way I see it, if you want the rainbow, you gotta put up with the rain.

Find out who you are and do it on purpose.

Leave something good in every day.

I never let a rhinestone go unturned.

My husband said ‘show me your boobs’ and I had to pull up my skirt… so it was time to get them done!

I’ve always been a freak and different, oddball even in my childhood and my own family, so I can relate to people who are struggling and trying to find their true identity. I do not sit in the seat of judgment. … I love people for who they are. We’re all God’s children.

Now do we all feel inspired to go out and change the world today? Let’s do it!

P.S. Yes, I woke up with “9 to 5″ stuck in my head again today. I don’t know why that happens; I don’t think I’ve heard that song in years. Also, if you think my promoting Dolly Parton is a subtle way of laying the groundwork to convince y’all that sequin dresses are considered “casual chic”, you’d be right about that too.

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Today I think we should discuss the loser women who have low self-esteem. You know the type. They probably have trouble getting out of bed some days, can’t take a compliment worth a shit, and think they don’t deserve to breathe oxygen because somebody better than them might need it. These poor broads probably have distorted body images, watch a lot of E! television, and most likely can’t do math worth a damn. They also have absolutely no sense of direction, and may call someone for urgent help, even when they’re only a mile from their home. Now what do you suppose happened to me these ladies to make them like this?

In interviewing a panel of experts on low self-esteem, I noticed a common thread among women who were picked last for every sport ever played. My daughter isn’t old enough for this yet, so I don’t know if teachers are still evil backstabbers who will love you one minute and then turn the power over to your peers the next. But I need to tell you that the “picked last: low self-esteem” correlation is very high (according to the panel).

Children who were told, “Step on a crack, break your mother’s back” and had anxiety attacks each time they encountered a crumbling sidewalk did not fare well in the self-esteem department as adults. In a preliminary study, it appears there may be a link between panic attacks and the enormous consumption of chocolate ice cream.

Girls who were absent that day in 3rd grade when they taught fractions and could never catch up after that are less likely to pursue technological careers (or major in any subject that requires math beyond Algebra I). In their minds, they may believe that work doesn’t suit them and they should just sit around eating bon-bons all day. Attention Husbands: if this is the case with your wife, it is very important for you to support her endeavors. Just give her your damn credit card and leave her alone. Note: NEVER under any circumstances should you inquire as to if she really needed what she just purchased!!!!!!

Girls who wear glasses (even if they are cute pink ones with Bugs Bunny on the sides) are less likely to have healthy self-esteem, even after they’ve worn contacts for 15 years and had Lasik surgery for an additional 10. In a grown woman’s head, she will always think of herself as the girl with glasses and tangly blond hair (or, you know, brown. Whatever).

Girls who never, ever had a partner of the opposite sex for the “Couple’s Skate” are more likely to become wallflowers later in life. If the girl is never able to master the backward-skate, she doesn’t stand a chance.

If a girl were to pay $10 to join the Ricky Schroeder Fan Club and didn’t even receive a stinkin’ signed photograph from him, she will most likely develop low self esteem. Interestingly, if the same girl is later stood up on what is supposed to be her first date, she will grow up to be an alcoholic. (Even if the stander-upper later apologizes and takes her to a Dave Matthews concert down at the old Lakewood Amphitheater, and then gets engaged to a girl who looks just like her, the damage is already done.)

The panel doesn’t lie, people. If you have daughters, please take heed. You don’t want them to grow up and be as pathetic as the lame-o women I’ve described, do you? Because, from what I can tell, they’re a pretty bitter lot.

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Husband M is shaking in his boots right now, as his wife is getting ready to have an affair. See, we’ve always had a deal that if anyone on our Top 10 Lists ever asked one of us out, the other spouse has to agree. What this means is that if Michelle Pfeiffer comes knocking on our door, I will gladly step aside for a night or two (or however long it takes her to decide she can’t put up with his snoring).

Our lists have been very passive, in that we don’t actually attempt to contact any of these people. (Okay, there was that time I waddled my 7-months-pregnant ass down to the casting call for “We Are Marshall”, but that was more about cinematic integrity than sleeping with Matthew McConnaughey. Am I the only one who thinks that movie could have benefitted from a sidebar story about a knocked-up cheerleader?) But things are changing. A few days ago, Hugh Grant began an online Q&A session. And guess whose question he answered – MINE! Take a look at our conversation:

Me: Do you dance often? Are you a good dancer?

Hugh: I’m a terrible, terrible dancer. And I dislike it, too.

You can practically feel the heat coming off the computer from the sexual undertones in his reply. He says he doesn’t like dancing, but what I hear is that he wouldn’t want to waste our time dancing when he could be getting to know my soul. I’d say he’s definitely interested in meeting me, don’t you agree?

You’re not acting as excited as I thought you would. What are you, selfish or something? Then you probably are not going to like what I say next:

I have been invited to the set of “The Green Lantern” this summer! Hooray for me! And hooray for Ryan Reynolds, who gets to meet/have an affair with me! Sadly, no hooray for Scarlett Johansson, whom Ryan will have to dump before pursuing a relationship with me. (Y’all know how I feel about women stealing other people’s husbands.) Scar Jo, I am sure you are a very nice person and you are indeed a fine actor, but you can’t stop destiny. Sorry, hon.

So you can see how I’m thisclose to not one, but two fabulous affairs. Although I am a little worried about M. I told him of this great threat to our marriage, and he didn’t even look away from the golf tournament on TV when he said “Mmmm hmmm”. Clearly he is in a state of shock/horrible denial. (Or just totally jealous that Hugh & Ryan love me, and he’s heard nary a word from Michelle.)

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Let me start by saying if you don’t read Jennifer Lancaster, you must must MUST get yourself over to your local bookstore and pick up Bitter is the New Black; Bright Lights, Big Ass; Pretty in Plaid; Such a Pretty Fat; or her latest My Fair Lazy. This woman will make you laugh. I guess I should disclose at this point that we are close, personal friends (meaning I’ve met her once), but don’t let that influence your decision to buy or not buy.

My buddy Jen was in Atlanta for the first stop of her book tour, and I had planned to go all the way up to the actual day of the book signing when I decided not to. I don’t know why I do this, but I look forward to things and then decide it’s too much of a pain in the ass when the time actually comes. Anyway, M gave me a pep talk/shamed me into going, and I’m so glad he did.

There was a lot, I mean A LOT, of standing around waiting in line, during which I made lifelong friends with all the people around me and learned more about popular teen reading than I ever wanted to know. (One book answered such pressing questions as Is it okay to shave DOWN THERE? Am I technically still a virgin? What does “hook-up” mean?) But the standing-in-line experience is a post for a different day. Today I have to tell you what happened afterward.

My BFF Jen signed a book for Subourbon Wife, saying I will be a best-selling author one day and not to give up my dream (as per the instructions I gave her), and then I wobbled my weak legs out of Barnes & Noble, which had been closed for an hour at that point. Stepping into the parking lot (which is shared with a Publix grocery store), I saw 4 of the most precious women ever. I immediately knew we were cut from the same cloth, as they were tailgating the book-signing. And people laughed at me for tailgating the Oscars! Look at this:

In case you can’t tell, they are all wearing their cute pajamas and pearls. The retro TV is a symbol of their shared love of reality shows. One of these girls is from up north, but clearly she has adjusted to Atlanta life. We made fast friends, despite the fact that 3 of them are Kappas and therefore clearly sluts. (Settle down ladies, just joking.)

Since I am always at the end of every line, it wasn’t long before the author came out and shared a couple of beers with us (by “us” I really mean “them”, plus their new hanger-on ME.) Jen is a riot in real life as well as her writing, and I learned that she tailgated with these super-fans last year, too. (They are mentioned in the footnote on p. 202 of My Fair Lazy in case you need proof.)

So you can see why I’m so glad M shoved me out of the house. He mentioned it was somewhat like the olden days, when I would call him from Buckhead and tell him not to wait up for me. Except this time, of course, I was stone-cold sober and had a great time anyway.

Added bonus: the super-fans have agreed to be groupies for my first book tour! YAY, ME! Although there is still that nasty little detail of my not having a book deal, but we’ll think about that tomorrow. After all, as we Southern ladies know so well, tomorrow is another day!

P.S. Many thanks to (L-R) Mary Gail Muse, Stephanie Szalkowski, Marie Cumbest, & Mary Beyer for laughs and use of their guest chair!

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