Apparently Lindsay Lohan has landed the lead role in an upcoming independent film.
Way to go Lindsay!
Oh wait - hold the phone - the movie will apparently portray the turbulent and tumultuous life of 1970s PORN STAR Linda Lovelace.
Perhaps NOT the way to go, Lindsay.
For those of you poor saps who don’t already know, Linda Lovelace got her ‘big break’ with the classic 1972 film "Deep Throat". I think she won an Oscar. Maybe more than one. Oh, sorry, typo – I meant to say did, not won.
Miss Lohan will be portraying Linda in the upcoming motion picture “Inferno”. Bill Pullman will portray Playboy magazine founder Hugh Hefner in this ‘period drama’.
Oh, Lindsay, what are you doing?
At 24 years old I was making much better decisions. I wasn’t partying all the time while being photographed by scads of paparazzi. I wasn’t in rehab every other week. I wasn’t in a public feud with my parents. I wasn’t inviting my little sister to bars with me. And I certainly wasn’t perpetuating my own self-imposed stereotype as a slut by portraying one in a movie. Lindsay used to be a cute little Disney girl, didn’t she? What a shame.
On the other hand, remember the least popular Saved by the Bell character? Not Screech, but Jessie. Remember when she reintroduced herself to the world by playing a stripper in a special little film called “Showgirls”? Well, it worked out for her, right? Didn't she end up getting lots of respect and becoming a critically acclaimed actress?
So, Lindsay, maybe there’s hope for you yet.
Wednesday, 5 May 2010
Monday, 3 May 2010
All in all, a good night
My husband and I went out with our friends on Saturday night.
First, we had some gross but expensive sushi for dinner and then made our way to our main destination: a great little blues bar.
Friggin sweet show. It was at least 3 hours long. At one point, the lead singer even took over the drums – without stopping the rockin beat. Cool.
The night was almost a total success.
But about half way through the show Hubby notices that he can't get his wedding ring off.
(Not that he normally tries to take it off - except when he’s spinning it on the table – idiot. And he doesn’t take it off to pick up girls either. Especially when I’m with him.)
He just happens to notice that his fingers are fatter than normal. They’re already remarkably stumpy, but this is worse. We think: oh he’s just carrying water from all the beers last night (or the additional beers tonight).
But then it occurs to us: effing sushi.
Ohmygod, he’s having an allergic reaction to the sushi!
Come to think of it, he sometimes breaks out in hives from a Caesar. We thought maybe from the Vodka, or from the limes. But, DUH, it must be from the CLAMato juice!
So then he says his feet feel fat too. And then he starts to wiggle his face around. “My lips feel weird” he says. Holy shit.
So, he and I leave the show and do a huge loop checking every quickie-mart in sight. Me in my very high heals and him lagging behind, with no interest in picking up the goddam pace. Every little corner store has a million mini bottles of 15-dollar Pepto and 8-dollar Visine. But no Benydryl.
So far, though, he can still breathe, and he seems to be ok. Phew. No ambulance necessary. So he takes an anti-inflammatory and we make our back to the bar. His feet and hands don’t seem to get better, but they don’t get worse.
Eventually we go back to the parking garage. It takes 20 minutes to get out of the damn place due to the ridiculously challenging ‘pay on exit’ process.
But we finally get home and he’s fine.
All in all, a good night.
So… lessons learned: don’t each shellfish.
Next steps: get a freaking epi-pen.
_
First, we had some gross but expensive sushi for dinner and then made our way to our main destination: a great little blues bar.
Friggin sweet show. It was at least 3 hours long. At one point, the lead singer even took over the drums – without stopping the rockin beat. Cool.
The night was almost a total success.
But about half way through the show Hubby notices that he can't get his wedding ring off.
(Not that he normally tries to take it off - except when he’s spinning it on the table – idiot. And he doesn’t take it off to pick up girls either. Especially when I’m with him.)
He just happens to notice that his fingers are fatter than normal. They’re already remarkably stumpy, but this is worse. We think: oh he’s just carrying water from all the beers last night (or the additional beers tonight).
But then it occurs to us: effing sushi.
Ohmygod, he’s having an allergic reaction to the sushi!
Come to think of it, he sometimes breaks out in hives from a Caesar. We thought maybe from the Vodka, or from the limes. But, DUH, it must be from the CLAMato juice!
So then he says his feet feel fat too. And then he starts to wiggle his face around. “My lips feel weird” he says. Holy shit.
So, he and I leave the show and do a huge loop checking every quickie-mart in sight. Me in my very high heals and him lagging behind, with no interest in picking up the goddam pace. Every little corner store has a million mini bottles of 15-dollar Pepto and 8-dollar Visine. But no Benydryl.
So far, though, he can still breathe, and he seems to be ok. Phew. No ambulance necessary. So he takes an anti-inflammatory and we make our back to the bar. His feet and hands don’t seem to get better, but they don’t get worse.
Eventually we go back to the parking garage. It takes 20 minutes to get out of the damn place due to the ridiculously challenging ‘pay on exit’ process.
But we finally get home and he’s fine.
All in all, a good night.
So… lessons learned: don’t each shellfish.
Next steps: get a freaking epi-pen.
_
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