Normally when Lindsay Lohan runs low on cash, she spends “quality time” with some rich dude for a few nights or steals someone’s jewelry to pawn. The pickings must be slim lately, because it has come out that Lohan is shopping around a tell all book.
Usually when a trainwreck of a celebrity says they are going to spill all their dirty little secret, the gossip whore inside me leaps for joy. But since Lindsay wears glasses so rosy the whole world looks like the inside of her bloodied coke nose, the likelihood of the really good shit being spilled is not too high.
Lindsay has enough skeletons in her closet to put on her own in-home Victoria’s Secret runway show. She is claiming that in her tell all that she will expose all of her fuck ups. The drugs, the arrests, her family, her terrible self tanner.
Apparently what started all of this was her journal that she kept in her last stint in rehab. Her counselors told her to bring out her inner 14 year old girl and write all her shit down on paper instead of sniffing her emotions up her nose. And when Lohan looked back on her book she realized she could make way more money making this shit public than putting in the effort to actually work.
Unfortunately for us though, Lindsay has shown time and time again that she doesn’t live in the same universe the rest of us do, especially when it comes to little things known as accountability and responsibility. Every time she has messed up, it’s been everybody else’s fault. She started drinking too much? It was because of her messed up childhood. Lindsay showed up late to film sets, if she even showed at all? It was “the flu” (you know, the kind that doesn’t bother you on Saturday nights so you can hit the clubs, but totally knocks you down when it hits Monday morning work time). Lohan drives drunk and hits a semi? She wasn’t even driving, it was her silly little assistant (forget all those eye witnesses who say otherwise).
Of course, I still have hope that Lindsay will realize that if she wants to sell the most copies that she can, she needs to tell us shit we haven’t already seen in paparazzi snapshots or been told by her frienemies. I want all the dirt on Paris Hilton and her STD riddled bullshit. I want to know every celebrity she did drugs with, especially ones that would totally shock me.
I want to know if she actually ever slept with James Deen and how good he was, ’cause he is super yummy (if more porn guys looked like him versus Ron Jeremy it wouldn’t be such a male dominated buyers market). I want to know about her scarily manly sister Ali, her desperate leech mother Dina, her fishnet shirt wearing famewhore father Michael, and of course her kick ass Nana would needs her own tell all.
Come on Lindsay, don’t disappoint us. Accept that you will never have a legitimate acting career again, that you are one more rehab stint away from Dancing With The Stars, and give us more than just a book long version of a People magazine interview. Oh, and go back to your red hair color. The real red, like circa Mean Girls. You may never get your full hotness back, but fixing your hair would definitely boost you up a few points again.