What Would Bristol Do?

Don’t lie to your mother. Pearls like this from Bristol Palin’s new memoir, “Not Afraid of Life: My Journey So Far”, have me wondering, is this where I went wrong? I still lie to my mother. I lie to her all the time. Sometimes I can’t remember what’s real and what isn’t. Other times she catches me in an unintentional truth I think is a lie, and it's only as I defend my dishonesty that I recognize my fact from my carefully orchestrated fiction.
But Bristol learned her lesson early - and it shows. With such deceptively simple advice, the high-school-slut-turned-teen-mom transformed herself into a wealthy chastity speaker cum reality star/published writer. Perhaps I should have paid more attention to what yesteryear's peers had to say, ‘cos today’s teens have a backlog of unspent wisdom.
After finishing Bristol’s easy read, I wondered what else I’d been missing. What if Hannah Montana’s got it all figured out? Never judge a book by its author. And, not all memoirs are created equal. That’s what Miley Cyrus taught me in her unrealistic “Miles to Go”- what with all the shouts out to Jesus and the bits about the importance of family. Right then I knew, this kid has not lived. She still thinks her parents won't cheat or betray her. Probably she’s not even lied that much to them, and - as Bristol pointed out - until the lying stops, the learning can’t begin. Miley’s crippling honesty will doom her to a lifetime of ignorance.
I’m in the market for second-hand knowledge, so what are publishers waiting for? They say bad things happen to good people, but has anyone actually asked Justin Bieber to weigh in? Just imagine the epic insights we might access if someone tapped the cast of Harry Potter? I’ll be waiting at the bookstore with my credit card. Or cash, should Dakota Fanning speak out against the evils of compounding interest.
~xo Seonaid
No comment yet

The Best & Worst Superheroes for Action & Adventure

We all love a superhero, but do you ever wonder if they’re just riding the good press? They take to the streets to fight evil and corruption, but what of the battle raging behind closed doors? With this summer’s bumper crop of action movies, we take a look at which Hero’s super powers really bring the heat.
Batman: He only comes at night and leaves no trace. Plus, you’ll never know his name. Can conceal an array of sex toys in his cape. B
Daredevil: He’s blind! All the acrobatic sex you can handle, with no effort required. Hair a fucking wreck? No worries. He can’t see a damn thing! A-
Green Lantern: My favorite! Has fear issues, but the whole willpower thing speaks to me of dominance. Probably a control freak in bed. HOT. Grade: A
Hellboy: Not an attractive prospect. Love of cats is a complete turn off to the turtle-oriented. F-
Hulk: A shape-shifter in the bedroom. This guy’s temper may be a deal-breaker, but hang around for the make-up sex. There’s something to be said for that kind of passion. B+
Iron Man: He’s rich, crafty, clever and he’s got a heart problem! The time he has left will be quality. A+
Spiderman: Don't let this one stick around. He's got that sexy upside down kiss, but is that worth the hours it takes to get web out of your hair? I think not. C-
Superman: Want a man with a softer side? Whip out the kryptonite and enjoy. You’ll win the argument, but who wants a man who shrivels in a corner when you put on your jewelry? D
Thor: He could really give you a pounding, plus he’s handy around the flat. Hammer away! B
Wolverine: A total animal in bed. Someone cuts you off in traffic? He’s ready to key the car. Special Bonus: He can open that awful seamless plastic packaging! A-

~xo Seonaid
Be sure to vote for your favorite sexual super power (right side bar).
No comment yet

Career Rehab: Megan Fox

I feel sorry for Megan Fox. She calls Michael Bay the "H" word and the next thing you know Steven Spielberg bins her ass. Perhaps I’m taking this all personally, since it just occurred to me that while I work for wreckered I could be canned by the Daily Mail. And I’m nowhere near as talented as Megan.                         
Luckily for her, I’ve survived a few career hot zones in my time. She’ll need to move quickly with my mea culpa salvation strategy, or she might never transform her fallen career.
1.   Apologize to Michael Bay. Describe his on-set candor as "refreshing".
2.   Call Steven Spielberg a Nazi. This will distract from the fact that she called an innocent man a Nazi.
3.   Do charity work with orphans. What do orphans have to do with Hitler? Exactly. It’s important she makes this connection to a lack of connection early.
4.   Donate a ton of money to survivors of…something. (The Holocaust?) First do research to establish existence of survivors. Surely someone’s still surviving something. Give to them. Generously.
5.   Publicly condemn the Third Reich whilst celebrating her love for all things Jewish.  Is Brian Austin Green Jewish? If so, celebrate his love. Publicly. It’s important to establish herself as a woman who sleeps with Jewish men who have absolutely nothing to offer. (E.g. Some of my best lovers are Jewish…)
If all else fails, develop an eating disorder or drug addiction.
Anything, anything else.
~xo Seonaid
No comment yet

The Pied Piper of Peril

Trouble follows me wherever I go, which is ironic, since I had planned to work in the office today and therefore should not have led it anywhere. But no sooner had I arrived than my inebriated boss demanded I go in search of pastry.  As if I didn’t have last night’s star-studded wrap party (including an all access back stage pass to the extras’ green room) to write up. As if I wasn’t nursing a skull-crushing migraine of my own. Complicated by a few generous hits on the bong. As if…Oh fuck it.
I wanted to object but three sets of desperate eyes turned on me accusingly. In them I saw anger, suspicion, and fully-dilated pupils. I grabbed money out of the kitty and fled before I was asked to contribute. My delivery fee was going to be a venti cappuccino.
So there I was, standing in line at the baker, flanked by the hung-over masses when it came to my attention that my fellow line-mates were all assistants of some sort – production, traffic, legal, political, secretarial. Not a diva among them. Not even a senior assistant. I felt absolutely buggered, and when I get buggered, I start to snort. I was just winding up, too, when the greedy cow in front of me snatched the last maple bar. Someone pawed at the ground with a foot. I began to snort in earnest, and that’s when I aspirated coffee into my lungs.
I don't remember anything until coming to on the sidewalk. The paramedic was kind and, thankfully, not my ex-husband.  He gave me his number. Wants to teach me a new version of the Heimlich. Said it could save my life one day. That’s a risk I’m not willing to take.
~xo Seonaid