Monday, April 21, 2014

"Lindsay": Yes I Watched It.

I had no intention of watching "Lindsay" until my 19 year-old nephew, who probably knows more about pop culture then me, told me what a shit storm of greatness I was missing. Eventually I found it on On Demand and got sucked into that mess faster than you can say "she's so not sober".

It's no wonder she's a crazy nervous wreck. If I had to unpack that many boxes it would send me into such an anxiety-ridden tizzy that I would require a wine IV just to deal. And then there's her no-nonsense assistant, Matt, who I actually kind of liked, even though I thought by episode 4 he should have ripped off his 3-piece Jos. e Banks suit jacket, loosened that tie and given her the 'come to Jesus' talk.

This show was advertised as a "Documentary" but we learned absolutely nothing, except maybe that she doesn't own an alarm clock or a bra. I literally cringed when I saw all her designer clothes (which most certainly were given to her for free) strewn throughout her apartment - disregarded the way some hoarders keep dead kittens, or their own feces. When I was 27, my wardrobe consisted of the finest designers that TJ Maxx had to offer on the Saturday after pay day. You'd never find my new 1996 Ralph Lauren Chaps brand khakis thrown in a corner next to an ashtray in my home.

By last night's finale, I think we were supposed to be rooting for her, but sorry girlfriend, I'm just not feeling it. I would never joke about a miscarriage, but when she admitted that she had missed two weeks of filming because she had a 'miscarriage'  I didn't quite believe her. Somehow she strikes me as the person who would be in the hospital - on camera - demanding morphine at the first sign of a miscarriage. I am probably going to hell for that one. OWN did not renew the show, but it did end with her possibly getting a book deal. The day I see a book written by Lindsay Lohan at Barnes & Noble is the day I lose faith entirely in humanity.

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