Oh Say Can You See...All These Gold Medals?

July 1996. I remember it like it was yesterday (which is weird since I’m pretty sure I was only two in 1996). I was obsessed with the Olympics that year – or, more specifically, women’s gymnastics. The Magnificent Seven was everything I wanted to be: Polished. Successful. Respected. Toned. They were perfection. From Shannon Miller killing it on the uneven bars, to Dominique Moceanu’s flawless floor routine, to Dominique Dawes (my favorite) nailing it on balance beam, these girls were on fire.

The Magnificent Seven back in the day. Y'all, this was 20 years ago.
How is that possible?!!

The Magnificent Seven today(ish)

They were in a position to win the United States's first team gold EVER in the HISTORY of women’s gymnastics. All they had to do was hand in a solid performance on vault. It was cake. They loved vault. They were strong on vault. The gold was all but theirs.

And then...this:

And this:

All of a sudden, the inevitable wasn’t looking so certain. Or evitable.

Especially after this:

In the blink of an eye – or crack of an ankle – the Americans’ victory was in serious jeopardy.

And then, just as it started to look like the gold was all but lost, Kerri Strug, fueled by pure adrenaline and fear of Bela Karolyi, did something amazing - and propelled her miniature self into America’s hearts and Olympic history in the process.

Yes, my friends, Kerri Strug nailed her second vault. Nailed it. And then remembered to salute the judges. All on essentially one leg, as her other leg was seriously injured. In that one second, she made Olympic history and insured that the American women would take home their first gymnastics team gold. As it turns out, the Americans didn’t even need Kerri's score in order to win, but that doesn’t make her performance any less incredible. In that moment, she embodied all that is the Olympic spirit, nay the American spirit. We may disagree on politics, religion, and Taylor Swift’s talent level, but when it comes to the Olympics, we Americans are a united bunch.

It’s inspiring. And, even though I had absolutely nothing to do with any American victory, I feel like I have personally accomplished something great when an American medals. Probably because, as discussed above, we are all one, united in victory, which I'm pretty sure basically means we've all won those medals. Without even leaving the couch - or breaking a sweat. Unless you’re Aly Raisman’s parents.

And speaking of Aly Raisman, if it is possible to capture the magic of the Magnificent Seven, the 2016 women’s gymnastics team has certainly done it. They are America's Sweethearts: The Next Generation.

The 2016 U.S. Women's Gymnastics Team

I'd like to give a special shout-out to Aly, who has repeatedly played silver fiddle to her younger, newer teammates, but has shown nothing but class and dignity through it all. In fact, although it pains me to say it, the 2016 team may be even better than the 1996 team in some ways, specifically in their genuine support of each other. They seem to really like each other and revel in each other’s successes (except perhaps Gabby Douglas, who couldn’t even be bothered to give her teammates a standing ovation. The only way this is even remotely acceptable behavior is if her leg was literally broken, and even then, it's questionable. American gymnasts can do amazing things on broken limbs. See: Kerri Strug).

But, overall, the Americans have represented well in Rio. And the issues with Ryan Lochte et al cannot tarnish it (too much). I hate to pay too much attention to the stupidity that is Lochte, but I suppose it warrants a brief mention. When I first started penning this post, the story was still very much a he said/he said situation as to whether the swimmers or the police were telling the truth. Now, however, there’s video. And this video seems to indicate that Ryan Lochte is a big, fat, lying liar face, which is probably why he – and fellow swimmer Jimmy Feigen – were indicted for falsely reporting a crime.

However, yesterday morning, Feigen agreed to pay almost $11,000 in return for being allowed to leave the country. (The three other swimmers were already back in the U.S.) They call it a “donation” and Feigen’s attorney says the money will go to an “institution,” or “charity.” Apparently this is totally legal in Rio. I believe in the U.S., however, we call this something else, and it rhymes with mribery. Apparently one man’s blackmail is another man's donation.

The fibbing foursome

And that about sums it up. The Americans acted like idiots and then lied about it. The Brazilians overreacted and then engaged in what appears to be extortion. But all's well that ends well, I suppose. The Americans (one of whom is a fellow Longhorn; I've never been so proud) are back in the States, and the Brazilians are a little wealthier because of it. Everyone wins. Or loses, depending on your perspective. We could just leave it there - but that would be extraordinarily boring and so not ATG.

So on that note, here are my unsolicited, unfiltered, and probably uneducated opinions:

1. Rio has been faced with a lot of really bad press during these Olympic Games. From inadequate and unsafe living quarters in the Olympic Village, to Zika, to putting the wrong chemical in the diving pool, to a number of Olympic athletes being robbed and assaulted in their fair city, Rio has a lot to overcome. It makes sense, then, that they would want to make an example out of these guys; make sure that the entire world knew that this most recent tale of woe was in fact entirely fabricated, and that Rio is actually entirely safe not quite as terrifying as we originally thought.
2. If I were one of the three less-famous swimmers who were detained in Brazil after Ryan Lochte’s escape to the States, I’d have been pissed. Especially because it was his interview with Billy Bush that set this whole thing in motion. You didn't seen any of the other swimmers talking to the press about it. It was just Lochte. Being Lochte. And, as is generally the case, the ringleader got off scot-free and escaped without punishment. Life is so unfair. On the other hand, perhaps I’m being too hard on Lochte. It's probably because I don’t like him. At all. In fact, if I thought he was capable of concocting any plan more complex than eating breakfast or scratching himself, I might think he had facilitated this entire thing. Which leads me to -
3. Ryan Lochte is an idiot. Like, a total moron. And could a total moron really weave such a tangled web? Especially when all of his brain cells are so busy trying to remember not to breathe under water? Apparently he could. But, not so surprisingly, this moron also apparently overestimated his brilliance and scheming abilities, which is why he was so quickly caught in his big fat lie. Next time, Ryan, leave the thinking to those of us who don’t have chlorine-soaked brains or look like ‘roided up Smurfs.

Regardless, it’s really too bad that in an Olympic Games full of wonderful, inspiring stories, this is the story getting most of the press.

But, because I hate to end on such a negative note, I leave you with this gem. It is sure to bring a smile to your face and a song to your heart.

Unless you’re from the Philippines.*

*Please note how proud they both appear to be of their performances – and I use the term “performance” loosely. I didn’t even know a score of 0 was possible. But I will give them an A for Effort.

Fool’s-Gold(en) Globes

All told, I think I watched about five minutes of the Golden Globes last night. I really just can’t handle the narcissism, self-congratulating and back-patting. Not to mention that, as the Saints learned the hard way, it’s hard to get behind any contest where victory is bought and not earned. I mean, do we really think Jennifer Lawrence gave the best female comedic performance of the year?  Uh, no. Melissa McCarthy runs comedic circles around “Joy’s” prepubescent self.

Anyway, as expected, there were plenty of cringe-worthy moments. Some were so bad they were good; most were just really, really bad.

One in the latter category occurred when Matt Damon “won” a best actor trophy for The Martian. Although he had to walk past his wife to get to the stage, push past her even, he failed to acknowledge her in any way. Apparently he forgot that his beard wife plays a huge part in perpetuating the narrative that he’s a regular guy, married to a regular lady, who’s just a down-to-earth family man. Sure, he thanked her in his acceptance speech, but what’s that saying about actions vs. words? In his defense, perhaps he was afraid that if he didn’t rush the stage and get his award quickly, Amy Adams might have a Steve Harvey moment and realize that she’d read the card wrong, ultimately giving the trophy to Steve Carrell instead. Given Damon’s comedic ability, or lack thereof (Stuck On You, anyone?), this was probably a legitimate concern. (Now, had he received the award for the bumbling performance he gave as he floundered his way through a defense of Sean Penn’s controversial interview with El Chapo, I would have totally supported the decision; that was one of the best comedic performances I’ve seen all year.) 

Then there was everyone’s best friend, Amy Schumer, with her actual best friend, Jennifer Lawrence, presenting their respective films as Best Picture nominees (neither won, by the way). Seriously, what happened to these two? They used to be so likeable. Now, not so much (and it’s not even entirely because of Amy’s completely unlikeable persona, i.e. her true self, in Trainwreck). Why do celebrities feel the need to pontificate ad nauseam on things they know nothing about? Newsflash, celebrities: I don’t want to know your personal thoughts/beliefs on, well, anything. Just entertain me like the dancing monkeys you are. 

Dance, monkeys. Dance.

 

Jennifer Lawrence took it to another groan-inducing level in her post-win press conference when she told a member of the foreign press, with a mom-level finger wag, to stop looking at his phone and to “live in the now.” This wouldn’t necessarily be the stupidest thing ever except for the fact that, based on the reporter’s very thick accent, it was fairly obvious that English wasn’t his first language. What everyone else in the world room seemed to understand, therefore, was that given the high-pressure situation and the fact that he was attempting to speak a language other than his own, this reporter had chosen to read his question off his phone in an effort to not eff it up. Nice job, Jen. You probably made him feel like a total idiot for trying not to look like a total idiot. In the end, though, it really wasn’t he who looked the fool, was it?

And speaking of how people looked, I sure hope someone called the police on behalf of Brie Larson because, based on what I saw last night, half of her body has been stolen. I didn’t even recognize the 21 Jump Street actress as she accepted her best actress award for Room. Someone better give Girlfriend a sandwich real quick.

Last night at the Golden Globes (L) and in 2012 (R). Seriously, where's the rest of her?

Then there was Lady Gaga, who rarely disappoints. As an aside, apparently faux British accents and lots of nudity are the only requirements to win a Globe; I can’t really identify anything else the Gags could have done to win for American Horror Story. I am grateful for her win, however, for one very specific reason – and it involves Leonardo DiCaprio. As she clomped her way up to the stage – probably, like Matt Damon, fearing that the Hollywood Foreign Press would change its mind if she didn’t get to the stage fast enough – she knocked Leo’s elbow. His reaction alone was worth the eight hours of torture required to endure the entire broadcast.

  Perhaps she misjudged her new width, provided by those bat wings she has glued to her hips. They're like a cat's whiskers, except in reverse.  

And in case you missed it because (unlike me), you don't feel like watching the above GIF 8,000 times, here's the money shot:

Not much of a poker face there, Leo.

Let this be a lesson to us all: Nothing stands between the Gags and her Globe. Nothing at all. I must say, for a man who has experienced all the dangers of a new frontier, including an enraged grizzly bear, he seems fairly fearful of this lady's touch. This could be for two reasons: 1) he's a fan of American Horror Story and has seen how terrifying her acting character's behavior is, or 2) he happened to notice the ferocious talons she's currently sporting on those hands of hers.

Either way, Mama Grizzly's got nothing on Gaga.

Not-So-Pure Michigan

Love. It’s a many-splendored thing. And what better way to show one’s love than by going to extraordinary lengths to propose? After all, as Gammy says in The Proposal (which, ironically, is on as I write this post), “How a man proposes says a lot about his character.” I mean, if reality TV has taught us anything isn't it that huge, over-the-top gestures are the secret to a long and successful marriage? I wonder then what Gammy would have to say about Michigander William Cornelius Jr.’s New Year's Eve proposal to his girlfriend Sheri Moore.

It was original, I’ll give him that. Any uninspired schmuck can hide a ring in a champagne glass or utilize the “kiss cam” at a hockey game; how much thought does that take? But what about a proposal at a regular old retail store? That takes some real innovation. Surely it doesn’t get much more splendored than a marriage proposal through the loudspeaker at Walmart.

Right?

And after overtaking (with permission, of course) the store’s PA system to offer his proposal, Cornelius presented his lady with an engagement ring that he had procured from the same retailer - valued, I might add, at a whopping $29.62. Talk about one-stop shopping. It’s actually surprising that more people don’t make similar proposal choices. Perhaps Mr. Cornelius will start a revolution.

What I hope will not become a revolution, however, is how the diabolical duo chose to celebrate their engagement. You might think that after plunking down less than $30 on an engagement ring, there would perhaps be a dollar or two left over to splurge on some wedding night favors. But no. Instead of choosing to do things the old-fashioned (read: legal) way, and placing the desired items on, say, a grownup wedding registry, Michigan’s own Bonnie and Clydenelius chose instead to lift $80 worth of sex toys from a nearby mall. Stolen items included a “Bride-to-Be” thong, as well as an edible one, sex candy and a vibrator.

You know, just the essentials. 

A match made in heaven? Or perhaps a little further south?

But fear not, my friends. As the above photos indicate, the devious duo was eventually apprehended. In case you’re wondering, the bride was caught outside of a Taco Bell – another cost-effective choice, I’ll admit – where she immediately blamed the entire thing on her fiancé, despite the fact that there was actual videographic evidence of her sticky fingers. (Sure didn’t take long for her to flip on her man. This marriage isn’t doomed at all.) As for the groom, well, he was found at a table in the mall’s food court. Asleep.

You really just can’t make this stuff up.       

Stuck on You

Dating horror stories. We’ve all heard them. You may have even experienced one or two. Or four. Or 50. They can certainly be enough to put you off dating for awhile. So I wonder how long it’s going to take for a California man to get back on the dating horse after finding one of his casual encounters STUCK IN HIS CHIMNEY. I don’t know what kind of gift she thought she was bringing him, but seeing as how he had chosen to end their relationship after several dates, I’m fairly certain he didn’t want it.

She sees you when you're sleeping. She knows when you're awake.

Was she there to surprise him? To break in? To put his underwear on her head and roll around in his sheets? To boil his bunny? (That’s not a euphemism.) I don’t know. What I do know is that she had already been caught on his roof once. I feel like at that point you take out a restraining order. You don’t wait for her to pull some psycho Santa trick out of her big Santa bag.

Listen, I’ve made some questionable decisions in my life – even boy-related decisions – but can someone please explain to me why going down the chimney would EVER sound like a good idea? First of all, if you do make it down, you’re covered in filth. I know some guys are into that, but this isn’t sexy filth; it’s soot. Even Bert, the chimney sweep in Mary Poppins, couldn’t make soot look good. It’s a very hard look to pull off. Is this really the way you want to greet the man who has recently dumped your soot-covered behind?

And second, the likelihood of you actually getting down the chimney is very, very small, because in order to get through such a small space, you have to be very, very small – and the flue creates an entirely new set of issues. In fact, I don’t think even Kate Moss herself could successfully make that journey and she hasn’t eaten since 1983.

And you know what happens if you don’t make it all the way down? You get stuck. In a chimney. There are pictures of this woman being stuck in a chimney and it’s almost enough to give me a full-on panic attack. I know Santa makes it look easy, but successfully navigating a chimney is actually very hard work and should only be handled by magical professionals. 

I can't. I really just can't.

The truth is, although she’s now landed herself in a steaming pile of trouble and humiliation, she’s actually really lucky that the object of her unrequited affection was home. Another California woman (a doctor, no less) once tried this little trick. Unfortunately for her, her target was out of town, which meant there was no one to hear her cries for help.

She died.

In a chimney. 

I think there’s a lesson in this for all of us. Don’t be this woman. If and when your relationship ends, move along with dignity. Don’t get stuck looking like a crazy fool.

Or in his chimney. 

Love Hurts

In the spirit of Valentine’s Day, my absolute favorite time of year (not), I thought it might be nice to bring you a story of love and soon-to-be marriage. It’s so rare that we get to highlight positive celebrity occurrences – mostly because they happen so infrequently – this seems like the perfect opportunity to live in the love and light for a moment.

If you’re familiar with the show American Horror Story, you’re probably also familiar with actor Evan Peters who’s been on the series since it started; and, if you’re familiar with breathing, you’ve also most likely heard of actress Julia Roberts. So what do these two have in common? Well, in about a hot minute they’re going to be related. Kind of.

Despite what I just made it sound like, however, Evan and Julia are not engaged. (After all, Julia prefers to date men who are already married.) No, Julia’s not marrying Evan, but her niece Emma is.

Emma Roberts. You may’ve heard of her. She was also on this season of American Horror Story, as well a bunch of other stuff that I can’t be bothered to look up right now. And, just like her aunt, she’s entirely overrated. Both as an actress and a human being. But that’s really inconsequential to this story.

Anyway, Evan and Emma are getting married! Apparently this love-struck duo met on the set of their film Adult World and, although Emma spent the entire shoot pulling out all of her favorite man-getting tricks, it wasn’t until after the film wrapped that she actually snagged the hunk of heaven that is Evan Peters. As someone who hasn’t always made the best decisions when it comes to keeping work and personal separate, I can appreciate that Evan made the adult choice to wait until he and Emma were no longer coworkers to start courting her, or as the kids say, hit that.

And the rest is history.

History in the making

Isn’t that the cutest and most romantic story you’ve ever heard? Doesn’t it just make you puke hearts and snot rainbows? Obviously theirs is a love for the ages. Except, oh wait, there is one thing. It’s small, though. Barely even bears mentioning.

She beats him.

Or, she did beat him. At least once. Allegedly.

It was almost seven months ago and, in fairness, some reports claim that both parties were injured, but the fact remains that Emma was the one arrested for domestic abuse last July after police were called to a Canadian hotel room where they found Evan bloodied and sporting a bite mark.

But instead of pressing charges, Evan decided to put a ring on it. I’m sure this is a decision that he’ll never ever, in any way, live to regret.

Anyway, that’s the CliffsNotes version of the saga that is Evan and Emma. A little love. A little violence. They’re basically living their own Lifetime movie. Will this marriage last? Probably not. Do Lifetime movies ever have happy endings?

But because tomorrow is Valentine’s Day, I’m going to attempt to end on a positive note. Although it’s unlikely that this union will last much longer than a bucket of chicken, when it does implode like a faulty firecracker, at least they’ll be able to split their monogrammed wedding gifts equally between them. (Get it? Because they'll have the same initials. Pretty darn good planning on their part.)

So at least there’s that.

After all, aren’t most acrimonious divorces a direct result of people not wanting to part with the guest towels?

And on that note, I hope you all have a marvelous Valentine’s Day.

But remember:

Don’t Stop Beliebing

I’ve been planning this blog ever since our dear friend Justin Bieber was arrested in Florida for drunk driving. But, as per usual, I got busy (read: lazy) and it didn’t happen. Apparently this was the best decision I’ve ever made (what this says about my life, I’m not sure) because the Justin Bieber Bad Decisions Tour just keeps on rolling. Yes, it appears that my procrastination has actually paid off. I think this is a lesson for all of us.

It all started a week and a half ago when, as I mentioned, The Biebs was arrested in Miami for drunk drag racing. Actually, to be more accurate, it probably all started in 1994 with the birth of Canada’s biggest embarrassment (sorry, Howie Mandel). Or maybe it all started with the invention of the internet without which there would be no YouTube, without which there would be no “Justin Bieber.” I mean, he would probably still exist, but we wouldn’t be subjected to his auditory pollutants.

But who has time to go back that far? Let’s just stick to the more recent stops on the Bad Decisions Tour. In less than a year, he has spit on his fans; attempted to assault the paparazzi on several occasions; vandalized a hotel wall in Brazil by spray painting “Beiliebers 4 life” (could he not have come up with something more original? He already played that Belieber card at the Anne Frank Museum); spent hours in a Brazilian brothel before he and a friend left with two women; allegedly threw eggs at his neighbor’s house, causing a reported $20,000 worth of damage…with eggs; and then, last week, drank too much, took some Xanax, smoked some pot (although not necessarily in that order), went drag racing, and, when the police finally caught up to him, resisted arrest.

As an aside, Bieber has hired attorney Roy Black to handle his DUI case. I thought this Roy fellow was only famous for being Mr. Leah Black of Real Housewives of Miami fame, but apparently he’s a bit of a badass lawyer to the stars as well. Who knew?

Justin Goes to Jail 

Anyway, it was after this latest arrest that I decided he had warranted himself a little ATG love. But before I could even begin my judgmental ramblings, The Biebs ended up back in the news after turning himself in to Toronto police on Thursday. I’m sure you’re wondering what in the world such a sweet young boy could possibly have done to have the Mounties on his butt. Well let me tell you: He allegedly assaulted his limo driver – hitting him in the back of the head several times – back in December. Given his choir boy past, it’s hard to beliebe that The Biebster would make such a bad choice, but it’s looking like it could be true. So true, in fact, that a petition was started on the White House website requesting that Canada’s biggest embarrassment (sorry, Celine) be deported back to his native land. A petition that’s already topped 100,000 signatures.     

This kid is a mess, like an Amanda Bynes, Lindsay Lohan, Britney Spears-before-she-got-drugged-up kind of mess. He needs help, the kind of help he’ll never get because he’s a meal ticket for too many people. The way I see it, his butt needs a little less kissing and a little more spanking. Maybe he’ll get that desperately needed dose of tough love from Tiny, his 300lb cellmate.

Fingers crossed.

And now, I must post this blog quickly before The Biebs does something else royally stupid and everything I just wrote becomes yesterday’s news. But keep your eyes peeled. The Justin Bieber Bad Decisions Tour may soon be making a stop in a city near you.

It’s Like Rain on Your Wedding Day

Oh the irony.

You may remember that Kate Winslet married for the third time a little over a year ago. You may also remember that ATG predicted at the time that the Winsletator would soon be pregnant. Just add it to the list of things ATG has prophesied correctly. Winslet gave birth to her third child, a boy, last month. The father? Presumably hubby #3: Ned Rocknroll. Yes, you read that correctly. The man that Kate chose to marry and procreate with is also a man who thought it sounded like a swell idea to have his name legally changed from Ned Abel Smith to Ned Rocknroll.

Given their life choices, you would think that these two would have some semblance of a sense of humor about things. But you’d be wrong. When asked if her latest addition would be taking his father’s surname, Kate’s classy response was: “Of course we’re not going to call it Rocknroll. People might judge all they like, but I am a f-cking grown-up.”

I’m sorry to offend you, Kate, but you can see why there might be some confusion on the subject. After all, you did choose to marry a man who legally changed his name – as an adult – to something just a small step above Harry Balls.

    Mr. Rocknroll, his missus, and "It"
   It's so endearing when mothers refer to their children as "it," don't you think?     

And you want to know what this grownup and her husband chose to name their baby? Bear. That’s literally his name. When my mom was pregnant with my sister, my brother named the baby in her stomach Frosty. He was three. These types of names make sense when you’re three. When you’re a “grown-up,” not so much.

So, to recap: Kate’s too adult to name her baby Bear Rocknroll – and, to be clear, it’s the Rocknroll part that she finds so offensive; Bear is a totally grown-up decision – but is fine marrying a man with the same surname.

Is this failing to make sense to anybody else…or am I just not grown up enough to understand?

Desperation, Thy Name is Miley

They say that the best way to deal with a child who’s attempting to garner attention by acting out is to simply ignore the child, but I just can’t do it anymore. It would be grossly negligent for ATG to continue ignoring the train wreck that is Miley Cyrus. After all, anyone who makes Amanda Bynes look like a respectable and upstanding citizen should probably take a long look at her own life choices.

Oh, Miley. What has happened to you? Do you have a brain tumor? How else does one explain such a diametric swing from Disney sweetheart to whore next door? (I don’t particularly care for the word whore, but it rhymes so well with door and when the writing gods inspire that kind of R-rated Dr. Seuss moment, you just have to go with it.)

 BEFORE and AFTER the botched tongue surgery that left Miley unable to retract her tongue.   

First there was the Wrecking Ball video. Oh, heavens. As soon as I finished watching it, I went directly to confession – and would encourage Miley to do the same. Not to mention, how did the Department of Sanitation not shut this shoot down? Writhing around naked on a wrecking ball (an admittedly appropriate prop given the song title, but with a severely inappropriate lack of clothing) and making out with a sledge hammer is almost certainly unsanitary. Considering where Miley’s most likely been putting her lady bits, someone should alert the Center for Disease Control immediately to dispose of the poor, violated wrecking ball.

In case one of your New Year’s resolutions is to lose weight, feast your eyes on the below monstrosity. Totally purge-inducing but without any harm to your manicure. But be warned: A) This song is like flypaper; it will get stuck in your head. For days. And B) Don’t let anyone whose opinion you value catch you watching this filth. It’s shameful.


Not long after the Wrecking Ball video, came Twerkgate. Ah, Twerkgate. I must admit, I missed the original VMA airing of Miley’s “performance” with Robin Thicke. I also missed the second. And probably the third. But I finally watched it and, yes, it was icky and trashy and confession-worthy, but what I found most offensive was Miley’s “vocals.” Yikes. Why is no one discussing that? After all, she is a “singer,” correct? And while I’m sure it’s hard to carry a tune while simultaneously raunching it up with a foam penis finger, perhaps this is something she should have considered before trading in her dignity for a foam finger and nude bikini.

So, in case you haven’t yet reached your goal weight:


Then there was the picture of Miley just being Miley, and enjoying the warm L.A. weather, that she Tweeted in October. I mean, I assume it’s Miley enjoying the weather. Your guess is as good as mine considering she chose not to show her face. Not an entirely poor decision. Had I been born looking like Stewie’s long-lost twin, I might very well choose to pull a Michael Jackson and hide my face from the public as well.

Yep, totally normal behavior...for a narcissist.

And most recently there was the desperate attempt to stay relevant relationship with Twilight actor Kellan Lutz. They apparently had a serious make-out session in Vegas last week, but then, unfortunately for Kellan(‘s career), Miley quickly saw something shiny decided that she wasn’t really into aging vampires and that she preferred girls instead. Not long after, she was seen – still in Vegas – getting hot and heavy with one of Britney Spears’s (female) back-up dancers. Seriously, you just can’t make this stuff up. In case you’re wondering, Miley’s now apparently bisexual and has been “experimenting with women.”

Of course she has.

It’s been approximately 30 seconds since someone uttered the name Miley Cyrus and that just won’t do. She’s done the slutty thing, the politically incorrect thing, even the gluten-free thing; now it’s time to do the bisexual thing. Anything to stay relevant. I’ll give her this: She knows how to keep people talking. And if she truly lives by the adage “no publicity is bad publicity,” which she clearly does, it’s anyone’s guess what desperate, attention-seeking behavior she has on her to-do list.

I shudder to think.

Remember when the most controversial thing she’d done was expose her back on the cover of Vanity Fair?

Those were the days. And speaking of days, it will be “interesting” (and by interesting, I mean sad and pathetic) to see what shenanigans this Disney darling can get up to in the remaining 364 days of 2014.

And on that note…

Happy New Year! Whatever resolutions you’ve decided to make this year, we sincerely hope that reading more ATG is at the top of your list!

It's good to have a goal.

The One Where Mary Jane Inspired ‘The Rachel’

Remember the good old days when we’d yet to hear of the Deficient Duchess or her swoon-worthy locks, and instead were wetting ourselves over ‘The Rachel,” the haircut that Jennifer Aniston made famous on Friends? 

It was the must-have look for longer than it probably should’ve been. Even yours truly sported, with some hesitation, something similar. It didn’t matter what your circumstances were – what your face shape was, how plump or thin your face was, or even the thickness or wispiness of your hair – everyone wanted it.

In fact, Jen’s hair had much the same effect that Kate’s clothes have. Women around the world made the unfortunate decision that if it looked good on a heavily styled, well put together, thinner than average woman, it would also look good on them. This assumption was and is grossly false, of course, but these women didn’t care. They were on a mission.

And so it was that ‘The Rachel’ became a pop culture phenomenon. 

Honestly, I didn’t think it was that bad. As far as haircuts go, I’ve certainly seen much worse (even on myself), but Jennifer has made no secret of the fact that she hated it. Hated. It. It seems that she, like many celebrities, suffers from Ungratefulitis, a disease running rampant in Hollywood in which the infected person comes to hate, and talk trash about, the very things that made him or her famous. (See: Robert Pattinson.)

I mean, seriously, could she be any more ungrateful?

After all, it pretty much had to be her hair that put her on the map because it certainly wasn’t her acting.

On the other hand, I’m not in any position to judge someone for hating her hair. I’ve found myself in many a hair-related meltdowns, and you know what they say about people in glass houses…

They should never walk around naked.

Anyway, maybe Jen was right to hate her hair, BECAUSE, as it turns out, her hairdresser was HIGH when he cut it. High. On drugs.

I don’t even like it when my hairstylist talks too much while she’s cutting my hair. I want her full, undivided attention to be on what she’s doing (i.e. chopping my locks). So I can’t imagine allowing a scissor-wielding, illegal-drug-taking fool anywhere near my head.

Ever.

But, then again, I’m old-fashioned.

Jenny on the Block

Well, it had to happen eventually, I suppose. When you take a former Playboy model who looks like Barbie but acts like a dude and introduce her to an aging, rattail-loving boy bander, and then immediately tell them to lie horizontally, give them lollipops to suck on and encourage them to “talk dirty,” sparks are probably going to fly.

It’s almost inevitable. The 90’s gods practically require it.

And so it was that our Boyfriend, Donnie Wahlberg came to be dating Jenny McCarthy.

I’ll admit that when I first heard this news, it struck me as strange. They just seemed like an odd coupling choice – not odd enough to land on the list, but still a bit bizarre. But, after further consideration (because, really, what else do I have going on in my life besides obsessively dissecting every detail of this relationship) I have to begrudgingly admit that they actually kind of make sense. 

1. They’re both divorced parents. 
2. Neither one seems particularly tall – or interested in talking about much more than their bedroom and/or bathroom activities. 
3. She’s blonde (it may not be natural, but I’m pretty sure nobody dates Jenny McCarthy for her natural look), which his track record proves that he prefers (because he’s a gentleman?). 
4. And, let’s be honest, he (along with half of the men in this country and abroad) was able to see her boobs without ever having to buy her dinner. What guy doesn’t like that deal?

So, you see, they really make sense.

And now that she’s taking over for Joy Behar on The View, she’ll have the ultimate platform to reveal all kinds of inappropriate details about their relationship (quite possibly involving both bedroom and bathroom activities). No one will see it, of course, because, really, who watches The View, but if it’s juicy enough, we’ll all hear about it. Over and over and over.

Good luck with that one, Donnie. I have a feeling you’re going to need it. 

Thanks a lot, Woody Allen

As we wait with bated breath for word that the most overrated woman in the world has finally dropped the most overrated baby, I’ve made the brave decision to carry on with life as usual. Yes, it’s exceedingly difficult to not obsessively hit refresh on my Google newsfeed, waiting anxiously for word that the world has finally been blessed with yet another parasitic progeny, but being an adult means oftentimes having to make the tough choices.

It was because of this heroism that I decided to leave my house on Sunday.

And, because he worried that, if left alone, I would continue to hit refresh on my phone incessantly, resulting in painful carpal tunnel, my dad decided to come with me. We were sitting side-by-side when it occurred to me that, though he’s 35 years my senior, thanks to the Woody Allens and Hugh Hefners of the world, people might come to the oh-so-incorrect conclusion that my dad and I were together. As in a couple. Yuck and yuck.  

We look somewhat similar, so I would hope that people would realize we’re related; however, it’s been said that people tend to be attracted to, and enter into relationships with, people who look similar to them. I can barely tolerate seeing my face on one person; I can’t imagine having to see it on two people (of course, I’m not a giant narcissist) but apparently this is a real phenomenon. Just ask Chris and Gwyneth.

The truth is, I’m not really into older dudes. I just can’t imagine ever dating/marrying a man old enough to be my father – especially when he is my father. Unfortunately, Woody Allen set a terrible precedent on this one as well.

And now, forevermore, a daughter’s relationship with her father is slightly tainted. At least in the eye of a confused public.

Thanks for nothing, Woody Allen.

James Franco: Soothsayer or Total Jackass?

I’ve loved James Franco for a long time – ever since 1999 when we starred in a movie together.

Okay, so I was an extra, he was the star, and our paths never crossed, but I spent the day staring at him from afar, drinking in his awesomeness.

(Fun fact: although my path didn’t cross with Mr. Franco’s, it did collide with late Roseanne star Glenn Quinn when he stepped on my foot. I never washed that foot again.)

The point is, James and I have been in a relationship for a long time. And like with any relationship, sometimes he annoys me. I can’t say that I was exactly annoyed with his Oscar hosting performance in 2011, but I did think it was a bit one-note. However, I cut him a little slack because it’s hard playing opposite the irritant that is Anne Hathaway. Anybody would look a little bit drugged next to her over-the-top self. In fact, he probably was drugged. He probably had to drug himself in order to spend that much time with her.

But, according to an interview he recently did with Howard Stern, he and Anne have actually made up since that Oscar debacle. Now, whether or not they’re still BFFs now that he’s broken his silence on Oscargate against her very specific wishes, remains to be seen. And if his loose Oscar lips don’t push her over the edge that she’s perpetually hovering by, his saying that he can understand what triggers the Hathahater hatred may.

In fact, I’m going to venture a guess that James and Anne are no longer sitting in a tree.

Personally, I think him saying that he understands why people hate Annennoying* only goes to show that he’s more in touch with reality than people give him credit for – especially people who witnessed his underwhelming hosting performance.

Nothing's that funny, Anne. Get a grip.

Another person who’s most likely scratched old Jimmy off her Christmas card list is Lindsay Lohan – assuming, of course, that she’s coherent enough to remember Christmas cards, or Christmas, or even James Franco for that matter.

On second thought, maybe he hasn’t been cut.

Sure, he, in the same Howard Stern interview, said that he’d declined her romantic advances in the past because she was such a mess, but at least he acknowledged her existence. Yes, he said that he rejected her for “having issues,” but at least he admitted that he did, in fact, know her. Maybe that’s all the validation she needs. She seems kind of desperate – and if anyone understands a desperate need for validating attention, it’s…

LeAnn Rimes.

(I bet you thought I was going to say me, huh? Nope. Even my desperation pales in comparison to these two.)

  I'm sure I speak for all of us when I say that the world is a much sadder place for never having been graced with a Francan (or Franken?) baby.   

Of course, on the other hand, she once said that she and James were “like best friends,” so it’s gotta sting a little. You never want your friends to call you out, no matter how crazy you are. If any of my “best friends” ever rejected my advances, I’d be severely bummed out. In fact, I, too, might start drinking to excess, partying uncontrollably and leaving my undies at home.

You’ve been warned.

*Please understand that I used to love Anne Hathaway, but somewhere along the way she lost her likeability – probably about the time she found her ridiculous affectation/faux English accent. She’s like a taller, younger Madonna, but with less singing ability. And let's be honest, it's not like Madonna set the bar very high on that one.