I know. Shocking, right?
This brings up an important piece of advice from me, your spirit animal Amy B.
You should be home by midnight. Nothing good happens after midnight.
Have you forgotten what you learned from Gremlins?
Are you too young to remember Gremlins?
If you forgot, here it is: Do not feed the creature after midnight. (In this case, the creature is you and all your totally bad ideas. No, going home with that guy is not a good idea. No, going to that club for more drinking is not a good idea. No, consuming a huge amount of breakfast foods at Waffle House is not a good idea. Go home.)
I have spent plenty of nights out past midnight and, oh yes, having plenty of fun, but you can be quite sure none of it was good for me. And the next day I felt like ass.
I strongly believe that life is better - and not as full of regret and hangovers - if you just get your butt home and in pajamas by midnight. I don't always follow my own advice, but when I do, I wake up on time and I am productive the next day. If I don't, I sleep late and, when I do drag myself out of bed, my brain is good for nothing more than watching Lifetime movies or reality shows on E! (otherwise known as Hangover TV).
Another important piece of advice to remember next time you're out: "Never go with a hippie to a second location." - Jack Donaghy, 30 Rock.
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But this advice is not why I have called you here today, my friends.
No, what I'd like to talk about is my complicated feelings every time I hear news of poor Lindsay.
I hate her.
My friend and former coworker Rob used to keep a list of people who belonged on the Celebrity Death Plane. Lindsay is at the top of the list.
I bet she makes the lives of everyone around her stressful and miserable. I bet everyone around her is on guard all the time because they never know what's going to happen.
When you spend time with an addict, you can't be sure if the night will go well or go horribly off the rails. You can't be sure if you will be showered with love or pounded with insults. You might get pushed to the ground. You might laugh so hard you almost wet your pants. You might wonder how things got so out of control. You might wonder what you can do to fix it all. (Nothing. You can do nothing to fix it.)
Seriously, I hate this bitch for going around making the lives of those who love her harder than they have to be.
I sincerely believe she is incapable of getting her act together. She will never sober up. Rehab will never work for her. Screw this selfish little twit, I think.
So here's where it gets complicated.
In my lifetime, I have loved an addict. And I get incredibly frustrated when people say cruel things.
Like:
"The people around the addict should have done more. I would have done more." (No, you wouldn't have. If you have the secret for getting addicts to clean up, you could bottle it, sell it, and make billions of dollars.)
"The addict is just a piece of shit. Cut him/her out of your life. It's not that hard." (Yes, it is that hard. Have you ever loved someone?)
"The addict got what was coming to him/her. The addict was asking for trouble. The addict should just stop. It's not hard." (Please shut up.)
All of these statements come from a lack of experience with living with an addict.
And do you see that paradox of the things people say? You should do more, but you should kick that person out of your life. You should do more while you care less.
Good luck with all that.
The addict is not a piece of shit or a scumbag or beneath you. (Go ahead and thank your lucky stars right now that you aren't one.) He/she has a problem. A real, huge, awful, life-defining problem.
Lindsay Lohan has a real, huge, awful, life-defining problem.
I wish she could sober up and have a nice life in which she is home by midnight wearing pajamas and fuzzy socks, in which she wakes up the next morning feeling good and hopeful about life.
I doubt very much that she ever wakes up feeling good and hopeful. I think she wakes up with a bottomless pit of need that she attempts to fill with pills and booze and whatever else might make her feel better for a moment or a day.
I find myself wishing that someone would reach out a hand to Lindsay Lohan and help guide her back to a safe and healthy life.
Then I realize I am doing the same thing I did for years and years. I thought I could be that hand. I thought I could figure out the magical thing that would guide someone back to a safe and healthy life. That was a lie I told myself. In fact, I still tell myself that lie sometimes. It always comes to me in the dark, after midnight.
See, I told you. After midnight is a wasteland full of pits of quicksand. After midnight is the fire swamp from The Princess Bride. Watch out for the ROUSes.
Even though I can't stand this ridiculous woman, I remember what it was like to love someone like that. I would hate it if people placed bets on when he would die. (Check the comment section of any story about Lindsay Lohan today and you will find those types of wagers.)
It would break my heart if people said bad things about him or hated him for it...even though sometimes I hate him for it.
Part of me wants to see Lindsay Lohan crash and burn. Part of me wants to revel in the Schadenfreude. Here's your seat assignment on the Celebrity Death Plane, Ms. Lohan.
But I already know exactly what it's like to watch someone crash and burn.
It's not pretty. It's not entertaining. It's not anything anyone was asking for. It's not anything anyone deserves.
It's only human wreckage.
Do you want a front row seat for that? Trust me, you don't.
It's past your curfew. Go home.
Related posts:
Making Peace with Hemingway
An Enormous Green Rape Monster
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