Goodbye, Ms. Lohan.
I feel conflicting emotions when discussing my former friend who finds herself in a fit of trouble this week.
While I'm admittedly ashamed to revive the reincarnation of my former self with mention of the dispicable Ms. Lohan, I am proud that I'm saying goodbye to her. I will miss her.
Infact, it's been nearly three weeks, and still I dream of her. Just last night my nocturnal reveries had she and I laughing and cavorting, remembering all the frantic moments spent together: the endless chats about grand schemes wasted, discussing those lustful moments where my decidely fay hand would slip beneath her skirt for a filthy fling with a filthier friend, reliving the dangerous car chases and the pompous strutting that emboldens one's ego when Ms. Lohan is by your side.
My dream, however, did not remember the sleepless mornings as Ms. Lohan screamed into my ear, keeping me awake until the eventual crash stole away yet another Sunday. Also forgotten were the countless bloodied noses as Ms. Lohan punched, abuse well deserved when one dares to party with such a fabulous (yet trashy) celebrity, and I can't leave out the creeping paranoia that it was Ms. Lohan who called my bosses and had me terminated three listless, inactive months ago.
Sitting on my hands, anxiously watching my phone, waiting for Ms. Lohan to call again so we may take to the town in a flight of fancy so fabulous, so fierce, so futile... But she doesn't call. Thank, God.
Allow me to clarify. Ms. Lohan may indeed be your friend as she once was mine. I throw no shade to your dealings with this deadly darling. Suffice to say, she will let you down as she's let me down.
Therefore, I am proud to finally say goodbye to my starlet, my temptation, my dearest (deadliest) Ms. Lohan.
May our lines never cross again.