Yasmine Bleeth, formerly of Baywatch, now of Who? Wait, What Was She In Again?, was seen on a beach last week.
Can you believe the balls on this woman? A beach? Come on. Sure; you starred in a beach show, but, you're like, what? 46 years-old now? GET BACK IN THE HOUSE.
Bleeth appearing on the sand is not news because she is an international fugitive, nor is she a mythical sea creature come to surface. No, Bleeth has been MIA from the public eye for the better part of the last decade. I don't know why; perhaps she was busy. I once innocently put on the first SopranosDVD and no one saw me for three weeks; these things happen. But then last week a friend of hers - fellow actress Eileen Davidson - posted a group shot to Twitter which included Bleeth. And oh my god you guys, she has the nerve to look different than she did when she appeared in her trademark orange lifeguard suit! Because apparently she should be immune to stuff like stress and chocolate and time and gravity.
So it seems like here’s where we’re at with life rules:
1. Don’t marry someone who won’t buy you French fries when you’re pregnant and on bed rest;
2. Your debit card will be declined only when you’re buying lube and a package of deli ham and your high school nemesis is in line behind you;
3. Your body and appearance are not static and will change as you age.
It is this third point which causes many of us the most problem – but not in a self-reflective way. I don’t really notice how I change every year, because I live in this body and the sag has happened so gradually that it’s immeasurable. After two kids in five years I have lumps where I used to be lump-less and my ass melted into my legs rendering me essentially ass-less. My stretch marks resemble the Colombian River system and despite my young daughter proclaiming they resemble “awesome silver flames shooting up from your vagina,” I could live without them. I am not as tight, thin, smooth, or friendly as I was at 25. And I still go to the beach.
But when celebrities age and change? Well that shit needs to stop immediately. We need to shut this whole thing down, STAT. If you appear on my television set in a bathing suit and your thighs are remarkable dimple-free and your boobs still float anywhere above your elbows, you had better stay that way for time evermore. Because if you’re changing and getting older – and I’m no physics expert, but I’m pretty sure the way time works is this: Then that means I am getting older too. DISLIKE.
The focus on appearance (for women and men) correlating to worth is bullshit and it needs to stop. I’ll do my part in the process by offering this handy chart to help you determine whether a person has intrinsic value:
But you didn...this person has value. Except you didn’t finish the questi...this person has value. But what if...this person has value.
So when the ten-years-post Baywatch Yasmine Bleeth spends an afternoon on the beach looking decidedly different, and yes, I’ll say it – larger - people react, and not always kindly because unfortunately some people are assholes of the finest order (but they still have value. I think? I'm open to discussion on those jerks.)
But I take comfort knowing that those people – the jerks of the internet who critique Bleeth for falling victim to gravity and the nuances of metabolism – those people will wake one day to find hairs in places where before there were no hairs, and veins where before there were no veins, and maybe even find some decent human kindness where there was none prior.
Grab yer suits, everyone; it's time for a Mom-body beach takeover!
Image Source: NBC Television
Imagine a fight between a misogynistic drunk tiger with boundary issues and a Twitter account and a beautiful, somewhat vapid peacock who, like, literally can’t even.
Welcome to the shit show Charlie Sheen calls “Wednesday!” In this week’s episode, Sheen takes on America’s favourite person to hate for no valid or important reason, Mrs. Kanye West, Kim Kardashian herself.
This time around, the battle is fought on the modern equivalent to a bloody battlefield, Twitter. In this particular showdown, shots were fired by Sheen and land decidedly in Kardashian’s favour. Yesterday Sheen posted to his account (in a now deleted message) that Kim was “lucky that ANYONE cares about your gross and giggly [sic] bag of funk you dare call an ass." Okay, so yes, a dick move for sure on Sheen’s behalf and the tweet was quickly deleted and replaced by an apology, the likes of which only Sheen is capable:
Sheen utilized the “TwitLonger” app to create the artistic apology including enjambment. You want to make a statement in apologies, Mr. Sheen? Try Haiku.
The self-deprecating hashtag was a nice touch but honestly, who does one root for in such a fight? Kim’s apparent transgression – the one which set Charlie off enough to attack her appearance and essentially something beyond her control (the size of her ass) was her supposed refusal to sign an autograph for a six year-old fan. I don’t buy it for a minute – the refusal, nor the six year-old fan, because believing means there are parents in the world who are okay with their six year-old children being fans of an adult who doesn't sing the theme song from Frozen or invent those awesome bed-wetter undies that finally make sleepovers a possibility.
This all from a man who's current infamy comes from showcasing his impressive ability to capitalize on a rabid public's need to consume controversial subject matter. So... he's basically a Kardashian but with less shiny hair and more court dates. Hardly a time to stockpile Ye Olde Throwin' Stones.
Sheen asserts he heard the tale of woe from a real life human person - not one from his distant home planet - and goes as far as to name his source. But when you stop think about everything you’re told in a day, upwards of 78% is pure, unadulterated bullshit. I’d argue this rumour is in that category. The Kardashians may be a lot of things, but they don’t come off as assholes to the public, unlike other celebrities like... oh, I dunno, (cough) Charlie Sheen.
Image Source: Instagram
It’s the end of a big-haired, off-the shoulder sparkle dress, gold-gilded McMansion era. The New Jersey royalty dream has died folks, and it all ended at 3am on a cold January morning when Teresa Giudice, former "Real Housewives of New Jersey" cast member turned in her hot rollers in exchange for an orange jumpsuit from the Prison Garb 2015 Spring line. This is the worst kind of reality for Giudice, because unlike a reality show, this is reality reality – the kind of reality that stinks of prison soap instead of ground unicorn horn body wash poured generously under bath taps shaped like Cupid taking a squirt into a fish’s mouth.
The woman who made “flip a table” the new “blow a gasket” will now spend the next 15 months at Federal Correctional Institution, which, despite the Looney Tunes-ish generic-sounding name, is actually a real-life lady prison in Connecticut. It is the same penitentiary which once housed author Piper Kerman and formed the basis of her novel “Orange is the New Black” and subsequent series of the same name.
Giudice began her 15 month sentence this week for a litany of charges all relating to fashion crimes and eyeliner overuse... no wait it’s actually some pretty serious shit like mail, wire, and bankruptcy fraud. Theresa and husband Joe were found guilty last year and in a deal with the court, the couple will serve their prison sentences consecutively in order to provide the least amount of disruption to their four children. Except that won’t really happen because it’s not like Joe can tell the kids their mom is just like, really busy in the bathroom for a year and three months.
Well, shit. Prison sucks, I’m almost sure of it. I lived for some time in a damp and mushroom-filled basement apartment with someone who yelled a lot and didn’t seem to like me too much, so I’ve got stories akin to any good prison tell-all, so I feel I can say this: It’s not going to be pleasant. Spray tans and teasing combs will give way to cavity checks and not the oral kind of cavity ifyaknowhatimean and there will be no camera crew to capture crazy jail shenanigans for our viewing pleasure. Perhaps a “Cook to Crook: Tales from a Prison Scullery” cookbook will be forthcoming.
Leaving your family for any length of time to basically grow roots in prison must be torture, and while a few weeks away – even with “Six Fingers Nancy” as a bunkmate – may seem like heaven to any other mother of four, the Giudice sentencing has garnered little sympathy in internet circles.
I have compassion for people who serve prison sentences for crimes stemming from complicated socio-economic factors or marginalization. But unless buying Corvettes and hiding them from the Feds is the new “putting a case of baby formula under your cart and hoping the clerk doesn’t see it” then Teresa and Joe Giudice should be held accountable for the fraud and theft they plead guilty to committing.
Time away from their parents is going to be difficult and life-altering for the Giudice children, and knowing their father is going away for almost four years as soon as their mother gets out is going to change these kids forever, and not in the good way like living in your grandparent’s basement for three years. The Giudice children are innocent and do not deserve punishment, but they will suffer it nonetheless by the absence of their parents. Regardless of what we think of the Giudice couple and what they’ve done, these kids are going to pay for the crimes of their parents. Were fancy cars and homes large enough to stage Civil War reenactments worth it? I’ll take my tiny bungalow with the shitty roof and our crushing debt any day because it at least affords me the privilege of yelling “WHO THE HELL PUT A GODDAMN WOODEN SPOON IN THE TOILET?” to my children in person.
Image Source: BravoTV