Puppies Make the World Go 'Round: Some Thoughts on Lindsay Lohan

I've been doing some thinking. Some thinking about Lindsay Lohan. I'm not sure why, but I can't stop myself from loving her. Not in that creepy "hang outside her window until she falls asleep then make gloves from her shaven pubis" sort of way. More in a "I bet we could have a lot of giggly girly fun in a totally non-sexual way" sort of way. You feel me? I like Lindsay interviews. I like her giggle and her embarrassed smile and I covet her hair. I think we should have a slumber party. We could braid one another's hair while watching Heathers and Girls Just Want to Have Fun until all hours of the night. She'll let me drive Herbie for a late night ice cream run...it'll be awesome. This is what I think of when I think of Lindsay Lohan. I think of how sick I am of writing about her day in and day out, and how she ought to cut me a break once in awhile. I think of how I can help her. And on that end of things, I do believe that I have a solution. I think that Lindsay needs a puppy in her life. And I think maybe she should borrow mine.

Whenever I've had a bad day, I know it won't last more then ten seconds after I've walked through the front door. Once I walk through the front door, nothing else matters because all the love and adoration in the world is just waiting to burst out and cover me in hugs and kisses. Sure, my son and my fella are good for about five seconds of that each, but that's nothing compared to the unrelenting worship provided by my puppy. My puppy climbs upon my body just as it has fallen to the ground and starts licking my face with his scratchy puppy tongue. "Welcome home!" these inter-species french kisses scream in the international language of puppy love. "I missed you! Where were you?! I chased the cat for four hours and then I ate an entire roll of toilet paper!" These are the things my puppy is trying to tell me as he licks my stale makeup away and wags his tail in time to his racing little puppy heart. He calms after a few minutes and assumes the cuddle position: body stretched out along mine, head on my shoulder, intermittent puppy kisses laid upon my cheek as we lay there and I rub his fat little belly. My cat comes to lay at my other side, and the next twenty minutes consists of ne'er but furry cuddling heaven. And I lay there and think: If Lindsay Lohan had a puppy in her life, she wouldn't need drugs. Nancy Reagan was way off. Just say no? Hugs not drugs? PUPPIES, not drugs. That's the ticket.

Lindsay Lohan, I hear rumor that you've snuck your Blackberry into Promises. Shoot me a text and let me know when you'd like me to drop the puppy off. Promises is $48,000? I'll loan you the puppy for half of that. One quarter of that if you promise that we can paint each other's toenails at our post-puppyrehab sleepover extravaganza. Call me.