Lindsay Lohan

Ladies and gents, welcome back to LILO LEGGINGWATCH2008: YET MORE LEGGINGS. Our intrepid heroine has ventured out several times in the last few days -- didn't she recently say she was going to be spending more time in Long Island with her family? Was that a fib? Or was that just a way to get her mother off her back? Or is she avoiding Dina? Is that good? Or are we reading too much into this, needing our daily dose of soaps now that Passions is kaput? If so, does that mean I am also going to start seeing the floating head of Adrian Zmed everywhere I look? -- treating us to YET MORE DELICIOUS BLACK LEGGINGS. Honestly, people, I am getting to the point where I don't even care that she's wearing leggings. LEG IT UP, I say. I DO care that she's ONLY wearing leggings.

To wit, on January 11th:

[Photo: infdaily.com]

Is it me, or is she working a sort of weird Bret Michaels look here? I'm sure it's just the Tight Pants + Long Weave Under Funky Headgear look, but I am beginning to wonder (hope) if the "album" she's supposedly "working on" "in the studio" "right now" is ACTUALLY full of covers of "Every Rose Has Its Thorn," rendered in different moods -- crabby, hungry, happy, wistful, coke-pants-wearing, bitter, etc.

We get a brief respite from the LEGGINGS on January 13th in the form of this:

You guys, we have a serious situation with Lindsay Lohan here. No, it doesn't have anything to do with substance abuse, bad taste in men, bad taste in movies, or her mother. It's the leggings. I know, I know: I just wrote about the Leggings Issue the other day. But it's only as of today that I have been able to step back and take a long view of the Leggings Situation as a whole, and, friends, what I have seen has chilled me to the very bone. When I said earlier that Lindsay only wears leggings, I was being hyperbolic, kind of like when I say things like, "I would rather vomit all over myself and wear THAT out in public than wear XYZ,"  or "that guy makes me so mad, I want to rip out his heart and use it as a hat," or something. But here's the thing: while I would never really wear vomit as a dress or use vital organs as millinery, LINDSAY SERIOUSLY ONLY DOES WEAR LEGGINGS.

To wit:

Yesterday, at Bristol Farms:

[Photo: Splash News]

Leggings.

The day before that, coming home from Italy:

[Photo: Splash News]

Leggings.

Insert here The Leggings of My Previous Post, which were interspersed (THANK GOD) with a dress on New Year's Eve.

Then, prior to the New Year, we had:

On the morning after poor Britney released what was left of her marbles to the four winds and got carted off for Ye Olde Psych Evaluation, it's somewhat of a relief to realize that Lindsay Lohan's most pressing problem (other than that swig of champers she allegedly took the other night, but sobriety is a process, right?) is her stubborn unwillingness to wear anything other than a pair of goddamn leggings:

[Photo: infdaily.com]

GIRL. It's not 2006. GET YERSELF SOME PANTALOONS.

Although, Obsessive Fixation on Leggings notwithstanding, otherwise you look pretty hot. Don't tell anyone I said so. GOD, WHY CAN'T I QUIT YOU?

(That joke's come back around, right? Whatever, it's Friday.)

No, Lindsay.

BUY PANTS.

And here, ladies and gentleman, we have Miss Lindsay Lohan:

[Photo: Splash News]

From the neck up, she's all Incognito (hat AND sunglasses! I wonder if she left her fake mustache in the car). But her boobs have not signed off on this whole Media Attention Is Overrated and Unwelcome thing. Oh, no, they haven't. And those boobs, they are INCORRIGIBLE. They will NOT be contained.  They pop out of things of their own accord and they are FIGHTING the concept that they -- and, by association, Lindsay -- want to take things easy and be low key now. No, those boobs have been locked up in Utah for MONTHS, and now they're MAKING A BREAK FOR IT.

And they're bringing the leggings with them.

Lindsay, Lindsay, Lindsay, Lindsay, may I be frank?

[Photo: Splash News]

While I definitely got all up in arms about your recent very bad behavior, what with the terrible driving and the drugs and the "That's not my coke because...um...THESE AREN'T MY PANTS, YEAH!" excuses and all the rest of the stupid-ass, knife-wielding drama you got up to this past summer, I must admit that -- as if you were an ex-boyfriend who was really self-involved and destructive and kind of totally CRAZY, but who was also kind of fascinating and intermittently hilarious -- I am totally ready to take you back, in a defiant but also moderately ashamed kind of way.  What can I say? If it were 2006, I would joke that I can't quit you. You are one f'ed up girl, but at least you're never boring. And while under normal circumstances, I would make some snide comment about how I'm SO SURE you're having lunch at the Ivy for the food and not because you totally thrive on the media attention you get there, and then I would gently wonder if maybe low-heeled ankle boots are generally unflattering on most people,  including maybe you, I truly am rather pleased that you're back in fugulation but not yet back in those pantaloons, or wearing a sequined tube top as a belt. Maybe you HAVE made progress.

Do you think the folks at Maxim looked at the proofs from this frankly embarrassing Lindsay Lohan photoshoot and just shrugged and said, "well, everyone knows she's totally strung out. Why pretend otherwise?"

At least, let's hope that's the thought-process behind running this extremely glazed-eyed photo of a girl with very well-publicized substance abuse problems. Because otherwise, it sort of seems like they might as well have subtitled it, "Nothing's Hotter Than a Vulnerable Girl With Daddy Issues Who's Only Marginally Capable of Giving Consent Thanks To Her Massive Drug Problems. She's A Mess, and That's Awesome!" And while I'm not the biggest Maxim fan in the world --   it's like Cosmo for men, and just as silly (I mean, seriously. "Clothes That Seal the Deal"?)  -- I'm pretty sure they're not actually making the argument that the sexiest girls are the ones who can't stand upright and are prone to throwing on other people's coke-lined trousers. I mean, at the very least, she's NEVER going to offer to be the designated driver.

Which do you think Elle is feeling more red-faced about today?

That they're promoting the successful rehabilitation of poor little Lilo -- maybe the pull quote should have read, "I'm glad I went to rehab -- I needed to get away from everyone and I didn't know now. In fact, I think I'll go back!" -- or that they've made her look exactly like Dina "The 'Everyone' Lindsay Needed to Get Away From" Lohan?

There are many signs that you're having a bad week;  you end up shaving your head in a rage, for example, or your hosting service goes down for a couple of hours, along with LiveJournal, thus preventing you from discussing the finer details of Harry Potter with people, or you get word that Madame Tussauds  has undressed your wax figure in order to dress you like a prisoner of the long arm of the law -- before you've even been arraigned!

God, Madame Tussauds, ever heard of innocent before proven guilty? It's not like getting caught for a DUI and possession of cocaine, like, a week after getting out of rehab that was mandated by the last time you got caught driving drunk with cocaine in the car, while wearing an alcohol-monitoring ankle bracelet that you made a great big loud self-congratulatory deal about and chasing a woman in car is THAT BIG A DEAL, right? I mean, COME ON. And adding insult to injury, it's not even a NEW set of jailbird rags -- they're totally Paris Hilton's cast-offs.

LINDSAY: So wait... where am I again?

KARL LAGERFELD: Imagine an astral Woodstock, pet. A DIFFERENT PLANE.

LINDSAY: Uh, dude, I'm getting on ANOTHER plane? I just got off this one.

KARL: No, I mean an EXISTENTIAL plane. Where are you? No: Where AREN'T you? I need to feel your elbows NOW.

LINDSAY: What the hell am I wearing?

KARL: What AREN'T you wearing, you PISTOL of GLORY! A dolphin, that's what!

LINDSAY: Why did I trust you to staple a sequined trash bag around my waist? God, I look so bloated in it.

KARL: Bloat is for sad people. DANCE!

LINDSAY: I can't. There's a bike chain on my head and it's giving me an f'ing headache, dude.

KARL: Then tighten it and climb inside. You're FASHION, darling! BE the bike.

LINDSAY: What I would like to BE is lying down on the astrology plane or whatever you said before, and NOT auditioning for the new Hell's Angels ballet. I think this is turning my forehead green. And the gloves itch.

KARL: It's like I told Michael Jackson: "If you can't love your glove, then GET OUT OF MY SIGHT, and also, only floss with real unicorn hair."

LINDSAY: Mom! MOOOOOM! Oh, wait. She's NEVER awake before midnight. God, I feel so alone.

KARL: Like an owl, she flies only at night...

LINDSAY: Hey, I actually understood that!

KARL: Well, accidents are the blueprints of fashion, luscious. Now SMILE before I staple a beak to your face.