Tara Reid

So, about two years ago, I had this GREAT IDEA. The first season of A Shot At Love With Tila Tequila had just aired its finale, and we were talking about what MTV could do to continue the series (as Tila had obviously found her one true love). And my idea was that, OBVIOUSLY, the next season would be,  A Shot At Love With Tara Reid. And SERIOUSLY. I so stand by that idea. Look at this girl: she is perfect for that show:



I do not know what is going on with this dress, but somehow it has conspired to make her boobs look like they belong to a hippie octogenarian, who has sixty years of bralessness and the inescapable specter of gravity to thank for her droopy lady lumps. Listen, with any luck, all of us ladies will EVENTUALLY find ourselves in a situation where we look down at our heaving bosoms and think, "Dang, those used to ride higher than this." And then we will realize that the price you pay for a long, full life is slightly saggier body parts and we'll pour ourselves another cocktail and go tell the pool boy not to miss that section under the diving board again. But Tara Reid is like 30 years old. SHE IS TOO YOUNG FOR...whatever is happening here. Is girlfriend depressed? I have the prescription for that: CLEARLY she needs to hoist those mamas up and get in front of the TV camera, where a household of men and women (if she so chooses) competes for her love. You KNOW she would do it. You KNOW other people would go on this show. And you KNOW you would watch. Tara Reid would find love/media attention, MTV would have another successful season of a popular show, and we'd all have a marathon of something to watch while we have the flu. EVERYBODY WINS!

Careful with those arms, Tara.


[Photos: WENN]

For one thing, letting your shirt ride up thusly makes it look like you had your navel surgically removed. But also, if you party any harder, that thing could creep up so high that we all see first-hand for ourselves whether you had your boobs re-expanded.

Unless of course you're wearing a bra. Are you?

So, it's Friday. I know you're at your desk, staring at the Internet and pretending to be working, an Excel spreadsheet ready to be pulled up the moment your boss comes waltzing over to see what you're doing. And I know what you're thinking about. You're thinking, "I wonder what Tara Reid is up to. Do you think she's waitressing somewhere yet?"

She might be. But she's also got some free time to go to Fred Segal in an outfit that she apparently had to tear away from a pack of angry wolves!

The good news about Tara Reid is that you can always count on her to elicit the response, "OH TARA REID." For example:



OH TARA REID. At first glance, I thought that aqua number on her head was some kind of misguided formal cap, but I believe it is actually a poorly-positioned headscarf. She looks like a cocktail waitress at Scurvy's Pirate-Themed Bar and Grille who's been excessively dipping into Monday's special (Peg-Leg Punch, composed of rum, Baileys, Yoo-Hoo, and small pieces of plywood).

Wondering what Tara Reid's been up to, other than gracing the pages of our book, in which we might be a leeetle mean about her propensity to be, as Heather once said, "too often Wild and not nearly enough On"? Well, someone invited her to an Oscar party!

And she remembered her spray tan! Is it me, or is this dress way too big? I know La Reid has lost weight -- I've been reading my Star Magazine! -- but the droopy dress + the tan + a sort of aggressive expression + the blonde + a resemblance I never noticed until now = Rachel Zoe. I don't mean that she appears styled by Zoe, I mean that if you squint and shake your head and move ten feet away from the computer, she sort of LOOKS like Rachel Zoe. Though surely Zoe would have accented this with giant sunglasses and a fur stole -- and would kill me if she knew I were comparing her to Tara Reid -- but you know what I mean. My question is: does this mean that Tara Reid is on the road to producing a book about style, perhaps titled From A to Reid, all about the stylistic merits of denim minis, excessive boozing and drunk-dialing Alyson Hannigan at midnight to yell that SHE should be the one in a sitcom? I certainly hope so. I would be first in line to buy it.

[Photo: infdaily.com]

TARA: Roberto!

ROBERTO CAVALLI: Aiiiii, it's you, Blond Person! That party girl! Lindsay!

TARA: No, ha ha, no, you're... no.

ROBERTO: Your denials entice me. Are you the pregnant one?

TARA: Um, I... Nicole Richie? No. It's...

CAVALLI: ARE YOU SURE? We are touching. I must know. Fetuses are so hot right now!

TARA: Yeah, I think so. I mean, yes. I'm not Nicole Richie.

CAVALLI:  I can see it: Fetus hats, RESPLENDENT in my fall 2008 collection. Vests made of diapers. God, it's divine. WHERE is my moisturizer?

TARA: It's Tara Reid, Roberto. I was -- shit, I AM -- an actress. Are you listening? Dammit, I was sure this would work.

CAVALLI: Do not swear at me, stage jockey, or I'll be compelled to wonder if I should take my sunglasses off and shift away from your earlobe.

TARA: Listen, it doesn't matter, I just really love you and I'm happy to be here, and it's amazing that you're allowing yourself to be seen...

CAVALLI: And you're not pregnant? It's just a really bad dress?

TARA: I guess so, yeah, it's...

CAVALLI: Then it is time, Anonymous Blonde.

TARA: Time for what?

CAVALLI: SMOKE IT.

TARA: I'm not sure what you...

I feel like we've asked this question before, but I'm compelled to pose it again: SERIOUSLY, didn't she supposedly get those things fixed?

And if she did get 'em taken care of, why is she not now taking care of them? We appreciate that she is trying to be perky, but the one on the left appears so embarrassed that it's trying to take shelter in her armpit, and the one on the right just looks too depressed to do anything but sulk. It was a fixable issue, too -- a better dress, a little underwire, and we'd have been off to the races. Obviously, the cautionary leaflet her surgeon gave her -- Don't Be A Boob About Your New Boobs, sponsored by Playtex -- is lying in a crumpled heap in her car next to the Us Weekly issue in which she exalted how all that corrective surgery changed her life.

Still, I can at least take comfort in the fact that, with Tara Reid back to being kind of a mess, the world is apparently back to turning properly on its axis.

Correct me if I'm wrong, but didn't we read that she got those things fixed?

Girl, your legs look great, but Righty McBoob over there is making a run for the border, while Lefty Bazongastern is about to dash over to the open bar and get itself a G&T (also, I can see your underwear, but panties are in short supply these days, so you'll get a pass. For now. Like how we forgive burglars when there's a serial killer on the loose).

A closer, more horrifying look at Ms Reid's boobular situation after the jump. It's....not entirely safe for work.

"Hey guys, it's me! Tara Reid!

Do you like the new me? I've just entered my Grey Gardens period. I did the Sweet Ingenue thing, then I did the Drunky Mess, and then I did the boob-flashing -- way before any of these other dumb girls, thank you very much -- then I did the I'm So Sorry About The Drunk Boob Flashing, Hear Me Wail About My Bad Plastic Surgery thing, and now I'm moving into Quirky and Covered Up Headscarf-Lover. Kind of a little bit Mary-Kate, with a dash of Arden Wohl and a hint of Grandma! And sure, unlike Mary Kate, Arden and Nana, it doesn't seem like a look I've entirely come up with all on my own, like I probably didn't wake up one morning and think, "I need more things tied around my head," unless I was dreaming about how I can't keep my hair on. But it's less predictable than those other personas, and at least I'm all covered up and sort of adult looking, finally, right? Right? I think so. Now, I just need to date a sort of brooding, brainy shipping heir to squire me around, and I'll be set! See you inside -- I hear there's an open bar!"

Well, well, well. Looks like somebody's still striving to do right by that recent Us Weekly cover.

Not too bloated, nothing popping out, hanging out, or trying to escape, no mascara dribbling down her face like strained carrots from the mouth of a baby... Yes, okay, I still think she's lying about not getting a facial tweak or three when she went in to drain those godawful sandbags, but on the whole, it looks like her resolution to be less terrifying has indeed taken hold.

Ladies and gentlemen, let's start a slow clap for Ms. Tara Reid, potentially (please forgive my reluctance to go full-bore on the optimism) a guttersnipe no more.