Friends and co-workers have been approaching me, asking me what to make of the most infamous head shaving of the new millennium.
At first, I didn't believe it had happened, my jaw didn't drop right away. I received a text on Saturday from a friend who received the news from a friend who was at the Mondrian on Sunset and witnessed a silver-wig-wearing Britney get humiliated in front of the staff of the posh hotel. Apparently, while donning a bathing suit that did nothing to flatter her muffin-top-in-the-making, she wanted to book a room using a credit card number she had scribbled down on a napkin. The front desk wouldn't have any of it, and Miss Spears proceeded to break out in tears. Making matters worse, and prompting her to get even more upset, passers-by started to laugh at her.
Later that night, in between rum and Cokes at Molly's going-away soiree in Hancock Park, I hopscotched my way through conversations regarding the recent shenanigans our gal Brit had gotten herself into. I started to realize the rumor was true. This was genuine news. The girl went buzz crazy (I guess she wanted the drapes to match the carpet).
My jaw had yet to drop.
Then came the MySpace comments with embedded photos of the bald Britster (like the one above...thanks Greg). Holy crap, right? This was no work of a Photoshop professional. I'm sure Perez was just bursting with gossipy glee over the holiday weekend.
Then, of course, came the The View. Joy thought it was an act of self-mutilation (pretty insightful). Barbara worried that young girls would copy her (Really, Barbara? You think Brit still has a hardcore fan base after years of disappointment, divorce, and diapers? It's called retirement - Go on it). And Elisabeth? She guessed it was another desperate attempt to shine the spotlight on her (give that girl a gluten-free cookie!).
I am trying to figure out why it hasn't hit me yet, why I'm not picking up my chin off the floor. It wasn't like I was expecting it. But I, like many others, have been relying on our former American pop tart to deliver tasty tabloid treasures, and right now I've had my fill.
Now tearing a page from the Book of Lohan, she has gone into rehab and is apparently looking forward to it:
At least her teeth are still intact.
Are rehabilitation centers the new celeb spas? What goes on there exactly? A few moments of silence, followed by several poetry sessions and Red Bull cleansers?
I'm losing my hope for that comeback album. I'm losing my hope for any comeback.
It is truly sad, and a part of me does feel for Britney, this poorly educated Louisiana hick in Juicy Couture. However, I'm gradually giving up on her because these cries for help have gone unheard, and no one close to her is offering to pull her out of the quicksand. We are mere spectators now, ticketholders to the Great Spears Disaster of '07.
This has to be her rock bottom. How much further down can she go?
I guess there's always passing out in a hallway of the Beverly Hilton. There's always overdosing outside the Viper Room on Sunset. There's always driving her SLK through a guardrail and off Mullholland Drive.
If you look on the brightside, she'll most likely reinvent the Crash-and-Burn, Down-and-Out Falling Star.
Betting on when the first Bald Britney joke will be cracked at the Oscars,