Lindsay Lohan, Meet My Shrink
Word on the street is, Lindsay Lohan and Samantha Ronson are fighting. A lot. And not just bickering. Big fighting. Pushing in public fighting. Breaking glass and screaming at the crack of dawn so the neighbors hear and tell TMZ fighting. And worst of all (in my experience), crying at the airport fighting. It’s easy for the tabloids to make fun of LaLinz, but when I read these stories, I can’t help but feel a twinge of recognition. Who hasn’t ridden the tear-stained roller-coaster of a thrillingly codependent overdramatic relationship? I know I have. I’ve gotten off, cried, thrown up, and then paid to get back on—the cost of course being not money, but dignity. More than once. Recently.
I made out at bars and the bathrooms at weddings. I would come home drunk and then flirty email the guy I would go out with tomorrow. This is not the single I’m talking about.
Which is why I feel compelled to share with her the New Years advice I recently received from my beloved shrink when I crawled into her office for my final session of ’08, suffering from a case of holiday malaise. She listened to me talk about this guy and that one and the one I met when I was home for Passover that time and the other one I still talk to from three years ago. None of them quite right, but none of them totally wrong. Which is when she gave me this assignment:
Clear the decks, she said.
Clear. The. Decks. These words have been rattling around in my head like pinballs, hitting the bells and lighting up the bonus signs. Because they’re good words.
It’s time to clear the decks, Linz. As in, get out of your relationship and forget about trying to keep various replacement relationships boiling on all stove burners. I actually like Ms. Ronson (I think she looks sweet, sort of like the guy who made his own skater ‘zine at my high school), but right now it’s more important for you to learn to be alone than to have a reliable date to the premiere of She’s All Blah or whatever it is you go to. It’s time for you to learn to be single.
When I say single, I don’t mean the single she’s been, which is to say Party Single. Like L-Lo, I spent a few years in this state. I didn’t have a boyfriend, but I didn’t not have one. I made out at bars and the bathrooms at weddings. I would take a break from making out to go outside and text someone else. I would come home drunk and then flirty email the guy I would go out with tomorrow. The kind of single where if you can’t find someone to grope, you think your head is going to actually explode.
This is not the kind of single I’m talking about. I’m referring to an embrace of being really, truly partner-less. I.e. Lame Single. I use this phrase not disparagingly, but lovingly. Because this is the kind of single that’s actually relaxing. It’s the kind of single you arrive at after fighting in airports and screaming at four am has left you too spent to get back on the Party Single Bus (it’s actually more of a flashy hydrofoil than a bus). The kind of single where you start renting the Clark Gable movies you’ve never seen. (And not shame-filled Netflix renting, where you can hide your single-ass self at home till your DVDs come in the mail. I mean proud renting, where you actually walk straight into a real life video store, demand a copy of It Happened One Night, and then carry it home in your hand.)
I’m talking about the kind of single where you go to a café to read a book, order a cup of Chai tea, really like that Chai, get home, research it, and then order six boxes of it off the Internet (I’m in love with Mighty Leaf). I’m talking about the kind of single where you decide to learn to cook and end up google imaging “shallots” because one of your recipes calls for “shallots” and you’re not entirely sure what a “shallot” is. The kind of single where you invite your friends over to eat cheese and play Jenga. You heard me. Jenga. The single where you take the time to get all your posters framed and then have your Dad come over and put them up. Because Dad’s your guy.
When I was in LA, I had about four Lohan sightings. Seeing Lohan was always a bit magical, like seeing a beautiful, slutty unicorn. The first time was at a rock club a few years ago, where she was there to see her friend Samantha Ronson open for Ringside. She was wearing black thigh high boots, a white men’s shirt, and black panties. This is about what she was wearing the other times, minus the panties. But every time, what I really noticed about her, aside from how pretty she was, was her walk. She didn’t just walk from point A to point B. She stomped. She threw one leg in front of the other, hurling herself forward like a one person stampede. She always seemed so…rushed. Like the little journey from one party to another party was more alone time than she could take.
You can always get back together with her, Lindsay. But maybe it’s time to take a little break. Call me up, we can hang. We’ll watch Cartoon Network, maybe make a frittata. Then we can go underwear shopping.
Jessi Klein is a writer and comedian who has frequently appeared on Comedy Central, CNN, VH1, and the Today show. She is currently writing a screenplay for Universal Studios, as well as occasionally drawing animals for her best friend's letterpress card company. She also likes to think she has value as a human being aside from her numerous credits in the entertainment industry.