Island Packet and Beaufort Gazette Blogs

[img_assist|nid=23721|title=Waccamaw|desc=|link=node|align=center|width=450|height=330]

A couple of stories of unbelievable worth (click on the headlines to read them):

Nicole Richie spends mere minutes thinking about what she did and Lindsay Lohan gets the message: It's OK to have coke in your pocket

Forgive me for my bluntness, but you aren't famous. I know it's stupid of me to remind you of this (especially since you probably just looked around the room you're in and said "Yeah, clearly.") but some of us really need to make an effort to accept that we're the ones who wait in lines and have to pay for things. Celebrities, however, haven't even begun experiencing all the fruit from their tree of privilege. All day long, they get compliments, validation, huge paychecks, free clothes, free food, free alcohol, invites to parties, better seats at restaurants, concert tickets, influential friendships, unbelievably good-looking people to make out with and, at the end of the day, when they're driving home relaxed and cozy from all that special treatment they got and they're high on the free drugs their fancy dealer gave them, they can travel with the comfort of knowing that a slap on the wrist and a few minutes in jail are all they risk. Imagine that life!

Ready to roll your eyes? There's a very small, but nagging part of me that actually wants to read O.J. Simpson's nonconfessional confessional, "If I Did It." But this should come as no surprise to anyone because O.J. Simpson is an abuser and I -- as part of the American public at large -- am just another one of his victims ... sadly, these relationships are never easy to get out of.

Topping the reasons why I shouldn't even entertain the thought of reading this book: I barely know anything about O.J. Simpson. When the whole Bronco chase was happening (which was amazing TV, by the way), I was like "Not Detective Nordberg! ... Wait, he played football too?" ... and, quite honestly, I always thought it was called the Hymen Trophy until one day, rather recently, when it finally dawned on me, "That can't be right." I mean, I figured it was named after a person but there are people with the last names Crapster and Butts ... so it's a little hard to question things when unfortunate last names are an American reality.

You know how some guys can't get certain bathing suits off their minds (particularly those that are bright orange and have some bounce to them)? Well, this is a bathing suit that I can't seem to get off my mind. Yes. These are bathing suits. I know you probably thought they were prototypes for some futuristic space cult uniform where all the women go by the name "Fem," and the color of your waterproof dress thing determines which level on the space social ladder you're on - actually, let's make no assumptions about this ... I call dibs on the culottes.