Parenting with an iron...leash.

"Come here, honey. Come on. Look it's your doggie, Mr. Stuff 'n' Gruff. That's a good boy. Come on over..."

LEASHED.

{shakes head} "Sucker."

You know how everyone else knew I was gay? 1:1

At the end of my freshmen year of college, a good 15 months before I sprung out of the closet, I sent this email to my friends and family.

From: lindsaylohanshusband@yahoo.com
To: undisclosed recipients

I thought you would prefer to hear the news from me before it is plastered over all the news tomorrow morning -- Lindsay and I are getting divorced.

I know, it's sad, but sometimes things just don't work out. I guess our love wasn't as pure as we thought, as pure as the coke she was snorting off of Colin Farrell's ass -- we all saw the photos, don't attempt to shield me any longer.

But it was not just her philandering, drug abuse, and unhealthy relationship with food that drove us apart, she just couldn't stand that my own fame is growing too. Ever since I strutted across the Mr. Super Block stage decked out in red, velour, booty shorts (previously designated for her eyes only) the paparazzi have been on me like Paris Hilton on everyone else's boyfriend. I am no longer Lindsay Lohan's husband, and she just can't deal with it.

I will be leaving the country, spending four months traveling around Europe, collecting my thoughts and planning my new, post Lindsay life. I will be sure to send you all emails and photographs documenting my journey (even though I KNOW you won't be able to open up a magazine without seeing my photo -- especially since I will be wearing my infamous red, velour, booty shorts all 123 days simply to spite my former spouse) and you can contact me at my new email address: justinjosephwienkers@yahoo.com. It is with your support that I will make it through this separation, and you can show your support by purchasing (and sporting at least once a week until I return) a LOHAN DOESN'T DESERVE NO MAN LIKE JJ T-shirt on my website http://mouthofjj.blogspot.com .

Lots of love and subpoenas,
Lindsay Lohan's soon to be EX-Husband,
Justin Joseph Wienkers

No wonder, "I'm gay" was met with variations of, "Duh."

Thanks to my friend, also named Lindsay, coincidentally, for scrounging up this gem from the depths of her own email archives.

Tweet, tweet, CRUSH.

We may not all have the telepathic abilities that some of L Ron's most enlightened followers are supposed to posses, but with the explosion of Twitter, we're hearing something even better - celebs are speaking to us. Movie stars! Political pundits! JOY BEHAR! No longer do we have to wait for some journalist or PR guru to deem their words worthy for print, no, now we get to read what they say when they wanna say it.

Yet to read "Dianetics," I'm unaware of the semantics of the aforementioned gift; but there are certain virtual exhibitionists whose tidbits I'd prefer to ignore. "Bleh," I thought as I was flossing my teeth last night. Demi's now saving lives and Ashton's turned his tweetdeck into a soapbox. Shh, just shh it down a little bit, GI-Kelso. Who do you two think you are, Bonogelina?

Tina Fey, NPH, however, now those two's witticisms keep this newly hatched Twat's attention. The ladies of "The View" (minus Elisabeth) {click} Follow(ing). I've upped the numbers of many, but there is one Tweeter who has risen to the top of my cup, taking the lead as my latest virtual crush. Step aside, gay male friends of my Facebook friends whose profiles remain available for public stalking, Joseph Gordon-Levitt (http://twitter.com/hitrecordjoe) has taken the throne.

About 99.999% sure he's not on my team, but since when has that deterred anyone in my smitten-prone community? With this new medium it's practically like we're having a conversation. I can only imagine how this technology would have transformed my unrequited closet-era crushes.

What's that, JG-L?
I'm not boastin, I'm not boastin, I'm not boastin, feel like toastin...
9:39 PM Apr 20th from web
Oh, Joseph! {raucous laughter}
"I just learned a blossom is the one that's gonna be a fruit, a bloom is the one that's gonna be a flower"...
11:45 AM Apr 12th from web
That's, that's beautiful. Poetry...
How about alone for a second?
7:22 PM Apr 16th from web
Me? Us? Really? {nervous giggles. a little coy lip nibbling} We..I..I shouldn't...
...Yeah, it's spring sunday.
7:25 PM Apr 12th from web
BUTIWILL...ah, I mean...sure. Why not? {shrugs shoulders}
Are we RECording?
6:03 PM Mar 16th from mobile web
{GASP} JG-L! {grinning mischievously} in that case...

Now, I know @hitrecordjoe hasn't returned the {click}...And I know his tweets may not be in chronological order...or context...but a parasocialist can dream, can't he?

What an impact.

Frankly my dear, I don't give a damn.

I'm not a real mom, I'm a cool mom.

We'll always have Paris.

Whether from Oscar worthy films or cult classics, certain lines of dialogue stick with us years after we first drink them in off of the silver screen. Some, like Rhett Butler's aforementioned brush off and Rick Blaine's lovelorn farewell, permeate the phrase banks of those who haven't even seen the film . Others, like the explanation from Amy Poehler's modern matriarch in "Mean Girls" are most fun when recited randomly by non-parents.

I'll admit to uttering all of these - not to mention, knowing the majority of Tina Fey's script, verbatim - on occasion; but every once and a while some long forgotten blurb will resurface from the dregs of my brain, slip past my lips, and surprise even me.

Gate - errr - aiiid.

This was one of those times.




Beats me what my roommate and I were discussing, but Bah-bah-bah-Bobby Boucher's trigger fit the bill and sent us into a cascade of giggles.

I may no longer have a clue as to the significance of sine, cosine, and tangent, much less anything else I learned in high school, but eleven years later Adam Sandler sound bytes continue to dance across my hippocampus.

Not quite a retraction, let's go with "amendment."

At the risk of undermining my own (self-proclaimed) authority, I'd like to attach a warning to the first bullet point in my open letter to today's gays. Implement those 'z's with caution. If you're not careful, they'll overtake your vocabularly, devouring your 's's faster than a dieting stoner works his, er, their way through a fresh box of Samoas.

Heed my warning and avoid my fate, or before you know it you'll be abandoning your last morsel of grammatical, not to mention social, dignity and joining Twitter. About that...I may soon be hanging my head and tweeting in shame. Like I said, zave yourzelvez!