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The Lohan Family: Carvel-ing Out A Niche In Low-Rent History

June 18th, 2010 | 6 comments | Posted by Diana

DINA LOHAN

Guys, I think I just read the most humiliating sublebrity story I’ve ever read. Like, ever.

It involves a certain celebrity mom (ahem, see right) abusing her two cash cows’ daughters’ Carvel Black Cards to the point of a major incident (I’m talking, like, cops).  The tore-up, deluded famewhore mother leaked her version of the story to the tabloids and played the victim–in response, Carvel cleared their name by publicly naming and shaming the whole family in an official press release.

NOT LYING: I AM LITERALLY JITTERING WITH TINGLES OF MORTIFICASIAN FOR EVERYONE INVOLVED.

Read what I wrote again, please. I’m not talking about the AMEX Black Card, I’m talking about a freebie card distributed by CARVEL–the ice cream company–to famous (Ali Lohan is famous? Eh, who am I to judge) folks, to entice those  celebrities to come in person (as stated in the card’s fine print) to Carvel stores for a maximum of $25 free purchases per week, for 75 years. Pretty sweet deal for a bunch of people who’ll likely be in rehab or formerly famous in ten years!

I am so mortified by this press release that I have no choice to post it here for you in full, straight from the Carvel blog. Here goes:

Carvel Responds To Dina Lohan Complaint

Posted on June 17, 2010 by carvelicecream

ATLANTA, GA (June 17, 2010) – As part of Carvel’s 75th Anniversary celebration Continue reading The Lohan Family: Carvel-ing Out A Niche In Low-Rent History

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Maybe It’s Time for a Little Hardass Asian Parenting

October 28th, 2008 | 0 comments | Posted by Diana

It was pretty clear to me as a kid that my batshit-crazy aunt and uncle were so entirely consumed with their unhappy marriage, that they took a very sloppy, broad-handed (machete as opposed to scalpel) approach to Hardass Asian Parenting. With four young kids at once (three little boys and their wide-eyed older sister), it didn’t matter so much that one had good piano fingers, one was good at wind instruments, and two were good at violin–everybody got piano lessons. Everybody got the same math grades using the same math books, or they were grounded. Hell, everybody got the same haircut, and if they cried… well, they didn’t cry. And when it came to teaching life lessons like self-respect and dignity, the execution was simple and equally blunt–keep the boys inside and don’t let the daughter ever leave the house looking like a tramp. Example: (machete) my female cousin was never allowed to leave the house wearing shorts.

Not:

Not:

Not:

So of course, homegirl always left the house in a floor-length skirt and promptly yanked it off behind the neighbor’s bushes so that she could skip to campus with the teeniest, tiniest, barely-shorts-pretty-much-undies attire she could. This eventually evolved into miniskirts and half-shirts, then minidresses and half-buttoned blouses. And so on and so forth. All the while, she hated her parents, and the look on her face always said so–a disastrous outcome, by any standard.

I always thought that if they hadn’t been so heavy-handed about the damn shorts, then my lady cousin’s gams wouldn’t have been so desperate to BREATHE, and she wouldn’t have felt forever obliged into adulthood to incorporate “tiny” into her daily wardrobe. Why didn’t her mom just tell her, “Listen, you’re skinny. You’re pretty. Wear whatever you want. I believe you will make the right choice,” and call it a day? I bet she would have ended up and smart pantsuits and cute, knee-length pencil skirts paired with cardigans by college. And the girl could avoided the years of lying, the hiding, the scowling moments spent wearing her stupid summer pants while grumbling “I hate you. I HATE YOU!” next to her mother. Right?


Hmm. I guess that scowly tramp face happens no matter how you’re parented.

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Sub-ling Rivalry

May 21st, 2008 | 0 comments | Posted by Diana

My three older sisters are an Asian parent’s wet dream. All three went to medical school; two went on to become physicians and one dropped out (black sheep?) to become a lawyer (nope, just a sheep). All three have groomed dogs and house deeds and entertainment systems and cars with navigation systems. All three have board and bar certifications neatly framed in mahogany in their clean offices. They pay their taxes on time. One of my sisters accidentally overpays her credit cards. They’re great. Just great.

And then there’s me. The littlest sibling, the one with the English degree, the one everyone is hoping will stop writing and start studying for the bar already. I am the Lost Baby Sis, which is a post that by now I’ve grown used to and am actually rather proud of.

The Lost Baby Sis in me ached a little today when I saw this clip of Ali Lohan (aka Lohan Jr. aka The Lohan With the Less Wonderful Genes aka Perfect For Reality TV aka 14 Going On 40 aka Never Heard of Her) on David Letterman touting the new reality show she stars in with Mother-of-the-Year Dina:

David Letterman calls Ali “Lindsay,” and you can see in her eyes the panicked realizasian: I will never be Lindsay.

In response I would love to tell her one very important observation:
GIRL, YOU DON’T WANT TO BE.

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