Last August, Rosie O’Donnell got into a really messy, very public battle with her 17-year-old adopted daughter Chelsea O’Donnell. But Rosie and Chelsea recently reunited, and it looks like things aren’t nearly as shitty between them as they were last year.
Rosie’s relationship breakdown with her daughter was like a soap opera with an unlimited story budget. Chelsea went missing with her therapy dog Bear, and was later found by police hiding at the home of a 25-year-old alleged heroin dealer she met on Tinder. Chelsea didn’t go back home. Instead, she moved in with her biological mother and accused Rosie of smoking weed and ignoring her. Rosie accused Chelsea of being off her meds. We didn’t hear anything about Rosie and Chelsea for a very long time. Then on Monday, TMZ says Rosie was seen with Chelsea and her daughter Vivienne on Fran Drescher’s Cancer Schmancer cabaret boat cruise in New York. As you can see from the picture below, Chelsea – the one on the left with Ariel hair – and Rosie sort of appear to be getting along now. No word on if they’re living together again; at the moment they’re just sitting near each other.
I know taking a picture with someone you used to hate doesn’t necessarily mean you don’t hate them anymore. I’m sure we’ve all thrown on a tight awkward smile and muttered “Just take the picture” through clenched teeth before. But the fact that they were on a boat is kind of a big clue that Rosie and Chelsea might be good. Think about it: would you voluntarily choose to be stuck on a floating barf barge listening to Fran Drescher screeching out “Lullaby of Broadway” with a person you really really hate? No, of course not. The boat is one thing, because booze. But Fran? That’s a choice no one makes lightly.
Prince Hot Ginge once allegedly told a gay dude that he’d give him a call if he “changes his mind about women,” and I remember that quote as though I just read it 2 minutes ago, because I did just read it 2 minutes ago. It’s tattooed over my right nipple so I read it while giving myself a quickie whore bath in the sink this morning. So PHG would obviously be my first choice for the first British royal to grace the cover of a gay magazine. THE QUEEN in Dame Edna drag would be my second choice. Prince William would probably be my 5th choice after the fallen Duchess Fergie in a rainbow flag and all of THE QUEEN’s Corgis, but I’ll gladly take it.
If I I had a working time machine, I’d take it back to 1920s Switzerland to try and get with Hermann Rorshach because he was the kind of hot piece who could make you create an inkblot test in your chonies. Once I escaped after Hermann turned me down and tried to commit me, I’d take my time machine to early 90s Southern California to tell my sad gayby self not to worry, because yeah, one of the greatest shows that ever happened, GLOW (Glamorous Ladies of Wrestling), is over for now, but it’ll be back in a different form in 26 years thanks to some shit called Netflix. My gayby self would probably look at his grown self’s skinny fat body and tired face and immediately scream for our mom to get him a gym membership and industrial-strength moisturizer STAT.
Deadline brings us news that may make you children of the 80s squirt out a stream of glitter-infused excitement. Jenji Kohan, creator and executive producer of Orange is the New Black, will executive produce a 1980s-era comedy series based on GLOW for Netflix.
Paula Deen just made a mental note to only get $50 bills from the ATM in the future…
Politico says that United States Treasury Secretary Jack Lew will announce that Andrew Jackson (FYI: AJ was the 7th POTUS and not the unknown 6 member of the Jackson 5) is out as the main face of the $20 bill and Harriet Tubman is in. I’m surprised Sofia Vergara isn’t the new face of the $20 bill since that trick is the face of EVERYTHING. Andrew Jackson isn’t totally off of the $20 bill. There’s a good chance his face will be moved to the back of the bill. Ha.
The Pulitzer Prizes were announced today and if The Daily Mail and The Sun were American publications, they would’ve swept the hell out of every single category including Drama. But luckily for Lin-Manuel Miranda, they’re not, so he easily became a Pulitzer winner today when the musical he wrote Hamilton won the prize in Drama. Even Miss Cleo could’ve predicted this. The chances of Hamilton losing out on the Pulitzer today were about as slim as me being able to get a ticket to Hamilton before the year 2021.
Playbill says that Hamilton is the 10th musical to ever win the Pulitzer. It joins Next To Normal (2010), Rent (1996), Sunday in the Park with George (1985), A Chorus Line (1976), How To Succeed In Business Without Really Trying (1962), Fiorello (1960), South Pacific (1950), Of Thee I Sing (1932) and Showgirls The Musical (2013). Okay, that last one wasn’t ever made official and mostly because the Pulitzer people knew that if they declared it the winner, they’d have to shut down the category forever since nothing would ever top it.
Lin-Manuel has been tweeting about his win, but this tweet made the chipped ice block in my chest feel emotions for a second:
*Gets in time machine, grabs 12 year old me by the face*
IT GETS SO GOOD KID, JUST HANG IN THERE https://t.co/PhTYBC6aV8
— Lin-Manuel Miranda (@Lin_Manuel) April 18, 2016
This post also goes out to my Hamilton-a-loonie friend who has probably already held a funeral for our dead ass friendship. I didn’t know how hardcore obsessed he was with Hamilton until a couple of weeks ago when I said that everyone on my Facebook feed has been slobbering about it for months, and I get it, it’s the best thing to happen to us since Zima. I didn’t even say anything remotely bad, but damn, you’d think that I stole his car and used it to run over all of his loved ones while calling his dog a cunt. Ain’t no love like Hamilton love!
In that picture, the part of me is being played by the cross-eyed dude on the left making a “Can you believe these wrecks?” face.
As most of you know, I am a 12-year-old trapped in the body of a grown skinny fat gay dude. I have the maturity of one (no offense to the maturity of a 12-year-old), the humor of one and like many of them, I am glued to my phone like it’s more important than any of my internal organs (and it is). I hardly misplace my phone, but when I do, I want to call the police and beg them to issue an AMBER ALERT on that bitch. Because if they did, my own phone would scream out that loud AMBER ALERT alarm and I’d be able to find it.
But even though my hands are stuck to my phone like it’s a 9″ peen, I still let it go and put it away when I’m at the movies. But some tricks can’t do that and there’s always at least one rude bitch who has to annoy everyone in their area with a douche signal (aka a beam of light shooting off of a cell phone in a dark movie theater). AMC obviously knows that some inconsiderate messes can’t resist the urge to text during a movie and yesterday, they thought out loud about possibly letting those chronic texters text in some theaters. It went over as well as a wet fart during a salad tossing.