Dear Britney,

Dear Britney,

Hi, you don’t know me, I come from a different place, you might call it “fly over country” but the politically correct term is “Not Hollywood” . Anyways I couldn’t help but notice …hmm how to put this politely…that you have had some serious problems. If I were to be real honest here you have fallen into what professionals call the “Holy #$*% what the @#&* is she thinking” area. It seems like you have some people giving you some bad advice, maybe your mom needs to spend less time at Sky bar with Lindsay Lohan’s mom- just a thought. So anywho, as a resident of the rest of the world (ie; not Hollywood) I thought that I might write you a note and ask: Holy #$*% what the @#&* are you thinking?

Seriously, you have accomplished the impossible, and no I am not talking about clawing your way up the Mouseketeer ladder from nowheresville to international pop stardom- Annette Funicello beat you to that one. No, I am referring to making Kevin Federline a sympathetic figure. Seriously, K-fed is now the rational sane one. This is a grown man who refers to himself as K-fed. Something is seriously topsy turvy when this happens.

See today for a while the top story on the AP newswire … Think of it as the way Ramada Perez is sort of a feeder for People magazine, only about stuff that actually matters…. So as I was saying the top story was: you showed up for a scheduled appointment. That’s right, you made international news for showing up to a meeting you were scheduled for. That’s nature’s way of telling you that things have veered off into Michael Jackson territory. Especially given it was the celebraplotiaton smorgsboard of mysterious celebrity death what with Heath Ledger and all.

It seems like it was just yesterday you were dancing around in a school uniform, telling us that oops, you had done it again. Yeah about that, did you ever read that book Lolita, no? Well ok, maybe the movie, oh yeah it’s old black and white…maybe the new one with Jeremy Irons, no? Well, that s ok I didn’t see that one either. Anyway it’s about an adult man that becomes sexually obsessed with a very young teenage girl , eventually consummating that relationship and pretty much ruining the lives of all parties involved. Yeah about that, the way I figure it Lolita is…you know, you, and Humbert Humbert -that’s the adult- well, that’s sadly America. Sure it started out mildy pervy but in a slightly charming way, but pretty quickly it got into hardcore perversion, like buying-used-underwear-on-EBay territory. Then just like in the book , once you weren’t shiny and new, America loses interest and leaves you to falling apart. OK, you didn’t wind up with a coal miner, but lets face it, with K-Fed… well if not for your money it could be his next career move .

What about that kiss with Madonna? Remember when that was the big controversy- poor Christina Aguilera, she kissed Madonna too, its just that it didn’t surprise anyone. Now she is the good one. We should have noticed when you were telling everyone you were a “Slave 4 U” and cavorting around in rubber. Just a desperate call for help. We would have helped , but your antics created jobs: it kept all the LA paparazzi busy, built TMZ.com and Perez Hilton, after the Great Nicole Richie drought of 2007 there was a danger of drought killing off celeb obsessed culture. Frankly, you couldn’t have given a bigger bump to that industry if you dangled your kids out the window at Neverland .

Now I know they hound you at your every turn, you can’t go to get your beloved coffee without having an army of Nikon ninjas following you. But have you ever thought about not encouraging them, maybe not changing outfits every hour? They follow you because you are bound to do something stupid. Maybe the answer is to spend a night at home. You could have a party at your house; heck, go crazy, no paparazzi. In fact you could go around in a unmarked limo, a technique that worked for years for celebrities . The point is, try not to be an open book. Besides, mystery helps with persona. Just ask Liz Taylor, you’d like her, she made some bad choices too.

Thing is, I get that pop stardom makes you goofy, attention is this really awesome drug that once it permeates every fiber of your being you’re hooked. You need it like a junkie needs smack or Rosie O’Donnell needs Ring Dings. Problem is the audience gets hooked too, and America is hooked on you. Not in a good way, like because of a your music (hey did you know you have a new record out…no?, well don’t worry neither does most of the world) and your film career , well, that was sort of one time thing like the Sonny and Cher Movie- every rock star gets one. You were famous for being a musician, then you were famous for being famous, now you’re famous for being messed up. That didn’t do any good in the career department for Frances Farmer or Claudine Longet.

Sure you spent some time with Dr. Phil, and I saw Dr. Drew talk about you on TV. .Just a thought on that: Stay Away from doctors who use their first name only, its pretentious and friendly- plus it sounds weird like Officer Bob, or Reverend Skippy. Maybe you need to see a doctor who isn’t trying to make a deal for a reality show with Fox. A doctor who is treating you because they want to help, and get paid of course, but no book deal, no appearance on Access Hollywood.

Thing is there is nothing wrong with you that can’t be fixed, but it won’t get fixed dancing on a table at Ghostbar in Vegas. It’s that long dark tea time of the soul, where it s just you and you. Thing is, Brit, you have kids, and its not just about you anymore –its about them too. They need you not to be the glorious disaster that you are, and be their mom. The good news here is you don’t need to be a great mom, no one is expecting you to become one with your inner June Allyson , heck you don’t even need to be a good mom. You just need to be a mom. Think about the kids first and the rest will sort itself out.

Your pal,


PS: Sorry about exploiting you.

PPS: Oh and for God sake keep your panties on; nobody needs to see that.

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