Police in Illinois have kicked off a search for singer Sinead O’Connor. She left for a bike ride in the Chicago suburb of Willmette at six o’clock yesterday morning and hasn’t been seen since. With her history of mental illness and multiple public threats of suicide in the last six months, authorities have issued a check-for-well-being alert in the area.
A few hours after she disappeared, a post cryptic post went up on her heavily loaded Facebook account, addressed to her eldest son Jake with regards to her 12-year-old son Shane, who is currently in the care of TUSLA, a child and family service in Ireland.
Jake, kindly go to the court on Tuesday and take custody your brother from Tusla. My lawyer will be making the illegal way yourself and Donal got him into Tusla (lying to the cops etc) known to the judge. expect to be in trouble. In fact you’d best bring a lawyer of your own. And do not abandon your brother or any other of my babies again. What you have done to your brother and your mother is LITERALLY criminal.
On May 13, Sinead wrote an open letter to Shane on Facebook, imploring him to hire an attorney for whom she would pay the bill who could work on getting him out of the Irish version of CPS. She wrote she can no longer go up against TULSA because “they are hurting me so badly I get unwell again if I go near them” and claimed the agency is bullying her and keeping Shane from being with his mother.
The love affair for the ages between Henry Cavill, 33, and 19-year-old Tara King has reportedly binged on relationship Taco Bell and shit the bed. A source told Page Six that just two months after Henry laid it on thick during an interview and said Tara takes the weight of the world off his nicely developed shoulders, they’ve called it quits.
“Henry and Tara have split — it is official.”
“Henry said the two of them could stay friends and he even invited her to his recent birthday party, which she did go to.”
“But their relationship is over.”
“It has been very difficult for Tara, who has been saying he was the love of her life.”
When I was Tara’s age, I was seeing an older man. You may remember him from such anecdotes as “That Guy with the Small Willy and No Staying Power” and “Don’t Lose Your V-Card To a Jackass At A Place That Rents Rooms with Hot Tubs by the Hour, Kids.” I, too, looked at him at the age of 19 and thought he was the one. So did his girlfriend, ex-fiancee and the other chick in the office whose vaginas he was circuit trainer at the same time as mine. That’s not to say Henry or Tara had someone else in the mix, but the certainty with which they moved forward with commitment and rumored promise rings after six months of dating screams, “The sex is great and clouding 97% of our judgment.”
Happy Monday, slores! I spent the weekend balls-deep in mulch, dirt, worms and lofty dreams of winning the lottery and hiring a troupe of beautiful, muscled handymen to touch said mulch, dirt, worms (and possibly my bathing suit area if I can talk my husband into an open marriage). During one of my frequent this sucks, I hate it breaks, I came across photos of Janelle Monáe at the Nordic State Dinner that too place Friday at the White House.
At some point last week, I mentioned how much I love women in menswear. If my horrible memory serves me for once in my goddamned life, it was on the Caitriona Balfe A.M. Eye Candy post. Janelle takes the feminized tuxedo to new levels. She even managed to color-coordinate without looking like she’s going to prom. Those red accessories. The stripe on the pants. That flawless lipstick. Her style gives me life on the regular, but looking at this outfit is like getting mouth-to-mouth on the beach from a hot lifeguard. Past a certain point, you don’t need the help, but if they’re offering, you won’t say no.
Please join me drooling over her glamour and accessories.
Meghan Trainor wormed her way further into my ventricles last night when she bailed during a performance of “Me Too” on Fallon. Her dumbass comments on feminism aside, I have a soft spot in my heart for Meghan. Sometimes she looks so much like my friend Marla from high school, it catches me off guard. Then I get nostalgic about all of the times we drove around in her baby blue Nissan Sentra blasting ABBA, the parties we threw when her parents weren’t home, and how the formal living room in her parents’ house looked like every bad design choice made in the 70’s barfed all over it. (I can say stuff like that because the house I grew up in had one of the ugliest couches ever made.