Britney's Boo-Boos Go Bye-Bye.
Okay, you knew I couldn't stay away from this subject for long. So, once again, we tune into the "Britney Spears Sideshow", a show tanking fast and that has no laughs.
 Oh wait, I guess it does.
Here we see Brit, smiling and laughing just hours after turning over her children to Dad-Fed, plus having endured a busy day of tanning, shopping, and wandering around the DMV. Yes, viewing audience, she is wearing a smile...and not one of those fakey, I-gotta-look-smiley-for-the-paps smiles, either. She's just not that good of an actress.
Friends and neighbors, she looks happy. Plain happy.
That, or she is stoned out of her gourd.
Actually, I am voting for a little of both. There has been more than one media outlet report that, after being dropped off at the Peninsula Hotel (I swear, on accident I have typed "Penisula Hotel" more than once, but that does sound right up Brit's alley, wink wink nudge nudge), her bodyguard was dispatched to obtain some drugs for her.
Who knows...maybe she is relieved. Birth is the easy part, it is all the years afterward that keeps Loving Care in business. And having two children under the age of three is brutal. Britney wanting custody of those boys in the shape she is currently in is a completely selfish act, motivated purely by her needs and not those of her children. If she had any mothering instincts in her at all, she would let K-Fed keep them while she got her life back together.
I think Brit found out something that all parents learn, once the novelty of a newborn wears off...children get in the way. They want to be fed several times every single day, and if you skip a day they tend to get quite vocal. They pee and poo all over the nice carpet unless you put a diaper on them, and then their little tushes get icky. They don't know not to play with the red nail polish on the beige couch, or not to throw the dog, or that knives are not pacifiers, or that the pool is not a big mirror that they can walk on. You have to install things like childproof door locks and safety outlets and baby gates. They don't go to sleep when you want them to and they wake up when you don't want them to. They take your drugs and throw them in the pretty blue water in the bathroom. They think your cigarettes are Pixie Stix. They interrupt you during sex and you have to explain why "Uncle" can't find his clothes. They never stay where you put them and you come home from the club only to find them under the sink with the cleaners. On and on. No wonder Brit couldn't handle it.
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