Happy Halloween, y'all!

Her life, lips, hair, "figure," wardrobe and skin may be a hot mess, but BritBrit's new album Blackout is surprisingly "off the chain" as the kids on the Metro like to say.

And, in my opinion, the hot cut I've linked you to below - "Get naked (I got a plan)" - is its best offering. Granted, I don't really want to envision the Britney of today breathily "unhhh, unhhh yeeeah"-ing and moaning lyrics of more than questionable veracity such as I'm not ashamed of my beauty/you can see what I got and If I got on top, your gonna lose your mind/The way I put it down boy you know should be up.

But all that aside, the beats are wicked fun and Brit's part machine-generated, part baby-talk songstress-ing has never sounded more polished, packaged, and fingers-crossed, platinum.

So tonight, while I'm at home watching my munchkinbot open his Halloween prezzies and you're out getting your sexy ______ or slutty ______ on at a fantabulous costume bash, let's both be sure to listen to track six off the shaky but still reigning Princess of Pop's new album.

"Get naked (I got a plan)":

The ultimate Mom

Mom, I love you dearly and I sincerely thank you for putting up with all my if-you-don't-let-me-see-him-I'll-get-a-B+-on-my-German-quiz threats, for nine straight years of monthly care packages, and of course, for that whole unconditional love and always-being-there-for-me thing. That being said, I have to admit, if I could create the perfect Mom, the Mom who I think really deserves a day all to herself, it would be a hybrid of the tirelessly devoted mothers - and their most defining maternal qualities - featured below:

Kelly Preston's I-love-you-just-the-way-you-are-ness

Dina Lohan's modesty
Melanie Griffith's sound judgment

Courtney Love's temperance

Victoria Beckham's natural beauty

Britney Spears' put-them-first dedication

Ladies, you inspire me.

How does *she* get a $10M book deal?

In between not parenting and prancing around Sunset Boulevard in cowboy hooker-wear, Britney Spears is apparently in the throes of writing a book.

Not sketching with glittered stencils, not sticker booking, not having her manny read to her a Betty & Veronica Double Digest, but actually penning what I assume will be a 200+ page book filled with chapters, a table of contents and a glossary to help guide readers through terms like hickabilliest, luuved'imlots, and mmmyeah-like.

I realize this is a tell-all, not a critical deconstruction of Umberto Eco's Name of the Rose, but still, knowing that a woman - a mother - who walks around in broad daylight looking half like Michael Jackson from the "Billie Jean" video and half like Brandee from MSNBC's "Hollywood Vice" documentary, can land a multimillion dollar book deal strikes this hard-working writer and analyst as just plumb nawwfair.

An unnamed "close source" to the Spears clan (i.e. Us Weekly intern) claims a large portion of the book will be a scathing assessment of the chanteuse's relationship with egomaniacal ex-boyfriend Justin Timberlake who apparently, "called her fat and told her she'd need to lose weight before he would have sex with her."

Given where her body is now, Brit should spit out that wad of Big League Chew, get on her knees, press together her acrylics and pray her next temporary man-skank only requests she shed a few pounds before doing the 2-5 minute, foreplay-free deed. Five years, two babies and two wonky thighs after Justin dumped her cheating ass, I wouldn't deign to judge any man who instructed her to undergo a series of aggressive microdermabrasions, implemented a strict "no talking" rule, and disallowed all artificial cheese snack chips/rinds/curls in the bedroom.

Can't wait for the pre-order!

You be the judge.

Might be photoshopped, might not be.

But seeing as though I made a commitment to myself back in 1998 to believe everything I read in every celebrity news outlet, be it an online source, written publication or TV news-magazine, I have no choice but to accept the fact that Britney has the most butterscotch-pudding-looking upper thighs of any 25 year old with a BMI not of the Carnie-Wilson-during-the-Wilson-Phillips-years sort.

It's sad, but there are worse things than having gross legs. Just ask Cameron Diaz.

Flummoxed

All morning I've been trying to figure out just how this fiercely toned stomach and these wonky thighs can be attached to the same 25 year old woman.

I thought and thought and thought about it until I got such a brain headache I decided it'd be easier to first negotiate a Treaty of Friendship between China and Japan, craft a strategy to quell the insurgency in Al Anbar province and finally, convince all American children to want Marmite-and-butter sandwiches instead of Lunchables.

Phew, after all that, I think I'm ready to take a second look.

(taking a second look)

Nope, still flummoxed. And on my way to the Post Office to mail this hot mess some pants.

The *perfect* video

Amy Winehouse's newly-released video, "Back to Black," has officially dethroned long-time tri-champions "Just a friend" (Biz Markie), "These dreams" (Heart) and "Not a girl, not yet a woman" (Britney Spears) as the *perfect* video.

I know what you're thinking, how can anything beat Britney in her toned-belly prime standing barefoot on a cliff purring about life "not always going [her] way"? And while I might have agreed with you until last Friday, once I saw the saucy vision that is Ms. Winehouse belt out my can't-take-it-off-repeat song-of-the-week in full film-noir-like glory, I had no choice but to declare a new 'perfect video' victor.

"Back to Black" has everything: closeups of Amy's gothy-sexy eye makeup, lingering footage of her lovely legs in a fitted pencil skirt and patent peeptoe slingbacks, frequent aerial views of her perky tattoo-hugged cleavage, and good long looks at her not-for-me-but-she-makes-it-work beauty-mark-piercing.

And my goodness, those lips.

But beyond all the eye and ear candy, there's also a really great concept at work.

Any girl who's had her heart broken has indulged in a solo pity party - sometimes for days, sometimes for forever - but what about a sent-out-invites, full-on pity funeral with a somber procession, a wake and headstone all for you, you YOU?

Leave it to me, I suppose, to anoint a new level of selfishness "a really great concept."

For hyperbole and Amy at their best, take in the video for "Back to Black":

Gun show chic

Twice a year the Dulles expo opens its doors to hundreds of vendors and thousands of patrons who love nothing more than gettin' their guns-n-ammo on at the Nation's Gun Show in pure, unadulterated red state style.

And tomorrow, I will join their ranks. Again.

Assuming I don't get a cross-bow in the thigh or .22 in the ass for throwing one too many "you're not really wearing that, are you?" stares, expect a full fashion rundown tomorrow afternoon.

I'm still undecided whether to go with...

outfit #1: orange Britney "Dream Within a Dream Tour" tee, denim cutoffs (with exposed pockets a-la Miss Spears) and a pair of cowgirl boots straight from Tener's, my childhood home away from home

OR

outfit #2: purple Britney "Onyx Hotel Tour" muscle tee (self-cut sleeves), Army Special Forces tapered sweatpants and laceless high-tops

Whichever I go with, to be true to the trailer hick I like to pretend I was growing up in the OK - like the OC but poorer, fatter and more polite - I'll be sure to paint my face with frosted pastels, pin my hair back with a couple of plastic Hello Kitty barrettes and ignore entirely the concept of verb conjugation.

Yee-haw, y'all!

An unsettling feeling

It's an unsettling feeling, one that even casts doubt upon my own unwaveringly sound judgment, when I look at a picture of Britney Spears, another of Jessica Biel, point to the former and say, "I'd rather have her legs."

But strangely enough, that was the swift conclusion I reached while looking at the following photos, both taken yesterday.

Look closely and you'll see BitBit's got lovely, shapely runner's calves, while Biel-tastic is unequivocally the comptroller of Cankleville.

It breaks my heart, it really does, to know that a woman whose most strenuous exercise involves hooking up with some Guido after an all-night Vegas bender out-legs the hottest, most dedicated gym-rat in Los Angeles, but like that Ethiopian girl Angelina didn't choose at the orphanage knows painfully well, life isn't always fair.

I guess we all know now why Jess overcompensates with an up-to-her-ears badunk-a-dunk and wears an inordinate number of floor-sweeping column gowns. Girl's ripped and smart.