Yesterday, I spent my day at work researching M&A data.

Yesterday, my roommate Brian spent his day at work at Lindsay Lohan’s childhood home.

Two things we need to get straight:

1) My roommate Brian works for a television celebrity news show. While it’s not an ideal job and it’s hard work, it’s still a pretty sweet gig. While he’s interviewed and met tons of famous people, I can tell you what deal activity looks like in Europe on any given day. Advantage: Brian.

2) I love, love, love Lindsay Lohan (this will be the subject of the post). I don’t mean this in the “I really want to fuck her” way, though I do, and would easily kill and maim any of my friends or loved ones to make this happen. I mean it in the “I want to spend the rest of my life with her until I day at the age of 29 from a cocaine-and-pastry-induced heart attack” way, despite the fact that I’ve never seen anything she’s ever done, and have actually never even heard her speak (I don’t think).

So Brian spent his day in a van roaming around Long Island looking for Lindsay Lohan’s mom. He described it perfectly: “Imagine me, in a sketchy van with a giant black man, driving around suburban Long Island, looking for this woman. Stopping in local places and bar and asking questions. Roaming around on private property. When I finally found the place, it was next to a school. So here I am, with my buddy who, like I said, is a giant black man, with me, creeping around this woman’s house which is next to an elementary school. It was awesome.”

Brian finally met and spoke to Mrs. Lohan, and even met Lindsay’s younger siblings.

Why? Because Lindsay’s parents are absolutely crazy. If you think your parents are crazy, or you’ve been through a tough divorce, check out this snippet from the NY Post’s Page Six section:

Last week, he [Michael Lohan, Lindsay's father] admitted to taking too much “medication” after passing out at Scores. Now his estranged wife Dina, Lindsay’s mother, has taken out an order of protection against him, family friends said.

“Michael has been calling up friends and telling them that Dina tried to run him over,” said one family confidant. “He claims she missed him but hit a wall and that her younger children [Aliana, Michael and Dakota] were inside the car and that she was drinking. He says she is being investigated for child endangerment, DUI, whatever”…

[Michael] Lohan’s behavior has become increasingly odd in recent months. In May, he was arrested for assaulting his brother in-law, Matt Sullivan. Although his daughter’s security team tries to keep him away from the family, he allegedly tried to kick in Dina’s door in August…

A pal says: “Lindsay is very upset. Michael has told her he will kill her mother and he has threatened her [Lindsay's] assistant and friends”…

(The full article can be read here).

Saying that your wife has tried to run you over while drunk and telling your daughter that you’ll kill her daughter – now that is some crazy shit my friends.

And I can’t express how much hotter this makes Lindsay Lohan. Let me explain.

Crazy parents have crazy children, a genetic “trait” that is especially salient in the female sex. And how is this craziness most often expressed? By dressing as a slutty nurse on Halloween and blowing three dudes at once, or getting filmed having sex in the back of a van for $58 and half a grilled cheese sandwich.

And Lindsay Lohan just has that look. It’s hard to explain or pinpoint, but it’s there. She’s got the sex appeal: the weird orange glow from the fake tan, way too much make-up, the giant “where the hell did these come from?” boobs, and the look. It’s the look. And the boobs. Probably moreso the boobs.

Can you imagine Hillary Duff or one of the Olsen Twins having three Amstel Lights and saying, “You know what? I’ve been thinking: let’s give ass-play a try.” I can’t, but I can imagine Lindsay saying so, because it’s my fantasy, so fuck you.

Where am I going with this? No idea. The point: Lindsay, if you’re reading this, I understand what you’re going through. I know it can be tough when your mom’s trying to run over your dad, and your dad says he’s going to kill your mom. I have threatened to kill numerous women, so I know it can be frightening. I’m happy to report that in most cases I haven’t followed through with this, but that’s not the point here.

The point is that I can take you away from all this pain. You can come and stay with me for a while, and I can guard you from these people, unless they have dogs, because I am terrified of dogs.

You don’t have to answer now. Just think about it, and know that I am here, waiting for you, with no pants on, eating a taco supreme (with chicken AND beef). Also, I just ordered a milkshake, and that should be here any minute. If you want, I’ll save you some, but you should really let me know now, because if that’s the case then I’m also going to bake some cookies.

Baseball playoffs start, well, now, so here are my quick-and-dirty predictions:

AL Wild-Card Round
Anaheim over Boston
Minnesota over New York

NL Wild-Card Round
St. Louis over Los Angeles
Houston over Atlanta

NL Championship
Houston over St. Louis
Minnesota over Anaheim

World Series
Minnesota over Houston in 6

Why?

- The Yankees have more issues than they know what to do with. Is anyone afraid of Moose, Lieber, Brown, Hernandez or Vazquez? “Not I” said the cat.
- Things are going too well for Boston right now, except the fact that Pedro Martinez is apparently purposely trying to hurt his legacy. It just can’t happen for them. It just can’t.
- Anaheim is dangerous, but Bartolo Colon is going to have a heart attack. He is just too fat.
- Minnesota – love ‘em. Johan Santana is freaking amazing, and I love the small ball. They just feel right, and I know to go with your heart sometimes, even if it doesn’t really work and hurts most of the day.

- Atlanta? As Ali G would say, they are boring. Bobby Cox, you did a tremendous job this year (as usual), but you got nothing in the postseason.
- LA? C’mon. We’re joking here, right? Yeah, Beltre, but that’s about it (also, in The Year of the 3B, I’m glad I took Troy Glaus in two of my fantasy leagues). At least they have Milton Bradley, who is really making a name for himself in the “I’m seriously a crazy mother fucker and I will fucking stab you” department.
- St. Louis is a juggernaut, but they don’t have it. Trust me on this, even though I have no idea what I’m talking about.
- Houston just feels right. Something about them, I just feel it in my groin, you know?

However, I will be routing for Boston, since I have a lot of vacation days left to burn before the year ends, and I can think of no better way to use them then by spending my time in Boston looting and pillaging. Also, I might even be able to get laid if the Sox win and the city slips into a Bacchanalian euphoria the likes of which no city has seen since the end of WWII.

So, um, Go Sox!

[Also, on a personal note, I'm pleased to report that I won two of my three fantasy leagues. Ladies, please try to calm down and keep your panties on, but I agree that it is a tremendous achievement and only confirms what I already know: I really need to get a fucking hobby that I can at least talk to a woman about. I mean, fuck.]