Another Open Letter to What Used to Be Demi Moore

Demi,

Okay, so you didn’t listen to my last letter.  2012 has been sort of all over the place for you.  But it’s time to get your shit together.  Christmas is over and the dust is clearing around your new reality: divorce papers.  Obviously, it’s a blessing, but it will come with plenty of increased attention. No one has work for the next six days.  Don’t allow them to blend together in some endless drunken orgy.  As a rehab veteran, I know that during holidays with lots of time off, backslides are common.  Prepare accordingly.

Excessive partying is either symptomatic of overall trashiness, a huge mistake, or a cry for help. Barring extenuating circumstances (I acknowledge you’re in a really weird place right now), don’t let any of these three happen to you.  Do you want to show up to your New Year’s Eve party looking like Kyle Richards?

Sacrifices must be made.  Move as little as possible over the next four days.  Have your therapist make house calls.  Hire Channing Tatum to carry you from room to room. Visit your house in the Hamptons.  Have sex.  Call Rob Lowe.  Actually, don’t.  Too sad.

Good luck.

LOVE YOU. MEAN IT.
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