Yeah.  I’m kidding.  She’s the same chemistry project gone terribly awry that she’s always been.

Amy Winehouse Friday night at the St. Lucia Jazz Festival.

I feel like it’s really important to say “Still Alive!” right away whenever I am writing anything about Amy Winehouse.  I get the same cringing feeling I used to get back in 2007.  Whenever I would read the newest piece on Britney Spears I’d scan for the R.I.P.  And honestly, my initial response when I read that Winehouse was rushed to the hospital was, “autopsy.”

But during a time that she appears to be doing well (this picture is from a couple weeks ago), she fainted at her St. Lucia villa after running around with some kids.  The official cause is being reported as “dehydration.”

I’m totally clean-cut so I’m not down on all the druggie lingo.  Is “running with kids,” something like “chasing the dragon?”

This weekend, everyone’s favorite human ashtray, Amy Winehouse, was granted a court order banning paparazzi from coming within 100 yards of her north London home to take pictures of her. Which is okay with me, because unless crack has a home delivery service, she’s got to leave there sometime.

Upon hearing the court’s decision, Amy was so overcome by methamphetamine fumes joy that she passed right the hell out. Actually, she was in a different country and probably had no idea what was happening in the courts back in England… or anywhere, for that matter.

The trouble-plagued British songbird was hospitalized for dehydration on Friday in St. Lucia, where she’s headlining the annual jazz festival next week.

Her spokesman confirms that Amy spent the night in the hospital after fainting at her Caribbean home. He said that prior to passing out, she was “running around” with children and failed to drink enough water.

Headlining the Jazz Festival?? Oh, that’s right! When she’s not accidentally tipping over pots of half-cooked ready rock and horribly burning herself, she makes music or something sometimes. I had completely forgotten.

Amy was spotted walking on the beach in St. Lucia with an enormous burn scar on her leg. According to some sources, Amy was cooking a pot of pasta when the pot full of boiling water fell on her. Somehow I doubt that’s the entire story, but something tells me Amy got lucky here. It probably could have been a whole lot worse, whatever it was she was doing.

I hadn’t seen a picture of her in awhile, so I figured she’d secretly died on St. Lucia and they’d buried her and we’d all moved on, but NO! She’s back in London, and she’s alive, and she actually looks half-decent!

Amy was checking out the Bat for Lashes show at the Hard Rock in London on Monday night, and photogs snapped her on her way out. Sure, she’s holding some dude’s hand, but she seems to be supporting her own body weight pretty well, and in heels! Her face looks cleaner and more alert, too. Maybe, just maybe, this girl’s gotten some real help and is getting on the right track. Fingers crossed!

I’ll let you choose how you want to wrap up this weekend. You can either read the entire content of this post about Sean Avery and how Vogue just released the title of his upcoming biopic, OR you can skip to the very last paragraph for an Amy Winehouse upskirt. I’ll leave the decision up to you.

If you don’t know who Sean Avery is, you should. You should know him, so you can hate him.

He’s just about the douchiest hockey player ever to play the game. He’s been traded and re-traded, thanks to his habit of alienating all his teammates while making completely unnecessary asshole comments about his ex-girlfriends (which include Elisha Cuthbert & Rachel Hunter), decorating booths at fashion week with sunflowers,  and shopping for women’s handbags on ESPN. He’s also solely responsible for a regulation in the NHL rule book ( alternately known as either the Sean Avery rule or the “Can’t Get Mad, I’m Not Touching” rule) that keeps assholes from acting like playground bullies and standing in front of the goalie, flailing their arms about like a 4 year old fighting with his sister.

Vogue magazine has decided to make a biopic on Avery, who once interned there. They announced the title of of the upcoming movie this weekend: Puck face. I’m thinking they were one letter off on that one.

And for those of you who’re gonna bitch about me ending the weekend by writing about a sports celebrity, here. That’s a nice Amy Winehouse upskirt shot for you. Are you happy now? You could have bettered yourselves by learning something about the people you should hate in professional sports. But instead, you’d rather look at some skankity crack patty’s skunk hole.

Amy Winehouse was in court yesterday to plead guilty to assault.  Gosh, that sentence practically writes itself.  The charges stem from an incident last fall in which Amy allegedly attacked a woman who asked for a photo of Winehouse after a charity ball.

Amy pled not guilty-an absolutely brilliant strategy considering that bystanders took pictures of the melee.

Honestly, I don’t care about this case and I don’t care about Amy Winehouse.  Celebrity gossip bloggers will be writing this story with slightly edited details, until the end of Amy’s life.  Therefore, we have at least another six months of this crap.

What I do care about is that her tits were hanging out of her dress and that Beyonce was kind enough to loan her hips to Amy for the big day in court.  Obviously, she’s planning some sort of insanity defense.  And based on that, I rule in favor of the defendant.