Look, it’s Pink and Carey Hart and their positively adorable new baby (sort of pictured, but not, really) getting some caffeinated treats at a local coffee place.

Pink is looking fabulous – and normal, if you’ve ever seen anyone aside from Gisele Bundchen pregnant – post-pregnancy, and it’s apparent that she’s breastfeeding, ’cause THOSE SUCKERS ARE HUGE.

Congratulations to the new family – I can’t wait to see pictures of this little doll!

And not a moment too soon, dang. Have you seen recent photos of girlfriend? It looked like she was seriously about to bust at the seams. Or, because she’s living, and not a manufactured doll, pop at the bellybutton. That sucker was starting to look like a cabin repress valve.

Pink gave birth to her daughter (not a son, snap), Willow Sage Hart (which is ACTUALLY a really cute name if you think about it long enough), yesterday in Los Angeles. She and husband, Carey Hart, announced the birth via Twitter, naturally:

“We are ecstatic to welcome our new beautiful healthy happy baby girl, Willow Sage Hart. She’s gorgeous, just like her daddy [Carey Hart]. #beyondblessed”

Congrats to the new family! My advice to Pink? If you’re going to raise your girl in Hollywood, just KEEP HER AWAY FROM DISNEY. We all know how that BS pans out.

OK, I came across these photos this afternoon and I was confused as fuck. Pink, who’s apparently pregnant, was at this movie premiere of something last night looking like … alright, well, looking like either Judy Dench or Mrs. Roper. And it’s positively KILLING me that I can’t put my finger on just which one it is. I mean, I’ve always had this wicked indecisive streak in me, but facing up against something THIS GREAT, something THIS HEINOUSLY FABULOUS (or is it fabulously heinous, there’s another fucking dilemma for the pot), I’m at a loss for words.

What’ll it be?

In light of this morning’s news that Christina Aguilera was arrested for being too drunk to function, singer Pink took to her Twitter account and typed out the following message: “Out of Myself, Britney, and Christina- didn’t everyone think I was gonna be the troublemaker? LOOK MA!!! No CUFFS!!!”

Pink has a decent point: People have been giving her shit since day one. Granted, “troubled and erratic” has always been the image she’s gone for, but she’s definitely not sitting in a jail cell this morning and I doubt she’s going to get that kid she’s pregnant with taken away. Hmm.

On the other hand, Pink was slightly older than Christina and Britney by the time she’d made it big and already had a full past of rabble-rousing before she even landed on our radar. Maybe her story wouldn’t be much different if she’d been thrust into the spotlight as early as Brit and X-Tina were.

I guess one thing we can take from this is that things are rarely as they seem in Hollywood.

Anyway, let’s discuss this. Why do you think it is someone like Pink, whose public image is similar to that of a rabid animal, has been able to stay out of jail while our former pop princesses keep finding themselves in such unfortunate circumstances?

For the past few weeks, I’ve noticed an alarming new trend in Hollywood – hats.  I know some of you may say that it’s wintertime, and people need to keep their head parts warm, and I agree.  However, I would tack on the end of that agreement that ageless adage of “if you don’t stand for something, you’ll fall for anything.”  And I’m taking a stand for the outlawing of stupid ass hats that make you look like you scalped an animal.

Peruse the gallery to check out photos of spiritual gangsta Goldie Hawn morphing into a troll doll, Vanessa Hudgens proudly displaying whatever her latest kill was, Pink mocking the plight of the pandas, and Christina Aguilera in a pair of nearly acceptable but misguided earmuffs.

Let’s take a stand, you guys.  Unless you think it’s cute.  Then whatever, you’re part of the problem.

So, before I even get into it, I have a story for you. My friend and I were headed to this drinking establishment in my hometown of Scranton, Pennsylvania (yes, home of The Office) and we were prepared to hit it hard with some friends that evening because we were celebrating an unceremonious breakup that was long, long overdue.

We got there early, took our place at the bar and asked for martinis. Almost immediately, we were approached by this odd-looking, burly man in his late thirties with weird, bleached, spiked hair a la Dexter Holland and a big nose, and a twisted scar on his cheek.  He stood there patiently, as if waiting for his turn, and as the bartender poured our drinks, the man practically screamed (in our faces), ‘Fifteen shots of Jameson … she don’t even know her name again. She’s got a boyfriend … and he’s always … cryin’ …’

The guy – apparently wasted – followed us around all evening (even after the rest of our friends arrived), chanting his ode to Jameson.  There was a lot more to his poem, but I can’t remember it and it’s way too early to text my friend to ask her about the other parts.

So, anyway, yeah. Pink wants to name her kid ‘Jameson,’ and I’m promptly and properly brought back to that night when my friend and I were practically (OK, literally) cornered by this odd, overbearing drunk man who thought that he was a poet laureate.

Good times, Pink.