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Dear Lypsinka,

My name is Teresa and I live in a beautiful
semi-detached duplex in Long Island City. You know, the nice part. My problem isn't really MY problem. I just don't understand why people can't stay in front of their own houses. I have a gorgeous lawn, it almost looks like astroturf it's so friggin' green. But my lawn, my driveway and my Lincoln Continental parked out front are almost ruined because of a bunch of kids from four doors down.

First of all, I don't know were these people come from but I'm sure they don't go to the same church as me. Which is St. Immaculata of the Five Sacred Wounds, thank you very much. Then, they have about a hundred kids whose names all sound the same. They know plenty
of English words with 4 letters in them, but "bath" and "soap" they never heard of.

Anyway, this pack decides that the street in front of my house is the best place to hold their little
get-togethers every night. They step all over my
sidewalk, they talk in some godforsaken language and the other night I saw one of them looking at my precious lawn with a gleam in his eye that screamed "this is as good a place as any to take a leak!!"

I says to the ringleader "why don't you kids go play where you's belong??" But they just look at me like I got three heads, mumble some words I don't know to each other and move one house over. Yes, O-N-E.

Lypsinka, I'm at the end of my rope. What can I do about these hoodlums who are obviously up to no damn good with their mischief and their mayhem?

God bless,
Tortured Teresa

Dearest Terri,

I do sympathize entirely with your situation. Lurkers leaning on your Lincoln - Ludicrous, say I! A worldly woman such as yourself should surely not have to put up with these unwanted interlopers. But, my dear, your problem does seem minor compared to my dear
friend Hope Lange.

First, back in the sinful 60s, she had a devil of a
time unloading a pesky poltergeist who claimed to be a sea captain but did nothing except meddle in her affairs, especially her "special friendship" with one Charles Nelson Reilly. An eligible bachelor of distinction and class if there ever was one!

As if that weren't enough to drive a woman to drink, imagine the horror she must have experienced the night she was dragged away from what I'm sure was a delicious cup of cocoa to find Ingrid Bergman's talented, yet curiously disoriented daughter Isabella cavorting around on her lawn in the altogether!! You think you've got problems keeping YOURS green.

Might Lypsinka recommend closing out the world with a stunning set of drapes...something in a breathtaking Blue Velvet mayhaps? It's either that or post a "Beware of dead horny sailors and bruised naked actresses" sign. That ought to keep your grass green and your driveway free of vagrants!

Ta-ta precious,
Lypsinka

Diane Baker, John Epperson and Hope Lange at a screening of "The Best of
Everything" in NYC



Whether you drive a Lincoln Continental like Terri or a Monster Truck like Hope Lange, if you bring that baby out onto the streets, you're sure to come home with a windshield layered with formerly living members of the insect community. While Lypsinka mourns the loss of any living creature, this particular mess can make me spitting mad! What to do? Rip that box of Baking Soda out of your fridge, swat some on a damp
cloth and wipe those little buggers off your contoured glass in a jiffy! And don't forget to put a fresh box in the fridge every three months, you never know who'll be stopping by...

Roddy McDowall, John Epperson, Hope Lange and Mart Crowley at The Bel-Air
Hotel


more advice more Lyp-smackers!