Dog Dementia

September 8th, 2014

pico on high alert2

My dog is senile. He is sixteen years old, even though we refused to admit he was getting on.

Living in denial was easy until he lost his mind.

Poor Pico! He is completely nuts. He doesn’t know what he’s doing or where he’s going or what to do when he needs to move backwards or turn around.

He howls for hours. He pants and whines. He often needs help to stand up because his rear legs are so wobbly. He has arthritis and I don’t know what else. The vet advised us that any kind of surgery was out of the question. I like her for not trying to squeeze money out of us.

She’s a wonderful vet even though she’s unsure about penises. My BFF remarked that Pico’s penis is probably the first one she’s seen in years. I think that’s to her credit. She didn’t mind at all when Pico shat on her floor.

I don’t know whether ‘shat’ is a word but I’m using it anyway. My dog has been shitting in the house for more than a week. This ties into my recurring dream that everything is Shit.

This morning, Pico backed himself under a couch and started howling. The more I tried to pull him free, the more he reversed, moving more of his body under the couch and getting stuck. I tried to lift up the couch like mothers can do when their child is underneath a car, but this supermom thing doesn’t seem to work with dogs.

I ran outside and got the drug dealer from the house next to the house next door. He lifted the couch and took a phone call from someone named ‘Josh.’ “I’ll call you in a few minutes, babe” he told Josh.

I am really at a loss here.

Pico still likes his food, even though he forgets where the bowl is. Otherwise, his life seems pretty awful, with all the confusion and anxiety. I personally will not be the one to pull the plug because I’m already permanently traumatized.

Advice, dog owners?

2014 VMA Awards Exegesis

August 25th, 2014

DM_MTV_Video_Music_Awards_Pt_1 37.jpg

God, what an ordeal. I’m going directly to Beyonce to say: Why did everyone love this performance???

I really think I have never seen such an obnoxious display of self-importance in my whole life. “Welcome to my World?” Who gives a shit about her world! Why can’t she sing a song with a melody? It’s all like a long intro that never turns into an actual song. Since when does spreading your legs in a leotard and shaking your hair around signify feminism? Is everybody crazy? Beyonce is now like a parody of a self-important diva. She fucking LOVES herself. Why does she need us at this point? When she tells the audience ‘I love y’all!’ it is absurdly hollow.

And the fucking husband-and-baby gambit, Jesus Christ. Who else would do that? Just awful.

Okay. Moving on. The rest of the show was about asses, most of them huge. I was actually moved to consult my husband for a male judgement on whose ass was the night’s biggest. His answer was Iggy, which surprised me. Surely Niki Minaj had the evening’s hugest ass, or maybe she just twerked it in our faces more.

The look of dismay on Rita Ora‘s face during the Anaconda dance functions perfectly as a universal statement of repugnance for this tawdry shit. It just can’t get any lower. Racist, sexist, artificial, we now have Miley Cryus as the elder statesman and voice of reason. Please Adele, come back, we need you.

In order of awfulness there was:

Tayler Swift – Tragically delusional, she now thinks she is Britney Spears. Make her die.

Nicki Minaj – Depressingly shameless, she has some nerve to lecture other rappers about artistic integrity.

Sam Smith – Ugh! Stop singing that same fucking song. He’s like Antony Hegarty without the gender intrigue. Hate him. Bring back Boy George if we need a pudgy gay white soul singer!

Maroon 5 – Adam Levine is a disgrace to the Chosen People. He needs to shave and to stop imitating Sting.

Jesse J – Ew, what is the point of her? She’s just a big man with a screechy voice.

Now, here’s what was good:

Iggy Azalea – because I love her and that’s that.

Rita Ora – because she can actually sing.

Usher – because he can dance.

Homeless Jesse – because he is really cute, and I liked his relative composure.

Miley Cyrus – Because she managed to look ‘classy’ by keeping her tongue in her mouth, and stole everyone’s thunder with that homeless shit.

Maybe now people can stop throwing buckets of ice water on themselves and start throwing water at Tayler Swift if at all possible.

 

$300 Lipstick, Finally!

August 22nd, 2014

silly lipstick

This is what I’ve been praying for: a red lipstick I don’t want!

What a wonderful surprise from Givenchy, the brand of choice for Kim, Kanye, and many other celebrity luminaries. Allow me to fill you in:

French luxury label Givenchy is launching a $300 lipstick in its signature deep red shade in the Le Rouge line, clad in crocodile skin. Limited to only 3,000 pieces, it will be available at Barneys New York starting October. Otherwise priced at only $36, Givenchy’s limited edition Le Rouge gets its staggering price tag from the crocodile skin it’s encapsulated in, patterned on the black and silver tube.

I only hope to meet one of the 3,000 idiots who buy this crocodile-clad piece of shit. Lucky for me that I shot my wad on the stupid Louboutin nail polish!

Okay. I just wanted to share my relief. Now you can go back to what you were doing. xo

The Solace Of The World’s Ugliest Jeans

August 16th, 2014

I’m watching the life feed from Ferguson tonight, like I did last night.

Ebola is “vastly” worse than reported. tribal slaughter in Iraq and Syria, Israel vs Gaza,  Nigeria kidnappings, drones on Yemen, Robin Williams.

Let us look to these jeans for salvation. They are the ugliest jeans I’ve ever seen in my whole life, I’m pretty sure. There is something magnificent in such ugliness, you can feel the artistic striving for an indelible statement. A statement that transcends all the horror of current events.

ugliest jeans ever

These long-rise One Teaspoon pants have an exaggerated, slouchy fit. Heavy fading adds lived-in charm. Hidden elastic bands cinch the waist and ankles.

Right?

ugliest jeans ever rear

And with open-toe stiletto heeled booties, no less.

Whenever you find yourself filled with existential dread or sorrow, look at these jeans. That is my RX for mankind this evening.

Big Sister, Part I

August 7th, 2014

sisters in matching outfits

Years ago, I read a book called ‘The Sibling Bond‘ after reading an enthusiastic review somewhere. I remember its theories and insights as uniquely thought-provoking. Now, it’s all just depressing.

The sibling bond is like no other relationship. It is fraught with everything under the sun – issues of identity, intimacy, security, fairness, all woven together in  a complex knotted mess.

I’m calling it a mess because I’ve had a major falling out with my sister, the sister I grew up with, the sister who was half of what my mom called “You Two Brats.”

In healthy families, children’s roles and identities are not fixed at birth or rigidly imposed early in life. In other families, however, parents fuse their children, treating them as if they were the same. The children are lumped together, treated as if they were each other’s twin despite differences in age, stage, sex and temperament. The children can become fused in their minds, because they are fused in their parents minds.

Sibling bonds will become intense when, as children, the siblings have had plentiful access, contact, AND have been deprived of reliable parental care.

I remember myself as an anxious, fearful child who looked to my sister for warmth and companionship. She was two years older, husky and athletic. I was skinny and clumsy and still can’t ride a bicycle. We ate together, bathed together, were punished together and rewarded together. When we fought and I tried to get our mother’s attention, she would scream, “You two fight it out!”

I gave up on the hope that my mother would intervene and protect me. So when my sister devised tortures to try out on me, I learned to accept my fate. The worst came at bath-time. My sister would take my cotton undershirt and hold it under the hot water tap until steam came off it. Then, I would have to put it on. It hurt and I cried but there was no escape.

The other bath-time torture was the wet bar of soap: She would order me to choose whether I wanted it “in the eye or in the mouth.” I remember the panicky brain work of making the choice. The choice was always wrong, naturally.

My sister had a huge problem with being copied. She became enraged if she perceived any copying. If I drew with a blue crayon, it might be construed as copying. She made up a thing to yell when she started to do something, meaning it was her idea and could not be copied. When she decided I had copied her, there was ‘slavery.’ It was actually called slavery.

Did everyone grow up this way? I really have no idea. But I loved my sister, because she was all I had. We made up a private language that we could speak a mile a minute. She taught me how to shave my legs. We both had to smoke our father’s cigar when he picked us up for Divorced dad dinners in expensive restaurants. We both had to endure his criticism of our hair and our teeth, and his self-congratulatory appraisal of his latest girlfriend.

Once, my sister was determined to get even with some guy for something, and the only way she could do it was to sleep with someone. I tried every argument to change her mind. When she announced that she planned to pick a stranger off the street, I told her to just use my former lover, a compliant stoner. She fucked him alright. She fucked him for around six months. At some point, I begged her to stop, but she wouldn’t. She told me that she wasn’t through getting even.

It was still a choice of the eye or the mouth, but without the choice factor.

We spent years of our lives, fused together or enraged at each other. We used to rely on each other to be what we called a Reality Guarantor, to compare our experiences or point of view. It was so reassuring. Whatever I might be worried about, she swore that it was nothing serious, it would go away or never happen or that she had it too and it wasn’t cancer.

Now we have crossed a line. Too many grievances have been aired. I see her as pathologically competitive and sadistic. She has rewritten my history, casting me as the villain in pieces where I was once the clear victim. Maybe it’s better to be the villain. The truth doesn’t matter to her, and I am the truth police, as everyone knows.

According to her, I’m the devil himself. “You think your shit don’t stink?” she shouted at me over the phone. Who even talks like that? Who are we, Mob Wives? Shouldn’t she at least say ‘doesn’t stink’?

 

 

Jews!

August 2nd, 2014

My favorite aspect of the Borat character is his antisemitism. Naturally, my appreciation of this relies on the knowledge that Sacha Baron Cohen is Jewish. And the more Jewish I feel, the more I feel at liberty to mock Jewishness. Like Woody Allen and Lenny Bruce, Sacha Baron Cohen is allowed to approach antisemitism in ways we wouldn’t tolerate from a non-Jew.

The other day, I was amazed to hear the British headmaster of the elite London boys school where Baron Cohen was a student, boasting on NPR about the school’s large population of “Jewish Boys.” Lord Jesus! In 2006, a sophisticated Brit can still regard “Jewish” as a special category! No wonder Sacha Baron Cohen is so savage about this subject!

I have a friend who has learned to try not to use the word “Jewish” to describe former girlfriends. He knows I will scream “Jewish?!?” and he knows where that leads.

A week after seeing the Borat movie, I attended a bar mitzvah, only the second one I’ve ever been to. It was full of ritual and tradition that I can only describe as lovely and moving. But the spirit of Borat hovered over the proceedings. Nothing could shake my sense of seeing Jews as an outsider, even as I felt a rare connection to my ancestors.

Jews! They are just so Jewish! My grandma used to stuff her handbag with packets of saltine crackers whenever we went out to eat. If she heard that someone was sick, she couldn’t get enough details. She would always ask, “What is the doctor’s name?” meaning “Is he Jewish?”

At the bar mitzvah, the Rabbi described how the torah he was using was hundreds of years old, and had been preserved by the Nazis to use in a museum of Jewish Icons. Silly Nazis! This story and all the biblical crap about Moses and Abraham helped to remind me how much the world hates Jews. And that, of course, made me that much happier about being Jewish.

As long as some upper class British guy is still commending his school for accepting “Jewish Boys,” Borat will have a mission to accomplish. Thank god the Jews run Hollywood and the media!

~

*originally posted in 2006

Kim Kardashian’s Nine Expressions—Collect Them All!

July 29th, 2014

nine-kims

When Kim Kardashian posted a collage of her facial expressions on Instagram, one could only marvel at the waxen immobility of that celebrated face.

Let’s take a closer look.

9 expressions of kimkard

 

If only Kim had taken the time to label each expression!

Since she didn’t, I will take a stab at it.

Top row, from left to right: Duh, Look over there, Duh.

Middle row, from left to right: Oh, Duh,Turning my head.

Bottom row, from left to right: Turning my head, Look over there, Duh.

There you have it! Use this expression sampler to amaze your friends, play some bingo, or just add to your Kim Kardashian shrine.

Hideous Footwear Alert

July 28th, 2014

hideous patti st laurent boots

Can you believe how ugly these are?

hideous patti st laurent boots 2I really am almost speechless.

It would be like shoving your feet into dead animal carcasses and expecting everyone to admire you for it.

Why the silver studded ‘embellishment?’ Is it supposed to represent the dead animal’s collar?

Saint Laurent Patti ankle boots, $1,995.00.  (If Patti Smith were dead, she could join Yves to roll around in his grave with him.)

Taking A Stand

July 24th, 2014

shades

Everywhere I go online today, there is shit about Fifty Shades of Grey. I guess there’s a new trailer out, or maybe it’s the first trailer.

I can’t tell you how good it feels to not be interested in this trailer! Not only am I not interested in the trailer, I am not interested in reactions to the trailer!

I can’t wait to not see the actual movie., just as I couldn’t wait to not read the book or learn anything about its author. I admit to having a perverse fondness for really bad writing, and the few excerpts I saw were weapons-grade awful. So kudos to whatshername who wrote it.

Who would like to join me in taking a pledge to not watch this trailer? Maybe we can come up with a badge or membership card or something.

The state of pop culture is so abysmal that it may seem pointless to single out one offender as being too base or stupid to countenance. But I’m drawing my line anyway.

Big deal about bondage, S&M, doms and subs. Just don’t bother me with fifty shades of anything unless it’s red lipstick.

red-lipsticks-guide2

 

Justin Theroux’s Penis

July 19th, 2014

Justin Theroux seen jogging in his upcoming TV movie 'The Leftovers' in Queens, NYC

I hadn’t heard that Justin Theroux‘s penis was an issue until I read a quote from Liv Tyler, his co-star in that awful new HBO series.

“There was this scene where he was jogging, and there was quite a large bulge in his sweatpants and it was all over.”

Now I find that Justin’s penis is not just a huge distraction but a huge distraction. There are all kinds of pictures of his crotch, especially in sweatpants. Let’s have another look.

justin owww penis

You know what, I don’t like this penis. What is it doing? Why is it down there, did it fall? Where’s the rest of it? And why can’t he wear underwear? I’m starting to hate him.

I have vague recollections of liking Marky Mark‘s penis.

markymark2

This looks more appetizing.  Renaldo and Beckham aren’t bad either.

I don’t think we girls like men for their silhouette in sweats or briefs. A man’s brain is so important when it comes to real attraction.  A hot guy who says something stupid is a waste of hotness. Justin Theroux needs to stop giving interviews so I don’t have to feel worse about him than I already do.

He needs to put up or shut up, with regard to Jennifer Aniston. He needs to stop talking about his clothes. He needs to stop hanging out with Terry Richardson and he needs to give up that whole biker charade.

Most of all, he needs to either show us his penis so we can figure out if it’s anatomically sound, or put on some fucking underpants so Live Tyler can resume whatever it is she’s trying to do.

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