Archive for May, 2009

I’m Just Here to Help

Sunday, May 31st, 2009


Do you want to consider whether your use of the Internet is an addiction? Me neither! Then don’t go here to find out.

Do you think it would be tragic to use a website called Closet Viewer to catalog your clothes and then “track the dates and frequency of items worn?” Then don’t go here.

Are you able to resist the chance to be followed around by a creepy eyeball on a website full of Crypto-hipster weirdobilia? Good, then you won’t be going here.

And finally, here is a great (seriously) online shopping site where I managed to find something heartbreakingly* awful:


Can you believe these are real jeans?! The joke is on someone, somewhere, I guess.

* ‘heartbreakingly’ is my favorite word, from now until further notice.

MySpace Romance: True Fiction

Sunday, May 31st, 2009


Just when I’m trying to finish writing a story I’ve been struggling with, I have to go and orchestrate another MySpace debacle. Can someone please keep track of these for me? I’m losing count. This one was triggered by some guy’s stated regard for an obscure book I love. In retrospect, I’m sure he just Googled it, but that is now beside the point. Things went from zero to sixty: WHAM! Furious messages back and forth, by midnight I had downloaded Skype, the only way he knew how to IM.

OMFG! What a great guy! Let’s call him “Bald Guy”. A witty, literate, sensitive musician with a morose outlook on like and an appreciation for my flair with the word “cunt.” And what a great voice! A deep, scratchy voice that sounded like a Beatle or some other Northerner, crossed with Eeyore. Well, you know the story, it’s always the same on MySpace, except for the details. It was a perfect affinity! We were soul mates! Hours and hours of chat logged in. No cybersex, don’t even think about it. In fact, most charmingly, he divulged a squeamishness for “anal”, whatever that may mean. As in, “Yanks seem obsessed with anal!”   Since I had never mentioned “anal” in the first place, perhaps it was some sort of warning? From now on, IT’S ONLY ANAL FOR ME, just FYI.

Anyway, back to the story: Look! He put me in his Top 8! Wow, this is even better than junior high, isn’t it?! The other 7 were music contacts. I feel like the winner on American Idol, even though I still haven’t seen a single episode. But then, things start to get weird. What could be the matter? Aren’t we still having fun with this?!?   What about our plan to meet in New York? And what’s with the creepy Norwegian girl who’s been posting messages to him with cute little faces at the end?

Finally: Long confusing disputes about disputes about disputes. My feelings are hurt! No, he insists that his feelings are hurt, not mine. When I resign from whole thing, he needs me back. He loves me! Well, duh, so I sign up again.

After a long night of back and forth Skyping, we make up, it’s all good (i.e., completely nuts). But he has replaced me in his Top 8 with the Creepy girl, whose profile states so poignantly “I am a young girl, not yet a woman” even though she is 29. She should probably get a move on it, but that’s not my problem.

I ask him to get rid of her. He can’t! “She loves his music!” Well, the rest is too gruesome. My hallowed place is now filled by a creepy chick with a questionable eye who looks like a poor man’s Paris Hilton, and they are busy exchanging wacky jpg.s of ladybugs, grapes, etc. Today she has posted on his comments a huge suggestive photo of two greasy snails locked in embrace. Is this supposed to be preferable to anal?

I don’t know. Obviously, I have blocked this Bald Guy, and feel somehow violated yet again by an idiotic MySpace interaction. All of my 157 devoted friends send me pictures of butt plugs as comments. Can someone tell me what I’ve learned from this? Would anyone like to see this girl’s profile? The one good eye is the color of an icy fjord, or so he has written. Is there anyone out there who is willing to stage an Intervention for me, next time?

Jewelry That Speaks to Me

Friday, May 29th, 2009


Even though I’m so happy with my little woolfie necklace from Her Amagingness Wendy Brandes there’s no such thing as enough jewelry (or anything else.)

This wolf pendent above, by dead ponies, is carrying his tail for some reason, and he’s saying “Hey, buy me and you’ll be on your way to collecting   wolf-themed jewelry!”


This “godless” necklace by brookadelphia is acrylic, not as nice as gold but much more affordable. I hear it saying “Buy me you idiot, I’m only $48!”


Look at these adorably sinister zodiac babies from Anomaly Jewelry. The conjoined twins is Gemini, the mermaid is Capricorn. The whole collection is great. Even when I factor in the Crypto-hipster aspect, I find it irresistible.   I hear it calling out, “Hey, admit how much you love retro-looking baby things!”

Are you hearing “BUY!” or are you hearing “Admit you are powerless over shopping, and your life has become unmanageable?”

Ode to Rumi

Friday, May 29th, 2009

Oh Roomy
I saw you speak
for the first time

Somehow perfect
Valley Girl diction, monotone
inappropriate laughter

Almost Asian
but not enough
Big mistake
rocking that teased hair.


dedicated to alittlelux, who sent me here.

Andrew Krasnow: What a Fucking Cunt™!

Wednesday, May 27th, 2009


Okay, so Andrew Krasnow is an ‘artist’ whose medium is human skin.

His ‘work’ is made from the skin of White men who have donated their bodies to science. Apparently, the left over skin can be purchased at auction. Eoow.

Anyway, Krasnow’s ‘work’ is controversial. But it will be on exhibit in July at the GV Art gallery in London. I’m sure there will be quite a turn-out. The gallery owner notes that Andrew “uses skin to make the point that suffering is universal. It is tanned using the same process that you’d use for an animal skin.

Krasnow says his work represents his opposition to war and bla bla bla. He also makes lampshades out of skin, to make the statement that bla bla bla. Yep, lampshades.

Can we all agree that Andrew Krasnow is a fucking cunt?

On the subject of human skin, but this time involving Actual Art, tonight I saw the French horror film Eyes Without a Face for the first time. If there’s anyone left who hasn’t seen it yet, let me say that it lives up to its reputation. Shocking, haunting and poetic, it also nearly made me throw up. Don’t watch it right after dinner.

Fashion’s New Rules for Fall 09

Tuesday, May 26th, 2009


You will be craving bigass platform wedges and baggy Boyfriend Jackets. Or else.

Acne Fall 09

An Apology From Sister Wolf

Tuesday, May 26th, 2009


I would like to apologize for the state of California, its idiotic voters and its supreme court, on this black day in our history.

I did my best to prevent the election of a stupid body builder as Governor of California, which to this day he still cannot pronounce. I protested with a big sign and everything.

Now we have an 11 % unemployment rate, and a budget deficit of 21 billion dollars, and gay couples can’t get married.

I’m really sorry.   I hope we can do better.


Death & Anger Updates

Monday, May 25th, 2009

I just stupidly clicked on an ad that asked “Why so angry?” and ended up here. UGH, now I’m even angrier! Fuck you,! If I wanted a bowl of flowers, I’d go get one.

That’s the anger part.

Death has been a topic of debate, in the news and over here, regarding the right of parents to withhold medical treatment from their children. Jump in, if you have strong feelings about this.

Also, I am finally getting some feedback on something I wrote about euthanasia nearly three years ago. How come now? I don’t get it! But I’m still interested in it, and in hearing other opinions.

Why Don’t Women Dress for Men?

Monday, May 25th, 2009


Here is a quote from the blog where I saw this photo:

When I came across this picture on the facehunter a few months ago, I started thinking about [the shoes] night and day. Staring at them didn’t do the trick though: I still had no idea about who made them and where I could get them from.”

A normal person (i.e., a male) would consider it nuts to think about a pair of shoes night and day. I am disgusted to say that I’ve been just as fucked up by a pair of shoes, and like these stupid wedges, they were shoes that would only appeal to another woman.

What the hell is wrong with us?

I can’t say what every man likes or doesn’t like, but I’m pretty sure they’re not attracted to droopy harem pants or huge wedges. We women clearly dress for each other, and I think it’s a pathetic and expensive endeavor. I’m looking for away out.

Maybe it starts when girls first go to school and begin to jockey for position. Popularity was always based on clothes and how willing you were to make other girls feel bad. Brains were not an advantage, but money was. I’m assuming that in schools with uniforms, one’s status is determined by handbags and accessories.

Why can’t we get over it once we’ve grown up? I know that fashion is supposed to be a means of self-expression but it’s mostly about conforming to what the fashion media tells us is cool, so that other women will admire how quickly we jumped on board the current trend.

The feverish quest for a pair of shoes is clearly a form of sublimation.   And unless the shoes have stiletto heels,   it’s not part of a mating ritual.

What do you think fuels the desperation to be fashionable? I know that men often feel like this about cars, but the sexual symbolism is obvious there.

If you’re reading this and you’re a woman. you are going to be looking for a dress or jacket with padded shoulders. Don’t bother insisting that you’ve always liked padded shoulders. You’re going to want them and all you’ll get for your trouble is some girl going “OMG, that is so fierce!”

I’m hoping for some enlightenment or a debate, but for extra credit try showing these pants to your boyfriend or husband and ask what he thinks:


The Crypto-Hipster

Sunday, May 24th, 2009


I am planning to work on a thorough and definitive study of Hipsters, but naturally I’m putting it off,   because it involves a lot of work.

However, I think we can all agree for now that a Hipster is someone else, not oneself.   It’s someone we disdain, in the same way we once disdained Yuppies. Hipsters can be described as people who are already sick of something you have only just discovered.

Tonight, my nephew came over and found me at my computer, enraged by some shit I was reading. I started ranting about how much I hate the way Hipsters have to covet and collect things that might be considered morbid: old medical instruments, taxidermy, creepy shit like this nineteenth century Japanese pregnancy doll.


He rolled his eyes and said dismissively: “That was hip maybe twenty years ago.”

I got very excited, having trapped a live Hipster in the act of being a Hipster! I asked him to tell me what was hip RIGHT NOW, this week, and I even promised not to reveal the valuable secret. He told me that he’d have to think about it. Then we went out to have dinner and I got drunk.

While drunk, I accused him of being a crypto-Hipster, which was so satisfying that I didn’t even care about his denial as the conversation drifted to post post post-modernism. Please feel free to go around slandering and annoying your loved ones with this useful new insult (which I thought I made up before googling it and seeing that it already exists.)