Archive for June, 2009

Shoe Problems Solved

Tuesday, June 30th, 2009


So many lives are hanging by a thread because of shoes. I came upon yet another blogger who nearly died of a broken heart when she couldn’t get the ACNE shoes she wanted. Thank god she found another pair of shoes, by Minimarket, which then nearly killed her before it all worked out.

I see a real need for consolation cards, especially now “in this economy.” How much would you give to never hear the words “in this economy” again? Anyway, I am too stupid to grasp photoshop so this card is the best I could do. I would also like to see a sympathy card for the loved ones of someone whose shoe anguish drove them to suicide.

You know, “Sorry for Your Loss, May She Find Those Shoes in Heaven,” that sort of thing.

Now that I’m not supposed to shop, I finally carried out my dream of painting some shoes silver. It worked pretty well, although not as well as I expected. I feel good about it. I’m not a DIY person, so it’s an achievement. I do like to spray-paint shit. Just ask Queen Marie.

These shoes were formerly black and around 15 years old. Now they are new, voila!


The Other Douches

Tuesday, June 30th, 2009


After Jill and Braindance shared their childhood memories of   douche bags, I recalled my own uneasy feelings about those rubber things hanging over the bathtub when I was a kid.

They were certainly a fixture in our bathroom, along with an enema bag and maybe even some other scary medical-looking crap. Wow, our mothers and grandmas were so weird!

Try a Google image search for an actual douche bag, and most of what you’ll find are sickening guys and joke products that refer to the sickening guys. In other words, the old fashioned douche bag is a relic of another time, and its namesake is here to stay.

Who the hell invented the douche bag? What a maniac. In fact, what a douche! I am thankful to my mom for neglecting to give me any instructions on “feminine hygiene” or anything else. I learned everything I know from my sister, dirty books, and The Hite Report.

But I feel kind of bad about depriving my own kids of the douche bag experience. They never got to feel queasy about their mother’s weird rubber crap in the bathroom. They never knew the frisson of squeamish curiosity that is such a touchstone of childhood. God, I’m a failure.

Perhaps the shit on my dresser will make it up to them.   It seems like it might have that Mom Mystique that could haunt them for the rest of their lives. I’ll have to ask them. Take a look and tell me what you think.


Looking Stupid at Two Price-Points

Monday, June 29th, 2009


Here is an awful stupid top with a horse on it, for $55 at Revolve Clothing.


If you prefer spending the big bucks on something awful and stupid, Stella McCartney nails it with this knit dress, at her online shop for $1,145.

* Do you hate to hear “price-point?” Me too! I was being ironic.

The Irony of Misunderstanding Irony

Sunday, June 28th, 2009


When Cathy Horyn wrote a piece in the NYT called “Irony and the Old Lady” she was complaining about women who seem to deliberately wear silly clothes after the age of 50. The complaint was picked up in The Cut, which posed the question “Can Women Over 50 Pull Off Ironic Fashion?”

I think the real question should be: Why don’t these writers know what irony is?   Is everybody Alanis Morissette all of a sudden?

Ms. Horyn seems to mean over-the-top when she alludes to ironic fashion. She cites Anna Piaggi, who is way, way over the top. But is Piaggi being ironic? She is, if she finds her own look ridiculous and isn’t letting on. But if she dresses to please herself and to make the statement that More is More, that’s not being ironic!

Then, Ms. Horyn considers socks-with-heels, and vintage straw hats. She doesn’t like them, but why does she find them ironic? Maybe she thinks ironic means, stuff she doesn’t like.

The examples of older women dressing ironically in The Cut include Cher, who just has bad taste, and Diane Keaton, whose style is extremely eccentric. Where’s the irony?! Then the author gives us Vivienne Westwood, who looks glamorous and punky as always, and decides, Yes! She can pull it off.   Again, Vivienne has a distinctive style, but where’s the irony?


A long time ago, I thought it was funny to wear t shirts advertising bands I hated. Then one day I explained to my husband that I was wearing some hideous floral printed jeans because a friend gave them to me and they were SO OBVIOUSLY something I would never wear. Haha, get it? Neither did my husband. He pointed out that I was simply having a joke with myself that no one else   was in on. Oops! I was being too ironic for my own good, at that point.

Last night I watched Ghost World for the millionth time, and even though I’ve come to accept the ending as inevitable instead of heart-breaking, I was struck anew by how much I identify with Enid. Still.

Enid’s outfits are all ironic. Each item looks carefully picked for its irony factor. She works hard at it, too. Remember when she goes to the trouble of dying her hair green, but nobody gets her ironic reference to “original 1977 punk” fashion?   Poor Enid.   “Everybody’s stupid!” is her stance toward the world, especially when they don’t appreciate her studied irony.

If what you’re wearing says “You probably think I mean this but I don’t!” then you are being ironic.   If you just look like you don’t know how awful you look (Betsey Johnson, Cher, Madonna at the Met) then you are a victim of bad judgment. Period, godammit.

For an essay on the meaning of irony, go here.


Billie Jean*

Friday, June 26th, 2009


*Listen here


Amanda Palmer shows attract misfits,
The disenfranchised
Cute gay Latino boy with his Mohawk lover
Noserings must get caught when they kiss

My sons are amped up and ready
One angry about taking off his hat.
The other
Protects me from a big sweaty douche
Who pushes up behind me, up
Against me with his big male self

Amanda is sad about Michael Jackson
But not sentimental
Billie Jean is not the one
But is
The one we want her to sing

She opens her legs at her piano,
Wide open
Creamy thighs like the ones men
Always talk about.

I see for the first time
Why they want to bury their heads there
Amanda works us over like a first rate whore
And delivers us from our petty differences

Even the big fat girl in the wedding dress
Takes on the glow of a martyr in holy communion
With the Source

I feel a Christlike compassion for the fat girl
For the gay boys,
The Goth schoolgirls swaying, arms around each other
The nerd holding up a lighter
But not the big douche.

I Love Your Tan Lines?!

Wednesday, June 24th, 2009


Jesus, enough with the public confessions!

Watching the latest apology on TV tonight has been torture. Governor Mark Sanford has got to be the stupidest idiot who ever had an extra-marital affair, going on about it for a full twenty minute press conference.   He really gives politicians a bad name with this kind of behavior. I was so embarrassed for him, I had to cover my face!   He looked like he wanted to relive the entire thing on camera, even though he began by offering an apology to his wife and 4 “precious” sons.

“I could digress and say that you have the ability to give magnificent gentle kisses, or that I love your tan lines or that I love the curve of your hips, the erotic beauty of you holding yourself (or two magnificent parts of yourself) in the faded glow of the night’s light – but hey, that would be going into sexual details…”

UGH!   God, sickening.

If I’ve said it once I’ve said it a million times: DO NOT CONFESS! Even if your spouse finds you in bed with someone, deny it! Bill Clinton tried to do the decent thing and lie, but no, that wasn’t okay with Ken Starr.

Let’s say you know you’re not good at lying but you’re going to have an affair. Do everyone a favor and dispense with the immature email! I know Mrs. Sanford would rather find correspondence that got straight to the point.   “It was great to fuck you, can’t wait to do it again!” would be so much easier t live with.

Those family values types are the worst, aren’t they? Maybe they enjoy the confessing part more than the sex part. If only they could either avoid getting caught or shut the hell up.

Fine, I Was Wrong

Wednesday, June 24th, 2009


I made fun of a hideous pants-skirt combination from McQ, but now I see that the pants-skirt is pretty damn good. As long as it’s Comme des Garcons. This ruffly one is saved by the leather buckles. I’d tap that.   But this other one with the more traditional kilt (straight front, pleated back) now that makes my heart race*.


Grown-ups, go straight to Colette online before the 9 year old bloggers get to them!

* Just kidding. Is there another phrase I can use? What about “that makes me hard?” Suggestions!

Be Careful What You Search For

Tuesday, June 23rd, 2009


Have you ever decided to find something that you can’t find? When this condition becomes extreme, I think it’s a disorder, but I forgot what it’s called. If you look in the same drawer three times in a row, it may then be OCD, but I’m going to call it “desperate.”

I spent nearly an hour looking for something that should have been where it used to be, but now it’s gone. I may have hidden it so cleverly that I’ll never find it. Someone will eventually find it when I’m dead. I hope they’ll find a way to   send a message to me just to solve the mystery.

While I was looking, I did come across my copy of Lady Athlete, a tawdry old bodybuilding magazine in which I appeared as one half of “Sisters in Iron.”   My sister and I lifted weights together at the old Gold’s Gym, where we were a constant annoyance to everyone except the owner, who named us Morticia and Vampira.

We agreed to be in the magazine on condition that all photos were taken in the gym. We were stupid but not stupid enough to pose in bikinis for perverts. When the magazine came out, we each got a free copy. I remember laughing until we cried at the demented text, which was full of lies and described us approaching the weights like “animals stalking their prey.”   They also described us as moving together “like a well-oiled machine,” which was funny because we argued continuously.

So I found the magazine and wondered if it still existed.   A Google search took me straight here to ebay, where some guy happens to have one copy of my issue! If only he’d show the back cover, where I’m gripping a dumbbell with a look of perfect serenity on my face.

Anyone wishing to blackmail me can buy this magazine for only $21.25!

Still feeling annoyed and unfulfilled, I tried to find comfort in sanctimonious rage over at Dan Savage‘s blog. I knew he’d be furious about something. While there, I read a letter that took me here, to AVEN, the Asexuality Visibility and Education Network.

As it turns out, there’s a whole new world of human rights we haven’t even worried about! Asexual people don’t want to be marginalized, godammit! Just because they don’t want sex, they are just as god made them and deserve whatever it is they want.

I know you’re all feeling the same as me: More sex for the rest of us! Who would knock it?! Listening to the Dresden Dolls while I type this, I think I would like to have sex with both of them, as a gesture of support for AVEN.


More Willis Fun

Monday, June 22nd, 2009


Why does Tallulah’s head always look like it was photo-shopped on to her body? It has the same jarring appearance in every picture. Does it jut forward around cameras, or is she without benefit of a neck?

When her internship at Bazaar was announced, the magazine had to backtrack and say that she was only going to be “observing” there. At age 15, an internship would violate child labor laws. Awww. Poor Tallulah.

With her impeccable style, this girl shouldn’t waste her time palling around with fashion editors. She should just enroll at Brown, like her older sister, Scout.


Here, with her head slightly more in proportion to her body, Tallulah dresses modestly so as not to upstage the Brown-quality intellect that is Scout Willis. I love that Scout has chosen to pursue higher education.   I hope she will eventually study neurosurgery and theology. Then, she can either break her mom’s contract with the devil, or create a psychotropic drug that induces prosopagnosia.

Is it mean to make fun of the Willis girls? Did god create them as a test of character for the rest of us? What lessons can we learn from them?

Hair and Jackets Progress Report

Sunday, June 21st, 2009


Looking back on the Bad Hair Lament and the close call with the Topshop Jacket, I can only say Thank god it all worked out okay.

Andy fixed the hair and if you live in LA, he will fix yours, too. Plus, if you don’t want to talk about your problems, you can get him to talk about his. Or even better, you can toss around business ideas, like my plan to start “Clitter” which would be like Twitter but only for chicks. Thanks Andy!

I wanted a photo of the Fixed Hair to be taken outside in daylight, so I grabbed a jacket from the depths of my heartbreakingly* tiny closet and Look! It’s the beautiful metallic blue leather jacket from Neiman Marcus! I’ve had it for at least 15 years but I forgot about it.

The leather is pornographically soft and supple. The color is so awesome, I don’t even know what to call it. Is there a color specialist out there?

Anyway, I know this jacket will either steal your hearts or make them race, one or the other.

I think I’m ready to give up the desperate hunt for more jackets, at least temporarily.   Now, I’m obsessed with my aging face and how much I want some Restylane or that other shit that costs $600 per syringe.   I need to get the money together in a hurry, before Madonna uses up the world’s supply.


* Still enjoying this word. Taking suggestions for a new one.