Archive for September, 2011
Rag and Bone Moto Pants with Removable Kilt, $695 at shopbop*
“It’s called ‘moto’ because _________________.”
*Only 2 let!
This is Dimitri Alexandrou. Some of you prefer more rugged, masculine houseboys, so help yourself to the new candidates.
Here’s a hunk of tattooed burning love. Don’t know his name, don’t care. He’ll need to keep his hands off my earrings.
Sylvain Norget looks like he means business. I can imagine him with a vacuum cleaner. I like it.
Daniel is a model and not really my type. But when I look into his eyes, I see him serving drinks and fluffing pillows.
What about this guy? Long hair to play with but enough manly pride to fold laundry with military precision.
Shah Rukh Khan is an Indian movie star ( I think) but I would like to see him lounging around after washing my hair.
I can’t resist a man in a dress. This may actually be my ideal houseboy. He doesn’t look judgemental: a plus!
Houseboy Sasha Marini is kind of sickening on the one hand, yet one might enjoy a scuffle with him as you try to get him to shave. I don’t know. Your call.
Now we’re talking. Francis Lane is the exact combination of youth and androgynous beauty that my house needs. I’d like to see him wearing embroidered satin slippers as he sweeps away the dog hair. I would even get him a feather duster!
Let me know if you found anything you like.
Meet Cindy Jacobs, a self-proclaimed prophet and right-wing supporter of fellow moron Gov. Rick Perry.
Watch her explain how Rick Perry’s Jesuspalooza broke the curse of “Native American Cannibals.”
Cindy and other members of the Apostolic Reformation movement will descend upon Washington, D.C. with “DC 40: Forty Days of Light Over D.C“, to do whatever it is they do.
Laugh, but be afraid.
I’m reading a book about addiction that Max read last year. He told me I might like it. I also remember him writing to his girlfriend that the book caused him to review his childhood, which he always thought was “pretty normal.”
The book, by Gabor Maté, a physician and psychiatrist, is extremely compassionate toward the addict. In fact, he explains at great length why the addict never really had a chance: Improper bonding during infancy harms the infant’s brain and sets him up for addiction.
Maté recounts study after study to underscore his thesis. When rats are removed from their mother for only one hour a day, their brains show damage. In human babies, this faulty bonding fucks everything up. The child is forever doomed to suffering and attempts to extinguish the suffering.
I can’t read too much of this book. Someone needs to do a study on my brain, to show how much harm the book has done.
Maté ends the long chapter about the origins of the addict’s malformed brain by assuring us that he’s not saying it’s hopeless! People can be healed, he says, through the indomitable Spirit that lives within all of us.
Meanwhile, I am compelled to look back in time and question everything. I remember loving my baby at first sight. I remember adoring his every expression, every gesture, every hair on his head. I remember nursing him for 14 months. I remember friends coming over just to admire him. I remember dressing him in his little outfits, reading to him, cuddling him, singing to him.
But I was a depressed mother. Depressed mothers ruin the brain as well. I forgot to say that. The baby picks up on the mother’s depression and is irreparably fucked.
I wish I could talk to Max about this. I want to know if he blames me. Or rather, if he forgives me.
His addiction must have been a nightmare for him. So much worse then the nightmare it was for us. It was such a long struggle. I never really felt it was my fault, until now.
My own mother hated me and told me so, but I didn’t want to become a drug addict. There was no comfort anywhere, from anyone, when I was a child. I have my problems but I never wanted to stick a needle in my arm. If everyone with an imperfect or depressed mother needs to escape their pain through opiates, who’s left?
I’m caught in this argument. Depressed people don’t all become addicts. But my son did, and it’s my fault.
I wish it was nobody’s fault. I wish it was a wrong turn that led to more wrong turns. I wish he had been able to overcome his addiction and the pain that caused it. I wish I could comfort him and convince him that he was loved and he was perfect, addicted or not.
Mothers and children, what are your thoughts?
Why did they stop there? Why not add zebra?
This “shoe” makes me want to cry. $469.95 at solestruck.
I was fucking around with my google account when I scrolled through all the options and came to the word “more.” This brought me to a page with the question below: “What do you love?”
I instinctively (and somewhat drunkenly) typed the word baby, and voila! A whole world of baby-related searches appeared, including this one:
Hahahahaha! Isn’t this awseome? Now I can find babies nearby! Don’t tell their mommies that I’m coming to get them!
Here’s another nice google suggestion:
I could also “Explore Babies in 3D” or “Find Patents about Babies.”
Well, that’s my fun activity for a Saturday night. I recommend trying it. And no, since I’m not ten years old I’m not going to try it with “penis,” unless I have more to drink.
I have always hated Dr. Phil, even without seeing his show. It’s just unconscious knowledge that he is a jerk.
This week, everyone on TV is talking about him because of his interview with Casey Anthony‘s parents. He’s been pimping his show with the Anthonys everywhere. And in one discussion, he agreed that the Anthonys had “a menagerie of excuses” for their daughter’s conduct.
Menagerie is a collection of animals, you fucking idiot Dr. Phil! You can find some online dictionaries that say you can also use it to mean a diverse group of things, BUT YOU CAN”T BECAUSE IT MEANS ANIMALS.
Words matter, remember?
Have you heard anyone misuse a word recently but you couldn’t kill them? Feel free to share your pain.
You know I can’t resist penis jewelry. Here are two new penis options from Vivienne Westwood. I love the cufflinks but I wish they were earrings. $151.51 Penis key-ring below, $118.82
If you don’t crave penises, some other new VW pieces are elaborately pretty and clearly inspired by Salvador Dali‘s jewelry.
Boulevard Pearly Queen Bracelet: $277.75 Boulevard Pearly Queen Brooch, below: $150.51
Dali’s jewelry is exquisite and eye-popping. If you’re not familiar with it, get ready to scream “Oooooooo!” and go here to get started.