Archive for March, 2012

Feathered Motorcycle Boot

Wednesday, March 28th, 2012


“This Brunello Cucinelli boot takes a venerable biker style on a flight of fancy. The ostrich feather flourish, however, easily detaches for versatility.”

Neiman Marcus, $1,435.00

Spring Houseboys

Friday, March 23rd, 2012

Here are the new houseboys for spring. Even if you’ve already done your spring cleaning, there is always more work to be done.

I like a  houseboy  who is sensitive but slightly feral.   Strong enough to move furniture but delicate in his facial features.

A good houseboy is comfortable enough in his masculinity to wear a veil or sarong or even high heels if necessary. It doesn’t hurt if he looks like Jimi Hendrix.

I don’t know all of their names, because names are just a distraction.

Do you see anything you like?

The Teeth Nightmare

Wednesday, March 21st, 2012

I used to have a recurring nightmare about my teeth falling out. I would hold out my hand as I helplessly spit out the teeth. I’ve heard it’s a common dream and it probably means something about something.

Over the weekend, I was able to experience this in waking life.

I spent a huge wad of money on replacing some cracked teeth with crowns. The dentist used some temporary cement and told me to go home and see if I was happy with the crowns.

Friday night, I bit into something chewy and felt a tooth come out. I felt around with my tongue and the lack of tooth felt weird. I ran to the bathroom mirror to see the effect: One missing tooth and it’s instant bag-lady.   The horror is too visceral to describe.

I googled “what if my crown falls out” and read all kinds of misinformation and alarmist warnings. I stuck the crown back in my mouth and went to bed, traumatized.

The dentist said to buy tooth cement from the pharmacy but it was worthless. For the next two days, the crown kept falling out with no warning. Then the other crown fell out. Now I had two blank spaces in my mouth: From bag-lady to crack-whore to full hillbilly.

Here is what I learned: Leave your teeth alone! Dont try to fix them if it means getting a crown. Wait until someone hits you in the mouth with a baseball bat. HANG ON TO YOUR REAL TEETH!

Now the crowns have been cemented in, “permanently.”   I don’t know if I’ll ever trust them.

Try taking a photo of your smiling face and black out a tooth, like I did above.   It may remind you to floss.

Billy Goat

Sunday, March 18th, 2012

“Don’t deny it, you’re kinda obsessed with this right?? I mean it’s pretty amazing. Real goat hair upper on a gorgeous wood heel takes serious fashion cred to pull off.”

Well, they’ve got our number at Solestruck; are they psychic or what? There’s no use denying that we want to pay $229 to look like a crippled goat.   But do we have the cred?

Isn’t there an ogre that hides under the bridge in order to grab the Billy goat? Is the shoe actually an Ogre?


Wednesday, March 14th, 2012

Why would a bloody nose help to sell Givenchy menswear, one might ask oneself upon seeing the above photo from a fashion editorial. The answer is the same one that explains the popularity of nosebleeds on tumblr.   Just don’t expect me to know it.

I can’t tell you the number of bloody noses I’ve seen on tumblr, along with the bloody lips and bruised knees. Obviously, part of the appeal is simply the transgressive nature of these  images. They’re  icky and/or disturbing, therefore popular with the hipsterati.

But is something else going on? Is it a Vampire thing?   I personally associate nosebleeds with children. Is it a pedophile thing?

To find a bloody nose attractive is to  never  have been a parent. Both of my kids were afflicted with routine nosebleeds, usually accompanied by shouts of “By doze is bleeding! Help!” I never had enough tissue if we were away from home.

Once, my youngest got a nosebleed in a jewelry shop and the blood gushed out over everything. The owner tried to help. Other  people  entered the shop and quickly left,  horrified  by the blood spattered scene. I’ll never forget the immensity of that nose bleed.

Another time, my mom was with me and the concern on her face triggered my own fear that my kid would bleed to death. I think we referred to that one later as The Great Nosebleed of April Something.

When Max was around ten, I asked him what subject he would choose if he could make a short film. He thought for a couple of seconds and said firmly: “A bloody nose.” I remember asking, You mean, the whole thing would be just a nosebleed? He said Yep, with an early hint of the perversity to come.

There is nothing good about a bloody nose. They used to tell you to tilt the head back but now we know this is wrong. You can use ice, you can pack the nose with tissue, you can pinch the bridge of the nose, but it will just keep on bleeding until it’s ready to stop.

But maybe I’m behind the times. Maybe nothing says Givenchy like a bloody nose.

This is Just Wrong

Monday, March 12th, 2012

I don’t know why, but it is. No matter how many other times it’s been done.

Hating The Ex

Tuesday, March 6th, 2012

I recently had the pleasure of spending an evening with an old friend who is now divorced from the husband who used to boss her around and make her have sex with him three times a week without regard to her own lack of desire. He’s out of her life now, for the most part, but she still hates him.

In fact, she plans to hate him forever, just as I hate my ex-husband.  I have forgiven nearly all my grudges, even ones I swore to take to the grave, but I will never stop hating my ex-husband. Looking back at my old journals, I discovered that I hated him even before I married him!

I once read that a large percentage of divorced women admit to having married a man they didn’t love. This was supposed to be shocking news. It probably explains why they ended up divorced. It’s a bad idea to marry someone you actually hate, so make sure you never do it.

I married my ex at 20, after four years of living with him. I didn’t know what to do with my life and I think I hoped he would take care of me. I don’t like taking care of myself, although I am more than happy to take care of  others.

Anyway, I hated him. I hated the way he walked and I hated the way he smelled. I hated his repressed personality and I hated his petty criticism of everything I did or thought. I hated the way he’d point to a girl with close-cropped hair and say “You know, you’d look good like that.”   Why would a man marry a woman with waist-length hair only to ogle girls with crew-cuts? What a fucking cunt™.

Finally, after 17 years together, we got divorced. By then, I hated the way he breathed and the way he drank his orange juice.  I was shattered by the process of divorce, but gradually came to relish my freedom from his oppressive presence.

The only thing we agreed upon was our love for our son. But we always disagreed about what he needed and what was good for him.

After a long  struggle in rehab, our son stayed clean for a while but had a relapse and was on a binge. We took him to a treatment center where he was supposed to stay for thirty days. After ten days, they thew him out: We couldn’t meet their demands for $250 per day, even though they were being paid by our insurance company. Meanwhile, Max had called me after the first few days, anxiously reporting that he shared a room with convicts who stayed up all night playing cards. He was cold, but he wasn’t allowed to have an extra blanket. He said it was the scariest place he had ever been.

His father picked him up on the morning they kicked him out. During the long drive to my house, his father screamed at him for being a failure. His tirade was cruel and relentless. He accused Max of ruining everyone’s life, and told him he was “one step from living on the street.”

I didn’t want Max to have his car.  He was going to stay in a sober house where he wouldn’t need it. But the ex wouldn’t listen to me and brought the car over.

Max seemed traumatized by the ride home and I tried to comfort him. He was worn out and anxious, still detoxing, even though I didn’t know it. All day, I tired to console him with the fact that it wasn’t a catastrophe, it was only a relapse and everything would be fine. I kissed him goodbye when he left for the sober house. Early the next morning, he drive to a cliff and jumped.

During the first few days at the hospital, I would corner my ex in the hallway and tell him it was all his fault. I showered him with invective, hysterical with rage and worry and grief. Even now, I sometimes wonder what would have happened if my ex had just taken Max out for breakfast instead of berating him so mercilessly.

I wish I could kill my ex.  My sister has asked me, Isn’t it enough to know how miserable he is? As if that could mitigate my hatred, which is eternal, steadier than the beat of my heart, and faster than the speeding bullet that belongs in his head.

Don’t be Mad!

Friday, March 2nd, 2012

Imagine how upset I was to click on What’s New at net-a-porter only to find that I’d missed out on another impressive statement piece.   Those of you who rely on me for shopping tips, please try to understand.   I’m so busy doing nothing all day that it’s all too easy to shirk my duties.

Anyway, this fancy bustier by Dolce & Gabbana sold out at $13,760. I’m guessing there was only one.

It looks very nice with a simple black pencil skirt.

Why can’t we just decorate a bustier from the lingerie department with a couple of pounds of cheap costume jewelry from a thrift shop or the 99 Cent store? Let’s say the bustier is $50.

The white one comes in black, Macy’s for $55.   The black one is by Carnival, $38.

Another $50 should be enough for a pile of crappy jewelry and beads from a crafts store. Sew the shit on while you’re watching TV or arguing with your husband. Voila! You have saved enough for a new car, or to send your kid to college for one year (assuming you have scholarship money too.)

Now you are a hero instead of a chump! And when you wear it, your husband should prove to be very amiable and quick to see your point of view. A man who is immune to the power of lingerie is not a man worth having.