Archive for December, 2012

It’s Lesbian Stick Time!

Tuesday, December 25th, 2012

Let us all follow the Christmas tradition* of reading  The Story of the Lesbian Stick.

~

* Heartfelt atheist blessings to all you people who come here and especially you special ones who have given me so much. xo

Hair is All

Saturday, December 22nd, 2012

Aside from life and death, hair is all that matters. A really bad hair situation will trump  everything else, and I mean everything.

Fucked up hair is excruciating. The pain is relentless. The knowledge that it’s your own fault makes it a source of  bitter self-loathing. “Why did I do this? Why wasn’t I satisfied with the hair I had?” Every encounter with a mirror is a fresh horror.

If both my legs were broken, I would still be wailing about my hair. If I had thirty seconds to live, I would scream, “But my hair looks awful!”

Fiscal cliffs, gun nuts, my dog’s toothache, our fine young men and women in Afghanistan, none of it matters like my bad hair. It was once long and luxurious and black, even though it was frizzy and brittle. Now I look like a Real Housewife from Somewhere.

If character is destiny, I’m a complete cunt. But I can’t go on like this. Tomorrow I’m going to try to change it back, or at least restore its brunetteness.

If you hate me, this should be a great moment for you. Enjoy! If you love me, then pray to the god of your understanding that my hair turns out okay.

 

Toy Fantasy Man

Thursday, December 20th, 2012

Smile Makers are sex toys with a cutesy design and a “playful” concept: they are named after different male stereotypes, kind of like the Village People.

I don’t know much about sex toys and that’s the way I like it.  But I love internet generators. Smile Makers lets you design your fantasy man, and with only a limited set of options I still came up with a very nice facsimile of my personal dreamboat.  His name is Fernando, and he’s all mine. You can make your own here.

I’m disappointed in the choice of masculine archetypes, since I have no interest in tennis coaches or millionaires.  (I did have an adorable French boyfriend, back in the day, but he became hysterical when I got my period.) Where is the Poet, the Biker, the Revolutionary, the Pimp, the Grad Student?

Go make your own loverboy and let me know how it goes.

 

Bad and Badder

Monday, December 17th, 2012

Watching the news tonight, I am struck by the word “evil” in reference to the shootings in Connecticut.

A disturbed 20 year old young man who lives with his mother, has no friends, hasn’t spoken to his older brother for two years and is remembered only for his nervousness and inability to fit in….that is not evil. I see no possible evil in this tormented soul.

A mother who hoards firearms and leaves them around her house, now that might be evil, since no one could be so astoundingly careless and stupid.

I am dreading the revelations to come.

The Ex Revisited

Saturday, December 8th, 2012

Twenty years on, I am still rattled by my husband’s fucking ex. Not only has she opened a tiki-themed restaurant too close to my neighborhood,  she has recently written the following:

“There was a time in my youth, those long gone halcyon days, when it seemed I spent a large part of my life in front of a camera. In the pursuit of an acting career it was standard operating procedure to continuously update and change the 8-by-10s that were the calling cards of all of us who tramped the mean streets of Los Angeles in constant and often futile rounds of meetings in the offices of agents, photographers, producers, directors and various unsavory characters.

“Perhaps in retrospect it is the smiling [photos] that fare the best, as I was innately happy, clear of eyes and had good teeth. For my fiftieth birthday and retired at that point, I pulled out all the old headshots and plastered them over a large wall at my parent’s house, creating a sort of gallery. They made a remarkable display and told a story of my own evolution, not to mention hairdos. The one topless shot, though artistically done and revealing but a modest bosom, shocked my brother. Frankly, I was rather proud to shock anyone.”

There was one thing that each photo had in common, one through-line, one essence captured. It was youth, my youth. And youth is hope. There it is, around the curve of my smiling lips, in the gleam of my eye, in the open expression.”

Jesus. Christ.

I brought up the subject of her uniquely annoying existence with my husband, who flipped out. Why can’t I be normal, he wants to know. It’s easy for him to talk about normal: My ex, though a cunt, stays quietly in his corner and doesn’t open restaurants or write about his modest bosom.

Some things are just awful and they stay awful. Some things fall away in the stark awareness of what really matters.  I am waiting for the ex-wife to move from the first category into the second.

 

Gifts For Him II

Wednesday, December 5th, 2012

If you’re shopping for a poseur, this is the best coffee table book ever (not counting the billion dollar Mohammed Ali enterprise by Taschen, of course.) At $1,450, it is a lavish waste of money, the better to showcase his pretensions to coolness.

How awesome is it to add a studded leather cover to this book about leather motorcycle jackets? The only thing better would be to add the word “Moto,” which has somehow been overlooked. Oh well, you can’t have everything, even for $1,450.

Would you like to hear these two douches talk about their book? The one on the left reminds me of Bruno, and the other one is a classically annoying and self-important Brit with a fetish for punk. Go here.

Isn’t it funny how the harder you try to be cool, the uncooler you are?