Godammit, I’m Mad!

All my life I have thought of myself as an Irritable Organism, like an amoeba under a microscope, being poked. Now, finally, there’s a treatment for this!  Read the product description:

“This profoundly calming perfume has a fresh, soothing fragrance with powerful undertones. It lessens irritability and helps you become centered, easy going and relaxed. Smelling of apples, bitter herbs and fresh grass, Roman Chamomile is soothing and comforting, calming, balancing and deeply relaxing, with a gentle, restorative effect which banishes irritability. The sunny Bergamot smells fresh with floral, lemon notes. It is reviving, soothing and balancing, cheering and heart warming and gently relieves irritation and anger. Rose is passionate and deeply rose fragranced, it banishes the blues and warms the heart. Patchouli is soothing, helping stabilize the mind; it has an earthy sensual nature that grounds those who get lost in too many circular thoughts, and gently helps irritation float away.”   (my italics)

OH MY GOD! At $65, can I afford not to get it? I feel soothed just thinking about it, but also kind of anxious. What if it’s sold out?  Do I need expedited delivery? Will I go crazy before I can get my hands on it?

I’m going to order it. I’ll keep you posted. You’ll probably know if it works or not. In fact, if it works, you won’t be hearing from me. Once I feel stable and centered, I won’t need to write.

I like the sound of this product much better than Doxepin, the drug my GP suggested when she noticed my war-torn legs. Doxepin is an old fashioned tricyclic antidepressant with the usual array of side effects.  I’m reluctant to take more meds, but I was intrigued by the following revelation:

“[Doxepin] is particularly useful in treating depression symptoms, which include anxiety, tension, trouble sleeping, guilt, fear, and lack of energy.”

That’s right, you saw it with your own eyes. Guilt and  fear. Imagine a life free of guilt and fear. Pretty fucking tempting, right? All they need to work on now is loneliness, apathy, bitterness, greed and insecurity.

Today I went to my favorite beauty supply shop, on a street in a wealthy community where everyone is too thin and the people sitting outside Peete’s Coffee are talking to their agents on their iPhones. It’s a great shop that carries every obscure brand you’ve ever heard of and the sales people leave you alone unless you want their help.

I picked out two hair products that won’t have any effect on the quality of my hair, but I enjoy the process of wasting money this way. At the counter, a woman was asking for help with her eyebrows. She was explaining that her eyebrow has a cowlick and nothing she’s tried could solve the problem.

I was fascinated. The sales person was eager to help, and obviously relished the opportunity. She suggested eyebrow gel, but the woman said that gels haven’t worked. I managed to suppress my urge to butt in. Personally, I swear by Lancome eyebrow gel in Brunet. It grooms the brows nicely and makes them look nice and full.

The sales person suggested mustache wax to tame the problem hair. I thought this was a great idea, even though I know you can actually get eyebrow wax at Bloomingdales or somewhere. It’s probably the same stuff, right? But the woman balked at mustache wax. She changed the subject to the dark circles under her eyes but continued to complain about her eyebrows. They were the bane of her existence, she said bitterly.

Finally, I couldn’t stand it. “Just pull that fucker out!” I snapped helpfully. Everyone turned to look at me. The sales woman smiled and said, “You’re so funny!” the way people do when they’re shocked by your candor. The eyebrow lady whined, “No, then I’ll have a bald spot!”

Now that I was involved, I offered a barrage of solutions but the eyebrow lady shot down each one. I began to realize how agitated she was. Maybe she didn’t really want help. Now she was complaining about the concealer she’d been offered and she refused to try the moustache wax.  The sales woman turned to assist another customer and the eyebrow lady announced that she would try a department store, where “someone has the time” to give her their “complete attention.”

I realized that she was nuts. Not in any dramatic way, but still nuts. One of the things I love about the beauty supply store is listening to women explain what they’re looking for, in a beseeching tone that reveals their absolute belief that something will make them beautiful and happy. I find it so poignant. The belief and the hope in that beauty supply store could fill several churches.

The eyebrow lady was an anomaly that almost ruined my pleasure in wasting $42. Almost. But when she left the store, everything was restored to normal.  I was disappointed that the nail polish I wanted was discontinued: it’s called “Bring on the Bling” and I tried it on last week when my BFF was having a manicure. It was like an entire Mardis Gras in a bottle.

Thank god I can still enjoy beauty products and I’m not a crazy eyebrow lady. That is my affirmation for today.

Earlier tonight, I got my hair trimmed and felt pretty smug. I asked my husband to take a picture of me. I’m not sure whether this look says “groupie” or “hooker,” but I was pleased either way.

Hours later, I felt like this:

I saw this image on TV and said to my husband: “Look honey, there’s me.”

He didn’t know what I meant so I had to explain, “I’m a big sinking ship laying on its side and nobody knows what to do with me.”  He took the wise option of going to bed.

It’s so hard to maintain a feeling of okayness.  Know what I mean?

When I recieved the offer of a review copy of  ”Tickle My Tush” by ’sex educator’ Dr. Sadie Allison, I complained on facebook.  I was egged on to pursue this,  so I stupidly clicked on the link I was given.  Even though I’d been warned that the book was about the “true pleasures of the under-explored seat of love.”

Oh, Dr. Sadie, why did god make you?!

Here are some testimonials for the book:

“Whether you’re solo or with a partner—your fun, safe thrill-ride starts here.”  - Charlie Glickman, PH.D., Sexuality Educator & Writer

Uh-oh. Does this mean the book tells you how to have fun with your butt when you’re ALONE???

“Dr. Sadie is an exciting, alluring and thought-provoking artist. Each of her books never cease move me to new heights, like a modern piece of art.” – Laura Henkel, PH.D., Erotic Art Appraiser & Founder Sin City Gallery

I guess Laura Henkel knows art when she sees it.  Moving along to the table of contents:

1. Butts Up?
2. Frequently Assed Questions

I will spare you any more puns. It’s just too awful. I don’t think I could read this book for $500. Moreover, I am already well acquainted with my ass and the asses of everyone whose ass is any of my business.

With all due respect to Dr. Sadie,  I suggest ignoring her books to the best of your ability. Instead, listen to Sister Wolf’s free advice:  Don’t stick anything up your ass that would invite mockery in an emergency room. That’s all you need to know.

I came across this ad in Marie Claire a few days ago, and couldn’t believe it wasn’t a joke. “Masque” is a new product for women who would enjoy performing oral sex if only it tasted like chocolate or watermelon.

I think it’s a little strip that dissolves in your mouth like a breath-freshener thingie. The only time I tried one of those mouthwash strips,  I nearly choked to death, trying to spit it out.

Anyway, the ad’s tagline is beyond sickening: “Expect flowers tomorrow” it promises suggestively, showing a happy couple who have evidently managed the tricky completion of oral sex. Their expressions are ridiculous, much like the product itself.

Who are these fucking people who need to “Masque” the taste of sex and then expect flowers?!?

Ladies, if your man pulled out a “Masque” strip before doing his job, wouldn’t you just snarl, “Don’t bother?”  I guess men are supposed to be so desperate that they’d send flowers.

This ad and the mentality it reflects is pathetic and gross and makes me want to kill everyone involved.

Thoughts?

I was thrilled to hear that Tallulah Willis (middle, above) was  chosen to attend the prestigious Debutantes Ball  at the Crillon Hotel on Paris’ Place de la Concorde.

At just 17 years old, Tallulah is one of the youngest of the 23 girls making their debut last night.  Just look at her jewel-encrusted Lanvin gown, created especially for her by designer Alber Elbaz, who she described as “a very dear friend.”

Rumer competes for attention in a breathtakingly low-cut dress that craftily draws the eye downward to her bared breasts. Determined to make a splash in her own right, Scout died her naturally brunette hair for the occasion, achieving the perfect shade of bright yellow.

I can’t wait for more photos of the event, but I knew you’d be dying to get an early look at the splendor of these wonderful girls!

Mary Coble is a dedicated artist whose 2005 performance piece, Note to Self, involved being tattooed with the names of 436 gay, lesbian, bi and transgendered people who died as a result of hate crimes.  The performance took 12 hours.

On the one hand, wow. On the other hand, is this art?

Here is a parallel, under the category of Too Much Information:

Late at night, I like to pick at my legs. “Like” isn’t the right word. It’s more, I have to pick at my legs. This has been going on long enough that I know it’s a form of OCD because I don’t want to do it but I do it anyway.

It started with a tweezer and a couple of ingrown hairs. I hate shaving my legs but I hate ingrown hairs even more. Soon, you get a little scab and the next night, you need to  pick off the scab. Pretty soon, it’s war. My legs are a battlefield and no one is winning. I stopped for a few months but then started again.

I know this is a response to intolerable anxiety. I know I should wear mittens at night, or take up knitting or wear high boots until I get into bed.

Nevertheless, I haven’t managed to stop.

Mary Coble has inspired me to ask the question: IS THIS ART?!? How about if I call this a six month performance piece, with my husband the sole spectator??

I think that having only one spectator makes it super arty!

I already feel kind of important about my work!

What do you think?

What is the point of this guy???

Why don’t the Republicans nominate Bishop Don instead?

He’s got the charisma, the likability thing, the business acumen, and possibly a better grasp of  foreign relations.

I’m sick of that stupid arrogant pizza salesman.  What a fucker. His function as comic relief has expired.

Bishop Don could even use personal motto as his campaign slogan!

“Green is for the money, gold is for the honeys.”

I’m not interested in Royalty, but I love old photographs.  Today I came across a forum for people who are obsessed with Royal families and it is a motherlode of vintage photos.

An unexpected bonus is the number of arguments that break out between the people who post there. I wonder if people have to argue in online forums. Maybe it’s just the competitive nature of people who are proud of their expertise.

My husband reads a forum for audiophiles and he says they don’t argue there.  I’m surprised that guys who can tell the difference between five different masters of a Jimi Hendrix record can accept each other’s opinions without jockeying for authority. But moderators are there to end discussions, so who knows what would happen if the posters were left alone to boast about their rare Japanese boxed sets of obscure Eric Clapton demos.

Check out “Alexander Palace Time Machine” for amazing photos and petty arguments! Start here.

~

* According to a forum regular, here are the Royals who are worst at being Royals:

Prince Charles of Great Britian.
Camilla, The Duchess of Cornwall.
Prince Harry of Great Britian.
Princess Anne of Great Britian.
Crown Prince Philip of Belgium.
Prince Joachim of Denmark.
Prince Albert of Monaco.
Victor-Emmanuel of Italy, Duke of Savoye.
Marina-Doria of Italy, Duchess of Savoye.

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.