Godammit, I’m Mad!

Today is my mom’s birthday and I’m burning a candle for her.

Ever since she died nine years ago, I’ve had a much better relationship with her. I read somewhere that the relationship you have with your mom is in your head, not in any temporal or objective reality. So now that she’s gone, I finally feel loved by her. I feel tenderness toward her, instead of fear or anger. I forgive her.

When my mom was diagnosed with cancer, she was told she had six months to live. My sister and I got hospice care for her, because she wanted to die in her own bed.

A couple of times, she asked me to help kill her. Each time, I explained that I just couldn’t consider it. I did what I could to provide comfort. My sister and I often spent the night with her, and we tried to conceal our anxiety and grief. She declined over the six months, becoming delusional at times and suspecting us of hiring fake rabbis or switching her drinking glass. Near the end, I chewed up food for her and fed it to her like a baby bird.

Finally, the last morning arrived and her beautiful Jamaican nurse called us to hurry over to say goodbye. Her death throes were terrifying and unbearable to watch, but we had to bear it. My sister and I each held one of her hands as she died. The nurse recited the Lord’s Prayer. My sister sobbed hysterically throughout.

Afterwards, we sat in my mom’s bedroom, paralyzed with shock.  Other family members arrived. I turned around in my chair and opened a drawer, not really thinking about what I was doing. In the drawer was her will, and nothing else.

I picked up the will and read the first line aloud. “I, _________, being of sound mind, hereby exclude my two daughters from this will. I do so deliberately, and should they contest it, they will receive not more than one dollar each.”

Mom, you were a funny one. Happy birthday.

Ahem. Let the meeting come to order!

First of all, in response to all the nice people who are concerned about my age, my shriveled anus, and so on, I would like to make it clear that I will be fifty seven this month and I fucking rule. See me arm wrestling above, at a family gathering a couple of weeks ago.

Face it! I just rule. It’s not my fault that I didn’t over-pluck my eyebrows, I didn’t like staying out in the sun, I didn’t fuck up my hair and I was just lucky that way. This rampant ageism among the nice people who have recently come aboard is very sad. They are terrified of aging but that’s not my fault either. In any case, that particular weapon is useless here. Thanks anyway!

Second: An excitable woman in Texas has taken it upon herself to rally her Good Ol Gals on facebook to come here and cause mischief. The woman is a pal of Sea and Mom.  Here is her best comment thus far:

Now we know more than we wanted to know about Sea’s appraisal of me. She is welcome to perseverate on female genitalia, as she does on her “other” blog. Just not mine.

As it turns out, poor Mom is also preoccupied with me as evidenced by a histrionic screed that she left as a comment, using a proxy server.  Her comment was particular shocking, coming from a mother, but obviously our ideas of morality are very different. At least she got Sea to delete this “thought:”

Grief, shoes, it’s all the same to some people. Scary but true.

~

Now, here is my thinking. I have been committed to a blog that is free of censorship. But this orchestrated attempt to waste my time is annoying my real readers. So, how about one of these strategies:

1. When some lunatic leaves a comment that slanders me ( in the true sense of slander) we shall respond to them with the word “WHORE!”  For example,  “Dumbbell” writes “LOL sister wolf, your an old old old anus with no sole” the response from faithful readers shall be “WHORE!”

or

2. I will just allow the first two lines of every slanderous comment and delete the rest. That way, “Judy under a fake name” can write: “sister wolf you make me sick, bile vitriol, venom, old old old empty lonely bad mother crazy as a loon and even reading my freaking ebay curations and you make me so sick and you hate on and your just so old and  why don’t you get a life you horrible old thing and bab bad mother who doesnt know how to grieve like we do in Texas you old old older-than-me narcissist narcissist bla bla bla bla” but it will be shortened to “sister wolf you make me sick, bile vitriol, venom, old old old empty”

Well, these are my ideas for now.

Sea has taken a brief respite from shoe curating but the posing and self-adoration continue unabated, like the tides.

Sea acquired an ugly cockroach necklace in an effort to establish her quirkiness, and she heaped on the black eye liner for a Clueless Goth™ effect. She and Mom snagged a lame python jacket after a harrowing close call with not snagging it! Whew! Thank god it all worked out.

Most noteworthy is the garbled language skills that Sea has been curating! Here is her observation about her taste in interior design:

“I guess the baroque-psychedelia of Foster’s Home has my eye trained on the more whimsical touches of the mansions from the Gilded era. I got this book at Dolly Python yesterday and  love to see l that so many of these suffocatingly extravagant rooms have touches of candy colors like mint green, bubblegum pink, and robin’s egg blue.”

Hahahaha! “Suffocatingly extravagant?!?” Suffering succotash! That sounds like a description of her own living room!

Okay, you know the drill. I’ll go first:

Dear Sea, You’ll never believe this but I have the same black sweater from Lucky Jeans so we’re almost twins! Do you ever wonder what you would think about if you weren’t wealthy? Did you know that most women have a deep-seated dread of being like their mom? I like how you defy this fear by trying to look like a thirty-something divorcee circa 1980. If you need more cockroaches, let me recommend my kitchen! Love, SW

OMG! This is major news! It’s official: Sea has confirmed FOR THE FIRST TIME that Ronny™ is her boyfriend!

Where is the goddamn champagne?!

I don’t know why it’s taken so long, but I think we can all agree that we saw this coming. Maybe they fell in love at the cat cafe, or maybe it was already a done deal. I hope that being in love doesn’t interfere with the curating.

Sea has been trying to source a pair of hideous Margiela shoes and I am crossing my fingers that she’ll acquire them from Louisa Via Roma or whatever that place is called.

Meanwhile, Mom has been cooking up a storm, correctly deducing that Sea is now out of control and that she must forge a new Jane-less identity for herself.  Without Mom, though, Sea’s style has degenerated to tacky ill-fittting thriftshop dresses and sloppy unflattering hairdo’s.

Sea won’t publish your worthless opinions, but you can leave them here instead. I will go first:

Dear Sea, I am thrilled that you and Ronny™ are a couple, but whoa, he is packing such a gigantic package, are you sure you’re up to this?? Mom must’ve had a stroke when she saw this photo. I am impressed by your courage in following your heart even if it means dating your ex-boyfriend’s pal and risking a female injury. Don’t forget to shop, okay? Love, SW

All my devoted trolls are demanding that I go away and mourn. But the problem is, there’s no way to implement this. Mourning isn’t a thing you do in a black dress. Maybe they want me to spend all day at a cemetery. But it doesn’t matter where I am, it’s all the same barren place, a place I’d rather not be.

I am going through the motions, because that’s all I know how to do. I could take to my bed and never get up again. I’m not ruling that out. It just seems unfair to my family. I don’t know how to have a nervous breakdown or I’d gladly have one.

I don’t want to “recover” because mothers who bounce back after the death of a child seem despicable. How could anyone “move forward” after this? What would be the point?

I don’t know what to do besides cry or distract myself.  I’m still waiting for him to come back. When he does, I’ll try not to scold him for putting us through this. Meanwhile, I have to pick out a grave marker and then try to pay for it.

I started blogging as a way to express myself. Now, it’s a way to escape myself.

If one more moron whines about my “negativity” or complains that I “hate on” people, I’m going to lose my fucking temper. You can’t hate “on” people. But I might have to learn how.

A thoughtful reader named “A” had an uncanny hunch that I would appreciate a blogger who I’ve just named The Thigh Girl.  I don’t know what her deal is, but it doesn’t take a rocket surgeon to see that she LOVES her thighs.

She has every reason to love her thighs. They are shapely and firm looking, and free of unsightly hair. But what does she want from us, a Thigh Award? In every outfit post, she offers at least 10 photos of the same outfit,  with little variation in her facial expression, which I will have to call Pensive.

I can’t bring my self to read her commentary about her outfits but I did click on her “about” thing. She tells us in no uncertain terms that her hair is naturally red, godammit, and she’s never died it. Take that! Wait, maybe she’s speaking directly to Sea!!!!!

In any case, it is a thigh-driven blog and as such might be just the thing for people who are sick and tired of Roomi.

Several people have taken it upon themselves to chide me for stooping to mockery in my time of grief. They can complain all they want, but I need to keep my mind from wandering to a place of bottomless despair. I will stay in denial as long as possible. Maybe longer.

If you know any stupid whores with blogs, now is a good time to share them with me! THX

Refinery 29 is running ANOTHER contest, this time to win a piece of Rossmore Jewelry. You just have to write about your favorite summer accessory and the most interesting answer will win.

Imagine my horror to find that some bitch named Jinjen wrote about an alligator foot necklace that goes with all her dark and tribal blah blah blah, a full hour before I wrote my entry. Fuck! What a cheater!

As per our recent discussion of fashionable women who sport mustaches, look how trendy this look has become!

“The Frida” reminds me of the time I was Frida Kahlo for Halloween and I ended up having to explain to people who she was. I was too vain to pencil on a mustache, even though of course I have a faint one of my own. Next time, I’m going full mustache, baby.

(identities concealed to protect the guilty)

Kim { 06.21.10 at 11:22 AM }

I’ve followed your blog for ages now. and just when I thought you couldn’t get any cooler, your husband is a taxidermist! Get out of my head already! I love taxidermy so fucking much. How did your husband get into it?

Please forgive me Jesus, I can’t stop myself without Your help!

First, I was upset to see these $595 boots ( or rather, “kicks”) that have gotten so much press. Why does this poor girl need to spend so much on, let me quote here, “…my first piece of Alex Wang.”  “Alex??” Is that like someone buying the knock-off version by “Jeff” Campbell?

But then I am referred to an online magazine where the girl is featured in an interview and replying to the question, “What was the last thing you’ve bought?” the poor girl answers:

“A crew neck t-shirt from Obesity and Speed with ‘Choose Death’ printed on it. Can’t go wrong with that!”

Aaaah. Help me, help me, Jesus. Give me the courage, the wisdom, the serenity prayer, anything. The brand names, the goth cluelessness, no no no, take it away. Or help the poor girl to wise up.