Godammit, I’m Mad!

Branding is so important, blah blah blah. You love Godammit dot com, so imagine how much you’ll love a genuine Sister Wolf t-shirt!

Is this the greatest design in the history of the world?! I think so, too. (Credit goes to my Webmaster) I need to choose a manufacturer for this project, and then before you know it, you’ll be able to buy a t-shirt for yourself and your loved ones.

100% of the profits will go to the Cause, i.e. staying out of debtors’ prison.

YES, you would buy one; or NO, go fuck myself?

Thong strap, zippers, folded cuffs, snaps, fake weaving, six inch heels….what, no kitchen sink?

Remember how in The September Issue, Anna Wintour cringes and says, “We don’t use [the word] bootie?”  Ha. Anna, you’re too sensitive. Try saying “Moto Bootie.”

The Lana Moto Bootie by Dolce Vita. $275

California State Senator Roy Ashburn (R) seemed like too much of a no-brainer for Cunt of the Week™, but then I thought, “If it walks like a cunt and it quacks like a cunt….”

The man is a cunt, pure and simple. With a staunch anti-gay rights voting record, Ashburn has come out as gay, only after being arrested for DUI upon leaving a popular gay nightspot in Sacramento.

Ashburn has voted against a number of gay rights measures, including efforts to expand anti-discrimination laws and recognize out-of-state gay marriages. Last year, he opposed a bill to establish a day of recognition to honor slain gay rights activist Harvey Milk.

Equality California, a group that advocates for expanded gay rights and other issues, has consistently given Ashburn a zero rating on its scorecard.

Today, Ashburn’s statement is typically self-dramatizing and hypocritical:

“I am gay … those are the words that have been so difficult for me for so long.” (Awwww, boo hoo!) “The best way to handle that is to be truthful and to say to my constituents and all who care that I am gay. But I don’t think it’s something that has affected, nor will it affect, how I do my job.”

Here’s what bothers me the most. In his radio interview, Ashburn said he is drawing on his Christian faith, and he asked people to pray for him.

PRAY FOR WHAT, you fucking cunt?!? That god forgives you for being gay? That he turns you into a heterosexual? Or that people don’t view you as a fat sanctimonious liar?

Imagine if I voted for all kinds of anti-Semitic legislation and then asked for people to forgive me because I was afraid to admit I was Jewish? Would I deserve sympathy, or would I be a Cunt of the Week™?

I rest my case. Congratulations, Sen. Roy Ashburn!

God, what a bore! Where is Renee Zellweger, making that horrible face, when you need her?

All I wanted was for James Cameron not to win, so I shouldn’t complain. But this year’s show was one of the blandest ever. Luckily, my guests turned out to have various grievances against various nominees, so the awards were not totally devoid of drama.

We all know who won, so let’s get to how everyone looked:

Meryl Streep wore a white bed-sheet, J Lo wore a dresss made out of Styrofoam packing material, and Miley Cyrus looked like a low-end prostitute. Sarah Jessica Parker was the victim of a fake-tan accident and wore a dead animal on the  back of her head.

Sandra Bullock fucked up her look with a day-glow lipstick, and looked strangely enervated. George Clooney wore his gray hair in little bangs and refused to smile for the cameras. Cameron Diaz looked less disheveled than usual but you could sense her need for a steady boyfriend. The girl from “Precious” was absolutely enormous, but no one was allowed to mention it. On the other hand, James Cameron’s billionth wife, Suzy Amis, is clearly starving to death. Send a social worker to their house, please! Maybe he’s keeping her locked up in the basement and forgets to feed her!

Kathryn Bigalowe is 58 and looks fantastic, having escaped from James Cameron before it was too late. Collin Farrell looked yummier than ever; when I asked “Who here does not want Colin Farrell?” only my teenager raised his hand.

The most fashionable woman of the evening was Sandy Powell, who won her third Oscar for costume design and came across as hilariously arrogant. But her whole look was shockingly cool compared to the parade of uninspired evening gowns. Down to her deep green nail polish, she looked fabulous.

On a personal note, I drank my first bottle of beer in nearly 4o years, because it was flavored with strawberry. Perhaps now my dream of becoming an alcoholic can finally come true!

What’s the difference between Alexa Chung and Lou Doillon?

Okay, one looks more like a horse, but otherwise, is there that much of a difference? Why do we need two of them?

Thanks to Iron Chic for calling my attention to this ridiculous cover story in Life & Style Weekly, my illustrious former employer. While the magazine is known for its fair and balanced, ahem, reporting, this story about Brad and Angie’s kid is shameful drivel of the first order.

First of all, I love Shiloh.  In her first published photo, she looks just like Tweety Pie, and I love Tweety Pie. I also love babies (unless they’re the really fat ones with the big bald Aryan looking heads.) Shiloh is just the epitome of cuteness. I love everything about her. I’m practically lactating just thinking about her!

I can see that she has a short haircut, but I’m not sure this makes her a lesbian or a man trapped in a woman’s body. I think Brad and Angie should sue the shit out of Life & Style for casting aspersions upon this innocent child and for fostering stupid stereotypes about gender behavior. GLAAD is pissed off by this story, and rightly so.

If you’ve ever been around little kids, you know they love to play dress up. Little boys are especially attracted to feather boas and high heels. They are trying out identities and their freedom to do this without being subject to criticism and shame is already pretty limited.  I’m glad to hear that Shiloh wants to be a pirate, but I’m aware that every word I read in the gossip magazines is a lie, including “and” and “the.”

Fuckers! I’m here for you, Shiloh. I like to wear boys’ clothes, too.

I just tried to read an essay in the New York Times that cited the words “cellar door” as the most beautiful phrase in the English Language.  HUH? Normally I enjoy lists of “beautiful words” but this threw me. Cellar door doesn’t do anything for me, in sound or meaning. It actually makes me feel a little tense, since I automatically presume that something bad exists behind a cellar door, like a maniac or a dead animal.

I screwed around on google and found this list of “The 100 Most Beautiful Words in English.” Take a look! I was surprised by how many I disagree with. Usually lists of beautiful words are big on euphonious words like shimmer, iridescent,  and lullaby, but this list is all over the place.

It includes “plethora” which I hate, and “inglenook,” which I think is the name of a cheap wine, but I’m not sure.  I misread “fetching” as “felching,” which was a momentary shock that has ruined “fetching” for me, at least for tonight.

“Ineffable” is a great word, and so is “imbroglio.” I also like “pungent” and “woodwind” and “melancholy,” none of which made the top 100. On the other hand, it did include “penumbra” which is too reminiscent of “pudenda” for my comfort.

“Halcyon” is a lovely word that made the list, as one might expect. It would be beautiful even if it didn’t evoke a nice tranquilizer. I once told a friend that the drug Halcion made me think of people laying in the grass beside a sun-dappled lake. He replied, “They should have called it Seurat.” I nearly fell in love with him for that, but I was already in a relationship and he was a prick.

What words do you find beautiful? Feel free to list your own 100 if you love that many.

It’s on! Cunt of the Week™ will be a new feature, and you can nominate a candidate by writing to me at sisterwolf666@gmail.com.

Sting set the bar pretty high, but let’s face it, he’s not the only cunt around. Years ago, in the office where I worked with my BFF, we honored our Cunts of the Week™  by putting their picture on a nice gold ribbon we hung on the wall. It’s a lovely tradition that I will always cherish.

Here is the only criterion for nominations: The person has to have been a cunt during a given week, NOT just in general and NOT because of some behavior six months ago.

At the end of the year, we can vote for the prestigious Cunt of the Year™, and of course there will be a Lifetime Achievement Award too. (Madonna, I’m thinking of you here….)

Two weeks after I turned fourteen, I hit the road with my boyfriend. A day or two earlier, my mom had issued an ultimatum: Either I stop seeing him, or she would call the police. I had brought him home to meet her, and the sight of a scruffy bearded 26 year old man, assuring her that he was serious about me, must have been horrifying.

I was filled with excitement when he suggested that we run away together. He was a Pied Piper figure on the Sunset Strip, with plenty of followers eager to help in our getaway. In no time, we had fake IDs and a guy to drive us to San Fransisco. Our birth certificates belonged to an 18 year old girl named Debbie and some guy named Warren. For the next few weeks, we had to call each other Warren and Debbie, names I still hate to this day.

I stopped at a phone booth to call my sister. I told her I was leaving, and I’d be back in four years. She was furious and threatened to tell our mother. When I said she could have my over-the-knee boots, she backed down, clearly surprised by her good fortune.

For some reason, I wasn’t wearing my contact lenses. It was annoying but I guess I resigned myself to being blind. It was already after midnight and our first stop was Tijuana, to get married. He must have wanted to make an honest woman of me. I remember waking up some guy in a shack who didn’t speak much English. My bridal attire was one of my every day outfits: an awful brown satin dress that looked like a civil war costume, and bare feet.

From Mexico we went to San Francisco, our driver’s original destination. He let us off near a Goodwill thrift store, where I bought a black velvet opera coat for fifty cents. The plan was to dress like a “straight” person, but I had to rebel. It was a reflex or an instinct; it was all I ever did. My husband went to a barber who cut his long hair and shaved off his beard. I was stunned by how unattractive he looked without the hair and beard, but it was too late. I was stuck with him.

Catching up with Sea of Shoes after her whirlwind visit to New York, we now find her back in Texas, specifically, at an exclusive sale of Mom’s “vintage” wares at some shop in Dallas.

Sea and Mom spread the joy of hideous animal-themed costume jewelry, most if it sourced from eBay at a fraction of the price charged to their hapless groupies. Years from now, Texas woman will be wondering what came over them when they gaze upon their gigantic monkey and elephant pendants.

Jane stood around in her Anne D. shoes, perhaps daydreaming about Asian boys or Martin Margiela. Meanwhile, Mom has posted about her love of studded shoes, featuring at least $4,000 of  her carefully edited collection.

Would you like to leave a comment for Jane, who doesn’t care what you think? I will go first:

Dear Sea, I saw a video of an interview you gave in New York, and I realized that you are just an average looking girl who doesn’t seem to grasp the implications of anything at all. I see that Mom is the brains behind everything, and I hope one day you can move on to a ‘transitional object‘, like a blankie, before finally breaking free of Mom for good. Meanwhile, I think you guys have enough shoes. Love, SW.