February 27th, 2015


When I was curating Douches for both money and personal pleasure, people would ask me if there was a girl counterpart: a Douchette.

It has taken me this long to come across a perfect representation of a Douchette. Leave it to Shopbop to produce this prototype.

If only she had a fringed handbag, she’d be close to a perfect ten.

I hate her, but I love her. I’ll bet she never ever puts down her iPhone, ever. And she loves Haim.


The Headache

February 14th, 2015

deathrow burger

One day last week, fresh from a shower, I swaggered into my husband’s home office, made eye contact, turned around and walked away. He put his guitar down and followed me to the bedroom.

There, we embarked upon an  intrinsically evil and gravely immoral marital act *.

Concentrating mightily, approaching take-off, I was visited by a crushing pain in my head, like being hit with a brick. FUCK, I thought. Determined to reward Houston, I persevered. Then, I announced that something was wrong.

I know a little about aneurisms, or at least I know the symptoms. If you have ‘the worst headache of your life’ and it came on suddenly, go to the ER.

I waited a few minutes to see if the pain would go away but it continued, pounding furiously and somewhat rhythmically. We called the 24-hour nurse hotline that comes with my health insurance. A nice old lady with a smoker’s voice who was probably wearing a housecoat advised me to call 911.

We drove to the nearest hospital and I put on lipstick in the car. I don’t go to hospitals without lipstick. The pain didn’t budge.

A nice doctor decided to give me a CAT scan, based on the pain level and my sky-high cholesterol. Even before leaving the house, I had decided against having brain surgery. Brain surgery meant shaving my head, so no. I tried imagining myself with one half of my head bald, wearing a scarf, and having a nice enough personality that people would still love me. I was skeptical about pulling this off.

The CAT scan guy told me to remove my earrings and that was annoying. I couldn’t get one out so he had to help me. He asked me what I did for a living and I said, “I write gossip crap.” He asked me where I wrote it and I answered, “a dumb website.” He gave me a look and said disapprovingly, “You sound like you don’t like what you do,” as though I had offended his sense of propriety. I gave up on bonding with him.

We waited for the test results. A nurse stuck an IV in me and I was sure it was intended for someone else. The doctor appeared and said my brain looked okay. The pain was a migraine, he determined. I mentioned when the pain had occurred and he said, “That happens.” I whined back, “It’s not going to happen again, though.”

A nice nurse with a fake flower in her hair told me she was going to give me some morphine. I was careful to hide my delight. She said: “You’re about to have the ride of your life.”

Are nurses supposed to say that when they inject you with morphine? We talked about her son, who had just joined the Navy, then she turned off the light to let me ‘rest.’

It took a few minutes for the pain to stop and my husband told me to be patient. We decided that since I didn’t need brain surgery, we would go get hamburgers.

Another nurse gave me some aftercare instructions and prescriptions I planned not to fill. I asked if it was okay to eat a burger and she hesitated but agreed there was nothing better than a burger and fries.

I told her that I’d decided to have a burger and fries for my last meal if I was ever on Death Row. She shrieked, “ME TOO!” and we shared a high five.

The burger from Bunz was totally fucking amazing. I can’t recommend it highly enough, whether or not you’re about to die.

Bad Therapist

February 1st, 2015

bad therapist

Once upon a time, Max went to a residential rehab where we hoped he would finally be saved from his addiction. There, he was assigned a therapist who was working toward his MFT license.

Lawrence was a nice guy who genuinely liked Max very much. Who wouldn’t? Max liked Lawrence too, especially because he didn’t preach about god. In rehab, Max relapsed several times. It wasn’t going to be the magic ticket, I came to realize.

I visited often and soon became friends with R, a ‘spiritual adviser’ there. She was single and wondering if she’d ever meet someone nice. I suggested Lawrence, who she barely knew. R and Lawrence went out and fell in love, bam. They were soul-mates.

Lawrence left the rehab after falling out with the administration. He offered to see Max on the sly, a breach of the rules.

Max left rehab and got a job. But he was pretty shaky. Lawrence was seeing Max alone, and with us, his parents, for family therapy. We wanted to support Max any way we could, but I had my doubts about Lawrence. He didn’t seem to know what he was doing.

Max started using dope again and Lawrence kept his secret. One night a friend called to say that Max was in her living room, fucked up. We raced over to get him, our darling baby, and got him admitted to a rehab where he could detox.

That rehab was a bad mistake. They discharged him early, suffering from insomnia and withdrawal. Max called Lawrence that night but Lawrence didn’t call him back. In the early morning, Max jumped onto a busy highway.

Here’s the thing. For the next nine months that Max was alive, Lawrence offered to resume counseling him but didn’t try to direct him to a real doctor who knew how to treat depression. Lawrence was still trying to get his MFT.

At Max’s burial,  I hugged Lawrence and said, ‘I’m not mad at you.’ He replied, ‘I’m not mad at you either.’ He offered his business card to someone.

Time passed and R was one of my dearest friends. I could talk to her about anything, but not about Lawrence, who was now her husband.  I accepted this as the price of our friendship.

One night at my computer, I read something scary about the drug Neurontin. I knew that Lawrence took Neurontin and that he had suggested Max try it, too.

So I emailed Lawrence for the first time. I sent him a link to the study and wrote these words.

I came across an article about Neurontin in my email tonight. You should probably not be taking this drug, nor should you have urged Max to take it.

In the morning, I received an email from R:

you just sent an email that crushed Lawrence to the core. it was cruel. it was also betrayed my trust.

i dont understand. You crossed the line with me. i ca’t trust you. what was the point of that? He does not deserve this.
Weve had this conversation before. what you set out to do you accomplished. You really hurt him and me by proxy.
 What ever he did he was only trying to help Max.
 Lawrence can never see or look at you again. That was just so cruel. I really wish you had not done that because it means we can not be friends. You are too dangerous.
 My husband is lying here tortutred. Good job.

R never spoke to me again, and blocked me from contacting her again. But before blocking me, she wrote this:

Max walked in the [rehab] broken very very broken, already.

Last week on the TV series Web Therapy, the worthless therapist character told someone defensively that her patients were ‘already damaged when they come to me.’ It was a funny line because no one would ever say such an awful stupid thing.

Hideous Denim For 2015

January 20th, 2015

denim MM6 Maison Martin Margiela-395

Why is denim so easy to fuck up?

2015 is shaping up to be a ghastly landscape of super ugly denim, in either a misguided nod to normcore or just an expression of creative bankruptcy.

Ugly denim pieces are available at all price points (and note that I am saying ‘price points’ with a sneer.) I’m especially pleased by the really expensive shit, and I pray that idiots everywhere will shell out the big bucks to look like a tragic loser from the 80’s.

I’m talking to you, Taylor Swift!

The monstrosity above is a pair of jeans by Maison Martin Margiela, 395 dollars worth of unflattering ugliness. The high waist, the pale wash, the buttons, I’m going to say a full ten on a one to ten hideousness scale.

Here’s a jacket by Viktor and Rolf, priced right at $995.

denim victor and rolph jacket 995

I think it would be great for Angelina Jolie, don’t you? It’s dowdy, minimalist. and designed to underscore one’s contempt for trends and color.

Now, these winners by One Teaspoon are a solid 9:

denim one teaspoon trashed freebird-139

You’re wondering why they didn’t score a ten, and here’s why: I’m saving it for this sublime eyesore, also by One Teaspoon.

denim one teaspoon-139

Right? Does it get any better than this? And only $139!

Now, midi skirts are inherently awful but this one by Steve and Yoni is pretty damn special:

denim distressed midi skirt steve and yoni-315

What a work of art! $315 for all these design features…the pleated waist, the inverted front pleat, the distressed holes, oh my god, I just noticed the shit on the side. Are they buttons or snaps? I swear I just saw them. Wow.

Okay. Remember Alexa Chung? Here’s a dress she designed for AG Jeans.

denim alexa chung dress-230

Nice. It’s $230 for that icky cheap looking fabric. The elasticized ruffle: Priceless.

Finally, because I’m tired, just one more. A denim dress by Club Monaco.

denim dress club monoco-198

Try not to get sidetracked by her emaciated thighs. Instead, marvel at how someone in 2015 will race to buy this pointless, drab, unflattering piece of shit for $198.

Golden Globes 2015 Exegesis

January 12th, 2015

george and rande golden globes

God, what a fucking bore! I’m surprised I could even stay awake, but here are the main points as I recall them.

Tina Fey and Amy Pohler were funny and adorable; we expect no less from them at this point. Everyone loved their joke about Amal and George Clooney, as if Amal needed to feel more grandiose.  For me, it was all about hating Amal Clooney.

Have you ever seen a more camera hungry woman in your life? She flipped her hair extensions and batted her eyes like a schoolgirl, always searching for a camera to smile at. The white gloves…what the hell, does she think she’s a fucking debutante?

I’m sure she and George have it all worked out, with him pretending to be heterosexual and her making her family happy by finally marrying at 36 years old. It’s fine with me but I’d like them to come out instead of pretending to be a love-match. And most urgent, I’d like for her to eat a cheeseburger. Let’s look at her twig-like arms:

twig arms

I love the way her Je Suis Charlie badge coordinates with her black and white color scheme! And sticking it on a Dior bag is so elegant, so charmingly oblivious to money, c’est juste?

J Lo was her usual self, tits out and dressed like a Vegas showgirl She is this close to turning into Charro.

Ruth Wilson seemed a little too arrogant when she won for her role in The Affair, as if the film critics finally got it right. Still, she’s the only reason to watch that awful series, may it hurry up and end.

Jared Leto looked especially nuts in a white prom tux, but his long braid made up for it. Robert Downey Jr. presented an award I think, but I took that as the perfect time to go and pee.

Prince! Prince is always the perfect surprise, and I loved how he read out the winners, John Legend and Common. Kudos to three men I would have sex with if I were unmarried and ambulatory!

Jane Fonda looked great without those implants she used to have, but she should have given them to Kate Hudson. Kate Hudson is determined to make you look at her chest, just like her mother before her. Maybe it’s genetic.

Alejandro González Iñárritu was totally disarming in his acceptance speech for Birdman. Let’s have more passionate foreign guys picking up awards, okay?

Oh wait, I almost forgot about Transparent, a series about awful horrible rich L.A. Jews who make me want to convert to Catholicism.  While I love Jeffrey Tambor in anything, the other actors are torture to watch.

The creator of Transparent, Jill Soloway, made an indelible impression with a hideous pantsuit that I can’t begin to describe. Just google it.

Gwyneth Paltrow stuck with her favorite color pink for a Pepto-Bismol colored dress that hurt my eyes and stomach. Gwyneth always Brings It.

Getting back to George Cloone, he made a heartfelt speech.

Blah blah blah, I love my wife, really, I swear it, blah blah blah, we will not walk in fear, blah blah, I want to run for public office so please please vote for me.

I don’t know about you but I’m not buying it.



Banished Words for 2015

January 1st, 2015


Lake Superior State Universary has published its 40th Annual List of Banished words, “Banished from the Queen’s English for Mis-use, Over-use and General Uselessness.”

Considering what an awful year it’s been for language, not to mention humanity itself, it is a short and vastly incomplete list, compiled from nominations received via the university’s website.

Here we go:

Polar Vortex
Skill Set
Enhanced Interrogation

I’m going to say meh to this list, even though most people might include meh on their own list. I’m also going to complain about the spelling of cray-cray.

Takeaway is a good choice. Bae, though, I’m really conflicted about, since it’s so stupid that I hear it as tongue-in-cheek even if it’s used with sincerity. I enjoy it in a perverse way, like when I hear someone say ‘conversate.’

So let’s get to the shit they overlooked. Just off the top of my head:

Unpack, used to mean find out more about the subject. I hate this. It’s the new ‘Drill-down.’

Folks, as in ‘Yes, we did torture some folks.’ Enough of folks, for fucksake! Let’s just say ‘people’ like we used to!

Bro– as a suffix. Brogrammers, Brodouches, we get it, now let it go.

Let it go is a prompt I never, ever want to hear again, ever, unless I’m holding on to a butterfly or something.

A Red Lip as in ‘wear with simple jewelry and a red lip.’  God, why?? Say ‘red lipstick’ unless you want to die.


Okay, I’m going to stop now before I get too worked up.

What about you, bae? What words and phrases need to be banned for 2015?




And For Our Jewish Friends…

December 23rd, 2014

hot-jewish ladies

In my 20s, a hundred years ago, I remember enjoying newspaper ads for grocery stores that said “And For Our Jewish Friends,” with photos of Hanukkah or Passover food. I enjoyed what I felt was the discreet racism of “Our Jewish Friends” and probably inferred a silent “You kikes!”

I thought this Jewish specificity was a thing of the past but nope, the clickbait above popped up yesterday.

So where are the Hottest Presbyterian Woman Under 40?  I couldn’t find them, but I did find fifty more Hot Jews, including many names I’ve never heard before plus Sarah Silverman, the poster girl for attractive Jewishness.

If you google the phrase “And for our Jewish Friends,” it crops up everywhere, usually a polite afterthought to an Easter or Christmas wish. “Hey Jews, look, we’re not excluding you!”

When will America single out Muslims and Buddhists in their holiday greetings or hot babe galleries? Until that happens, I resent the shout out to Jews.

Fuck you, Dominant American Culture! I’m not your friend. I don’t even believe in god. But here’s how I served some pastries at my housewarming party last week.


L’chaim and Merry Christmas, inshallah!

Happy Now, Seth Rogan?

December 17th, 2014

fuck them

Now that Sony has cancelled the release of The Interview, I wonder if there’s anyone on the Sony lot going ‘I told you so!’

When we look back on this debacle, I hope people will view the movie as an egregious exercise in bad taste and hubris on the part of the filmmakers and the studio that gave it a green light.

Everyone on twitter wants to express dismay about caving in to terrorists and about free speech. Aaron Sorkin has called media outlets that published the leaks ‘guilty of moral treason’ and Judd Apatow says it’s a dark day for creative expression. Rob Lowe says, ‘Wow. Everyone caved. The hackers won. Wow.’

Do you think this stupid movie is like the twin towers? Or the constitution? Does everyone have the right to make a $40 million movie that makes fun of assassinating a current world leader? What if another country made a comedy about assassinating Obama? I’m going to be on the fucking NSA watch list just for typing that!

A dear friend once wrote a play called ‘Let’s Kill The President!’ knowing that it was going to be guerrilla theater, and that was part of the concept. But he didn’t expect it to play internationally or to get forty million bucks for his joke.

I don’t like Seth Rogan or James Franco and now I like them less. Everyone who decries the freedom of speech they have been denied in the cancellation of this stupid movie should come out and publicly ridicule the prophet Mohammed.

And you know why they wont? Because they don’t want to get killed or have a fucking fatwa put on them! They like their freedom but they recognize a threat where it exists. Why didn’t Sony have the brains to recognize that North Korea represents an ongoing legitimate threat? Why didn’t the State Department weigh in on this earlier?

You can read the early reviews for The Interview on Rotten Tomatoes, but here’s a teaser:

It essentially uses a major global issue to cheaply dress up what is two hours of hit-and-miss erection jokes.

Okay, so you’re thinking, “It’s not the point whether the movie’s a piece of shit, bla bla bla!” but that aspect is not irrelevant.

I would defend an artist’s right to make art, even bad art. But anus jokes aren’t worth dying for or even protesting about. Fuck everybody involved and the horses they rode in on, capitalist pigs one and all.


Eat Already, For Fucksake!

November 15th, 2014

please eat

The Ass Age

November 12th, 2014


We have entered The Ass Age, and The Apocalypse is sure to follow. I would like it to hurry up.

I’m not certain about the beginning of The Ass Age. Jennifer Lopez was the precursor many years ago but no one could’ve imagined what was coming.

Astute bible students may have predicted it, though.

And when the ass saw the angel of the LORD, she fell down under Balaam: and Balaam’s anger was kindled, and he smote the ass with a staff.

That’s just one of 143 times the word ‘ass’ appears in the bible. And as we know, Things Happen For A Reason. The Lord was warning us about the worship of asses. And in the fullness of time, it has come to pass.

Kim Kardashian is the Anti-Christ, obviously. We are suffering for her sins. I am, anyway.

That huge ass is following us everywhere, threatening to block out the sun. Maybe it’s causing Climate Change for all we know. It keeps getting bigger. It will need a wheelbarrow or crane or something if it keeps growing at its present rate.

What does that huge ass want from us?

It has already spawned disturbing imitators, especially in the art of hip-hop, who might be the Apostles. How many Apostles were there? I once has an awful wall-hanging depiction of The Last Supper that I used as a rug, but I failed to count the attendees. Were there eight? Ten?

Whatever. Nicki Minaj and Iggy Azalea are two, and Khloe Kardashian makes three. When we get the full cohort, the doomsday clock will strike midnight. The End Times. It will be a bummer for most of us but for others it will come as a blessed relief. No more huge asses taunting us, frightening us, swelling uncontrollably the The Blob.

We will be free.

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