This photo is all I could come up with for a New Year’s gift.

May 2012 be the year you see the dopeness in everything, and not the wackness. xo

Remember the last time we struggled with this?

On the one hand, this guy is dressed like a clown. On the other hand,  he projects intelligence, confidence and a rakish challenge.

Do you want to grab his jacket and run? Or would you rather go back to his studio and play with his hair?

It’s not often that I feel so conflicted about a man’s attractiveness.

On the one hand, he’s so…but on the other hand, he’s kind of…

What’s your vote?

(*via The Satorialist. Gott sei Dank, er ist nicht verrückt.)

What’s the point of being Calvin Klein if all it gets you is this 21 year old porn model??

This photo, for me, is the ultimate in street-style douche-girls. Is there a name for female douches? I’m sure she’s a very nice person in real life.  I’m just saying, the thing she projects to me is “Look! I’m a douche.”

Obviously, I’m on a really negative roll. It was nice that others were able to share my existential nausea re those two It Girls. Are you feeling me on this, too?

Looking to cause my self more pain, I kept at it and clicked on some person’s new “girl crush” and found the very special blogger pictured above.

Ombre hair, stupid hat, rosary, too many bracelets, over the knee boots…what’s not to crush on?!

Lately, I keep reading about “What Goes Around Comes Around,” a vintage clothing shop in New York where hipsters get their old jeans and military jackets.

The first time I heard about this place was a piece in Time Out about style mavens. The co-owner and “style director” of WGACA is a guy named Gerard Maione who exemplifies everything I hate in a man.  You know, arrogant, vain, self-congratulatory, fame whore, perpetual five o’clock shadow a la Richard Nixon (or that guy in Entourage) and a preening fashion style.

Everything about his screams douche.

While I’m mad, let me also say how much I hate stores like this one. They’re selling an old Stones t-shirt for $795, which is just stupid. The real problem is that they ruin things for regular people who used to find treasures in thrift shops. Thrift shops are plundered by “pickers” who sell the good shit to vintage stores, and voila, there’s nothing left but Forever 21 and Old Navy crap. Fuckers.

I’m still mad!

How about this: a fatwa on “thrifting” as a verb. or “thrifted” as an adjective?

I was up late watching TV with my husband when I learned that Chrissie Hynde has formed a new band.  To my horror, she was playing second fiddle, so to speak, to her new beloved, JP Jones, an annoying Welshman half her age.

In case anyone failed to notice the age difference, she warbles it in the song “Perfect Lover.” (I found my perfect lover, but he’s only half my age…) In fact, she and this guy have released an entire album of songs about their doomed relationship. Evidently, Jones wants to raise a family and at 58, Chrissie has hung up her childbearing spurs.

My husband brought home the new CD the other day, and our son asked about it. I explained, “It’s Chrissie Hynde and some douche in a hat.” My husband begged to differ, in a sharp tone. He had seen them perform that afternoon and Chrissie had autographed his CD.

Still, it’s awful. Not just awful, but so awful that I longed to jump out of the car when we had to listen to it on a ninety minute road trip. All the songs are “nakedly” autobiographical, with lyrics like “I’m old, you’re not” ” you surprised me in the bar when I decided to take you home.” It’s like reading the diary of someone you admire and finding a bunch of LOL’s and smiley face thingies.

Poor Chrissie. She is so besotted with this douche that she’s lost all judgment. These songs prove beyond a doubt that a little ambiguity is vital where pop songs are concerned, unless you’re a poet like Hank Williams Sr. It was so embarrassing to listen to this shit, I had to cover my face to endure it.

Patti Smith got herself a cute young guy and let him play in her band, in the background. Not only that, he was a babe. Chrissie, call Patti to find out how it’s done, before that douche empties your bank account!

To me, a Douche is instantly recognizable as such. He doesn’t have to exhibit any behavior; he’s just a Douche. Sometimes a Douche can increase his douchiness by bad behavior, like John Mayer, but usually it’s a done deal. Keith Urban is a Douche.

So is Pete Wentz and David Duchovny.

Joe Perry ( as per this photo from the American Music Awards show) is a Scumbag.

Whereas, Steven Tyler is a Douche.  Snoop Dogg = Scumbag. Mickey Rourke, another Scumbag.

Trying to think of a Jerk, my first thought was Levi Johnston, god bless him.  Jerks are more innocent than Scumbags or Douches. I even think that a Jerk could be reformable; he could wise up, theoretically anyway. Douches and Scumbags are lost causes.

I used to be able to explain the difference between a Tool and a Jerk, but I honestly can’t remember the criteria. All I remember was that some guy named Jason (who happened to be a fishmonger) was a complete Tool.

Where do you stand on these categories, and who do you think best epitomizes a Douche, Scumbag, Jerk or Tool?

Even in the midst of a crisis, I find I have not lost my ability to Hate! On a brief visit to my own home, I was privileged to catch a performance (on the David Letterman Show) by the stupidest, most awful band in the world. Edward Sharpe and the Magnetic Zeros left me with my mouth open in astonishment, after I finished calling them names out loud.

There’s a sickening douche as the front-man, with a creepy horrible girl adding vocals and dancing around like a crazed village idiot. There’s an asshole wearing a bow-tie with a pink shirt, and some other annoying band-members I can’t remember too clearly.

I double dare you to listen to the entire song. It followed me into my bedroom, where I could hear them bleating the stupid refrain over and over and over and over.

YES! I  hate, therefore I am.

As I walked out onto the patio of the Coffee Bean & Tea Leaf in Santa Monica, a tall shirtless douche was involved in a contretemps with an elderly woman who was afraid of his dog. He was saying to her, “I told you there’s nothing to be afraid of, now just shut up!”

How rude, I thought as I sat down with my coffee. The douche was returning to his table where he’d been sitting with a girl he just met in the parking lot. They had realized they had a friend in common, “Brian.”

The douche’s dog wandered over to me and I pet its head. “Oh, sorry,” said the douche as he came to get the dog. I gave him a nice smile and said: “You don’t have to be sorry to me!”

At this, he flipped out, screaming, “Hey, I don’t have to be sorry to anyone! I have nothing to be sorry about! I’m here having a great day, I’m enjoying myself, I’m with a beautiful woman!”

I started laughing, and a guy working at a laptop said to the douche, “Stop yelling.” The douche turned to taunt the laptop guy, who muttered, “Psychopath.” “You’re the psychopath!” screamed the douche.

The douche sat down again with the girl, who seemed thrilled by his performance. Together, they phoned the mutual friend to tell him they were together at the Coffee Bean. The douche went back inside to get more coffee while the girl continued on the phone. “Yeah,” she said happily. “He’s GREAT!”

Here they are, above. Reading their body language, I wouldn’t be surprised if she slept with him later that day and he rewarded her by bashing her head in. I can’t even feel sorry for her, you know? You get what you pay for.