Posts Tagged ‘hatred’

I’m Sorry, I Hate Her

Friday, January 16th, 2009

I’ve just discovered a fashion blogger that everyone else already knows about, thanks to a newsletter from Refinery 29.

I hated her at Hello. I feel this is a huge faux pas on my part, and yet, there it is. My Hatred Endures, and it never runs out.

The interview with her is harmless, objectively speaking. She is asked questions about her style, and gives answers. She is asked to name 5 pieces that define her daily style. Piece number 2 cinched the deal for me.

“This ridiculously threadbare tie-dyed vintage Grateful Dead shirt. There’s a huge hole in the middle of it that’s literally held together by two stitches, it’s hilarious.”

God. It’s like a knife in my heart. The “ridiculously” hurt, and “it’s hilarious” was agony. I had trouble reading the rest of it. I was too tense to really take it in, but I did flinch at “iconic.”

What is wrong with me? Why can’t I give this girl some slack? She’s probably only 20 years old and who is she hurting (besides me?) It just struck me as the epitome of something that has bugged me from the first time I came upon a fashion blog. It’s kind of a narcissism crossed with a complete lack of inhibition about seeming shallow.

I have posted plenty of photos of myself, so I am hardly blameless. But the idea of dressing up and describing every piece of clothing as though it merited documentation is just horrible on some level. Who the fuck cares where your shoes came from, know what I’m saying? And yet, when I went to the girl’s blog, just to give her a chance to change my mind, a thingy on the page said there were 90 viewers online.

Fashion Girl, you are more than welcome to hate me back. I’m old and mean, for starters. You can just take it from there. It’s not fair for me to pick on you, but maybe it will make you a tiny bit more famous and beloved for all I know. While you’re busy laughing hysterically at your torn t-shirt, I’m sitting here disgustedly in my ill-fitting black Nudie jeans that I got from Tobi.com, with a roll of flab that I got from Having Two Kids.

Fashion has been an obsession for me since I was around 12, and even now I can talk about it forever with my friends who are similarly addicted to it. Yet I’m wondering if there’s a saturation point beyond which the whole subject is just pathetic and awful. OR, maybe I just need to stick to magazines and shopping sites. OR maybe it’s the grim economic news that’s making fashion seem so petty and irrelevant.

Or maybe I just can’t stand this particular girl. Comments or insults, anyone?

Stalking The Ex

Thursday, December 4th, 2008

You know that crap you see on MSN that’s there to distract you with mundane and/or bizarre trivia….like “Lose Weight While Eating” or “Ten Ways to See if He’s a Mass Murderer?” Obviously, I’m much too savvy to click on that shit.

But today I noticed “I Stalked My Boyfriend’s Ex” and thought, Big deal, who hasn’t?

When I met my husband, his Ex was living with a man she would later marry, but the divorce wasn’t final yet. Everything I heard about her was horrifying. On one of our first dates, he even showed me her ‘head-shots,’ because she was an Actress. I was shaken by the big actressy smile and the long blond bob.

When he went out of town, the Ex always took care of his cat.  I suggested that it was time to let me take care of the cat, and after a lot of soul-searching (i.e., bitter arguing) he decided that the Ex and I would share the job.

I was furious but terrified of bumping into her. Instead, because it was nearly Easter, I left her a chocolate Easter bunny. I was trying to demonstrate how nice I was. She responded by leaving me a potted plant, with a little note that I still have somewhere. She dotted the i in her name with a little star.

I consulted a friend who gave me good advice: You can’t beat someone at their own game. This is advice I’ve passed on several times, that’s how good it is. She warned me that the Ex was known for her friendliness; if I kept trying to outdo her, I’d end up giving her the deed to my house and STILL she’d think of something to up the ante.

I gave up the niceness and went straight to pure seething hatred. She would not stay in line, even though she was about to marry someone else. On the eve of her marriage, she left a whimsical poem for my husband, just to keep her hand in, so to speak.

Time passed and I got pregnant. The Ex got pregnant too! She was like a horrible toothy spectre that wouldn’t stop haunting me with her legendary Friendliness and Kookiness. I had come to learn that she loved giving parties, wearing hats, and dressing up like a clown in her own TV show on the public access channel.

Finally, the Ex and I had our babies. My husband was invited to a wedding where the Ex would be in attendance. I geared up for it by dying my hair even blacker and wearing a tiny pleated Catholic schoolgirl skirt.   Our first encounter was dreadful, even though I knew it was funny. She took my husband’s coat like she was still the wife and put it on a chair. I could barely look at her. She smiled in a way that showed her back molars. Her voice was loud and animated, like someone who has a show on the public access channel.

Our babies started crying and the Ex and I had to both get our boobs out to breastfeed. We began to talk shop. I tried to feel normal, as though we were two normal women with new babies. She remarked that her boobs lactated differently. I told her that, yeah, that happens. She leaned toward me and said dramatically “I call [my boobs] Comfy and Squirty.” I was speechless. All I could think to say was “Uh, I call mine Right and Left.”

God, I was obsessed with that Ex. For years, I would call her phone number on holidays just to hear her themed outgoing messages. On Saint Patrick’s day, she used an Irish accent.

All these years later, I can still get steamed when I think about her. She was the anti-me, and that was a big part of her mystique for me. Over time, I’ve come to feel more secure about being an angry inhibited brunette. I think I’m the best in my league, I guess. A loud vivacious blond can still irritate me, but that’s about it.

If you’ve never been pathologically jealous, you’ll have no idea of how awful it feels. But also too, you will never know the insurmountable pleasure of having a friend make a prank-call on your rival, and getting her to believe she’s just been offered a leading role in the sequel to the Wizard of Oz, called Beyond the Rainbow.

And Too, Palin’s Fashion IQ is Also Zero

Tuesday, October 21st, 2008

What, the RNC spent $150,000 on Mrs. P’s wardrobe?!?!?!

How can you spend that much money and still look like trailor trash?! Most of it was spent at Saks and Neiman Marcus, but all I can see are a bunch of tight black skirts, fitted jackets and cheap looking boots.   She definitely has her own style, which might be described as Small Town PTA Lady, or Middle Aged Beauty Queen.   Why can’t she look at some photos of Jackie Kennedy? Her awful fashion sense makes you forgive Hillary Clinton for her pantsuits. At least she didn’t rely on her sluttiness to distract people from what came out of her mouth.

Today, Mrs. P insisted for at least the forth time that the Vice President “is in charge of the United States Senate Senate.” Also too, if I am so privileged to keep typing, she swindled Alaska by spending $21,000 to fly her daughters around on government business, taking them to events where they weren’t invited and clearly had no function to perform.

Mrs. Palin, no no no no no! We don’t want any more of you!

No top lip, no fashion sense, no brains, no ethics, no shame, no nothing. Give Trig to Jan, let Bristol finish high school, get Track in rehab, send Willow to a family in Nigeria where she can experience maternal love, and sell Piper to the Gypsies while she’s still cute.

Ma haine dure.

*UPDATE: Watch Palin in the new extended Swimsuit Competition video! UGH!

Madonna Finally Delivers!

Thursday, October 16th, 2008

Dear Madge,

I’ve always hated you but for once you’ve made me happy.   First, because while posing for a picture of my big biker boots, I realize that I’m five years older than you and I never exercise. Ha ha, all that time and torture, you could have been sitting around on your ass and still look okay!

Much more important, Madge, you announced your divorce just when this great country of our needs an intervention. The election is ruining our days and haunting our dreams. Nothing short of your break-up with Guy could have diverted my attention from the horror that is John McCain and Mrs. Palin. Just this short break from the every day grind of fear and loathing has been a tonic!

I’ve been longing for this divorce since the day you got married. It proves that you can’t just move into an English manor and adopt a silly accent and expect people to forget what an annoying egomaniac you are. You’ve got half a billion dollars and you still can’t figure anything out! All Guy wanted was to get to make his gangster movies and have a couple of pints at night with his mates, but no, you couldn’t let him be happy.

You had to go fill your cheeks up with Sculptra and steal a black baby and run around in your leotard instead of turning your attention to poor Guy. You had to spend every day with Gwyneth in the gym, bitching about fame and making her lose weight. You had to make everybody go all Kabbalah, even your innocent kids, and then you had to go and fuck a married baseball player.

FIne, we know how much you love Latinos and sports stars but Madge, you ruined Guy’s reputation as a director and then you made him fly to New York to pretend things were cool! What is it exactly that you want, besides big muscles and and Ed Hardy tracksuits?

Whatever it is, I hope you never get it. You’ve been a constant irritant in the oyster of my life, without producing one single pearl, unless you count my abiding hatred as a precious gem. I’ve hated you through every one of your phases, and I know I’ll hate you in perpetuity. If the sun rises, I’ll hate you, is what I’m trying to say.

Thank you Madonna for letting us change the subject, however briefly, and for teaching us the true meaning of schadenfreude.

Skulls, Fur, and Gwyneth Paltrow

Sunday, September 21st, 2008

Look at these amazing little purses by Natalie Brilli. Gazing at them, I completely forgot that I’m sick of skulls. I would hate to have to choose between them. In fact, I need everything she’s ever designed, even the black leather skateboard. Every piece is a work of art.

As an admitted lover of fur, I found my self vaguely disgusted by this fur ‘helmut’ by Rachel Comey.

It’s made of 100% baby alpaca. We are assured that it’s “made from alpaca that died of natural causes”. Somehow, that doesn’t sound good to me. If the animals were babies, why did they die? Were they sick? I wouldn’t want to wear anything made from a sick dead baby animal.

It just goes to show how we don’t always respond to marketing. Another example is the use of older women to sell us skin products. Ugh. Or Gwyneth Paltrow shilling for Estee Lauder and Tod’s. The ads with Gwyneth say to me “I’m too lazy to act in movies now, so here’s how I’m making money!”

I saw Gwyneth on Oprah the other night, and she stated proudly that she was very involved in her children’s lives. Hahaha! As though she deserved a medal. Fucking Gwyneth! When she started praising Madonna’s “wisdom,” I changed the channel. Is anyone else bothered by Gwyneth? I actually find her more annoying that Keira Knightley.

*PAP Smear bonus! Here is a clip of the First Dude trying to read!

Weekend Festival of Hate

Saturday, August 16th, 2008

Today, Queen Marie discussed her hatred of Keira Knightley and I was excited to find that we share this bias. Shared biases are as pleasurable as shared enthusiasms….sometimes more.

To be fair to Queen Marie, I don’t think she used the word “hate.” Most people save this word for special occasions but not Sister Wolf. Ma haine dure, remember?

So because I’m a little tired and braindead, I thought I would offer up a little explosion of hate for the weekend. Let’s call it a Festival of Hate. Okay, here we go.

1. Keira Knightly

2. Kate Hudson

3. Jessica Simpson

4. John McCain

5. Chloe Sevigny

6. Lou Dobbs

7. Sarah Silverman

8. Blake Incarcerated

9. Dr. Phil

10. Mischa Barton

11. Maroon 5

12. Christy Turlington

13. Eric Clapton

14. Eva Longoria

15. Jude Law

This is just a fraction of the people I hate, and I didn’t include my favorites like Selma Blair or Robin Williams.   I also hate girls who wear hats like that awful girl is wearing in the photo.

Nominations for a new list?