Godammit, I’m Mad!

In keeping with the Plague Upon My House, I have now lost my watch. It is a small, delicate antique watch with a rose gold case and some tiny rubies. There are only three places that I keep that watch, and it isn’t in any of them.

I keep going back to each of the three places, obsessively looking for the watch that isn’t there. I feel a pervasive longing for the watch even though I didn’t wear it every day. I’ve tried calling out to it, like a mother calling her child in from outdoors, but it doesn’t appear. I would say I’m heartbroken, but I hate to sound materialistic. Let’s say I’m “annoyed.”

When I complained to my sister last night about the watch, I attributed it to the Ongoing Plague. She stunned me by suggesting a root cause: I don’t have a Mezuzah.

If you don’t know what a Mezuzah is, it’s a metal thing that observant Jews are supposed to put by their front door, I think to ward off bad luck. I really don’t want to know more than that, because that’s stupid enough. The very notion that somehow I could have prevented bad things from happening by performing some ritual is just infuriating.  It’s worse that The Secret! It’s superstition packaged in guilt. Maybe I’ve just stumbled upon a definition for religion; In any case, a god that would put a curse on me for not having a Mezuzah is just a total fucker who I want no part of.

Thinking about superstition, I asked my BFF if she would have any problem in reciting the words: “I will probably lose all my teeth and get pancreatic cancer in the next year.”  I think most people would hesitate, fearful of tempting fate through some system of cosmic wrath. She dazzled me by reciting the words in a strong, godless voice, and I fell in love with her for the millionth time.

But back to the watch. The missing watch will continue to bother me, probably for eternity, but it reminds me of my favorite line from Pulp Fiction, when Christopher Walkin tells the young Butch the story of his grandfather’s watch. It’s a long, sentimental story that takes a wild turn with the revelation:  “Five long years, he wore that watch up his ass.”

The word “wore” in that sentence is the difference between writing and poetry.  It’s the best choice of word, one that I could never come up with, one that gives me a fresh thrill of pleasure each time I think of it.

So the moral of this post is as follows:  Art is consolation in the face of chaos. (Wear that up your ass!)

I love Maurice Sendak just like all decent people, but I prefer his illustrations in “Mr. Rabbit and the Lovely Present” to “Where the Wild Things Are.”  The latter book is poised to be ruined forever by the movie version, and if that’s not enough there are the product tie-ins.

Look at this tragically idiotic “Max suit” by Opening Ceremony for $610. Naturally, it is sold out.  I thought we were well past Plushies and Furries but no, not yet. Why is this supposed to be cute? Why do grown ups have to co-opt a children’s book? Children need Mommies and Daddies, not ironic label whores dressed in bunny suits.

It annoys me to see the name Max debased like this. A Max should look more like this:

When my Max was born, the only Maxes around were old Jews. When Max was around 12 I think, Steven Spielberg named his kid Max and the scourge began. Still, the name cannot be ruined. It’s just too good.

Some other Wild Thing products include a couple of typically garish designs by jewelry designer Pamela Love.  Her claw necklace for Opening Ceremony is less ugly than her claw bracelets, but it still screams Ooh, Creepy Goth! which does nothing for me as a fashion statement.

If you like claws, you might appreciate my wacky vintage bracelet and earring set by Selro, a 50’s era brand that combined metal, plastic and rhinestones for its distinctive designs.

I have curated Quite the Collection of claw shit for years and years, but I am planning to sell most of it. I am much too busy having accidents and surgery to devote any time to a proper job. This Selro shit is in mint condition, $200 plus shipping.

It’s my birthday, hooray for me! I would like these 18K safety pin earrings, set with black diamonds.  And I feel that they are longing for me, all the way from Browns in London. Someone stupidly priced them at $3,000, so I’m going to be strong and live without them. For now.

Here’s what I want in lieu of the earrings. I’d like everyone to say stuff like “Happy birthday, you old bag!” and “Haha, you’re that much closer to being 60!”

I would also like someone to think of a new word I can use. I just got an email from Target, announcing a newsletter for “frugalistas.” God, no. Recessionista is bad enough.  What would be a good word for someone who complains about fashion? A Negativista?  I’m sure someone out there could do better.  I’m a little “on my meds” right now. Help a Sister out.

Wendy Brandes hosted a dinner in L.A. for her blogger friends, and she wore this ring, one of her more spectacular designs. She even let me try it on!

It was a lovely dinner and everyone had a great time.

Here’s the thing that surprised me most: She is not just pretty, but stunning. I nearly fell out of my chair when she arrived. She appears to be made of porcelain, or white marble. She is small but perfectly shaped. She looks brand new, like she just came out of the box. She is a sex kitten, frankly, despite her big brain.

I nearly molested her, but since we both agreed that we don’t believe in ‘bisexuals,’ I restrained myself.

If you have money and taste, buy youself a piece of  Wendy Brandes jewelery. And try to see her in person, if you have the chance.

These nail gloves by Anna Sara Dåvik were all over the place in February, but I didn’t see them until today. Now I feel bad about giving props to Dominic Jones in July for basically copying (stealing?) this idea.  The original version looks so much nicer.

Not only that, but check out these 18K gold rings by Anna Sara Dåvik. To me, this is the ultimate expression of avant garde luxury.  I love you, Anna Sara Dåvik!

I found this picture on a Swedish blog so I let Google translate the caption for me.

“A new personal favorite is Anna Sara Davik. Her whole on clothing and jewelry gives me a blowjob after having requested. I have clearly underestimated the Swedish designer.”

Ooooh! It gives me a blowjob too, sort of!  When I’m not thinking about Jewelry by Wendy Brandes and Hannah Martin, I’ll be thinking about these rings.

Ladies, do we love these crazy gloves? Dominic Jones has a new line of jewelry out, including leather gloves with white gold plated nails. They also come in red, with gold nails.

Whoever he is, his ad campaign is working. I want to be these hot girls. If  I could, I’d buy the girls instead of the jewelry. Maybe not Lizzy Jagger, though. I sense too much trouble there.

Much of this jewelry looks remarkably like Hannah Martin’s distinctive designs, but she’s probably too busy for a lawsuit. (God, I love her. Read an interview with her here.)

There is something liberating about looking for cool things when there’s no possibility of buying them. I won’t be grinding my teeth and trying not to reach for my credit card! I am flat broke!

Nonetheless, there’s no arguing that hot girls in leather and jewels are a nice change from you-know-who.

Even though I’m so happy with my little woolfie necklace from Her Amagingness Wendy Brandes there’s no such thing as enough jewelry (or anything else.)

This wolf pendent above, by dead ponies, is carrying his tail for some reason, and he’s saying “Hey, buy me and you’ll be on your way to collecting  wolf-themed jewelry!”

This “godless” necklace by brookadelphia is acrylic, not as nice as gold but much more affordable. I hear it saying “Buy me you idiot, I’m only $48!”

Look at these adorably sinister zodiac babies from Anomaly Jewelry. The conjoined twins is Gemini, the mermaid is Capricorn. The whole collection is great. Even when I factor in the Crypto-hipster aspect, I find it irresistible.  I hear it calling out, “Hey, admit how much you love retro-looking baby things!”

Are you hearing “BUY!” or are you hearing “Admit you are powerless over shopping, and your life has become unmanageable?”

Once again, I’m the last one to find out about something that the whole world already knows.  When it comes to hating Kelly Bensimon though, better late than never!

What a fucking horrible woman!  When you’re watching Kelly Bensimon, she is the worst person who ever lived.  She is beyond anything that words can express.  She is the fucking Holy Grail for haters!  Why wasn’t I notified?!?!?

My husband was kind enough to discover the Real Housewives show for me, and I’ve only seen three episodes. But this Kelly Bensimon person is such a monster that I feel like my whole life has been leading up to finding her! Everything she says and does is like medieval torture. Watching her is worse than being waterboarded! Why didn’t the Bush administration JUST USE KELLY BENSIMON?!

Here is how she ended an interview with Bazaar magazine, when asked who she would be if she could be anyone else for a day:

“I would be me. Every single day. With criticism, without criticism. Just to be me. Because what’s so bad about that?”

May I be allowed to tell Kelly what’s so bad?  Okay, good.

Kelly, here’s what’s bad: You’re stupid as a plank of wood, you’re full of shit, you’re rude and condescending, you named your kid “Sea,” you think you’re a prom queen even though you’re pushing forty, you’re a ridiculous snob, and you play stupid head trips with everyone. AND you’re selling some ugly owl necklace that you ripped off from somewhere.

If you haven’t seen this woman, you’re in for a very special treat. I have never wanted to punch someone in the face so fervently.

Here is the little gold wolf that Wendy Brandes made for me. I’m never taking him off, that’s how cute he is.  This is one of my pathetic cellphone pictures, so check out the detail here, in a photo from Wendy’s blog:

Her jewelry designs are often witty, and always stunning. The other great thing about Wendy? She can swear like a motherfucker!

Thanks, Wendy! xo

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