Godammit, I’m Mad!

Here’s your icon of minimalist beauty, happy now? I just want to get the Tilda Swinton thing out of the way. You all love her, you love her awful style, you love her offbeat lifestyle, if you’re gay, you fucking adore her.  You loved her awful skirt and shirt outfit at the Golden Globes! I thought it was predictably dowdy and her hair was a disturbing  homage to Gumby.

Okay, I will be brief:

Ricky Gervaise was fearlessly funny, the best element of a very dull event. Angelina Jolie was stunning in emerald green, with a waxwork expressionless face. Claire Dane went out of her way to flaunt her flat chest, as always, and Nicole Kidman wore a weird duckface mask. Natalie Portman looked dumpy, Jane Fonda looked scrawny and sounded nuts. Sandra Bullock wore fake black bangs that didn’t match the rest of her hair and Scarlett Johansson can’t figure out how to leave well enough alone: Her tragic haircut and nothing colored dress made it hard to remember that she is a babe. Olivia Wilde, whoever she is, wore a gorgeous sparkly gown by Marchessa.

Helena Bonham Carter looked icily furious when she didn’t win, either too drunk or too pissed off to fake a smile.

Here are the men I would have sex with, besides the obvious frontrunner Johnny Depp:  Robery Downey Junior, Ryan Gosling, Colin Firth, and Christian Bale.

What important details did I forget to mention?

The commuinques above are from the esteemed owner of Dolly Python, a shop in Dallas, using a nom de guerre.

~

This one below is from the classy socialite and fashion maven Judy Aldridge (regarding Anna Wintour):

What do they have in common? I see a disturbing preoccupation with menstruation.

I remember being around 10 years old and having to see a film in school about menstruation. I  recall feeling intense embarrassment and general discomfort.

But then I got a little older and had my first period. My sister showed me what to do. It was kind of upsetting. She forgot to tell me that you had to keep changing your pads. But soon enough, I learned that menstruation is just a part of life. I never used cute little euphemisms like “My friend is in town” or however that one goes. I never  called it “the curse.” I would say, “I have my period, do you have an extra tampax?” or something like that.

Once, after a night out and being a little tipsy, I couldn’t find my tampax! I tried and tried but the more anxious I became, the more impossible it was to do it. Finally, I went to get my date (now my husband) who was waiting in the bedroom.

Now, for you gals in Texas, it’s time to leave. You’re never going to be able to handle this. Scram! Shoo!

Okay, so then, my gracious date told me to lay down and relax. He would find it for me. I will never forget how gentle he was.  Gentle, confident, and manly. Manly enough to remove the tampax and go throw it away like a gentleman. I felt my heart go CLUNK. This was a man in a million. I fell in love right there, right then. Nineteen years later, he is still the only man whose hands I want on me. Except for Johnny Depp, of course.

I always loved having my period. It’s messy but sensual. It reminds you that you are a woman. It reminds you of the cycles of nature, the moon and the tides.

Where does the fear and loathing come from, ladies of Texas??

If you would like to share your memories or point of view and you can do so without being a slobbering lunatic, jump in.

If you’ve been following your celebrity gossip, you know that Brad and Angie sleep in separate beds, and that Angie is a controlling psycho who giggles when the kids cry.

I have a very special secret to tell you, that you can’t repeat to anyone: No one knows anything about Brad and Angie!

As a highly skilled tabloid journalist, I can tell you that each and every cover story on Brad and Angelina is (shhh!) complete fiction. The fights, the reconciliations, the secret calls to Jen, the arguments, the wedding plans, the ‘real’ relationship, the family dynamics…..all of it made up, for  you, the valued reader of Us, In Touch, Okay, Star, etc etc.

Sometimes, when there’s no story to make up, the resourceful journalist will have to divulge Angie’s Shocking Diet, or Brad’s Bedtime Phone-calls to the Kids. Sometimes, you just have to channel Brad or Angie. When he’s away making a movie, Angie is withdrawn. Or else maybe she’s bonding with Brad’s mom! Or, no, she’s fighting with Brad’s mom.

Whenever I read something exceptionally stupid and far-fetched about Brad and Angie (or any big celebrity) I can’t help feeling perversely envious of the writer who came up with such a whopping lie, thinking, Fuck! Why didn’t I ever think of that angle!

I totally admire the writer who came up with this one, at ShowbizSpy, about Angie’s lesbitious crush on Johnny Depp’s wife, Vanessa Paradis:

“Angelina,” the source tells American tabloid the National Enquirer, “just loves Vanessa’s raw, natural beauty, and has always said how lucky Johnny is to have landed her. “Who knows? Maybe she wants more than friendship with her?”

Genius! Go check it out.

Yes, we love his work for Nina Ricci and for Rochas before that, but let’s just love him for being beautiful. I believe he is on a par with Johnny Depp, if that’s not too sacrilegious a statement.

Thank you, Olivier, for not cutting your hair.