You don’t need to spend $11,400 on that stupid Balmain military jacket! Why not look stupid for only $39.99 in this fancy gold-trimmed Michael Jackson Costume?!
You’re welcome!
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The Susan Boyle Thing
I didn’t actually cry, but I did get choked up. I watched it again, and then I watched it some more. I fucking love Susan Boyle.
What is it that has touched a nerve all over the world?
I know there’s a simple explanation, but I also think there’s much more going on.
First, there’s the fairy tale aspect. I was thinking Cinderella, but my son suggested The Ugly Ducking, and of course he is correct. But why so much weeping?
Are we crying with relief that for once there is justice, and virtue is rewarded?
Are we crying with self-pity? We all harbor a secret belief that we are special and one day the world will take note; It’s happened for Susan but not for us.
Are we crying because we feel sentimental when we root for the underdog?
Are we crying because of a universal longing for authenticity?
Are we crying because we are projecting a life of sacrifice and rejection onto Susan Boyle?
Or are we responding to the sheer passion and sweetness of her voice?
I only hope nothing happens to burst the bubble. Our love for Susan Boyle implies a collective humanity and desire for transcendence. However, it must be noted that my husband’s response is essentially ‘big deal.’ When urged to elaborate, he said, “It’s Shrek.” ( If you need a cynic, you know where to find him!)
Thoughts, anyone?
A Word From Sarah Palin
Speaking at a Right to Life banquet on Thursday night, Mrs P said she was energized about a lot of topics, including why more people should refuse federal stimulus dollars as she did.
Palin said, “We have legislators all around the country who have resolved to kind of go around their governors, that’s happening in my state, and accept that money anyways.”
(I LOVE a woman who says “anyways,” don’t you?)
Sandals to the Rescue
Before you pass judgment on the person who would spend $1,980 on a pair of sandals, let me explain:
These python Alaia sandals are actually designed for the fashion-savvy leper, who traditionally must carry a clapper and bell to warn of his/her approach.
Now, thanks to the genius of this sandal, festooned as it is with bells, every leper can jingle a merry tune at special events like mealtime and bandage changing.
7 Jeans: Protecting Their Ass & Mine
“The denim company 7 For All Mankind is suing manufacturers who are knocking off their ass-embroidery branding….[they] filed a lawsuit against InDesign Apparel and Oleg Cassini for producing a line with back pockets that look exactly the same as their trademarked swoop and swirl.”
I didn’t even know how flattering this brand is until I asked my husband to take a photo of my ass.
I’m ready to testify for 7 jeans, should I be called upon to bring my ass as evidence.
~
p.s. Let us not forget there are idiots roaming the earth, and for them I suggest these limited edition Nudie Jeans for $699 at Tobi.com. Epic, right?
What’s on Your Mind?
I used to enjoy attempting to diagram the brains of my friends and family. For example, my husband’s brain would be 50% blues, 40% jazz, and 10% Everything Else.
A few years ago, I made this representation of my own brain. Shopping was by far the largest portion, with revenge and guilt occupying second and third place. It’s interesting to find that one’s concerns actually DO change, over time. Today, I spend more time worrying about my teeth than plotting revenge.
Try diagramming your own brain; it’s fun and educational! (If you’d like to commission a model of your brain like the one above, let me know. xo)
The Sister Wolf Situation
Once, Sister Wolf had a great job. She sat on her ass and wrote stuff and got paid a very nice salary.
Then, oh no, the fucking economy! Her job was cruelly taken away. Poor Sister Wolf!
Having no income can be a real bummer. While Sister Wolf scrambles to find gainful employment, she will be accepting patronage, as per that big black box on the right hand column.
Try to forgive Sister Wolf. She means well, mostly. Non-patrons can just say a little prayer to Saint Cajetan, the patron saint of the unemployed.
Madonna, Our Savior
Do you love it or do you love it?
All this photo needs is a good caption. Got one, anybody?
Shoe Intervention: One Day at a Time
I saw this picture today and it triggered my addiction.
I vaguely recalled seeing these shoes online somewhere and being crushed that they were sold out in my size. But now I had to go look for them again. And this time I found a pair.
There were 290 Euros, which didn’t seem too bad. I put them in a cart and started filling in my details. I was wondering in the back of my mind how I would pay for them, but I told the back of my mind, Big deal, I’ll use the credit card I was planning to stop using.
The total came to $425, after shipping and some crazy tax. Now I was really struggling. Fuck! That’s a lot of money! I started looking for the shoes again, hoping to find a better price.
The shoes were like a dazzling promise of perfect eternal happiness. If only I had them, I would be the coolest person ever. All those buckles would be a hassle, but once on my feet, the shoes would make me an indestructible goddess and paragon of stylish allure. In fact, they are very similar to some shoes I already own and have worn ONE TIME.
By the grace of god (i.e., a sense of guilt) I was able to resist buying the shoes until chatting with my sponsor, who typed these words:
i will kill you! those are like your acne sandals– DON’T REPEAT BUY!!
What a relief. I didn’t buy more shoes. I have no illusions that this won’t happen again, though. Shoes are a fucking illness that make no sense. If I changed the word “shoes” to dope, I think this would be a story told in AA or NA a million times every day.
Shoes are an empty promise. And this makes me either mad or sad; I’m too much of an addict to distinguish one from the other.
Let’s Say Goodbye to Phil Spector
If you’ve been wanting to tell Phil “all women are cunts who need to be shot in the face” Spector what you think about him, here’s your chance! I’ll go first.
Dear Phil,
I’m glad you’re going to jail to pay for what you’ve done. You’re a crazy motherfucker and it’s time to put you away. It’s nice to know that all your money can’t protect you now. I’m sorry you are so short, but that doesn’t mean you get to bully people or kill them. I still love the Christmas album, though. Nice work on that.
Okay, take care (just kidding!)
Love,
Sister Wolf
~
Your turn.