If you’re not watching Wentworth on Netflix, you’re making the biggest mistake of your life. (If you voted for Trump, the second biggest mistake.)

Wentworth has it all. I thought it ended after the third season, so I’ve been binging to catch up. Watching three episodes in a row is like living in another dimension. It can be hard to readjust to life outside the Australian women’s prison where the series takes place. It’s emotionally exhausting but irresistibly addictive.

Wentworth’s villain is a monumental figure whose match is rarely seen on TV. Governor Ferguson, played by Pamela Rabe, runs the prison like a sadistic Big Nurse, scheming against the women with a vindictive malice than knows no bounds.

She is a fucking psychopath, and at six feet tall, she literally looms over the prisoners like a giant Nazi. I wish someone would agree with me that she looks like Alec Baldwin! The likeness gives me an extra frisson of pleasure whenever she purses her lips or sneers.

Ferguson’s opponent is Bea Smith, whose arc takes her from frightened middle class mom to Mad Max as she earns the position of Wentworth’s “Top Dog.” An earlier Top Dog who Bea must defeat is Jacs, a coarse mobster who looks like Martha Stewart gone bad. Jacs is truly terrifying. I had to cover my eyes constantly when Jacs was around.

Bea’s rival is a boyish lesbian called Franky, who has an enormous lovesick enforcer, Boomer. There is tons of grisly violence that everyone usually forgives as part of the territory.

The Australian accents are an added joy: Debbie is Dibby, and sex is six. Not that there is any six; the seductions here are more visceral and psychological.

Wentworth’s characters are cartoonish, but the actors are so brilliant and committed that they transcend cliches. No one is afraid to be repulsive or grotesque. And once you’re past season two, they’re your family.

Here’s a great scene between Ferguson and her lieutenant, Vera, that might be a spoiler, so beware. If you’re already a fan, please share your favorite Wentworth moments!


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Why Did God Allow These Boots?

Just kidding, there is no god! But still, wtf with this “boot” by Dsquared2?  The longer you look, the more it doesn’t make sense.

DSQUARED2 incorporates rustic aesthetics with luxurious fabrics and embellishments. The Bou Bou biker ankle boots feature a stiletto high heel, open toe and embroidered denim details.

Fine, but what about that pocket thing? Is it a coin purse? Do you hide your Oxycontin in there?

What an abomination. A snap, a zipper, 5.3 inch heels, plaid cotton….add an open toe and somehow, it’s a biker boot.

It’s a little less scary from behind:

And yet, I just want to wipe it off the face of the earth.I want to see it drowning and calling for help as I watch it go under. Is that so wrong?

At $1,355, there is only one pair left at Farfetch. Because ugly has no price.

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Calm Yourselves, Children

Noticing a spike in my blog stats, I traced it to a reddit group or whatever they call it, (subgroup? board?) for people who hate their parents. The parents are labeled “narcissists” for the purposes of explaining why they’re “toxic.”

Someone linked to the post I wrote about Mother’s Day, and people are disgusted by how awful I am. Not only that, but they are discovering that my firstborn child “committed suicide.” Aha, proof of my toxicity. One poster is creeped out by my boast of making good chicken.

Here is the problem, Children of Narcissists. You are viewing everything from a particular lens, and you are not seeing the big picture.

Once you’re a parent, you can see things from both perspectives. You know what it’s like to have kids, and you remember what it’s like to be one. And if you have gained any wisdom, you begin to see that we are all wounded. All of us. Don’t make me quote Hemingway here.

In all my posts called Crazy Mothers Club, you can see how widespread childhood abuse is. It is shocking but true. Those of us who were victims can learn compassion, or pretend it never happened, or join support groups. Before the Internet, we didn’t go around looking for other parents to disparage but that was then.

May I note here that my diagnosis is depression and PTSD, not narcissism?

I wonder what kind of parent can escape the wrath of angry, wounded adult children who congregate in forums to share their stories and single out strangers as perps? I know moms and dads who don’t have great or equal relationships with their children, but are nonetheless loving and conscientious parents. We usually do our best. I would say that even my crazy mother did her best, given her difficulties.

I can’t imaging joining a forum of parents who feel hurt by their estranged children. I don’t like groupthink and I don’t want to expose myself to the gripes of bitter strangers whose circumstances have nothing to do with me.

I wish the best to you reddit people. If you haven’t lost a loved one to suicide, maybe you can research it’s effect on those left behind. In your grief over your narcissist parents, you might also respect that there are other kinds of grief. There are more things in Heaven and Earth, Horatio, than are dreamt of in your philosophy. You know what I mean.

I am here for a dialogue, but not for hate mobs. Been there, done that already. If your parents (or kids) are toxic narcissists, please chime in. Help us to understand. Just refrain from bringing up my darling son or you will go straight to hell.

Love, Sister Wolf


Posted in Disorders, Horrible Stuff, Words | Tagged , , , | 21 Comments

More Fun With Senility

more fun with senility

Last night I couldn’t think of Billy Holiday’s name when I heard one of her songs, and tonight I talked to my Keurig machine.

It won’t be long now, I’m thinking.

Observing one’s own senility as it progresses is probably a lot more fun than observing someone else’s. My trouble with names is the worst feature so far, but other words are now becoming elusive. Sometimes, in the middle of talking, I have to say “you know, the word that means the opposite of ___.” I find this pretty interesting, because it implies that words are stored along with their antonyms, or at least, in my brain they are.

I am also fascinated by my husband’s skill at retrieving names. He hates me to start a sentence with, “You know that guy in that thing whose name I can’t remember..” He has no patience with this but I keep telling him to get used to it. Soon, I will know nothing but old Dylan lyrics, as I have predicted here many times over the years. I’m great at playing music in my head, probably because there’s so little other cognitive action going on there.

I can’t follow Bosch any more. I have given up trying. I just concentrate on whatshisname’s cocked head and try to predict the dialogue. Every night when we watch TV, I can barely recall what happened in the previous episode. This might be the pot smoking or the late hour, or watching too many Netflix series at the same time, but it’s like, Didn’t that character die already? or “Do we know this guy or is he new”?

Do you believe that the more words you know, the more disturbing it will be to see them go? Maybe if you had a limited vocabulary, it wouldn’t be as frustrating to flail around in the black hole of your memory bank. Meanwhile, I am thrilled when someone uses words or phrases beyond the ones we all hear daily. My sister described walking in a sun-dappled field and I wanted to kiss her for being so descriptive. I’m still enjoying “contemporaneous,” as in “Jim Comey’s contemporaneous notes.”

What if senility lets me keep my old memories but not the words to communicate them? That will really suck. Wait. What happens to people who use sign language??? Oh my god. Do they just wiggle their fingers???

I intend to marvel at the process of losing my mind and to report my findings. If at some point I forget who I am, I’ll have my blog as a kind of dossier. I wonder what I will think of me.

Along these lines, or maybe not, today while we were out walking the dog, I asked my husband what he thinks is important in life besides hair. His answer was “manners.” I’m not sure if he was serious, but I agree that good manners are nice to see. Later, he came up with “food.” So now I have three things, or four when you add “love.”

What am I forgetting?





Posted in Disorders, Horrible Stuff, Words | Tagged , , | 10 Comments

Rabid Hatefest

rabid hatefest

I was going to write about something else but a tweet from a journalist I like has destroyed my equilibrium.  Brian Stelter shared a threat he got from a disgruntled Trump supporter:

rabid hatefestWhat inspires a person to take the time to insult and threaten a complete stranger?

When you take this kind of rabid free-floating rage and hatred and you multiply it by ten million, you’ve got a real mess. Slobbering, irrational defenders of some twisted ‘ideal’ are everywhere, finally getting their chance to do some damage however minor. It all adds up.

It adds up and it spreads like a virus. I am part of it. When Ivanka Trump tweets some simpering crap about motherhood, I taunt her. It makes me feel better. However, I’m going to rethink this. I don’t want to be part of any social media hate mob.

I blame Trump for inciting misguided rage and hatred, but it began with the tea party and before that by American meddling in the Middle East. Trump harnessed it and exploited it after half of America went berserk about having a black president. And now, we look at our neighbors and Facebook friends with unease; are they one of Us or one of Them?

Look how easily fear changes people. The forces in charge want to generate fear because it grooms us for manipulation. Fear of perspiration, dandruff, dingy teeth, a limp dick, high cholesterol, cancer, malware, identity theft, militias, drug companies, pesticides,  poverty, terrorists, and nuclear destruction.

Now we’ve turned on comedians. How dare they! Me, I don’t want to suppress free speech. If you don’t like a comedian or Ann Coulter, don’t listen. But people seem primed to be outraged. The smallest things set them off. Maybe the big picture is too overwhelming?

Thinking about terrorists and the death cult that seduced them, I imagine how they’ve been groomed to become suicidal martyrs. That’s a lot of hardcore grooming. You probably have to start with a vulnerable person who feels bitterly cheated and immutably insignificant. Dying in a blaze of glory becomes more appealing that a lifetime of being a nameless dishwasher somewhere.

Poverty, hopelessness, lack of education, plus the systematic instilling of fear – is that the recipe?

Here in the US, Trump has used that recipe with the instincts of a mad savant. The sooner he is revealed as what he is to his deluded followers, the better we can think things through.

I’m not preaching Let’s All Be Nice and Love Each Other: just slow down and decide what kind of person you want to be. Start with compassion and you can’t go wrong.

Instead of tweeting “Shut up you stupid whore” to Ivanka, I’m going to remember that she is a victim of … I don’t know, incest? She too is a human being. I’m not so sure about Jared though.

Posted in Horrible Stuff, News, Words | Tagged , , , | 10 Comments

A Terrifying Sale at Net-a-Porter!

Net-a-Porter sent me a sale update, saying they just added 300 new items. Many of these items are insanely ugly. Did they suddenly just decide, “Hey, let’s get rid of this shit too, it’s now or never”?

This Balenciaga cape is reduced to $5, 492 and here’s their story:

Demna Gvasalia explores the link between couture and fetishism for Balenciaga’s Spring ’17 collection. Cut from ultra glossy patent-leather, this enveloping cape is bonded with smooth Spandex and finished with a hood. Layer it over jeans and a sweatshirt or create the exact runway look with the label’s blouse and pants.

I think not. Can you believe it comes in sizes, like the fit matters? Behold the rear view.

If you can wait until Halloween, you can replicate this at Walmart for around $2.99.

What about these Prada boots to go with it? Also among the new sale items.

Oh my god, the fucking horror, WHY?! Let them explain:

Prada’s velvet boots are part of the Fall ’16 runway collection, which is inspired by the vagabond woman. They have a glossy red leather wedge heel that’s embellished with a gold anchor, comets and a flower – we love the contrast with the hiking-style laces. Wear yours as the designer intended with these argyle socks.

NO. Never. Not even at $870.

What’s wrong with these designers? Have they been fired yet? Take my advice and go straight to Net-a-Porter, it’s beyond your worst fashion nightmare, a very special treat for the serious connoisseur of aesthetic gaffes.

Posted in Fashion | Tagged , , | 4 Comments

Let’s Never Forget Denim

lets not forget denimEven if you’re sick of this, it’s good to cleanse the palate every so often, right? You can’t spend every minute of every hour going Trump Trump Trump Trump Trump. Well, you can, especially on Twitter, but it’s just not healthy.

So, here we have a pair of jeans with a double waist to trick the eye and bother everyone who sees you. Besides the clever waist joke, there is also the two-tone action and the awful cuffs. The rear view is almost better:

Who doesn’t long for this silhouette? $675

This next item is fun:

It’s like a couple of dead birds wrapped around your knees or something. I find it disturbing. $645

Ys Project is a brand that’s having a real moment with denim. Crazy looking and impractical, it’s also pricey. $570

Do we have to even talk about this one? They’re obviously trolling us. Let’s not react. We’ll show them who’s in charge.

Now, here’s a skirt that sold out immediately, and you can see why.

let's not forget denimAr $2,250, it is irresistible. You can see that a lot of work went into it. People will marvel at your taste and sense of fun! Plus, it’s such a classic; it’s so timeless, you will always look just right. At the grocery store, at a cocktail party, laying in an alley by a dumpster, in a mental hospital, where CAN’T you wear this??

Okay, that’s it for now, back to your normally scheduled worries.

Posted in Fashion | Tagged , , | 9 Comments

Even Help Is No Help

even help is no help

I wasn’t looking forward to Mother’s Day since no children were going to honor me and my own mother is long gone. My plan was to just suck it up and go out for an omelette. I forgot to factor in my newsletters.

I get so many newsletters even though I’m always cancelling them. The one’s I really should cancel are the suicide alliance newsletter and the one for parents of adult children who hate them. They mean well and at times they have been mildly comforting. They aren’t as bad as the one from Compassionate Friends, which has a lot of butterflies.

So they each sent out a special thing about mother’s day, offering platitudes that make everything so much worse.

The suicide one offered poems from mothers, sharing their Journeys, along the lines of

I remember my shock and how numb I felt
and how I cried
and sobbed
and how I couldn’t get out of bed and
wanted to die
and how I sat in his room
and sobbed some more….

This isn’t verbatim, the poems were actually more upsetting and alarming. Not a Journey I wish to take since my own Journey is quite enough even though I’m not on one.

The Adult Kids Who Hate You newsletter had some advice on how to answer  questions from nosy friends about what you’re doing on Mother’s Day. Stuff like, “My daughter is very independent so she’s off doing her thing.”

Haha, jesus christ, how about a nice “Fuck you, mind your own business”?

Tips on how to handle shame and guilt must be good for somebody and there must be market for them. Me, I’m not ashamed or guilty. My kids can go read about shame and guilt since they’re the ones who left the world or Can’t Stand Mommy.

Instead of the omelette, I cooked a chicken for my mother-in-law and brought it over to her. I make a damn good chicken, as many people already know, and she cleaned her plate. Her own daughter had  elected to celebrate mothers day by going to Las Vegas and not even calling.

Mothers and children of mothers, it’s a hard road being a human being even if you aren’t in Yemen eating dirt. The only thing to do is cancel your newsletters and carry on.

photo – Denis Dailleux, Mother and Son 2009

Posted in grief, love, Words | Tagged , , | 6 Comments

Me, Me Me, and My Incredible DNA!

Do you watch those adds for 23 and Me and think, Gee, I should really do this because it would be fascinating to learn more about me?

Same here! I’m so interested in my DNA because I know I’m special. My ancestors are probably special too. My grandparents were all Jews from Eastern Europe but my DNA will probably show that I’m descended from Queen Nefertiti and The Romanov family. I wouldn’t be surprised to find that Albert Einstein is my 11th cousin!

I’ve often wondered how I got to be me. It can’t just be some shit about my crazy parents and my early childhood trauma. The story of Me is so much more complicated and goes so far back! It’s not about my parents’ divorce or my mom’s psychiatric profile! The wonder of me started millions of years ago in the swampy brine of our prehistoric planet. That’s where the real answers are.

23 and Me can show me my traits, a whole list of them, because I have never really met myself and thus need to see my traits printed out. Here’s what I can learn from a swab of my saliva:

So fascinating! I’ve often wondered about my earwax type, or rather my genetic propensity toward a certain earwax type. Not to mention my photic sneeze reflex. I don’t think I have red hair, but I want to be sure. And I’d like to know where I stand on my toe length ratio. Because then, I don’t know, I’ll just feel more familiar with my feet.

I want to find out when the depression got into my genetic code. Hundreds of years ago or what? And why do I have so many fillings and crowns on my teeth? What if my sensitivity to smell is inherited?!?!? Then, when I walk into a house and smell a gas leak, I can shout “I smell gas and my ancestors did too!”

Also, what about my-nearsightedness? I know my parents were near-sighted but it must be a long and fascinating tale that didn’t begin with us. There’s just so much I’m curious about!

Being me has always been kind of meh. “Who the fuck are you” I have asked my self bitterly, with no clear answer. I’m not just a bunch of misfiring neurons, godammit. I am amazing! With a long long history of amazingness.

I have wasted so much time reading the classics, reading shit about philosophy, psychology, art, culture, politics, without learning anything about Me and how I came to have freckles when I was a kid.

What a dope I am. Don’t be like me, be You! 23 and Me is running a special for Mother’s Day. Find out why you’re so amazing RIGHT NOW, at 20% off.



Posted in Disorders, Words | Tagged , , | 9 Comments

Awful Must-See TV

I am happy to report that since the last time I wrote about my TV habits, I’ve discovered three new shows to watch, all awful.

Most compellingly awful is Billions. It is excruciating. It stars Damian Lewis and Paul Giamatti as adversaries obsessed with bringing each other down. The former is a hedge-fund billionaire and the latter is a District Attorney. The great thing is that they both speak in weird, unnaturally husky whispers, with long pauses between each phrase. The result is so comical that one has to assume it’s deliberate.

On the other hand, the writing is so stunningly terrible that maybe nobody notices how ridiculous the acting is. It’s like a room full of writers tried to think of the worst dialogue they could come up with, in a battle of wits or lack thereof. There are a lot of stupid literary references to make the viewer feel educated, and plenty of over-the-top sexual analogies that all break down to “taking it up the ass.”

Damian Lewis is as physically repellent as a used condom, with his red hair in a greasy pompadour and and his tight little mouth always curved in a nasty smirk. He wears skinny t-shirts and expresses his masculinity by liking Metallica. Really, I can’t say enough about this show. If you don’t watch it, you’re missing out on some great TV.

Another new favorite is Shades of Blue, a cop drama starring J Lo as a seasoned NYPD detective who is raising a teenage daughter. What could be better? J Lo’s commander and mentor is the corrupt Ray Liotta, more queeny than ever as Lt. Wozniak, who is struggling with the demon of bisexuality. Sold? Need more persuasion?

Okay, so J Lo wears a ton of make up, except when she’s in the shower, miserably trying to cleanse her tortured soul while caressing her wet hair. Her acting is achingly bad, as always, but her charisma remains intact. The writing is rich in stupid cop cliches, and everybody always runs directly into danger, despite all logic or common sense.

Finally, there is Bosch. Detective Hieronymus ‘Harry’ Bosch is an L.A. police detective who does things His Way. Played by a Titus Welliver, who was great in Deadwood, Bosch has a black sidekick and a teenage daughter who looks around 25. Bosch lives in an architectural masterpiece up in the hills, where he stares out at the sky a lot. He’s a morose sad-sack who gets the job done, while exasperating his lesbian chief. The most amazing thing about  Bosch is that he continually cocks his head to one side, even while walking out of the shot. The head-cocking is just nuts. Did the actor have a stroke or is this his idea of a quirk? That’s the mystery that keeps you coming back.

Now, who can recommend another show in this league??

Posted in Art, Disorders | Tagged , , | 9 Comments