Max is 37 today, somewhere out in the cosmos where I will find him when the time comes.
Lighting a candle and waiting it out.
Categories
Blogroll
Meta
Beatles Party
My friend Jane threw a great party for her birthday, instructing her guests to dress as characters from a Beatles song. The creative challenge was enough to make me accept the invitation and even more noteworthy, to get up off my ass and actually go.
As you can easily see, I was Baby from the song “Baby’s in Black.” I am even wearing a bib that says ‘Mommy Loves Me.’ Please note that I’m wearing a flared satin evening coat; I am not really that fat. It was pointed out to me that I could also be the title character of “Lady Madonna.” Thus, I unwittingly achieved a double Beatles reference!
Anyway, it was a uniquely entertaining evening on the grounds of a stunning mansion, Beatles karaoke blasting, baby-boomers mingling and asking each other stupidly: “Who are you supposed to be?”
We were advised to bring our own liquor, so we brought a bottle of white wine someone had given us for some occasion. We added it to a large group of bottles near the pool area. A lady walked up and asked: “Is there any good wine here?” I told her, “We just brought this, you are welcome to have some!” She looked at our bottle and shook her head in disgust, remarking “No, that is not a good wine.” After she left, my husband and I shared a moment of stunned delight at encountering such a rude bitch.
Much later, my husband pointed out a person in the distance and said “You have to check out those pants, they’re printed with the Maharishi!”
Look at these fucking pants and scream WHAT THE HELL?!?
I stopped the pants-wearer, who was pleased to explain how she got them. You can take any picture to Wallgreens and they will make you a pair of pants with a pattern of your image!
Obviously, I fell in love with this wonderful woman. My heart went clunk. Isn’t she lovely? She even asked if I was an artist, which was so flattering. I had to explain, “No, I am nothing.” But still, I think I have made a new friend, and the pleasure in connecting reminded me that in certain moments, life is almost worth living.
Family: Part II
Great news! We received this nice email today from my very special sister:
To be clear, I am taking my position as Trustee very seriously, just like a real job within a business. With that in mind, I keep track of every minute, mile and expense regarding the Trust and will reimburse accordingly. I will be charging $50/hr and break down my time in tenths.With all that said, I encourage you to contact me or my attorney with very specific, straight forward questions and/or concerns so as not to waste anybody’s time and consequently, money from the Trust.
Isn’t that nice? We get to pay her just for asking a question about our share of the trust! What would Jesus do?
Poor Jodi
I thought I was alone in my sympathy for murderess Jodi Arias, but look, there is a whole website in support of her, unless they are joking, in which case I salute them. Actually, I salute them either way.
Like many people with no lives, I am hooked on Jodi’s trial. But I am totally on her side. I don’t blame her for killing Travis.
I’m not saying that she should have killed him, just that I understand.
When I look at Jodi, I see a poor girl who has never been loved, who was so desperate to be loved that she would do anything, be anyone, in exchange for affection. In my fantasy of Jodi, she was an ugly duckling who has worked hard to make herself attractive to men. She bleached her hair, got breast implants, plucked out her eyebrows, and even then she had to invite some Mormon douchebag to ejaculate on her face just to experience some facsimile of love.
Deep in my soul, I am Jodi, an unlovable girl with murder in my heart.
I have never had come on my face, nor have I put up with a boring ass-obsessed motivational speaker/salesman. Still, I feel a bond of unlovability. I will thank my parents for this. Thanks, parents!
I haven’t shot or stabbed anyone because I hate violence and I will always duck or run if someone wants to hit me. I know it’s wrong to kill Travis, but fuck him. Hearing his phone-sex with Jodi is to want him dead.
You probably think I’m being satirical or contrarian but I am sincere in this position. Not that I’d give Jodi a penny, even for her fabulous drawing of Lucille Ball.
(art © Jodi Arias)
Let’s Love Me
I got these sunglasses yesterday from Out of the Closet for only $8, minus the 10% Senior Discount! I fucking rule.
I also got the green top for $6.50 (minus discount) and it’s covered in nonsensical badges, rhinestones and d-rings, with a big fake “D&G” logo on the back.
Just sit back and be jealous of my shopping savvy.
A Special Game
Inner Vision is a computer game created by a college student who has given some thought to suicide. The goal of the game is to convince three people not to kill themselves. As a player, you interact with them, choosing the advice you believe will help them most.
It’s a simple game but it offers a surprisingly intense experience. It might be useful as a way to combat suicidal thinking. It could also be a tool for stirring compassion and teaching us the importance of listening.
For me, it was a chance to get it right, to save three imaginary people from taking their own lives and breaking innumerable imaginary hearts. It was comforting.
You can play the game here. If you’re impressed, don’t thank me, thank Sunil Rao at his website here.
Family: Part I
My dad had seven children with three wives. I am still getting to know the younger ones, who live in another county. One was an athlete in college, and she was the apple of daddy’s eye. He had always wanted a tennis player and with her, he got one.
Years after graduating from college, she wondered what to do with her life. She lived with her dad until his health took a drastic turn. She loved him so much that she hastened to move out, leaving the duties of caring for him to my brother, who took a three month sabbatical from his job in a city up north.
Sometimes when I was visiting my dad, she would arrive for a visit. She would prance around for him like a palace courtesan before a king. As she explained to the other exhausted siblings, “I give him joy!”
When our dad got weaker and needed help paying his bills. she conducted whispered meetings with him at his bedside, accusing various family members of stealing from his wallet and even stealing his medication. Poor girl. That’s what love is, isn’t it? She was just trying to protect him!
Now that my dad is gone, I still don’t know what makes this girl tick. I like how she manages to avoid getting a job, because that has been my lifelong dream as well. (See Office Space.)
I love her blog, which is a tribute to hippies, many of them nude in a forest or commune or something. You can scroll and scroll, losing yourself in peace signs, long stringy hair and little proverbs about karma and creativity.
Creativity: I wish I had more, don’t you? Then no one would know that I’ve removed the camera-shy siblings from the photo above. Maybe my dad wouldn’t mind the extra hands and feet in this photo. I know he would criticize my hair. If only he’d lived long enough to see my silky keratin treatment.
Anyway, now she has assumed control of our dad’s trust. It’s nice to know it’s in such competent hands. Stay tuned for Part II.
Academy Award Exegesis 2013
This year, I can honestly say that I got what I wanted. My choice for best picture, best actor and best actress came through, somebody fell, Adele was a goddess, and David O. Russell didn’t get to gloat over his importance.
Let’s review the fashions. Halle Berry wore a hideous striped dress from Ross 4 Less and her hair was dreadful. In the bad hair category, she was outdone by Jen Aniston, whose short broken ends stood up in the light, guaranteeing the death of Chris McMillan. Jane Fonda looked hideous in a yellow gown from “Dallas“, and Shirley Bassey, at 100 years old, was majestic in gold sequins as she belted out the theme to “Goldfinger“. I tried to remember an old scandal about her involving one of the British Royals but failed to retrieve it.
Seth MacFarlane was alternately funny and crass, but who could resist his crack about Kardashian facial hair?
Barbara Streisand looked like an old wizard from Harry Potter, Anne Hathaway overdid her boy-in-a-dress schtick, and Jessica Chastain, as always, was a flawless porcelain doll. Several older men had long silky white hair, outclassing the clean-cut youngsters.
Reese Witherspoon wore an ugly blue thing and grew her chin since last year. Renee Zellweger reappeared out of retirement with the exact same grimace we know and love her for.
Christopher Waltz was a charming Oscar winner, generously quoting Quentin Tarantino, who exuded coke from every pore as he manically thanked the Academy.
Daniel Day Lewis was a witty dreamboat, revealing that he was originally signed to portray Margaret Thatcher. Ben Affleck was emotionally affecting as he alluded to some grudge he had given up but clearly hadn’t, and I still managed to watch “Shameless” even though I missed the first 8 minutes.
What did I forget?
I Can’t Tell You Why
For the last two nights, we have been watching a new documentary about the Eagles. I have tested my husband’s patience by repeatedly asking “Which one is that?” I still can’t tell them apart. I always thought Don Henley was the other guy, Glen Frey.
The sound of the Eagles triggers a cascade of uncomfortable emotions. As an entity, they make me sick. The “laid-back” sound, ugh, awful. The song “Tequila Sunrise” represents everything painful about the 70’s. The mustaches and bad hair, the bandannas, the glowering expressions, the very idea of the Eagles is just lame. The 70’s marked a divisive era in rock music and I was repelled by the “Southern California Sound.” I recall being contemptuous of my upstairs neighbors who loved The Doobie Brothers.
Remember being young and taking music so seriously that it could be a deal-breaker if a new person in your life turned out to have bad taste? An awful record collection was nearly impossible to forgive. If someone owned an obscure record that I loved, I probably slept with them. Actually, I slept with them, regardless, but that’s a whole other topic.
The Eagles wrote such catchy songs that when I hear them I can’t help singing along. But familiarity is no measure of quality. The Eagles evoke nostalgia without being exciting or satisfying. It’s just elevator music. I don’t care if they’ve sold a billion records. I wouldn’t take one to a desert island even if was my only choice.
The 70’s were the decade of my young adulthood. I had a baby, in the happiest moment of my life. I also had a bad marriage, a two-pack a day cigarette habit, and little capacity for self-examination. Music was the background for everything. Elvis Costello, Patti Smith, and Townes Van Zandt were the rays of light in the bleak cloud of my domestic life. Bands like the Eagles remind me of anomie and macrame.
Some punk band wrote a song called “Don Henley Must Die” and I still admire the sentiment. even if I can’t tell him apart from Glen Frey or those other guys. Now that I’ve seen the documentary, I hate the Eagles with a deeper sense of their awfulness as people who can’t stop arguing about money and their own importance.
Eagles fans or detractors, jump in!
I Told You He Was a Cunt!
Posted in Horrible Stuff, News, Religion, revenge
Tagged Cunt of the Week ™, cunts, Nazis
26 Comments