Look at this nice person I met at the mall today! I asked him about his sit-ups and whether he did a lot of crunches. But he was too nice to talk about his work-out regime.
All he wanted to do was to pull me close and put his chiseled arm around me.
I was going to take my shirt off too, but it all happened so fast.
Later I bought a Chanel nail polish and a red chiffon prom dress. but who cares, you know? It’s really all about connecting with nice male models people.
I’ve learned that doctors are trying to develop a predictive tool that could warn of a patient’s risk of suicide.
“We can identify those individuals with highest risk for potential suicide, but we can’t identify those who will commit suicide in the near future. In part, this is because the duration between the suicidal thought and attempt is usually only about 10 minutes,” said Dr. Igor Galynker, MD, PhD.
Suicide risk factors include psychiatric disorders, chronic physical illness, suicidal ideation, a history of suicide attempts, and poor social supports.
Galynker contends that the suicidal act itself is not a thinking process. Rather, it is an affective state.
In their clinical work, Galynker’s team has identified repeated themes. These include fear of entrapment and distorted and confused thinking. They also identified a distinct psychopathologic state or syndrome related to panic and psychosis.
Galynker and his coauthors describe the state as being “marked by ‘ruminative flooding’ (a confusing, uncontrollable and overwhelming profusion of negative thoughts) coupled with an acute ‘frantic hopelessness,’ in which not only is there a fatalistic conviction that life cannot improve, but also an oppressive sense of entrapment and imminent doom.”
All of this builds to an intolerable, confused state in which patients feel that suicidal action is the only conceivable route of escape.
I don’t know how effectively anyone can use this information but I know it is helpful to me. It may help you too, if you have lost a loved one to suicide.
While I was stuck in a dark well of misery, I blamed Max’s girlfriend for his decision to end his life. Even though he explained in a message he left that he couldn’t stand the chronic pain of his injuries and the complications that developed.
I blamed her and wanted her to suffer. I wrote about her here and demonized her without mercy.
Not too long ago, I realized how badly I had wronged her. I asked if she could forgive me.
Max loved her and felt their love was a kind of miracle. She loved him back and got this tattoo as a symbol of their love.
She loved him but couldn’t save him, just as I couldn’t save him. He would not be saved.
The other day, I confided to her that I don’t understand those mothers who go on after their child’s suicide and proceed to live a life as if it was just some chapter in their past. I cited Gloria Vanderbilt, whose son jumped out a window, right in front of her.
She agreed and suggested that Gloria Vanderbilt had simply managed to stay distracted. I said, “What, for sixty years?!” and she answered, “Yes.”
I think this is a piece of wisdom I couldn’t have found on my own.
I wish I could change so many things but of course I can’t. One thing I can do is apologize to Simone, and I’m doing it publicly. I’m sorry for hurting you. We are in this together, after all. xo
Remember Sruli Recht, the Israeli/Australian designer with a studio in Iceland?
His ready-to-wear menswear is now available online!
The sweater and shorts above are made from the wool of Icelandic sheep who “have been bred unmixed for 11 hundred years.” Good to know. But here’s more:
Garment description:
Fitted Single breasted Icelandic woolen-felt Jacket, draped as a sole rectangle, shaped with one dart running from the scapula through to the nape – draped entirely on a K&L 38 stand and on the body of a man named Emil in Reykjavik.
The shorts were also draped entirely on Emil’s legs. Not only that, but they’re lined in Japanese silk and cotton. I would buy them just to feel close to Sruli.
What is the point of this guy???
Why don’t the Republicans nominate Bishop Don instead?
He’s got the charisma, the likability thing, the business acumen, and possibly a better grasp of foreign relations.
I’m sick of that stupid arrogant pizza salesman. What a fucker. His function as comic relief has expired.
Bishop Don could even use personal motto as his campaign slogan!
“Green is for the money, gold is for the honeys.”
I’m not interested in Royalty, but I love old photographs. Today I came across a forum for people who are obsessed with Royal families and it is a motherlode of vintage photos.
An unexpected bonus is the number of arguments that break out between the people who post there. I wonder if people have to argue in online forums. Maybe it’s just the competitive nature of people who are proud of their expertise.
My husband reads a forum for audiophiles and he says they don’t argue there. I’m surprised that guys who can tell the difference between five different masters of a Jimi Hendrix record can accept each other’s opinions without jockeying for authority. But moderators are there to end discussions, so who knows what would happen if the posters were left alone to boast about their rare Japanese boxed sets of obscure Eric Clapton demos.
Check out “Alexander Palace Time Machine” for amazing photos and petty arguments! Start here.
~
* According to a forum regular, here are the Royals who are worst at being Royals:
Prince Charles of Great Britian.
Camilla, The Duchess of Cornwall.
Prince Harry of Great Britian.
Princess Anne of Great Britian.
Crown Prince Philip of Belgium.
Prince Joachim of Denmark.
Prince Albert of Monaco.
Victor-Emmanuel of Italy, Duke of Savoye.
Marina-Doria of Italy, Duchess of Savoye.
Last night I went to see Amanda Palmer, aware that I might feel emotional, since Max loved Amanda and introduced me to The Dresden Dolls in the fist place.
I couldn’t get as close to the stage as I’d hoped, but we managed to find a pretty good place to stand. Before the opening act started, a girl directly in front of me felt compelled to dance theatrically to the piped in music. I turned to my companion and said: “This is a test from god. He put her in front of me to see if I can take it.” I added that all I really wanted was to not get my nose broken by her flailing elbows.
We managed to move closer to the stage and away from the dancing girl. In a break between the two supporting acts, I got something in my eye and asked a big friendly girl to hold my drink for a minute. She was adorable, like an enormous puppy but I can’t remember her name. She works at Trader Joe. I felt happy about our camaraderie and excited about seeing Amanda.
Suddenly, I experienced the shock of being whacked in the face by a plastic bottle that some fucker had thrown in my direction. The people next to me had seen it coming and I turned to see them cringing in horror. I felt my nose to see if it was still there. I wanted to cry but decided not to. You can’t believe the force of a flying plastic bottle! When I got home, I saw that there was a small bloody cut on the bridge of my nose. (see above)
Why did I have a premonition about my nose? Did I manifest a blow to the nose by Putting Out a negative thought? Does everyone get hit in the nose if they go to enough concerts?
Amanda was terrific, as always. Her embodiment of both male and female energy is so mesmerizing, and luckily, marriage has done nothing to tame her.
One of Amanda’s rituals is to answer personal questions from fans, selecting them randomly from a basket. She started reading one that didn’t make sense. It was just a name, like Quinn Something. She threw it aside, but someone in the audience yelled that Quinn was asking for a middle name. She said “Oh, sorry, I guess I didn’t read the whole thing.” Then she paused for a moment and shouted: “MAX!”
Suddenly everything became surreal. I expected Max to appear, summoned by Amanda Palmer. My jaw dropped in wonder. It was only a second but it was amazing. I was thrilled, freaked out, then tearful. She added. “It’s one of my favorite names.”
Was it a sign? Say yes.
And what about my nose?
If you follow this link, you can see the full line of Versace for H&M, due in stores on November 17. Bright, flashy exotic prints and old-school Versace overkill in the accessories make this collection a nostalgic trip down Eurotrash lane.
I’m ready for it! I’m tired of drab colors and black with black.
These pants come in a leafy Hawaiian print as well, and look nice under the dresses or with short clashing tops.
I love a pink suit on a male model but I admit that I’d like one for me. I think I could pull it off. But realistically, I will probably just set my sights on the pink shoes. I’m not willing to stand in a long line to get my hands on this stuff but if the crowds aren’t too scary, these shoes are mine.
And if the shoes don’t work out, I want the bedspread. There are matching pillows for a nice opium den effect.
What do you think about this collection? Love it or hate it? Is it worth fighting a mob of aggressive girls wearing their Lita platforms?
This skirt by Kevork Kilesjian would look great with a massive viking helmet, don’t you think?
At $1,495, the price is just right, and the designer’s name suggests he may be amenable to killing you with a plastic bag. Maybe he could even do this before you suffered the indignity of wearing the skirt!
Shopbop, of course.
Even though he’s the Hipster du Jour, I can’t stand looking at Zombie Boy. Now that I see what he’d look like without his tattoos, I find him even more tragic.
He’s actually a cute guy! And he fucked himself all up.
If you think he’s a work of art, don’t fly off the handle: I’m reacting as a mother.
In any case, it’s a great marketing gimmick for Dermablend.
What’s your preference. Before or After?
~
*Update: Here is the best possible version of Zombie Boy, from a helpful reader, Danielle. Now he needs to go away and leave us alone. I apologize for bringing him up in the first place.
Goodbye to Dad
Two walkers, December 2009
High School graduation, June 2011
Max and Pico
Playing guitars
and finally this photo by Antanas Sutkus. I can’t describe how much I love it. It is so exquisitely tender! It sums up everything for me. I want to kiss the little child and to reassure her. But I know she is me.
