What the hell is wrong with people? Even the New York Times is applauding the Superbowl half-time show as “empowering” for women! Some crap about proving that age is just a number, because look how hot J. Lo is at fifty years old!

PLEASE tell me that you agree with me, that the show was as disempowering to women as if they’d been scrubbing dishes on their hands and knees.

What is empowering about women having to wear stripper outfits and shake their asses? What is empowering about the hours spent getting hair extensions and spray tans and investing in personal trainers? I see it’s empowering for the people who provide the services and for the cosmetic surgery industry but for women?? Bitch please.

It’s not empowering to feel you must look like you’re in your twenties when you’re fifty. It seems sad to me. Even Brad Pitt is allowed to look weathered. It seems like oppression. Maybe in the age of Trump, oppression is empowering?

Shakira is gorgeous and I have to say she’s a really good dancer. She looks like a fit 43 year old. Not a miracle of make-up and hair professionals, but a genuine babe, you know? Good for her.

But most of the accolades are going to Jennifer Lopez, who makes it look SO HARD, with every step and ass-wiggle seeming to visibly cause her anxiety. When is desperation empowering? When she sang something about “I’m still Jenny from the block” my husband and I both laughed out loud.

Jesus Christ, empowering my flat ass.

As for Demi Lovato singing the National Anthem, I’m relieved for her that she lived through it but what about just taking a knee??

And no, I didn’t watch the whole show or any of the actual game, so don’t start with me.

While I’m here, let me quote a recent message from a reader:

Damn, you’ve got some serious self-loathing going on. Someone in standard issue old-lady-red lipstick should maybe throttle back the ageist bullshit.

Haha, not a chance of throttling back anything! I’m just trying to make America great again.

Okay, some of you have reminded me that I don’t need to be a hero or activist to be okay. That seems fair. I’m lowering the bar for me and for everyone else. For those of us suffering from a life-changing trauma, getting out of bed and going through the motions are commendable.

I remained upright to take care of my younger son, to see him graduate high school, go off to college, fall in love and get married. I survived a crazy hate mob of trolls. I learned something about forgiveness. Not everything but something. I have bonded with readers of this blog who offered comfort or shared their own stories. These connections are like little miracles.

So you know, I take back the stuff about being worthless. I will marvel at people who make an effort to change the world when their own world has collapsed. I’m just not a doer. I’m better at communicating through writing. I’m better one-on-one.

I’m good at being preachy. I’m good at urging people to stop shaming addicts and to treat them lovingly, with compassion. I’m good at calming people who are frantic with anxiety and depression.

I’m good at styling people who go shopping with me. I’m good at making them over in my own image. I’m good at advising on red lipstick and steering people away from Zara. I’m good at finding silk pajamas at Salvation Army shops. I’m good at affecting obscure accents in public. I’m good at giving compliments. I make great roast chicken.

I think that’s it for now. I’m okay, alright? I’m going to limit self-deprecation to special occasions. Like my birthday, coming up next week.

Thanks for being the wind or the wings or however it goes! Thanks for being here. xo

Lake Superior State Universary has published its 40th Annual List of Banished words, “Banished from the Queen’s English for Mis-use, Over-use and General Uselessness.”

Considering what an awful year it’s been for language, not to mention humanity itself, it is a short and vastly incomplete list, compiled from nominations received via the university’s website.

Here we go:

Bae
Polar Vortex
Hack
Skill Set
Swag
Foodie
Curate/Curated
Friend-Raising
Cra-Cra
Enhanced Interrogation
Takeaway
-Nation

I’m going to say meh to this list, even though most people might include meh on their own list. I’m also going to complain about the spelling of cray-cray.

Takeaway is a good choice. Bae, though, I’m really conflicted about, since it’s so stupid that I hear it as tongue-in-cheek even if it’s used with sincerity. I enjoy it in a perverse way, like when I hear someone say ‘conversate.’

So let’s get to the shit they overlooked. Just off the top of my head:

Unpack, used to mean find out more about the subject. I hate this. It’s the new ‘Drill-down.’

Folks, as in ‘Yes, we did torture some folks.’ Enough of folks, for fucksake! Let’s just say ‘people’ like we used to!

Bro– as a suffix. Brogrammers, Brodouches, we get it, now let it go.

Let it go is a prompt I never, ever want to hear again, ever, unless I’m holding on to a butterfly or something.

A Red Lip as in ‘wear with simple jewelry and a red lip.’  God, why?? Say ‘red lipstick’ unless you want to die.

Okay, I’m going to stop now before I get too worked up.

What about you, bae? What words and phrases need to be banned for 2015?

This is what I’ve been praying for: a red lipstick I don’t want!

What a wonderful surprise from Givenchy, the brand of choice for Kim, Kanye, and many other celebrity luminaries. Allow me to fill you in:

French luxury label Givenchy is launching a $300 lipstick in its signature deep red shade in the Le Rouge line, clad in crocodile skin. Limited to only 3,000 pieces, it will be available at Barneys New York starting October. Otherwise priced at only $36, Givenchy’s limited edition Le Rouge gets its staggering price tag from the crocodile skin it’s encapsulated in, patterned on the black and silver tube.

I only hope to meet one of the 3,000 idiots who buy this crocodile-clad piece of shit. Lucky for me that I shot my wad on the stupid Louboutin nail polish!

Okay. I just wanted to share my relief. Now you can go back to what you were doing. xo

Everywhere I go online today, there is shit about Fifty Shades of Grey. I guess there’s a new trailer out, or maybe it’s the first trailer.

I can’t tell you how good it feels to not be interested in this trailer! Not only am I not interested in the trailer, I am not interested in reactions to the trailer!

I can’t wait to not see the actual movie., just as I couldn’t wait to not read the book or learn anything about its author. I admit to having a perverse fondness for really bad writing, and the few excerpts I saw were weapons-grade awful. So kudos to whatshername who wrote it.

Who would like to join me in taking a pledge to not watch this trailer? Maybe we can come up with a badge or membership card or something.

The state of pop culture is so abysmal that it may seem pointless to single out one offender as being too base or stupid to countenance. But I’m drawing my line anyway.

Big deal about bondage, S&M, doms and subs. Just don’t bother me with fifty shades of anything unless it’s red lipstick.

Let’s start with the men. Guys, don’t wear your hair up! If you’re a Sumo wrestler, fine, otherwise, never.

This douche above turned out to be the horrible Edward Zero character, but his name is Alex Ebert and he won a music award.  Jared Leto wore his long hair in a bun/pony tail that I wanted to undo in private, no matter how crazy he is.

Robert Redford doesn’t mind looking like a 200 year old tortoise, whereas Michael Douglas still believes he’s a hottie, even after complaining about his wife’s vag.

The men to have sex with were Idris Elba and Collin Farrell. The men to ridicule are the sanctimonious cunts of U2, who made it clear that they supported Nelson Mandela long before you did. You are nothing compared to them and don’t forget it!

Liev Schreiber cried like a baby and someone who was either Puff Daddy or Jay Z was on hand for no discernible reason.

Leaving the men behind, let’s move on to the weirdest moment : Jacqueline Bisset was  a portrait of  proudly un-botoxed beauty who then lost points for being either nuts or drunk. She seemed more bitter than triumphant, but delivered the most uncomfortable appearance since Lauren Bacall’s stroke. In the audience, Jessica Lange’s face-lift registered seething anger at losing to Bisset.

Sandra Bullock wore the worst dress, unless you prefer Julia Roberts in that category. Robin Penn Warren looked like a sleek man, and Olivia Wilde looked like a shimmering pregnant mermaid – gorgeous!

Diane Keaton contrasted her beautifully thick poufy hair with a wrinkly smoker’s face and almost pulled off a certain dignified charm until she sang a Girl Scout song in a crazy little girl voice.

Red lipstick was in short supply compared to last year. Cate Blanchett wore a nice blue-red, Juliette Binoche wore a bright red that was too orangey for her teeth, and Drew Barrymore chose a vivid fluorescent red that may have been MAC Ruby Woo or Beso by Stilla.

Now I’m worn out. What did I forget?

I just found out that MAC produced this beautiful red lipstick without telling me, and it sold out in three hours. This is a fucking outrage. I blame everybody.

It was part of MAC’s collaboration with Rihanna, whose lipstick is one of the few good things abut her, in my opinion. I also like her subtle pink ‘THUG LIFE’ knuckles tattoo.

Anyway, I’m mad but I will go on living because MAC is bringing back “RiRi Woo” in October, and it will look like this:

Here is the excitingest part – it looks almost exactly like my all-time favorite matte red, Ruby Woo, but IT’S STILL DIFFERENT! Look:  Riri Woo on the left, Ruby Woo on the right.

Godammit!!!! Right??

If I don’t get this lipstick, there will be consequences.

What a boring and lamentable gathering of untalented performers! Katy Perry‘s boobs were a magnificent distraction.

The show’s most exciting moments were the arguments between me and my husband over Taylor Swift. He continues to defend her, which is obviously maddening. I was so worried that she might win the award presented by Prince and thus get the chance to kiss Him that I shouted out the oath: “If Taylor Swift wins this, I will stab myself in the heart!” Every time I see her I think  “STD.”

The bands ‘Fun‘ and ‘The Lumineers‘ were particularly egregious. Young people, what the hell is wrong with you?!? Thank god the Black Keys were recognized for their work after a million years. A cute little guy called Miguel was a great Soul singer whose dynamic performance was spoiled by a rapper whose name I forgot. Rap isn’t music. Take it away.

Frank Ocean glared when he didn’t win and went on to sing the worst song of the evening, something about Forrest Gump. Ellen Degeneris ogled Beyonce, while I ogled Rihanna, whose red lipstick was perfection. Chris Brown was her date, no doubt proud of himself for not slugging her.

Adele chewed gum throughout the show and looked like a massive floral couch. I wondered what she thought of Kelly Clarkson. Jack White easily outclassed the homeless-looking Johnny Depp in a resplendent Nudie’s suit. His set was a welcome blast of real Rock music.

Prince looked suitably mysterious and intimidating in a black hoodie and sunglasses, wisely refraining from participating in a gratingly awful version of The Weight. Prince is nobody’s fool.

In an evening of horrifying missteps, Elton John took the prize by giving a non sequitur shout-out to the Sandy Hook victims. What an imbecile. Mumford and Sons won a lot of awards and were less repugnant than Fun. Justin Timberlake’s comeback was an over-hyped bore but his seasoned charisma underscored how lacking it was in nearly every other ‘artist.’

There it is. Remember, I did this for you, just like Christ on the cross.

I went to see my psychiatrist when he returned from his three week vacation. Before I could make a peremptory statement about my hair, he said brightly: “New Hair!”

He had no idea what I’ve been through, hair-wise. This is the new corrected hair, a desperate follow-up to the horror of the Real Housewives hair. It is so much better, right? But still a shock to my system and a challenge to my identity.

I started to say something about the hair and he continued happily, “It’s a softer look.”

Naturally, I took umbrage and we talked about hair and self-image for the rest of the psychiatric hour.

I don’t want a softer look, first of all, because that implies that my former look was hard, or harsh. I don’t want a softer look because I don’t want to project “softness.” If I have to project anything, I would choose tough. Then he confused me further by calling my former look “forbidding.” I argued that I wasn’t trying to look forbidding but merely “attractive.”

Then we had to define the audience I wanted to appear attractive to. I explained that I wanted to be attractive to the guy in the next lane if I wanted to cut in front of him. If I’m attractive, he will smile and gesture me into his lane. Being attractive is a tool in one’s social arsenal.

We talked about black hair and red lipstick, which I defended as a classic look, citing Snow White, Betty Page, and Veronica in “Archie” comics.  If you have black hair and pale skin, you need to work with what you have. You’re not going to be a California blond, after all. The way I look is pretty consistent with how I looked at eighteen. Clearly, in the eyes of my shrink, I looked like a kooky Goth or maybe a biker/dominatrix.

I had to deconstruct my appearance and think about the message it sends to the world. We are all attempting to project something with our hairstyles and fashion choices. I’d rather not think about it but I discovered that above all I want to look attractive, while still being true to who I think I am. I want to look fuckable and intriguing but I don’t want to look fashionable and I don’t feel comfortable in prints or high heels. I don’t want a Softer Look. I hate change. If I’m not projecting the right Me, I will have to dye my hair black and find a new way to distract myself from the bludgeoning pain of existence. I will also have wasted a fucking ton of money.

Thoughts, confessions, insults?

Gallery Girls is a great way to feel better abut yourself no matter how awful you are.

The latest reality ick-fest by Bravo TV, Gallery Girls follows the pointless lives of some tragically deluded young women seeking a place in the uppity world of New York art galleries. The word “art” is used very loosely here. One of the girls knows what “collage” means but that’s as far as their art knowledge goes.

The main thing is to hate the girls, and the main one to hate is Chantal. She is a truly horrible girl who needs to die ASAP. Presumably she has been told to play up her obnoxiousness but nothing could redeem her short of severing her vocal chords.

There seems to be a conflict between blonds and brunettes and lower Eastside versus upper Westside (or vice versa.) Since I don’t live in New York, I don’t know the significance of lower, upper, East or West. The blonds seem less pretentious, except for the one who always has to wear fur, even under a fur coat.

There’s an awful Asian girl who likes to pose nude and talk about her “pussy.” Her parents deserve our sympathy and a witness protection program.

The girls like to bitch about each other and they all talk like their mouths are full of marbles. Every statement is a question? Because that’s the kind of girls they are?

I went to the Bravo site to look for a picture and was directed to “like” the Gallery Girls on Facebook. The comments there are unanimously derisive, which makes me feel a glimmer of hope.

Let me put it this way: Gallery Girls comes close to giving red lipstick a bad name.  Please just take it away.