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.

Two years ago I discovered Rumi Neely‘s blog and pronounced that I hated her. Tonight, I must heed the wisdom of Rumi the sufi poet, who said:

Quit acting like a wolf, and feel
the shepherd’s love filling you.

I am filled with love for Rumi the blogger because she’s a beautiful girl who has never been mean, pretentious, or self-aggrandizing. She likes what she likes and she shares this with her readers, who still have the option of leaving comments.

Having looked at hundreds of style blogs, I now realize that Rumi is the prototype for nearly every girl who’s slim enough to mimic her style. Every other girl is aiming for some approximation of the Rumi look. It might make us sick but it’s not Rumi’s fault that she’s seized the imagination of so many girls around the world. It’s a relatively simple look but it’s one that she developed naturally, an obvious extension of her personality and her lifestyle.

The hair, the hats, the shorts and loose sweaters, the clumpy shoes, it’s all Rumi. She carries herself so casually that it invites imitation. Not many girls try emulating Susie Bubble or Jane Aldridge, because their respective looks are too complicated or too pricey. Rumi’s style is more egalitarian.

But nobody comes close to her. Accept no substitutions! The original Rumi has an ineffable sweetness that tempers her sexiest pose. She is seductive but endearingly awkward. She doesn’t look like she’s practiced in front of a mirror all day.

I mistook her bubbly So Cal speech pattern for a lack of intelligence but in fact she has a quick wit and a great sense of the ridiculous. She would be the perfect friend for a sleepover. I like to think she’d be up for some prank calls and a midnight drive to get ice cream. She’s be fun to shop with and she wouldn’t pretend you look good in jeans that make your butt flat.

It’s Rumi’s world, at least for now. I love knowing that she’s not a bitch because god knows I’ve tested her, and all I got was openhearted kindness.

Lets congratulate Rumi for winning two Bloglovin Awards! If it weren’t for her existence, we might be inundated instead by man repellers or egomaniacal girls teaching Radical Self Love!

Today my friend X took me to the mall and we decided to visit the new Bloomingdales. We entered in the cosmetics department, unaware of the horror that awaited us.

Some bitch at the Benefit counter approached me and started telling me about their new eyebrow waxing service. I tried to ignore her and looked at the make up while she gave X a brochure or something.   As I started to walk away, the bitch says brightly: “Can I just show you something?” I turned to her and said “Sure.”

Without any warning, she whips out a tube of something and starts rubbing it all over my face. I was too stunned to react. I couldn’t even believe it was happening. She babbled about the product while rubbing it in, and I kept my eyes tightly shut , dreading a blob of it on my contact lens.

When she finished, I blurted out, “How do you know this won’t make my skin break out?” meaning, How do you even know if I just had a facial peel, if I’m wearing a pound of foundation, if I’m on my way to a dinner party and can’t wash my face, if I have severe allergies, or if I’m carrying a kitchen knife to stab you with?

She smirked and replied: “It’s oil free and hypoallergenic. It’s silicone based.” I felt my face and indeed it felt slippery like the silicone glossing serum I don’t like to put on my hair.

I staggered off and told X how furious I was. I wondered if it was worth asking for the manager an causing a scene. We walked a few feet to the Dior counter, where a nice young black-clad gay guy asked how we were doing. I remarked that I was traumatized by the Benefit bitch.

He nodded and confided, “That’s their philosophy over at Benefit. Believe me, I’ve worked for them.” With that, he persuaded X to let him do her lipstick by saying, “PLEASE, I’m so bored and it will make me happy!”

The Dior guy did an expert job of lining and filling in X’s lips, explaining each product and why there was nothing like it. He did her eyes too, using 5 different products. While he worked, he told us about his unhappy childhood in a small-minded Christian community. He asked about my favorite poet, revealing that his favorite is Sylvia Plath.

“OH!” I said, recalling that the second most popular source of literary tattoos is Sylvia Plath, “So do you have any of her stuff tattooed?” He proudly yanked up his long sleeve to reveal a whole long poem about death on his upper arm, the words alternating in red and black ink. He kept right on moaning about his childhood, oblivious of how easily I had just pigeonholed him.

Finally, he was done with X, who looked great. He lined up around 8 products and asked her which ones she wanted to buy. When she said she wanted to think about it for a while, you could see his entire demeanor change. He coldly advised us to have a good day. When we left the store, we were careful to avoid the cosmetics department.

What next at the make up counter? A gang rape?

Refinery 29 is running ANOTHER contest, this time to win a piece of Rossmore Jewelry. You just have to write about your favorite summer accessory and the most interesting answer will win.

Imagine my horror to find that some bitch named Jinjen wrote about an alligator foot necklace that goes with all her dark and tribal blah blah blah, a full hour before I wrote my entry. Fuck! What a cheater!