Cult objects of desire are always disappointing, with one exception.

Make-up artist Pat McGrath’s lipsticks really are the most wonderful thing in the whole world (right after babies, of course!)

They are everything you ever hoped for in a lipstick, and more. The case is adorable and kind of stupid, with a nice heft and a good confirmatory click. The pigment is unbelievably rich. It glides on like silk underpants. I don’t know, I made that part up. But it is definitely silky, smooth and light as a whisper. I can’t write this kind of crap! What does “light as a whisper” mean? It feels light, okay? Here’s a bunch of literary similes for “light as…”

It is so dope, you won’t resent spending $38 for it. You will THANK IT for only costing $38. Tom Ford lipstick is $54, not that I would ever consider buying it. All his sickening fragrances smell like room-spray, as I’m sure you all know.

I got the MatteTrance color Elson, a deep blue red. If you don’t like a matte formula, there are creamy colors too.

You can order online at Sephora or find it in real life at ‘select’ stores. You can also get it at Pat McGrath’s website, where I borrowed this picture.*

*My husband said it looks just like my bathroom! What greater compliment can a woman ask for?

In my continuing effort to make life livable, I’ve sunk to self-help books. It’s a poignant conundrum. The more you succumb to self-help books, the more of a loser you are, by definition.

Still. I have high hopes for The Life-Changing Magic of Tidying Up. a worldwide best seller that makes a bold promise:

In this book, I have summed up how to put your space in order in a way that will change your life forever.

The book is slim, like The Prophet, and similarly filled with wisdom, only more useful wisdom. I vaguely recall stuff from The Prophet, like your children are arrows and sadness is a well or something. Great.

But compare that to the revelation that everything you own should spark joy. If you pick something up and you don’t feel any joy, YOU DON’T KEEP IT!

It’s such a huge but simple concept. All the shit you’ve acquired is shit that you have to put somewhere and there’s just too much of it. Duh, you know that. But you don’t know how to cull your stuff, and you’ve tried so many times. You can’t get rid of stuff because you paid good money for it, you might need it, you might lose weight. it’s a memento, it was a gift, it isn’t broken, one day you’ll give it to someone.

Anyway, the first brilliant edict from the author, Marie Kondo, that shook me to the core was this:

Don’t demote clothing to ‘lounge-wear.’

Right?!? Even my husband admitted to this practice. If something is too ugly or worn out to wear in public, you put it with your PJ’s.  Ms. Kondo insists that even when you’re at home, you should be wearing something that sparks your joy. Right now I’m wearing a green tank top that I’m going to throw away later tonight, because the color and cut bring me NO FUCKING JOY, none.

It’s that simple.

So, I’m not following Kondo’s instructions to the letter but I’m making a start. I emptied each drawer of my dresser and picked up each item. If there was a distinct No Joy feeling, I made a contemptuous face and threw it on the floor. If there was a ‘meh’ feeling, I hesitated.

But I did collect two bags of shit to throw away. I have to go around the house and do this with everything. It will be exhausting but I think I can eliminate tons of stuff from my amassed belongings, which have become burdensome.

I also got a book for parents whose adult children hate them. It is somewhat comforting.

Throwing shit out is the way to go, the road to harmony and contentment. Maybe the less I need, the less needy I will seem. I will be spartan, disciplined, and self-contained. I will accept no nonsense from green tank tops.

And throwing shit out puts you in a position of power, which is good. Like George Bush said about Donald Rumsfeld, I am The Decider.

Am I the last one to know, again??

If not, check this out. Malplaquet House is an 18th century brick mansion in East London, that hadn’t been occupied for a hundred years until 1998, when a pair of historians/designers moved in and let their compulsive hoarding run rampant. Now, after 12 years, Todd Longstaffe-Gowan and Tim Knox are ready to sell the place and and find fresh environs to clutter.

The house is breathtaking, in a Miss Havisham meets Tony Duquette kind of way. More is Not Enough here, and you certainly get the feeling that these guys have several more tons of antique statues and taxidermy stacked up in storage somewhere.

Even the bathroom is a shrine to their insanity. (Click to expand the picture)

In a hallway, there are enough antlers to make all of Williamsburg and Los Feliz cry bitter tears of envy.

I feel ambivalent about this place.   Except for the dead things, it has a baroque faux-religious aesthetic that I personally favor in my own house. And I like obsessive art, as I keep saying. But the thought of being surrounded by this much crap…..and the way it’s   just thrown   everywhere almost randomly…I think no.

One day in Malplaquet House would probably convince me to throw away all my hoarded old crap and live in pristine minimalism like a monk. But I would love to spend an hour there, just to ogle all that maniacal splendor.

Look at this Kate Moss ‘Groupie Coat!’ Why did I buy it from Topshop? Because I’m stupid, that’s why. I imagined myself as a 20 year old living in a cold climate, walking around like a big Yeti, looking insanely rad. Now, it’s on ebay.

Why did I buy this Marc Jacobs sequin thing? Because I’m so stupid that I must have pictured myself going somewhere and impressing people with my glam fashion sense. I haven’t worn it once, just like the Groupie Coat. A complete waste of time and money. For sale on ebay.

Ooh, what about these Paul Smith “Kings” biker boots. Wearing them would prove how moto, how tough-chic and just plain killing it I am. So what that I already had a million pairs of biker boots. Soon to be on ebay, and I’ll only get a fraction of the purchase price.

I have been out of work for nearly a year. What I’ve learned is that I am a big idiot who spent money as fast as I could, because I’d never made so much of it.   Every story I wrote brought me $500, so a pair of boots equalled only one story.   I forgot to worry about the future, or the people starving in Africa. My shame and my unpaid bills aren’t punishment enough for being so stupid.

However. While at ebay, I treated my self to a look at Mom’s recent purchases, and I was reassured to find that, yes, someone else is stupid, too! Join me in weighing up the stupidity.

This massive anchor pendent was $295 plus shipping. Gargantuan, isn’t it? I think size is key, for Mom. At least it isn’t a monkey or cockroach.

Now we’re talking! Pre-owned Prada open-toed boots, just $199 plus shipping. Are these for Sea or Mom? Would they wear these if they didn’t say “Prada?” I’m already feeling a little less stupid, but what do I know.

Another bold statement piece of junk jewelry for Mom, $85 plus shipping. Nice and big, even “glitzy” I would say. There are many, many more acquisitions of this nature that you can look for at Mom’s shop or perhaps adorning herself or Sea.

The thing about shopping and hoarding is that it distracts one from the void, from oneself, from the horror of the human condition but in the end it fools no one. In the end, you’re just an idiot with too much crap that no one wants, not even you.

But at least my crap is good crap.

I don’t think I can take much more of this. It’s killing me. I can’t go on. I’ll go on.   (Samuel Beckett)

Sea is excited about going to Tokyo in a couple of weeks to spend a few million dollars and take some cute photos.   She posed in some painful pointy Givenchy pumps, and twittered about vaginas and her dad’s cell phone.

Mom confided that she “had to have” these Lucite Prada shoes from Neiman’s. ($975) Not only that, but Sea “managed to snag a pair of the satin platforms … and they are really incredible.”

Who would like to deconstruct the phrase “managed to snag” in this context?

UPDATE: Now there are new Celine sandals for both Sea and Mom, and some hideous new garbage jewelry that was “sent” from Paris.

Sea won’t post your comments but you can leave them here. I’ll go first.

Dear Sea, Have you tried adding up the damage, shoe-wise, for the last month? Why are you throwing away your youth on this project? You’re staring to look nuts in those photos. Your outfits say “35 year old divorcee, circa 1980.” This is not a compliment. Stop the insanity and maybe poor dad can retire. Love, xo SW.

Sea has been busy busy busy.   Above, she models the first creation of a new jewelry and belt line that she and Mom are launching. Hopefully, there will be giant slugs and cockroaches too.

Secretly, Sea has been visiting the brothels of Bangkok, looking for Asian boys with prominent anuses. She has become a favorite with the locals, who scream and hold out their prosthetic legs, hoping she will reward them with a Miu Miu platform bootie or Givenchy ballet flat.

While Sea was off indulging her appetite for hipster porn, Mom discovered that after spending $25,000 at Barneys, she could pick up a Celine bag with her free points! You can see it over at her blog. Meanwhile, Mom plundered eBay for its most icky offerings, including this tragic ‘dragon sweater’:

The sweater will look cool with another of Mom’s recent eBay finds, a scary fish pendant:

Back at Mom’s blog, she shows off some other crap she “won” on eBay. She still can’t use the word “buy!” I love this stubbornness so much, it reminds me of myself and that’s what I look for in people.

Mom’s shopping has gotten so out of control, Sea has threatened to delete her blog. Mom begged Sea to reconsider, even promising to hand over all her curated knits from the 70’s, including every single Adolfo cardigan jacket rejected by Nancy Reagan.

Sea is planing to replace Karl Lagerfeld at Chanel, based on her work with crayons. Karl is upset, but you can’t fight progress. Yohji and Junya have gone into hiding.

Mom is hoping to work for Sea, without whom her life would be an endless quest for bad jewelry and letters to her ex-husband, begging for funds. Mom has been calling Carol, tattling on Sea’s naughty lesbian proclivities, hoping Carol can persuade Sea to make up with Akbar.

Carol is too busy to leave her studies but here’s what she wrote to Mom:

Dear Mom, I think you should let Jane be free to follow her dreams. You should find a way to fulfill yourself without exploiting Jane or Dad. I’ve learned here at school that there’s more to life than hoarding material goods. Love, Carol.

Do you have a comment for Jane? You can leave one here, thanks to my gracious gift of comment space for this purpose.

R13 is a line of denim produced in Italy that triggered my irrational yearning last year with an ad campaign featuring a tomboy endowed with an endearing Fuck You attitude.

See how pissed off she is?! Her Angry Runaway Look is particularly resonant for me, but obviously the appeal is widespread.

Look how pissed off she is above, in the new season droopy jeans!

I can’t remember if I’ve already divulged the shameful fact of my jeans hoarding. I have 22 pairs of jeans in rotation. Some are black but they’re still jeans. I’m not counting the leather ones or the red ones. My only consolation is that my friend Mark has 6o pairs of Levi’s. Thank you, Mark!

I’m pretty sure that I could live with maybe 4 pairs of jeans. A baggy pair, a tight pair, a high-waisted pair, and a black pair. But just thinking about it makes me nervous. Hoarding is a difficult and persistent problem, I am learning.

Luckily, I’ve just realized that I don’t need the R13 droopy jeans ($275) because nearly all of my jeans look like this by the end of the day. I am not exaggerating. They start out tight in the morning, and later on they are sagging to the point of falling off.

I can’t get them a size smaller, because then they’re too tight. God has worked hard on this conundrum, always making sure that the next size down will refuse to stretch out enough. Let’s give Him the credit He deserves for this!

I would like someone to provide exhaustive research on the fit of different brands and styles of jeans: For example, which work best for flat butts, big butts, long-waisted figures or big hips with a small waist. I want to know which jeans will stretch out a full size and which won’t.

Isn’t there a huge market for this? Or is it only the wish of a hoarder with drooping issues?

Inspired by the mom-woman and her what-I-wore pictures, I’ve decided to share my carefully curated collection of Black Jackets.   I only had time for five of them. Believe me, this is just   the tip of the Black Jacket Iceberg. The jacket above is a leather jacket by Rachel Roy, around 4 years old. Check out the peplum thing in the back.

Here’s a wool motorcycle jacket and notice how I didn’t use “moto” in my description.

Here’s another wool motorcycle jacket that’s kind of quilted and shorter.

This one is a cashmere jacket by Richard Tyler…my very first eBay purchase. It has a beautiful embroidered lining in peach satin.

Here is the Plein Sud jacket that I got at the UCLA Cancer Thrift Shop a few years ago. I once used it to sit on at a Patti Smith concert at the pier, that’s how awesome I am.

Would you like to see some more Black Jackets? There are two more leather ones, two cotton ones, and I’m afraid to   remember if there are others.

What the hell is wrong with me? (Oh shit, I just remembered the Ann D. jacket I got from Yoox.com!) How many times do you have to buy the same thing before you feel satisfied, you know what I’m saying?

Or maybe it’s my life’s work to curate Black Jackets? I hope not.

Now tell the class what item you are doomed to keep buying. And if you choose to gush over any of my jackets, please call me “Judy”, just for fun!

That’s right, you meanies. She has shut done her comments because of you. Well, not exactly.   Let her explain in her own words:   “Comments aren’t necessary.”

Who cares what you people think?!? Fuck all y’all. Sea of Shoes is famous now, at least to blog followers, and their feedback doesn’t matter. She’s not here to make friends, after all! And she doesn’t need your stupid opinions.

But wait, I have an opinion, and now it’s too late.   Shit. Let me share it anyway, alright?

My opinion is, Take your new Dolce and Gabbana Wedges ($1,010 at farfetch) and get the money back. Take the money and buy a wheelchair for the guy I met last week who is paralyzed after a motorcycle accident. His sons are hoping the family can raise $1,000 to buy one.

I know it’s not your fault that people are paralyzed. And yet. Oh well.   Like you said, Sea of Shoes, “some people are just born with the compulsion to collect.“

I knew it would make me feel better to check in with Sea of Money and Mom. But I had no idea of the folly that awaited me there.

Sea reveals that she’s been busy “working” with the rack of furs that Mom has been buying since the beginning of the year.   She notes of these furs that Mom “has…..curated quite the collection.”

People, does it get better than this?!?

Where I come from, this is called “hoarding” or even “stockpiling.” But now we are all curators!

I believe I have curated quite the collection of jeans, since I was unable to locate my Comfortable Jeans in a timely fashion when I was anxious to get back to the hospital one day last week. I flipped through piles of folded jeans, desperately tossing them aside, and finally giving up in frustration. It was a clumsy Aesop’s fable: The woman who was stymied by her greed for jeans. I ended up settling for the awful harem pants and spent the day looking like a crazy bag lady after adding my nephew’s long, patchwork cardigan.

While Sea and Mom spend their time plundering the world of its fur coats, one can’t help but wonder, What about Carol?

Carol, we are worried about you. Did they put you in the attic? Are you being held hostage under a tarp in the backyard? Did they send you to a Swiss boarding school or a musty convent?

You’re a person too, Carol, even if you can’t design shoes or curate hideous animal-shaped belt buckles! You matter. Let me know where you are and I’ll pick you up ASAP. You can come with me to the hospital, where nothing matters but life it self. In the end, the shoes won’t help at all. Maybe you already know that. I hope so! That would be epic.