Least you think I do not possess an opinion, I give you…
Some of my pet peeves:
Being ‘late’. I have a girlfriend who couldn’t be on time if her tits were on fire.
Coming up with an idea in a ‘volunteer’ situation and then pawning it’s execution off on others. Maybe that works at church but we are a long way from martyrdom in my Kingdom.
Showing-up at the last minute and making changes to the game plan. Ben used to come home from a week out of town and tell me how he wanted the kids disciplined. What a comedian.
Asking for assistance and not being prepared. Tyler recently asked me for a lift to his abandoned car, and forgot the keys. Yesterday, he asked me for a lift to go see another car he was thinking of purchasing, and forgot the plates off of the car that he had forgotten the keys to. Do you see where I’m going with this?
Making everything about ‘you’. Like the people at a flight gate that berate the airline associate at the counter for a plane delay because it affords them the opportunity to affirm their belief that the world revolves around them, and only them. Bathing in the ‘oneness’ of personal persecution can be so affirming. I agree. You are an ass.
Small-minded neighbors. Last year I wanted to construct a glass greenhouse on our property. Our neighbors said ‘no’. They thought it would interfere with their view (Of the side of another neighbor’s house?). Recently they asked for my permission to enlarge their second floor deck. Pay backs are a bitch. My bitch wants a greenhouse.
Being schooled in the error of my ways- period, but especially from strangers because I didn’t know that cigarettes are bad for you. I need to be reminded, so that’s why I’m lighting up another okay?
And in closing…
Using the word ‘Correct’ after being asked for an opinion. Really?
Like I need your affirmation.
Once upon a time (1978) in a sleepy little fiefdom (Kent) in the land of Ohio, lived a fair maiden (me) who toiled at mastering her craft (Graphic Design) amongst the jolly boys (gays) and evil sheriffs (nasty gay professors) who attempted to thwart her every contribution (portfolio reviews) and banish her from their castle (department).
They (two professors in particular) felt their domain was not a place for a GIRL. I kid you not.
The maiden, however, felt differently, and went and won a national art contest in spite of them.
‘So THERE, ya big assholes’, could be heard around the world.
is looking for
in it’s annual competition for
Guest Editorships in NYC.
Yes, she was chosen as one of 14 (out of thousands) to come hither out of the bailiwick of mediocrity and receive senior year credit as a contributor to the (then) modern-day bible of fashion, not as a copy editor, not as the fiction & poetry editor, not as the career editor, no no nooooooo…but as the associate FASHION editor- in a FASHION magazine.
Score one for the girls.
When the evil sheriffs received the news they were s-t-u-n-n-e-d.
‘What have you done? And how could you do this without our help?’, they spit through thousands of dollars of orthodontic intervention and faces that reddened under a tub of bronzer.
‘Help? What help? Ever?’, was her reply, as she ran a perfectly manicured red lacquered fingernail over the certified Congratulations letter.
‘This can’t be possible’.
‘Oh, it’s w-a-y past possible. It’s done. And the University President is just thrilled, though a bit confused as to why your department hasn’t signed-off on my portfolio yet when Conde Naste Publishing has such confidence in my work. ‘Ya may have to do that soon’.
So off she went in her carriage (airplane) to live in a castle (apartment in the Barbizon Hotel), eat Big Apples (Le Cirque), scale the towers of Gotham (Madison Ave.), dance the night away (Studio 54), make a few new friends (Perry Ellis), and even do a little work, all with her magic bag (black velvet) under her wing (vintage Chanel coat) and the wind at her back- for exactly two months- before the fairy dust cleared and she realized that all of the things she had been reading, and believing in, and charting her course by between the pages of a ‘glossy’ were just made-up, willy-nilly, around a big table by a slew of unhappy poorly paid people that had access to really good tickets but couldn’t pay the rent.
It was time to go home.
Sometimes you just have to write your own ending.
Modeling in the September 1979 issue of Mademoiselle Magazine.
My Before & After published in August 1979 Mademoiselle Magazine.
I love a new year: It’s an opportunity to lie to myself once more (and I’m nothing if not self delusional so I’m really good at this).
I feel powerful, like I can take charge of my destiny (again and again and again- ironic).
This year I’m starting with un-following all sorts of people on social media. I know this may be a bold move since what really seems to fill the bottomless pit of societal self-loathing is the ‘number’ of fake ‘friends’ you have through a disingenuous Seven Steps of Separation(ism) instead of actual friendships, but I’m more old-fashioned then I thought and actually would like to have met you before you share your intimate bedroom secrets (of which I could not care less about or feel more sorry for you) or photos of every new hair style you torture
yourself me with.
If you would still like to read my musings in this blog, may I suggest you actually FOLLOW the blog.
The second item on my hit list this year will be un-subscribing to a whole crap-bag of crap that somehow crap in my email. I do not want another “Let’s see what’s happening at Good Housekeeping Magazine!’ in my box or crime blasts from a city neighborhood that I had an airport layover in, and by which I had to log-on to ‘public’ internet to get to my in-box and find all of this shit in the first place.
Thirdly, I will no longer be giving money to the homeless guys at the street corner. They have begun showing up and clocking in. Some even keep supplies in the bushes. Some are in lounge chairs with umbrella’s above them (and in their drinks). For some this is beginning to look like a career choice instead of being a down-on-your-luck kind of thing. Besides, my car got tossed last week and all my ‘charity change’ got lifted- by a homeless guy, who also stole my bike. A bike with two flat tires so I guess I showed him.
Also, I am striking against pretending to understand anyone who can not properly enunciate English words, when they have obviously been born and raised in the good ‘ole U.S. of A. No longer will I feign innocence, or being inattentive, when I am told my total purchase price is ‘fee-nye-on’ ($50.91). I will simply state, in perfect English, ‘I am from Denmark and do not speak your language. Can we call a manager to help us through this transaction?’, at which point I will be asked ‘Da mark who girl? Wha’ place?’ and I will respond, ‘Cleveland’. This will illicit all sorts of knowing looks, bobbing heads, and a sense of camaraderie. God Bless our public school system.
In addition, I will stand my ground when Tina, at Jung’s Golden Dragon, insists I ‘makey a mistake’ with my order for F13 because,’ Misses, you alway do P4 and we make good for you with luck’, and then I say, ‘No.No. No Tina. I’m changing my regular order tonight. I’m changing it up’, and she says, ‘We no make change. Need credit card’.
Fuck it. P4 it is.
There’s always next year.
Who among us didn’t LOVE The Sound of Music? (well, those of you my age)
Scrappy young Maria, so innocent, so beautiful.
What a passive aggressive hottie- the perfect postulant- or is she?
Thankfully she’s guided by the wise Mother Abbess (who I suspect had been around the block a few times before joining the convent) to explore the outside world before committing (I think the Mother could run Dr. Phil out of town on this alone).
It’s arranged for her to governess a brood of amazingly gorgeous and talented children, in a lake side mansion, which is home to the handsome and passionate (but stedfast) widower Captain von Trapp.
They fall in love, develop a world-class family singing act (which they use to thwart the Nazis), get married, have great sex, and escape to the USA (with the children, of course. This is 1940. Today- ?).
Can you say ‘God Bless America’?
One of my favorite songs, when I was little, was My Favorite Things.
I’m all grown up, and have changed the verse to better express the times.
It goes something like this:
Vendex on roses and micro-chiped kittens
Worthless brown pennies and micro-fiber mittens
Brown paper packages hiding good gins
These are a few of my favorite things
Cream colored molars and genetically altered streudels
Doorbells and wack jobs and gluten in noodles
Grey Goose that flies in my mouth as it sings
These are a few of my favorite things
Girls in white zip-thongs with tramp stamp ‘me’ sashes
Snowflakes that stay on my windshield and eyelashes
Wars that melt into Arab springs
These are a few of my favorite things
When the dog stings
When the bee bites
When I’m feeling mad
I simply remember my favorite things
And then I don’t feel so bad
In the tradition of the season, I would like to present my version of the English Christmas Carol
The Twelve Days of Christmas.
*So as to not make you egg nog crazy, I will start at the finale. And don’t forget to hum the song as you read, with emphasis on the bold text.
On the twelfth day of Christmas, my true love gave to me…12 thousand dollars. For a full facelift.
On the eleventh day of Christmas, my true love gave to me… 11 chairs-a-Piping. Please don’t lose my fabric.
On the tenth day of Christmas, my true love gave to me… 10 Lords-a-Leaping. LOVE the personal shopper.
On the ninth day of Christmas, my true love gave to me… 9 Ladies Dancing. Husbands are at home.
On the eighth day of Christmas, my true love gave to me… 8 Maids-a-Milking…. I’ve got nothin’ people.
On the seventh day of Christmas, my true love gave to me… 7 Swans-a-Swimming. One of them is me. (Delusion is another gift, sadly omitted from the original version).
On the sixth day of Christmas, my true love gave to me… 6 Geese-a-Laying. Childbirth‘s a blast.
On the fifth day of Christmas, my true love gave to me… 5 Golden Rings (da da da), which is so yesterday. Platinum is the new black, and diamonds would be appreciated. Get on it.
4 Colly Birds. Colly birds? I always thought this was ‘calling‘ birds. It should be calling birds. What the hell is a Colly bird anyways? googlegooglegoogle It’s a blackbird. They are loud! Okay. I guess it’s alright. Proceed.
3 French Hens. Or three french men.
2 Turtle Doves. Bringing two Dove Bars.
AND A …
Partridge In A Money Tree.
(Come on. You know you want one).
|Or a Xmas tree, with really pretty decorations- like this frosted
fir which better have lots of coins attached to it Santa.
|And this peaceful church, where I go to repent- often.
|And these glass mushrooms- which look oddly familiar.
|And lastly, but not leastly, the charming snowmen. And they’re all men because no woman
would venture out into the cold without a decent fur coat.
(I mean Snowmen)