HHNT

(thanks again anton. www.symobius.com)

tracksuit fucking heaven

anyone who knows me know that nothing makes me happier than these things:

rescued chihuahuas

champagne

the hip hop music

hot toddies

organic gingerbread lattes

and of course, adidas tracksuits. and i just got two new ones. and i was going to do one of those little poll boxes asking who thought i should keep them both and who thought i should only keep the gold stripes. but then i wore them around for a minute and realized that choosing between the two would be like Sophie's Choice, so nevermind, i'm keeping these sweet little phillies.

i thought about editing out the above pot belly but decided i'm against censorship.

same with the forehead wrinkles.

i know it makes me sound shallow and...well, shallow, but i love new clothes. probably because i used to have a mullet and wear second hand prairie dresses.

guess what came in the mail today...

The fucking box. i know, right?


The funny thing is, i don't even really care anymore. I'm happy that the box came and all my memories are safe, but i already grieved, cried, denied, got pissed, accepted it, and then got over it. the box came and i was like, huh, the box. funny.

i don't know if i am happy that the salvation army guy was a total fucking moron and was wrong, or if i'm pissed because the salvation army guy was a total fucking moron and made me go through the entire 5 Kubler-Goddamn-Ross stages of grief. and what's up with UPS? (you're not off the hook either, you bastards.) I called UPS to ask about the box and was told they had no record of it and said they never picked it up.

don't ask me how the box was delivered, i'm pretty sure it was either god or magic. just kidding, i know there's no god.

anyway, look what wasn't incinerated:

i was a DC raver. (the best kind.) (and don't ask how dom still looks hot in this pic after everything we went through that night.)




i had a fucking mullet. thanks, mom:

(the things we are eating with spoons are "popsicles". yeah, frozen juice in a tupperware. we were mad poor and shit. at least by this point we had running water and electricity.)

My Grandmother, in her happy place :

and what would i have done if this had been destroyed forever? it would have been straight up tragedy, right?

dee reviews beowulf.

beowulf fucking sucks.


if i wanted to waste hours of my life watching medieval first person computer animated dragon battles i'd learn how to play World of Warcraft.

the end.

this is the last remaining picture of my family.


all my family photos, baby pictures, photos of my grandma as i was taking care of her before she passed, the only photos of my grandfather, and every single old photo of my parents when they were young and still married were in a box that was supposed to be shipped to me but instead was picked up by the salvation army.

they just called to tell me that yes, they had the box that was taped up and addressed to me, and they know exactly where it is. it was opened and incinerated due to the fact that there was nothing of use inside.

i know that photographs are just things and things come and go, but in one single moment, the entire history of my life was incinerated and i feel like someone died.

i'll be your baby mama

dear gucci booties,

you have made my wildest dreams come true. marry me. or at least see me on the side and get me pregnant so we can be bonded forever and i'll have your baby to use as emotional blackmail.

attention all other shoes
if you don't look like this:

i'm not interested.

fuck you juicy couture!

quit assaulting us with your knocked off footwear!


no one wears you outside of rich idiots in the OC so there is NO WAY you need to produce a whole line of snowboots.




(unless your whole point is to piss off UGG boots by being the new retarded snowboot to wear with a mini skirt. if that's the case then keep on keeping on, sisters. welcome to the thunderdome, UGG.)

LET ME TELL YOU THE BEST JOKE EVER

it goes like this: Phoenix Fashion Week.

don't think that's funny? that's because you weren't there. i just got back yesterday and i'm still recovering from the hilarity.

i tried to post pics but the slideshow was sneaky and wouldn't let me rip them. so go here and make sure you click "skip ad" at the bottom.

here are some rules:

1. get professional models. rich scottsdale high school girls are hot, but they are not models. they are too fat and unprofessional. and they are fucking stupid as all get out. and they get distracted by the male models, who aren't professional at all but at least are vain enough to work out. this is what happens when you try to find the right girl for the right outfit.

me: we need a different girl for this dress, this one's waist is too big.

model bursts into tears.

me: this other girl might work if she was wearing a bra.

new model puts dress on with no bra.

me: do you have a bra you could put on with that?

model: yeah. but i don't usually wear one.

model stares blankly.

me: but you do have one?

model: yeah, i have one. i just don't usually wear it.

me: i need you in a bra with that dress. Please put one on.

model stares blankly.

me: NEXT.

model bursts into tears.

2. DON'T USE THE TERM COUTURE UNLESS YOU HAVE A FRENCH LADY IN FRANCE HAND SEWING YOUR ONE-OF-A-KIND GARMENTS FOR A DESIGNATED BUYER WHO WILL PROBABLY WEAR IT UNDER A BIRKA IN SAUDI ARABIA. How many fucking times do we have to go over this? I heard so many people say "we are kind of couture". Fuck YOU. you either are couture, or you aren't. and trust me, you aren't.

3. If your entire line is the same polo shirt in different colorways and you don't have your own pants to send down the runway so you have to use True Religion jeans, don't waste our fucking time.

4. Have a rehearsal. seriously.

5. have more than one person who can fit garments with a needle and thread. guess who that one person was...yes, the same one who made the fat models cry.

(trust me, the list doesn't end here, but i'm tired and have work to do, so i'm going to cut it short.)

there were a few other highlights, including a male model who epitomized the attitude of all the male models there: he was a total asshole and had a set of giant angel wings tattooed on his back. if that doesn't say pretentious rich fuck, i don't know what does. get over yourself.

and don't even get me started on Scottsdale Fashion Weak. I mean Week. whatever.

this is the best you could do? *IMPORTANT UPDATES AT BOTTOM!

about a month ago, i pointedly erased all celebrity gossip links from my bookmarks. i didn't like the fact that i really was entertained by the lives and outfits of people who, at the end of the day, are really just that: people.

who gives a fuck if mischa barton looks like a farmer in her retarded high waisted jeans? who cares if beyonce is so far from understanding fashion that she resorts to dressing like an acrobat? who cares if kate moss used to be a fine ass white girl and then crumbled into crackheadom? (okay, i kind of care about that one. it was a funny and well documented demise.)

anyway, the point is that i haven't been to perezhilton, dlisted, or the superficial for over a month and i feel pretty good. i'm taking it one day at a time. if i do have the urge to go to one of those sites i transfer the energy to something more productive and less mean, like cuteoverload.com which is like prozac. and i feel like i'm a better person for it. i was sort of raised buddhist, after all, and despite the fact that i'm a ravenous carnivore and i don't meditate, i like to stay true to the precepts.

but then i saw this picture. (on yahoo.com. it was a battle between paris and britney. who looked worse on halloween or something.) above it were links to the latest jena news, some iraq stuff, oj and his latest assault on the justice system, and some other shit that no one clicked on because holy fuck it's britney spears and paris hilton in a COSTUME BATTLE. here it is again.


more money than god, stylists, work out instructors, plastic surgery like a motherfucker, etc. and this retarded camouflage atrocity and this Frederick's of Hollywood/5 year old tap dance recital trainwreck are the best you can do?

i think britney wins because at least she made an attempt at a recognizable costume. if you look at her feet she's clearly trying to be dorothy from the wizard of oz. those are obviously ruby slippers. (granted she probably put them on by accident while trying to multitask railing coke, feeding her sons mountain dew and giving head. okay that was mean. i have no idea if she was giving head. see? this is what celebrity gossip does to you. i makes you assume things based on what people are wearing and it's totally unfair.)

that's all i have to say. i've already wasted enough of my life on this shit. i just couldn't let this one slide. i mean for fuck's sake, if your entire life is going to be about spending money on clothes and looking good, at least do it right.

in other news, guess who wears the pants in the apartment:

pussy.


*UPDATE! UPDATE!
she's a cat, not dorothy. my bad.


UPDATE AGAIN!
she's lolita. sorry for the misunderstanding.

i mean, wait, she's a...


...okay... yeah, i seriously have no idea where to go with this.


but i love how her handler in the back seat with the pink hair is like "seriously, would you stop encouraging her for fuck's sake???"
*UPDATE TWO! i can not make this shit up. paris hilton wore this, and i quote,"because the troops are having a hard time right now and they can't really celebrate halloween, so this is a little shout out to them."

it's shit like this that made me delete all my bookmarks in the first place.