It's Lexi, Bitch!

September 30th and October 1st changed my life forever…..as I finally got to see my queen bee, Ms. Kylie Minogue, perform live! What’s that? Her first North American shows EVER?!?!!?! Yes, that’s correct, and I was there for both of them!! “LIFE-ALTERING” DOES NOT EVEN BEGIN TO DESCRIBE THE MAGNITUDE OF THE EXPERIENCE CELLA AND I HAD.

To channel our nervous and excited energy in the days leading up to the shows, we did what anyone would do. We made shirts and headbands to celebrate our Kylie.

“Understaaaaand, I’m a diamond for yoooooou, a white diamond for yoooooou” inspired us, naturally!

SO EXCITED I CAN’T EVEN DESCRIBE.

Upon rounding the corner and seeing the marquee, our screaming began and did not end for HOURS.

We planted ourselves on the first tier so we were at an even level with our girl, and then it began…….she descended from the ceiling on a giant crystal skull singing “Light Years.” We literally screamed bloody murder and both sobbed instantly. The Beatles’ crowd on Ed Sullivan had NOTHING on us. The guys in front of us gave us their spots within 15 seconds.

She brought that shit, and she brought that shit wearing an INCREDIBLE custom wardrobe from Alexander McQueen.

She walked down a man-staircase in stilettos, after her hot dancers took showers together under stage prop showers while videos of nude mens showering together were projected behind them. I keep re-reading that sentence and it doesn’t make sense. Sorry, just remembering it has made all the blood in my brain evacuate and rush to my nethers. Yes, this is why she is the queen bee.

This is the only point during which I didn’t scream, and that is simply because I was bawling as she sang “White Diamond” while acting out a tormented and sad love story with one of her male dancers, followed by “Confide In Me” and “I Believe In You.” This is why we wore waterproof mascara.

Fabulous Gareth Pugh headpiece, fierce-as-fuck Louboutin boots, welder mens dancing, and enchanting smile. IT’S JUST TOO MUCH TO HANDLE, IT REALLY IS.

The next night we did it all again in formal wear….

And our devotion was rewarded with a setlist! I look at this every single day and feel happy, and I listen to “Light Years” every single day and get the roller coaster belly all over again.

My beloved Kylie was charming, hilarious, personable and effortlessly entertaining…..and the cabaret version of “Locomotion” WENT OFF. Until next time, Kyles!

(All photos by Cella, thanks my sweet!)

Yes, I’ve been gone for many months! Whoops! I got laid off and moved to Los Angeles. The layoff coincided with the return of my best friend from her stint in the Peace Corps. Perfect! So my tripod/triangle/vortex of the apex of best frienditude was back together again. We mostly invented new drinks, danced, had big sleepovers, watched every Apatow movie and 30 Rock episode ever made, and ate lots of things with mayonnaise in them.

THE BIG NEWS: This inspired my two darlings to start a new food blog! If you do well with recipes that instruct you to add “a couple farts of dijon mustard,” then The Decadence Factor is for you. I’ve been very lucky that these two know how to cook and do so AMAZINGLY, since I am differently abled in the culinary realm.

They also take pretty photos of their food and bevvies, like these little fuckers I barely remember….I had the gin sweats the next day something fierce!

L-R: Chef Julia, Eater Lexi, Chef Cella

Watch for the inevitable Food Network show sometime soon, likely to be called “The Lusty Chefs.” And yes, more posts to come soon, I have lots to cover from the last few months!

When John Hughes died a few weeks ago, this tribute to him — written by a woman who was a fan of his as a teenager who then became his penpal — was linked and posted just about everywhere. When I read it, I instantly thought of my friend Dean Turner.

Dean was the bassist for Magic Dirt, an Australian band that has been one of my favorites for years. I discovered them in 1997 and was instantly smitten with their album “Friends In Danger,” which I happened to find in the import section of a record store in Santa Cruz. As time went on, I realized what a lark it was to have found that record in the States; though they had a U.S. record deal, their label did nothing for them aside from shipping it to a few stores once they heard it and the sound wasn’t what they were expecting. As a result, nobody I knew in my small, 13-year-old-world had heard of them or wanted to give them a chance. Desperate to talk to someone about their brilliance, I found their website and began posting on their message board, something I’d never done before. I couldn’t believe it when I realized the band members themselves frequented their message board, because to me they were as inaccessible and huge as the Rolling Stones.

Over the next couple of years, I conversed with Dean, their singer/guitarist, Adalita, and their manager, James, on their message board a lot – they were always interested in how overseas fans had heard of their band and what our local music scenes were like. Dean and I found common ground at one point when he was bored out of his mind in the hospital, having just gotten a foot tumor removed, and with little to entertain him outside of visiting hours but the laptop his bandmates smuggled into him. He downplayed his pain and lengthy recovery, but was going crazy with all of the unfilled hours, and spent them chatting with his fans online. He’d heard of a new show out in the U.S. that was making waves, “Jackass,” and wondered if I’d heard of it. Being a teenager, I was the show’s target demographic and had taped hours of it, so I offered to send some episodes to Dean. My mom drove me to the post office and I used my allowance to cover the postage to Australia, and when Dean got it he was completely thrilled and profusely grateful. After he got out of the hospital, he sent the tape around to a bunch of his friends, who were also thrilled by it.

A few weeks later, a package arrived for me that contained a letter from Dean, every Magic Dirt album I couldn’t find (some on vinyl), Magic Dirt posters, a Magic Dirt t-shirt, and a mix tape Dean had made just for me. I was beside myself. For the next couple of years, we sent each other packages – we made each other t-shirts and mix tapes, and we’d swap Australian/American music magazines and candy. I shudder to think what I possibly put on mix tapes for him at that point in my life, but his mix tapes were a major part of my musical education, and included the first Dinosaur Jr. and Kyuss songs I’d ever heard. He even wore a t-shirt I made him onstage once, that read “BEAR SUIT” in rhinestones, regarding a long-running gag with fans. The most amazing part to me was that he truly seemed as excited to receive my packages as I was to receive his!

The years went on, I turned 18 and moved to New York City and began working, and Dean got married and had two kids and Magic Dirt continued at a frantic pace, and we fell out of touch. Occasionally I’d still check in on their message board and receive an enthusiastic greeting from him, just as he did with so many other fans. So when I read the John Hughes tribute a few weeks ago, I was warmly reminded of what a special experience I’d had with Dean. As it turns out, Dean was very sick at that point with an extremely rare form of deep tissue cancer that he had been battling quietly and privately for nine years (thinking back, I realize his foot operation may have been the beginning of that, though with Dean’s stoicism, I have no clue if that’s accurate). Last weekend, I learned that Dean had lost his battle and had passed away at the age of 37. It does not feel real.

Dean and I never got to meet each other, and I never got to see Magic Dirt live so I never saw him playing bass barefoot, weight on his arches with the outsides of his feet sticking up, in person. But Dean and his music are two of the most influential presences I’ve had in my life. His experience with the music industry influenced my entire career path. He is what brought me to one of my greatest friendships, with aforementioned manager James. And his kindness, generosity and enthusiasm made me realize, at a formative age, how simple it is to treat people well. I know those are the traits that drew his wife to him, and that his two young daughters will grow up to embody those traits.In the past week I realized they may get to know their sweet Papa the way I did – through his music, the music he loved, the things he wrote, the things people wrote about him, and through the things he left behind. I just hope they don’t find the “Jackass” tapes until they’re a bit older.

A few of my favorite Deano and Magic Dirt moments:

Ohhh, do my emotions have a complicated history with Sonic Youth. Can I even tell you how many times I put “Self-Obsessed and Sexxee” on mix tapes for boys I was trying to woo when I was growing up? And then how many times I listened to “Inhuman” to get over unrequited love, when said mix tapes didn’t work? As long as I’ve been around, so has Sonic Youth, so we’ve been through a lot together. I’ve had entire friendships founded on a mutual love for Sonic Youth. Kim and Thurston were major reasons I first started playing guitar. They had a cameo on “Gilmore Girls” and will next be on “Gossip Girl,” both shows I am too old to watch but still do. But somehow after all this, I’d only ever had the honor of seeing them live for about 15 minutes, once, at a festival in Australia. Until a couple of weeks ago!

I finally had the chance to see them at the Fox Theater in Oakland on August 2nd, and IT WAS PERFECTION. Having spent the day totally nauseous in anticipation and excitement, I almost blew chunks as I totally left my body and my 14-year-old self saw me from above, uttering the words “I’m on Sonic Youth’s list” to the woman at the box office. I mean, HOLY FUUUUUUUUUUUCCCKKKKK. A series of delightful things happened, the first of which was somehow finding a spot on the floor behind an entire section of people shorter than I am. Being around people shorter than I am has only ever happened in two situations: when I lived in Mexico, and whenever I’m around children under the age of about 10. Seeing the stage perfectly FROM THE FLOOR? Unheard of for this tinysaurus! Next, I was ordering a drink and accidentally winked at the bartender because I got some shit in my contact, and he thought I was hitting on him and he gave me a SUPER-boozy drink and undercharged me (will try this again everywhere I go).

Then they came on. Oh my motherfucking balls.

Lights by my brilliant and accommodating and life-long-dream-realizer, Dan:

(source, I was too busy trying not to yak to remember my camera, FML)

Her Highness, Kim Gordon:

(source)

His Tallness, Thurston Moore:

(source)

Mark motherfucking Ibold from Pavement (new bestie)

(source)

Fucksocks, limited awesome photos on Flickr. Next time I’ll take Prilosec for 2 weeks leading up to it so I remember my goddamn camera instead of remembering not to vom.

Setlist:

Tom Violence
No Way
Sacred Trickster
Calming the Snake
Hey Joni
Anti-Orgasm (in which Dan wrote out each letter for “ORGASM” flashing one after another on LED panels, totes genius)
Walkin Blue
Poison Arrow
Malibu Gas Station
Antenna
Leaky Lifeboat (for Gregory Corso)
Massage History
Stereo Sanctity
Encore:
What We Know
Shadow of a Doubt
Encore 2:
The Sprawl
‘Cross the Breeze

Sweet fucking tits, I think I saw Allah by the end of it!

Afterwards, Marc (my +1, who drove back up to the Bay from Santa Barbara that day and went to Neverland to pay his respects on the way. That’s the only way my day could have possibly been even more overwhelming!) and I went back to the dressing room, where I stood back-to-back with both Kim and Thurston at various points and was WAY too nervous to speak or even look at them directly (maybe I should make them each a mix tape! Oh wait….). But Marc did strike up a conversation with Mark Ibold, who I also was too nervous to speak to (HE WAS IN MOTHERFUCKING PAVEMENT, OH MY FUCKING GOD) but managed to squeak out a few utterances and giggle excitedly in his direction. He was so incredibly friendly and jubilant, it was an absolute delight. After that, Marc and I made our way to BART, our ears still ringing. A landmark night, and nary a drop of vomit was ever spilled!

Also, I love going to shows at the Fox. The venue is beyond beautiful and well-designed, the staff is always SO nice (the bew elderly gentleman who took my ticket told me he loved my bag and my style! I was having a fat/ugly/clothing crisis day until then!), the sound is top notch, and it’s just a pleasant experience each time. You get to have these dudes looming over you, blessing your evening:

(source)

(Note: this would have been posted a couple of weeks ago, but I went to visit my parents the next day and their internet connection is powered by hamsters running on wheels, FML)

Hi, Jude Law! Remember the time you were a promising young actor, charming, super attractive, and seemingly really intelligent? Then you slowly started drinking douche which you now ingest in copious amounts, you can’t get a good movie role for shit (see: The Holiday, no further proof needed), you look haggard and creepy all the time, and now you truly have taken the throne as the Dumbest Bastard Of All Time. Ooh, the acronym for that is D-BOAT!

So first you fucked the nanny. That was pretty low, for a number of reasons. You were engaged at the time. You manipulated the young nanny and were pretty smarmy about it. That was about all I needed to officially change teams.

But now, Jude. Now you’ve gone and gotten another woman pregnant. A woman who you totally cut down in your rep’s official statement about the situation, along with the baby-to-come.

“Jude Law can confirm that, following a relationship last year, he has been advised that he is to be the father of a child due in the fall of this year. Mr Law is no longer in a relationship with the individual concerned but he intends to be a fully supportive part of the child’s life. This is an entirely private matter and no other statements will be made.”

Translation: “D-BOAT can confirm that, following a one-night stand in which he seduced an unwitting woman into sleeping with him before unceremoniously leaving before she got up the next morning, he has been advised that his continued ignorance of the existence of condoms has resulted in an unplanned pregnancy. First he shit bricks, then he demanded a DNA test, all while frantically trying to remember which skirt this one was. When the results of the test came out confirming he’s the baby daddy, he shit bricks again, then had to tell his other 3 kids, then had to pony up and hash out a financial agreement with a bunch of lawyers. He really fucked this one up and he’s begging the press to never bring it up again, as signing a check every month to send to the little fucker is stressing him out enough already.”

And! In the same week, Jude punched and slapped a female photographer. Sounds like charges will be brought against him for it. I think paparazzi are full of shit, they create dangerous situations, and there should indeed be laws prohibiting a lot of what they do now. But there is NEVER a reason for any of them to be attacked, and it is NEVER acceptable for a man to hit a woman. This further proves Jude Law’s high esteem for women!

Keep it classy, D-BOAT! And for fuck’s sake, get a lifetime supply of these already!

HAHAHAH this guy is wearing a fucking condom costume, look at him!

Obvs we’ve all seen Jude Law’s twig and berries and we know he doesn’t need king-sized, except maybe to fit ALL OF HIS STD’S.

No post today, guys, I’m too busy getting my friends laid by 21 year olds.

What are you guys doing right now? If the answer is not “Watching ‘The Fall,’” then you are WRONG! DEAD WRONG!! ;ALKSDJFA!!!

It’s beyond me why I didn’t immediately go see this movie a year ago when it was recommended to me by It’s Lucas, Bitch! I saw it last week at my amazing local second-run theater, the Red Vic, and have thought of little else since then and bought it in order to repent for my sin of not having seen it earlier. Much like you will have to do if you are not watching it right now.

“The Fall” took 10 motherfucking years to make, and was shot in 26 locations and 18 countries. There is NOTHING that I have been doing for 10 years. I mean….breathing? Getting my period every month? But nothing that I have to do on purpose or really think about. The young actress who plays Alexandria was 8 when it was filmed and is now 19. That just amazes me.

Here is the formula for “The Fall”:

Unbelievable, unprecedented visuals:

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A captivating, heartbreaking, hilarious, beautifully written story:

“Languishing in a hospital, Roy Walker (Lee Pace) is a broken man in more ways than one. Unable to walk after a fall from a horse in a movie stunt gone wrong, his heart is also broken after his girlfriend ran off with the movie’s leading man. Ready to end his life, Roy befriends five-year-old fellow patient Alexandria (Catinca Untaru), with the goal of persuading her to steal a fatal dose of morphine pills for him.

Roy launches into a story that fuses patients, staff and others at the hospital with imagined personas and exotic lands. What he describes as an “epic tale of love and revenge” is so riveting to Alexandria that she will do whatever Roy asks in order to hear the next installment. The tale loosely mirrors the ill-fated love triangle that has left him heartsick and features Alexandria’s favorite nurse Evelyn (Justine Waddell), as the beautiful Princess Evelyn; Sinclair (Daniel Caltagirone), the movie star who stole Roy’s girlfriend, as the detested Governor Odious, and Roy himself as the avenging Black Bandit who leads the attack on the governor with the help of a colorful posse that includes Alexandria as the Black Bandit’s daughter.

But the story takes a darker turn. Alexandria begins to realize there is far more at stake than the fate of a handful of imaginary characters. It’s up to Roy whether the Black Bandit — and Roy himself — will survive the climactic final scene” – http://www.thefallthemovie.com/

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The incredibly subtle, nuanced performances of Lee Pace and the riveting ingenue, Catinca Untaru:

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Tarsem Singh at the helm, the innovative director responsible for the non-shitty parts of “The Cell,” as well as the music video for “Losing My Religion” by R.E.M. and one of my favorite videos of all time (I’m not joking, it’s seriously good), “Hold On” by En Vogue.

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My favorite movie I’ve seen in years.

Watch the trailer, get a boner, then rent or buy it right now!

Today is my first day of unemployment in quite some time, and last night, my psyche decided it’d be the perfect time to give me a dream about buying a fucking sweet house, which is essentially the opposite of my current situation. The house in my dream ruled ass, and was likely inspired by my favorite house of all time, as featured on the cover of “Treehouses Of The World” by Pete Nelson.

(photo by Radek Kurzaj)

This is my absolute dream house. The only problems with living there would be a) spiders and b) I’d probably start keeping weird crap in jars, lose my eye in some kind of wool-spinning accident, and change my name to Flora Moonwolf or some shit.

While daydreaming about my perfect house, I thought back to the many celebrity homes featured in magazines that have immediately inspired lust and envy. And now, we lust together.

Jamie Lee Curtis and Christopher Guest’s house. The creeping vines and bougainvillea are all I’ve ever wanted in a house.

Clearly I’d decorate this better than they have, but CHECK OUT THOSE BEAMS!!!!

Oooooh, this secluded pool is so amazing! The greenery surrounding it makes it feel lush and relaxing, like you’re in a jungle! AND OH HAI DAAAAHGG!! WHAT CHEE DEEEEEEEENNNGGG?? I name you Mustard!

Despite the fact that every movie he made after “The Lost Boys” has been a crime against cinema, Joel Schumacher’s house is quite lovely, as well! The view through the front door all the way out the back door is really fucking rad. I hope he moonwalks across that line of sight every time someone is peering through it.

Please ignore the primary color juvenalia molesting this otherwise amazing outdoor space.

Charlie Sheen’s house has a ton of great outdoor space, too. Imagine me sitting out here blogging with a blended Bruiser in hand!

This is where I get my baps out to sun them up a little bit, out of sight of the neighbors!

And here is where I have Cinco de Mayo parties! I think Gael Garcia Bernal is there too, fanning me with palm fronds while I eat guacamole and down margs all night.

The inside ain’t too shabby, either. Here is where I sleep off my hangovers, then read in a silk caftan on a chaise lounge where that hideous leather couch is being neglected (you can’t honestly tell me anyone ever sat on that thing.)

Here is where I write my next blockbuster screenplay, a romantic comedy called “Lover’s Quarry,” about two granite miners who fall in love on the job, starring the kings of rom-com, Matthew McConaughey and Hugh Grant.

Aaaand this is where the intervention is held for me after the screenplay is actually read by another human being.

And now three of my favorite rooms in houses, ever!

Robert Mitchum’s den. The bookcases, windows surrounding the desk, and the spacious wood desk create such a nice, relaxed, breezy and creative space. This is where I’ll write my post-rehab memoir, which will win a Pulitzer, and then I’ll adapt it for the screen and win the Oscar.

Marilyn Monroe in her one-room apartment at the Beverly Carlton Hotel in Beverly Hills. “Throughout her life, Monroe occupied a series of residences, owned no jewelry and counted books, records and a picture of legendary actress Eleonora Duse among her most cherished possessions.” – Architectural Digest

I’ve moved 7 times in the last 6 years, and no place ever really feels like home until I’m surrounded by my favorite small things, like she is in this picture. Books, tin boxes, pictures, paintings, clocks, canisters, musical paraphernalia, etc. In fact, I get really cranky when I’m away from these creature comforts for long, which is why I carry a bag that rivals Mary Poppins’ and is full of little fucknuggets I catch glimpses of throughout the day that make me cozy inside.

Wayne Coyne (of the Flaming Lips) and J. Michelle Martin-Coyne’s kitchen. The injection of their character in this one room makes up for the lack of character in almost all of the rooms in all of the photos in this post! Why hire an interior designer when you pay millions of dollars to live somewhere? Don’t you want it to reflect you and have things in it that you like to see every day? The crazy ass spider/spaceship-looking lamp and vintage stove are perfect, the colorful floor offsets the white tile walls, and LOOK AT THE YITTEN KITTEN TITTEN! OH HAII KITTY, WHAT CHEE DEEEEEEENG!!! I name you Tron!

Title lyrics from Nick Cave’s “Right Now I’m A-Roaming,” which you’ll need to get now.

How do you like my new domain? Isn’t it exciting?!

I’m working on fine-tuning shit and that includes the blogroll, which right now has some fucknuggets shit.

Speaking of, when I signed up with this host, I put down my company name as “F-Nuggets LLC.” Loooooves it!

The Costume Institute Gala happened in early May and I’m totally late! So many outfits and people to judge and what have I been DOING with my time?! Well tonight I’ve been sitting in my unders with the heater cranked up as far as it will go and a few drinkies so as to avoid the bullshit weather that passes for summer here, what the fuck. Now that I’m a couple of drinks in (well, a couple times a couple to the 2nd power or something) and my skin is has reached the appropriate level of blotchy mcblotcherstein, let’s fucking do this!

Let me preface this motherfucker by saying that I adore Anna Wintour, I adore this event, and I would happily give up my body as my own and carry children as a surrogate mother for people FOR THE REST OF MY LIFE ONE AFTER THE OTHER BAM BAM BAM IT’S CROWNING IT’S CROWNING if I could go to the Costume Institute Gala just once. However, the theme this year was beyond disappointing, particularly after last year’s “Superheroes: Fashion and Fantasy,” which was brilliant (even if the attendees, for the most part, missed the mark). This year the theme was “The Model As Muse: Embodying Fashion”…..emmmm, OK. Let’s see who did that!

LOVES IT:

Anna Wintour (in Chanel) and Andre Leon Talley (in who the fuck knows). Obviously they are always the best dressed each year because they put on the event, but this year they each look particularly divine. Anna’s dress is AMAAAAAZING, I’m a major fan of the black and white and scalloped detail, which gives her tines frame some nice shape. And Andre always looks so regal and dominant but then you notice little details like his loafers, varsity stripes on his sleeves, and necklaces that look like his 5 year old nephew made them with blocks of wood and macaroni in kindergarten, and you realize he’s just beyond bew. I feel comforted when I see each of them out in public because they look fantastic and they run the biggest fashion magazine in the world, and it’s just as it should be.

Kate Moss in Marc Jacobs. Something about metallics, headpieces, and long drapes of fabric designed by Marc Jacobs and worn by the most famous and still beloved cokehead in the world personifies fashion.

Iman (in Donna Karan) is the closest thing to perfection in a human that will ever be attained. She is unbelievably gorgeous and here she looks effortlessly chic, comfortable and happy. Creator of makeup line for dark skin colors? Check. Daughter named Lexi? Check. Married to David Bowie? Check. Looks like a delicious glass of skim milk here? Check.

Emma Roberts, though not a model muse, looks delicious in this candy red Atelier Versace dress/Lego finery. Maybe I’m just obsessed with the voluminous scalloped dresses right now, but this is such a youthful, unexpected design, both in material and silhouette. The shoes are something we can’t ever even talk about, but the dress is perfection.

So apparently this is Dr. Lisa Airan, M.D., a New York socialite I’ve never heard of, but whose Balmain dress IS SO UNBELIEVABLY PERFECT I WOULD CLEAN UP THE LIPOSUCTION REMNANTS IN HER OFFICE WITH MY BARE HANDS TO HAVE IT IN MY CLOSET. ;AKLSJDF;ASKDJFA;SKDF!!!!!!!!

Liv Tyler is positively luminous. Her dress matches her eye color, it sparkles, and it has an interesting cut and details. I LOVE the belt that has slightly larger panels than the rest of her dress and the ruching in the sleeves. She just LOOKS like a muse, even though she didn’t become famous for being a model (though her Givenchy ads are always delightful).

Aaaaand the best for last, my favorite model of all time, Alek Wek in Emmanuel Ungaro. She looks so fucking amazing I’m starting to get panicky and sweaty trying to figure out the words to do her justice. The color of the dress is SO scrumptious, especially the way it pops out from her beautiful skin, and the unconventional/asymmetrical collar and textured waves make it really compelling. Big ups to Alek Wek, she is just the tits.

HATES IT:

I’ve seen Winona Ryder exactly twice this year: once in the “Star Trek” movie and the other time in this picture. My reactions to both were “What the fuck is she doing there?” To be fair, she looks cute, but she’s wearing a Marc Jacobs tunic that every 20-something girl wants to wear but has to buy a knockoff of at H&M and it is WAY too casual to wear here. I do have a little soft spot in my heart for Winona because of “Reality Bites” which I have seen around 900 times and watched today, and because she offered me pills, lint and a Polaroid picture she found in her coat pocket at a party a few years ago. I said no thanks to all, for the record.

Ugggggghhhhh Jessica Bluhhhhhhhhhhhh. I’ve tried really hard to like Jessica Biel, but she is in shithouse movies, is always in a bad mood, and comes across as a haughty bitchnugget in every interview. This dress looks like a prom dress in the front being attacked from the back and is really unflattering on her otherwise beautiful and athletic body. Color me entirely nonplussed.

Ohhhh, this makes me so sad because Jessica Stam is one of my current favorite models, but her dress reminds me of leftover macaroni and cheese that has separated into the burnt cheese part, the untouched top orangey cheese part and the paler part towards the bottom of the bowl. It’s OK, Stam, I still love you.

Bar Rafaeli in the latest from the This Is That Tinfoil Shit That Firefighters Hide In When A Fire Rages On Top Of Them collection……Spring/Summer 2009.

I can’t wait for the day when the governmental documents become unclassified and it is revealed once and for all that Anne Hathaway’s fame is an elaborate joke or study. She looks fucking HILAAAAAARIOUS!!!! Each of her features could cover and protect my apartment building during a tsunami, and her hair at this event could protect the entire Bay Area. Her dress, a decent Marc Jacobs design, could not be worse for her body type. She is a giant insult to me and to humanity.

Hey, Anne Hathaway!