Archive for
September, 2008
September 28th, 2008
Warning: Reality Check Ahead
Janine:
“I’m not like that. I not like all your other women. When I say something, I mean it. When I do something for someone, it’s because I care. When I’m late, it’s not because I want to be late, but because something came up. If I don’t show up at all it’s because, like I said, something came up. It has nothing whatsoever to do with you…or how I feel about you. I don’t want you to make me feel badly for my choices, because they’re my choices, and we all have a right to make them.
Life isn’t just about what you want or expect, even if we made plans together or decided to do things a certain way at a certain time. Needs change. And I deserve to feel good about myself and my life when they do. If I decide to do something that makes me feel the way I deserve to feel then I’m going to do it. This is not because I want to hurt you, but because it’s something I need to do, and you should respect that. Am I making any sense?”
Dr. Stanislaus Kraus [psychiatrist]:
“Janine suffers from an acute sense of entitlement that one often sees in children before they individuate from their parents. They test the waters, so to speak; push the boundaries, if you will, to determine just how much they can get away with before being scolded. But at some point we all grow up and learn that boundaries are how we assimilate into society that involves people other than oneself and one’s own personal feelings. In short, we learn to share, and to be responsible for our actions. We learn to recognize boundaries, and thus, avoid the consequences inherent in crossing them.
But today’s culture has made personal entitlement a birthright, which means that what we have, in effect, are a bunch of arrested adolescents running around acting like the children they never left behind.
In the case of Janine, her world revolves around her needs. So it doesn’t surprise me that anyone threatening to place boundaries on her behavior is perceived to be wrong. And this seems to apply to a growing percentage of our population, who like the idea of government playing the role of parent in a game of cat and mouse with its children; children who, by the way, also expect to be fed, clothed and otherwise cared for in spite of their behavior.”
The ten tenets of popular culture:
1] I will fuck who I want, when I want, and how I want…because it’s my right to do what I want with my life, without being judged.
2] Your feelings are never as important as mine because I have this one body, this one life…and it’s all mine to do with as I please. I didn’t ask to be here [on this planet].
3] What I say and what I do don’t have to jive. As long as I’m happy, you should be happy for me. Life’s not just about you.
4] God doesn’t exist, and moral boundaries are a cultural construct. Therefore, I make my own rules and you follow them. If you don’t, you’re being selfish.
5] I have no idea who I am, but if you give me a hint, I’ll try it on and see if it sticks. If it doesn’t, present another idea.
6] Why won’t life show me the way? It’s not fair that some people get to be rich and famous, while I sit here trying just as hard, but never seem to get anywhere.
7] Somebody lied to me about Cinderella; everybody else lied to me about feminism.
8] My hatred for people who judge me remind me of my parents, who hammered me about propriety when all I wanted to do was have a good time.
9] All I expect out of life is to be loved and cherished for who I am…even if I’m a serial killer with multiple life sentences. We all make mistakes, which are a direct result of how we were raised or something.
10] I want to be Madonna so I can tell the world to fuck itself for treating me like shit…and still get paid.
Parting remarks from Janine:
“I have learned to disconnect myself from things that bother me. And I think that’s important. People need to filter out the negative stuff, because there’s always somebody out there trying to drag you down, or take advantage of you, or tell you what to do, how to do it…or whatever.
I’m just me…take me or leave me. If you walk away, it wasn’t meant to be. I’ve been studying yoga and am learning how to tune out life, and tune into myself.
This way I become the universe, while you’re just a tiny planet — that revolves around me…”
September 24th, 2008
1] Are you distressed about the condition of the world?
2] Do you want answers to complex questions that seem beyond the grasp of economists, politicians, scientists, military personnel, business leaders, Wall Street executives and the media?
3] Do you want a serene path to freedom from the ravages of Western civilization and its endless convention and design?
4] Does the bailout proposal on Capitol Hill sound like unenlightened nonsense designed to keep a superficial world afloat?
5] Is the acquisition of wealth preoccupying you more than you think it should?
6] Do you want your personal life to be more sensual and loving, rather than harsh and aggressive?
7] Do you want to live in an orgasmic dreamscape, wherein one of the enlightened touch your inner essence, unleashing energy that sets your nerves on fire and drives you to the brink of preternatural oblivion?
8] Do you yearn to be released from everything [excluding the orgasm], like unenlightened family members and so-called friends, who are nothing more than blind sycophants to an insensitive, cruel and aggressive world?
9] Are you tired of your attraction to all things physical, when the real beauty lies beneath the surface?
10] Are you ready to rest your life in the hands of a loving and enlightened leader [who just took your money, your house and your Rottweiler?]
……………………
Meanwhile, behind the scenes, the blessed Matagini Musafa Kundahlini is caught on tape by paparazzi from TMZ uttering the following to a male disciple:
Kundahlini: “I’m gonna yank the brain right outta that woman and replace it with a new one; but only after I’m finished paying off the house in Colorado with her inheritance…”
Disciple: “This is our time, master. Women today are upset with the meaninglessness of their lives. They seek sound footing amidst the chaos. Their dreams have been destroyed by the lie of feminism and now we must rebuild their faith in humanity and restore confidence in their dreams.”
Kundahlini: “That was well stated, my disciple. But from now on, never say anything that sounds better than what I say. I’m taking that line and using it as my own. Are we clear?”
Disciple: “My apologies, master. I shall happily twist my body into a pretzel for the next 12 hours, without food or water, as penance for the offense.”
Kundahlini: “Don’t be an idiot. We have work to do. I have located three more depressed yoga students, with perfectly round behinds, who are ripe for spiritual guidance and support…and I’ll need some back-up.”
…………………….
News Headline:
Yoga Master, Kundahlini, Caught at Wakovia Withdrawing Funds with Stolen Credit Cards
Kundahlini responds to the allegations:
“You people are fools. You have no idea what life is. You think you can arrest me? You are nothing. To me there IS NO YOU…only ME! I laugh in the face of your arrogance. I am what you have waited 2000 years for. I am nothing, while you are merely a physical body; limited and ignorant. This makes me better; because I have elevated myself to a dimension you are incapable of understanding without my guidance. Now, in exchange for your credit card numbers, I am willing to work with you, but a lot will hinge on how much you have in your respective accounts…”
A man who claims his ex-fiance was kidnapped and brainwashed by Kundahlini made the following comments to local media sources:
“When my fiancé started speaking in some weird language I think she made up, I considered calling the Catholic Church. But after she quit her job and transferred her life savings over to Kundahlini, I decided to take matters into my own hands and string him up to a tree in my backyard and let the pigs have at him. Of course, by that time, he was already in the hands of the authorities. And to be honest, the pigs wouldn’t have gotten much out of the deal anyway, given his size.
Hell, I feed more to my wife’s Chiwahwas…and they eat a lot.”
………………….
The yoga movement’s growth can be traced to the burgeoning population of disaffected 30 to 50-something women who’ve been bounced out of the dating market.
It provides shelter, as well as group support and guidance for a fraction of the cost of traditional psychotherapy; and also keeps its members physically fit for its self-proclaimed Shamans.
This is the nature of adaptation. But as adaptation goes, you gotta hand it to those Yogis and their ability to sense opportunity.
September 23rd, 2008
“Hi. I’m a beautiful, 25 year old woman. My friends can’t get enough of me. I keep my phone on vibrate just to keep the endless calls from triggering a migraine. I’m blessed. Everything I’ve ever wanted I’ve pretty much gotten. My dad still has a crush on me. My mother is jealous of his crush, which has gotten a little out of hand with all the flowers and stuff. I can drop a full grown man to his knees the way I can bounce a cockroach off a concrete wall. The power of beauty is amazing. So why do I chain smoke Marlboro Reds and drink White Zinfandel the way runners drink Gatorade after a marathon? Maybe I need a dog. What’s the point of all this? Why am I here? Why do people keep calling me? Maybe I’ll walk over to Borders and expose myself to some grotesque old man. That might be fun. I can also have sex…but who the hell am I going to have sex that will go away when it’s over? I’m not sure any of this is real. I’m not sure I’m real. I need that Superconducting Super Collider thing the French are working on to figure it all out. Maybe then I can stop chain-smoking, and drinking like a lush, which I do to deaden the realization that my appearance hides a pile of veins and bone that looks frighteningly similar to everyone else in the aftermath of a plane crash. I hope I’m the only one who realizes this.”
There are instances where a woman’s physical beauty defies description. This is because what we see becomes instantaneously entangled in our projected fantasies, which makes it impossible to separate the two…either in words, or anywhere else for that matter.
She can’t either, by the way.
So when we talk about physical beauty in the context of human evolution, it’s ironic that we fail to mention its psychological impact on their progeny, who also feel entitled to the entire fucking universe, but don’t know why, either.
This is where the drugs come in handy.
Observe her inebriated boyfriend; the one with the new obligatory ivory white Range Rover, courtesy of a 600-month payment plan — at 12% interest.
Sleeping with him, alone, is a crucible. And burning the candle at both ends is a way of balancing out the guilt over the mixed-blessings that also end up costing a lot more down the road.
This is how people in this situation balance fate.
When life gets heavy, they soften the blows with drugs and philanthropy. No wonder she has fantasies of exposing herself to curmudgeons in bookstores. I suppose feeling something is better than feeling nothing at all.
Youth and beauty have a short fuse.
So in the context of an entire life, there’s only a glimpse of opportunity wherein a woman can command the absolute and undivided attention of men the way black holes command the absolute and undivided attention of gravity…and everything else in the vicinity.
That’s a lot of power to give up.
With this in mind, the Superconducting Super Collider is a nuclear particle accelerator designed to determine why matter has mass at all; something not lost on women who are as drunk on their own narcissism as they are terrified that, in the end, nobody gets a free ride.
This would include the default carbon credit in the Range Rover.
September 19th, 2008
Here’s the fantasy:
I want to be related to some Italian princess [I’m not, but I can say that I am, because hiding behind several social security numbers makes it virtually impossible to trace my family of origin] . I want to marry an heir to something like Hoover Vacuum Cleaners or Sears. I want to hang out with people like Tinsley Mortimer and Fabiola Beracasa. I want to write a gossip column for a Conde Nast publication. I want to use required keywords like Jimmy Choo, Louboutin, Bergdorf and Birkin the way I use men who want to sleep with me after a bikini contest. I want my picture in Women’s Wear Daily. I want a rich and gorgeous fiancé. I want to be famous myself, and I want all the power that goes along with being famous [and rich].
Enter the Benefits, Fund Raisers and Special Events that provide the perfect cover for people who routinely employ the aforementioned social security strategy.
My late father used to say that these women were the “best business people in the world.”
What he was saying, in essence, was that men are powerless in the face of beauty, and that women who know how to wield it rarely lose a battle, much less a war. He would go on to say that these women were also depression-proof, because when things got bad in the market, the men would line up for a diversion.
Heroin addicts also get the jist of this.
On face value it all comes across as a bit misogynist, but in reality, it’s simple pragmatism. Women complain about being objectified, yet it’s their greatest weapon…not unlike the endlessly regenerating teeth in Great White Sharks. This is not to say that unattractive women don’t make great accountants, for example, but when was the last time you saw an unattractive Prime Time News Anchor on Fox, CNN, NBC, CBS or ABC? And I haven’t even touched anything that Hollywood produces.
With this in mind, has anyone ever noticed the cadre of beautiful strangers seen in photographs next to prominent socialites?
Just pick up a copy of Houston’s Paper City and take note of the names and faces of women you’ve never noticed before.
Google them.
If you come up empty-handed, you get my point. Women from nowhere in particular simply reinvent themselves – and by virtue of their acquired associations – become fledgling socialites. Ex-strippers, using good looks as a weapon, bludgeon their way into this new world and quickly learn the skills necessary to pull off a full bore career.
Of course, raising money for good causes is, by its very nature, beyond reproach, so it makes for a great defense no matter what their ulterior motives happen to be — or what you, in particular, happen think of them.
They dine at the finest restaurants, know the names of every street in Aspen, Colorado…and maintain clandestine relationships with wealthy married men from here to the edge of civilization.
They don’t turn tricks, they establish working relationships with guys who fall for their manipulations, because these men enjoy the attention their affluence attracts, and can withstand the financial blows that result from loving a creature that bites back.
Just thought I’d bring this up in time for the cultural season.
September 17th, 2008
“Everything looked and sounded unreal. Nothing was what it is. That’s what I wanted - to be alone with myself in another world where truth is untrue and life can hide from itself.”
- From A long Day’s Journey Into Night by Eugene O’Neill
Julianne [Samantha] Doe:
[To herself]
“I can’t keep doing this…but I do it, anyway. Fuck it. I’d rather swim in a volcano than give up my blessed fantasies.
I’m not letting go. I’m not. I’m not backing down. I will not capitulate to what society or nature have to say about my station in life.
I will have that goddamned white picket fence even if it kills me to get it! I will also have a conservative, well-educated and socially acceptable husband who works in something like, finance, preferably. Together we will have two children, with whom we will share family vacations at the right resorts; the ones favored by those I intend to emulate.
Furthermore, we will maintain a membership at a prestigious country club, to which my husband will already belong, courtesy of his esteemed cultural heritage. I will also donate my time to charitable causes, when time permits, which will further Teflon my persona. We will then assume the role of respected parents and good stewards of our insulated little fucking community”.
Samantha [Julianne] Doe:
[Addressing a group of female friends at a party]
“What the fuck? You ran out of Vodka? Are you insane? Okay, I’m running down to the store to get another 5th before they close. Do we need anything else?
Marlboros? Chips? Mixers?
What am I talking about? I don’t even smoke!
Okay, I’ll get a couple of packs just in case, and some lemons and a bag of Doritos.
Anyhoo, John’s coming over late, and I want to be toasted when he drags me out to his Suburban and fucks the shit out of me in the back seat!!! [She tries to pass the comment off as a joke, but it isn’t entirely convincing].
[Confidentially, to a girlfriend]
Sometimes I feel like I’m two different people. I don’t know why, but one side of me loves the bad boys, with all the mystery and excitement and irresponsible behavior, while the other side wants this Cinderella life that has nothing to do with sex, really, but makes me feel like the person I should be – or was meant to be – you know what I mean?
Come on! I’m 42! It’s like now or never. But NEVER seems to be winning. Then again, if I don’t know who the fuck I am, how am I supposed to know where I’m supposed to be going?
Whatever.
I’m not going to let myself roll backwards down the fucking mountain. I’m not tripping over piles of broken tombstones, while my own life starts feeling like someone who died six months ago! I don’t want to be obscure! I want to live! And if I can still get laid, I’m damn well going to do it. If Mr. Right shows up, fine. But I’m not on hold until he does.
[Composing herself]
I’m only telling you this because I’m drunk! I’d hate to hear this conversation without the Absolute.
[Shifting gears]
Does my butt look good in these jeans?
Just kidding!”
……………………
Ms. Doe is actually two different people. One should just refer to her as them…or Ms. Does, for our purposes here.
Not unlike other women who arrive at this stage in life, and realize the pier is now out of reach, they engage in one last defining battle within themselves that helps bridge the gap between childhood fantasies and singlehood at middle-age.
Some jump off of bridges, while others lapse into a kind of numbing resignation.
Nonetheless, throughout the course of this conflict, there is tremendous turbulence, wherein one sees thematic inconsistency, frustration - and more often than not- outbursts of inappropriate rage that mirrors symptoms of borderline personality disorder, among others.
What all women [and men, for that matter] must come to terms with is the fact that what defines us is our behavior, not our fantasies. Put another way, we are what we do [or, we do what we are, if that makes more sense]. Words merely echo a past that came and went while we were fighting another battle with nature over the issue of marriage and procreation; something designed to happen at an early age…the same age our behavior now resembles, but isn’t.
Come to think of it, Samantha’s probably better off with the Vodka.
September 14th, 2008
What the hell?
Who are these people?
Everywhere you go, you see them.
They’re impossible to miss.
I’m talking about those affluent, middle-age men you see driving around town in new Bentleys with women half their age, who throw cash around like it was a kind of abstraction. It’s as though they’re laying claim to a world that also includes other people, unbeknownst to them.
Joe, over there - father of three, and multiply divorced - has the ego of a 22- year-old Olympian, and the predatory predisposition of a mature Tyrannosaur. Of course, the fact that he sold a novel piece of software to Bill Gates for half a billion dollars probably has something to do with it.
Nonetheless, populations of people like Joe have grown so large that one could make the case for seasonal hunting licenses, just to keep them from destabilizing the natural order of things.
Upscale Hotels. Wine bars. Resorts. Restaurants. Night clubs. Van Halen reunions. You name it…they’re there!
And for back-up, many of these guys are jacked to the nines on a barrage of youth-enhancing agents, like “once-a-day” Cialis, which they swallow in the mornings, along with 3 pounds of multi-vitamins, Jamaican Blue Mountain coffee, organic orange juice and an English muffin.
Then there’s the supporting cast of personal trainers, psychiatrists, cosmetic surgeons [for every imaginable imperfection], cholesterol-lowering medications, and the media blitzkrieg of recycled celebrities, like Madonna, who pander to this new demographic with a world-without-boundaries sensibility reminiscent of “Animal House.”
Only now it’s Animal House at the Four Seasons.
This new phenomenon is nothing shy of a major movement in the earth’s seven principal tectonic plates.
In the days of old [when I was in my 20’s], young men stood at the top of the food chain, gorging themselves on whatever came within striking distance. Older guys were relegated to living vicariously through their exploits, as their families and corporate jobs consumed the remaining embers of a once-raging fire.
There were no medications to sustain preternatural hard-ons through next Tuesday; and no psychiatric medications to keep them from jumping off of bridges when their wives got on their nerves.
They just learned to cope with what they had, and hid everything else behind propriety and decorum [like intense sexual episodes with complete strangers…Cialis or no Cialis].
Personal trainers were relegated to professional athletes and colleges football teams, period. Even people like Madonna had to make do with Jane Fonda’s aerobics videos, or dance by herself [before she was famous] at lower Manhattan nightclubs, until they threw her out for not buying any drinks and then taking a nap on their purple velvet sofas.
So today, the young guys are forced to share some of the spoils.
With this in mind, why wouldn’t any 26 year old woman jump at the opportunity to date a 52 year old man?
The answer is surprisingly simple: Mortality.
All things being equal [which they’re not], older men will likely perish before their wives or girlfriends. Thus, by the time the 26-year-old reaches 60, her partner will either be dead…or 85. Of course, this assumes that they don’t kill each other first…or that she doesn’t overdose on heroin or whatever.
Anyway, statistics indicate that a ten-year stint is damn good, so why worry about what happens two and a half decades down the road?
In spite of this – and everything else I mentioned - there are still women who resist dating older men. They either choose men their own age, or hang around the periphery of high school playgrounds.
These women tend to aggressively defend what they perceive to be their chronological sovereignty, as though it were under some kind of assault. They view the older-younger thing as a sell-out for money, or an indication of unresolved emotional conflicts, usually involving someone’s father.
But the fathers in question are usually their own.
Regardless, the optimum scenario for both sexes is to strike a balance between youth and maturity, where two people share their differences, rather than similarities that become so similar they begin to resemble sibling rivalry; which tends to make the daddy thing feel like a walk in the park.
September 14th, 2008
For those of who’ve been on a morphine drip for the past two days, Houston took a direct hit from a hurricane half the size of Argentina.
Fortunately, internet services have been revived, and city service personnel are working around the clock to restore electricity and water to the city’s 5.5 million residents.
For most of these people there is little or no water pressure, and what exists is undrinkable. Electricity is scarce. And lines at whatever stores are open stretch as far as the eye can see.
With this in mind, I just wanted to say how thankful I am to hear from concerned friends and family from around the country…and around the world. Life would be meaningless without you.
And for those of you who can’t think or see beyond your own fading reflections: Kiss my ass.
September 12th, 2008
The following article, by Linda Carroll, appeared today on my MSN homepage. Needless to say, it looks like it was taken directly from the jayrusovichlive playbook. A first draft of the printed version will be ready for submission September 30th.
Regards,
jbr
“It’s a rule, bartender Karen Brody says: The schlubbier the guy, the more likely he is to persistently pursue a pretty woman.
Brody — a lithe, slender Woodstown, N.J., bartender who looks at least a decade younger than her 47 years — recalls the time she was being “entertained” by a paunchy trucker with several missing front teeth. As the night wore on, he slumped to one side and eventually toppled off his barstool. When she raced around to make sure he was OK, the plump patron immediately resumed his pick-up patter — from the floor.
Apparently, the pudgy trucker isn’t just an aberration, and the come-ons aren’t just the after-effects of alcohol. A new study confirms what women say they’ve known all along: Men, no matter how unattractive, think they’ve got a chance with a runway model.
The proof was in the matchmaking Web site HOTorNOT.com, a site where members rate each others’ “hotness.” The site offered a treasure trove of data: It contained information not only on dating habits of its members, but also on the members’ opinions of their own attractiveness and the “hotness” of potential dates, according to a study published in a recent issue of Psychological Science.
Researchers studied ratings and dating information from 16,550 members during a 10-day period in 2005. All members studied were heterosexual, with 75 percent males and 25 percent female.
Using this data, they determined that the physical attractiveness of a potential mate was more important to men than women. And men were less likely than women to think that their own lack of attractiveness — based both on a self assessment and the ratings of others — should stand in the way of a date with someone “hot.”
Maybe men think women have all read “The Frog Prince” and taken it to heart, allowing us to look past an ugly exterior in the search for inner beauty. Or perhaps it’s that men have internalized the messages in the popular media: movies like “Knocked Up,” where the slacker hero lands a beautiful babe, or TV shows like “According to Jim,” in which a difficult, slobby guy is coupled with a gorgeous wife.
The lead author of the study, Leonard Lee, an assistant professor at Columbia’s Graduate School of Business, thinks these far-fetched movie and TV couples might explain why unfortunate-looking men tend to hold out such high hopes. But he wonders whether the unattractive guys eventually learn that their chances are slim regardless of what they see on screen. There’s another important finding in the study, he says: The 10s among us, both male and female, want only to date other 10s.
There are hints in the HOTorNOT.com data that suggest men do learn to accept their limitations: They apparently hedge their bets by asking for more dates. In fact, the men in the study requested a full 240 percent more dates than the women. Researchers didn’t look at how many of these online come-ons were successful, but the number of dates most men asked for might be a sign that the less attractive among us — even the men — recognize that they may have to settle for dating someone who is closer to them on the “hotness” scale.
“Good looking people are always looking for other good looking people,” says Helen Fisher, a professor at Rutgers University who studies mating behavior and romantic love.
“And ultimately, men figure their own good looks are not as important as a woman’s,” says Fisher, who wasn’t involved with the study. “They figure they’re selling a whole lot of things that women want that aren’t associated with being attractive.”
September 11th, 2008
Note: I spent 3 days working on an essay about celebrity narcissism, but after a series of nightmares about falling into a pit full of people who all resembled Madonna, I decided to shelve it.
Some issues are too much to stomach…even for me.
Regards,
jbr
“Not content to leave the study of celebrities to tabloid body-language experts, the psychological community is coming to terms with celebrity psychopathology. The modern medical term—the famous term, the celebrity term, the superstar of psychological monikers—is acquired situational narcissism (coined by a doctor who may know whereof he speaks, since he refused an interview because he didn’t appear in the “Best Doctors” issue of this magazine).”
http://nymag.com/nymetro/news/culture/features/12264/index3.html
September 9th, 2008
We all know that youth and beauty are fleeting commodities.
Unfortunately, this is often lost on women who run from advancing years the way Madonna runs from death by staging fake crucifixions in the hopes of returning to life a few days later as someone younger.
Soon, she’ll be too old to climb down, and they’ll just leave her up there.
Anyway, the biological window of opportunity is about 15 years; beginning somewhere in the late teens and burning out around 33.
This is not to say that 33 year old women aren’t physically attractive, but from the perspective of marriage and children, they’re on thin ice.
For those blessed with extraordinary beauty, the ride is often so intense that it results in a kind of addiction that prevents them from connecting with anyone outside of themselves and their fantasies.
As a result, by the time a woman reaches her early 40’s, she exists in a kind of functional delusion, where the war between fantasy and reality becomes a natural state of being.
It doesn’t feel natural to anyone else…but it does to them.
“My Prince is on the way. I can feel it. Marriage and children are my destiny. And when he arrives, I’m going to move into a beautiful home in the University District, bear two children, and then become the person I was meant to be in the first place…before I wasted all this time doing everything else I wanted to do.”
To keep this fragile construct from coming apart at the seams, the woman must remain in a constant state of motion:
The Bahamas one weekend. Los Angeles the next. Plans every night of the week. Piles of maxed-out credit cards.
It’s like drug addiction.
It is drug addiction.
Not to mention the covert sexual encounters to which she feels entitled, but can’t admit to because she can’t play both sides of the fence and still repeat the aforementioned mantra with a straight face.
It’s embarrassing being around these women.
They’re like phantoms from the past, like recycled paper, glass and plastic all reconstituted and packaged like that hellish toilet paper sold in places like Whole Foods.
This is one reason most people get their toiletries at Kroger.
Anyway, one has to wonder what these women actually see when they look in the mirror: A lonely heroine deprived of a prince - who then acts out in righteous indignation - or a self-indulgent glutton who works the persona like a deck of cards…even if she’s playing against herself.
