Category Archives: fear and loathing

Sexy costumes suck.

Halloween is a big deal to me. As a kid I always loved dressing up. I took great pride in my costumes. In 10th grade, I dressed as Alex from “A Clockwork Orange” and no one knew who I was. My dad thought I was Liza Minelli from “Cabaret” and most of my friends said, “Hey your eyelash fell down.” One teacher at the school got it, and he asked me, “Are you a ‘Clockwork Orange’?” And I said yes, and he said, “That worries me.” (Love you, Mr. Everett). I made that costume using things from my closet and my high school’s wardrobe room and now they sell pre-packaged Clockwork Orange costumes for both men and women (the woman’s version is a dress/skirt). And there’s a photo going around on Pinterest of some toddler dressed as Alex, which is a super cute idea, to dress your little son as a rapist. Have people actually watched this movie the entire way through?

As I got older, I got less inspired. I actually started to have dreams, not just around Halloween but year-round, that it was Halloween and I didn’t have a costume and I was scrambling to find one. This has to mean something deeper, and if you want to figure it out, go for it. This year I really wanted to be Jarvis Cocker or Paul McCartney, but to find a good Beatles suit is expensive and I am not nearly skinny enough to be Jarvis Cocker (though to be fair, few are). So I decided to cave and buy something. I got into a nostalgia kick for “The Lion King” and thought the best idea ever would be to dress as Simba.

My mission became far more difficult than I ever thought. First of all, all Simba costumes I found were for toddlers, which is fucking bullshit. At most it went up to 10 year olds. For adults, there was, I kid you not, a “sexy” Nala costume. What the fuck is this malarkey? How is that even close to a lion costume? Why do you have to make Nala sexy?

And it just got worse. Every single lion costume I found was a “sexy” lion. Here are some examples. I just wanted to be a normal, giant-ass jungle cat. But all the good lion costumes were made for men or boys. And the men’s costumes don’t fit well on me, because I am a petite girl, like Estelle Getty sized, and I can’t wear something unisex and expect to be able to move in it. I succumbed to the Cushzilla lion onesie/pajamas and it’s comfy and I love it, but it made me sad that the best thing I could find was a unisex jumpsuit that is meant for someone way, way taller.

I also wanted to be Han Solo. Hey guess what? Even though it’s Halloween, a time when people are supposed to dress up as whatever or whomever they want, female Han Solo costumes do not exist, unless you’re into cosplay and you make one, and I barely know how to properly put on a bandaid, let alone sew something. I also thought about being Indiana Jones. I’ll let you compare the male Indiana Jones costumes to the female ones.

Yes, I could thrift and come up with an Indiana Jones costume, but why should I have to? Why are the only available female versions of Indiana Jones costumes sexualized? It’s Harrison Ford, he’s already sexy. Why doesn’t anyone want women to dress up as a non-sexualized version of a Halloween character? Do they not trust us? Do they think we won’t make it look good because we have boobs?

If you want to dress as a sexy version of something, I don’t care. Go ahead. You have every right to wear whatever you want. But I wonder if by supporting costume companies like Leg Avenue and Dreamgirl, companies that saw a huge boom within the past few years, we’re telling people, “Yes, this is how we always want to look, please make us sexy versions of everything, like Bert and Ernie.” And they did.

And honestly? It makes me sad. What do you think?

Don’t forget to check out my “Sexy” Costumes = Normal Bowie Costumes here on my blog and a slightly extended version on Hello Giggles. And if you’re looking to be Shelley Duvall from “The Shining” look at my post Fashion and the Shining.

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I does what I does.

david bowie ziggy stardust

Why is it so hard for me to do this? Is it depression? Laziness? Is it a desire to seem deep and mysterious, sitting my dark apartment with wine and this melancholy mix (or something) as my soundtrack? And please feel free to suggest songs that I can add to it, because I welcome everything now.

I do not understand why I choose to not do things and choose to do others. The easiest way to fail is to do what you have always done. Unless of course you have been doing well. Soaring over our heads. If you are doing well, and I hope that you are, you should tell me how you are doing it. But in a way that is not a lecture. In school when I had to sit in lectures I would draw cartoons of pigs in my notebook. Ask Dave, he will tell you that it is true. I do not know if Dave is even reading this. But if he is, he will vouch for me. My pig doodles are what started our friendship. I did not know this until years later.

Any great writer, artist, musician, even some actors, reached the levels we dream of because of talent, hard work, and discipline. I used to have all of those things. I believe that I still have talent, in the way that people believe in The Secret. There is a strange comfort in sitting here, thinking about wasting my talent in this dark old apartment, staring at the mess that is on this table I am typing on. I wish that computer keyboards clacked louder. That would be an improvement for struggling writers everywhere. It’s hearing the click of those keys that convinces us that we are working. The “CLICK CLICK FUCK YOU CLICK CLICK CLANG FUCK OFF CLACK CLACK” that comes with the hard press and release of old keyboard keys of Fitzgerald typewriters and 90’s computers.

I want to be Fiona Apple.

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Is catcalling ever okay?

cat paint

A while ago I wrote a piece for my blog titled “Stop hitting on me” that people both praised me and critized me for. I think the criticisms came from people thinking I was bemoaning how hot I am and how I’m sooooo sick of male attention. Not even close. I don’t think that and that isn’t what I was trying to say. I probably should have titled the post “Stop harrassing me.” That is closer to the point of the article. Anyway, if you don’t feel like reading it, the post is about how rude and upsetting it can be when strange men harrass young women when all we’re doing is minding our own business. We should be able to walk down the street without a stranger commenting on our appearance. Doesn’t matter if the man in question is young or old. It comes off as creepy and disrespectful.

But. But. A few nights ago I had an experience with catcalling that did not make me feel degraded. It actually made me feel…happy. Attractive. Confident. Is this wrong and hypocritical?

I’ll explain the situation.

I don’t often like going to parties alone. I’ve written about the subject and on my blog and on Hello Giggles about how it’s okay to go alone and have a kick-ass time, but on occasion I feel overwhelmingly shy and not good enough. The event I went to last night was a gathering of beautiful people and hosted by one of my all time favorite film directors/artists and usually this doesn’t bother me, in that, I’m born in LA and have lived here my whole life, so who cares about celebrities, but given the drama that’s happened lately, I felt kind of small. And I’m really embarrassed, even ashamed, to admit that. Though I eventually met up with the awesome person who invited me, I had to go in alone and be there alone for about 40 minutes. But once I got in there I was okay. And here’s why.

I was waiting on the corner in my dress and lipstick and heels pretending to be busy on my iPhone determining if I should go in alone. I felt like a dweeb. Just very shy and not at all confident. I’m doing nothing with my phone and a car is at a red light near me. I don’t notice it until the man inside rolls down his window and says something like, “Excuse me, miss.” I’m thinking, “Okay, here we go.” And he says, “You have the perfect body.” And I’m stunned. I’m about to attend a party where there are size 0 actresses who look stunning like a ray-gun. I do not think I have even close to the perfect body. He went on. “I’m not trying to be weird or hit on you, but I muted my phone call just now, put them on hold, I had to tell you. You look so good.”

And I almost cried. I know. I’m apalled. But I needed to hear it, and he was so kind about it. “Thank you,” I said. “Thank you so much.”

“No problem. You look great. Really.” Then the light turned green and he drove off.

Maybe my perception of body image is warped, and by maybe I mean, 100% completely is. I was surprised to receive this compliment from a strange man. And yes, I was flattered.

Am I screwed up? What do you think and what’s your experience been like?

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Don’t look back in anger.

Almie Rose with JFK and JackieAIN’T NO THANG, JACKIE.

Summer is coming. It always does. And every time it comes I am horrified because I feel I’m never ~~bathing suit ready~~. And every year I say to myself, “Fuck you summer, you will not best me, I have a yoga mat.” And every year it bests me. Except.

Last May I went to Bloggers in Sin City, a conference for bloggers (shut up) that changed my life. I’m not one to join a big group of people I don’t know and have never met. But my mom said, “You have to do this” and I thought to myself, bitch please who acts like they have to be dragged to Las Vegas for a weekend? I am so glad I went.

I wrote a post about how I was freaking out about being seen in a bathing suit, because pool lounging was imminent. But when I got there I saw that everyone was in the pool and having fun and simply did not give a single fuck and it made me want to have fun too and also not give any fucks, not even half of a fuck. So I put on my lady swimming trunks (too afraid to go full bikini) and finally got in the pool.

Today I was looking back at the photos from that trip and fuck, I WAS SKINNY. I WAS SKINNY AND I DIDN’T EVEN REALIZE IT BECAUSE I WAS TOO BUSY BEING AN IDIOT. That’s just so typical, isn’t it? To think you’re fat and then look back and say, “I wish I were as ‘fat’ now as I was then.” To quote Nora Ephron (or what I remember of what she said), “If I knew now what I knew then I would tell myself to wear a bikini throughout all of my twenties.” And the thing is, unless it’s killing you, there is nothing wrong with being fat. It’s all about your attitude. And your mind. And my mind is poisoned.

(Even now I’m looking at that photo of me with wax JFK and I’m thinking, “I know my arm is skinnier than that, why does it look so big?”)

So the thing is now, I am sad because I have actual legit stomach issues and it is never flat. Not bikini ready. On Sunday at 5:30 AM I woke up to run to the toilet to throw up. And it came out of my nose as well and I almost choked to death and died. And I realized, “I should definitely get this checked out. I should take better care of myself. I should eat well all the time, and not succumb to comfort foods.” Like just now I ate 6 milano cookies and realized it was 420 calories. That’s like a meal. And it wasn’t worth it at all. Ain’t that some shit? Yeah, so my body is legit fucked up, it’s not just in my mind anymore. My stomach hurts frequently (once I had to sit under my desk and rock myself back and forth) and I have to dress like a pregnant woman so that nothing constricts my mid section. Is this not the most sexy fucking thing you’ve ever read on my blog?

My point is this: ladies and lads, you get more awesome every day. If you don’t like yourself today, then like yourself tomorrow. The only person that you have to look like is you. There is no size or weight that you have to be. You do not need to lose weight. That is a myth. What you need is to be happy and confident. If more women were happy and confident with their bodies then maybe we wouldn’t have to photoshop the fuck out of everything.

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Life is weird.

Oh hay just posing at a fast food BBQ joint, no big deal. Instagram @apocalypstick

This going to sound like the musings of an incredibly stoned person, who is in bed eating Trader Joe’s snack mix while watching “Breaking Bad” but having to constantly rewind because they’re ironically too high to understand it, but I swear I am not stoned. Currently.

Life is so very weird. For example, I now both drink and enjoy iced coffee. You get what I’m saying? Big news. Life is weird, it’s like, one minute you’re the hottest bestest newest thing and the next minute you’re fat and bald and starring in a remake of The Taking of Pelham 1 2 3. You know? The weird thing about life is that things don’t seem to change day by day. You wake up and think, I have to do this same stuff again. But when you think really far back, there was a time when you weren’t doing that stuff. Somehow everything changed. And look at your friends, what are they up to? One minute they’re there, the next minute they’re gone, or sick, or incredibly famous. Usually all three, if you live in LA. Life is weird.

A lot has changed for me within the past year. A complete turn around. I even look different physically, in that I have never looked more like Mick Jagger in my life. And my stomach is constantly upset. I think it’s because beneath my skin is a fine layer of stress. Someone suggested I meditate. Sit in a chair and set a timer for 10 minutes and just sit there and breathe. I’m sorry, sir, but no. I can’t sit in a chair for 10 minutes and do nothing. I’ll just be thinking about the timer going off. I’ll start with one minute. Even that seems really hard. Heating up Hot Pockets in the microwaves seems to take hours.

I should eat less Hot Pockets.

I just want to know what’s going to happen. Where will I be next year? Actually, no, that’s too far ahead. Where will I be next month? Can someone spoiler alert my life? I don’t have time for this shit. I don’t want the journey, I want the destination. Fuck the journey, the journey sucks. No one on the Oregon Trail was like, “This is so awesome how we’re running out of food and dying of dysentery, it’s all gonna go downhill once we get there.”

Kids, help.

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I suck at everything.

http://instagr.am/p/fOkZe/

Good news, everyone! I suck at everything! I want to cry and throw things and scream and laugh all at the same time, but I can’t. And you know why? Because I suck!

I usually talk about how even when things suck you have to find a way out because the more you say and believe they suck, the more they will.

SUCK SUCK SUCK EVERYTHING SUCKS I DON’T CARE, COME AT ME UNIVERSE. WITH YOUR MAGIC SUNSETS. I DARE YOU. Throw a sunset in my face, see if I give a fuck. I don’t. Spoiler alert GONE because I just said it. I DON’T GIVE A FUUUUU

How many times have I written that it’s okay to feel bad and it’s okay to suck as long as you realize it and then you can rise above it? So why can’t I? I am terrible at taking my own advice.

It’s so much easier to suck at everything than to try hard at anything.

The frightening truth is that I am not happy or okay with who I am, and I may never be. I was drifting along, like a plastic bag in the LA River, when I felt hate and loathing slowly pulse throughout my veins. For myself. People are like, “Shut up so many people would love to have your life” and I’m like, “So what who cares” and they’re like “You’re acting like a child” and I’m like “Nu uh I’m an adult” and then my mom hangs up the phone.

WILL SOMEONE HOLD ME?

I keep trying to work on my book. I take one step forward and two vodka shots back. It’s hard! It’s hard you guys! And what’s the point, anyway? Who cares? “I would rather watch somebody buy their underwear than read a book they wrote.” – Andy Warhol (true story).

There are so many people out there who are so much better than I am. And by better, I mean famous.

Guys life is hard. These are worse than White Girl Problems. These are Apocalypstick Problems. Or even Uncle Almie Problems.

Why do you suck?

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Do you ever feel like a plastic bag?

Photo of my friend Chelsea as Edie taken by Lisa.

I do, sometimes. (I’m quoting Katy Perry who sings, “Do you ever feel like a plastic bag drifting through the wind wanting to start again?”). I cringed at first with this simple “American Beauty” inspired lyric, but now when I’m feeling down all I have to say is, “I feel like a plastic bag” and my friends just get it.

Things are pretty much super in my life right now, so of course I wish it was different.

You want a rocket ship and then you get a rocket ship and suddenly you panic and think, no I don’t want this fucking rocket ship I want a boat. It’s something like that. It’s the feeling you get when everything is going right.

Contrary to what you’d think, it rarely feels good to feel right.

It’s like, this is not my beautiful house. This is not my beautiful wife. How did I get here? Where are my keys? I lost my phone.

The easiest thing to do in this situation is to take a deep breath and say, happily, “I don’t give a fuck.” Look at your watch and realize that it’s I Don’t Care O’clock. It’s freeing. I’ve also found that it actually really helps to listen to the Katy Perry song (“Firework”). When I’m stuck in traffic on the drive home I blast it 4 times in a row. My drive home is an hour and a half. If anyone wants to make me a mix and post it/has a mix already made, please link me. It would make my days. It’s in bold because it’s really important.

So what’s my problem? If everything is so good why does it feel so weird?

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