Billboard Music Awards: Dumber than Ludacris & Ciara


I must watch every single award show. It’s what I do, well that and over-imbibe at open bar events. I’m pretty damned accomplished at both. I’m the bully of awards shows and a mess at an open bar. We all have our skills, everyone other than Filth Harmony.


Britney: There’s a little Sylvia Plath in there.

Britney Spears: You know what quality I really dig in a pop star? A few stints in a mental  institution and/or rehab. A psychiatric hospital stay is a goal of mine that I get closer to attaining every year (last Thursday was a step in the right direction). I’ve loved Britney since the Mickey Mouse Days, but I’ve never loved her more than when she shaved her head and got angry.


Britney Spears didn’t disappoint, she really stole the show. She looked flawless while lip synching  the oldies and goodies in her sexy robotic way. Britney’s dancing skills have stiffened since her pop music domination years. After six bourbon and gingers last Thursday, I shook my arse with more electricity than Britney.


fifth harmony

Fifth Harmony makes me want to soak myself in bleach.


Fifth Harmony:

I know you’re always on the night shift
But I can’t stand these nights alone
And I don’t need no explanation
‘Cause baby, you’re the boss at home

Those are actual lyrics from Fifth Harmony‘s “Work From Home” disgusting excuse for a song. This “song” was a string of ridiculously insipid statements that a woman would say to her man while he is at work and she’s at home perfecting her selfie pout.  I have no idea who Fifth Harmony is, but they are as bad as bad gets. If Britney Spears is the abs of pop music anatomy, Fifth Harmony is the ingrown toenail pus.


Pink-Acrobatics, fire, pink faux hawk…yawn.

Pink:If Pink performs and she doesn’t fly into the air, did the performance really happen? It’s impressive, but we’ve seen it so many times. What’s more boring? Pink’s whole identity of being a rebel/outsider in the pop music world or her high-flying acrobats. Again, when compared to Filth Harmony, she’s a genius, but please, something new.



Nick Jonas, hot since 12.

Nick Jonas, Tove Lo  & Demi Lovato: I began loving Nick Jonas over a decade ago. He was 14 and I was 28. It was wrong, but I knew that it would turn out right. Boy, was I right. As for Demi, as I mentioned earlier, my fondness for a woman who has frequented rehab makes Demi a favorite of mine. I don’t care that her songs are stupid, that woman can sing and her social media rants are excellent.



This breakup is going to rock harder than their music.

Blake Shelton & Gwen Stefani: Gwen and Blake’s chemistry is as hot as a game of seven minutes in heaven with your first cousins. This was so uncomfortable to watch that I’m still twitching.Dare I admit: Gavin Rossdale never looked so cool.

Now that Gwen is hawking country music, is she contractually obligated to wear less makeup? Was she advised that red lipstick is strictly for mediocre pop music with a ska flare?

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Ariana’s stumble is much more entertaining than her performance.

Ariana Grande: Yup, she can sing, she sports the best ponytail since Madonna’s Blonde Ambition look, she’s perfected the eyeliner/orange spray tan beauty of Jersey Shore, but she’s got nothing else to give me. So, enjoy her fall, it’s much more entertaining than her performance.


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Madonna & Stevie Wonder try.

Madonna delivered.  Madonna’s tribute to Prince was moving and got even better with Stevie Wonder. Madonna’s voice is weak and always has been, but her strength is  performances like this, to make a statement, to provoke feeling. Yes, I would have preferred The Weeknd, but this was a solid try and I like to think that Prince would have smirked throughout the whole thing.


My therapist is concerned about my negativity, here’s a stab at happiness: Stuff I dig.


Okay, enough with the constant negativity, no more cantankerous Kathleen, welcome to the spring-influenced Kathleen. I shed my persona of the malaise, apathy and disdain that I cloak it in, and want to share a few of my favorite things.

I'm not usually the princess type.

I’m not usually the princess type.

Lily James in “Cinderella” I can’t remember the last time I was so astounded by an actor’s performance and by their sheer beauty. Lily James’ performance reminded me why I go to the movies: to get lost in the magic of the story. It was refreshing to be moved without being disturbed, and to see a children’s movie without watching some Oscar-nominated actor try to steal every scene by overacting. Hello, Angelina Jolie and her co-starring “Maleficent” prosthetic cheekbones. More Lily James in absolutely everything, please..

Meet Nick Jonas. Now that Justin Timberlake’s temples are

Nick Jonas, the new Justin Timberlake. Yes, I went there.

Nick Jonas, the new Justin Timberlake. Yes, I went there.

graying and he’s baby proofing his palace for his super-human baby with Jessica Biel, allow me to pass his torch to Nick Jonas. Oh, “sacrilegious” you cry? Listen and watch again. Nick Jonas has the voice, the vision and the abs to be a pop sensation contender. He polished his roots in a pretty decent boy band, can play a slew of instruments and is flexing his bad boy muscles for all to salivate over, or is that just me?

Fennel keeps me well-preserved. I eat raw fennel every day,

This picture has me salivating.

This picture has me salivating.

all day long. It’s a fairly expensive habit, but more affordable than some of my nasty young adult addictions. I dig the crunch and the wonders of a vegetable that tastes like black licorice. I’ve been told that it cures an upset stomach, and it does calm me after my daily consumption of gallons of coffee.

Dan Harris, teach me how to meditate.

Dan Harris, teach me how to meditate.

Male newscasters are my new rock stars. Oh, George Stephanopoulos, how I enjoy your full head of ruffled hair, your small stature and smart suits. You’re so well-informed, intelligent and Greek. Let’s not forget about geek-chic Dan Harris, that meditating fox. I suggest that we all go somewhere lovely, order a few extra dry martinis and you can both explain the intricacies of Yemen and I can break down the differences between the Jonas brothers.

It’s a Redhead Riot: I am attracted to gingers, I want to be near

Florence, I want to kiss you, then braid your hair, then drink bourbon with you.

Florence, I want to kiss you, then braid your hair, then drink bourbon with you.

them, I enjoy staring at their hair and wonder if it’s turning white like mine. To be fair, my hair is a bottled red, but it was, at one time, before jadedness and wretchedness crept into my pores, it was a lovely red. Redhead’s hair tends to fade and go white, but who cares? The journey was splendid. Much like my fondness for redheads, I am also enamored of freckles, on both men and women. Yes, I am attracted to redheaded men and maybe even married one. The marriage was brief, but his hair was divine. Julianne Moore, Emma Stone, Ron Weasley, I’m talking to you, you are my people.



I love Elliott Smith in a spiritual sense.

I love Elliott Smith in a spiritual sense.

I love Elliott Smith. His music is timeless beauty drenched in melancholy, grit and heroin, his voice sparkles with delicate touches of longing, depression and humor. Watching Elliott Smith play live was a high in my life, I was so close that I could touch him and he was so fucking good. I can’t believe that he died and every year, I feel my own mortality when the anniversary of his death gets longer and longer. He died twelve years ago and his latest CD, “From a Basement on the Hill, has not moved from my life since. Give it a try, it’s angry and lovely, heart-breaking and life-affirming. It’s Elliott.

Coconut oil will cure what ails you.

Coconut oil will cure what ails you.

Moisturizer is my friend.

I’m taking aging by her wrinkled throat, and I am squeezing the life from her. I will not go down without a Housewives-style fight. I slather my face so heavily that I look like an oil spill. When I wake up in the middle of the night because of my aging bladder, I put on a dollop of whatever moisturizer I’ve got, and I have plenty.

I’m creative with my moisturizer, constantly searching for that fountain of youth. I’ve got the store brands, but I also lubricate my face with coconut oil, olive oil and a blend of vitamin e with essential oils. I’ve applied Vaseline, lemon, yogurt and avocados all over my freckled face. The results are not Jen Aniston, but I think I look younger than Lindsey Lohan.

Therapy. We should all be in therapy, there’s nothing that

I should have been a psychiatrist.

I should have been a psychiatrist.

makes me feel more important and justified. I‘ve seen so many: there was the older gentleman that would cajole me into purchasing expensive handbags because I liked them. He was like a father figure, if my father had absolutely no rules. I’d tell him about a drunken adventure and he’d listen with glee. His office was blanketed in expensive mahogany, and his magazines were top-notch.

I then moved onto a psychologist, a refined, thin, well-maintained woman of a certain age, old-age. She’d try to get at why dressing well was so important to me and chastise me for being so hard on myself. She’d often ask “Do you want to be known as the life of the party?” The true answer is that, yes, I do. Is that a crime?

See, I don’t hate absolutely everything. Next week’s list will include things that I despise and I have a premonition that it will be a bit longer.