2016: Our Own Upside Down World

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2016 began, for me, with a small spell of alcohol poisoning.

And, the year never really lost that distinct aftertaste of vomit, Prosecco and wasted promises. The last 365 days were exhausting. I just finish getting over my last brassy dye job, only to see baby white hairs sprout again. And as a final “screw you,” I now spy them in my eyebrows. As if I didn’t inflict enough damage on my damned brows in the ‘90s, now middle age will finish the job of completely eradicating my brows.

#Blessed makes me #Sick

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Can you #killme before I #choke ?

Oh gosh, forgive me, I forgot that I am supposed to feign positivity instead of being honest.

My negativity is grating, and I just don’t care. Can I be forgiven for intellectually knowing that I have it pretty damned good, but internally feeling down and out? Can I eliminate myself from the hashtag blessed bullshit that permeates every adult conversation I’m forced to endure? Yeah, I get it, I could have it so much worse, but instead of respecting that, I’m going to complain about everything. I am nothing if not consistent. Well that, and a bummer.

Pain is relative. We can’t all compare our own pain against those with more pain. Pain is pain, and to engage in insipid conversations about how much worse life could be doesn’t actually make anyone feel better, not for any longer than that talk lasts.

2016’s Little Pockets of Love

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“Stranger Things” dominates 2106.

There were rainbows of coolness that sprang from the mushrooms of shit, little pockets of love like Winona Ryder’s cool-girl reemergence in “Stranger Things,” and Netflix’s newer installment of anxiety-inducing terror, “The OA”. And, The Lumineers’ “Cleopatra” is just about as good as it gets for music to my ears.

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Jaon’s Isbell’s Twitter presence is one of the better things in life.

I was transfixed for every second of FX’s “The People vs. OJ Simpson” and  transported to my idealistic youth and my horror at the OJ trial outcome.  I went to see Jason Isbell at the College Street Music Hall in  Connecticut, and I remembered that life is beautiful and talent like his is an amazing thing.

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If only I knew as much about geography as I do about Scientology.

A&E’s new hit docuseries “Leah Remini: Scientology and the Aftermath” is perfect for my Scientology obsession. This show gives Leah Remini the role of a lifetime and shows that Scientology is scarier than “Stranger Things” upside down world.

Awash in Melancholy

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“April is the cruelest month, breeding lilacs out of the dead land” T.S. Elliot’s The Waste Land

But, it’s not all Pop Tarts & Quaaludes here, peeps.

In April, Prince died at the age of 57. To make Prince’s death even worse, he died from an accidental drug overdose and it was like a final blow- not because I think less of Prince because he used drugs but because I thought he was one of my idols that didn’t. The thought of Prince, alone and dead in an elevator at Paisley Park isn’t how I wanted him to go.I’d much prefer to think of him dying in his sleep surrounded by a harem of women, blanketed in purple sheets of the highest thread count.

But 2016 didn’t care about that kind of stuff. We lost Prince, Barb, David Bowie, Leonard Cohen, George Michael, Carrie Fisher and Debbie Reynolds,to name a few.

But, let’s not get too down, right?

We lose Carrie Fisher, an actress from an acting dynasty, a sharp-witted writer, a paramour of rock stars and an all-around extraordinary person. She was chock-full of demons, honesty and zingers. But, we get to keep Lena Dunham, a woman from an influential family, fully equipped with a pricey  education and a rock star beau, a ridiculous lack of humor and a book that is actually unreadable.

Making fun of Lena Dunham has become easier than ridiculing the Kardashians, so in 2017, my resolution is to stop. Not because I am being kind, but because she’s just so boring.

My Celebrity-Stalking Side Gig is Booming

Between furrowing my brow and applying coconut oil all over my face, I found time to snap pictures with some of my favorite celebrities.

To celebrate the 4th of July,  I did what any good American might: I planted my whole family on a hot beach to watch  Tom Hiddelston & Taylor Swift fawn all over each other. My sunburn had barely healed before I I met lil’ Rhody’s favorite alternative rock goddess, Tanya Donelly. Not to be outdone, I capped off the year with a  New York City encounter with one of America’s original, smart and cool gals, the awesome Sandra Bernhard.

The Kardashian Curse Spreads

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Kim Kardashian’s unattractive cry gets real. Image by How Should I Sass You

For another year, I want to thank the Kardashians for all the entertainment. The ne’er-do-well son in a family filled with losers procreated with Blac Chyna, only to implode in a nasty split that coincided with their own reality show. Kim & Kayne’s marriage lasted another year, but not without a mental breakdown and an awesomely awful burglary in Paris.

So, I’ve been thinking, can we start blaming everything on the Kardashians? That’s my plan.

Book Recommendations

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Beware, I only dig disturbing books.

Well, I do still take time to read books, and here are a few recommendations:

Hunger Makes Me a Hungry Girl: A Memoir by Carrie Browntein

When Breath Becomes Air by Paul Kalanithi

A Mother’s Reckoning by Sue Klebold

The Girls: A Novel by Emma Cline

All the Missing Girls by Megan Miranda

My Name Is Lucy Barton by Elizabeth Strout

Happy New Year, y’all!

Should I join the Church of Scientology?

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Scientology, will you have me for a week?

Can I become a member of the Church of Scientology for a week? How much of my soul must I sacrifice to do so? How much of my paltry life savings will it cost me? I am willing to try, just don’t tell my husband.

I am a practicing Catholic. There, I said it in print for my seven subscribers to read. I don’t even know what that means, but I know that I feel a lot of guilt over bashing Catholicism in print. Not because I actually feel badly about it, but because I am a goddamned Catholic and that is what we do: we feel guilt. People tell me that’s what the Jews do also, but I wouldn’t know that because I am not Jewish. I’ve wanted to be Jewish since I was a child but that’s just another of my disappointments. I wanted to be taller and Jewish, wanted to get into Smith and date Elliott Smith, but none of that happened. I did stalk Elliott Smith for a minute, but everything else was impossible to attain, getting into Smith being the most out of reach.

Should Plathism be a cult?

Should Plathism be a cult?

Why Smith? Sylvia Plath went there and I am completely obsessed with Sylvia Plath. If you have not read “The Bell Jar”, stop reading this drivel and read it. Now! Yes, I am talking to you in Ohio, really, it will change your life. Read it and you just may be happy like me.

Elliott, thanks for dropping the restraining order.

Elliott, thanks for dropping the restraining order.

I digress. You, in Silver Lake, call Beck and tell him to get me into the Church of Scientology. I want to talk about my weight gain with Kirstie Alley, then discuss fashion with that droll speaking redhead from “Orange is the New Black”. I’ll spend my nights listening to Juliet Lewis’s awful band and talking addiction with Giovanni Ribisi while stalking his brother-in-law Beck. Yes, Beck is married to Giovanni Ribisi’s twin sister and they’re all kooky scientologists.

A redhead Scientologist and a low talker, love her.

A redhead Scientologist and a low talker, love her.

Your music is awful, but I love your religion.

Your music is awful, but I love your religion.

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This man is Beck’s brother-in-law.

Much like Catholicism in Rhode Island, Scientology seems to be the cool kid religion in Hollywood and I want in to that club. Damn, I should have thought about this twenty years ago.