Buon giorno tutti.
Sad, really, that I used to be fluent in Italian and now all I know is "hello all," "with cheese", and "I love you". Ah well, my talents lie in other areas. Such as...er...
Anyway.
I loved all the suggestions for my future career, especially Alex Richards' author idea and Meg's weathergirl idea. Meg, it sounds fantastic and I'd love to point at clouds and kibbitz with Chad the overly-tanned news anchor. Unfortunately, I don't have the spare cash in my account for collagen and silicon boobs right now, but once I scrape the $ together I'll definitely get on it.
For now, though, I think...I HAVE FOUND MY CALLING.
I must...nay, SHALL...be one of the Fug Girls. I know that right now I do not posess even a fragment of the wittiness of Heather and Jessica at Go Fug Yourself, but I can only pray that after taking some time to hone my bitchery chops I could be the Anne Hathaway to their fashion-goddess Meryl Streep, running about fetching them coffees and walking their dogs while they further master the art of online fugging.
So, in the name of all that's not fit to wear outside, here it is. My pathetic attempt to ingratiate myself with the fugging community. Enjoy!
THE TOP TEN MOST ANNOYING/BADLY DRESSED/GENERALLY IRKSOME CELEBRITIES DU JOUR, AS COMPILED BY A WANNABE FUGSTER.
(note- don't yell at me. If one of these people happens to be your style guru...well, sorry. Go have a nice sandwich or something, or maybe some Nutella. Or maybe Nutella AND a sandwich. And then see if you feel a bit better. I guarantee, you will. Nutella=miracle cure. Just got all your teeth knocked out in a bar fight? NUTELLA. Failing all of your courses? NUTELLA. Forced to tap-dance on the street alongside an organ grinder called Guido and his monkey for spare cash because you're a destitute mess? NUTELLA.)
And choirs of angels on high sing the Hallelujah chorus...

1. Mischa Barton.
The Good-
Great shoes. Dress that shouldn't look good but it does. Hair that...well, it's ATTACHED TO HER HEAD. So that's something. And it appears to be her own, and not purchased from Tyra's House O' Weaves, so that gets her some points too. Snaps all around for La Barton.
The Bad-
To quote the greatest teen movie the world has ever seen, "She's a full-on Monet. From far away it's okay, but up close it's just a big old mess." The combination of "I sleep with rockers!" bangs + sinfully ugly boots + that DRESS, oh, that DRESS...is not good. Leopard is lovely in small doses. Shoes. Bag. Etc. Or, if you have the personality to carry crazy-ass full-on leopard well, go for it. But Mischa? YOU HAVE NO PERSONALITY.

The Should-Be-Fugly But Kind Of Works...No, Never Mind, It Blows-

When I first saw this, I thought "Cool." And then I thought, "Ankle boots? No." And then I thought "Drop knowledge, not bombs. That Mischa Barton girl is one smart cookie." And then I thought "No, really, I like that tee shirt." And then I thought, "But look, even her dog is scared of that skirt." And then I thought, "But she wears it well." And then I thought "But does she, REALLY?" And then there was some sparkly object waved in front of my face and I got distracted. True story. So we're resting on, a big "nyet" to the whole ensemble. Oh, and the high-waisted trend? Sweet Cletus, what is up with that? MOM JEANS. FRONT BUTT. Am I the only one who gets it?

But her sartorial choices aside, the reason I cannot stomach Mischa B. is her "acting." Yeah, I saw The O.C. And the only thing that kept me hooked was gaping at her in wonder and saying to myself, "Who cast her? WHO? Who cast that girl? I mean, in all seriousness...is this a cruel joke? Are they toying with the viewers? Is this a litmus test to see just HOW much lack of talent the general public will put up with in exchange for a pretty girl the width of a string bean, with hair about the same consistency?"
But they were serious. And that's why I stopped caring about the O.C. a long, long time ago, boys and girls. And now it's dead, and so is Marissa Cooper. So I think we've all learned something today.
IF YOU'RE GOING TO TAKE A JOB ON A TELEVISION SERIES, MAYBE TAKE AN ACTING CLASS FIRST. And eat a corn dog. Jeez. Maybe she's naturally skinny, but there's naturally skinny and then there's naturally skinny.

2. Justin Timberlake. I think I've made my feelings toward Justin abundantly clear in some previous post (I don't feel like sifting through my landmines of crazy, so I can't tell you exactly which one). Just in case, though.
JUSTIN.
This is you back then.

This is you now.


I'm sure you're sorry for the fedora. I HAVE TO BELIEVE THAT YOU FEEL AS BAD ABOUT THE FEDORA AS I DO. I HAVE TO. In fact, you probably go into your Walk-In Closet of Shame sometimes, look around, cringe, see the fedora perched jauntily on your revolving hat rack and think "Thank God I ditched that thing. Oh, and good thing I extracted myself from the Britney canon as well. Bitch crazy".
But still. I don't care that you now make music videos with Harlot Johansson (who was surprisingly amusing in that prom dress SNL sketch). You are DULL. You are a DULL MAN. You look like a weird cross between ogre and potato, and you have sporadic clumps of beard hair, and...I'm running out of reasons why I don't like you. I know I'm supposed to like you now that you've staged your comeback. But you're going to have to work harder to win me over. Dance shirtless more. We girls like that, or so I've read.

3. Fergie Feeerg.

I don't say this often about celebrities, but I hope she's on crack. What other excuse does she have for this outfit? There is a way to show off your abs that does not involve a) Barbie's Dream Skirt, made exclusively for Kmart (actually, I kind of love Kmart. It's so cheap and convenient! It's like the slutty sister of Target. And Target is the bastard child of Bloomingdale's, and Bloomingdale's is of course the hick cousin of Barneys/Bergdorf's. Ah, the circle of life.), as reimagined by Paris Hilton's dog groomer, b) legwarmers on tube socks, or c) a tee shirt clearly borrowed from the wardrobe department of the summer tour of Toddlers Gone Loco.

I like to think of this outfit as a little argument between Fergie's better self and her legwarmers-over-tube-socks-wearing, abs-displaying self.
Here's how I think it would go.
Scene- Fergie is standing in front of her full-length mirror, contemplating her outfit choices. A little red demon in a tube top and a white, glowing angel in a shirt of appropriate length rest on each of her shoulders.
GOOD ANGEL- I really like that outfit on you, Fergie. I especially like how your shirt doesn't have any veiled reference to your lady parts on it. Sure, the pants make you look a little stumpy, but all in all it's nice.
BAD ANGEL- Don't listen to that wench. Tuck the top of your sweater up to display your dynamite abs.
GOOD ANGEL- Fergie, no! You'll look weirdly top-heavy and out of proportion!
BAD ANGEL- Come on! You're Fergie Ferg! You can wear anything! Aren't you the girl who wore legwarmers over tube socks? Come on, show us your humps! Your humps! Your lovely lady lumps!
GOOD ANGEL- But...I...
BAD ANGEL- You know you want to.
GOOD ANGEL- But...uh...
BAD ANGEL- Do it.
GOOD ANGEL- Bu...h...
BAD ANGEL- Hush. Now. Tuck the sweater up.

*Good angel gives up and flies off to implore some other celebrity to listen to their better style self. Too bad everybody ignores the good angel, huh?*

Fergie seems totally crazy. And not really in an awesome, I-want-to-go-drinking-with-her way. In a "please don't boil my bunny, or eat my newborn baby" way.


"Dang, y'all, can you believe I made this necklace out of my old nose rings? And how great is my hair right now? I invited my friend Miss J over to do my makeup, so I could look as g-l-a-m-o-r-o-u-s as (s)he does.
Trannies give the best advice, y'all! (S)he had some great tips for masking my Adam's apple! That's it, you guys. From now on I only hang out with transvestites."

4. Pete Wentz.

"Whatsup, dudes? I'm Pete Wentz! Yeah, I know, you're in awe of my cutting-edge style. I WEAR EYELINER. And I'm not, like, a chick. I'M A DUDE. So me wearing eyeliner is like...a chick wearing a Rock Out With Yo' Cock Out hat. Or a masculine Seiko watch. But back to me. Yeah, I'm in this mad cool band, and you should really listen to us. All our songs sound exactly alike, but it's cool because I WEAR EYELINER. And not in a gay way. In a TOTALLY HARDCORE WAY."

"Check it, peeps. Who do you know who looks that angsty in a vest? Yeah, I totally borrowed it from my high school trigonometry teacher. Who is so NOT HARDCORE AT ALL, so what does he need a vest for? Pshh. MY TATTOOS MAKE IT EDGY. SO WHO'S LAUGHING NOW, MR. SMITHFIELD? ME. HAHAHAHAHA. ME."
"Even this MONKEY knows I rock super hard. Look at it, all up on me. It's thinking, "God, Pete, what manly and rock-star-like pores you have." Because I DO. My pores rock. Hard.
The monkey is taunting me, guys. It THINKS it can be as awesome as me. It THINKS it can wear makeup and sing unintelligible words. But IT CAN'T. So suck it, MONKEY. Because only a PRIVILEGED FEW are born with my BEAUTIFUL VOICE and my LYRICAL ELOQUENCE and STAGE PRESENCE.
And my PORES. Oh God, my PORES."

P.S. I'm not knocking "emo" music- if that's what Fall Out Boy is. I don't like to say "emo" because it makes me think of "emu." And I'm kind of afraid of emus. But anyway, if you worship at the Sacred Altar of Pete Wentz, as I know a lot of people do, don't leave a furious comment, because it's mean and it makes you look stupid because really, mean comments are humorous. Actually, scratch that, leave a mean comment if you want. I could use a good laugh. Or better yet, scroll up on this post. NUTELLA= THE SECRET TO A HAPPY LIFE. Eat that, Rhonda Byrne.

5.

Look! Hark yonder! I have spotted the elusive Leather-Belted Poshbot!
This is a truly rare breed of celebrity.
It hasn't been in anything or done anything to deserve its fame since a certain ill-fated girl group many years ago.
It has since married an undeniably hot but somewhat boring soccer player, and gone on to make beautiful babies (cough, in her laboratory. Cough. WHAT PERSON WITH THAT WAISTLINE HAS PUSHED OUT KIDS, I ASK YOU?) and befriended the Hapless Scientology-Spouting Child Beard...er, of course I mean Bride (no, I actually feel bad for poor Katie Holmes. Didn't Tom Cruise make her give birth on a ship or something? Without screaming? If Scientology is your thing, then whatever, but she just seems like a sweet kid who fell in love with the wrong cyborg. Here's how Tom probably proposed to Katie- "My sweet darling. Just put the stupid ring on and kiss me on the Eiffel Tower, then I can go cruise for dudes and you can go play Barbies in the corner or whatever the hell you were doing before I found you." Their baby is damn cute, though. Poor Katie. I wish she could just be that pain-in-the-ass, perky poster child for America again. Ah, well. They're beyond old news now, Tom and Katie, but I just wanted to rant a bit anyway.).
The Leather-Belted Poshbot has been seen scuttling around the world in various fashion mags. She enjoys dining on hearty meals of birdseed and water (to quote "Donatella Versace"- "Jumpin' Jehosaphat! You need to ACTUALLY EAT! You look like a pencil with two blood oranges glued to the top!"), vogueing for the cameras while pretending to be really bothered that the stupid paparazzi are bugging her for photos even though she's actually a total fame whore and LOOOVES the attention (dude, who doesn't? I never said I wasn't a fame whore. But at least be honest about it. Sheesh.), and generally being a particularly spiky thorn in my side. She just bugs me a lot.
And that belt wasn't even a good idea as a skirt, so why would you feel compelled to slide it up a few inches?
Christ, Victoria. Suck in your cheeks a little more. I'll call the miners- I'm sure they'd love a day's outing spelunking in the hollows that are your cheekbones.

6. Sienna Miller.

Yes, Sienna, we get it. You are young and free and lovely, and you can wear your hair up on your head like the love child of Maria Von Trapp and a drunken goatherd. Not that you possess ANY of Maria Von Trapp's awesomeness. But I digress. You are aglow with the light of a million faeries, and you can run across green lawns and throw your head back in laughter whilst the early morning sun bounces off your freshly purchased hair. I understand. You're everything we're not. You wear crocheted boots. You're too cool for school (and, apparently, too cool for PANTS). "Suddenly I See" by KT Turnstall plays constantly in your head, because suddenly you see, suddenly you see, this is what you want to be. You played Edie Sedgwick, and as a direct result, I no longer like Edie Sedgwick. Can we get a slow-clap for Ms. Miller?
I receive the message, loud and clear. You're the Princess of Narnia. You're the summer sun in a bottle. You're a magical creature and should be treated as such.
WILL YOU GO AWAY NOW?

7. Oh, Britney.
Britney, Britney, Britney.
Shall we chronicle your life through photographs?

Look how prepubescent and happy you are. Look how smiley you are in your ugly shoes with hair and whatnot. You're probably thinking about Justin. Ah, innocence. I'm not saying I wouldn't have smirked and whispered mean things about you if I'd seen you in the cafeteria- you look entirely too wholesome to just skate by without any bitchy remarks. But you seem normal here. And yes, that might just be the image your various handlers/hair brushers/leg humpers forced on you. But I prefer to imagine that at one point, Britters was a regular, functional human being. And you know what's scary? This wasn't even THAT long ago. I was alive. I was conscious. I might even have been impersonating Britney in my bedroom and singing into a hairbrush in front of the mirror.
Maybe.
Look, I was young, okay?

And here's where it starts to get a little wild. Little Miss Musketeer Britney is all gussied up in her Catholic schoolgirl attire, chanting suggestive lyrics. Still, though. It's not that bad. Well, it could be worse. I mean, it DID get worse. Who would have thought that someday I would look back on Britney's pubescent kilt-and-halter days and think wistfully, "God, I miss that good-girl phase."?

You know what's classy?
Body jewelry, glittery makeshift pants, and writhing with a cobra.
Isn't that what Betty Friedan meant by "the feminine mystique"?

Okay, so then more stuff happened. Britney had an InstaMarriage in Vegas and Frenched Madonna and so on. But that's relatively boring, and Brit-Brit is really only interesting when she's self-destructing. Wait, did I just use "Brit-Brit" and "interesting" in the same sentence? And it wasn't "Brit-Brit's choices when it comes to personal hygiene can best be described as interesting?"


Ah, the Age Of K-Fed. This is a startlingly groomed photo of the two of them, so I can only imagine they were at a charity ball or a state funeral or something. I mean, their hair has been washed in recent memory! It's so stylish! It's so avant-garde!
Don't feel bad for her, guys. SHE HAS THE GOLDEN TICKET. K-FED'S SEED IS THE GOLDEN TICKET.

Ah, you crazy kids, you. Hot tip- when your reality television show makes Jessica Simpson and Nick Lachey look like the zenith of all that is sophisticated, classy, romantic and captivatingly interesting, it's time to wake up and smell the Hot Cheetos. Might I compare thee to a summer's day? Thou art more tacky and more illiterate.

Yeah, so then she had like sixteen babies and got a divorce and shaved her HEAD, and I would really respect her for that so much more if it hadn't been such a sad publicity stunt. I'm not even going to post a photo of Baldney Spears, because it hurts my eyes a little. In all honesty, though, I don't loathe Brit as much as I loathe some. I just feel sad for her,that's all. I'm glad she went to rehab and got help. But that doesn't change the past.

Ladies and gentlemen of the jury, I rest my case.

8. Travis Barker.
vs.
Can you spot the difference? Me neither.

9. Ellen Pompeo.

See Barton, Mischa. Add on twenty years. Well, Pompeo is MARGINALLY better-dressed. Now, there's a real Herculean feat, out-dressing Mischa Barton, Princess of Keds.

10. Evan Rachel Wood.

I know, Evan Rachel Wood. You're thrilled. You're living your goth fairy tale. When you were starring in movies like Thirteen, which basically served as a catalyst for parents of teenage girls everywhere to have nervous breakdowns and bolt the doors of the house (thanks, Evan. Really, from all of us. Thanks), did you ever dream that one day your nauseatingly old and possibly transsexual prince would come for you? Maybe you guys should just have a big three-way with the devil himself and call it a day.
GIRL, YOU ARE TWELVE YEARS OLD. AND IF YOU'RE NOT, YOU LOOK LIKE YOU ARE. You should be miserably skulking around the "Goth" section of Contempo Casuals in your local mall, listening to death metal and moodily painting your fingernails black and hating everything, because you are SO NOT THE AVERAGE TEENAGER. You are BAD, and DANGEROUS. You are a FORCE TO BE RECKONED WITH. But really, there are ways to stick it to the man and assert your pubescent independence that don't involve taking up with men literally NINETEEN TIMES YOUR AGE. And by the way, take it from me- hating everything doesn't mean you have to be so aggressively unstylish. The shining example of everything ERW WANTS to be, but simply is not, is Christina Ricci. I love her, y'all.
RICCI would never enter Marilyn Manson's love dungeon and be his angsty gothic slave, now would she?
I think little Evan would do well to learn from Ricci's example. It could be like a Big Sisters, Little Sisters program. WAIT, a wonderful thing just occurred to me. Perhaps...Marilyn and Evan are not joined in the act of love, but he is simply fulfilling a community service debt by taking her under his disturbing wing as part of the Big Brothers Who Give Children Nightmares, Little Sisters Who Need To Wash That Eyeliner Off And Stand Up Straight (oh my God, I'm my mother) program? If only.

So there's my list, make of it what you will.

THE MUSIC/TV/BOOK CORNER- I've been obsessively listening to Whoo! All Right...Yeah Uh Huh, by The Rapture. I'm a sucker for music with exclamation points in the title. Oh, and Neutral Milk Hotel= the best thing EVER. I'm listening to the EP of Everything Is right now. Next up- In the Aeroplane Over the Sea. TV-wise- If Alec Baldwin leave 30 Rock because of this screaming phone message deal, I will be MURDEROUS. Yes, it was bad, but he makes that show. He MAKES it. In between all this lovely music and television, I've been reading Anywhere But Here, by Mona Simpson. It's fantastic, and I totally recommend it.


SIGHTINGS- Mysteriously Attractive Train Boy, Part Deux! Except it was a different guy, and it wasn't a train, it was the nonfiction section of the Barnes & Noble in Union Square. He was all preppy, yet somehow more rugged than Mysteriously Attractive Train Boy #1. He had facial stubble an' all. Yes, he was wearing...ugh...khakis. What is with all the prep boys floating about these days? Making me love them and whatnot? Also, I saw a really cute boy and girl outside of some movie theater, I forget where- they looked like college kids, and the boy had adorably untended sideburns and a completely awesome navy and white striped long sleeved shirt, very Parisian, with some cool five-pocket jeans (he Made It Work) and funky street sneakers. The girl was wearing...er...something. No, wait, I remember- a fuchsia slip dress with high-heeled garden sandals that laced around the calves, with this really dark blue puff-sleeved short twill coat over it. Oh, and the other day in Central Park this woman was wheeling around a baby in THE SWEETEST OUTFIT EVER. A little ruffled green-and-yellow dress with tiny yellow sandals. It was adorable. I'm not really a baby-gusher who falls apart at the mere sight of an infant, but even my cold heart was melted a little.

CURRENT ATTIRE- Off to work- on a Sunday, no less! I'm so virtuous- at Cool Vintage Store in v. old, fitted white cashmere sweater I found in a thrift shop years ago with just one small hole in the right sleeve, black jeans, bright colored pumps, Strand bag.

I know this post was probably the longest one I've ever written, but I felt it should be, as I have to take a cue from the perennially fab Molly over at Ashcan Rantings and take a SHORT sabbatical of maybe three weeks or so without posting. You see, I've got finals coming 'round the bend, and it would really not be good for me to fail them. I'll still try and comment as much as possible on my lovely blogger pals' posts, but I just won't have time to crank out anything good for a bit. I promise to get back on track- er, as much on track as I ever am- after the hell of finals is dunzo. Before I go- shoutout to Alex Richards, one of my all-time FAVORITE bloggers who has perfected the blend of blogging about her own life and the things happening around her, and injects it all with HILARITY, to boot. She said really nice things about little old moi in a recent post. You're too kind, A.R.! Me so flattered, me love you long time.

Be back soon!
<3<3<3