i only wear white when it rains

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Archive for January 2011

black swan: the movie (not your cousin)

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Forget that I'm clearly schizophrenic. My plastic surgery will give you nightmares.

For those of you excited about my review of Darren Aronofsky’s critically acclaimed, award winning “Black Swan,” need I remind you that writing something of value and helpfulness would go against the whole spirit of this blog. Plus, it might imply that I possess a skill with the potential for gainful employment. And really. None of us want that.

So I’ll just point out a couple observations in case you’re one of the three people left who hasn’t yet seen this thriller or is waiting for it to come out on NetFlix:

  • I was shocked by the casting of Mickey Rourke as Natalie Portman’s mother. Her performance, I mean blepharoplasty, was chilling.
  • If you’re having a hard time convincing a man to accompany you because he heard the word “ballet,” you need only mention an explicit girl-on-girl scene between Natalie Portman and Mila Kunis.
  • Try not to see the film at Muvico Baywalk. In addition to the Biggie Smalls lookalike three rows back narrating the masturbation scene with “Oh yeah” and “Touch it,” you’re at risk for having to wake up the homeless man in the front row because he was snoring.
  • If you do wake up the man smelling of pickle jars in the front row, please do not touch him unless you want him to threaten to call the police because you’re “assaulting him.” Also, it’s probably in your best interest to ignore that his pants are down.

    Baby millipede on board. Amazingly, I'm not gay.

  • If you mistakenly thought Natalie Portman’s baby daddy was some bearded hippie musician from the Village named Devendra or something equally absurd, you’re so 2008. The guy who knocked her up in real life is Benjamin Millepied. He portrayed her Swan Lake co-star and is a principal dancer at New York City Ballet. Despite his last name suggesting that he is a thousand-legged arthropod, this guy is yummy.
  • It is confounding that Portman could ovulate without eating so much as a Saltine the entire length of filming. But even more confusing? That a principal dancer at New York City Ballet is sleeping with a woman. Go figure.

They did not procreate. There is a God.

Written by I only Wear White When it Rains

January 28, 2011 at 11:29 am

one of life’s bigger mysteries

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Toilet carpeting. Please explain.

Written by I only Wear White When it Rains

January 25, 2011 at 9:31 am


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Barbie finally agrees to anal sex with Ken. WTF Mattel? This new product launch is a bit inappropriate for your target audience of 4 to 8 year olds.

Written by I only Wear White When it Rains

January 25, 2011 at 9:31 am

strong work, mattel

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Will love trying to explain this to my 6 year old.

Written by I only Wear White When it Rains

January 25, 2011 at 9:18 am

throwbacks and sour milk

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i’m going to need a coaster and an amnestic agent

I never met Banana Flowers, my friend Singamajig’s recent fling. But as someone who wants to ensure she never sees Banana again (unless I need book fodder), I did look into him on paper. To protect his and her anonymity, I will not get into the shaved nuts and bolts. But suffice it to say, Singa can do better if she put on 50 pounds, ignored her roots for a month and developed a severe case of incurable foot odor.

Singa is making her way out of a marriage and venturing into a world of throwbacks. Used, discarded return items taking up shelf space waiting to convince a newly detached (can you tell I despise the word “single”) woman to disregard what he looks like on paper because he remembers her favorite song or holds her hand during sex. At what point do we toss out the paper?

My friend Patty Melt looks like she hails from Pixie Hollow. She’s beautiful and delicate like a fairy, and reminds me of a Cadbury egg. Outfitted with a hard shell that warns you she’ll scratch your eyes out if you cross her, but all soft and gooey inside. Two children and five years of marriage to an arrogant, unfaithful re-introducer (you know – the guy who introduces himself to you even though you’ve met him 12 times before because he wants you to feel irrelevant) later, Patty Melt has moved on to someone I hope will make up for the lost years of love and light in her life. My concern is that her new love is not new, but rather “recycled.” An old boyfriend whose timing just wasn’t right. Is he her soulmate or sour milk?

Enter Lucas Lightning. Way cheaper than my therapist, although somewhat less qualified. His theory of spoilt milk maintains that if you take the milk out of the refrigerator and it smells sour, you don’t put it back. If I want to discredit him, I will point out another couple I know who seemed to wait long enough to reinvent and let their spoilt milk turn into delicious cottage cheese. Their relationship was less milk carton and more chrysalis. But when you recycle, how do you know whether your head is going to snap back if you take a whiff? I guess some of us take the chance and get sick. Some get a delicious side to their salad. And others? Maybe they put the milk back and wait for garbage day because they know they need to throw it out, but don’t want their trash to stink.

Lucky for me, I don’t drink milk unless Starbucks froths it into my latte.

When Patty Melt and I attended the Bucs Throwback game this season, we tore our closets apart looking for retro jerseys or Tees to no avail. I can only hope that was symbolic. I usually don’t consider myself a throwback. I was the one who said “uncle.” And even though I struggle with whether trading in the monogrammed family Christmas footies was strong or weak, I’m not sure I could know that answer for many years to come.

It seems though that for now, if I start feeling like a throwback, sitting in a Target return bin next to wrong-sized screwdrivers and broken dollhouses, I hope that I’ll still have the confidence not to BananaFlower. Or recycle. I think I can still order the Christmas footies too. I’ll just have to monogram: Copper Monkey. Patty Melt. Lucas Lightning. Scrabble. Penelope. Singa…

Written by I only Wear White When it Rains

January 24, 2011 at 9:56 am

Posted in heady

relationship revelations

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“It’s not catastrophes, murders, deaths and diseases that age and kill us; it’s the way people look and laugh, and run up the steps of omnibuses.” Virginia Woolf

Some of us totally decompensate in times of crisis. Others rally.

Some relationships end because of tragic circumstances. Betrayal. Infidelity. Mental illness. Substance abuse.

Others dissolve because of leaving crumbs in bed or humming the theme song to “Greatest American Hero.” My mom recently reminded me of a scene in the “Bridges Over Madison County” where the protagonist Francesca, after enduring years of her husband’s annoying screen door slamming habit, sees her photographer beau’s silent door close as a sign that he appreciates and respects her. They are soulmates. I don’t remember this scene because I wouldn’t watch that movie if you paid me in Jimmy Choos. But I can appreciate Francesca’s moment of clarity.

After witnessing relationships unravel around me at an alarming rate, it seems that more often than not it’s the screen door that has us calling it quits. It’s a symbolic gesture that means, “I’m not sure I care about you enough to respect your wishes, let alone wipe your ass down the line should you get rectal cancer.”

I have a dear friend who has been in the throws of a passionate, fast-paced love affair for the past six weeks or so. She was shocked to hear her lover express some concerns about moving forward. His explanation?

“When you returned to bed the other night with a banana…you didn’t ask me if I wanted a bite.”

For the record, I wish it was my torrid love affair to which I was referring. I laughed for 10 minutes straight after hearing her post-mortem, so I cannot imagine how much more amusing it would be to witness him actually try to explain that not offering up what seems like a pretty unshareable fruit would serve as his dealbreaker. Even after my friend, um, “shared” an unprecedented amount of herself.

I clearly have no idea what comprises a successful romantic relationship. But I’m beginning to think it probably lies somewhere in between the banana and the betrayal.

Written by I only Wear White When it Rains

January 21, 2011 at 2:04 pm

Posted in heady

what’s annoying me this week (and why i may need midol pms)

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  • The people who swear off caffeine because they are “naturally hyper,” but then later admit to being on Ritalin and amphetamine-like appetite suppressants.
  • Jeggings
  • Anyone replying to a text with “Teehee.”
  • The Starbucks customers who after 10 minutes of waiting in line, say, “Ummmmmm…” followed by a long pause when asked for their order.
  • My mother’s electrician who made me feel like an imbecile for not knowing the difference between xenon and halogen undercabinet lighting, but then proceeded to walk into her sliding glass door.
  • Laser hair removal machines who discriminate against fair-haired women, cursing me with blonde fur forever while my black-haired, ape-like friends become hairless.
  • The mall kiosk people who commit borderline assault with flat irons, fairy wings and dead sea salts when I just want to cash in my Gymbucks. Can’t I file a restraining order?
  • My ass in these yoga pants.
  • Anyone who is cold. All. The. Time.
  • Sun Chips bags. Apparently being “100% compostable” means they are loud enough to be 100% annoying.
  • Use of the word “Jeggings.”

Written by I only Wear White When it Rains

January 20, 2011 at 11:44 am

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