Thursday, October 19, 2006


This week is doing a really good job of chipping away at my soul.

And as if my urban neurosis couldn't get any worse, look what the New York Times had in store for me.

Look, I love Halloween like any red-blooded 20-something girl. But allow me to caution my ho-ish peers on the inaccuracy of this quote:

It's a night when even a nice girl can dress like a dominatrix and still hold her head up the next morning,' said Linda M. Scott, the author of 'Fresh Lipstick: Redressing Fashion and Feminism' (Palgrave Macmillan) and a professor of marketing at the University of Oxford in England.

LIES! Although my costumes through the years have been disappointingly wholesome (an elephant, a pirate, a witch, pretty standard...) I'm confident that today's facebook snapshots are tomorrow's political campaign destroyers. Sexual empowerment is fantastic, but does it really take a 100 clams worth of pleather from Ricky's? Does everyone need photographic evidence of their sexual exploits? What happened to those awesome baked potato aluminum foil costumes?

Maybe when I'm crusty, wrinkly and writhered, I will want a photo of my youthful flesh to prove to my grandchildren that I wasn't always nursing home material. But for the time being, I will assemble my highly unflattering Ms. Pacman costume with pride. Does anyone know the best way to construct a large yellow orb that will cover me from neck to knees?

Recently Gawked: Anderson Cooper's "hotness" demystified.