Angry Angrier Angriest

Funny how anger manifests itself in different personalities. Some people raise their voices. Others drive off and disappear for a while. And some people hit things. According to a recent poll, my expression of anger is more towards the passive aggressive end of the spectrum. Occasional bursts of anger with no obvious manifestation and/or screaming into a pillow while imagining violent scenarios followed by bouts of guilt.

Okay, just kidding. There was no poll. I'm not about to go ask people around me what they thought of me. That's silly. But if you have time, when I get mad, do I

a. stay silent
b. start screaming
c. collapse after my neck veins pop

Sometimes all it takes is one little thing in your day that goes wrong and suddenly everything is making you mad. Not only that but you start remembering everything else in your life that has angered you. It could start with you stubbing your toe on a chair leg and then bam! You're a fiery ball of remembered wrongs and resentments.

Just writing about this is giving me a mental image of past incidents. Remember Lady Boss with the tight shoes? You know what that megabitch said to me when I was finally leaving that job? When I finally found the courage to dig myself out of that five year rut I was in? She said, "ooh, scary." I wish I had said something. Something like, "Betch, you don't know my life! Don't be all up in my bizness!"

Or that time at a meeting when we had this little potluck and the woman behind me made some comment about how little I was putting on my plate. I didn't get mad instantly but the more I thought about it, the more it niggled in my head and made my blood start to boil. I didn't say anything to her when she was piling her plate high, without caring about the other people in line behind her.

OH MY GOD. IT'S ALL COMING BACK. I'M GETTING A JUVENILE URGE TO VANDALIZE SOMETHING!





There. Okay. Seriously though, with my fear of confrontation and a tone of voice that pretty much stays the same no matter what I'm feeling, I really should figure out a way to release my anger in a healthy manner. Because most of the time, the outside might look something like this:





But the inside is more like this:

TV By Accident

My parents used to call me their very own TV bug. I used to have a cocktail of TV programs I looked forward to after getting home from school. You know, the usual kids' stuff. A Tagalog soap opera or two, a little Doctor Who, then that one with the chimp as the lead, some Mr. Belvedere, a sprinkling of Captain Pugwash, maybe Duckula and Danger Mouse.

I admit I am still a bit of a TV bug to this day. Why, earlier this week I accidentally misplaced the remote control and could not change channels once MTV's The City came on. I mean, I don't really watch that. It was the remote control's fault. Just like those times I simply forgot to switch programs during Real Housewives of New York City. All accidental. On a side note, those housewives are the best at instigating arguments at the most inappropriate occasions. I know it's TV but, really? Who thinks, ooh, party on a yacht, perfect time to tell that girl she's a ho-bag?

Going back to The City...





That Olivia, she is something else. Walking around the Elle Magazine office with her inner thighs that have never once rubbed together, twirling her shiny hair, telling people that their conversation is over. She was assigned to interview Whitney and she never showed up. Instead, she blamed it on miscommunication. My favorite bit is Kelly Cutrone, Whitney's boss saying she'll attack Olivia like a shark under a glass bottom boat! It's Erin I'm most afraid for. She works closely with Olivia and their desks are just a few feet away. She might lose it. Olivia should watch her back. One of these days this might happen to Erin:






My other favorite bit is when Joe Zee and Erin fly to LA to shoot Fergie for Elle's cover. While Joe shows Fergie all the clothes for the shoot, Fergie offers some words of wisdom. She says, "you can't go wrong with some high-waisted shorts."

High-waisted shorts. Okay, maybe for a select number of women it might not look so bad but, in general, well, let's see. It has the potential to give a woman a severe case of came toe. It gives you an extra large pooch even if you don't have one. Your abdomen will look like it can fit about two more digestive systems in it, plus a toaster oven. So, No. Just say no to high-waisted shorts.

The Ghosties

I'm currently reading an Ellen Datlow-edited anthology called The Dark. It's a collection of ghost stories. Like I said, they're just stories. No reason to sleep with one eye open. No need to toss the book away from you like it's possessed. And those nighttime sounds are just that, nothing more.

Except, there's one story that really got under my skin. I can't get Mike O' Driscoll's The Silence of the Falling Stars out of my head. It creeps and it's creepy. Come to think of it, he also wrote this piece called 13 O'Clock , with that little boy asking his dad what happens at 13 o'clock. That scared me too.

Speaking of ghost stories. Catholic schools are the worst. Where I went it was all ghost nuns who float, religious statues that move, ectoplasmic students whose low grades drove them to their deaths. Supposedly the school was a hospital during olden times and a lot of patients died. Then it became a very crowded cemetery and finally, a school. Basically it's Cadaver College for Young Girls.

Mirror, Mirror

Have you ever been frightened by your own reflection? A quick glimpse of your mug from a plate glass window or a dim but macabre reflection from a stainless steel bowl that made you want to run away? Oh well, some days, it just can't be helped. And some surfaces are not good for checking yourself out anyway.

I just had a haircut earlier this week. I've always wanted to try a full fringe but right at the crucial moment I find a way to talk myself out of it. I don't want to look like Ugly Betty or what if I get tired of those bangs right away or what if I sleepwalk and get a hold of a pair of scissors and hack at them. So many excuses. But finally, I tried it. I now have big, fat bangs and I think I like them.

You know how haircuts take a few days to settle and really kind of grow into your head? I'm at that stage now and I must say seeing my reflection in the morning is kind of rough. My bangs want to revert back to their old selves and they creep onto the sides of my forehead. There's a kind of mushroom cloud on my crown and the ends of my hair are doing their own thing. Something you might see at a wacky wig shop. Kind of like this:



And if you did more browsing at said wig shop, you might find this next to it:




Which, would look right at home beside this:




And in that wig shop, the most expensive one, the crowning glory, the pinnacle of hair realness, the one on a pedestal at the center, is THIS:

Nuts

With Mother's Day not so far behind us, take a moment to ask yourself, is your mother just the tiniest bit insane? It seems like moms have a special kind of craziness, a protective instinct that borders on looniness and also a problem-solving ability that can be brilliant and yet slightly mad. Not that insanity is exclusive to mothers. We all have some kind of crazy within us, right? It's not just me. Yes? No? Anyone?

When my older sister and I were kids we would fight about all sorts of things, Barbies and coloring books and hairclips. Yes, hairclips. I forget what we were fighting about but one time, my Mom had enough. She pulled the two of us into our bedroom and told us to box it out. With our fists. It was genius. My sister and I just stared at her and shut up.

My older sister is now a mom herself and she has this glare that she does. A kind of hyper-widening of the eyes that comes with a shower of invisible mini daggers tipped with don't-shame-me poison that can scare my nephew and any children within a ten-mile radius, into good behavior.

Quite effective.

And then there's that mom who lost her husband then took her kids to her tyrannical parents. And she told them she was going to hide them for a little while just until she finds a husband to support them. But actually she was putting poison on the donuts which they ate for breakfast everyday.

Oh, wait, that's Flowers in the Attic. Sorry.

Posing 10&#!

This post is brought to you by the Starlets' School of Posing, now an affiliate of Phoenix University, classes have started but students still accepted. This is a transcript of the online lecture of Professor Mary Lara "Billy" Menounos Hart-Spencer.

"As we peruse the photographs from the Metropolitan Museum's Costume Institute Benefit I would like to bring to your attention three poses that you must commit to memory.

First let us discuss this young lady, who calls herself Dree Hemingway. Here is her photograph:



As you can see, her reverse tuxedo attire requires her to pose only with her back facing the camera and her head turned. But ladies, Ms. Hemingway goes above and beyond by not only turning her head but also leaning backwards from the waist. This is one flexible girl. It will do you well to learn from her. Ay! Uh-oh! Something is happening...





Dagblammit! She broke in half. She just clean broke in half. Like a pencil.


Let us move on. This next one is very difficult to master. This pose is exemplified by Lauren Sto. Domingo. Who is wearing this sparkly convention. Ay! Forgive me. It is my accent. I am part Greek, part TV host. I meant to say confection. Sparkly confection.




Ladies, what better way to show off the hard work you have put in from your three-week cleansing diet than to have pictures taken only in sideview? Paper-thin, ladies, that is the keyword. You want to demonstrate to your public that the normal proportions of neck circumference multiplied by two equals waist measurement does not and never will apply to you because you, are something else! Your waist is only 3 inches larger than your neck!


Finally, we are honored to have Ms. Renee Zellweger as our final example in this lecture. I warn you, ladies, her pose is expert level. Many try but few succeed.



Ms. Zellweger has done what true masters have. Before posing she asked herself, What's my motivation here? Ladies, who can tell me the answer?

No, no, young lady. It is not, inflict bodily harm on hairstylist who gave me Tatum O' Neal a la Paper Moon haircut. For shame. Be quiet.

Anyone else?

Yes! Yes! Pain is her motivation. Every loss of breath, every jab from the boning of her gown, every blood vessel constricted by the fabric is evident in her pose! But see, she is trying to smile. Oh! How I admire her. I want to point this out, yes, see all the cords in her neck, the shoulder muscles, the biceps? It is popping and locking like the electric boogaloo.

Masterful. That is all I can say."

High In Fat Low In Fat

There's nothing like a bad mood brought on by hunger. You're miserable. Your stomach is making loud, gurgling noises that you suspect everyone around you can hear. Anything anyone says irritates you. It's a bad place to be in. A dark, bad place.

For a few years I had an on and off thing with carbs. It started when I had just moved to Seattle. I thought I was eating the same amount I always have but, you know, the little lies we tell ourselves. The truth came to me in the form of a really bad picture. My upper arm was on the foreground of said picture and it looked like a sausage about to burst. Hush, child, I kid you not. It was a fat lardy sausage. If you pierced it with a fork sausage-y grease would have come out.

And so I went on the South Beach diet which helped me lose the weight. It also gave me the most vivid dreams of steaming white rice, pasta and crusty bread and lining up for buffets at posh hotels. And also short spells of dizziness and extended spells of crankiness. These are the exact same effects the Master Cleanse had on me but a hundred times worse. Yeah, thanks a lot Beyonce, for yammering about Master cleanse this and master cleanse that and bootylicious this and jelly that.

I know certain people who have gone on this GM diet. You're supposed to eat only one or two specific foods each day of the week. I don't know about that. I'm not sure I find Wednesdays with bananas and milk and Fridays with beef and tomato reliable. But hey, they said it worked.

Before I end this, I would just like to send a message to my metabolism. Hey, you dick, do you need a compass? A map? When I'm making an effort to get fit I don't really need to lose any weight on my neck or wrists or ankles. Come on, a little help around the thighs, please! Oh, what did you say? It's not your fault I eat like a trucker on the weekends? And that I have never said no to bacon?

Huh. Okay, fair enough.

Now it's time for some diet advice from my favorite expert, Marjorie Dawes:

You Met My Mama In A Barroom

I watched Paper Moon on my instant Netflix the other day. Just a little back story, I borrowed that dvd back when I still rented movies from an actual video store. Yeah, the one with actual dvd cases on display and actual clerks who might judge you based on your rentals. But then you only had a few days before you needed to return the movie or else get fined. So I didn't get to watch it then. But, I did this time and I loved it.

Tatum O' Neal plays Addie Loggins, the most ornery nine year old to ever exist, with a smoking habit, to boot. Her mother just died and she has no one to care for her save an aunt who lives elsewhere. She doesn't know who her father is either. You'll tell me if I'm starting to sound like the synopsis on a Netflix dvd sleeve, right?

Anyway, my favorite scene is where Ryan O' Neal who plays Moses, a con man, agrees to give Addie a ride to her aunt's place and they stop for a something to eat. And this is when Addie shows Moze that she's not just some helpless, bereft little girl. She demands two hundred dollars which Moses got by using Addie's bereavement as a bargaining tool. And she demands to know if Moses is her father, as they have the same jaw and because he probably met her mother in a barroom.

And then there's that touching moment when Addie goes to the bathroom and looks at a picture of her mother. She looks at herself in the mirror and mimics her pose and puts on some of her old perfume. Tatum O' Neal was amazing.

A round of applause for child actors!