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Fashion/Style by Liza Van Horne
August 12, 2008

I am SO annoyed, dear readers - so very, very annoyed, and I'll tell you why in a minute. No, the source of my intense irritation is not Nikki's sad, scraggly hair pulled back in yet another cheap plastic clip - though that certainly doesn't make me happy. I mean, have blow-outs been eliminated from the budget or what? Why is Nikki allowed to mill around the Ponderosa Outhouse staring into a glass of liquid temptation with her hair looking unwashed, un-brushed, coarse, and pulled tightly back off her face? She has the wherewithal to don multiple strands of tiny, silvery freshwater pearls but she can't remember to use conditioner? Who bothers to wear jewelry around the house if you're going to leave your hair all unkempt like that? Talk about putting a silk purse on a sow's ear.

But that's not the reason I'm feeling rage-y. Nor is the huge white lattice collar on Victoria's Little Lord Fauntleroy blouse yesterday when she stormed over to Newman Towers to shriek at Adam and attempt a pious bitch-slap. I say "attempt" because readers, that was some hilarious shit right there. She hauled off, made a low grunting sound like "Uhnngh" and then GRAZED THE SIDE OF HIS HAIR. There was no satisfying "thwack!", no connection between her palm and any part of his skin at all. Oh my God. She's so lame!

And I love how she, Nick and Nikki are actively competing in the 2008 Summer Blame Olympics "MY Fault!" event. Jeez oh Pete, just get over yourselves already. By the way, Vicki, you might think twice before dredging up that maudlin shit about how Victor "never left your side" whilst you were slumbering on your Silky Golden Pillowcase, because Victor was the reason you got bonked on the head with a chunk of Styrofoam in the first place, though he'll never admit it or say he's sorry.

Maddening as all this is, it's still not the main source of my teeth-grinding consternation. I'm getting to that.

And although it's incredibly predictable - not to mention DULL - that Victor would encounter a wee Hispanic nina who reminds him of the magical love-fetus he never knew, and despite the fact that I find it incredibly creepy that any father would allow his little daughter to cozy up to anonymous drunks from God-knows-where - and even taking into consideration how ridiculous Victor looks in his Relaxed Fit faded jeans and black baseball cap pulled down over his eyes - none of these things are what's driven me around the bend.

Okay. I'll tell you what it is.

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