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Fashion/Style
by
Liza Van Horne
August 19, 2008
Dear readers, I must confess that I am finding it
difficult to type this Tuesday edition of Scratching
the Surface from my current location - which would
be slumped in the bathroom, hovering over the toilet
and intermittently vomiting. Loudly, and with great
feeling.
Listen, I actually like Kevin and Jana more often
than not, even when they're doing stupid stuff like
consulting Ouija boards. I expected their wedding to
be a little kooky - that's fine. I can handle a
phony ashram that looks like a closeout at CostCo's
World Market. I can chuckle gently and
non-judgmentally at the hodgepodge of Japanese
lanterns, Indian Bindi dots, electric Christmas
lights, and a lumpy futon in the bridal suite. Hell,
I even find it amusing rather than maddening that a
place so full of vegan pomposity would use animal
antlers as decorations - but maybe they were special
shaman-blessed antlers, or some kind of karmic TV
antennae for your soul - what do I know about it?
What I do know, though, is that it's incredibly,
appallingly tacky to use a friend's wedding as an
excuse to play your little one-upping games and
further your disgusting egocentric agenda by
attacking your best friend's ex husband with your
tongue and wrestling him down onto the Astroturf for
some pointless nookie - just to prove that you can.
Just to get back at someone for having a drunken
one-night-stand with the man you'd dumped - a man
who owed you exactly nothing. Because that's
precisely the kind of vapid, self-absorbed little
slut you are, COLLEEN. And that, dear readers, is
the cause of my nausea.
But I am NOT going to let that repulsive little
kewpie doll ruin the wedding for me. No sir, I am
not. I would rather focus on the fact that everybody
ate hash brownies and got stoned out of their
gourds, which resulted in Gloria - resplendent in a
dark pink caftan embellished with gold embroidery -
wafting around the courtyard as if on her own
personal Magical Mystery Tour, winking her Third Eye
at anyone within spitting distance. Porniel and
Amber both seemed pretty dazed and confused too.
While rolling around on a pile of pillows, they
exchanged giggly doe-eyes and very nearly kissed.
But then the Slutty Fetus herself showed up and
pissed all over their parade. Have I mentioned how
much I loathe Colleen? I have no respect for girls
who make it All About Them and have to frantically
validate their limited sexual allure by always
trying to hog all the attention in the cheapest of
ways.
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