Dear readers, it is widely known that love is a
battlefield, is it not? The greatly admired Pat
Benetar hit me with her best shot on Friday when she
continued coaching Karen "I Only Know One Song"
Taylor on her warbling and her paralyzing stage
fright. We will never know what Pat Benetar
whispered in Karen's ear, but I'm pretty sure it was
something along the lines of "picture your audience
in their underwear", which has never worked for me
as I become extremely distracted by everybody's icky
shoulder hair and Grandma panties. Please put your
clothes back on so I can get back to performing! No
one wants to see that!
Pat was looking great in a black tunic with three
necklaces of staggered length, hoop earrings, and a
smoking hot husband at her side. "Spider" is capable
of temporarily suspending my arachnophobia and I
cordially invite him to spin me up in his web,
pronto. I love the fact that although Pat Benetar is
middle aged and pretty far from the petite, svelte
little thing she was in her youth, she still has a
sense of style that works for her. Having said that,
if I never hear Karen's damn song again in this
lifetime, that will be fine with me.
For her second master class session, Karen was
wearing a magenta sweater with a V-neck both front
and back, which suited her coloring well enough, but
although I patiently endured her singing scenes, I
for one would like to know where the hell the
musical accompaniment was coming from. Hello!
Tinkling piano music when no one was at the piano?
Is this the same technology that allowed Amber's
song to magically appear on a store-bought karaoke
machine? Memo to the writers: we are not stupid.
Sharon won some major points with me on Friday by
showing up in an absolutely darling bias-cut
charcoal gray and off-white plaid dress with elbow
length sleeves and a deep V-neck. It looked fabulous
on her, enough so that I was able to ignore her
stupid hair. On Monday, she was shooting the shit at
the Athletic Supporter with her husband, ex-husband
and the woman who stole him from her in a bright red
crossover top with a black cami and skirt, and she'd
actually curled her stripper locks, which looked SO
much better than usual. A little wave goes a long
way, Sharon.
"No" Hope changed into a cornflower blue nightie and
coordinating dishcloth wrapped around her neck fifty
times. What is the deal with this neck stuff?! Is
she hiding a hickey given to her by her son? If
she's cold, here's a hint: put on more clothes! Why
anyone would be lolling about in a filmy nightgown
and then try to compensate by wrapping eight yards
of fabric around her neck is beyond me. Plus, what
is this crap about how much she enjoys winter? She's
blind! She can't see the pretty snow; all she knows
is, it's fucking COLD. What Victor calls "being
cozy", I call "being housebound and slowly losing
your mind".
Back at the Athletic Supporter, Phyllis had her
titian hair pulled tightly back into a reluctant
bun, and she was sporting a black and gray sweater
dress with a zig-zag pattern that I distinctly
remember my mother wearing roundabout 1979. Phyllis,
if you wore it the first time around, you don't get
to wear it again. Them's the rules. Everybody knows
this!
Amber and Jana are starting to resemble the Spice
Girls in their crazy getups at the Jitter Joint. On
Monday, Amber was rocking some silly little Baby
Spice high ponytails, which really ought not be worn
if you are over the age of say, five. And although
nobody ever admits it or deals with it, according to
the canon Amber has to be at least 30. Puhleeze.
Jana decided to go with Reverse Christmas Elf in a
red tunic with a gathered boat-neck, a huge string
of Simpsons beads, and ratty, snarled, puke-green
hair extensions. To further make the point that she
is now as sane as the day is long, she did her
eyelids in pale green eyeshadow and Cleopatra
eyeliner. Slutty Spice and Psycho Spice? Sure, why
not.
Readers, who in Genoa City really is afraid of
Virginia Woolf? Not GloHo, that's for freaking sure.
Gloria was channeling Liz Taylor's Martha in a black
turtleneck with cut-outs down the sleeves, a heavy
gold knotted necklace, bottle openers for earrings,
bright red lipstick and tight pants in a dalmatian
print, of all things. Dalmatian pants! Hi, 1984
called and Amy Grant would like a word with you.
Straight Ahead! What? So I grew up Evangelical. That
explains a lot.
Editor's note: Liza is a struggling freelance writer
who gives her talent at no cost to the Genoa City
News. If you like her work and would like to
contribute to her cause, please send a donation
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