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Fashion/Style by Liza Van Horne
July 11, 2008

Dear readers, I am sick to death of pregnancy stories in Genoa City. Is there an ordinance that at least one character on Y&R be pregnant at all times? Do the producers not realize that stay-at-home moms are up to their eyeballs in diapers and boogers and spit-up and probably would prefer NOT to be thinking about such things as they watch their favorite daytime diversion? On a personal note, this week I took a pregnancy test. Don't freak out--I have no intention of spawning, ever--but I'd missed my Monthly Mystery Moon Cycle two times in a row. So I figured that although I did not see how I could possibly have a sticky bun in the Van Horne oven because the necessary ingredients had not been blended, and although I just figured my oven's self-cleaning cycle was busted, I peed on a stick anyway. Fortunately for me the results were negative, as expected, which meant that God had not chosen me to be the instrument of another Immaculate Conception, and I was able to jubilantly inform the Liberal Atheist Boyfriend that we did not need to be making any trips to Pottery Barn Kids anytime soon.

I mention this because unlike me--who was aware that without the chicken there can be no egg--Victor Newman does not seem capable of understanding biology and appears to readily accept the idea that his Cher-impersonating drag queen girlfriend is carrying his love child. I guess it's easy enough to forget about having had two vasectomies! If you ask me, Victor is the one who's pregnant. Have you seen the gut on that guy lately? When he heaves his ancient ass onto the Ponderosa living room couch, he looks like he's got a beach ball under his shirt! And although his boxing scenes have always been hilarious, this recent one was just pathetic and embarrassing. In his usual Black Tank Top of YouGotThat, his bloated paunch was plain as day--and with all that sweating and grunting and puffing I thought he was going to drop dead any second. Yeah, that's really hot, Y&R. Really attractive.

But let's not waste any more time on silly old Victor and his delusions of superhuman sperm potency. We've simply GOT to talk about the green lampshade Phyllis was wearing at the office. It was strapless, tight across her underarms, and had a single big wide pleat in the center. I mean, I guess one could call it a "dress" but it looked like something Summer made for her out of folded-up green construction paper. And yet it's Phyllis--not Sharon, not Lauren--PHYLLIS--who has her own "Ask Phyllis" segment on the actual Useless Style website, where she is referred to as a "fashion" "expert". Um, WHAT?! Since when?! The only thing Phyllis is an expert at is giggling, wearing halter-necked dresses, and saying "definitely" fifty times a day.

Heather knocked my socks off on Monday when she arrived at the Athletic Supporter in a darling taupe short-sleeved suit with a sort of 1940s feel. It was beautifully tailored, had an interesting portrait-like neckline, and fit her perfectly. But Heather must have spent so much time focusing on her adorable suit that she completely forgot to do her hair! It looked like she put her hair up in a high ponytail to take a shower and then forgot about it. It resembled flattened roadkill, if you ask me. Oh dear, Heather!

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Liza's coffee courtesy of
Speeder & Earls, Burlington, VT.