Archive - May 2012
How Do I Loathe Thee, Gwyneth?
She’s not just a mediocre actress. No. She’s a working mom, author, blogger, and entrepreneur. She’s exceedingly busy. Much more so than you. Just ask her. Know what? You don’t have to. She’ll gladly offer the information.
(Also, fuck you Microsoft Word, for knowing that I misspelled “Gwyneth.” Why the fuck is that in your dictionary? This is the same program that doesn’t know the letter “q” by itself isn’t a fucking word.)
Anyway, uber-human Gwyneth runs herself a blog called GOOP. No, I didn’t misspell that. That’s the name. It probably stands for something. I don’t know. And I’ll be damned if I’m gonna bother looking to see. GOOP is Gwyneth’s mouthpiece to the world. The world that so desperately needs her help. Because we’re all morons who can’t seem to figure out how lead her life. Her advice all boils down to: “Be rich. If you can, be rich and famous.” Just get fucked, will you Gwyneth? Don’t get me wrong. I got nothing against rich people. I hope to be one someday. But I can’t fucking stand rich people trying to relate to us average Joe’s. No, not relate. Help. But not by, you know, giving us money, or letting us borrow her house in London. Help us by being a condescending bitch.
Well, if being a condescending bitch is being helpful, there are some girls from high school to whom I owe a big apology. You weren’t laughing derisively at me when I asked you out, you were trying to make me a better person. So sweet….
Here’s some of the better little tidbits from her awful, awful website:
“So, one Sunday night I was sitting around at home when I got an email from my friend, the magnificent chef, José Andrés (he’s so famous I had to Google him); he was in London and in the mood to cook.” Oh sure. Happens to me all the time that one of my world-famous chef friends wants to swing by my London home and cook me dinner.
“Next week, when it’s back to the grind with work and the daily school run.” The grind with work? Shut the fuck up. You stand where someone tells you to stand and say words that someone else wrote. The grind? I used to dismantle cars in a junk yard 10 hours a day, but poor Gwynnie has to get up every morning for sometimes 4 or 5 months straight and let other people dress her and put on her makeup and cater to her very whim. Yeah, thank God I dodged that bullet.
“As a home cook, one of the best things I’ve ever done was to build a wood burning oven in the back yard. I use this thing all the time,” Ahh, that’s what I’ve been missing. And here I’ve been wasting my money on stupid shit like keeping my 13-year-old Nissan running. My bad. Thanks for the tip, your highness.
Gwyneth’s thoughts on kids school lunches:
“When I was fifteen I lived in a little Spanish city called Talavera de la Reina with the Lazaros,” See, that’s where I fucked up. That’s my bad, Gwyneth. When I was fifteen, I was working. I got hand it to you, your way DOES sound a lot better.
“One of my dearest friends in the world is an Italian gentleman by the name of Giancarlo Giametti. He is the longtime friend and partner of fashion legend Valentino Garavani, another dear friend. Giancarlo lives in incredible style – I’ve never seen the likes of it. GG, as he is affectionately known, has an amazingly talented chef who makes rustic Italian food to die for. I asked Pablo to let us into his kitchen to share my three favorite dishes, the ones that can get me over there on the darkest and rainiest of London nights.” I’m gonna let you read that again. This is the woman who thinks she’s qualified to give you advice. A woman that won’t leave her London mansion when it’s raining unless it’s for world-class cuisine. You really are a woman of the people, Gwyenth.
“I became friends with Randy Poster when we did The Royal Tenenbaums together—I acted, he did the music supervision. Randy has parlayed his talent for discovering and appreciating music into a real job!” A real job! Oh the horror! If she’s this condescending to a friend, you know she’s a real treat to normal people she just met.
“Just a few of the gorgeous jewels I saw. I need a sugardaddy.” Yeah, it’s too bad you can’t afford the jewelry you saw on your trip to Venice. If only you were a millionaire. Or were married to a millionaire. Or were the offspring of millionaires. Or were Steven Speilberg’s God-child. Oh wait, you are all of those things. Isn’t it cute when they try to relate? (Side note: In another entry, she actually uses the phrase “What up, Gamers?” Because she’s a hardcore gamer, you see.)
“I just took a very impromptu first trip to Marrakesh, Morocco where I fell in love with the place, it's magic.” Oh man, I’m surprised we didn’t run into each other. I’m always hopping on a plane and jetting over to Morocco.
“This week I get the answer to a question that I often ponder: In our world of incredible chefs and restaurants, where have those that are most impressive been the most impressed?” OUR world? Sweetie, my world is Red Robin or Kanki Japanese Steak House on a special occasion.
“Barcelona is a city full of wonder and beauty. I first went when I was 19 years old, with some train money and a backpack and not much else.” Oh fuck you. Your parents were rich and famous. Of course, by “train money,” she probably means enough money to buy a train.
“When I was ten years old, my father and I took a trip to Paris, leaving my younger brother and mother in London where she was filming a movie.” See?
“As much as I am a product of many places, I am a New York girl through and through. I did most of my growing up in this glorious city and it is a part of who I am. I was an uptown kid and a downtown grownup and this duality helps define me.” Ah yes, from the rich part of town, and the other rich part of town...
“I don't normally address false reporting in the media but this week I would like to clarify something. Last week, The New York Times inferred (Editor’s note: no they didn’t you twit. Either they implied it, or you inferred it.) that I used a ghostwriter on my cookbook, My Father's Daughter, which to me means someone else wrote the recipes and the text.” (Not just to you deary, that’s precisely what the word “ghostwriter” means.)
“It’s always nerve-wracking to pick a dress for The Oscars,” Aww, poor Gwynnie.
From her entry, A Gift Guide for the Guys
ORLEY - The ORLEY design team is comprised of brothers Alex and Matthew Orley, and Samantha Florence; together they’ve created modernized designs for classic silhouettes. Wild Honey Crewneck in Dark Crimson/Blush, $795 (It’s a sweater. It’s $800 fucking dollars.)
Malin + Goetz Cannabis Candle - Don’t worry, you won’t get arrested. This 100% legal candle is my go-to gift for those special people in my life. What makes them special? If you get a candle, you’ll know you are. $52 (Aw yes, get your man a $52 candle. I promise he’ll be SO thankful and will absolutely not say, “$52?! For a fucking candle!?”)
Bottega Veneta Leather Belt - Everyone needs a simple and classic leather belt – and Bottega Veneta’s black woven leather piece does the trick. $420 (I didn’t look real close, but I’m gonna assume a $400 belt does more than hold my pants up. In fact, for $400, it had better fucking inspire women to pull my pants down.)
Budnitz Bicycles - Built to last a lifetime and created in limited quantities, Paul Budnitz created his line of bikes to jump from A to B while looking good. $5,600 (Hey, you know what else you can buy for $5600? My first two cars! 4 times over!)
Diptyque Baies Three Wick Candle - Absolutely heavenly. And everlasting… $275 (So you can re-live the magic of that time when he threw the $52 candle at your cat.)
The Row iPad Case - Two words: classic elegance. $1900 (Hey, you know that thing you paid $400 for? Here’s a $2000 case for it! What? Well, yeah, I suppose I could have bought you 5 more iPads for the same money, but look! Classic elegance!)
“A Day In The Life”
This little entry is bits and pieces from the busy days of working moms, including Gwyneth of course. It bears pointing out that all of the “working moms” quoted in the article are millionaires. So I’m sure they don’t have any help getting through their days, you know, just like the middle-class working moms.
I won’t bore you with all the details of poor Gwynnie's hectic life, save a few. Plus, of course, she picked the busiest day she could and not just an average day. Because then she wouldn’t sound as important. Read it if you want, but first, write down what you did on the busiest day you can remember. Then compare it to poor Gwyneth’s nightmarish existence, but remember, when her manic day is over, she’s still rich as fuck. Aren’t we all?
Here we go:
She wakes up the “crack of whatever.” (Who doesn’t?) Finds her coffee pot not functioning, its readout says “ERROR 8.” What the fuck? My coffee pot readout says the time. It’s not physically capable of saying anything else. Jesus, even this chic’s coffee pot makes me want to throw stuff at her.
Anyway, then she gets he kids to school. Surprisingly, they are not fully autonomous and require some assistance.
She goes to the gym.
She goes to work.
Kids go to afterschool activities. (Note, she does not take them herself, and there’s no mention of how they actually get there.)
She “works” a bit longer.
The kids get home.
They have dinner.
They take a bath.
They go to bed. – OK, here’s something, she goes into “Mosey's room for a story, foot massage and quiet time.” A foot massage? Knowing Gwynnie, she’s on the receiving end of this.
She goes out drinking with the girls, gets home at 11:29 and complains about being exhausted.
When you boil it all down, Gwyneth’s suggestion for a better life is pretty much be as rich as possible. In fact, I’m sure she’s quite confused as to why everyone didn’t think to be born with a silver spoon in their mouths. Poor planning on our part, I guess.
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