Pretty pansies

Tiers of delicate bitsy-dot chiffon tulle flutter like wispy cotton-candy nothingness next to Ivanka in an ugly fucking dress

8-Day #ChristmasCountdown

Puddin' it out there

1. I live in a condo development named Crystal Estates, but one of our streets is named after a pudding.

2. Pudding was, is and will always be a funny word.
3. Pudding.
4. It’s also scrumptious.
5. Which, of course, is also a funny word.
6. Scrumptious.
7. Scrumptious, scrumptious, scrumptious.
8. Even though it’s probably made with ground-up horse hooves.
9. Horsehooves sounds like the last name of a wealthy Edwardian family dynasty.
10. Scrumptious Pudding sounds like a low-rent drag name.
11. Like when you want to hire a drag queen for your toddler’s birthday party but you only have eleven dollars.
12. But you could definitely serve your child’s young guests pudding.
13. Because it’s affordable.
14. And—lest we forget—scrumptious.
15. And it would help tie everything together thematically when Scrumptious Pudding shows up in her Walgreens rouge and Butterick shift.
16. Like when you get matching Barbie-knockoff plates and balloons at Party City.
17. What would they name Knockoff Barbie?
18. Barlie? Barvy? Blarbie? Barcie?
19. Someone should look into this.
20. Certainly not Horsehooves, that’s for sure.
21. So I ran my three miles with nary a problem this morning.
22. Nary.
23. Nary Horsehooves.
24. Nary von Horsehooves IV.
25. Esq.
26. (note to self: check into trademarking this name for Blarvie’s rich, questionably heterosexual boyfriend)
27. Anyway.
28. Nothing hurts.
29. I also don’t seem to have a terrible loss of endurance wrought by my hiatus.
30. Wrought.
31. Crystal Wrought.
32. (note to self: name for Brarpie’s preternaturally perky younger sister?)
33. (nah)
34. Wrought Na?
35. (Varmie’s nonspecifically pan-Asian sidekick?)
36. (possibry)
37. Anyway.
38. Again.
39. It was—and still is, if you’re on the fence about a morning run—beyond-perfect running weather.
40. So this morning’s run was quite enjoyable.
41. I haven’t checked my pace yet though.
42. Please hold ...
43.
44.
45.
46.
47. It’s still downloading from my watch to my app ...
48.
49.
50.
51.
52. 11:45.
53. Pretty much on par with what I’d expected.
54. Still not the 8:36 pace from my 8K personal best a decade-plus ago.
55. But still.
56. While running with Rob and Scott is always a pleasure, I do not mind running alone at all.
57. Aside from the fact that I’m stuck with nothing to keep myself occupied but the dark, disturbing thoughts in my head.
58. Like if it’s too late to get the Brarphne name trademarked.
59. See?
60. Dark.
61. Disturbing.
62. *shudder*
63. I took my post-run selfie by this street sign because it has two names.
64. Just like Rob and Scott have two names.
65. *taps head to show I’m a quick, clever thinker*
66. Tiffany sounds like the hoppiness sounds a rabbit might make as it scampers through a grassy meadow.
67. If you’re high.
68. Scott always scampers ahead of us after we exhaust our morning pleasantries on our runs.
69. So Tiffany is Scott’s aptly named stand-in in this post-run selfie.
70. Yorkshire—aside from being a scrumptious pudding—sounds like a three-legged basset hound with two of those legs on a skateboard loping determinedly but futilely toward the finish line in a cartoon race that’s accompanied by an unrehearsed orchestra.
71. If you’re super-high.
72. I’m actually the one who Yorkshires in our running group.
73. Like this: YORKshire YORKshire YORKshire ...
74. But Rob usually stays with me for a few miles before he Barknies ahead, so by the transitive powers of Yorkshirity, Yorkshire is his stand-in in this post-run selfie.
75. Oh, dear.
76. Autocorrect has already learned and white-listed the YORKshire capitalization.
77. This will greatly undermine my authority and gravitas in future pudding posts.
78. To review:
79. Pudding.
80. Scrumptious.
81. Harpie.
82. (R)
83. Not-gay Nary von Horsehooves IV, Esq.
84. Crystal Wrought.
85. Nah.
86. Wrought Na.
87. Possibry.
88. 11:45.
89. Crystal Scott.
90. No homo.
91. Yorkshire Rob.
92. No skateboard.
93. YORKshire YORKshire YORKshire.
94. Marcia Marcia Marcia.
95. But different.
96.
97.
98.
99.
100. 100!

Jake and the Amazing Heterosexual Theater Date

Just two dudes seeing a musical. About clothing. With an obsessive focus on its color palette.

Nothing suspicious here.

I! AM! GEEKING! OUT!

Grant Wood! The artist! From Cedar Rapids! At the Whitney! In New York! OHMYGOD!

This is such an amazingly comprehensive and brilliantly curated exhibit. Every one of my favorite Grant Wood paintings is here, with the words Cedar Rapids all over the wall descriptions. I talked at length with one of the docents, who knew more about Grant Wood than I do. But I know more about Marvin Cone SO THERE.

Grant Wood was gay. The Whitney says it right when you walk into the exhibit. But Grant Wood's been saying it for decades with every hunky farmer and soldier he's ever drawn or painted. LISTEN, PEOPLE!

Here's my favorite painting OF ALL FUCKING TIME! RIGHT HERE! IN FRONT OF ME! WITH A STUPID GLARE ON THE GLASS! I have written about it extensively RIGHT HERE IN THIS LINK!

Fact! Grant Wood drew vaguely tawdry and vulgar cover art for undeniably tawdry and vulgar books. To wit: Here's a direct blurb quote from Passion Spins the Plot (you may want to sit down for this): "Leaving the wild, brutal land of his childhood, Vridar Hunter enters college with little understanding of women. But there he is led down the forbidden paths of youth. He meets pick-ups and prostitutes, gets drunk, steals, and tortures his body with erotic imaginings of a soul growing from adolescence to manhood. Yet always in Vridar's heart burns the bright dream of Neloa, to whom he has pledged his love. It is not until Vridar returns home that Neloa's own soiled lips shatter his image of a passion as pure as vestal flame." VESTAL FLAMES, PEOPLE!

I probably know this woman's descendants, who no doubt prowl the streets of Cedar Rapids endlessly smirking and judging, smirking and judging:

Cherubic cheeks! Ruddy complexion! Flawless hair! BIG GEOMETRIC COW BUTT! Did I hear someone say Grant Wood was gay? Because, seriously. DOES IT REALLY NEED TO BE SAID?

Grant Wood is my homeboy and I’m so proud that this exhibition is here and people from all over the world are seeing it and talking about it and taking selfies with the paintings—but who does that? gross.—and I couldn’t stop telling complete strangers that I went to Grant Wood Elementary School and I’ve even met Nan Wood Graham who as you should know by know is one of the figures in American Gothic (the left one, I believe) and I AM SO HAPPY RIGHT NOW.

#HowToTurn50 #AndOMGGRANTWOODGRANTWOODGRANTWOOD!

I'm a professional fashion writer. Do not try this at home.

Tiers of polka-dot chiffon tulle flutter like wispy cotton-candy nothingness next to Ivanka in an ugly fucking dress. ‬

Good morning!

No homo

The outsides of my shoes match my socks and my shaker bottle

The insides of my shoes match my stalwart heterosexuality.

Because "lotters will be shot" kinda rhymes, and that's totally faggy