… or so I’m told…
She celebrated her birthday!
My boyfriend and I went to the MoMA yesterday to see the Cindy Sherman show, and I decided to spend my time making up captions in my head for the pictures. This could be its own Tumblr, but I’m in the mood to keep things simple.

When Myrna awoke from her alcohol-induced coma, she had only vague memories of stumbling into the basement in search of snacks.

Krystal was beginning to get worried –– could she continue to pass off her new spare tire as the result of “too many Twinkies?”

Even though Marina packed to leave him six times a week, Richard never worried. She was such a drama queen.

Yes, Tanya was happy her annulment went through, but somehow she wasn’t quite as light in her step as she had anticipated.

Olga was done cleaning kitchens for rich housewives who took naps with cucumbers on their eyes while she scrubbed. She was going to be an ACTRESS.

After her relationship with the tattoo artist Joe “Psych Ward” Jones ended, Melissa really went off the deep end.

Annabelle had reigned Meriwether Estate with an iron first, even as the rest of her family left for the city and the house began to crumble around her. Her heart was as hard as the Italian marble used for the steps to the mansion, but a mysterious stranger would soon arrive at the Estate and change it, and Annabelle, forever.

Lola wanted her love interest, who worked at the docks next door, to notice her, but she didn’t want to seem OBVIOUS.

Misty really turned it on for the Asics people. She just couldn’t understand why her winning smile and her 4th place at the 1976 Olympics didn’t seal the endorsement!

Meredith was just hoping none of the other library patrons would see her reaching for FEAR OF FLYING.
Did I ever tell you my best friend ever told me in elementary school that she uncontrollably sang the eponymous song in her head at funerals? That’s still one of the funniest things I’ve ever heard, and it’s been 20 years, and that… is kind of sad, if you think about it.
N E Way, after my Lagerfeld’s Sandbox post, my friend LB sent me this curt little email:
Subject: sorry to burst your bubble
Body: unless this one has already been busted. but i was reading itinerant daughter, and wanted her to know that this already exists:
http://childrenwithswag.tumblr.com/
I responded with a, “It figures, but at least my captions are funny.” And they are.
One for the road:
When I saw today’s article in the Times about preschool fashion, I realized that my idea for a blog devoted solely to the sartorial habits and predilections of little tykes might soon be snatched up by someone less worthy out there, so here is, first, a declaration that THE IDEA IS MINE AND ALL MINE, and second, a little template for the blog (tentatively titled Well-Tailored Tots? Doctors Seuss and Marten? The Patent Leather Teething Ring? Lagerfeld’s Sandbox? I could go on like this for a while.) I suppose I don’t need to wax poetic on the popularity of Ari Seth Cohen’s Advanced Style and the desire felt by all to see fashion through a certain extreme prism (most often, the extremity is age.)
Lagerfeld’s Sandbox

The very drabness of this outfit is the essence of its chicness. It’s sort of punk Amish. She’s even rocking the ombre hair trend a bit.
On the right: “Don’t spill juice on this coat. It’s very expensive.” ($1,570 to be exact.) On the left: And you thought only Cara Delevingne could model Burberry with such sass.
“My true passion is menswear, but I like to add little girly touches like Silly Bands and flowered hair accents.”
“My style icons are MIA, Leandra Medine, that kid from Slumdog Millionaire and all stars who eschew pants.”
“My outfit mirrors the hilarious absurdity of life.”
Be ready for April showers on the playground with springtime colors!
“I’m not ashamed to admit I wear these glasses for affect only.”
Outfit inspiration: 50% Kingston Rossdale, 50% LMFAO. Hair: 100% natural.
“Though she is less than a year old, Harper Seven Beckham is named ‘celebrity whose wardrobe you most covet’ by 76% of third graders.”
Um, Kate?
I’m really sorry to tell you, but you are not this cool:
Besides, I think your new movie is called L!fe Happens, and if there’s anything I DESPISE, it’s using a punctuation mark where a letter should be. I mean, how the fuck am I supposed to say that? I’m looking at you, Ke$ha –– even though I’m not, cause your face scares me.
Pretty soon, we will ARRIVE!
From a recent Wall Street Journal article about John Waters, sent to me by my indefatigably hilarious father:
“When I was young there were beatniks. Hippies. Punks. Gangsters. Now you’re a hacktivist. Which I would probably be if I was 20. Shuttin’ down MasterCard. But there’s no look to that lifestyle! Besides just wearing a bad outfit with bad posture. Has WikiLeaks caused a look? No! I’m mad about that. If your kid comes out of the bedroom and says he just shut down the government, it seems to me he should at least have an outfit for that. Get a look! I’m not judging what they do; I hope they don’t shut me down.”
So, John, when KM and I make it to Baltimore, and the three of us are throwing back shots of Wild Turkey, I will ask you to make a sketch of a WikiLeaks army member uniform. xoxoxo!
These tights are adorable:
But one, it’s springtime, and so no new tights necessary for a good few months now, and two, they’re FORTY-FIVE FUCKING DOLLARS! (It actually says “fucking” on the Etsy shop entry.) Seriously, for $45, I could feed myself for a week, and buy a cheap pair of tights at H&M and dip them in crushed berries myself.
Luckily, when I win the $600 gajillion megamillions powerball whatever tonight, I’ll be able to buy myself the woman who owns this Etsy shop and set her up in my laundry room, where she will dye tights in the morning, make funky candles in the afternoon, and sleep at night. Hey, I’m not a slavedriver.