Fashion forward!

Well, it appears that the final weigh-in for THWACk! #3 went as planned today, and we have several winners. I'll let Eleanore announce the final results in her sum-it-all-up email, but I'll just say congratulations to you all for sticking with your diet/fitness plans and for doing so well. We're probably going to launch THWACk! #4 soon, so keep your eyes peeled.


Meanwhile, many of you are still recovering from having your eyes peeled by me, in the famed Borat suit. I know it was traumatizing for many of you, and hope by now your sight has returned. Still, doesn't everyone want to have one "fashion-forward" friend? I'm telling you now, I can be that person for you.

Look, the last published THWACk! featured me, in this photograph, on August 10th.

This morning, I looked online at jezebel.com, one of my regular newsfeeds, and what did I see? This American Apparel advert....

Who was first? Point made. She clearly doesn't really "get it" as a fashion statement (the tights are hideous), but imitation is the sincerest form of flattery, as they say, so I'll be willing to help her out. I expect the phone to ring at any moment.

If any of you guys want my advice on finding fashionable clothing for your newly svelte bodies, do give me a buzz. I have so many great ideas, you can't begin to imagine. If you give me free rein -- perhaps we could go shopping at some of my favorite spots? -- I guarantee you will look unforgettable at your next soiree.

Ta ta for now, darlings!

.

All work and no play....

... makes this girl just work even harder.  And while on vacation, no less!

You know, I don't think I should have to beg to get some cooperation from you people. Here I am, publishing week after week, and will anyone step up when I make a simple request? Apparently not.

Oh and by the way, it's Tuesday, so get on that scale. Only two weeks left, you lazy creatures.

But back to what I was saying. It wasn't a very complicated question, really. I had a sample swimsuit given to me by Baron Sascha Cohen, of Borat fame, after we spent a completely mad long weekend together in St. Tropez. This was shortly after he'd finished one of his recent films and he was giving away all those extra swim costumes to his closest friends. I was sure I could get someone to wear it. After all, green looks great on everybody, and who doesn't want to "wow" the other swimmers at the seashore every once in a while?

Back in Wheaton, after my French Riviera holiday, I asked everyone to just simply try it on. That's all I was asking. I asked Kevin, I asked Glenn; they both just laughed. Matt said "My wife would kill me." Lane, Henry, Mark? John B? No one at the club would even consider it. Honestly. I mean, it's a genuine French couture kind of bathing suit. All the rage in the south of France, take my word for it.

Off to the Michigan beaches. I asked Mr D to don the thing, but he politely declined. To his credit, he worked hard all week and earned some time off, plus he continually takes me back after every one of my little adventures, so I reluctantly gave him a pass. My sons, both in their twenties, flat out refused. I mean, what could be so bad about this suit? Jeepers!

But as the old saying goes, if you want something done right, do it yourself. So I have.

And I hope you're all ashamed of yourselves for being so uncooperative.

You'll be especially embarrassed when you see how easy it was to get this done. Watch and learn.

Step 1:  Choose beach. Recruit photographer from family members.

Step 2:  Check for other beach-goers/voyeurs, looking carefully in every direction. This is a private photo shoot after all.

Step 3:  Practice fancy model poses.

Step 4:  Change into Borat suit.

Step 5:  Begin photo shoot.

Step 6:  Quickly cover up when screamers show up at the top of a nearby dune.

Step 7:  After scaring away unwanted visitors with a full frontal view ("Whatchu lookin' at, g'wan! Git outta here!"), go all arty with a pose reminiscent of the best of Andrew Wyeth.

See the similarities? High horizon line. Woman's face obscured. Background of tall grasses. Strong horizontal orientation. Mysterious sense of longing as woman looks off into the distance.

You too could draw these sorts of parallels if you had an art history degree like I do. Thank goodness I'm so willing to share my expertise with you.

See you next week. I should be back pretty soon, providing Illinois doesn't set up those pesky roadblocks again to keep me out.

Ta ta for now!

.

Standards, standards

Of course I know many of you are wondering, "Where does she get The Funny?" I know, I know. I am hilarious. But it takes hard work and close attention. It's not like I sit down to a big steaming bowl of crazy every morning. Lots more to it than that.

It helps if you spend time with people who are also hilarious (intentionally or not). Disregarding the unintentionally hilarious people who surround me, I'll highlight today two of the intentionally funny ones.

Here's my long-suffering husband, whose sense of humor borders on diabolical, especially now that he's got the devilish goatee to suit.

And the other important influence? A flatmate from my London days. You guessed it: it's another ex, Russell.

Russell Brand. I hope you know him. His brand of comedy is off-color, ridiculous, and non-stop. It helps that he's wretchedly good-looking too.

Though he's nearly twenty years younger than I am, age didn't stand in the way of our relationship. Plenty of young lads enjoy the company of older women -- we're wiser, kinder, and as Benjamin Franklin pointed out, ever so grateful.

To a degree.

Russell and I used to lark about in the flat in Ascot, trading jokes and eyeliner tips. Frankly, he's much better at lining his lower lids than I am. But then again, he doesn't have to wear reading glasses yet either, so there. We were fabulous friends as he became more and more famous, though his drug use and womanizing got up my nose a bit. Finally, though, I lost a lot of respect for him -- just about the time he went off to sex rehab, beating out Tiger by a couple of years. It wasn't all the cheating that got to me though, it was the lowering of his sartorial standards that really turned me off.

Take a peek.

To which I say, if you're appearing out in public in this kind of sloppy get-up when you're in your early thirties, what's to prevent you from going out like this when you're sixty? I mean really.


As the English like to say, "that's not on!"

Not on any of MY men, that's for sure.

P.S. Hope your dieting is going well. Feel free to weigh in if you like on Tuesdays. We only have 3 weeks left! Get cracking!