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Fashion/Style
by
Liza Van Horne
September 23, 2008
Oh my goodness - it's an "art" "show", dear readers,
and you know what that means! It means every woman
who'd ever slept with "Skechers" Romalotti had to
put on her party clothes and fly to the Big Apple
for the event! That's right - his ex-wife Lily,
ex-girlfriend Amber, and recently acquired sex toy
Colleen all donned their fanciest duds and showed up
to slurp the free champagne and stand around
pretending to be important. Imagine how Lily must
have felt: on the one hand, she's in a room
surrounded by eight gazillion sketches of Amber's
naked moley boobs - the very ones that once appeared
on her husband's cell phone - and on the other hand,
her supposed best friend is hanging all over her
ex-husband and practically grabbing his junk right
in front of her. If I were Lily, I'd have brought a
flask of the hard stuff. A BIG flask. And a straw.
For her participation in this little pageant of
awkwardness, Lily was wearing a spaghetti-strapped
ivory camisole with rows of scratchy-looking ruffled
lace, which were echoed at the hem of her black
straight skirt. Now, the problem with this ensemble
was primarily that Lily is quite flat-chested and
her deflated cami was hanging way too low, recalling
Gwyneth Paltrow's infamous cotton-candy pink 1999
Oscar dress. Hitch it up, ladies! If God didn't give
you what you need to hold your dress up, don't be
afraid to use double-sided tape! What do you think
3M makes it for, anyway?
While Lily chugged the bubbly and made perplexed,
disgusted faces at her bobble-headed friend, Amber
arrived in a bright blue sequined sleeveless sheath
with a squared-off neckline. The dress was perfectly
inoffensive, but her platinum locks looked like a
Barbie doll's hair might look after two six-year-old
girls spent an afternoon playing beauty parlor with
great determination and vigor, possibly fueled by a
few too many fruit rollups. She had the front
portion pulled tightly back into a little ponytail
at the top of her head with the back left hanging
down, and its texture resembled frayed rope, with
long spiral curls disintegrating into flyaways and
frizzies. Eh! This, after she'd been last seen in a
black leather jacket at the Jitter Joint with her
hair pulled sleekly back into a low, neat chignon.
The simple hair works so much better for her, but
it's just not in Amber's nature to quit while she's
ahead. If it's worth doing, it's worth overdoing!
Porniel, the Putzy Prince of Passionate Pencil
Portraits, seemed to be under the delusion that he
was in an old John Hughes movie playing the quirky
platonic sidekick - you know, the one who always
provides a shoulder to cry on when he's not sitting
around his shabby bedroom listening to glum emo
bands sing about how much everything sucks, and who
everybody in the audience assumes is gay although
that's never conclusively stated. By which I mean:
he chose, as his ensemble for the evening, a white
untucked dress shirt under a VERY tight black
cardigan with a narrow black tie and a porkpie hat
that looked two sizes too small for his increasingly
swollen head. You know what? I'll bet he smells like
mothballs. Mothballs and eraser-shavings.
(I'm not going to tell you anything about Colleen's
hair or costume because the character is a catty,
odious little bitch and she doesn't deserve the time
it would take for me to comment upon her appearance.
I would give a friendly wink and a wave to Tammin
Suresucks's three worldwide fans, but they're
probably busy posting away hysterically on various
message boards about how she does NOT have a Sony
benefactor and everybody who says she CAN'T ACT is
OMFG Juss Jellus and there's NOTHING WRONG with her
obvious Australian accent and anyway, the old
Colleen was FAT so there, OMG LOL WHATEVS,
H8RS!!11!.)
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