Post: #51

Prozac Nation was an autobiographic movie about a woman with BPD or at least strong BPD characteristics. It's in the definition of BPD that promiscuous behavior is part of the condition, as well as a host of other things that make a relationship with such individual a nightmare. Her business is to write such articles that push people's buttons. I'd just use that article to get an idea of the kind of woman I would stay away from.

Post: #52

(12-08-2013 01:28 PM)Dusty Wrote:  The author of Prozac Nation writes an essay about herself, and uses the word "I" over 100 times. She's 45, never married, thinks she's hot, admits to being promiscuous, is angry and demanding and screams at people, and lives with cats.

A real catch here fellas.





From wikipidea:

Prozac Nation (sub-titled Young and Depressed in America: A Memoir), an autobiography by Elizabeth Wurtzel, was published in 1994. The book describes the author's experiences with major depression, her own character failings and how she managed to live through particularly difficult periods while completing college and working as a writer. The title refers to the antidepressant medication Prozac.[1]

The book was adapted into an independent film of the same name starring Christina Ricci and released in 2001.

I was going to bold every time she used the word "I" but it would have been way too much work.

Quote:I Refuse To Be A Grown-Up
NOV. 19, 2013 By ELIZABETH WURTZEL


I went to a party in Williamsburg, where I definitely do not live, and was 50 percent older than anyone else. When I told a gentleman that I am 45, he was shocked. He wondered what I know that Ponce de Leon did not. Mainly it is a refusal to be a grown-up. Or just having missed the leading milestones. I have never been married, which has spared me the unhappiness of that, and the misery of a divorce. Or two. Or three. I don’t have kids, so I don’t invest energy in telling people how gifted my children are, or in figuring out how deep into the spectrum of autism they fall—nor do I turn over my hard-earned cash to SAT tutors and Mandarin coaches. Of course, I have been deprived of the pleasure of breastfeeding my baby on a barstool in a Park Slope tavern while nursing a Campari and soda, but I will survive the privation. (And it may yet happen.) Evasion and avoidance are hallmarks of youth.

I have been very promiscuous, sometimes with men I get to know better and sometimes with men I never see again, but the pleasure is mine. I did too many drugs until enough was enough, but I would not have missed it for all the drugs I haven’t done since. I am preternaturally truthful. I scream and yell about what bothers me. I promptly apologize when I am wrong, and sometimes when I am not, sometimes just to make things better: Love means having to say you are sorry quite a lot, actually. I spend money like it is going out of style, which it is. I wear very short skirts and very high heels whenever it is appropriate, and sometimes when it is not. I have far too many pairs of jeans and platform boots. Oh well. I don’t eat meat, and I eat lots of salad: boring. I drink red wine—never white, which does not count—but not for breakfast anymore: boring. I love a great cocktail—I especially love the kinds with blueberries or pomegranates in them that no serious drinker would countenance. What is so great about being serious? I used to do cocaine and go running; now I just go running. I am fiercely loyal. I am vicious when necessary, sometimes just for fun. I put Vitamin E on my lips. I solve most problems with duct tape, and most problems can be solved with duct tape. I tell people what I need. I insist. I say what I want, which is the same as what I need. I choose my principles over my desires. But I will lose an argument over a matter of principle sooner than I will give in over a matter of honor: My honor is my deepest principle, and I will be damned if anyone is going to be disrespectful, even or especially for dumb reasons.

Sometimes, maybe even a lot, I say things that are ridiculous. Sometimes I am ridiculous. There are worse things.

I live with a wolf and a panther—actually, a dog and a cat, both black, both very wild, it’s better that way. I am interested. I am interested in everything, except the things that aren’t interesting, which is too much lately. When I meet someone new, I don’t ask about his job, and I try to avoid finding out for as long as is possible, because what you do for a living is not who you are: I have dated enough bartenders and, worse, lawyers to know that. I wear sunscreen during the day and Retin-A at night. I do what I want. I don’t do what other people want me to do. Sometimes I don’t do things I want to do because someone else wants me to do them too badly. I am just that way: I cannot be bossed around. I listen carefully when someone is talking to me. I ask for help. I offer to help.

I have never been a member of Congress, or any other elected body. I have never spent days arguing over one or two percentage points that don’t matter while lives really do hang in the balance—I mean: by nooses, from rafters, in barely lit basements, for real, out of actual despair, because of the failure of what is not a system at all. I have never voted Republican, but I have never voted Democratic either—I always vote for the Liberal candidate, because I am liberal, very liberal, very very very liberal. (I even voted for Giuliani that way.) I have never been a pundit, so I don’t say the same things everyone else is saying, and then keep saying them repeatedly, redundantly, over and over again, on and on, on TV. I don’t make predictions about trivial matters or even about important matters, because what is the point? We will know soon enough. I do not worry about what is going to happen; I enjoy what is happening. We will know which way the wind blows the weathervane when it starts spinning. Sure enough: Susan Rice is not Secretary of State. Only an idiot would have predicted that such a thing could possibly come to pass. Only an idiot would prognosticate at all. Such activities only give you gray hair. I am going to die a dirty blonde. A very dirty blonde.

This seems a good time to mention something about my voting record: My ex-boyfriend, who works for the government, tells me that the Liberal Party in New York was just a money-making scheme for some crooked politician, and really it would have been better if I had not cast so many ballots as I did. Apparently, this is the way of third parties. It is, of course, the way of political parties in general. Don’t you get the feeling that they are all money-making schemes for some crook? I kind of do. But more to the point, I would love my ex-boyfriend to take a stroll through my home, and tell me what of all that I own—including the rented apartment I don’t own—is not essentially a money-making scheme for some crooked person somewhere. My iPad, my iPhone, my iBook, my iJail: I am Steve Jobs’ bitch in so many ways, and my world is cluttered with stuff that I need or don’t, but excepting my very wonderful fake chinchilla comforter which is warm and wonderful—part Arctic Circle, part Nevada Whorehouse—I can think of few things that have made me quite so happy as I am when voting on the Liberal ticket. Because I like doing what I want. And I will let the train in vain of corrupt politicians run down someone else’s track. I have learned that most things are not my problem.

Nothing is more bracing than not being concerned about what other people think. I have no idea why anyone cares. Trust me: No one is looking. I know: I am looking. People are self-involved. They are all waiting for you to ask about how gifted their kids are. I wish people were judging each other a great deal more, and more carefully, but they are not. Knowing this, I have no trouble being myself. It works well. I will die screaming.

Where do you find these great gifs? Damn.

Post: #53

(09-23-2014 09:49 PM)MrLemon Wrote:  Where do you find these great gifs? Damn.

The dancing hamsters I got from Tuthmosis.

The other ones, I got from reaction gifs.com. One day I was bored and looked at a whole bunch, and saved a couple of them I thought would work well on RvF.

Post: #54

Laugh it up, gents. This freakshow just married a guy 12 years younger than her. Yes, he's a beta.

She's also got cancer.

http://www.nytimes.com/2015/05/31/style/...e-her.html

Post: #55

I wonder if the breast cancer is from being on birth control for so long? I don't predict the marriage will last long.

Post: #56

(06-05-2015 08:20 PM)kbell Wrote:  I wonder if the breast cancer is from being on birth control for so long? I don't predict the marriage will last long.

Yes, that and the fact that women who have no kids are at a higher risk for breast cancer (source). Also if she has an Ashkenazi Jewish background, that puts her at higher risk.

Post: #57

(06-05-2015 08:14 PM)not_dead_yet Wrote:  Laugh it up, gents. This freakshow just married a guy 12 years younger than her. Yes, he's a beta.

She's also got cancer.

http://www.nytimes.com/2015/05/31/style/...e-her.html

The only upside to marrying this world class ballbuster is that she might actually have some money when she kicks off this mortal coil. With luck maybe he'll only have to put up with her for a couple years max.

Although with BPD women she's just as likely to leave all her money to her cat.

Post: #58

If any of you have popped a couple adderals, this is easily identifiable as amphetamine writing.

Post: #59

Gawd what a trainwreck

Post: #60

punchable face AF

Post: #61

The below image was the cover of her 1998 book "Bitch: In Praise of Difficult Women."

The linked article above states she just had a double mastectomy. Anyone who likes showing off their boobs so much she puts them on a book cover is not going to adjust well to that, no matter what she says in the article. The husband is going to be in for a rough ride, in my opinion. Even mentally-balanced women don't take well to surgery like that.

Post: #62

(06-06-2015 01:44 AM)Lord_Perseus Wrote:  Gawd what a trainwreck

This cat got quite the catch. A bipolar-BPD lawyercunt 12 years older than him.

Post: #63

Jesus! who opened up the tunnels under Chernobyl?




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Post: #64

As a Jewish man, she's a perfect example of women that are supposed to be "age appropriate" for me.

Yes, she's still a few years older than me (I'm 40, she's 45), yet they all look like her and have her attitude. Not exactly fat, but not attractive at all, and they have the most entitled, awful attitudes that are celebrated in some circles as being 'strong and independent'. They embrace the Jewish culture on the most superficial level in that it gets them into the right social circles.

Now I know this applies to feminist women and the like minded of all religious backgrounds, but it particularly bothers me when they start to emphasize their Judaism only when it suits them. I hate when people couch things in religion for self promotion or as a means to justify shitty behavior.

Either way, her husband should be up for beta of the century.

Post: #65

Look at Wetzel's hands.

This is one of the saddest part of the female aging process. Their hands go south really badly around age 45. Veiny, big knuckles. The hands become very unfeminine and unattractive.

Post: #66

Jennifer Aniston?

Post: #67

(06-07-2015 02:59 PM)LeeEnfield303 Wrote:  Jennifer Aniston?

Just another example of a post 45 year old with aging hands.

Post: #68

(06-07-2015 03:06 PM)Dusty Wrote:  

(06-07-2015 02:59 PM)LeeEnfield303 Wrote:  Jennifer Aniston?

Just another example of a post 45 year old with aging hands.

True, but Jennifer Aniston? Would hit it like the fist of an angry god.

Post: #69

(06-07-2015 03:07 PM)LeeEnfield303 Wrote:  

(06-07-2015 03:06 PM)Dusty Wrote:  

(06-07-2015 02:59 PM)LeeEnfield303 Wrote:  Jennifer Aniston?

Just another example of a post 45 year old with aging hands.

True, but Jennifer Aniston? Would hit it like the fist of an angry god.

That's why she is a good example. She has aged relatively well, but the hands always go first!

Post: #70

The fact this evil slut still gets the ring at the end just proves there are no consequences for women. Thank god at least she cannot have kids and cause more damage to the world.

Post: #71

(06-07-2015 03:06 PM)Dusty Wrote:  

(06-07-2015 02:59 PM)LeeEnfield303 Wrote:  Jennifer Aniston?

Just another example of a post 45 year old with aging hands.

Yep, the back of a woman's hands is the most reliable age "tell", assuming she's not morbidly obese. For anyone of normal weight, the aging process includes a steady reduction in collagen and muscles in the back of the hands, until by the mid or late 40s the tendons that run along the back of the hand to each finger really start to look gnarly. Pharma companies have been trying to come up with something for years to fix it, but to no avail. Want to know how old a chick is, the back of her hand never lies. That's also why Madonna is always wearing gloves now.

Post: #72

She did manage to find herself a beta doormat to marry this year, much younger than her no less:

http://www.nytimes.com/2015/05/31/style/...shion&_r=1

Quote:In October 2013, Ms. Wurtzel, 47, who is also a lawyer and the author of a 1998 nonfiction book called “Bitch: In Praise of Difficult Women,” met a writer named James Freed Jr., 35. They were on the same bill at a reading at a Manhattan nightclub, where the topic was addiction.

I have no idea how his friends let him go through with it. I'd be like: