Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless GOOP

When I found out Gwyneth Paltrow and Chris Martin were going their separate ways I experienced an initial wave of nausea, expelled a single tear, and poured out a bottle of Dom for the relationships of yore. Now, full disclosure: I never cared for Chris Martin. Don't get me wrong, he seems like a perfectly nice guy, and I'm sure he's a terrific dad, but he wasn't right for Gwyneth and never was. Sure, he kind of complimented her with his granola-rocker vibe because it gelled with her health-goddess vibe, but that was about it in my book. And he's in Coldplay so that is just like minus so many points.

That being said, I was naturally thinking a lot about dear Gwynny-P, but then I saw this:

and things took a turn for the worst.

If you have ever talked/hung out/worked/drank/smoked/made out/dieted/spent two weeks in an ashram in Thailand/shopped/hiked/played badminton/had a threesome with Mads Mikkelsen and Chelsea Handler/been friends with me, then you know that I love GOOP almost as much as I love myself. I admit, however, that it is difficult to differentiate my love between GOOP and Gwyneth. My love for Gwyneth is aspirational: I want to be her because I know I never will be (god that was hard to say). I comfort myself with the fact that I'm actually Charlize Theron with just a hint of Oscar Wilde. Right? Crazy, I know, but so true.

But GOOP, man,...I mean...it's GOOP.

It's the most perfect mix of beauty, wonder, and batshit crazy that I have ever seen. It is the only place where I could find a much needed $495.00 malachite box to hold my demons, or read about olive oil without feeling fat, or discover the perfect organic sushi restaurant to go to the next time I'm in Marrakech. It nourishes me.

If GOOP goes out of business I may literally die.

Make sure Gwyneth is at my funeral.


Love,
Patty

Now Get That Work Work Work Work

So I recently decided to get one of those "job" things everyone keeps telling me about. Honestly, if I had more unemployed friends then I wouldn't have even bothered; I only did it because having to get liquid lunch at Pastis by myself everyday was starting to get really old. Like, blah blah blah I get it, you "work", or whatever, but would it kill you to take a three-hour lunch break to hang out with me? I think not. You'd probably thank me for it, frankly.

Anyways this "job" they gave me seems chic, but I actually still don't know what the company does, or if it even is a company or just a group of people that meet in a Soho loft most days for coffee while some French man hums along to Duck Sauce's "Barbra Streisand". I'm honestly not even sure if it's a real place, or if I just took too many ambien and and drank one too many pots of green tea (I season it with peyote) and imagined the whole thing.

Since I don't quite understand what I'm supposed to be doing at this "job", here are somethings that I hope it involves:

Being Best Friends With Lupita Nyong'O 

Move over J.Law, you're done.

Tequila Tasting

Not even in a professional context, I'm just hoping for lots of tequila. 

Being Gwyneth's Life Coach

Normally Gwyneth guides me, but right now I feel like it is time for me to guide Gwyneth.

Channeling the ghost of Princess Diana

I still really miss her.

Redecorating the office.

It could use it. I'm thinking zebra rugs, fossils, marble, repurposing an old ocean liner, a rock crystal chandelier, and a Turkish tent for myself. 

Taking over Chanel

I never want Karl to stop, but if he has to then it may as well be me replacing him.

Being a high-class courtesan 

I recently started re-watching "Secret Diary of a Call Girl", and I forgot how chic she makes prostitution look. Plus the whole two-personality, having-sex-with-a-stranger-while-pretending-to-be-a-stranger-to-yourself thing is weirdly hot. But seriously, if you haven't seen this show you need to go watch it RIGHT NOW.

Ruling a small European nation.

Because duh.

Babysitting Prince George

I would teach him everything he needs to know about peasants.

Not going to work.

Fabulous.

Whatever, maybe I'll show up tomorrow.


Love,
Patty