How Do You Talk To An Angel

Sweet jumping jebus on a pogo stick.



Good lord. I mean, REALLY. WTF happened to Jason Priestley AKA Brandon "Sugar Britches" Walsh?! Please explain how the once future Mr. Kim could allow this to happen?! Surely this was against his own will and the chin pubery was forced upon his face by some dastardly evil-doer. Voodoo, methinks. A pox of epic proportions. Karma? I DON'T UNDERSTAND WHAT THIS WORLD IS COMING TO.



See now? That's much better...I am calm and Zen-like and will recite my daily affirmation: "I am Mrs. Brandon Walsh...I am Mr. Brandon Walsh..."

The only thing I can figure, is that he's doing it to go incognito. This way, when the television abortion that is called the NEW 90210 comes out and the masses have sharpened their pitchforks, they won't recognise him. Either *that* over dramatic explanation or he's a nutbag. A delicious nutbag, nonetheless. I had a wicked crush on him when I was like, what...15? (or 30, shut up don't judge me). Brandon + Kim 4-Ever. The Trapper Keeper says so and if the TK says so, it WILL COME TRUE. However. There are only 3 guys in this world that can rock facial overgrowth:

1. This guy~



and

2. This guy. Tom Selleck is cool. He could kick Santa's ass any day.



and ALWAYS

3. Burt Reynolds. He's kind of like your douche Uncle Tony who gives you a noogieand calls you "retard" or "knucklehead", yet he still KICKS ASS. He could kick Santa AND Tom Selleck's asses with one hand and his 'stache wouldn't have a hair out of place.

The Way You Look Tonight

September 4th is my 10 year wedding anniversary, people. TEN. YEARS. Ten very long years. Ten very short years. Why September 4th you probably don't care to ask? No one really knows. It's not significant, not in the way that say, if we waited exactly one week and took the plunge on September 11th would be significant. It was just a random date pulled out of our keisters, married outside with about 27 bucks to our name. Cheap and easy. (Like me. Heyyyy-ohhhh! Nothing is sacred).

Here is a small sampling of what I've learned and not learned in ten years:

1. Why am I still the designated underwear-on-the-bathroom-floor-picker-upper? And they're NOT EVEN MINE.

2. It's OK that not all those years were perfect, full of sparkles and unicorns and puffy stickers. Some were downright crap on a cracker. But admitting it means I'm turning somewhat human, right? Otherwise, I'm always perfect.

3. I still can't watch someone else hurl without clenching my teeth really, reeeally hard, or else I might blow chunks too.

4. After 10 years, the ball and chain still seems to think I like 3 Musketeers bars. I can't stand them. But thanks for trying.

5. No matter how many times I bitch that I DO NOT CHECK POCKETS when doing laundry, something important ends up in a pocket, gets washed and ultimately ruined and the world as we know it will come to end. How DARE I.

6. When I say "Don't buy me anything for my birthday, seriously" it ends up with me saying "I can't believe you didn't buy me anything for my birthday!". Some lessons will just NEVER be learned.

7. Boys are gross.

8. Boys are wonderful.

9. "I'll mow the lawn tomorrow, I SWEAR" really means it'll get done next week. Maybe. But probably not.

10. Aside from the financial mediocrity, we have a pretty great life.

What with our white trashy, poor-as-dirt wedding, I have no videos or big picture albums, no hope chest of wedding day mementos, no digital or online stuff, just a handful of pictures. And I'm perfectly OK with that. In fact, our Big Anniversary Day will be business as usual, send the boy off to school, work, work at the university, night classes, Top Ramen. We really know how to celebrate. One day we'll get our Tahitian vacation, though it'll probably take another 10 years.

Enjoy seeing a rare glimpse of me and a not-rare glimpse of me with a cocktail.

Smooching. Gross. I know. I don't like looking at it either.



Wearing a vintage 60's set, an Asian silk cocktail dress and beaded cardigan, the first thing I bought at an actual vintage clothing store. And yeah, the cardigan had moth chomps that I didn't even attempt to hide. I like to think of it as good luck holes. Or something.

Wanna Be Startin` Somethin`

DUDES. Some parts of Michael Jackson turned 50 recently and ain't nobody gonna give the "man" a shout-out?! First Madonna and now this guy? Sigh. Do I have to do everything?! Fine. So what if he's a walking corpse with a face you can open bottles on? So what if he once was a black man who somehow has children of the corn, WASP-y kids and names them after inanimate household objects? So what if he owns 27 pairs of formal jammies? You act like he's a nutbag or something. GOSH.

Remember the time when he grabbed his crotch alot and wore a single silver sequined glove and had his hair set on fire and had a pet monkey and "dated" girls and was BFF's with Corey Feldman and no one thought having an amusement park in his backyard was creepy and also really creepy? Ahh...good times, good times.

Remember when "Thriller" was the most kickASSingest video of all time-- granted there were only like 4 other videos playing on the MTVs at that point, BUT STILL.



Scared the living bejesus outta me when I was 6 (ish) when it came out. Also scary are the Whitey McGees getting married out there who think it's really clever and amusing to have their bridal party learn & perform the "Thriller" dance as a surprise for their guests. I'm sure it's safe to say it's neither clever nor amusing, but actually quite embarrassing. So nerdy white people getting married: don't do the "Thriller". Doing the "I had the time of my life" Dirty Dancing routine is not acceptable either. Open for discussion, however: The Humpty Dance.

You love this jacket, admit it. It reminds you of Tab and Cool Ranch Doritos. And it's way tougher than a Member's Only jacket, which only weenies wore. The jacket is offered by a seller on the ebays--on a side note: I hesitated giving props to this seller, because their subtitle is a major fail: "punk vintage 80's LEATHER jacket pop rock NOT RETRO". I think they mean it's not a REPRO because it is nothing BUT retro. Typos and errors makes me angry. But still, click the pic to check it out:



On another side note: the jacket label is made of awesome...Metal.



It is anything BUT metal. In fact, I'm pretty sure if you wore this back in the 80's around real headbangers, your ass woulda been grass.

Just A Girl

It's officially September and you know what that means? Yeah, me neither. But Halloween is next month and I'm getting obsess-y about it, because, you know, you need lots of time to do it right and not half-assed, like going out to Party City and buying a pre-made cheesetastic costume that looks like a white plastic apron that says, like, "Marilyn Monroe" on it. Hells but no! Homie don't play that.

So every year friends of ours throw a badass Halloween party with a theme and you have to dress up, "or else", apparently. One year's theme was "Dead Prom"- a little cliche, but easy and fun. Like me. Heyyy-yo! (These are the Monday morning jokes! Yeah, I know. Sorry). So anyway, this year's theme is "Dead Celebrities". The more tasteless the better. Well that's right up my alley! (That's what SHE said. Ok, that's enough).

So the ball and chain says he wants to be Buddy Holly, easy, we have a closet full of clothes for that, skinny lapel, skinny tie, black frames, done. And another pal of ours says he'll be the Big Bopper and I'm all, great, so that leaves me with Ritchie Valens, then? Well THAT'S not fun, what the hell? Jerks.



Besides, I've already done the dressing-up-as-a-guy thing before when I went as Gomez Adams and I said I wasn't going to dress like a dude again. Unless it was RuPaul. Besides not being a 7-foot tall fabulous gay black man, the similarities are endless. Or maybe Andy Kaufman as Tony Clifton. I haven't gotten my eyebrows OR lip waxed in a while, so I'm already halfway there. But the last time I checked I'm still a chick and can't I just feel pretty, dammit? When do *I* get to be the pretty pink unicorn & rainbow sparkle princess?! I never get what I want! Daddy, *I* want a golden goose! (Hey, Veruca's not a half-bad idea. Anyone know of she's still alive?)



More thoughts:
*Johnny Cash and June Carter, the 70's version would be splendid, no? A long, flowy number that looks like the Chiffon Fairy had one too many lime and tequila shooters and hurled a frothy green catastrophe of ruffles and lace in the form of a 70's gown oughtta do it.

Or

*JFK and Jackie. Did I mention that bad taste is encouraged in this sitch? Simmer down already, don't get all "Oh NO SHE DI'NT"! Because "Oh YES I DID"! Geeze. Settle down, Beavis.



Or...? Or...? I'm out of ideas. If any of you nerds that I love so have a swell idea, by all means help a sister out! (Speaking of nerds, are any "Star Trek" actors dead yet?)