Teenage Wasteland

What could possibly be MORE fun than going to the mall on a saturday night? Having teeth pulled, for one. Getting into an alley knife fight with Shaniqua and her posse from down the way is a good time. Eating laxative brownies, that's always a party. But I highly suggest not going anywhere near a mall on a saturday night, unless you like being man-handled and scowled-at by large groups of teenagers who think that you're not only old and lame, but also, quite possibly, "the man" who is bringing them down. I may be a lot of things: a jerk, pessimistic, a devastatingly fine piece of tail. But there is one thing I am not, and that is "The Man".

When you're a parent, there's only so many times you can keep using the "maybe next weekend" excuse and sometimes you have to suck it up and go to the mall on a saturday night to see Madagascar 2. I know, my life is a non-stop toga. Envy me. You're probably all "DUDE. Quite yer bitchin', so stinking what." But I failed to mention that it was also the first night Santa was at the mall, so not only were there the gangs of teenagers to deal with, but also the gangs of 2 foot tall, soggy and sneezing rugrats. Crying. Loudly. Because they all know something we don't. And that is that apparently Santa is pure evil and eats toddlers as appetizers before moving onto a hearty feast of babies. Don't get me wrong, I love kids. Just not other people's.

Long story short: the movie was funny and all, but jumping jebus on a pogo stick if it wasn't completely draining with it's Morals and Life Lessons. I don't go to the movies to be taught things. I go for the gratuitous sex, drugs and extreme violence. Which, I believe, is exactly what this country needs more of and not all this touchy/feely, "we're all winners" hippie crap. The world doesn't work that way in real life, no matter how much we pretend it does. The last time I checked, I'm not OK, you're not OK and I would not like to buy the world a Coke. And I'm pretty sure the world wouldn't drop $1.50 to buy me one either. But there were a few useless and therefore good scenes, such as the penguin who marries a hula girl dashboard bobblehead to Boston's "More Than A Feeling" playing in the background. And they think a little violence is twisted and disturbing.

In honor of our Madagascarian friends, how's about a little vintage of the same theme? Too bad, we're doing it anyway!

Vintage 70's novelty tee w/beaded zebra from The Vintage Bungalow:



Vintage 50's Simplicity pattern #4073 penguin costume. Or Susie's first Playboy bunny! Or Chester Cheeto! From The Pattern Shop:



Vintage 60's ridiculously kitschy caged lion novelty print from yours truly at Fast Eddie's Retro Rags:

Stray Cat Strut

Are there any cat people in the house? And not the kind of cat people such as in the 1942 film. Ironically called... Cat People.



What happens is this chick turns into a panther when she's angry...or there's a full moon, maybe... or bored...I don't know, something happens, I forget alot of minor details of the movie, such at the main plot. I haven't seen it since my Film Noir class in college back in '94, and considering I can't even remember what happened yesterday, it's amazing I remember the movie title at all, and I SWEAR I have a point, which I'm getting to a second. GEEZE.

I myself am not a cat people. In fact, I rather do not enjoy the company of felines. Not to mention I'm allergic to them, so there's also that, besides my blinding distrust and annoyance by them. Actually, I can't stand them. SOR-REE, but I'm a dog kind of girl. Which is why it's all the more ridonkulous that there is a cat that seems to always be around, all up in my grill. You know what I could use? I could use Alf in a time like this.



This one particular cat never comes even remotely close to us, staying a good 15 feet away at all times. But he's always skulking about in the far back yard, swatting at imaginary things and tracking some imaginary critter. I think he's a stray, but never gets close enough so I can check if he has a collar or not. I'm not entirely sure it's a "he". Maybe it's a "she". Hmm. I think it's a boy cat, because he winked at me once. Anyhow, the he/she cat is scared to death of us, but every single morning I wake up to find him sleeping on the front porch. As soon as I open the door he makes a mad dash the hell out of here. I mean, he's harmless and has the courtesy to use the McDonald's bathroom down the street and not my yard. But every stinking freaking morning he's on the porch. What the hell is your problem, CAT?

So. Cat people. Do tell. What does it all mean? Is he our protector? Does he secretly watch out over us, keeping the house rodent-free by his jungle-like stealth of critter-hunting? Is he our guardian angel sent by sweet baby Jebus with a really sick sense of humor?

I may not like cats, but vintage cat sweaters is a whole other ball game. You'll love this I. Magnin vintage 60's cat cardigan, because I SAID SO, that's why. Buy it now from Dusty Rose Vintage.

Brick House

Amy. GIRL.



I can't even begin to tell you how relieved I am that someone is finally bringing back the black acid wash jeans and mesh tank top Fire Island look. And the Little Orphan Annie white girl 'fro is always a winner.

It's time to play...



Wooly Winehouse! Yay!

Add a Burt Reynolds 'stache and ample chest fur...




...And you get 70's porn star Ron Jeremy!



What can YOU make with Wooly Winehouse? Seriously, I love the kid. But for the love of Priscilla Presley, I really wish she'd eat a few Arby's Beef & Cheddars, gain a pound or 30, and get the ratted beehive back. She had such a snazzy, retro early 60's voice ("Snazzy"?! Apparently I'm 80) and rocked such a cool style, when she gave a rat's ass. Kind of like a modern version of 1984's Madonna. That's it. I can't take it anymore. Someone give her my number. Tell her to call me, we'll have coffee and talk, no big whoop.

We Built This City (On Rock & Roll)

* I know you're all "Say WHA? Giiirl, have you lost your mind? "We Built This City"?! Could you pick a lamer song, please?" But I promise there is a slight chance of significance for that song to be today's title, in which I will spin ye a yarn at the end of today's blog, so you can read all about it in a few minutes and quite yer complaining over the cheese factor of Jefferson Starship songs. Or don't read it. It's a free country. But don't get yer knickers in a twist, the story's not that good.*

Happy Veteran's Day! Today you really need to A.) Hug a veteran. Or smooch one. Hell, sleep with one for all I care. Blame it on patriotism tomorrow morning B). Give a veteran a 75¢ token for the New Jersey tolls. Say something like: "Please accept this token of gratitude, enabling you to leave New jersey for the day, mighty soldier of yore. Get thee gone! Away! And huzzah!", only with more drama C). Buy a veteran a Veni Vidi Vici Triple Mocha Latte Frappucino and then stand there and take it when they complain you paid HOW MUCH for COFFEE.

If you know a veteran, ask them all about the war. The old-timey veterans love telling their tales of the Great War- the new ones, don't love talking about it so much right now. Instead, tell the new ones how much they kick ass and get on with your day, you stinkin' ingrates. I've already high-fived a veteran today, and later, I'm gonna low-five one, if you know what I mean (yeah, I don't know what that means, either).


*When I was 10, I was already tall and gangly and my Mom thought dance class would make me graceful. It did not. We had a Veteran's Day spectacular (it was about as spectacular as a bunch of pre-pubescent girls with zero dance skill could get) and of course all the songs for the show were patriotic types. While everyone else got to dance to cutesy tootsy songs like "Boogie Woogie Bugle Boy", my Dorothy Hammill-haired dance teacher thought doing a routine to "We Built This City" was "cutting edge". It was not, though did I mention is was 1986? Our outfits were the bomb, yo. Electric blue spandex jumpsuits with silver sequined tube tops underneath, a matching silver sequin headband and a red streamer. Word UP. Long story short, by the end of the routine all the silver sequined tube tops had rolled down to out waists (though I doubt anyone noticed) a few girls tripped on the long ends of the streamers and a good time was had by none. I still have the tube top and it fits, though it still rolls down. And still, nobody notices.

Redneck Christmas

I was at Walgreen's today, stocking up on the last of the street-legal "fun drugs" (Midol and Pamprin. Just TRY to step to this tough broad. I even take my Pamprin with chocolate milk. CHOCOLATE MILK. You heard.) And I was staring at the 75% off Halloween crap, wondering if I did indeed need the family size bag of Twix like I thought I did (though the junk in my trunk would disagree), and on the other side of the Halloween aisle is Xmas stuff and I had a moment of "WWJD?". Would Jebus feel like I was cheating on him by ignoring the Xmas aisle altogether and loading up on cheap Halloween garbage I really didn't need, but come on it's 75% off, and Xmas is still a long time away. And we all know that Halloween is anti-Jebus and while he is my homeboy (random shout-out to 2001!) and all, the dark lord of $1.88 Clearance Mini Snickers calls to me, too. All this wondering if I hurt Jebus's feelings by not being ready to acknowledge the Xmas candy aisle made my brain hurt, so neither cheap Halloween crap nor early Xmas crap was bought today. But I did stop at the liquor store on the way home, so it all evens out and I'm pretty sure Jebus is indifferent to the noon liquor store run.

But on the way home, I noticed some of my white trashedy neighbors putting up their "Jesus is the Reason For the Season" seasonal flag and blow-up Winnie the Pooh snow globe (that I secretly want to pop in the middle of the night, is that somehow wrong?). I still have my Green Eggs & Ham pumpkin outside, what am I supposed to do with THAT monstrosity? The 15 year old inside of me wants to roll it out into traffic or heave it from the overpass onto an 18-wheeler below, but that is against the law. And if there's one thing I never worry about, it's abiding by the rules. But Xmas lights on the front porch already?! I have the spirit of Jebus Clause, really I do. Hell, even my Dad has Xmas lights up around his porch all year long. Well, they're not so much "Xmas lights" as they are plastic hamburger and french fries novelty lights from the 80's that were there when he bought the house 5 years ago. And it's not so much a "house" as it is a trailer, but you get the idea. Nothing celebrates "the reason for the season" better than novelty lights in a trailer park.

You Spin Me Round (Like A Record)

Tales of Driving Under the Influence of Cold Pills, part 2: Death By TV...

Remember a while ago I told a story of being sick and driving while under the hypnotic spell of "non drowsy" cold pills that lie? No? I don't either, not so much. This time is 427 times worse than that. The kind of flu that makes you think you'll be stuck like this forever and probably never get better again, so just suck it up and face it, this is your life now and just get used to hallucinating and sleeping on the couch to old episodes of Married With Children, like a college hippie on a Sunday morning.


I got SERVED karmic retribution this weekend, yo. Probably from getting my hate-on with hippies. I've had the grand poobah of ass-kicking flus for the past few days and I can only imagine the universe is trying to teach me a lesson, because no one around here is sick, those damn flu germs just surprise-attacked me overnight and I woke up Saturday morning ready for the Grim Reaper just to take me to the purgatory that will be my afterlife (because let's face it, the chances of me getting into heaven are pretty damn slim at this point). The joke's on the universe though, because I NEVER learn my lesson and will be back to making fun of hippies in no time.

Being Super Sick for 2 days leaves you with only 2 options: to sleep and to watch TV all day. In between hallucinations and conversations with people who weren't in the room (I'm telling you, it was bad, and not in the Michael Jackson way), I watched enough crap TV to hold me over for a while. And you KNOW I loves me some crap TV, so this is a new low, even for me. Nick at Night and TV Land are my bitches. Here are a few musings about Too Much TV When You're Dying From The Plague:

* When did Friends get really, really really annoying? Like, to the point where you actually say out loud "Oh, shut UP." Those nervous, twitchy
spazz characters...if they were my neighbors in real life, there'd be a slew of flaming brown paper bags on their doorsteps, I can assure you. (I know. I'm badass, try to stop me.)

* I have a new appreciation for Danielle Steele-inspired Lifetime movies from the late 80's. They're all called, like, "A Heartbeat Away" or "Not Without My Jazzercise Videotape. Oh! And My Daughter! Not Without Her, Either." All the plots are versions of this: 80's Wall Street business-type couple wearing power suits and velcro Reeboks. Woman gets pregnant, husband doesn't want it, divorces her to be with his 19 year old secretary. Wife moves into a small unfurnished house, starts a home business of some sort and goes from rags to riches. Has baby, meets a man with a beard who loves her and her bastard kid like it was his own. The 19 year old girlfriend ends up dead somehow, old husband comes crawling back to old wife. Will she pick old husband or new, sensitive lover with beard? Of course, nice guy with beard wins.

* There was a "Grunge Fest" on (I kid you not), with back to back flicks that supposedly defined our generation such as Empire Records and Reality Bites, and I forgot how much I love the 90's. Minus, of course, the neo-hippie music (Phish? Really?!) and like, causes and stuff. I'll be digging out my Docs and fishnets promptly, though I wonder if Teens These Days will look at me like some kind of aging loser desperately clinging to her youth. Which is SO not me, except in every way possible. I think in 30 years, someone should make a sequel to those Gen X movies, only the characters will be riding around the mall on Rascals, wearing track suits and "Loser" tee shirts, oxygen tubes in place of nose rings. Think about that, Cameron Crowe.