...On The SIXTH Day of Christmas...

...my true love gave to me...six Peeps a laying...

You all know what Peeps are, right? They're little marshmallow treats in the shape of a yellow duck...goose...chicken...bird type creature. They've been around forEVer and usually you get them in your Easter basket, but oh joy, oh rapture, they make seasonal Peeps so you can get your fill of them all year 'round--but if the idea of eating a cutesy little chick makes you heave, no worries, because they make little bunny shapes too, and we all know baby bunnies are just BEGGING to be eaten. I think Peeps taste like garbage, but they get good, believe it or not, when they're stale. I still prefer my baby chicks raw though.

At any rate, because they never really go bad or get moldy or funky, someone thought they'd make a super neat-o craft project. This is old news but new to me: there is a Peeps Diorama contest every March. Seriously. No really, people really do this. The winner of this year's contest did an Egyptian them, to which I say SCREW THAT. Here are my 6 Peep picks:

Little Miss Peepshine:






Mommie Peepest:





Elvis Peepsley:




Reservoir Peeps:





A Christmas Peep:




and my favorite, Gentleman Prefer Peeps:







If you're a loser like me and are all about wasting time by reading all the very unimportant non-news news, then you can read about the Peep Contest and see other contestants at the Washington Post. Because let's face it, there will never be peace in the middle east, no matter who the president is in office, he'll be an inept idiot, SUV's are evil and the economy still sucks. As long as nothing changes, I'll continue to read news about the alien who lives at Cher's house and how Clay Aiken is filming his version of Punk'd called "Southern Punk'd: Burn, Sinner, Burn" and that he's actually always just been a straight southern Baptist woman in disguise.

...On The FIFTH Day Of Christmas...

...my true love gave to me five pinky rings...

A tribute to the five pinky ringiest fellers I know.





Blue Suede Pinky Ring.




Luck Be A Pinky Ring




Make Him A Pinky Ring He Can't Refuse




Thirty-two hundred pinky rings he gave me. Thirty-two hundred pinky rings for a lifetime. It wasn't even enough to pay for the coffin.




Woke Up This Morning, Got Yourself A Pinky Ring.

...On The FOURTH Day Of Christmas...

...my true love gave to me...4 blatantly-ripping-off-a-popular-60's-British-band-and-disguising-them-as-vultures-like-no-one-will-catch-on birds...



Stupid Bird 1: Hey Flaps, So what we're going to do?
Stupid Bird 2: I don't know, what'cha wanna do?
Stupid Bird 1: Look Flaps, first I say "what we're going to do?" then you say "I don't know, what'cha wanna do?" then I say "what we're we going to do?" then you say what'cha wanna do?". Let's do something.
Stupid Bird 2: Ok. What'cha wanna do?

That sounds a lot like the conversations that happen here on the weekends. Except not with crappy Liverpudlian accents. And no one wears the latest style of zany Beatle mop top hairdos. And with more arguing ("why do I always have to decide?".) And eventually swearing (Goddammit, why do I always have to decide?!") And then we waste an hour because no one can decide where exactly to go, because it's a unanimous vote that this area sucks and who the hell wants to go to some meathead jock bar and no good bands ever come to this area except the local teenage "punk rock" bands that are so bad that it makes jebus cry and they have to play in under 21 joints and good GOD I'd rather give myself a home colonoscopy using salad forks and a rear view mirror than go to a "bar" with no alcohol but the other alternative is going to see a craptastic country music cover band with some randomly generic and stupid name like "Wilde Heartz" or "Cuntree Hunee" and then we talk about how one day we're going to open a swanky tiki lounge-y bar that also has 80's night that will be more excellent than any swanky tiki lounge bar that has 80's night ever has been but for now, let's just go to the dive we always go to and eat free popcorn and listen to Motorhead on the jukebox because they haven't updated the records in the jukebox since 1987 anyway, and a great time will be had by all. Other than that, we're exactly like those damn Jungle Book vultures. Huzzah for dysfunctional weekend time being spent wisely!

On the THIRD Day Of Christmas...

...my true love gave to me...3 French Mens...



I don't know who these guys are in this 50's photo, but I have a question for them. Are they American? They probably are, because we have a bad rep for doing stupid, corny crap like this in foreign countries and making total asses of ourselves, prolonging the image of Americans being stupid, corny asses in foreign countries. All they're missing is a beret, a black & white striped shirt and attempting to mime being stuck in a box to really bring it home. I visited France many moons ago when I was living in England and I recall doing the obligatory "must see the Eiffel Tower" thing. Though I mimed "trying to stay sober while incoherently attempting to speak rudimentary one-semester-of-college-French while stuck in a box" and pretty much failed miserably. And I'm sure I too did my fair share of nerdy things, of which I can't remember. On the other hand, perhaps they're French and this is just a bunch of Paris-dwelling dudes (also called Parisians, if you're, you know, grammatically not an idiot), and this is their attempt at being humorous in an ironic sort of way. Eating grapes. In France. Under the Eiffel Tower. Oh, you crazy cats, you. No matter who they are or what their dorky deal is, I must say that this display of wit and tomfoolery in no way matches the comedic genius of Jerry Lewis.

...On the SECOND Day of Christmas...

...my true love gave to me...2 turtlenecks and a partridge in a pear tree."

The Catholic school girls knew that initiating Marlon Brando into their scooter gang would give them the street cred they needed.



Vintage knitting pattern book seen above starring the faux Brando, "Suddenly There's Scotch Mist", available at Paisley Path. Suddenly I could used a mist of scotch.





What do a guy making the "cool dude pose" trying to impress the ladies, a guy unsuccessfully heiling Hitler, a guy in a logging accident which cut off half his body, a guy wondering where he got that cold sore, a guy who just had laser eye surgery that went horribly wrong, a guy trying not laugh because he just ripped one, a guy who's downwind that just caught a whiff of the ripped one and a guy who gave the other guy that cold sore all have in common? They're all better than you because they used the new-fangled "Choose-O-Matic" to make their boring sweaters and you did not.

Vintage 60's book of men's sweater patterns available at Crafty Paneen. There's even a pattern for golf club covers. (There better be, dammit.)

Christmas Tree Boogie

Because I'm especially fond of A.) making lists B.) structure and C.) themes, I'm going to be doing "The 12 Days of Christmas" vintage-style for the next 12-ish days, where I might find some kind of vintage item that goes with the day, maybe some vintage vinyl, maybe some random retro shout-out, or perhaps nothing at all related, just to screw with your heads. It should be 12 days in a row, but I'm a fan of slack and also I forget alot, so it'll probably be more like the 17 ½ days of Christmas. Does it not sound terribly confusing, more work than it should be and not at all fun? Will I ruin Christmas, Hanukkah and possibly even Boxing Day? Good. Let's start!

On the First day of Xmas my true love gave to me...


...a partridge in a pear tree...




You don't have to say it. I know this is quite possibly the lamest picture I've ever had the displeasure of finding on the internets, next in line to the nude picture of Pete "homo-erotic" Wentz that's floating around out there, but do you know that there is nothing great in vintage land to show you for neither partridges nor pear trees? (Unless you find a 1980's Avon partridge in a pear tree collectible figurine with Bonnie Belle gingerbread Lipsmacker lip gloss hidden inside a great vintage score. Then it's your lucky day and I think you may also be mentally disabled from smoking too much of the crack and I will have to say GOOD DAY SIR. (See? Christmas is such a freaking joy already! I'm already yelling at crackheads and it's only day one!)








* "Christmas Tree Boogie" by the Swing Cats