Saturday, December 13, 2008

Wind Beneath My Wings

I don't blog much on Sundays, not because it's Sunday and I'm a-fearin' the wrath of Jebus and Sunday is the day of rest or whatever, but because it is Sunday and I enjoy the fact that there is a day which makes it OK to blame it for your slack and laze. Damn you Sunday for being an enabler!

I do have just a few words to impart on you, my luscious little lieblings, and in list form, my favorite of things! Sweet. The artistic and creative sort generally run screaming in their vegan-leather fleece-lined clogs (AKA: The Dreaded Hippie Type) from lists and order and rules and all around anal-ness, however I must be at a standstill in my Right Vs. Left Brain Smackdown, for lists make me happier than a visit from Jack Daniels. I don't know what those crazy kids in the UK in the 70's were yammering on about. Anarchy would send me into a nervous breakdown followed by random rooftop snipering and anyway, rules are good, because in my Ideal World, rules would force everyone to do what I tell them to. Dictatorship In The USA.

1.) And now, another chapter in: Tales Of Extreme Violence Caused By Terrible Songs Stuck In Your Head That Have The Craptitude To Even Drown Out The Voices That Are Usually In There:
The last song I heard on the radio driving home was "Ironic" By Alanis Whateverthehell. Do not judge me, you sitting there listening to Fall Out Boy! I will cut you! This is what happens on AM radio and you only have a choice between Religion Hour and Sunday Morning Coffee Talk college radio. The 8 a.m college radio shift is generally saved for the 50 year mom who's going back to school after being a housewife for the past 30 years but wants to "get involved" with school activitites so she manages to nab a shift at the campus station but since she IS a 50 year old mom going back to school after being a housewife for the past 30 years, the school obliges, but gives her the worst on-air shift ever so she can play her early 90's chick rock. You will listen to Sophie B. Hawkins and you will like it!

I know it's been discussed before over the years, but since I am apparently in a stick-up-my-keister mood and have never expressed my literary uptightedness about the song before I shall say this unto thee: "It's a black fly in your Chardonnay" and "It's the good advice that you just didn't take" is not irony, you freaking chump. Wow. There. I said it. Thank God I finally have THAT off my chest. The demons have been ex-or-cised, I have the Spirit running all through me, all through me! Praise jee-sus, hallelujah, amen, hot damn and holy crap.

2.) Also, I heard "Barracuda" by Heart and while I was crappily singing my face off, I had an overwhelming desire to go rolling skating.

3.) A friend of mine recently sent me this creepy vintage bird, knowing my fear and loathing of birds, and thought I'd like a possessed bird. When I opened the box, it was a bit like the scene where Brad Pitt opens the Box-O-Gwyneth Paltrow-Head. How sweet! And I do love my angry bird, except that I can't walk past it without yelling at it, so that's a Dr. Phil show waiting to happen. What are YOU looking at, tough guy? I will fry you and serve you with cornbread. Take THAT. Please enjoy the night terrors you will endure for the rest of your life from the dead zombie bird that will watch you while you sleep. And probably eat you.

From faraway, it's not too disturbing...


But then...


OH MY GOD! I'm sorry! I'm sorry, strange and creepy plastic bird! Whatever I did to invoke your wrath, I'm sorry! Please don't kill me!

I love my demented and twisted friends.

Friday, December 12, 2008

...On The TWELFTH Day of Christmas...

...My true love gave to me, 12 Drummers Drumming...

Today is the last day of this whole 12 Days of Xmas monstrosity of an idea that I thought would be grand. Are you sad that it's over, mi amigos? Yeah, me neither. It's been swell and all, but all good and ridiculous and snarky things must come to an end, so I can move forward to writing more...ridiculous and snarky things. I guess there's not much change there, after all. And so, let the commencement commence! (Ha! Cheesy "Grease" reference, did you notice that? I should just shut up now.)

And so...12 Drummers Drumming...



(Looks like someone is enjoying the gratuitous beaver shot. Shortly thereafter the restless natives sacrificed the virgin to their God of Limbo Rock.)



(After years of feeling like your wishes were not being validated, it's about time someone finally discovered the need to make a mambo record. For cats.)

Merry "Babalu" Christmas!

Merry "Swingin'" Christmas!

Merry "Muy Macho" Christmas!

Merry "Quadrophenia" Christmas!

Merry "Dr. Feelgood" Christmas!

Merry "Most Sensational, Inspirational, Celebrational Muppetational" Christmas!

Wednesday, December 10, 2008

...On the ELEVENTH Day Of Christmas...

...My true love gave to me, 11 pipers piping...

Have you noticed that no one smokes pipes anymore? Not counting, like, your grandpas who've been smoking pipes since the Great War, I'm talking about considerably less-old people. I want to see pipes in vogue again in the under-40 crowd, if for no other reason than to viciously mock their pseudo intellectual beatnik-chic. I'm not sure what that means, since I just made it up. But it sounds snarky fabulous and I'm going to start using it in everyday conversation. Observe: "Did you see John at Starbucks yesterday wearing a turtleneck, smoking a pipe, fake-writing on his laptop at a vain attempt for attention combined with his growing-in chin pubes and reading The Grapes of Wrath?"... "Ohmygod, I KNOW. He's such a pseudo intellectual beatnik-chic poseur. Plus, he never called me after we 'went out' last month, so I hate him."

The last time pipes were cool was probably in the 1970's. This is how I picture men who smoke pipes: 70's English Lit professor wearing a corduroy blazer with suede elbow patches, key party in his log cabin with his students, red wine, Jim Croce record playing in the background, hot tub and qualudes. I guess that's not so much "cool" as it is "really gross".

So today I'm homaging creepy pipe-smoking men in vintage ads and patterns! (But what's the deal with guys on pattern covers looking so homo-erotic? Even when they try to make the guy look tough, it's an epic fail in heterosexual masculinity.)

Stripey Boxers: "As soon as young Benjamin over there is done yakking up the Roofie-tinis I gave him, this all-male "pajama party" is ON. He won't even know what hit him. And tonight, I'm keeping the penny loafers on.

Stripey PJ's: "Oh Rooo-beee? I'm wearing my pink pajamas and coyly pretending to read this book full of blank paaaaaa-ges! You know what that means?!"

Yellow PJ's: "Yes, dear. But tonight...the midget watches."

(The above 2 patterns are available from my friend Julie over at Damn Good Vintage )


Wrong. She's not making that face because she likes the way you look with that pipe. She's actually thinking of how she can make tire tracks over your back look like an accident.


Cateye Lady: "Oh. My. God. Is that Betty and Rick over there? I can't believe they had the nerve to come to the lodge this weekend, when I told her we wanted to be alone. Bitch. If she thinks she's getting my recipe for Meatloaf Surprise, she's crazy! Crap, don't look now but they're walking over here. I said DON'T LOOK."

Pipe Guy: "Damn. Has Rick been working out?! He is working those ski pants."


"No one understands me like you do, little glass unicorn figurine. Just you and Mother."

...On The TENTH Day Of Christmas...

...My true love gave to me, 10 Lords A Leaping...(leaping to send my blaspheming ass to the netherworld...)

Do you ever feel..."not so fresh", like you're just bursting at the seams with sin and guilt? Do you ever feel like you need to be absolved NOW, but just can't find the time or energy to do so? Do you want to be a better person, without all the pesky annoyances like going to church once a week for a whole hour?

Well look no further for absolution my fellow sinners, have I got the instant, karmic solution for you! Try the new Super Magic Happy Jebus 3000**! It's the religious purse for the gal on the go! Traveling door-to-door? Perfect for storing your stack of "The Watchtower" pamphlets!

And look! The Super Magic Happy Jebus 3000 has severed hands protecting it, so it does that praying for you!

BUT WAIT! There's MORE! Should you ever question your faith, have no doubt, for it will DEMAND you know:

In your FACE non-believers! God's #1! God's #1!

Q: Where did this itchy rash come from?
A: Christ is the answer

Q. Maury, I need to know who is my baby daddy?
A: Christ is the answer

Q: Who can I blame that I lost my job, got evicted from my house and had to sell my car?
A: Christ is the answer

See? It really works. The Super Magic Happy Jebus 3000 is just like a Magic 8 Ball, except you can't ask it anything specific...or yes/no questions...or any question where "Christ" isn't the answer. Otherwise, its just like a Magic 8 Ball!

You too can be saved! Super Magic Happy Jebus 3000 vintage basket purse is available for sale at Sweetheartville on Etsy for the low, low price of $20! A small price to pay for God's love.

**If you have any of these symptoms: are unwed and pregnant, covet thy neighbor's wife, are into bestiality, are a thief and/or a liar, have more than one wife, are Jewish, drive an SUV, are a terrorist, are a glutton, an unwed fornicator, fall prey to lust, anger or pride, or are human, then the Super Magic Happy Jebus 3000 may not be for you. We cannot be held responsible if you spontaneously burst into flames, are flogged in the village square or are burned at the stake. Few may win, results may vary.

Monday, December 8, 2008

...On The NINTH Day of Christmas...

...My true love gave to me, 9 Ladies Bitching...

From Dior's last original collection in 1957, photo spread originally seen in Vogue (I think):


Pink Dress: "I wonder if I should tell those bitches that I'm actually a man? Ha! I still get more action than they do."

Green Dress: "Tick tock bitches, let's get this damn picture over with already. Shemp's wig is due back to wardrobe by 3."

Black Dress: "Who do those WASP bitches think they are? I'll show them an "ancient Chinese secret" when I spike their wonton with arsenic."

Brown Dress: "Like those bitches couldn't wait one more week for my bunion surgery to heal. Didn't I wait for their nose jobs and uterus scrapings?! God, I look like I have Polio."

White Dress: "I can't believe those bitches made me wear "the fat dress". They'll be the ones who'll need it, after I substitute their Splenda with weight gain powder."

Gold Dress: "These bitches are so self-involved, they didn't even notice that I have no reflection in the mirror. I'd feast on their blood right this very second, except I'm afraid I'd pass out from all the Valium and rum coursing through their veins."

Red Dress: " 'To the left, that's where we're supposed to be looking' ", those bitches told me. Now I look like the asshole. And is this a beret on my head or was my hair fashioned into a bird's nest?"

Black Dress: "These bitches make me sick. I should just throw up on them, right now."

White Dress: "Shut your stupid faces, bitches. I'd like to see you hover on top of a ladder in 6" heels. What is this I'm wearing, a cotillion gown?! Am I Scarlet O'Hara now? And what the hell am I supposed to be portraying, anyway? 'Weee! A woman's work is never done. Not even on her wedding day! Time to spackle the ceiling!'? Stupid Vogue art directors. I should just kill them all right now.

...On the EIGHTH Day Of Christmas...

...My true love gave to me, 8 Maids A Square-Dancing...

Did I ever tell you about the time I took a square dancing class in college? Well I did and it was....not good. Not a happy gym requirement to take when you have 2 left feet. Plus you have to listen and memorize steps that go with the listening. And then there's all that moving. I'd much rather be on the sideline watching everyone else and throw peanuts at them. (That IS what you do when watching square dancing, isn't it?) And do you call a square dancer that trips and falls a "Ho Down?" (HA! See what I did with that? A ho...that is down? Hoedown?...Shut up, it's Monday, don't expect Jerry Seinfeld.) I need a dance that requires the most minimal amount of physical exertion and movement possible. Is there a dance where you just stand and blink? Because that one sounds good.

Should you feel like bowing to your partner, swat the flea and promenade!, then you need the goods for it. And by "goods" I don't mean "booze", which is how I come equipped when forced to dance publicly. No, I mean you need the right outfit. And these vintage 60's square dancing dresses are not too hokey, not too "Petticoat Junction inbreeds with HeeHaw". They have just the right cute-to-hoke ratio.

These are all from Vintage Repeats. In fact, she has a buttload of country fried dresses, so that's kind of.. weird...Maybe she's a champion square dancer obsessed with winning, so she murders her competition and then sells their clothing. Yeah. That must be it.

Not clothing, but lookie what I found! This is the coolest 50's barkcloth tablecloth I've seen in a long-ass time. Screw the overplayed boomerangs and the atomic starbursts...this has a HOEDOWN on it. (Click the pic to take you to the seller's listing before I buy it and make a skirt out of it!)

Sunday, December 7, 2008

...On The SEVENTH Day Of Christmas...

...Seven Swans A Swimming...7 really boring-ass swans. Swimming. The excitement does not stop.

Seriously. I'd have a better outcome of sitting in the bathtub with a George Foreman Grill than trying to find anything remotely interesting about boring ass, stupid swans. Except that the Pilgrims ate swan on the original Thanksgiving Day feast, so there's that. Nothing like making a soup bowl out of the head of like, the world's most beautiful bird to make you lose your lunch. But at least you learned something today. Knowledge is power! So is a tasty swan drumstick.

I was set to scrap the whole damn swan theme for the day and just post one of those lame "7 swans a swimming" stock photos and call it it a day so I can get back to the Eggnog, but found some truly lame crap out there. Next to those horRENdous Anne Geddes photos of stupid babies dressed up in stupid swan outfits, the thing I found comes in second on the list of "Things I Found On The Internet Today That Make Me Stabby And Go Berserker". Someone's Grandma is going to make them a really
rockin' Xmas sweater with this patch. Either Grandma enjoys torturing you just for the sick pleasure of it, or she's been hitting the sauce again and it's impairing her gift-making skillz. And she'll secretly be laughing at you EVERY YEAR when your mom makes you wear the retarded 12 Days Of Christmas sweater when she comes to visit, so Grandma knows how much you love her crappy handiwork. My Grandma wasn't the cutesy make-stuff kind. She was more the "get me a straw for my Harvey Wallbanger and get out of the way, you're standing in front of the TV and your big head is blocking my stories. Damn kids." kind of Grandma. (Who said Germans were cold?)


Get it? 7 swans swimming in a pool?! That's hilarious. You're welcome. Damn kids.