So Long, Farewell!

Auf Weidersehen, goodbye! I'm getting the hell outta dodge and taking a break from the real world for vacation, where I can pretend to not live in the real world for the next 5 days. You're sad, I'm sure. But you simply must soldier on in a peaceful and positive way, until my triumphant return, still not tan and still not a fan of most things. I'll be back on friday, perhaps with some hokey pictures (Dolly Parton Dixie Stampede, represent), perhaps with a trunkload of moonshine, Pall Malls and fireworks, you never can tell.

I think for the next 5 days I may go by an alias, because you can get away with stupid crap like that when you're away from the real world. From now on, you may call me Fanny Humpington-Featherbottom, of the Walla Walla Featherbottoms and formerly of the Cornhole Humpingtons, notorious for the way we revolutionized animal husbandry and corn-husking. Yes, those Humpingtons.

Die With Your Boots On

I've been in a very 60's sort of mood lately- not the disgusto hippie/peace love and patchouli 60's, but the swanky, tough broad, early to mid 60's Faster Pussycat, Kill! Kill! kind of way. Spy girls, shoot from the hip, lurex jumpsuits, go-go kind of way.

Think: Emma Peel, avenging the crap outta wrong-doers...



...Julie Newmar, thanks for everything! Best Catwoman ever...



...Nancy Sinatra, not quite living up to her Dad's swagger, but saucy all the same. (And I will NOT use a cliche and overdone "these boots are made for walkin'" reference, because it's lame and has anyone ever really used that phrase and meant it? No! So stop saying it!)



And these chicks have the right apparel: skanktastic boots that every girl should have. How's about vintage gold boots? Ohhellsyeah! Am I nusto for thinking these are way too cool?



The seller calls them "Superhero boots" which is made of awesome and now I want to dress up like Wonder Woman and MUST HAVE the matching gold cuffs. Though I probably wouldn't be so motivated as to fight crime in it. More like vacuum and watch Maury Povich in it. Also awesome: the gold boots of glory are a US size 10. (!)

"Die With Your Boots On" by Iron Maiden. That's right, Iron motherlovin' Maiden, bitches.

Way-Out Wednesday: Barbecue Any Old Time

It's Way-Out Wednesday and that means there's vintage to be found, struttin' it's stuff along on a fine line between wholesome kitschy fun and "Oh sweet jebus, my eyes!".

Today's picks are for the boys. The men! The manliest of men! The hairiest and most mustachio'ed of macho men! I mean of course, the Manly Apron. No girlie-men allowed on this day, for today it's about grillin' meat! And aprons! Macho aprons! Which require much shouting! And the use of superfluous exclamation points!!!

The man apron (Manpron? Apman?) is pretty much a dead fashion statement these days, and I'm not referring to the cheestacular, fleeting interest in manly aprons of the 1980's that said "Kiss the Cook" or had a risque drawing of a naked man on the front, so when worn, it looked like the chef was standing there, cooking in the nude. Hilarious.

You may recall the days of the Ward Cleavers and the Ozzie Nelsons- not exactly who you think of when you say "manly men", but as the head of the household they manned the bbq grill, as did most dad-types in Anytown, USA beginning from it's post-war explosion of grilling-pit interest to modern day. And they wouldn't wear their wives' pink froo-froo aprons (unless, of course, it was for slapstick comedic gold, such as when Ricky and Fred traded lives with Lucy and Ethel and they wore their lacy aprons. What a hoot.) Nay, your average Joe had an apron of his own, usually with a wacky, totally 50's novelty print on the front and almost always some sort of derogatory-to-womankind picture on the front. The good ol' days. (I'm a chick and even I can say lighten the hell up already! Kitsch isn't meant to be apologetic.) So with summer creeping up, I think it's high time men also lighten the hell up already and take back the grill in style.

(PS: Is it just me or have I been talking about meat alot lately? What...is up... with that? (said like Jerry Seinfeld). Meatmeatmeatmenmenmengrillinggrillinggrilling. Freudian or coincidence? Or a blogging hack? Or in need of upping her dosage? All of the above? You be the judge.)

So here are a few of my favorites, all available for sale as of this very second. (None are owned by me, which makes me and baby jebus sad.) Each pic is clickable to take you to the listing where you can purchase it and wear it with testosterone-y flair. Extra points to anyone who owns a Trans Am or rocks a Smokey and the Bandit mustache.



Looks like Sam the Butcher has been dipping in the sauce again. I would suggest avoiding the Liver Special.






"There are strange things done 'neath the midnight sun." Such as...? DO tell.




For the man who prefers AA to A1. That's right, Borderline Alcoholic Gardener, screw the "B-Que" and head straight to the "Bar".




"Please don't stand up while the room is in motion." "Our policy: The customer is always tight." Will the hilarity never end? "Don't take life so seriously. You'll never get out of it alive" sounds like something your annoying office buddy would have hanging on her cubicle wall, right next to the motivational "Hang in There" cat poster and Cathy cartoon clippings.





By far, this one's my favorite. While I appreciate the coolness of the pinups and the play on "Hot Dish", is it necessary to have the gals writhing in pain in a frying pan? That's not safe. It looks like something out of a cheesy Bugs Bunny cartoon. I know they're supposed to be sassy and all, but look at their poses- they even look like they're dying a slow death by frying. And PS: As IF a fatass, old slob like him would have a harem of babes like that. (A man must have invented that one.) Reality FAIL. That only happens in movies. And Utah.


"Barbecue Any Old Time" by Blind Boy Fuller

Three Cigarettes In An Ashtray

Yellow Dress: "Hey Judy, how do you like my new tie? Actually it's a men's necktie, but I think it looks mucho fabulous worn this way, don't you agree? Whatsa matter, Judy? You look perplexed...like you've seen this necktie before or something. Well, lemme check something here....Huh. It appears as though the initials BS are embroidered on the inside of this here necktie. Why, Judy! Doesn't your husband Bob Smith get everything he owns monogrammed? Small world! Remember last thursday when you called the office and Bob said he was tied up and wouldn't be home until late? Well that's not the only way he was "tied up", if you catch my drift."

Green Dress: "Hey Judy, how do you like my new indoor/outdoor Ray-Bans? Actually, they're not mine, but the prescription is close enough. I picked them up on Saturday for my spectacular boating trip to the Hamptons. What's that? Bob lost his sunglasses last weekend? Pity. Whatsa matter, Judy? Since when did I become interested in fishing? You know what they say, there's plenty of fish in the sea, and all that jazz...and I plan on taking every one of those fish for a test drive, if you catch my drift. Well whaddya know, what's this written here? There's a label on the inside of these sunglasses that says "Property of the SS Weiner Schnitzel" Isn't that the name of Bob's dingy? Small world! You know that Marlin that Bob mounted above the fireplace this past monday? Well that's not the only thing that was "stuffed" OR "mounted", if you catch my drift.

Red Dress: Sigh. You silly, stupid women. Do you think it bothers me that you skanks got all up on my husband? Who hasn't? There's a reason why I stopped sleeping with him ages ago. But you broads forget one thing: while you've been doing the horizontal mambo for nothing in return except for, what, some used accessories, I've been getting our life insurance finalized and in order. You do know that Bob has a million dollar life insurance policy, right? And you do know that if in the unfortunate case of his untimely death, the wife claims it, not the two-bit trash he's currently banging. Did you sluts notice that Bob's been downing an awful lot of antacids lately? Could be a stomach ulcer that's been bothering him, could be the ground glass and rat poison that somehow has been turning up in his morning Bloody Mary. This time tomorrow I'll be a mill clams richer and you hoochies will be back in the steno pool wondering how you're gonna pay next week's rent. Bye-bye bitches! Oh, and one more thing: enjoy the itch. Give it a few days, you'll see what I mean."


"Three Cigarettes In An Ashtray" by Patsy Cline.

Suddenly It's Spring

So it's officially spring, right? So what gives with these east coast winds and the cold and the whatnot? And the northwest is getting slammed with another blizzard and there's tornado watches in the mid west or more whatnot everywhere else? I do not approve, Mother Nature. I do not approve at all. For your non-robotic, feminine side, enjoy some fruity tooty flowers from my kitchen table, which sprinkle their charming yellow pollen dust on my cereal bowl every time the table gets bumped, making me follow up with a Zyrtec and gin chaser. Spring is wonderful. (I'm just kidding about mixing meds with gin. It was whisky.)





(Gettin' my garden geek on: I looove Campanula flowers. Actually, I relish flowers that are vaguely shaped like Chinese paper lanterns!)

Lucky for me, I'm getting the hell outta dodge on vacay this weekend (was that a little too cheestastically "Legally Blond"? It was. I should be shot.) for a whole 5 days. That's right, not a full week, but 5 days. Jealous? Of course. Who wouldn't be jealous because I get to go to Dolly Parton's Dixie Stampede? And don't even think I'm not totally going to act like a retarded tourist jackass and dress like a dang cowgirl, because I totally am, and I'm bringing my family down with me by forcing the menfolk to wear western shirts and we will look awesome. Awesomely hokey and wrong. When in Rome and all that crap. I'm gonna Daisy Duke the balls outta that place. (I don't know what that means either. Just get in the fetal position and go to a happy place.)


"Suddenly It's Spring" by Frank Sinatra.