Here Comes The Weekend

Would you concur that this was the longest week ever? For a delicious treat to kick off the weekend, I just know you'll enjoy this video from Dave Edmunds and want to watch it over and over. You'll laugh. You'll cry. You'll fall in love with his mesmerizing haircut. It's better than Cats. Please try not to get your mind blown by the space-age graphics of this video. Happy friday, yada yada yada.

Pass The Dutchie

"Now children, if I told you once, I told you a million times: It's rude to bogart the stogies. Remember: puff, puff, pass. Puff, puff, pass!"



"Pass the Dutchie" by Musical Youth.

Way-Out Wednesday: Devil Or Angel

For today's Way-Out Wednesday, I found something that I think best encapsulates how I feel pretty much on a day to day basis. You know, if I was a toy. That was a disgusting rat. Wearing a prison jumpsuit. And male. Otherwise, the similarities are endless.



Actually, I think this thing is hilarious. I love it's crazy disturbing face. Is it angry? Is it laughing? Is it about to shiv someone for a cigarette? Who knows?! That's what makes it great. It kind of has that "Mona Lisa smile" thing happening, but of, like, bad people. Come to think of it, it reminds me of the "hee hee hee" laughing face that Muttley had, from those cartoons in the 60's and 70's.



The seller says it's vintage 50's and has an "Annalee" label, but it doesn't look familiar to me at all. Most kid's toys from the 50's had a sinister and borderline deranged look about them, and not very kid-friendly or fun at all, so it could very well be from then. I don't suppose anyone recognises this thing? (You can click the pic to get to the listing, if you want to buy the escaped prison rat.)

Luckily for us (read: actually quite unfortunate), the seller has another Annalee stuffed thing, equally as fug and scary as ol rat boy up there. Aww, it's an angel...



See now, why would anyone make an angel look like this?! This isn't a cherubic and safe and heavenly kind of face an angel should have. He looks like he's plotting how to make your disappearance from your boating trip look like an accident, and his Mr. Burns-ian hand-wringing doesn't help either. Eeeexcellent. I was under the impression that angels had sweet, smiling faces of joy and wisdom and crap. Come to think of it, this is probably exactly what my guardian angel looks like.




"Devil or Angel" by the Clovers.

What Do I Get?

Hi? Uh... hell-lo? Down here?! Yeah, remember me?!! I see everyone else got the cute Patty Duke "flip" 'do, but not me, right? Sure, just part it down the middle and comb it behind my ears, that's swell. What look am I going for, exactly? The lady who hands out cheese samples at the Hillshire Farms store in the mall? 'Cuz you stylists nailed it. Great. I look like Laura freaking Ingalls. I guess I also get the boring-ass brown skirt, too. No, I guess I don't need color, just make me a walking turd, thanks. I heard the librarian marm look is really big with the 18-25 year-old crowd, so I'm sure to land me a hot man tonight, so thanks for the confidence booster in making me look 80. And what's this little...oh, that's just freaking GREAT. Yeah, don't bother to photoshop out what appears to be pit pubes, just go ahead and make me look like an unshaven, granola-eating hippie. Men, come and get me. Just keep standing there, you Mary Tyler Moore wanna-be, just act like you don't even know I'm here. And honey, enough already with the Wonder Woman pose. It was funny the first 7 times you did it. Now it's just sad. And don't even start with me, Gangsta Barbie. What, what is that, like, your gang sign you're flashing there, honey? It must have been tough growin' up in your 'hood- tennis court in the backyard, beemer in the driveway for your sweet 16, a pool boy named Chad...90210 represent, like, totally! I hate all you bitches. Screw you guys, I'm going home.




"What Do I Get?" by the Buzzcocks.

Please Don't Eat The Daisies

Did you ever notice how you start to become a "collector" of certain crap that you didn't even mean to start collecting but it just sort of happens when you tend to keep buying the same thing even though there's really no need for it? (And could I have made that sentence any longer and harder to understand? And I could I sound any more like Chandler Bing right now?) For instance, for me, I have a thing for vintage lamps and odd furniture (like that circa 1960 cylinder vinyl bar I talked about not too long ago). But you know, if the price is cheap enough, you can't not buy it, right? It's not like an odd piece of 50's furniture comes along too often, so I buy it and then complain that this place has gotten too damn small and there's no room and whine, whine, whine, bitch, bitch, bitch. So that brings me to what I seem to be unintentionally collecting of late, and that is vintage curtains. I have zero need for the ones I buy, in fact, they tend to not even be the right size or colorway to match anything, but I don't care, for they fill me with glee! And I may throw out my victory jazz hands! Huzzah! (Ok, not really, I don't glee over too many things, and who the hell says huzzah anyway, but you get the point.)


So enter my latest curtain "score"? You be the judge. I nabbed 2 different pair for el cheap-o at the antique mall across the street, they match absolutely nothing and are borderline fug. I say they're awesome in their wrong-ness, my Dad took one look at them and said it looked like a Brady exploded in my living room when he saw these:



I love, luv, lurve lime green. I love how the flowers are drawn cartoon-y. I don't love the Brady thing going on with the them and it clashes with the entire rest of my hiz-ouse, which doesn't span much past 1960 in decor. I don't love huge florals because they remind me of the whole shabby chic country house thing and shabby chic, my dear friends, makes me wanna cut a bitch.

And then there's this pair, which regrettably I couldn't get a decent enough full-length picture of, what with their highly reflective and glossy, sharkskin-esque man-made and probably highly flammable material. These are way awesome in an aqua and green color combo and atomic-y doodads.



However there's only one window these fit in and that's in the bathroom, which happens to be done in the original flesh tone-meets-salmon tile:



Since my little mint green ranch was built in the 40's and has mostly all the original fixtures and whatnots, I would never dream of painting over that fugtastically-colored tile! So I guess clash-o-rama will have to resume for now, until I get my decorating shit together. Are these too ugly to live and should I sell 'em instead? Should I give them the old "it's not you, it's me" speech and send them packing? Is my being all hopped up on Zyrtec and Pamprin impairing my judgement?




"Please Don't Eat The Daisies" by Doris Day.

Mucha Muchacha

Wishing all you moms out there the happiest Mother's Day! Whether you're a working mom, stay-at-home mom, soon-to-be mom, a mom who's kids are all growns up, a mom who brings home the bacon and cooks it up in the pan, a grandmother, fujiyama mama or a bad mama jama, you all need to have your damn ungrateful family do the dishes so you can go on that weekend-long bender at the bingo hall that you so deserve. Get crazy and spike the punch at the Tupperware party, it's your day and you mamacitas rock!





An excerpt from the boy's "All About Mom" booklet. So I says to him, I says: "Why did you say my favorite food is a tuna melt?"-- while I do love them, proclaiming a tuna fish sammich to be "my favorite" is not at all accurate--to which the lad replied: "I didn't know how to spell filet mignon, so a tuna melt seemed like a good enough substitute". Smartass. I'm so proud. "But I left out the part that you like rum in your coke with little umbrellas when your friends come over". Touche, young squire. The force is strong with this one.




And then there's my own mamacita.



I wish I knew her longer than I did, but cancer's a bitch and some "higher force" thought it appropriate for me to be 18 and Mom-less. But life's a bitch too, and the funny thing is, is that even in her death she was still acting like a Mom and teaching me one last lesson: life is hard so you better be a tough broad if you wanna make it. She's still the toughest broad I know. So make sure to give yours an extra long squeeze today and let her know just how much she rocks! I love ya, mom.






"Mucha Muchacha" by Esquivel.