Happy New Year, Baby

Happy New Year's Eve, peeps! Don't forget to eat fish today and pork tomorrow...that's some kind of good luck tradition- I think it's a Catholic thing?...frick, I should know this...All I know is that you have to eat fish and pork today and tomorrow to have a lucky 2009. That, and you don't want to piss off Jebus. Or else. Jebus will smite you. He will smite you good! Do you think Swedish Fish counts as the "fish" part of the deal? He really should have specified trout or bass or whatever. Darn you jebus for sabotaging my New Years luck!

I thought I should give back to some of my vintage friends who have done so much for me, if I ended this year on a good note and give props where props is due. Also to prove that I really am not made entirely out of piss and vinegar, as my German Grandma used to say. So it's linky-linky time! Here are a few that were either really helpful throughout the year, or paid me off really well for my friendship, "Can't Buy Me Love"-style. In no particular order, here's a shout-out to my friends and homies who I couldn't have done it without. Done what, you ask? Perhaps commit arson, maybe plot elaborate jewel heists, you'll just never know.

For pretty much the best vintage shopping ever on the interwebs, you must check out: Dorothea's Closet Vintage, Damn Good Vintage, Couture Allure, Glamoursurf (she has the most incredible vintage swimsuits for sale you've ever laid your peepers on)....And (if you're crafty and can sew your own clothes I envy you very much), you might dig these vintage pattern sellers: MomsPatterns, The Ornament Gal, Vintage Fashion Library...

There are so many more homies I'm forgetting to send love to, so I'm sorry if I missed anyone this time around. Maybe next year. (Get it, because next year is tomorrow? Shut up, it was too funny.)



But most of all, thanks to all of you kindred spirits of nerds, freak and geeks out there who read my stabby blog! Hopefully you take away something from it. I loves me some of you guys and you keep me going when I sometimes feel like a nut...and sometimes I don't (stolen retro commercial line!). Keep posting your comments and let me know you're listening/laughing/crying/loathing and keep sending your hate mail! Have a rockin' New Year's Eve! (Dick Clark not included.)

The Man Comes Around

Holy frick, tomorrow is New Year's eve. Do you suppose I can cram a whole year's worth of resolutions onto my to-do list and get them all done by tomorrow? Crap. It's not like I made these monumental resolutions or anything, like saving the beavers or teaching monkeys sign language. I know better than to promise myself to get things done in a year. Only thing I accomplished this year was wasting 365 consecutive days in a row to slacking, tomfoolery and indifferent bitching. Mission accomplished. Huzzah!

*Genuinely good and selfless deeds I have done in '08: That's hard to say. How can you measure a "good deed" and what exactly is the meaning of one anyway? Does not stabbing people count as a good deed? How about not running people over who are crossing at a stoplight? Do I get any karma points for that?

*Pounds I have lost in '08: That's hard to say. My scale is a pathological liar and you can't trust a word it says.

*People I have made a positive impact on in '08: Ahahahahaha, that's a good one. I'm sure I'm changing the world, what with my positive outlook on life and kind words. More like: "how many people have I pissed off, alienated and/or offended in '08".

This time of year is so depressing and annoying because people reflect on their life over the past year, feeling like a horse's ass because they didn't do enough, make enough money, yada yada yada. We'll never make enough money and we'll never be as complete and good and we think we should be, so why bother worrying about it now? Plus, people just suck and we never change, so quite yer bitching about it. Does anyone actually make resolutions and stick to them? Who has, like goals and stuff? Don't you think it's just good enough making it day to day, relatively sane, somewhat happy, basically healthy, knowing that someone loves you and maybe even with a buck or 2 in your pocket? I think that's all it takes to make me feel content. Then again, Ren and Stimpy makes me happy, so maybe I aim too low.

Holiday Road

Howdy, kids! I hope your holidays were freaking splendid and not too much on the dysfunctional side. I took a mini break from the blogging and the kvetching, not for a lack of interesting or hell, even boring things to say-(because I can bitch about anything when put on the spot. Test me. Give me any subject and I can find something that annoys me about it, or perhaps it'll be a subject I love greatly such as the bliss of Swedish Fish or Nad's hair-removal strips that look like flypaper, for when you can't get to the salon for a real eyebrow-waxing, and I'll talk about it at great lengths with no subject breaks and including many rambling thoughts in run-on sentence form)-but because I am rocking a cold that won't just break into a full-blown illness, but instead is dragging out in slow-motion and I feel quite like ass because of it and am, at all times, ready for a nap. And I am far too high-strung to nap, so you know this cold type thing is whooping my sorry ass. Did I have a point? I don't remember.

Here's a post Xmas wrap-up (mmm...chicken chipotle wrap from McDonald's...):

Presents did not suck this year. Major points to the ball and chain who remembered me saying a month ago that I wanted Lolita on dvd (and I of course mean Stanley Kubrick's 1962 version, not any of the skanky, whack-ass 90's versions, starring someone like Alyssa Milano or Drew Barrymore or Tori Spelling. And yes, I realise I'm putting Lolita in the same category as "the Joey Buttafuoco Story". For dramatic effect, when jazz hands can't be put to good use.) I've been almost unhealthily digging the Ventures lately, and I'm not sure why. In fact their Christmas album was/is my favorite this year. But I'm currently obsessed with their version of "Lolita Ya Ya", from the movie of course, but not Nelson Riddle's lame version. It's a sickness, really. I've been singing "ya ya, wah-o wah-o, ya ya" for weeks now. What is my problem?! You can see what I mean here:



Another present which did not suck were gift cards to my grocery store. 200 bucks! Sweet! I'd most likely be inclined to blow the whole thing (yep, I said "blow the whole thing" alright) on boxes-o-wine, but because Pennsylvania sucks it so hard, you can't buy it in grocery stores, just in liquor stores. Lame! 100 bucks can buy a mighty fine case or 2 of boxed wine. I'd stack them all on my front porch and hang those damn white icicle lights off of them, in a most excellent display of white trashery. So I guess I have to buy actual foodstuffs for my dang family, instead of cheap booze. Damn you, state of PA!

So other than that, it's been a pretty basic Xmas. How was everybody else's week? Were cops called? Was pepper spray involved? Did anyone have to cut a bitch? I need to know.

Mambo Santa Mambo

Have a rockin' day, my little mugs of spiced wassail! I'm off to break in my new Red Ryder bb gun with a compass in the stock and this thing which tells time. Eyes will probably be shot out.

Rockin' Around The Christmas Tree

Merry Christmas eve, everyone! Or if you're Jewish, then Happy Hanukkah. If you're a new age-y granola type, then Happy Winter Solstice. If you're an atheist, then Happy nothing. I hope you all get what you deserve. (That sounds a bit ominous and foreboding, doesn't it?) Deck those halls, bring us some figgy pudding, please to put a penny in the old man's hat and don your gay apparel.

"Got no sleigh with reindeer, No sack on my back, You're gonna see me comin' in a big black Cadillac." A little Xmas cheer, blitzed-out, forgetful King-style:



One of the most real depictions of what Christmas is really like for most people. Starts out beautiful and hopeful but eventually turns dismal and wrong. Thank JEBUS for those crazy kids, The Pogues, for writing the best Xmas lyrics ever: "Happy Christmas you arse, I pray God its our last". How the hell can I look it but not be Irish?



Happy Holidays, to all of my little peppermint twists! Lumps of coal for everyone!

Run Rudolph Run

Hi, my name is Kim and it's been 21 minutes since I've re-gifted. Can we talk about re gifting, just for a sec? Is it always totally tacky or is it sometimes acceptable to do for someone you feel rather "meh" about and deep down inside you're only giving them a present because you sort of have to? I need to know if I'm tacky. DO TELL. Here's the scenario: I'm all done shopping for my ungrateful friends and family. I'm even done with all those random people you forget about until the last minute (teachers, in-laws, kids, whatever.) And then it dawned on me this morning that I forgot the mailman. And screw you political correctness, he's a man who delivers my mail. I'm not calling him my "mail carrier" or "postal worker". BALLS. TO. THAT.

So I re-gifted that mofo. I re-gifted him good. I heard him on my porch, delivering the mail, as that's what he does, DUH, so I opened up the door in a grand, sweeping, dramatic and actually kid of retarded sort of way that scared the bejesus outta him and handed him an envelope, while I nervously mumbled some stupid crap and went back inside. (Why was I nervous?) The guy looked so happy and thanked me and Merry Xmas-ed me and almost skipped back to his little truck and drove off. Oh CRAP. He's happy. Too happy. Probably thinks I put cash in there. I did not. What I did out in there is a $20 gift card to a local pizza joint that a friend of mine gave me, but it's been sitting here for a month and I never get to that part of town, so screw you Vinny D's Pizza, I will not eat in your fine Italian establishment. And now I know why I'm nervous~ because it's a garbage present, isn't it?! That was a totally lame gift I gave the dude! What if he's lactose-intolerant? What if his family has a century-long beef with the Vinny D family, due to the pasta sauce delivery incident of 1923? Why would I think that was a good gift? Just because I would enjoy a gift card to a food place doesn't mean the world would. I can't ever face him again. I guess I'm going to have to move to a new town, where they don't know me as a lame gift-giver. Again. My love of cheese has gotten me into another fine mess.

Mele Kalikimaka

In case you've ever wondered what kind of high-class, fancy pants sort of Xmas decorating I do, wonder no more, my little figgy puddings. This is what happens when you drink and deck the halls...




...you get a garland of mini cocktail shakers and martini glasses. I had boring-ass white lights (not a fan) strung around the hallway arch and it needed some kind of tacky white-trashification...a few Mai Tais later and voila! A Martha Stweart Christmas is born. I have a couple dozen each of the martinis and shakers~ they're not vintage of course but schmacy all the same, from a few years ago when I had a "real" job, a retail management stint that sold kitschy crap like this at Xmas. I've been trying to figure out a way of making a necklace out of them, but so far it's a fail. Too heavy and clunky. And also, I'm pretty sure the white girl Mr. T-meets-Flavor Flav look is...not good, at the very least.



Notice the hand-crafted (AKA mass-produced in China) attention to detail in the olive-on-stick.



And the lid comes off the shaker! I love working, movable parts on mini things. The shaker would make a swell gift-giving receptacle, but considering it's all of 3" tall, what could one put in it? Poppy seeds? Tic Tacs? Valium? "Merry Christmas, Grandma! Look inside! It's half an ounce of dope! Good for you!"

(More trashy decorating to come, assuming the spiced rum holds out...)

Swingin' Them Jingle Bells

If you're like me (and jebus help you if you are), then you probably also wait 'til the very last minute to buy crap for your peeps. But a word of advice, no matter how much your Dad says he'll love whatever you get him, slapping a bow on a bag of Funyuns and a can of Slim Jims ain't gonna cut it from the Kwikie Mart on Xmas Day. And anyway, forget about those damn ingrates. What junk are they going to get you? The new Britney Spears perfume? A Snuggie? (Ok, so I secretly really, reeeeally want one of those creepy, monk-like, cocoon-y...blanket...robe...dealies. If you have no idea what I'm talking about as usual, you can see the craptastic commercial for it here. It is LAME and I love it.)

Well screw that. Spend money on something purdy for yourself instead. 'Tis the season to be a greedy bastard, or whatever. I think that's what the song's moral is, isn't it? Get ready for greatness. (Whoever can tell me what movie that line is from wins nothing!)

I've been looking online for vintage Xmas novelty prints in clothing and there is not much out there. What gives? There's tons of kitschy 50's tablecloths. Awesome, but you can't rock a tablecloth to a party. Well you could, at the risk of looking like the institution let you out a little too soon before treatment was complete. And there's lots of coolio vintage fabrics out there, such as this one below from Fuzzielizzie aka The Vintage Traveler. You know I can't stand me some cats, but vintage 50's kittehs wearing bows under Xmas trees is too much.



But I did indeed find a few fan-freaking-tastic vintage pieces of clothing that you might die for. Or maybe you won't, but you would if you knew what was good for ya. And it's not too late, my little plum puddings. You can still get all of these things in time for Xmas but act fast! Or don't, what do I care. Try to show you something nice and it goes unappreciated. I still love you though, my little sweet savory sausages. (Click on each pic to take you to the listings.)

Vintage 60's party dress~ you can't tell from this picture, but in the weave of the dress is Christmas ornaments! You can wear your BALLS on you sleeve. You heard. From my homeslice Dorothea's Closet Vintage:



This is probably *thee* most Xmas-y dress you've ever seen. Seriously, it is. Because I said it is. Good god y'all, I love this vintage 50's dress- well, it's not a dress, but a blouse and skirt set, so you really can make a jillion different outfits from it. Or 3. But you see what I'm getting at. From mi amiga bonita Senorita Hollywood Vintage:



And finally from yours truly, me, of Fast Eddie's Retro Rags, comes this vintage late 50's/early 60's novelty print blouse with HUGE cuffs and a trillion sparkling rhinestones. Am I insane for thinking it's the coolest thing ever? You should probably not answer that, unless the answer is "Why yes, Kim. Yes it is."




The front has a print of a tree and presents...



...and the back has an old-timey carriage scene of old-timey peeps doing old-timey things. Dig it.

Girl You Know It's True

(Damn straight it's Milli Vanilli!)

The Xmas presents are just pouring in here at my house- well, maybe not so much pouring as trickling, really...drip, drip, drip...Like Chinese water torture. Minus the Chinese...or the water...or torture. So it's not like that at all. OK, so I got a second present in the mail from another deranged friend, next to the infamous Zombie Bird of Doom. This one was from another one of my freaky deaky friends, Jen over at MomsPatterns. She sent me a fantastic magazine from the 40's, there's no cover and missing pages but it's probably one of those aimed at housewives, like "Ladies Home Journal" or "Get Back In The Kitchen And Birth Some Babies, After You Make Your Man A Chicken Pot Pie". One of the wonderful things about vintage magazines (besides the clothing I'd give my firstborn for- $2.98 for a rhinestone cardigan? I'll take 20, please), are the ads. Those wonderful, condescending ads aimed at us stupid, silly women. How dare we even be allowed to read? We are so out of line.

Behold some of the wonder and fun of being a woman in the 40's:



Why was she so nervous and unhappy in the first place that warranted her husband drugging her uppity ass with downers? Getting scrappy in my house? No way, bitch! Thanks, Dr, Nervine!




Even white girls get the blues. You know what's a "periodic pain"? Your husband, honey.




There better not be any single people taking this quiz, because it's for married folks only. Only married people have any concept of sex, don'tcha know. And as we all know if you're not married and have s-e-x, your neighbors will shun you, you'll have to say 4 billion hail Mary's and you'll be kicked out of the sewing circle. Remember that, ladies. Remember that.


But best of all is the fine print of the quiz:



You stupid, simpering cows. It's YOUR FAULT your husband is cheating on you. The homely housewife neglected her "special lady bits" and sent her husband into a tizzy and wrote a letter to another woman, so I hope she's happy now. Luckily, Lysol will prevent your husband from banging his secretary, apparently. Perhaps our lonely, loser wife should have an affair with Dr. Nervine. He cures everything!

For a change of pace, how's about he get his butt to steppin' and dry those dishes? This apron must have been invented by a woman. A man? In the kitchen? Oh, a girl can dream, can't she? (Dr. Nervine informs me that no, she cannot.)



(Cute-and-unrealistic vintage 50's apron for sale on Etsy. Click pics to get you to seller's listing.)

Oh, Tannenbaum

How is it possible that I had more Xmas spirit on Halloween than I do now? Is it wrong that all I want to do is eat fried things, watch Saved By the Bell and blame everyone else for my Grinchy disposition? I thought not.

Total presents bought: 0
Total cards mailed: 0
Total cookies baked: 0
Total carols sung: 1. But I was flying high on eggnog, so it DOESN'T COUNT as being festive.

I blame the malls and Targets and places of mass consumerism for pushing Xmas in our grills too early. You know who else I blame? Lemme think...Jebus Claus. I blame him, somehow. What with his forcing his 8 Reindeer Of The Apocalypse on us, threatening us to be good OR ELSE. And Rudolph doesn't count as one of the team players. He's a freaking GIMP for crying out loud. A gimp with a robot nose. Why is HE so special that he gets the cherry spot all the way up front? I'm sure Dasher and Dancer behind him are quite sick to death of staring at the "handicapped" licence plate hanging from his ass. I bet they're just itching to throw his lame ass overboard when Jebus Clause isn't looking and blame it on trade winds. Whatever happened to survival of the fittest and all? Casting out the less-able and putting the strongest and most virile in charge? Even Jebus Clause fell prey to the PC-ness of the Season. Either that, or he was threatened to be sued by Rudolph's parents for gimpy nose discrimination.

I did, however, manage to put up my tree this weekend. I love me some of that wonky tree that takes forEVer to put together. It's up, but it's not decorated, which will be done in stages throughout the week or however long the eggnog lasts.

Here's a current, "before" pic:



Yeah, it's sitting on a hatbox with no tree skirt around it yet and not decorated and looking rather sad and unloved currently, so what, you wanna fight about it?

It has the coolest little explosions on the end of each branch, like the tree is regurgitating shredded soda cans.



Perhaps when the mood behooves me, I'll show the "after" picture, once I make purdy my "Evergleam Stainless Aluminum 7 Foot Tree With Tripod Stand" (so says the box, what, you think I could make that crap up?)

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.

...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!

...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.

...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!)

...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.

...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.