Saturday, July 19, 2008

Hanging On The Telephone

I hate birds. They're flying disease machines with eyeball-scratchy claws and beaks of pokey torture and just the thought of them flying anywhere near my personal space is enough to make me run for the hills. If the hills were made of Xanax. Am I a mental case? Magic 8 Ball says "it is certain"! Ever notice how sometimes they're ganged up in the parking lot and when you walk past them they don't even flinch, but instead give you the "oh no you DIDN'T" look? They're up to something and probably shouldn't be trusted. Those arrogant flying jerks.

Here is my backyard. It's crammed with really dense, low hanging trees, jungle-like and kinda dark, so when birds fly, they pretty much have to fly low to the ground, under all the branches. In my PERSONAL SPACE.


(Pay no mind to the random barrel in the background. That's where the menfolk shoot empty cans with BB guns. Can you hear Dueling Banjos yet? And if you're the "BB guns are evil" type, then that's where the menfolk sit and talk about their feelings and write poems.)

So while in this overgrown backyard, I was on the phone with my sister-in-law leaving a message on her voice mail when 2 birds were hauling ass past my head at warp speed and I'm pretty sure I looked in their eyes and saw Satan laughing at me. It was EXACTLY like this:


Except it was nothing at all like that but if FELT like it went down that way. So while the birds were dive-bombing me I was quite literally screaming, "Oh my GOD! Birds! Back! Back!" and waving my arms around wildly, all the while this was being recorded on the voice mail I was leaving. My sister-in-law called me back later and said "Are you retarded? Are you kidding me, you're scared of birds?!". As if my in-laws don't already think I'm odd, this just makes them think even MORE highly of me. Good times.

The only birds I can approve of are the not-real types. Like these Flying Jerks on a wicked awesome vintage 50's Catalina swimsuit offered by my homeslice Ang of Dorothea's Closet Vintage. DIRTY BIRDS...

What's that you say? What are they doing? Leapfrog? Nope. The Heimlich maneuver? Nope....


That's right. They're DOING IT. Getting their freak on, birdy style. Which is still creepy, but better to have a cool novelty print of them doing it than having them actually FLYING AT YOUR FACE while doing it, isn't it?

Wednesday, July 16, 2008

Galaxy 500

Don't you hate it when the last song you heard on the radio gets stuck in your head for days? When I came home yesterday afternoon the last song I heard was (sigh) "Where Have All the Cowboys Gone" by Paula Whoeverthehell. And now it WON'T GET OUT OF MY HEAD. Let me explain, lest you all think I'm some kind of granola-eating, fuzzy-legged, "nature is people too!" kind of wackadoo: We drive old cars. They have AM radio only. You know what you pick up on AM radio? Local college stations, Sports Talk and the news. Sometimes college radio can be very excellent, but on this fateful day, it was All Muff Rock, All Day~ imagine any day's lineup at the Lillith Fair. I'd probably have self-induced heart failure due to Extreme Annoyance at that clamfest. Not that I have anything wrong with people who dig that scene, but if I'm gonna listen to chick rock, then it's gonna be Joan Jett. Or Barbie and The Rockers. I'd rather saw off my right arm with a dull spork than listen to Sad Indie Girl That No One Understands With An Acoustic Guitar.

So the cowboy song that's still in my head is making me suicidal at this point and I start to question the lyrics and want to bitch slap the girl in the song, whining about her life of laundry and birthing babies and all I want to say is SUCK IT UP BUTTERCUP. Don't blame your man because you got knocked up. No wonder your man spends every night at the bar~ you made him sell the '56 Chevy. I'd leave your ass too. The moral of this story: If your life sucks, change it. And don't live in the rural midwest, because that's where all of these Tales Of Housewife Horrors seem to happen. What's up with THAT, Kansas?

Quit waiting for your own cowboy because he ain't coming, darlin'. Be your OWN cowboy. Just do it well-dressed. And with shaved legs. Leave the acoustic guitar at home and no one gets hurt.

Life gets instantly better when wearing vintage western wear. Check out this ridiculously awesome 40's gabardine skirt from liberty_hill_collectibles. She's also selling a matching pair of 40's gab PANTS which are GREAT. They receive the Fast Eddie's seal of approval. Which means nothing.

Always with the gingham. FanTAStic 70's embroidered western snaptastic shirt from Jamere on Etsy. And if you're an angry chick type, what could be more ironic than having giant cocks on your shirt?

Sunday, July 13, 2008

Dang Me

It's no secret how much of a huge dork for pop culture I am, right? If you don't know, then guess what? I'm a huge dork for pop culture, with extra love for the classic TV shows I grew up on. Smite me down Donny and Marie, but I AM a little bit country and a little bit rock and roll, crazy cuckoo for hillbilly culture~ wait, can you even CALL it "hillbilly culture"? Is that not PC? What can I call it? Aha! "Southern Culture" (on the skids, hardee har har). Well whatever. Country style fashion and music from the 40's, 50's and early 60's is just great, because there's never enough gingham or Benny Joy in the world. Hell, even Johnny Cash was in a couple of those really bad (read: awesome) 50's rock and roll movies, get a load of THAT.

So why is it that I LOATHE the hillbilly-esque TV shows from the 50's and 60's? Should I not love them, by all methods of deductive reasoning? They generally had good clothes in these shows so I should be loving it. But no. I do not. What is my problem? I'd rather stick my hand in a bag of razors and vinegar than suffer through the hijinks of those crazy kids down in Mayberry. Andy Griffith, you're too good to be a cop and your kid is annoying as hell. I said GOOD DAY TO YOU SIR.

Green Acres. Good clothes, love Ms. Gabor, hate the show. Plus, "Hooterville", really?!

Beverly Hillbillies. Good clothes, a hot piece of ass named Jethro, hate the show.

Petticoat Junction. Good clothes...Ok you get it by now, hate the show. Plus, is it not unsanitary to be bathing in the town's water tower?

"Sheriff, why does this here water taste funny"?
"Hmm....seems mighty fine by me. Tastes like Betty Jo".

Ahahahahaha....oh wait...Eeeewwww....

But give me a Dukes Of Hazzard marathon and we're ON, bitches. Even though it was the 70's, I can appreciate the awesome factor of the fashion. Great cast and freaking fantastic theme song. I had it as a ringtone during my period of of loving wacky ringtones, try to stop my and my zany antics, a long time ago until every meat head frat boy started using it as theirs, after seeing the Dukes movie- the one where Jessica Simpson went and skanked up the Daisy Duke part. Who knew it was even POSSIBLE to skank up that role, but she did, what with her huge rack and superb acting skills. I got to see the General Lee, or at least one of the 72 million General Lees out there, when I went to Tennessee a couple years ago. Hell, I even TOUCHED that bitch even though there was no touchy-touchy allowed. I thought "What would Luke do?" and the answer was as clear as moonshine. I'm bad ASS, am I not?

The thing about Tennessee is that it is Elvis-themed EVERYTHING, which is pretty much fine by me. Hell, if I was Tennessee I'd be pimping out Elvis all over the place too. But I have to question the truth behind every BBQ shack on the block advertising that Elvis ate there, Elvis' favorite fried pickles were sold there or Elvis picked his nose while driving past there. Whatever Tennessee, you still have mad street cred in my book and I'm just jealous. I'm from Pennsylvania and what can I pimp out? Bill Cosby? Neat. Sorry, but Fat Albert doesn't quite compare to the King, now does it?

Join me in the love of country-fried vintage. Fast Eddie's Retro Rags will dress you like your favorite hillbilly character.

You can't get more rock and roll meets country than this vintage 50's cotton JD blouse with gingham panel:

Or this vintage 50's gingham taffeta total hot rod cutie of a dress with rhinestone buttons:

Guys, you can do it too (I said "do it".) How about a vintage 40's Mohawk Sportswear cold rayon loop collar shirt with a picnic tablecloth print~ and it's new old stock to boot:

Or a vintage 50's orange gingham panel loop collar shirt: