Happy Birthday (Mr. President)

(Super secret note to Eric who's another year older~ happy belated birthday! It's all good, life can be swell, see?)

Shiny, Happy People

I recently heard that a certain person I know (it's not me) who is under the age of 18 and related to me (seriously, it's not me) goes to therapy and is already on some kind of antidepressant. I KNOW WHAT YOU'RE THINKING AND IT'S NOT ME, DAMMIT! I may be 99% pessimist and 1% full of stab...and I pretty much don't like people... but if you ask me, that's called well-balanced. But this particular teenager on antidepressants is just farked up. Please kill me now if that came off sounding Dyanetics batshit crazy, Tom Cruise-style. Because I am all for meds. Hell, I don't give a rat's ass if you're down with "street meds", whatever gets you through the night, man. My drug of choice is Midol, so see? I AM badass. While I understand that some folks are born with wonky brains and some come from bad news homes and I thoroughly understand that some people plain old need to be on meds, well it's all good in my hood, but this particular teen has a cushy life, doesn't even drive and has never worked a job a day in her life so tell me dear readers, how hard can life be? Waaa! Life is too hard, I don't work or earn anything I have and get driven everywhere! Sad am I! No one understands! What the girl needs is a good kick in the pants and a bitchslap from life in the real world. Am I wrong for not being empathetic toward's today's youth? Well if you modern parents didn't SUCK SO HARD maybe today's youth wouldn't be so useless, how about THAT? Have I mentioned I have raging PMS? I probably should have warned you. Sorry.

It's no wonder kids are getting bummed at life earlier and earlier. We went to a very local yocal carnival type fair dealie, which is always cheap fun and if there's one thing I loves is cheap crap. So this fair dealie had the typical scammy overpriced games that are impossible to win, but they did have those games that require zero skill that even hand-eye-coordination-impaired dorks like us could master that advertise "Every Kid Wins A Prize!" Joy! We love free prizes! Yeeeah, about that. Turns out the free crap is precisely that. Crap. Cheap, plastic necklace beads? Really? Show-Me-Your-Boobs,Sluts-Mardi-Gras beads? Really? Boys love winning...beads. Freaking geniuses. But that is neither here nor there. Nothing says "happy children" than winning this:



Yay! It's the unhappy smiley face toy! While I appreciate the effort, couldn't it perhaps look like it's, oh, I don't know, HAPPY, and not so much like it's got lockjaw from all the fake smiling and suffering through a day of forced-fun at the in-laws? Thanks, China! I knew we could count on you for providing hours of fun through mass-produced, sweat-shopped, not-fun toys!

As someone who beat me to the punch already said "Life means suffering. To live means to suffer, because the human nature is not perfect and neither is the world we live in...This means we are never able to keep permanently what we strive for, and just as happy moments pass by, we ourselves and our loved ones will pass away one day, too." Now THAT'S what I'm talking about, Willis.

While it's not in my nature forcing people to "Have a Nice Day", there is something about this vintage fabric that makes me want to fashion the most ridiculous Clampett-esque dress and for a few moments not have such a grim disposition for at least one whole day.

You can get this crazy cute fabric from Twig & Berries. Yep. Twig. And berries. Don't make me go there, perv....

....That's what SHE said. Damn!

Like A Surgeon

Madonna turned 50! And unless Mulder and Scully know something about my memory being erased to forget this past week's really relevant celebrity news (is Lindsy Lohan still wearing black leggings and is she still a pseudo-lesbian? Is Jennifer Aniston still a clingy nutjob? Is that a baby bump on Katie Holmes or is she just riding the crimson tide this week? I NEED TO KNOW), there hasn't been much hoopla over her 50th birthday. ("Hoopla"? Am I a 1920's school marm? Yes, yes I am. Ain't that the bees knees. Now scram kid, you bother me, see?)

Speaking of 1920's school marms, I think it's about time someone make a Lifetime Movie about Madonna. If I were to make a movie of her life, who would I get to play her? Considering she's had 237 different looks over the past 25 years, I suppose I'd have to get different actors to play her at her various stages in life. RuPaul would play Madonna in her "I'm black" period, Rosie Perez would play her during her "I'm Latina" period, Woody Allen would play her "I'm Jewish" period and Dame Judi Dench would play her during her "I'm British and a classy broad now. Seriously, I have an accent and everything. And I tell people that I actually write children's books for extra street cred as a good mom. See?! I'm on the level. Why won't you people believe me, I'm classy, DAMMIT" period.

Of course, there are a lot of other times of her life that I haven't quite figured out just yet. Like the present Madonna. She's all over-toned and buff and...stringy. Not that I have anything against a woman trying to kick Father Time's ass, I say do whatcha gotta do, sister. But there's a point where you gots to stop the working out because before you know it, you go from looking like Tina Turner to looking like Mick Jagger.

Come to think of it, he would make a damn fine Madonna, wouldn't he? It's like they were separated at birth. Kind of.





Of course, if Mick can't do it, he'll need an understudy and I think I've got the perfect stand-in:



A chicken wing oughtta do it.

Don't get me wrong, I do loves me some Madonna~ or specifically~ I loves me some 1980's Madonna. This is the only way I want to remember her, the kickASS Madonna before she got religious, before she got all healthy and shit (what is THAT about?), before she got all saving the world-y : ratty hair, black rubber bracelets, tulle crinolines over leggings.



I would have KILLED for these shoes when I was young. In fact, I really, reeealy want to wear them now. Are they not *thee* best Madonna shoes evah? You know you want to wear them, you sneaky skanks, you TOTALLY do. If you have a size 7 foot (as IF), you can own these vintage 80's white lace boots. You heard me: 80's. white. lace. boots. They're up for grabs on ebay, click the pic to take you to the listing:



So happy belated birthday, Miss M! But please, put down the Jane Fonda videotapes and can of Slim Fast. It's OK to just sit on your ass eating Ben and Jerry's and watching Friends.

Mission: Impossible

I know you've all been burning & itching like a contestant on Rock of Love, dying to know where I've been. How do I know this? Because all my one fan said "Dude, where've you been?!" I wish I could say I was doing something terribly clever and brilliant, like skulking about town fighting crime and carrying out wicked awesome spy missions with a superbad undercover handle like "Scorpio". Or "Gluteus Maximus". Or "Cornholio".

But I have not. What I *have* been doing is being aggravated, now with extra stabby action, fighting with my interwebs service. And next to teenagers these days, the second thing I can bitch about at length is my interwebs service and I've had little over the past week. And I know what the problem is, even! It's the skanky wire outside that needs to be replaced! You're fired, Verizon. At least your triflin' ass WOULD be fired, but I haven't been able to get in touch with an actual humanoid all week because the stinking freaking 800# menu is BROKEN. You know those really swell pre-recorded messages you get when you have to call a utility company? "Press 1 for English. Press 2 if you would like to pay a bill. Press 3 if this is a true emergency. Press 4 if you're a stupid ass named Kim who thinks she's actually going to talk to a customer service rep today." Hey! I'm a stupid ass named Kim who thinks I'm actually going to talk to a customer service rep today! Huzzah! But I kid you not, this is (pretty much, I forget the whole routine) what happens when I call the Verizons:

"Thank you for calling Verizon Online. Please have your account number ready. For English, press or say 1....[you know the drill, so I push the number for Tech Support and then wait]....I'm sorry, I did not understand your last command. For English press or say 1...[the menu starts all over again, so this time I chose the option for Customer Service]...the charming Customer Service operator answers and I tell Shanequa the operator- who sounds like she's filing her nails and talking to her cousin Shanaynay on her cell phone in the other ear- that I need Tech Support. She says she'll transfer me and I'm all Huzzah! again while I wait for another charming Verizon employee in the nerdtastic tech department...and I wait...and then: "Thank you for calling Verizon Online. Please have your account number ready. For English, press or say 1..." I was stuck in a damn LOOP! Are you kidding me?! So great, my life is now a Seinfeld episode. "Verizon Online. WHAT...is UP...with THAT?"

So if anyone knows a Verizon Online employee, would you please ask them what the fark is up with their jacked-up, broke-down, ghetto-ass, Seinfeldian-loop phone menu and then promptly kick him in the twig and berries for me? Then ask him the same question a second time, and kick him in the twig and berries for me.

Needless to say, it would have been a much cooler story if I was really riding around in the Mystery Machine, high on Scooby Snacks, kung-fuing the crap out of bad guys and evil-doers and foiling Old Man Johnson's plot to turn his barn into counterfeit money-making hideout. So let's just say I was doing that.

Embrace your inner Daphne. EMBRACE IT. From BoroughVintage, is this cutesy 60's purple number:



So you're more of a Velma, eh? Hmm. Well. Good luck with...that. At least there's the cute oversized orange turtleneck going for you. What luck, theVintageZoo has one. Find your own damn knee socks, what am I, your mother?



Back to my life of fighting the internets. But you can still call me Gluteus Maximus.

Sex Bomb

Quentin Tarantino, after years of wondering what kind of crack you must obviously be smoking, I'm really OK with your muses being Uma Thurman and Rose McGowan. Seriously dude, it's all good in the hood. But have you learned nothing from the Tragedy of Kim's Bad Hair Year?! If it ain't broke, don't fix it and all that. No matter how many films you make, each one similar to the next, I don't mind sitting through yet another 2 1/2 hours of seriously awesome violence set against a mixed tape soundtrack of obscure surf instrumentals and 70's funk. In fact, I demand you do so. No? Your artistic creativity feels stifled and unprogressive? You think you need a change from the safe and familiar? Well DON'T SAY I DIDN'T WARN YOU.

Quentin Tarantino is supposedly remaking the 1965 cult classic Faster, Pussycat! Kill! Kill! with either nutbag Britney stinking freaking Spears playing the role as Varla or the skank who is an actual Professional Skank Tera Patrick the porn star~which is not to say I have a problem with porn or the stars of such, but come ON, there is a limit to Woody Allen-esque nuttiness. There are so many things wrong with that sentence, other than the grammatical errors and it being of course, a lame run-on, which is how I rolls. Allow me to break it down. Hammer time!



1. Remaking a classic is always never a good idea and the end result is tragic. I can see why Tarantino would be all over that film, but sometimes awesomely bad yet badly awesome movies should be left alone. Don't get me wrong, I love me some Quentin, but will someone please warm up my bitch-slapping gloves? The boy ain't right.

2. Britney Spears. Oy. Vey...The part she was considered for was the part of Varla who was originally played by Tura Satana. She was a hot piece-o-ass back in the day, for sure. Oh and by the way, a minor little detail: she's Japanese.



Britney Spears...hot Japanese chick...Britney Spears...hot Japanese chick....What the hell, QUENTIN?! Sweet fancy Moses, George Takai would have been a better choice for the love of Pete. (Who is Pete and why do we need his love anyway? He thinks he's so great. From now on, I'm saying "For the love of Kim". Try it out.)

3. Tera Patrick is your SECOND CHOICE? While I realise being quirky and wacky is your thing, but goddamn, a random porn star is neither quirky nor wacky. You know who is quirky and wacky? Bea Arthur. I fully support Bea Arthur playing a lovable little murderous lesbian.

You too can look like a go-go dancing, pistol-packing, hot-rodding, fast pussycat sex machine. Just add a vintage 50's tight gold lurex catsuit and stir. From Dorothea's Closet Vintage:



Bea Arthur approves this message.

Bitchin' Camaro

Did you ever make a hasty decision about something only to regret it and wish you never did it in the first place? I don't mean the kind of regret like say, becoming a hitchhiking axe murderer ghost on Dead Man's Curve, nay, something on a much smaller scale. The kind of regret that's enough of a kick in the pants to get your ass working on fixing that damn flux capacitor so you can go back in time and make sure you don't screw up the Enchantment Under The Sea dance. And do I make too many Back to the Future references? Readers vote: "Yes! And please continue to do so!" Ok, no you didn't but let's pretend you aren't sick of my desperate clinging to my youth by using played-out movie references, shall we?

A year ago I made the worst decision of all time that forever changed the course of history as we know it (no it didn't). For over 10 years I had red, red, Lucy-red hair. But there came a point when I was sick of being known for my hair. Well that and of course my magnetic personality, large boobs and Maxim-esque body. So last spring I thought "Hey, I have a great idea. I should do something wacky and drastic and spontaneous and not well thought-out at all. What could POSSIBLY go wrong." And I dyed the red hair jet black so by the time winter came I couldn't stands no more. Chances are if you have black hair and you can rock the hell out of it, you have the right skin tone to pull it off. Me? Not so fortunate. Black hair aged me about 10 years, making me have the sparkling appearance like that of a a well-worn bar hag smoking Lucky Strikes and drinking whisky sours and thinking the 21 year old Joe College frat boys I'm hitting on are laughing WITH me. Granted, I'll turn into that broad ONE day, but it's not my time now. Down here, it's our time. It's our time down here. Goonies never say die!

So I've been growing out my hair since last November--NOVEMBER. And let me say that I haven't seen such amazingly awesome white trash 2-tone hair since 1987 when girls named Tiffani dotted their "i's" with hearts and dated guys named Rick and Brad who drove Iroc-Z's to Whitesnake concerts.

Moral of the story: If it ain't broke, don't fix it. And if you do decide to go ahead and screw with it, make sure it doesn't look like ass.

In honor of my 1/2 brown, 1/2 black 'do, enjoy some 2-tone vintage eye candy while I'm at Tiffani's House of Feathered Hair and Dorothy Hamill Wedges.

From yours truly and awesomely at Fast Eddie's Retro Rags this vintage 50's silk blouse and full circle dress set by Cadillac Sportswear:



From Damn Good Vintage, this tiny but wonderful vintage 40's brown and pink deliciousness. BROWN AND PINK, bitches! You heard.



A message to you, Rudy: get crazy on this kickass 2tone spectator handbag from Listit Vintage Cafe. Great price too, at 18 bucks. That's just crazy talk. Someone better JUMP on that, suckas.



And although I'm officially bored to tears of the keyword "Kramer" being used for these shirts (1996 is over dude. What...is UP...with THAT?), I still must give props to the random ebay seller who has this up for auction:

Shaft

Isaac Hayes. He was a complicated man but no one understood him but his woman. He was the cat that won't cop out. Well I certainly do not dig it, the voice of Chef on South Park, died yesterday. No more Chocolate Salty Balls for us.




He certainly was one bad mother (shut yo' mouth). You're damn right.