Love Hurts

Not since the brilliance of "Are You There, God? It's Me, Margaret" has a chick-related bitchfest been made of such awesome.

Apparently this is a for reals letter from an Austin woman sent to Proctor and Gamble regarding their feminine products. It's PC Magazine's 2007 editors' choice for best webmail-award-winning letter. It's brilliant and hilarious and WHY didn't I write it?!

WARNING: If you a guy who happens to be a pansy, you might want to skip this, because it's all about....wait for it...try not to barf...PERIODS.

Read, my bitches. It's very long, but if you can't relate then you're a freak:

"Dear Mr. Thatcher,
I have been a loyal user of your 'Always' maxi pads for over 20 years and I appreciate many of their features. Why, without the Leak Guard Core or Dri-Weave absorbency, I'd probably never go horseback riding or salsa dancing, and I'd certainly steer clear of running up and down the beach in tight, white shorts. But my favorite feature has to be your revolutionary Flexi-Wings. Kudos on being the only company smart enough to realize how crucial it is that maxi pads be aerodynamic.
I can't tell you how safe and secure I feel each month knowing there's a little F-16 in my pants. Have you ever had a menstrual period, Mr. Thatcher? Ever suffered from 'the curse'? I'm guessing you haven't. Well, my time of the month is starting right now. As I type, I can already feel hormonal forces violently surging through my body. Just a few minutes from now, my body will adjust, and I'll be transformed into what my husband likes to call 'an inbred hillbilly with knife skills.' Isn't the human body amazing? As Brand Manager in the Feminine-Hygiene Division, you've no doubt seen quite a bit of research on what exactly happens during your customer's monthly visits from 'Aunt Flo'. Therefore, you must know about the bloating, puffiness, and cramping we endure, and about our intense mood swings, crying jags, and out-of-control behavior. You surely realize it's a tough time for most women. In fact, only last week, my friend Jennifer fought the violent urge to shove her boyfriend's testicles into a George Foreman Grill just because he told her he thought Grey's Anatomy was written by drunken chimps. Crazy!

The point is, sir, you of all people must realize that America is just crawling with homicidal maniacs in Capri pants... Which brings me to the reason for my letter. Last month, while in the throes of cramping so painful I wanted to reach inside my body and yank out my uterus, I opened an Always maxi-pad, and there, printed on the adhesive backing, were these words: 'Have a Happy Period.' Are you fucking kidding me? What I mean is, does any part of your tiny middle-manager brain really think happiness - actual smiling, laughing happiness - is possible during a menstrual period? Did anything mentioned above sound the least bit pleasurable? Well, did it, James? FYI, unless you're some kind of sick S&M freak, there will never be anything 'happy' about a day in which you have to jack yourself up on Motrin and Kahlua and lock yourself in your house just so you don't march down to the local Walgreen's armed with a hunting rifle and a sketchy plan to end your life in a blaze of glory. For the love of God, pull your head out, man! If you have to slap a moronic message on a maxi pad, wouldn't it make more sense to say something that's actually pertinent, like 'Put down the Hammer' or 'Vehicular Manslaughter is Wrong', or are you just picking on us?

Sir, please inform your Accounting Department that, effective immediately, there will be an $8 drop in monthly profits, for I have chosen to take my maxi-pad business elsewhere. And though I will certainly miss your Flex-Wings, I will not for one minute miss your brand of condescending bullshit. And that's a promise I will keep.

Best,
Wendi Aarons
Austin, TX"

Don't Be Cruel

May I bitch for a moment? (Like I stop). This has been making me stabby since last week and I think my family can only roll their eyes for so long hearing my complaing, therefor I'm unleashing the anger upon the world. You're welcome.

Last week I woke up to see first thing in the morning that my hanging flower baskets were MISSING. Gone. Kaput. Which would mean that someone with balls of steel crept up onto my porch in the middle of the night with the PORCH LIGHT ON (100 watts, bitches!) and stole 2 heavy baskets of flowers. (!!!). Really?! Who DOES that?! Well that's just mean. I don't live on the wrong side of the tracks or anything... but it certainly ain't the right side of the tracks either. I'm sort of in the middle of the tracks. I'm the Switzerland of the tracks, tempting my neighbors with my delicious cheese products and hot chocolates and fancy watches. And hanging flower baskets. (Really?!) It was probably Those Damn Teenagers at it again, hopped up on their Tab and Wham records and Garbage Pail Kids trading cards.

Funny thing though, the asshats did me a favor, because the flowers were half dead. I suppose forgetting to water them over a weekend of 95 degree heat will do that, go figure. So the JOKE'S ON YOU, loser flower stealers. But of all things to steal, you're gonna go for crunchy brown flowers?! (Really?!) Winners. Hope your mom's happy with the WORST PRESENT EVER you gave her.

I'm gonna be nerdy here for a second (like I stop) and admit I'm a total gardening junkie (hard to wrap your brain around that, isn't it? Me, all Martha Stewart-y on your ass). I have a veggie garden and pots of herbs- not the gonj kind of herb, you dorks, but the basil and oregano kind. Would that not have been much more lovely a gift to steal for your mom? But I guess dead flowers works too. (Really?!) Or how about this: DON'T STEAL AT ALL. Unless it's my neighbors stuff, then have at it.

Since I have no porch flowers to look at anymore, these floral prints will just HAVE to do I guess. These last longer anyway, right? Whatever. I'm still grumpy about the whole Incident of Porch Theft. (Positivity IS my strong suit, don'tcha know!).

From me at Fast Eddie's Retro Rags:

50's SWIRL flower print wrap dress with crazy huge pink heart pockets


Just kill me with cuteness already. I'm crazy over this mother-son 60's Hawaiian set from Denisebrain:



So sweet and purdy, 50's black & white floral flocked party dress from Couture Allure:

Never On Sunday

Early this morning I was driving and thought I'd blown a tire, what with the clackity-thumpity-whappity sounds coming from the general tire area of my car. I was thinking, angrily in my head: "Dammitall! I have no time for this today, KARMA." And did I mention I was wearing a lovely outfit of the pajama sort of yoga pant capris and and old tee shirt I've had since about 1988 with an owl on it that says "just say no to drugs". I'm badASS, watch out. But the problem was that I was wearing no... "support system" underneath, if you catch my drift and immediately I was remembering the whole "don't leave the house without clean underwear" thing that moms everywhere like to say. Or a bra would have been good. Normally I never dirtbag it up like that IN PUBLIC, but I was running super extra late this morning and had to drop someone off somewhere so getting dressed was not an option.

Turns out it was not a blown tire, just a really craptastic road that was in the process of being scraped and gouged so the road worker guys could fix it. But just the thought of me getting out of the car IN THAT SUPERCOOL OUTFIT to call someone to tow it made me realise I will NEVER AGAIN looks like a schlump, sans bra or clean underwear. Unless it's the morning after from a Night Of 1000 Cocktails, then all bets are off and you'll be lucky if I'm wearing matching shoes at that point.

One of my main bitches, Michelle of Dollhouse Bettie has some of the most amazing stock of vintage lingerie you've ever seen, ranging from the 20's on up, with a huge emphasis on the 1940's-1950's pinup thang. She also sells repro pinup stuff in all sizes, right up to 1X, so she's got your back curvy broads. Did I mention she also offers glamorous boudoir photography sessions? But not in the "Hey girlie, you wanna make a quick buck? Take off yer top" kind of way, but in a old Hollywood glamour/ set in a gorgeous turn of the century Edwardian flat with period furnishings" kind of way. She has a real world store in San Francisco, on Haight Street even, because she's rolls like that. If you live anywhere near there stop in and tell her Kim said she's a fancy bitch and would like to get in her panties.

A sample if you will, of undieland:








(yeah, the pics are small but they were the only ones I cold swipe, so deal with it pervs)

She'll make sure you never get caught with lame underwear again. Or at least make sure you're WEARING it.

eVintage Society's Blog Tag Wednesday. Late As Always.

VINTAGE OR BUST!~Blog Tag Wednesday~ Tropical Tease!
July 23rd, 2008

Its Blog Tag Wednesday at the eVintage Society! Summer is the perfect time to take a holiday to a tropical locale! Meanwhile, wearing Hawaiian and exotic prints in vintage can tide you over til you can afford that plane ticket. Let’s get tropical!

1) Show us your favorite Hawaiian or tropical print in your inventory!

This vintage Malia sundress rules because: A) it's an awesome grass green color that is odd and wonderful and B) heart shaped flowers. I said HEART. SHAPED. FLOWERS.



2)Favorite era for Hawaiian? 40’s exotic gowns, 50s bombshell sarongs, 60s printed shifts or 70’s Hawaiian halter maxis?

Half 40's and half 50's full sundresses. So there.

3)Favorite exotic destination if money were no object?

Money IS no object when you're filthy rich and gorgeous like myself, did you not know that? Not buying it, eh? Damn. Well if I could ever swing it, which I won't, it'd be a whirlwind adventure to Tahiti.

4)Favorite exotic destination on a real-world budget?

The Jersey Shore is exotic, isn't it?

5)Best vacation ever?

Best pre-family trip was living in England for a year. Best after family trip was fancy pants b&b in New England. It was so...New England-y.

Thanks for the tag, Empress Jade Vintage. Back to you eVintage Society.

Where The Boys Are

Today is the little man's birthday and these are his top 2 ultimate birthday wish list items, written exactly as so:

1. "A dog. The weener kind."

Which he *is* getting, the dog of the weener kind, but not for another month yet. Can't be helped, so don't even try the "You're parent of the year, giving a seriously late ass present. For shame with you and your tardy gift-giving" guilt trip, mmkay? I have Italian in-laws so I've built up and immunity to it. Well that, and also not listening when they're talking helps.

2. "Movies for my collection".

'Tis true, the boy loves his cinema. Not in the fat-kid-and-cheetos way, but in the loves-classic-film/art-student way. Praise jebus that's he's getting past the Disney/Pixar/animated swill full of Morals and Lessons. Good thing too, because there's a point one reaches before watching Cars so many times that a cyanide pill with a straight-up Clorox chaser sounds delicious. This one is going to be in movies somehow, either the acting in or directing and/or producing of. This year's birthday list includes The Sandlot (kickASS) and Stand By Me (double kickass) and Angels With Dirty Faces (well the boy's a genius obviously), all of which he's getting. I vow to always dress the boy, for as long as he lets me, like a character from one of the first 2. The boy's uniform is generally a stripey tee, cuffed Levis and hi-top chucks. Although if I could, I'd dress him like one of the The Dead End Kids every day. In fact, I'm gonna work on that.



"Extra! Extra! Read all about it! Kid gets beat up on the playground for looking like a 1930's newsie!"...Might not work so well after all.

The good thing about being the only female type in a house of all male types is that they tend to adore the lone female in the household. Which is me. Adore me! Worship me fools! Bow at my feet lowly peasants! By now I have sole authority on the wardrobing of said males and you know how GIRLS are, so bossy and domineering. That's my job which shall not be shared. Bitches. So I don't think it'd go well if I had a daughter, I'm a total Chick Among Boys. Peeps with daughters~ I'm not sure how you do it. I can't even fathom what life's gonna be like for you when they hit puberty to teenhood and I don't envy you one bit. But when it comes to clothing, especially vintage, girls have the upper hand in Total Cuteness, do they not? Little cardigans over 50's sundresses? LOVE that, kill me now. That's probably the *only* time I wish I had a girl instead of having the World's Coolest 8 Year Old Boy. Don't hate the player, hate the game. Whatever. I hate MYSELF for saying that.

It's no secret that I adore selling boy's to men's vintage (ha ha...Boyz to Men...Get it?...Lame.) For your own little hooligans, check out these things from the 50's, all from me at Fast Eddie's Retro Rags! I know what boys like. They'll like what I tell 'em to like.

2Tone Plaid Gaucho Shirt, for your delinquent-in-training:


NOS loop shirt w/ gold lurex swirls and embroidered arrows:


Salt & pepper flecked wool coat, NOS:

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?

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?