Freaky Fashion

Oh yes, faithful readers. It is that time once again….lest we forget to pay homage to the poor unfortunates that must walk down a long, somewhat slippery runway…trying their very, very best to maintain a shred of dignity in spite of being forced to display some garments that no-one in their right mind would ever be caught dead wearing, whilst being paid an exorbitant amount of green to do so.

Which is probably what keeps them from forcibly throwing themselves off of said runway and committing some garish form of fash-i-cide.

As weird as this stuff is, it does make one wonder: Just how much must one dislike those in this industry to create these ensembles….and what exactly, is the going rate these days for major public humiliation?

So, hold onto your hats, people:

As always, I’ve captioned each photo with the first thing that pops into my head. This head-gear is aptly entitled “Hello?” This is perfect for the gal who has no pocket with which to place her cell…but doesn’t want to miss a single call. Kindly leave a message at the beep.

I personally feel that the last item would go flawlessly with the above number, which I’ll call “Building Blocks Awry”. Overall, it would lend itself to a telephone…sitting atop a telephone table….in The Twilight Zone. I particularly love the artfully-draped hair…and the duct-taped stripes across her face were probably a bitch to remove. I hope she charged extra for that.

To complete this ensemble, I’d have to go with the above. I do believe you could go with either the silver or the black….as long as both were loaded. Headline would read: “Model Turns Well-Heeled Shoe on Maverick Designer before Turning Weapon(s) on Herself”.

We will now turn our attention to those who decided to add an automotive edge to their designs:

I’ll call this one “Honk If You Hate Halogen”. Honestly…I don’t know what else to say. It’s hard to type when you’re laughing like a hyena.

I’m calling this “She’s a Lovely Girl, Hubble”. (Hubble? Hub cap? Get it??) The look in her eyes says it all.

I’d pair Hubble with this fabulous bottom…because not every guy can take one of those blankets the movers use to put over your piano to keep it from getting scratched and not only get it to drape just so, but to quickly sew in some pockets to hold his loose change, Union-Model-of-the-Year identification card and some Chapstick.

I’d finish off this number with these shoes, which clearly don’t know whether they’re coming or going. That’s all I’m gonna say.

Next, we’ll go to the “Poufy” division:

This one’s called “Someone Really Hates Pink. And Women. And Feathers”. Again….I’m at a loss to say more.

This is “The Abominable Snow Monster Meets Teddy Roosevelt’s Mustache”. Am I the only one that can make this jump?

Susan’s gonna looove this title. I’m calling it “Leaf Me Alone”.

We’ll complete this look with the prerequisite *pop* of color…’cause it’s just so darned unexpected. See how freakin’ happy that fish is?

Final category shall be the animal & disease division:

This one’s called “MooseUtopia”. I’ve no idea why…it just popped into my head.

Since “MooseUtopia” has no headgear, I shall pair it with the above most excellent haircut. You just know people would gasp in amazement as she turned her back to the audience.

Footwear shall be either of the above…although I personally feel that “Option B” is the grosser of the two…and probably easier to walk in.

I would add the above “Meatbag” for maximum visual impact. Just stay away from dogs, intense heat or vegetarians.

And for those days when you’re not quite feeling like yourself, I’m calling this “Boils on My Body”. However, I would substitute the above Globe-headgear for this little number:

…which I entitle “At-Choo”, for obvious reasons.

Pull the whole thing off with the above hi-tops. Although they have nothing to do with either animals or disease, no-one’ll care once you crank up Tina Sinatra singing “These Boots Are Made For Walking” and stroll off into the proverbial sunset.

That is, if you can find a sunset….amidst all this damned, stupid rain.

True Colors

So, it was a Saturday. I headed out to the local liquor store for reinforcements.

“Reinforcements for what” you ask?

Well. What if it rains so hard….for so long….that there’s a mudslide which envelops my entire dwelling and renders us unable to leave said residence for…like, a month?? What if I run out of wine?

You see my conundrum.

The owner’s name is Ira (yes, I’ve mentioned him before. Yes, I have. Yes, I have….times infinity…you know who you are.)…and we love Ira. Ira knows his wines…Ira orders my Cloudy, even though he doesn’t particularly care for it….Ira has wine tastings every Saturday! He’s been known on several occasions to allow yours truly more than the prerequisite amount normally ascertained in a typical tasting. We looooove Ira.

After making my selections and sufficiently swirling, sniffing and otherwise snorting up the day’s taste-offerings, I’m standing at the counter with Ira. Lowering his voice and speaking out of the corner of his mouth, Ira softly says “Do you want to see some antiques?” And he's pulling out a card from behind the register and writing something on it and I'm thinking "Is he talking to me? Why the hell is he whispering? And, what's wrong with his mouth? Does he have some form of Bells Palsy?"...and so, drawing on my fine command of the English language, I say nothing...which seemed entirely appropriate.

So he says, "It's the highlight of the whole summer. It's by invitation only....here. This'll get you in. Go. You're definitely dressed for it." (I'm wearing my Michael Kors dark wash straight-leg jeans, snakeskin wedge sandals, and a Michael Kors white tank w/brass kinda-button thingies around the scoop neck. Of course I look good....I’m a walking ad for Michael Kors….or Macy’s, at the very least.) I kiss Ira on the cheek, murmur my thanks and hit da road.

Highlights:

• an oriental rug that I really liked and inadvertently stepped on. Price tag read $18k (now reduced to $17.5k)
• a little American flag on a wooden stick (like they have at parades…only older than us…maybe the 1920’s?)...a mere $425.
• a wall decoration of a head of an (apparently) inebriated Scottish gentleman, according to the tag. You may keep your remarks about how I was inadvertently drawn to it to yourselves. Price: $1300.
• a pretty painting of a little boy gazing into a stream. Price: $2625, but it had a bug on the frame. I was tempted to ask if there was a discount 'cause of the bug. I didn't.
• an old, rusted metal bench from some park in Minnesota. The sign said it was "very comfortable". Price? $16k. I was afraid to sit on it, even though the guy said I could. I kept thinking, “How comfortable could it really be?”

All in all, a lovely afternoon. I’d hardly noticed those discrete security guards making sure I didn't try and abscond with that $1395 sign that said "DRUGS".

I left empty-handed, except for the little booklet some nice lady gave me when I handed over my super-superior, extra-special Ira-invitation. Now I'll always have a little booklet as a memory of this special day.

Did I mention that antiques really aren’t my thing?

Sensory Overload

BAM.

“Ooooohhhhhhhh!”

BANG. POP. POP. POP.

“Awwwwwww!”

THUMP. WHEEEEEEEEEEEEE.

“Woooooow! Blue!”

(Overheard) “Someone pass me the bug spray.”

WHAP. TAP. TAP. TAP. WHOOMP.

“Ahhhhhhhhh! Green!”

POP. SSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS.

(Overheard) “Where’s Timmy? TIMMY! GET YOUR ASS OVER HERE!”

CLUNK. PSSSSSSSSSST.

“Oooooooooo. Red!”

(Overheard) “Crap! I just spilled my beer all over my freakin’ pants! Crap! (Pause) Doris! Did we bring more beer?”

CLAP. WHEEEEEEEE. WUMP. POW. POW. POW. TAT-TAT-TAT-TAT-TAT-TAT-TAT-TAT-TAT.
Applause……whistles……WOOHOO.

(Overheard) “Mooooom, I have to pee.”
“That was the best show EVER.”
“God, I can’t feel my butt.”
“Timmy! Get off the freakin’ blanket!”

….and another Independence Day bites the dust.

It WAS the best one EVER.

Are You My Mother?

I’ve no idea if this is going to work. If it works the way I’m picturing it in my mind (yeah, yeah…la-la land….very funny…you should seriously go into comedy), you’ll be able to press the play button on the below and listen to the audio while you read, since there’s nothing to really look at, ‘cause I only took it for the sound.

Or if you’re really bored, you can sit and watch the red blinking light.

Hey, whatever rocks your boat.



I was cleaning something and was standing by the open window. Without sounding totally sexist, this little chatterbox is obviously female…and she’s had quite the day, let me tell you…

Or I’ll let her tell you, since she’s going to anyway.

If you listen carefully, you can almost hear her say “…..and then she said….” And then you’ll hear “well…can you just imagine?”…and so on. I’d narrate it for you, but it’s late and I’m tuckered out. Just use your imagination…or you can borrow mine. Just don’t forget to return it.

Again…no judgement. We should all speak with such passion.

Enjoy~

End of the Innocence

I cannot remember a more unsettling time. Everyone I speak to is stumbling…the ground beneath their feet shifting and churning like some 4.8 quake in Fresno…only we never got to appreciate the luxury of that gorgeous California climate.

For me, the past few days have been fraught with misunderstandings…so many in fact, that I found myself doing a 360…projectile tears splattering everything within a 4-foot radius of me, as I half-expected to see some sinister Candid Camera crew crouched in the corner of the room wearing expressions of scorn and fear at being discovered.

And it’s only Wednesday.

For anyone else like me, who’s muttering the infamous phrase “Stop this freakin’ merry-go-round-from-hell…I wanna get off” (that is the expression, correct?), try to hang in there.

• It’s always darkest before the dawn
• When you come to the end of your rope, tie a knot and hang on
• Fall seven times, stand up eight
• When it is dark enough, you can see the stars
• If you’re in a bad situation, don’t worry. It’ll change. If you’re in a good situation, don’t worry. It’ll change.

Things are slowly, painstakingly, excruciatingly returning to some semblance of “normal”…whatever the hell that means.

I know I’ve no right to ask when sadness comes “Why did this happen?” unless I’m willing to ask the same question for every moment of happiness that’s come as well. Fortunately, the latter stanchly outweighs the former.

Sweetness and Light

Happy Monday, all. What an insanely sad, anxiety-filled, thought-provoking weekend.

The recent sad news is evident to anyone who’s watched teevee or picked up a newspaper of late.

Me thinks we all could seriously use some good old-fashioned happy news for a change.

Now…let’s see if I can make something up:

API - Somewhere in the Northeast….(in between Never-Never-Land and If-Only-Dreams-Really-Did-Come-Trueville):

A remarkably beautiful woman was walking her remarkably attractive Cavalier King Charles Spaniel on a simply extraordinararily-dry June evening In the Hudson Valley, when said purebred Spaniel felt the need to…(ahem)….relieve himself. Upon doing so, the owner disdainfully began the revolting task of scooping said bodily waste products into one cleverly-marketed and highly-regarded “Pooper-scooper” when suddenly, the remarkably attractive woman became aware of the skeletal remains of what appeared to be some sort of primeval creature.

The first reaction of the strikingly-gorgeous woman was “OH, NOOOOOOO! WE’VE UNCOVERED THE REMAINS OF A SACRED BURIAL GROUND THAT OUR HOUSE MUST HAVE BEEN HAPHAZARDLY, INADVERTANTLY INDISCRIMINENTLY BUILT UPON!!!”, sensing that this would somehow justify the strange, poltergeist-like activities involving the unexplained, random lack of good cell phone reception at this dwelling as well as the unexplainable disappearance of many a cinnamon-raison bagel and countless packages of double-stuf Oreos.

Upon further inspection, however, the stunningly-ravishing maiden discovered that she had in fact, uncovered a rare, 5-million-year-old one-of-a-kind in-tact skeleton of a Gogogirlasaurous-erecteoglammy-blingy-hex….otherwise known by its more common name of “Go-Go stone-age chick who died long ago whilst trying on all her diamond trinkets and prancing around in her un-even stone-high-heels WAY too close to that rocky cliff in the backyard”.

The diamonds have an approximate street value of $54.5 million dollars. The excruciatingly fabulous woman was unavailable for comment at this time but has been heard to utter the words “Metro, honey….you’re allowed to poop anywhere your little heart desires! WOOHOO.”

The findings are under investigation by the IRS.

Not the Sharpest Crayon in the Box

WAIPOPO, New Zealand, June 22 (UPI) --

New Zealand authorities said they freed a man stuck like "Winnie-the-Pooh"

in his electric dryer

while trying to retrieve a pair of underpants.

Senior Constable Greg Sutherland (not to be confused with Donald)

Or Kiefer

of the Temuka (not to be confused with tempura)

Or Tempur-Pedic

Police said a police officer, an ambulance and two fire crews were sent to the Waipopo (not to be confused with Waikiki)

home about 6:30 p.m. Sunday after the 42-year-old man's head, arms and shoulders became stuck in the dryer while he was trying to retrieve a pair of underwear from the back of the appliance, The Timaru (not to be confused with Tiramisu)

(New Zealand) Herald reported Monday.

"He got in through the door of the dryer, his shoulders got stuck and he couldn't maneuver," much like Pooh, the beloved children's story character who got his head stuck in a honey jar,

Sutherland said.

(Author's note: Dammit. The honey jar! I should've thought of that.)

Sutherland said the man, who had been drinking,

was "fairly agitated" once responders arrived, but the rescue was simple enough: Two firefighters held the dryer in place while two others yanked the man out.

"We do entrapments ... This would be one of the more unusual entrapments," firefighter Rooy Hoogenraad said.

(No substitutions come to mind at the present time.)