Green Onions

Let it be known on this 30th day of May, with tidings of joy but mostly utter shame, that I am in fact, a reality tv show JUNKIE. Rock Of Love is my crack and Daisy you are one crazy ass loon. Bret Michaels, even though your show makes me want to take a shot of penicillin and a hot shower, why must you play with my emotions? See what I mean? I love me some crap TV. Remember when the Real World was totally awesome good stuff when it first came on a million years ago? Now there's a reality show on every 5 minutes and most of them are BAD NEWS BEARS. But not in the "aww shucks, well at they tried their best. What a bunch of little rascals!" kind of way.

Enter Celebracadabra, a wonderfully putrid show I just discovered, chock full of "celebrities" who you haven't seen on TV since choosy moms chose Jif. Guess who's on Celebracadabra? C. Thomas Howell- no relation to Thurston. I'm talking PONYBOY, bitches. A jog down memory lane, if you will:

Ponyboy then:



And while we're not even talking about The Outsiders, what makes me stabby about that movie is that even though it was about a bunch of young greasers, the cast looked more like they were supposed to filming the Karate Kid. I hate when costumers and hair stylists get it all wrong. HAPPY DAYS, I'm talking to you too. Tight bell bottom jeans in the 50's? Sigh. Fonzie, I thought better of you. You can go SIT ON IT sir, and take Leather Tuscadero's feathered Joan Jett hair with you.

Ponyboy now:



Hmm. I'm not sure how I feel about this. While C. Thomas Howell has aged ok-ishly, he looks like a creepy Mormon dad with 12 children whose names all start with the letter "B". No offense to Mormons. Or even the creepy ones for that matter. And on top it, he's really kind of a weenie on the show and not at all ponyboy-ish, which is the slap into reality that reality stars are real people too and how many more times can I say "real" in a sentence?

Ponyboy, I spill out my Colt 45 for you homie, and may your aging, creepy ass not keep me up at night any longer. Stay (sweatin' to the) Golden (oldies).

PS. Give Matt Dillon my number.

eVintage Society's Blog Tag Wednesday~ On Thursday!

Because I love keeping you on the edge of your seats waiting for my next earth-moving blog entry chock full of wisdom and deep thoughts by Jack Handey--(but mostly because I'm lazy-making lately and just reeally behind). Notice the extra "e" in "really"? That shows you how much I MEAN IT.

So. I'm posting the eVintage Society's Blog Tag Wednesday on thurdsay and yeah I know the day is almost over. So sue me.

I've been tagged by Empress Jade Vintage!

HAUTE HALTER!
Temperatures are rising and its time to show some skin! The halter neckline is a great way to leave a little to the imagination while exposing enough to stay cool and stylish. Lets talk halters!

1) Show us your favorite halter dress or top in your inventory:
It's a halter! It's 50's! It's boned! It's a full circle! It's a Suzy Perette!



2)Marilyn rocked the halter bodice back in the 50s, but it came back big in the 70's...which is your favorite era for the halter?

For everyday wearin' then 50's. But for fancy, I've seen some damn fine 40's halter gowns that I'd maim for.

3)Bare backs are vulnerable, what’s your suggestion for protecting skin from the sun?

How about not going into it?! I go from snow white to lobster in 5 minutes so sunning is not an option for moi. Plus there's the whole skin cancer thing which I've heard is bad news.

4)Halter as top or dress, whats your preference?

Dress!

5)A bra can be a challenge…..best suggestion for support?

I was gonna be a classy broad and say "duct tape", but decided to take the high road. Damn, I guess that's out.

Back to you, eVintage Society. See you next thursday. Ok, wednesday.

Born Under A Bad Sign

Is it true that people can be born unlucky? I think I may have been, as my life seems sprinkled with Charlie Brownian moments for as long as I can remember. Maybe karma knew before I was even a thought in my parent's hippie heads that I'd enter this world an already-seasoned jaded pessimist and added insult to injury by making me a Scorpio. Jebus, why you gotta play me like that? Astrology-Online says this:

"Scorpios are the most intense, profound, powerful characters in the zodiac. Even when they appear self-controlled and calm there is a seething intensity of emotional energy under the placid exterior. They are like the volcano not far under the surface of a calm sea, it may burst into eruption at any moment."

Does that not sound terrifically filthy and borderline "Danielle Steele opening line"?

This weekend the Small Fry marched in his very first parade for the Cub Scouts, which for most people would a non-issue kind of a day but like any show on any day of the week on Univision, the day was full of Drama! Passion! Suspense! Betrayal! Except without the drama, passion, suspense or betrayal. The button thingy on my flip flop did break though, sending my foot overboard, followed by a string of curse words, making the Ball and Chain embarrassed because I happened to be near a group of Vietnam Vets, which we all know are avid broken flip flop cursers, so what's the big deal I say? And I hate feet, I hate looking at feet and I hate flip flops, mostly because I am inept at walking in them correctly. I never wear them in public much, except of course when I wear curlers, Biore pore strips and house coat to go grocery shopping- as if THAT'S ever a faux pas. But on this day I wore them and there was Tragedy on Main Street, which wouldn't have even happened except we were running late and had to sprint briskly to get a good view and I don't sprint or do ANYTHING briskly and it was ALL HIS FAULT as everything usually is.

The second incident in the day of a series of unfortunate events was losing my camera batteries when they decided to make a break for it and head for the border AKA the sewer grate, never to be heard from again. Who needs pictures of their child's First Major Cub Scout Event, anyway?

I used to surround myself with good-luck charms to ward off the Evil Eye or whatever kind of hoodoo they're supposed to do and carry a rabbit's foot for good luck, which did nothing but get dried out and shed everywhere and then I'm pretty sure my dog might have eaten it at some point. (Should they not do that?) Shout-out to my peeps at PETA! But don't worry Pam Anderson as I know you're reading this, I ate the rest of the rabbit first before using it's paw for a keychain and fashioning a toaster cozy out of it's fur. Did I mention the elaborate shampoo and mascara tests I used on him? So it all worked out in the end, though I'm still unlucky but still luckier than that rabbit.

Need to get lucky? (of COURSE I went there). Then perhaps you should take a gamble on this vintage 50's rayon blouse from Fast Eddie's Retro Rags-it has painted good luck charm figures on them! Getting lucky not included.



I won't even mention the power of rhinestones. THE RHINESTONES. But I'm not even gonna mention it.



Did I mention THE RHINESTONES?

For Those About To Rock (We Salute You)

My friends AC/DC couldn't have said it any better. It's Memorial Day again, and a sad one at that. Our veterans and current military just don't get the props they've earned and deserve~ 99.9% of them are not the torturous, raping and pillaging testosterone-driven scumbags the media wants us to believe, but that .1% gets the media attention and somehow stereotype what ALL military personnel are like. Contrary to popular belief, they don't want to be overseas at war and away from their families and normal lives any more than we want to go to our next ob/gyn appointment.

Know an old-timey veteran in your family? Ask them about their experiences, they love that. Know someone currently involved in the military? Give them a high five, buy them a cup of coffee, tell them THANK YOU because jebus knows our own government doesn't.

All politics aside, just remember when you're down and out in Beverly Hills, their lives are a whole lot worse than yours can ever be.

On a lighter note, enjoy some old-timey ads from 1943 and 1944 during WW11. And Happy Memorial Day, dammit!