Monday, April 23, 2007

Map where we're goin'

My two teenagers barely speak to each other. They have very little in common, and don't really do much to acknowledge each other (other than the nastygram for her borther dd left in the upstairs bathroom, on "how to share a bathroom with a girl" -- that's for another day).

When they were little, they used to play together all the time. I went in their room one day when they were probably 3 and 4 and there they were, sitting on the bed, intently studying a map that they'd found somewhere. When I asked what they were doing, they informed me, quite seriously, that they were playing "map where we're goin'." Turned out that they had made up a game wehre they imagined a place, looked at the map on how to get there, then narrated the whole trip.

I got to hear how they got to Toys R Us: what the drive was like, what they looked at in the aisles of the store, and what they brought home with them. They went into great detail on what everything looked like, "did you see...", back and forth, on and on. It was adorable.

I've tried to teach each of the kids how to read a map, so they learn to navigate properly. Hubby's version of navigating is studying maps, cause he loves them, then telling me what exit I needed, about half a mile after I passed it. DS17 once was able to navigate me through downtown Chicago, on 4th of July weekend: "turn left, Mom. Go right. Elvis."

What in the world?

Turned out that yep, Elvis was standing on the corner of Michigan and something, in a white fringed jumpsuit. Never mind that he'd been dead for 15 years at that point -- we saw Elvis, and when that happens, you know you aren't in Indianapolis anymore.

Nowadays, they are both driving, and learning how to navigate around town by themselves. They're not doing a bad job, either. Must be all that map reading, at a tender age.

And so, in honor of my darling children, two ships who pass in the bathroom, and their "map where we're goin'" days, here is a great op art skirt, from Vintage Vagabond Wear and Wares.

Sunday, April 22, 2007

Let's (not) Spend the Night Together

Hubby's in Florida this weekend, with two of the kids. He went to visit his parents, who are celebrating their 50th anniversary later this week.

Fifty years is a long time to be sharing a bed.

I'm sleeping great with the old guy away. I don't think I was never meant to share a bed, but haven't been able to talk the hubby out of it, for some reason. Our sleep habits are completely different, requiring me to learn Defensive Sleeping 101 very early on.

I love the guy -- I just can't sleep with him. He is so restless that there are many days that I wake up and the covers are completely upside down from how they started: the sheet is on top, then the blanket, and the bedspread is touching skin. Sometimes the sheet and blanket are on the floor, and we're just under the bedspread. How he does that, I'll never know, but he does.

I stay up a lot later than he does, too, so when I come in to bed, he is sprawled all over the place. I tell him to move over, to which his response is "I'm a big man, honey." And my response is "and I'm a big girl, so move your butt over." He does --- usually taking most of the covers with him.

DH's favorite sleep position involves putting his hands behind his head, like he's looking up at the stars. Well, I'm the one who has SEEN stars, when he brings those hands up, because he has whacked me in the head/eye/ear more times than I can count. I now sleep with my hands up over my head -- in supplication to the Goddess of Sleep that I get through one night without getting clocked. It's also a position that keeps me from getting ahacked in the head/eye/ear by his elbow -- something that happened many a time before I learned how to protect myself.

Just about the time I think it's safe to go into dreamland, he will roll over to face me, bring his knee up, and knee butt me right in the lower back. That HURTS, plus one has to keep one's balance, because with as close to the edge as I usually am, I have actually been kneed right out of the bed a few times -- including once when I was seven months pregnant. The man has no mercy.

Sleeping together isn't so romantic when you need body armor to do it. I've tried to talk him into twin beds like Ricky and Lucy, but he's not buying it. So I told him, if anything happens to him, I am NOT getting remarried. I love the man, but I will never, ever share the covers with anyone again.

DH, being male, said "you mean to tell me that you are never going to have sex again?"

::sigh:: I didn't say THAT.

I'd just find me someone young and grateful, who goes home at the end of the night.

And so, if you want to look great as you practice Defensive Sleeping 101, here's a great 30s bias cut embroidered nightgown from that store that is surely named after me, Old & Beautiful, on Main Street. The slippery satin will help your aerodynamics as you practice Defensive Sleeping 101. Covers not included.

Monday, April 16, 2007

Vintage Terrorist Part II -- Osama bin Lingerie

Well, I'm back at it again -- I'm once again a Vintage Terrorist. Most jobs come with a job description, but not this one. I've kind of had to make it up as I go along.

Some of you may remember my first days as a Vintage Terrorist, when the dd and I got thrown out of the library, with our model and her agent. (If you missed it, it's in the archived posts.) Well, this time I managed to start mayhem without even leaving the house. I'm getting GOOD!

I came across some nice Miss Elaine peignoirs last week. Gorgeous stuff, that Miss Elaine lingerie. But I had four different ones, with four different labels. I've got a small collection of ME (LOL -- that looks funny), and I've always wondered about how to date it. Thanks to my dear friend Michelle, from Dollhouse Vintage, there is a nice Vanity Fair label history on myspace. It's a gorgeous page, as is all of Michelle's work, so please be sure to check it out.

Well, me being me, I decided that it'd be nice to do my part for lingerie history. My second grade report card did, after all, say that I am a curious girl. Mind you, doing my part for lingerie history would NOT involve me wearing it -- actually, me wearing it could be the end of the world as we know it -- and no one would feel fine. What does one do, when one wants to find out about the company? One emails the company.

That's exactly what I did, and after a couple of emails back and forth, I was told that I would NOT be allowed to have that information "because we don't know what you're going to do with it?" WHAT? I guess now I'm Osama bin Lingerie.

And so, in thinking really hard about it for the past few days, I've
come up with the top ten evil things I could or could not have done with Miss Elaine's history, had I actually been given ONE IOTA of information from the lingerie Nazi.

1. I couldn't have passed it on to al Quaeda, cause everyone knows that they wear Formfit Rogers Pucci, and that's why those guys are so difficult to find.
2. I couldn't have used it to get my husband to wear ME, cause the last time he wore my lingerie was at my bridal shower (another story for another day).
3. I could've passed it along to Vince aka Emanuelle (see my Raspberry Beret post, in the archive), however, I have witnessed the fact that Vince is more of a Jockey bikini guy. In red.
4. Guess I could've passed it along to the guy who emailed me when I had my rhumba panty/bra set up a couple of weeks ago, telling me that his "clients" like to see him in frilly girly stuff, and did I think they'd like it? Needless to say, I didn't respond to that one. Even I have my limits.
5. Maybe they didn't want me to have it, cause it has something to do with the numbers on LOST. Hey wait -- maybe the monster is really Miss Elaine! It is, after all, always blowing smoke. Gonna have to ponder that for a while.
6. Maybe I would actually discover the Miss Elaine's label that says "may contain nuts." The one that they NEVER intended to come out of the closet. The one that could lead to the real identity of Miss Elaine: Mr Alejandro.
7. Maybe I would actually find out that the Roswell UFO incident involved aliens who were, indeed, clad in beautifully embroidered peignoirs with the embroidered ME label. Or was it the gold one? Maybe each one has its own extraterrestial meaning -- meaning I should be phoning home soon.
8. With enough research, I'm sure that I would find photos of Curt Cobain wearing ME onstage. Or Courtney Love. I'm actually sure that is a FACT that I could prove, with a bit 'o research.
9. And perhaps, most of all, they are afraid that I will find out the real answer to the great mystery of life: If a man is standing in the forest speaking and there is not a woman there to hear him, is he still wrong? Answer: not if both of them are wearing Miss Elaine. But that's not possible, because when the man emailed the company, asking if they had his size, he was told that they couldn't give that information, because they didn't know what he would do with it.

Rendering the man, and my theory, wrong.

So, ME angered me, and I chose against featuring one of their lovelies, because pretty is as pretty does -- and ME wasn't pretty to me. So, I am featuring a Triumph International swimsuit from my own collection (yes, it's for sale, just email me), because Triumph International makes some darn lovely lingerie of their own, without, once again, turning me into a Vintage Terrorist. I do that well enough on my own.

Thursday, April 12, 2007

Snakes in a Bed

You know, some days, the whole world is off their meds. Truly. Today was one of those days. Yesterday? That was Va-J-J Day, as Oprah would say, cause everyone wanted to talk about their bits and pieces. Today, the entire world was off their meds.

Case in point: "Lisa, I have a red flag call. This lady got bitten by a snake."

In Indiana. In 30 degree weather. "How in the world did that happen?" "I don't know, she said she was in her bed, and got bitten by a snake."

That was the first clue. But when she started telling me about these snakes -- not pets, "they just came in here" -- I figured what was up. "What color are they?" "Oh, all colors, green and brown, and black and brown, and..." LOUD SQUEAL "ooooh here one comes after me now, see it?"

Um, no, cause we were on the phone.

I'm sorry, but when that's the first call of the day, you just know how things are gonna go for the rest of the night. When the first call is a sex call, then you're gonna be hearing too much information all night. And when the first one is off their meds, well, everyone is.

So, what'd I do? She was running through the house, being chased, so I said "why don't you go outside so you are away from them, and then call and have someone take you to the hospital?" She was more than happy to agree, and hung up to call her daughter. Who hopefully stopped at the pharmacy on the way to her mom's house.

So, yeah, I know it's not funny, but when you talk to all the people I do, you have to have a little giggle now and again. So I went in and told my boss that I needed a few weeks off, to work on Samuel L Jackson's next movie: Snakes in a Bed. Haven't worked out the whole plot yet, but there has to be a triage nurse in there somewhere.
And the ending? The snakes end up as this cute little snake wallet, from The Purse Diva, one of my favorite sellers. Still haven't figured out how to fit into her wonderful red carpet dress, but I'm still working on that one!

Monday, April 09, 2007

Our dog, the penguin

We have two dogs. Timmy is 11 or so (never can remember). He's a German Shepherd mix who is a big baby. Then we have psycho dog Boo, who is a cross between an idiot and a maniac. Smart as a whip, but drives me nuts.

I let him out last week, first thing in the morning. Standing in the back yard in my nightshirt, but there's privacy fence all around, so I felt like I wasn't gonna kill any of the neighbors, first thing in the morning. Put Boo in the pen to do his business, and the last thing I see is his butt going over the 6 foot privacy fence. Of course, I was shouting at him, cause I couldn't get through the mud in my bare feet. Then of course the dh comes driving down the driveway, with his new friend -- a Mexican guy who speaks no English. Yep, the first sight of his friend's wife is her standing with bare legs, in an old nightshirt, yelling every word in the book at the stupid perro. I don't think Oscar ever even looked up -- and hubby took one look at me and just backed right outta the driveway.

This dog is an idiot, but he knows about 12 tricks. Smartest stupid dog I've ever seen. So yesterday, dd had an Easter egg hunt with some friends. Dozens of plastic Easter eggs, and somehow, Boo ended up with one. Well, the only way to keep this dog chilled out in the house is to let him on the couch, so there was dd, sitting there with Boo next to her -- clutching his egg. Snarled at Timmy every time he came by.

Sat wrapped around that egg, hiding it from us all night. We decided that he must think he's an emperor penguin or something, but it sure was funny to see that dog defend a little plastic egg all evening. I don't know if he took it to bed with him or not, but I'm sure he tried.

And so, in honor of Boo the penguin dog, here's the cutest vintage tuxedo style swimsuit, from Special Somethings Vintage Clothing,. I even love her name -- it just makes me smile.

Sunday, April 08, 2007

Viva Las Vegas

This is the weekend of Viva Las Vegas, the huge rockabilly festival out in Sin City. I've never been, but I'm told it's a great time. I'd go just to see what people are wearing, and the dancing would sure be a great time.

I have a friend who went to Vegas with the girls one time, for girls weekend out. Stopped to eat breakfast after a night of gambling -- and a few drinks, I'm sure. Well, Vegas employs people from all over the world. It's kind of a United Nations of sorts. The restaurant that the girls went to required the employees to wear nametags that said "Hi, I'm XXXX, from XXX." Included their name and their hometown or country. Their server was Asian, so imagine the elation a few tipsy girls felt when they saw his nametag:

"Hi, I'm Hung."

They all had their picture taken with him. I'm sure he's still wondering why.

And so, in honor of all those very special guys around the world, here's liquored up shirt, perfect for a night of bar hopping, from tawnyk1978, on ebay. Can't vouch for the authenticity, since I'm not a menswear expert, but it's a great conversation starter. Not that Hung needs it...............

Saturday, April 07, 2007

Hooters Orientation

My dd is not a fan of Hooters. I don't care one way or the other, cause ya know, it's a guy place. I haven't been there in years, but I got a call the other day that reminded me of them.
The baby's name was Lyla, and it sent me right down memory lane.

The kids went to Florida one time, whilst the parents were on the mission trip together. DS was about 12 or so, so my brother, in all his wisdom, decided that he should be initiated to Hooters. Brother and nephew packed him into the car and off they went. Here's what db reported later -- with a giggle:

They were seated, and the waitress did the normal drinks order. DS was blushing, and kept his eyes averted to the extraordinary tableware, at which time the lovely waitress leaned over said said "hi, I'm Lyla, your waitress." I'm told he went rather pale. Waitress pointed out the window to a police car that had just parked -- policeman just disembarking -- and said "are they here for you?" At which point, I'm sure, the boy almost died. DB loved it.

A year or two later, when I asked the kids where they wanted to go for lunch, ds said, of course, Hooters. Deciding to take advantage of a teachable moment, the three kids and I went, dd griping the whole way that they wouldn't have anything vegetarian for her, and her brother swearing that they would. We got there, only to find that nope, they really didn't have anything that she could eat, except fries or salad. DD decided that the situation was unbearable, and spent the entire meal with her back to us, arms crossed, giving the evil eye to every hottie that went by. DS, shoving his fries in his mouth, declared his inability to understand why his sister should be miffed.

I asked him, "would you want your sister working here?" "No way," he responded. "OK," said the mother, in all her wisdom, "consider those girls to be your sister." Kinda killed it for him, and he hasn't asked to go to Hooters since.

Just goes to show, homeschooling means that you can take advantage of every teachable moment. And so, in honor of our social studies lesson for the day, here's a cute vintage space age owl print dress, adorable vintage from shopcalico, on ebay.