Friday, February 29, 2008

It's that day, folks

The day that comes only once a year -- Leap Day.

Today is my niece and nephew's first anniversary. Actually it's their fourth, but since they got married on Leap Day, it's their first. But they have always been a bit Goofy.

Cause my nephew by marriage was Goofy at Disney for quite some time. And he really IS Goofy. No one would deny that. And he married Minnie -- my niece was Minnie at Disney, and she really is a mini person, cause she's pretty darn short. Whenever I would see Mickey and Minnie on TV or in print, I'd call and ask if it was her -- alas, it never was, but she enjoyed the job, nonetheless. Even broke her foot in costume once, and was sent to work in the resorts for a time -- with a pregnant Cinderella.

Now, that's just plain wrong.

Her sister, also my niece, also worked at Disney, as did their brother. The younger sister worked on Pirates of the Caribbean and It's a Small World. It's interesting to walk through Disney with someone who works there, and knows all the lore: which rides are haunted, etc. The had seen a whole bevy of celebrities there, all of whom went straight to the head of the line. All of them, that is, except Vanilla Ice, who my niece had the honor of sending to the back of the line, as he wasn't enough of a celebrity to have the proper pass.

In honor of Leap Day, here's a cute toddler pattern with frog applique, from Cab4dks-Kissy-Pop-Collectibles, on ebay. Jumpin' Jehosaphat, ain't it cute? And in honor of Vanilla Ice, enjoy this video from youtube -- of Jim Carrey's crazy version of "Ice Ice Baby." Priceless.

Thursday, February 28, 2008

The Oscars meet Utter Chaos

So here I am, at 1:27 a.m., pondering life as we know it. Well, not really, but I ended up working till 2 a.m. because one of our nurses is sick. She must've caught it over the phone, whilst talking to one of our callers. Oh well -- I'm a night owl anyway, so at least I'm getting paid for it tonight.

Except this means that I'll be watching LOST at 2 a.m., cause I watch it the minute I get home, regardless of the hour. Just let me know where the LOST-aholics meeting is, and I'll be there, cause I am definitely powerless over that show.

So, despite my musings of earlier in the week, please do not speak of the Oscars. When Atonement lost for costume design, I was miffed enough, but when it lost for cinematography, I actually yelled loud enough that they could probably hear me in the Kodak Theatre. I was appalled.

DD, however, was appalled at the outcome of our little family contest, in guessing the Oscars. I said early on that it would be a difficult year to pick, and that I wouldn't do well, so I picked two sets of picks. She thought this was cheating, but I picked what my personal favorites were, and then what I thought the Academy would pick.

I sucked on both.

Here we were, printed ballots and all, with ds on IM from school, giving his picks just before they gave the awards. DD would eagerly await it, sure that this year she would pick them right, because she had actually seen some of the movies -- or at least read a lot about them. She did see the very end of "There Will Be Blood," and swore that she might be scarred for life. But then again, the hubby said the same thing...anyway, she was sure she'd win this year.

Here's how the conversation went, for example, on the Best Actor award:
DH: "I'm getting a free lunch out of this." (he had bet his old boss that Daniel Day Lewis would win -- gave her the other nominees, and he had to buy if any of them won. The boss had to buy only if DDL won, because she hated the movie so much which, as we pointed out to her, was the point of the role). "I'm going to get this right, because you can only get it right if you see all of the films involved. There is no guesswork involved."

DD: "I'm gonna get this one right. Wow, that guy announcing that last award was hot."

Me: "DDL is brilliant. Of course he will win. He could win just for breathing in a movie."

DS, instant messaged from afar): "DUH. Of course DDL will win. If he doesn't win, I'm turning it off. He was amazing. More amazing than when he was Bill the Butcher, but better than Last of the Mohicans. But "There Will Be Blood" was a great character study. Of course Dad's boss hated the ending, that was the whole point of the character."

Daniel Day Lewis wins, gives a cool acceptance speech, during which time we all agree upon how brilliant we are.

The award for Cinematography is being discussed. We have now watched about five people almost fall down, walking to the podium to announce awards, which has been the most entertaining thing in the show, by far. Here's our discussion.

DD: "I am so gonna get this one right. Hey, that guy is hot."

DH: "I don't know a damn thing about cinematography. What the heck is the award for? Just taking good film? I don't get it. Who cares about Cinematography anyway? But I'm going to get this right, because you can only get it right if you see all of the films involved. There is no guesswork involved."

Me: "Atonement had better win this one, after being robbed for costuming."

DS, in IM from afar: "Atonement had great cinematography. That tracking shot was like five minutes long, and was amazing. Of course, Children of Men had an even longer one, plus they had Clive Owen. I'm surprised I am even watching the Oscars after they robbed that movie of Best Picture. Clive Owen is brilliant."

Some other movie, rather than Atonement, wins, of course. Here is the ensuing Utter Chaos:

DH: "I, of course, got it right, because I am the supreme chooser of Oscar winners."

DD (crumples paper up, tosses it toward the dog): "I don't know why I bother, because I suck at this. It's ridiculous. Hey. That guy is hot."

Me: Primal scream heard for several hundred miles away

DS, in IM: "I am so gonna own all of you, because I rule the Oscars."

DH: "What in the world are you yelling for, woman? If you'd listen to me, you would get them all right. I got it right, of course. Just stay with me, I'll teach you things. See, I got it right."

DD: (pounces on the hubby's paper, whilst he bats her away. She gets it anyway.) You did NOT get it right. It says right here that you picked Atonement. You suck.

DH: Oh be quiet and leave me alone.

DS: I am now 7/8 in my picks of the Oscars. I rule you all.

DH: Well, I would've had it right, but your mother made me pick Atonement. We all know that you have to actually SEE the movies in order to pick winners. There is no guesswork involved.

DD and I, together: "Whatever."

DS: "I'm going to rule you all, because you suck."

DD: "Hey, that guy is hot."


Needless to say, I did not do well on my picks, ds ruled the night, and dh is still saying why he really won, despite the scores on the ballots. Because he got a free lunch out of it, which is more than we got. So he got bragging rights, without even winning. But me, I don't care. I just watch it for the clothes anyway. And I think that I've shown you this one before, but it bears being seen again, because it's what I would've worn to the Oscars: a beautiful vintage
cherry red ball gown, from Purse Diva Vintage, at Main Street Vintage. It'd sooth my troubled soul, even if it clashed with the red on the carpet.

Tuesday, February 26, 2008

Requiem for a Fish

Sometimes in life, we are given awesome responsibilities. At home, it's the little family -- and that can certainly be enough on a given day. At work, it's everything that being a nurse entails. We hold lives in our hands every day. But I was given an even more awesome responsibility.

The boss' fish.

Now, my boss doesn't like me calling her "boss." She always says "don't call me that," so I switched to the Spanish version, and started calling her "jeffe," which confuses a lot of people, because they think I've gone to the hood and started calling her "heifer." But no, it's our little joke.

The boss has a fish. He's a beautiful betta named Lenny Briscoe. Yep, he's named after Jerry Orbach's Law & Order character. He's been an institution at our office for the past three years. Survived a move to the new office across town, and patiently awaited her arrival back from a trip to London earlier this year. Of course, he got to enjoy his view of London Bridge, posted right next to his aquarium.

He even got used to Baby Ray, the cat given to the boss by a co-worker. She thought the boss needed a cat, but since she's allergic, she went and got Baby Ray -- a fake cat that breathes, with the use of some batteries. That cat creeped Lenny (and me) out for a while, but he got over it on the day I walked in and found BabyRay not breathing. Lenny knew at that point that he had won the battle.

The boss went to South Africa for a week, earlier in the month. I was given the responsibility of feeding him on the weekends, but truthfully, I'd go in and check on him most days, because we bonded -- he'd usually wake up and swim around when he heard me talking. He knew that my voice meant he was about to get a good meal (something my family gave up on a long time ago). Lenny was so happy to see the boss return, and of course, we were too.

So yesterday, I worked a double, and about 8:30, I realized that I hadn't been in to check on Lenny. Went in there, and there he was, upside down. Yes, he had swum off to fishie heaven sometime during the day. This was my nightmare -- I had always feared going in and finding him dead. Maybe I'm some kind of prophet, I don't know. I had even asked the boss what to do if I found him dead, so I followed her wishes: say some nice words, then give him a 21 flush salute. Of course, we had to have a wake for about 15 minutes while I waited for the cleaning guy to clean the funeral home -- I swear he must've used a toothbrush to clean it, cause here I was standing here with our poor, poor departed friend, whilst the horrid operators asked about having fish for dinner, and a co-worker suggested that I put one of my fish in her tank, just to see if she'd notice. It didn't help that their manager said that I must've murdered our boy, and that the cops were coming to dust for prints. Only ONE of my co-workers, bless her heart, understood my pain. Thanks, Erin.

To top it all off, I had to call the boss and tell her, so she didn't come in and find him gone. Damn. I don't like Mondays anyway, but then to have to break that news to the boss at the end of a double just plain sucked. She asked if I'd done him proud, and I told her yep, though I didn't know if it was right, since I don't know how JW funerals are done. (Lenny is JW, like the boss. He is probably up there knocking on other tanks right now.)

And so, let's have a moment of silence for our boy Lenny, the greatest fish ever. He'll be sorely missed, at least by those of us who understand the bond between woman and fish. And soothe your soul with this fish print dress, from Dandelion Vintage. It's perfect for wearing your heart on your sleeve.

RIP Lenny. You'll be missed.

Friday, February 22, 2008

Toeing the line

When ds13 was a baby, he was a biter. Not a mean bitter, mind you. He was a kid that, when he got overstimulated or overexcited, he'd start biting.

He bit himself a couple of times even. What a nutjob. Of course, dd used that to her advantage one time. Came running in to me crying, showing me an arm with fresh bite marks. Problem was, those teeth marks were missing a couple of teeth, and ds was only about four. Didn't even HAVE all his teeth yet. Heck, he's 13, and still hasn't lost all of his teeth.

That Bratty Gurl bit herself, just to get the boy in trouble. Yep, she can be a schemer when she wants to.

But the boy got his revenge, more than once. Bit her right on the inner thigh one time, after they built a tent in the living room. Played around, giggling and having a great time, till Count Dracula hit. Bit her hard enough to break the skin, too. I called the doctor's office to see if they wanted to see her, because it really looked kind of ugly, and all I got was the typical "has she had her shots" comment, while the receptionist laughed.

Another time, the boy got wild and bit her right on the big toe. A few days later, it was a beautiful shade of green. Ended up needing lanced, plus a week of antibiotics to boot. I think that was the last time he bit her, either cause he figured out a new way to express joy, or she learned to dodge him better.

So, if you want something cute to protect your tootsies from The Bitter, take your little piggies to market and check out these adorable 40s lattice peeptoe platforms, from Beebop Diva Vintage Clothing. They're too cute to stay home!

Tuesday, February 19, 2008

Frankly Scarlett............

I've been on a roll about the Oscars lately, mainly because I plan to wager my son on the outcome this weekend, and just cannot decide who I think will win. It's driving me a bit mad.

So, hubby was cruising the channels last night, and what should come up but "Gone With The Wind." I sighed and said "this is such a good movie." He looked at me blankly and asked "what the heck makes it such a good movie?" He's never *seen* "Gone With The Wind" in its entirety.

That explains a lot of things about that man.

I just dropped my jaw, and when I could recompose myself, I said "it's good because it's GONE WITH THE WIND." He said "I don't get it." I guess not. Very shortly afterward, Scarlett showed up in the green dress. He asked "what is the big deal about that green dress" at which point I said, you have to WATCH the movie. He said "did people really dress like that?" Oye. I couldn't even respond, because what do you say? Sure, they dressed like that. Only they didn't, cause she was wearing the drapes! He'd never understand that.

Any man who can make it to his age without seeing "Gone With The Wind" is never gonna get it, when it comes to that green dress.

So, he asked if Vivian Leigh had won an Oscar for GWTW, and I went searching imdb, as usual, for movie trivia. (He complains about me having my laptop on all the time, but as soon as I turn it off, he asks me a trivia question, then insists I look it up. This is why we win trivia contests all the time.) Did you know that Clark Gable gave away the Oscar he won for "It Happened One Night?" Gave it to a child, because he said the winning was more important than owning the trophy. After his death, the child, who was probably grown up by then, gave it to the family.

Years later, the family wanted to auction it off. Nowadays, you can't sell your Oscar -- it has to go back to the Academy. It's an agreement the winners sign, saying that they will only sell it to the Academy. Turned out the anonymous winning bidder of Clark Gable's Oscar was none other than Stephen Spielberg, who promptly returned it to the Academy. What a guy.

So, that's your little trivia nugget for the night. If you want a dose of green and gorgeous, check out this Vintage 50s Fred Perlberg confection, from Cranberry Couture Vintage, on ebay. Definitely NOT made of drapes, it is truly awesome enough for the red carpet. Walking it, that is, not making a dress from it.

Monday, February 18, 2008

Video Almost Killed the Monkey Boy

The youngest ds was kind of a daredevil. I say was, because he did finally learn his lesson, but it took him a while.

Broke both arms before 2 1/2. Almost drowned two or three times. And yeah, he got his head stuck in the counter of the video store. How, one asks, does one get one's head stuck at the video store? Well, it was pretty easy, if you're ds.

I took them to the video store to pick a movie. DS was about three. I was looking at a display very close to the front door, when I started hearing these muffled grunting sounds. Realizing that I hadn't heard a peep from ds in a minute or so, I looked over, and realized that the big dork had stuck his head in a narrow area between the door's frame and the desk. Narrow enough to fit one's head in, but not narrow enough to get one's head out.

So there he was, on his hands and knees, like a little dog, trying to pull his head out of the hole, but every time he would pull back, his ears got stuck. Hence, the grunting of a determined 3yo, bound to get loose before his mama caught him. And there I was, standing over him, laughing, when the manager noticed. He was on the phone, talking to God knows who, when he realized what was going on. He looked a little stricken, and almost shouted into the phone "I have to go. A little boy's head is stuck in the counter," and abruptly hung up. I told him it was really no big deal. This kind of thing happened all the time with him. I would've carried the jaws of life around with me, had they fit in my purse.

He looked at me like I was out of my mind (which, if you know me, isn't too far off the mark). I calmly knelt down, laid the boy's ears flat, pulled his head out of the counter, and walked away. DS just wandered over to his sister like nothing had happened. The manager looked dismayed while I shook my head, wondering when the boy would grow a brain.

Fortunately, the boy has a lot more sense now, and his head is a bit too big to fit in the video store counter. I guess the brain finally grew. Not a minute too soon. And not a minute too soon for the Oscars, here's a great Hollywood style rayon gown, from Cherry Picked Vintage, on ebay. It's got a slinky line, a great bare back, and a beautiful floral motif. I could lose my head bidding on this one.

Friday, February 15, 2008

Make a Run for the Border

The goofy ds18 went to Canada over Christmas break. The first college guy road trip is always something memories are made of, and I suspect that this trip was no exception. Suspect, because I'm not asking. Some things a mom just doesn't want to know.

I do know that he and his buddy, Russell aka Potter aka Poots, were all but strip searched at the border, when they went into Canada. Had to produce hotel reservations, phone numbers, and all but the first born child -- which I don't even want to think about at this point in time -- hopefully that's about ten years down the road. Anyway, this little pop quiz was when they were going into Canada. Oddly, coming back, they were only asked a question or two, then waved right in. So much for border security. Heck, I'd make 'em stop so I could interrogate them, and I'm the mom.

So he and Poots made their foray into roadtrip-hood, in Toronto, with a bunch of buddies from the forum ds hosts. Bunch of crazy guy stuff or, as the ds says "ballin' at the Asian mall," and other stories not to be repeated, except under oath. They are preparing to invoke the Fifth this summer, when Canada Trip 2 takes place.
The mother, on the other hand, will be in constant prayer.

And so, in honor of Canada Trip, the generous forum donors, and ODIdol, the forum's ongoing quest to find the utmost in singing talent, here's a vintage Swedish military jacket, coming to you, in honor of tsutter and Poots, from Smith and Pooter Vintage, on the bay. And if you want to hear one of the most entertaining entries from ODIdol, take a listen to this Swedish entry. Knocked the ds right outta the competition, despite his own Swedish roots, but it's all for good reason. It's hilarious. Encompassing people from all over the world, ODIdol was the ds's little shot at singing fame. And though he was eliminated in the last round, I'm told that he has the losers' bracket all tied up. Not sure if it's a good thing, but it's an interesting idea to be the winner of losers.

Tuesday, February 12, 2008

Let's Talk Nerd

DD is an outside girl. Loves being at the barn with her horse. Likes hanging around the creek, looking for crawdads and looking at the little fish. Loves camping. Doesn't have a lot of use for technology. She has very little in common with her brothers.

Couple of years ago, they attended a homeschool co-op. Set up like a private school, it was a nice change for all of us, for a while. And to add to her joy in being away from her mother for a few hours a couple of days a week, she was the only girl in some of her classes. Suh-weet, as she would say. Nothing like being queen for a day.

Till she realized that she didn't speak their language. Came home and said "they were speaking Nerd at lunch again" all the time. Found out the homeschooled or not, WoW is WoW, and all boys know it, talk it, and live it. And of course, figure a girl has no use for it. Or rather, they have no use for a girl, when WoW is in the picture. Guess their mamas taught 'em not to pick on a girl, so they definitely can't shoot 'em. Even online.

But dd being dd, she was able to win in the long run. The know it all teenaged son of the co-op's director asked the group one day what their favorite video game was. I think he was going to ignore dd, but she said "Dance Dance Revolution." He turned his nose up and said "that's not a video game," to which she responded, "what do you play it on?" "Playstation." "Where do you buy it?" "Best Buy and places like that." "What department do you buy it in?" "Video Games."

Check and mate.

Needless to say, my kids didn't stay at the co-op long after the director said that dd needed to "stop talking so harshly to the boys." Informed me that if she didn't learn how to speak kindly to boys, she would have trouble finding a mate. Why that woman thought that I needed to worry about her finding a mate at the age of 15, I'll never know, but I did tell her that if anyone was gonna have trouble finding a mate, it'd be me, and I had been married almost twenty years at the time, so I figured dd was gonna be just fine.

So, as the hubby says, dd might not speak nerd, but we sure won't have to worry about some guy putting the moves on her, cause she'd beat the hell outta them, one way or another, cause she's sure not afraid to express herself. Meantime, ds18 is off to college, speaking nerd, and gettin' the girls. Go figure. And so, in honor of all those nerds who get the girl, here's a great vintage class 'o nerds photo, from Remember When Photos,
on ebay.

The Y. M. C. L.

Our youngest son was quiet for the longest time. Some people thought, because he had a lot of ear infections, that something was wrong with his hearing, because he didn't talk. I always said it was because everyone always talked for him.

When he did start to talk, he wouldn't shut up. Talked nonstop. And stuttered. And bellowed. Scared the bejeebies out of me more than once, when we were driving down the road. I would think he was asleep, and he'd suddenly shout "CHOO CHOO MOMMY! CHOO CHOO!" I think even his uncle could hear that child talk.

His uncle is deaf.

Add to all of this that my child would forget the Mr. and Mrs. on names of adults, and it could get interesting. Like our friends whose last name was Hogg. We'd be standing in the hallway at church, and he'd suddenly shout "Hi H-H-H-H-HOGG!" I just about died of embarrasment more than once, but Mrs. Hogg thought it was cute. Or so she said.

He had a language of his own, too. Lala was applesauce. Loddies were horses. And we never did figure out what "larsh" meant, but he said it with such a pleading look in his eyes that it broke my heart. I think it was some kind of food, but we'll never know for sure.

We eat out sometimes at the MCL Cafeteria by us. He liked it because he could get strawberries -- his favorite -- at any time of year. The problem was, he would also go to the gym with his dad, and hang out at the playground while dad ran the treadmill. So, when ds would announce that he wanted to go to "YMCL," we were never sure -- did he want to eat, or play in the sandbox? Who knows.

And so, in honor of the YMCL, here's a video that will show you the proper way to do the classic YMCA dance, taught by none other than the Village People themselves. And should you want to dress the part, here's a cool gab vintage western shirt, from Sazz Vintage, online or in Philly.

Monday, February 11, 2008

The GOOD cook

My kids like to cook. I'm not a good cook, but I enjoy it, as long as meat isn't involved -- dd is a vegetarian. DS18 is a strict carnivore. Dh will eat vegetarian food, then mysteriously need to go to Wendy's an hour later. DS13, bless him, will eat anything. I don't like cooking for the whacked out habits of our family, but I do like to bake.

I have a friend at work who is still working at 84. Sharp as a tack, she is, but I told hubby if I'm still doing the phones at 65, shoot me. And if I'm doing the phones at 84, I'll shoot myself. But this friend of mine is a total sweetheart, very straightforward, plays bridge twice a week, and is one of those cooks that you go to church potlucks for.

She used to give me a new recipe every week, and they were always a hit. She has a way of picking great recipes that the whole family would eat. And then along came GOOD.

We were working together one Sunday, and she told me that she had the perfect recipe for the little family. Jello (ds loves to smell the stuff), strawberries (his favorite fruit), cream cheese (anything is better with cream cheese), and Cool Whip (hello -- with Cool Whip recipes, everything else is just a cover for the Cool Whip. I love the stuff.) Layer of crushed pretzels underneath. DS helped me make it, then pronounced that it was the top of the food pyramid, in a class of its own. He asked me, "what is it called?" I told him I had no idea, but when I wrote the recipe down, I just wrote "Mamie's Jello Stuff" as the title. He said, "I think you should call it GOOD. Cause that's what it is."

Ever since, it's been called GOOD, and it goes to every family get together. I caught a niece of mine eating straight out of the pan one time, saying "man, this is GOOD." Yep. She's right. That's what it is.

If you want to try the recipe, click here. I'm not sure it's exactly the same recipe, but if it's not, it's very close. And good. Not that I'm a Kathy Lee Gifford fan, mind you, but if she's got it on her website, she must have some GOOD qualities.

And if you need to wear something cute while you're cooking, grab this vintage strawberry themed apron, from a Venir Fashions Vintage Clothing, at Main Street Vintage. DS may be GOOD, but he doesn't wear aprons. He'll be the one with the spoon in his mouth. And if you need the spatula, it's out in the car.

The Pampered Painter

I have a spatula in my purse.

I've never been one to put much in my purse. Used to a carry a purse that even my husband said was too small, but I hate carrying a bunch of junk around. Of course, most stuff I carry isn't in my purse; it's in my pockets. Hubby went looking in my coat pocket for a receipt the other day, and came out with 65 bucks, about twelve receipts, a pager, a cell phone, a glove, my keys, my work ID, some change, and a piece of candy.

But no spatula.

Why, you ask, do I have a spatula in my purse? It's actually not a spatula, it's actually a Pampered Chef small spatula, bought a couple of years ago. Used many, many times for lifting cornbread from the pan (or stone), brownies, and the like. But never did I realize it's multipurpose uses till I found it on the floor of my van a couple of weeks ago. I asked the ds13 what the heck my spatula was doing in the car, and he said, "Dad was scraping the car with it." Yep. It's rather bent too. I put it in my purse to hide it from the hubby, and it's never made it out, cause I never remember when I'm in the kitchen.

I also have the Pampered Chef Large Spreader. It's great for putting frosting on cakes, or whipped cream on ds13's favorite recipe, also called "good" (a story for another day). Or, as the dh would say, it's perfect for spackling.

I found the spreader in his paint stuff, and asked what the heck it was doing there. "Oh, what IS that thing," he said. I told him it was a fine quality item from Pampered Chef, to which her responded "what the heck? It is perfect for spreading mud." AKA spackle.

I confiscated it.

Caught him with it again a month or so later, and now I've given up the battle. I mean, no one's gonna eat cake here if they get a big mouthful of spackle dust. Oye. That man.

So if you come to my house and try to get a piece of cornbread, don't ask why the spatula is warped. But then again, you may never see it. We're getting snow tonight, after all, so it'll probably be in my purse - or the car. So, in honor of the 4-6" of snow we're expecting tonight, I found this vintage 60s embroidered Spy Girl coat, from GailDavid's This 'N That Shop, on Babylon Mall. The gold might clash a little with the silver spatula, but you'll still look great anyway.

Saturday, February 09, 2008

Oscar Worthy

Nope, this one's not about nursing. I haven't worn my nursing cap since graduation. I think it's in the attic, but I'm not really sure. Today, we're talking about something a little more important -- the Oscars are two weeks from tomorrow. As I mentioned earlier this week, we kind of get into the Oscars at our house.

Hubby generally insists on seeing every movie that's nominated for best picture, as well as the ones with Best Actor and Actress nominees. He makes his predictions, and does so so. What really frustrates him is the fact that I don't usually see any of the movies, but I manage to predict the Oscars really well.

A few years back, I was standing in the line in the video store -- a place I rarely go. There was a form there to enter their "Predict the Oscars" contest, so while I was waiting, I filled it out. Took all of ten seconds. I hadn't seen any of the movies, so I went by what my gut said, and from what I'd read.

I won the contest.

Hubby couldn't believe it. Won it again the next year. The third year, I tied for first, but that has never stopped the hubby from competing with me on the winners. He fails to see how someone who sees so few movies can predict the Oscars so well. Heck, last year, I predicted the winners before the nominees were announced. He thought I was crazy, since he'd never even heard of "The Last King of Scotland," but yep, I got it right.

This year iyear it's a little more difficult to predict, as my personal favorite is Atonement -- a wonderful storyline that the members of the Academy generally like. The award it'll clinch is for the one for Costume Design. The wardrobe went the gamut, from men's bathrobes to nurse's uniforms, to the dress that is the talk of the season -- this little green number. It's nothing short of fabulous, and I don't say that lightly.

I'm not a huge fan of Keira Knightly, but even the ds said this movie would win the Oscar, hands down -- and he saw almost all of the nominees. Not that he knows a thing about fashion, of course, though he did say that "Keira Knightly's boobs are what made Pirates of the Caribben such a good movie." Now, it looks rather obvious from these pictures that Kiera Knightly HAS no bobbage, but that's ok. This is 1930s fashion of course it'd take an oddly shaped body like Keira Knightly to carry it off. I have raved about this movie's wardrobe, till one of my vintie buddies mentioned that someone should've reminded Kiera to take out her belly ring before they filmed, cause it's quite obvious in the second picture. Kinda kills the 30s look in the stills, but of course, those of us who have an appreciation for the art of costume design don't necessarily care. If you want to know more about the incredible construction of this beauty, click here. It will tell you all of the amazing details that went into constructing this iconic gown.

And so, I went looking for a dress that's even remotely similar, and came across this lovely green dress, from VA-VA-VOOOOM, on ebay. Ok, so the style is different, but it's breathtaking nonetheless. I predict it's a winner.

Friday, February 08, 2008

Call the cops, a Brat is loose.

Someone sent me a forward the other day, about someone calling someone's house. A child answered, and said the parents couldn't come to the phone, cause they were with the police. As things progressed, the child spoke of a helicopter circling the house, and things were looking bleak. The caller finally asked what was going on, the child confessed that they were looking for something. Him.

Reminded me of an episode with our bratty gurl. She was about four. We had a couple of hubby's friends over, and they were watching a game. I had worked nights the night before, and hadn't had any sleep yet, so about 5:30pm, I went to bed. Woke up two hours later with hubby frantically shaking me, asking where The Brat was.

Heck if I know, dude, I'm tryin' to sleep here.

He had no clue where she was. I pried my eyes open and asked where she was when he saw her. He said that she had gotten mad at him (some things never change), because he wouldn't let her have a brownie. She had gone out on the porch, sat on the porch swing, and that was the last he'd seen of her. It had now been 45 minutes since he'd seen her.

Time for a Bratty Gurl Alert.

Now, I knew that this child had not gone anywhere. She HATED to walk anywhere, her bike was in the garage, and I knew she had to be in the house. So I, being the mom, gave him a look of disdain and went to it. Except I didn't find her. By the time I came back downstairs, hubby was in a panic, and said he was going out around the block to see if he could find her, and told me to call the police.

Within twenty minutes, we had upwards of 50 people searching the neighborhood for her. We have a very, very active crimewatch, and they went full tilt this time. Some went to the park two blocks away, they were checking bushes, and the police came and searched the house. Our neighbor is a sheriff, and he went through the house too.

No Brat.

I kept saying that there was no way this kid had left the yard, but hubby, who had given up smoking for three years, lit one up and paced. I finally told him that I was going up to her friend's house, two blocks away, to see if, by chance, she was there. I knew that she wouldn't be there, because she'd have to cross a BIG street, and no way she'd do it. I was right. Came back, still very puzzled as to what was happening. She was on the porch, in the hubby's arms. Oye. I asked him where in the world he had found her, because two hours had now elapsed.

"She was in your bed," says he.

What the heck? How could she be in the bed, if I was in the bed? Of course, this child loved to climb in bed with us, but I knew full well that there was no brat in the bed when I was there this time. I was now more confused than Paris Hilton when her grandpa gave all his money away.

Turned out that she had come into the entryway from the porch, but never came into the house. She had gone straight into the coat closet -- the coat closet that hubby and I didn't check when we searched the house. Apparently, she moved out of the closet at some point, because when the police checked the closet -- I was standing there watching, and remarked that we hadn't checked it -- she was gone. When I was up the street, hubby went in our room and, on a whim, threw the covers back. The covers were askew because of course, I had been sleeping there -- and there, under the tangle of covers was The Brat. She was too tiny to see till he pulled the covers back.

The police just rolled their eyes and said "you know, they're always in the house." Shrugged their shoulders and left to get doughnuts.

Took a while to recover from that little drama, and The Brat has loved to keep things interesting since. I figure that she'd be a little easier to find if she wore this cute

bright yellow Lanz wrap sundress from petitesuite,, formerly called 9shocksterror on ebay. Not sure why they changed it, but it is exactly how to describe it when the Bratty Gurl goes awry.

Wednesday, February 06, 2008

Look Mommy!

My eldest son is a film-o-phile. I don't know the proper verbage for it, but the boy LOVES films. One of my fondest memories of him when he was younger was when we'd sit up and watch the Oscars together. The first time, he was about 8, and had strep throat. He was still in "regular" school at the time, but wasn't going to go the next day, because although he was feeling better, he was still contagious. Rather than passing the plague along to the class, we planned to keep him home the next day. He begged to stay up and watch the Oscars with us, and we figured why not.

Of course, hubby being hubby, he fell asleep long before the big awards were done. DS made it just about to the end and, as I recall, it might've been the year that Harrison Ford presented the final award. And Harrison Ford was, at the time, my son's hero. Alas, he missed him.

And so it became a routine for us to watch the awards together, and now, to make our predictions about the winners (more on this later this week). He will be away at school this year, so we can't watch them together, but you can bet we'll be IM-ing each other about them. Someone will end the night with bragging rights. And he'll still be pounding away at his list of "must see" movies, which are in various and sundry languages, about even more varying topics. He has an amazing array of films on that list; many are ones I've never even heard of.

The first film he ever saw at the theatre, however, was 101 Dalmatians. He was about 2. He made it about halfway through before I had to take him out, cause he was just too antsy. Looking back, had I taken him to Casablanca, I would've had a better chance of staying till the popcorn was done, but hindsight is 20/20.

DD, however, would've made it through 101 Dalmatians, and begged to watch it again. DD was not quite 18 months when the movie came out on video(there's a year between her and her brother). When that video hit the store, suddenly we were seeing spots everywhere: Dalmatian bedspreads, toothbrushes, you name it. And she had it all, right down to the underwear and shoes. Heck, I was even sitting at a VERY busy intersection one day, waiting for the light to turn, and a Dalmatian went running through the intersection. I swear it was keeping up with the cars, and it never slowed down -- and it ran at least half a mile before I lost site of it.

It made dd's day, and I think she saw it as an act of God. Begged me to chase after it and take it home. No dice. The dd even dressed as a Dalmatian for Halloween that year, till she vomited all over the outfit after the first house we went to. Shortlived, that trick or treating was.

DD didn't care, cause no one was giving out Dalmatians for Halloween, so she talked us into buying every bit of Disney marketing she could get her hands on. Every time we'd go to Target, she'd get a fix on a Dalmatian product, and would promptly bellow "LOOK MOMMY, Damnations!"

Turned a few heads, that did. Mortified me more than once, but it still gives me a giggle, cause she was just so darn cute when she did it. Over and over and over. For months. And so, in honor of the Damnation years, here's a darn cute polka dot Gunne wiggle dress, from, appropriately named Damn Good Vintage. It'll turn a few heads, too.

Tuesday, February 05, 2008

Super Doomsday

I've been watching the primaries and caucuses with interest. I became something of a political junkie over the past eight years, and trust me, you don't even want to discuss the current administration with me. So super Tuesday is a big deal to me. I'm sitting here at midnight watching the primary results coming in.

Now mind you, I do my civic duty. I pay my taxes. I do jury duty -- last time was a murder trial for a gangbanger. NOT fun. I do what I'm supposed to. But my actual interaction with the governmental process is limited.

Or WAS limited, till last October.

My dad turned 80 last November. My mother announced to me, months before, that the president would be more than happy to send Dad a birthday card, now that he'd reached his 80th year. She also informed me that it was up to me to make that happen. I went and read the White House website, and noticed that I needed to order the card maybe six weeks in advance.

Try getting ME to remember something like that. Right.

So I waited, and a few weeks before the big day, I remembered that I needed to order The Card. I was at work, and I think I was even training someone, who was pretty much on her own, but just needed someone around for moral support. So, completely bored, I decided to take care of business. Went to the White House website. Navigated to the little application thingy that you have to fill out. Hit SEND.

All the lights went out.

I'm talking, pitch black in the entire call center -- a very large room of hamster maze, with at least a couple of dozen people working at the time. Pitch black. No phones. Nothing. The Hispanic housekeeper shouted "no luz." Yep -- no light. No light, that is, except MY computer.

My computer and phone were the only ones in the whole place to never go dark. The poor hospital operators couldn't call a code, and the nurses couldn't talk to anyone at all. Phones were dead, paging was out, computers were out. Except me. Totally spooked me out, considering I was hitting SEND when it happened -- sending an email to a Republican White House, when I am a tried and true Democrat.

I decided that God speaks in mysterious ways, and he was saying that I should definitely NOT mingle with the Republicans. But He must've reconsidered, cause the email went through, as well as one to the governor of the fair state of Michigan (who is a Democrat, just to even things out), and my dad has his special card framed for posterity.

So yeah, keep an eye out on the elections. And if you have a blackout, just know that it's probably some errant citizen, trying to email the Big Guy (or Girl, as it were). And just in case you need a thinking cap to figure that out, here's a wonderful listing that is all mine: a pattern for a cool set of turbans. Makes you look mighty smart, indeed. But keep a flashlight nearby, just in case.

Saturday, February 02, 2008

Connectile Dysfunction

The Superbowl is tomorrow, and there's a Manning in it. Not the finger lickin' Manning from our fair city, but Eli -- who the dd has pronounced "hot," despite her mother's admonitions that he looks like a big goob. Oh well. We all know what the superbowl is about, and it's not football.

It's about the commercials.

My husband and I find that the older we get, the less we understand commercials. Heck, the commercials nowadays are so weird that even my teenagers don't get them -- and they are supposedly the target market. But the ones that the hub and I get a kick out of are not necessarily the Superbowl ones -- everyone watches out for those. It's the erectile dysfunction ones.

I pointed out to the hub that the commercials are rife with phallic symbols. Notice the Cialis commercials sometime -- the one with the couple in the bathtub. Now, I'm not sure why the couple has separate bathtubs, cause if you're in separate bathtubs, then why the heck would you even NEED Cialis anyway? Anyway, pay attention to that commercial sometime. The guy's bathtub has a spigot. The lady's doesn't.

This piqued the hubby's interest, and now we make sport of these commercials, and their symbology. Redwoods. Rocks. Spewing faucets. And of course, Ditka's commercial a few years back, where he made throwing the ball through the hole in the tire a naughty wink wink thing.

It's not to say that we don't enjoy the Superbowl Commercials. Hubby liked the Tabasco Sauce one with the exploding bugs a couple of years ago. My favorite has to be the Terry Tate commercials, cause who wouldn't want that dude working in your office? Last year, they did a commercial about some computer thing, with the tag line "connectile dysfunction." Stupid commercial, really, but later in the game, when there was a bad snap to the kicker, I mentioned the game being based on "connectile dysfunction," hubby just about lost it. And when we were watching a replay of the game tonight, he chuckled yet again. Guess I made an impression.

So I went looking for something to get connected in, and found this Coral Pink Vintage 50s Cashmere sweater, from fast eddie's retro rags, on Ebay. It's got everything that's good -- sparklies, cashmere, and it's PINK. And if you can't get his face outta the bean dip when you wear this one, there's just something wrong with the universe. Maybe it's Connectile Dysfunction.

Friday, February 01, 2008


Well, folks, we're into February now and you know what that means -- Valentine's Day. The ultimate celebration of love. The day where more chocolate will pass hands than possibly any other day of the year.

Those who know me know that I'm not into the whole Valentine's Day thing. I told the ds18's friends, when they were in middle school -- don't get yourself a girlfriend before Valentine's Day. I actually told them to stay away from girls till they were at least 20, but they didn't listen. They didn't listen to my motherly warnings about Valentine's Day either, despite the fact that they were intended to protect them.

From what, you say? From greedy little middle and high school girls who only wanted a gift. I would tell them, stay away till after Feb 14th, or you are doomed. If you get a sucky gift for her, she'll dump you -- and what middle school boy has money for a decent gift? And if she doesn't really like you, she's just looking for a gift, and she'll dump you. They would just look at me blankly. And ask some girl out.

Of course, then they'd wonder why the heck they got dumped, but they did start to realize that maybe, just maybe, the mother of the House of Utter Chaos really did know her stuff.

Now those boys are 18-20, and giving up World of Warcraft for female companionship. Amazing thing, really, to watch that evolution. Before you know it, they'll be getting married -- in five or ten years, hopefully. And then they might just go and buy their woman something like this Dollhouse Bettie, on Haight, in San Francisco. They'll soon be opening on the web, too. OK, so I know that this set isn't vintage, buy who cares? They have some seriously sexy stuff there -- with a great vintage collection, too. Stop by and have Michelle do some boudoir photos of your sweetie -- she does some great work. She might even be able to do something with ME, she's that good.