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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

V.D.

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.