Tag Archives: 80s

I Will Always Love You….Always

13 Feb

Hi!  Did you hear that Whitney Houston died?  Craaaaazy!

The news hit me particularly hard because, like so many other young women my age, it seems like only yesterday that I was teasing my hair, painting on my frosty green and blue Wet n’ Wild eyeshadow, taking a lighter to my Cover Girl jet black eyeliner (you know, the one that came in a red pencil), slathering on the frosty pink lipstick, zipping up my tennis skirt, making sure my socks were perfectly and symmetrically folded inside my white aerobic sneakers, popping my collar, blasting “I Wanna Dance With Somebody” and lip syncing it in front of my mirror using a tennis racquet as a guitar. 

Since I was the only brown skinned girl at my elementary school, I could get away with planting the seed that I looked just like Whitney Houston.  No one ever questioned it.  You know….because I was the closest thing to a black girl we had at my school.  It would have been racist to disagree.  It was one of the perks of not looking like everyone else.  I looooved it.

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What I Thought I Looked Like

 

 

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What I Actually Looked Like...But Not So "Put Together"

I was at my sister’s house for a Vino/Vinyl party on Saturday when I heard the news about Whitney.

SIDE NOTE:  A Vino/Vinyl party is one in which the guest brings a bottle of a wine and an LP vinyl record.  The wine is open and set out for guests to embibe as they wish.  The vinyl gets assigned a number which then gets a corresponding number in a hat.  The hostess has guests pick a number from the hat.  If your record is chosen you can either chose which side of your record you would like played or defer your record until later.  You know… in case it’s too early in the evening for Iggy Pop….or too late in the evening for Iggy Pop.  It should be noted that my record was Janet Jackson’s “Control“.  I challenge you to pick only ONE side of that record to play after you’ve polished off a bottle of white you hid on the bookshelf behind your nephew’s class picture.  It wasn’t easy, but I ultimately went with Side A.

So, I’m at the party when someone walks in and announces, “Whitney Houston died.” so casually that I have to ask him to repeat it:

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Did you say that Whiteny Houston died? How very silly.

What followed was a lot of wine, a lot (but not enough) of Janet, Miss Jackson if you’re nasty, some cheese, and dancing.

Flash forward to Monday morning when I’m talking to my friend, A, about the tragedy:

Me:  Did you hear that Whitney Houston died?

A:    Shut up.

Me.  I know.  Seriously, though.  I was at my sister’s Vino/Vinyl party when I found out.

A:  Your sister had an albino party?

Me:  Viiiiiiinoooooo/Viiiiiiiinyl.  Wine and records.

A:  *Laughing hysterically*  I thought you said albino

Me:  Yes, she had an albino party.  I didn’t feel like getting my dress dirty, though, so instead of painting my arms white, I wore fancy white satin elbow-length dinner gloves….and a bald cap.

A:  *Laughing* Wait.  What?!  Albinos aren’t bald.

Me:  I know.  I just wanted an excuse to wear a bald cap. 

Then, I got a visual of myself at my sister’s Albino party, hearing of Whitney’s death……………

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

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Goodbye, Whitney. Goodbye.

 

 

 

 

What? Wednesday- Are You Trying to Disrupt the Space/Time Continuum?!

27 Jul

Is that $3000 2011 American Dollars or $3000 Little House on the Prairie American Dollars?

Listen up, Greg.  Time travel is no joke.  I have a special place in my a-hole-ish Flux Capicitor-shaped heart for Doc Brown that pumps 1.21 gigawatts of blood through it everyday which means I take the space/time continuum very, very seriously.  I don’t think Marty McFly would appreciate you sending some possible reefer addict to the past and ruining the Enchantment Under the Sea Dance.   

Also, what’s up with the sexism? 

My advice?  Make the inaugural time travel trip yourself, find your past self, work together to get your present self laid, therefore ensuring that your future self won’t be such a  douche bag.

What? Wednesday- And Now a Rap by DJ Shut the F Up

11 May

Don’t worry.  It’s totally ok to make fun of this kid.  I, too, thought I’d go to hell for thinking such cruel, but funny things about this video.    Yes, this kid is a complete tool, but he totally wins.  You see, the only way to get this little ditty out your head is to go to church and pray it away.  It’s a wash!

God is doin’ it.  God is doin’ a nu thaaaaaaaang!  *Spirit fingers*

What? Wednesday- Put Down Your Guns, Slap Your Children

27 Apr

This is how all conflicts, no matter how big or small, should be handled from now on. 

Boss up in your face?  Slap duel.

Need a way to end the war in Afghanistan?  Slap war.

Evil witch steal your parking spot?  Slap it out. (More on this tomorrow)

I need to find this little boy and train from him.  He will be my Mr. Miyagi, my Kung Fu slap master.  He will break my spirit by forcing me to practice my slap skills on a pin cushion until my hands are raw and bleeding.  He will laugh at my pain as he bitch slaps me over and over again with the back of his hand.   

After months of grueling training, and only after I have gained his respect, will he allow me to study him, learn from him, and ultimately master his ancient slap fight secrets. 

Yes, Sensei!  That’s exactly what I’ll do.

Lost in Translation

21 Apr

My next door neighbors growing up were a sweet old couple named Ines and Charlie.  They didn’t have kids of their own, but I always felt they would have made wonderful grandparents.

My parents have thick Spanish accents so when they say “Ines” you hear “Anus”.  So, until I was about 8 years old I thought our neighbors were Anus and Charlie. 

My sisters and I tried to correct my parents pronunciation, but after a while we gave up.  Besides, what kid wouldn’t love a neighbor named “Anus”, especially when it meant hearing stuff like this:

Anus made you girls some cookies.  I know how much you love Anus cookies! (Yummmm?)

You girls smell like you’ve been at Anus’s.   (Charlie smoked pipes.)

One of you girls should weed Anus’s garden for her. (No thanks.)

Did your father mow Anus’s lawn?  It’s getting pretty thick. Why are you laughing? (Obvious.)

I need you take this soup to Anus.  She isn’t feeling well and has been throwing up all day. (Anus puking.  *Pause for visual*)

I don’t think Anus should be driving, anymore.  (Why? Is her stink eye getting bad?)

 Anus passed away not too long ago, and I miss her.  I miss sweet, sweet, Anus.

R.I.P. Anus Ines.

 

Appetite for Some Guns…And Roses.

23 Feb

You should know that I’m a huge Guns N’ Roses fan.  In fact, if I ever get another tattoo, I’m pretty sure it would be of some guns…. and some roses.  I might also add a snake curling around the gun  barrels or a dolphin jumping out of the ocean over the guns…and roses.  Please don’t steal my idea.  It’s rude to get the same tattoo as someone else unless it’s the Chinese symbol for what you think is “best friends” but really means “dumbass”.

Juan fits into my What? Wednesday theme because you wouldn’t expect Axl Roses’s voice to come out of this guy.  Also, his name is Juan.

He’s good.  He wouldn’t want to go up against a drunk DMTF on karaoke night at the local dive bar, but I give him props.

 

Bieber Fever, Explained.

17 Feb

*This post is dedicated to my good friend, R, who is giving birth to her daughter today.  I’m sure 12 years from now, R will be begging me to go with her to whatever teeny-bopper concert her daughter is dying to go to, and I will happily tag along.

I was at the movie theater with Hubby over the weekend, and there was a rather loud and chatty group of tweens lined up for the new Justin Bieber movie.   A group of young girls, all fired up about one thing, hormones raging, voices screeching, can be a bit intimidating.  For a second I thought about warning Hubby to take his glasses off for fear that one of the girls would shout an “OMG” so high-pitched, his glasses would crack.

 

The thing is, I totally get it.  You can say I was a bit of a New Kids On The Block fan back in the day.  I may have camped out for tickets, I may have stayed at the same hotel when they came into town, I may have even taken the service elevator to their floor and yelled “I LOVE YOU, JOEY!!!!” before the security guard came running down the hall, and I had to run down the stairs to escape.

It’s hard to explain to someone who has never been a teenage girl, but the craziness that washes over you when you’re completly obsessed with a Bieber-esque celebrity can be debilitating. These girls have no idea their love for The Beebs is completely irrational.  They can’t help themselves.  Yes, The Beebs looks a bit like a girl, but that’s part of the appeal.  He looks like a kid, someone these girls might go to school with.

The Beebs

Yes, his songs are written by someone else, and his entire image has been fabricated by a highly paid team of publicists, but it doesn’t matter.  He could stop signing tomorrow, and these girls would still write “Justin + Me= Fo-Eva” as their Facebook status. Justin makes them feel “funny”, and they love it.  “Bieber Fever” is real. These girls can’t help but go nuts. 

For example, the typical Bieber fan knows, even if it’s deep, deep down, that  The Beebs is not singing directly to her.  She knows it’s highly unlikely that Joey McIntyre Justin is going to walk into her school, find her class, grab her hand and say, “DMTF Baby, I love you, and I want you to go on tour with me.”  He’s not then going to tell your mom that she shouldn’t worry, because he really loves you, and he’s going to take good care of you.  There’s a tutor on the bus, and she and your sisters can come visit you whenever they want.  And, Joey Justin isn’t  going to hold a press conference announcing to the world that he’s finally found love in Near Milwaukee, Wisconsin, and he would appreciate if people would just accept that, and give him his privacy, because this is the real deal.  He definitely would not then turn to you, get down on one knee, slip a promise ring on your finger, and say he would do anything for you, and once you’re old enough he’s going to marry you, and the two of you will have a boy and a girl, two dogs, and a cat (Joey loves cats). 

When I was a youg and crazy NKOTB fan, I knew that scenarios like that were unlikely.  However, that didn’t stop me from fantasizing about giving my flower to Joey McIntire in a an expensive and dimly lit hotel room on a bed strewn with rose petals and “Please Don’t Go, Girl” playing in the background. 

 

Show Me, Show Me, Show Me How You Do That Trick

8 Feb

I had a different post all set to go today, but after watching the following skit from Saturday’s SNL, I’ve decided to stick with the Super Bowl theme just a little longer.  

The skit is hilarious for many reasons.  First, imagine this happening at your neighborhood bar on Super Bowl Sunday (it wasn’t a coincidence they chose Packer fans).  Secondly, everything about this band screams The Cure and even though the song is supposed to be about the Super Bowl, the lyrics sound like they were written by Robert Smith using black eyeliner and blood red lipstick.   Finally, it’s Dana Carvey, and I forgot how funny he is: