XOXO Gossip Girl Rawks!

Lily getting what she deserves for being so ridiculous as to pick Bart-the-father-of-I’m-Chuck-(the evil spawn)-Bass over cute ol’ Rufus? Awesome.

Little J getting what she deserves for daring to cross Queen Bee? QUEEN FREAKING BEE?! Super awesome.

Vanessa getting what she deserves for… well, just being totally annoying, not to mention wearing children’s art supplies as accessories and sporting the weed-WACK ‘do? All is right in the Gossip Girl World.

But Dan? Self-righteously and undeservedly lashing out at Serena? And essentially calling her a spoiled rich slut? One too many times, I might add? And telling her to own up to it? And totally unleashing the righteous fury of a Queen S scorned?! And getting the public humiliation smackdown his tortured, I’m-So-Misunderstood-and-Poor-and-Blah-Blah-Self-Righteous-Blahdy-Blah self so richly deserves?! From the newly reborn Serena who is now the scariest freaking badass ever?!

So! Freaking! AWESOME! You go, Badass Serena. But go easy on Blair, mm’kay? She’s had it rough, with her Lord totally doing it with his stepmom and all.

Oh, how I’ve missed you, oh television goodness. Promise to NEVER go away again.

In the 80’s, everything was copasetic.

(I originally posted this back in August of ‘05, but now with my 20-year reunion a’loomin’ and me feeling wicked nostalgic and whatnot, I thought I’d do a little DWM REWIND and post it again, slightly altered for timeliness. Because it’s my blog and I CAN, that’s why!)

Feeling nostalgic. That is all. Feel free to add to the list. In fact, I strongly encourage you to do so!

Things I Miss from the 80’s:

1. Seeing 95 pounds peeking out at me from my scale. *le sigh*

2. Cruising for boys on Gurley Street with my homies, blasting the remix version of Billy Idol’s “Catch My Fall” (killer bassline, y’all), sipping Sundance Sparklers (nonalcoholic!), screaming “Memory! All alone in the MOOOOONLIGHT!” every time we passed by the scene of a make-out or break-up. Of which there were several. Ooooh! And “Old Man Driiiiiiver!” (to the tune of “Old Man River”) whenever we passed by guys WAY TOO OLD to be out cruising. Of which there were several. Huh, Di?! Huh?!

3. My ginormous Esprit and Guess? bags, which held everything from my Adventures in Literature textbook to my clunky cheer shoes to five or six really radical to the max cassette tapes to my assorted jelly bracelets and banana clips. And sometimes my lunch.

4. Rainbow-colored eyeshadow and blue mascara. And blue eyeliner, of COURSE. Duh.

5. Wham! The Wham Rap? Classic, y’all. CLASSIC. I still know all the words. Ask anyone. Go on. Try me. Do it. No, really. DO IT.

6. The Solid Gold Dancers. No, seriously. LOVED. THEM. Wanted to BE. THEM.

7. Saying “psyche!” Oh, and “freak!” Wait…

8. Star Search. When it was GOOD.

9. The Brat Pack.

10. Crimped hair, big bangs, strategically placed headbands, bangle earrings, and Swatch Watches with jelly Swatch Guards.

11. Cyberpunk Max Headroom. CATCH THE WAVE!! ‘Member, guys?! Do ya?! Dude. That was totally our Homecoming slogan one year. Go, Badgers!

12. Atari. I mean, c’mon… Frogger? Pitfall? GALAGA?! Hello?!

13. Spandex biker shorts under my paint-splashed, acid-washed denim mini. It just LOOKED COOL, okay?! Geez.

14. Debbie Gibson…. What?! I DO! And if you must know, it is possible that I miss Tiffany, as well. PERHAPS.

15. A time when I actually WANTED my MTV.

16. Echo & the Bunnymen, Cutting Crew, Scritti Politti, Tears for Fears, and Orchestral Maneuvers in the Dark.

17. My acid-washed jean jacket covered with ENORMOUS, entirely superfluous silver buttons and an assortment of safety pins with multicolored beads strung through them. Which meant I was very popular and had lots of friends. Right?

18. Sleep overs with my girlfriends, at which we listened to KISS FM, gossiped about boys, experimented with our hair, traded comfy pink Esprit sweatshirts for zip-tapered, pastel-flowered Guess? jeans, and– contrary to TGIM’s much-fantasized belief– DID NOT engage in naked pillow-fighting. But TGIM? Said girlfriends DID teach me how to French kiss. That one’s all yours, baby.

19. Slap bracelets. Preferably neon. Lots of ‘em.

20. Freezing my ass off while cheering at home football games. In the snow. In a cheerleading uniform. With NO pantyhose or tights. Because that would have been TACKY.

21. Singing along to “Wig” by the B-52’s at the top of my lungs on the bus during away football trips: “What’s that on your head? A wig! Wig, wig, wig! Wig’s on fire! Wig’s on fire! Wig’s on… fire! It’s 2525 and we’ve got the most wigs alive!” Why does nobody REMEMBER this song?

22. Tanning on the roof with a fluffy towel, my boombox, and big-A bottle of Hawaiian Tropic Dark Tanning Oil. For the Tan of the Islands! Or more freckles! Usually more freckles! Whatever!

23. Every single solitary stinkin’ John Hughes movie. I mean, sometimes I used to watch The Dead Zone on USA just to see Farmer Ted (AKA: The Geek from Sixteen Candles) and reminisce. “I never bagged a babe. I’m not a stud.” Seriously. Who writes movies like that anymore?! No one, that’s who!

24. Jams with coordinating t-back tank tops.

25. Comfy, unlaced Keds.

26. First REAL kisses. Cheetos optional.

27. Boys in cuffed jeans and unlaced Reebok high tops. I don’t know why, really.

28. Slouch socks. Ooooh! And slouch boots! Because they totally hid my freakish chicken ankles, all right?

29. My mini black lace ra-ra skirt, a la Madonna in Desperately Seeking Susan. HAWT.

30. Wearing sunglasses at night. Hey. Don’t be afraid of the guy in shades, oh no.

Sadly, I could go on and on and on…

Not that NOW isn’t good! Oh, I LOVE now! But your high school years, they stay with you, you know?

Which, once you think about it, is at the same time slightly comforting and absolutely horrifying. Especially, it seems, if you lived out your teenage years in the 80’s. Just sayin’. That’s a hard era to shake. The hair, the styles… I mean, just look at all the Mom-Pants out there. Totally 80’s! Honestly. It’s 2008! Lose the MOM-PANTS, ladies! LOSE THEM NOW.

And sometimes, guys? Sometimes? I have this almost overwhelming desire to poof up my bangs. You know, just a little. Like, “Oh, just an inch or so won’t hurt….” But it would! Dear lord, it WOULD!

Oh, NO. I just realize that the bulk of my childhood was spent during the 70’s! Don’t even get me STARTED on homemade polyester bell-bottoms, roller skating rinks, my Donna Summers fixation, tetherball wars, and hula hoops. PLEASE. Just… don’t.

That’s a post for another day, y’all. A post for another day…

I’m Taking a Stand

Pockets are handy. You know? You can put stuff in them. You can keep your hands warm in them. Sometimes you find money in them. See? Handy! I am going to take a stand and say that pockets are good.

So yesterday, when I found myself pocketless– don’t ask how this happened, I have no idea what craziness compelled me to buy pocketless pants– I was at a loss. Where was I supposed to put stuff? And what if my hands got cold?! Huh? What then? And I’m not going to lie, a little windfall of forgotten change for a Diet Dr. Pepper would not have been unwelcome, thank you VERY much William Willet. (Damn you, Daylight Savings Time! DAMN YOU.)

So when I realized it was imperative to my workday productivity– and quite honestly, my usefulness as a human being in general– that I get caffeine in my system, like, STAT, I was like, “Oh, NO!” Right out loud, just like that. Because of the pockets? That weren’t there? Hello? Where was I supposed to put my MONEY? Honestly. I can’t just walk around clutching a dollar. Do you know how often I misplace my belongings? Do you?! Do you know how often I absently set things down and walk away? DO YOU?! Well, it is OFTEN, I tell you what. Which is very inconvenient, I must say, especially when that thing I set down is my wallet (in a grocery cart) or my child (also in a grocery cart). Oh, that last part was a joke. Clearly! I would never misplace my children! As far as you know!

And then, as so often happens when one’s back is pressed to the wall, I had a moment of epiphany. Heart hammering, I checked to see if the coast was clear– ohmygosh!– it was– ohmygoodness!– so without further hesitation I folded up that dollar bill and tucked it right into my bra. DUDE! I know, right?! I employed the classic bra stash! And let me tell you, that is not something I had ever considered. Not even remotely. I mean, as far as I’m concerned, the bra? Not exactly sartorially relevant in my life. Hey, I’m just saying that it doesn’t have to work very hard for me, and seems more of a nuisance than a help, what with the slipping straps and the stress of coordinating colors and whatnot. And let’s just say that the women who regularly bra stash as portrayed in TV and film are not exactly my peers in the *ahem* boobilicious department. Yet, here I was, actually getting some mileage from my heretofore irrelevant undergarments! SWEET.

Well, let me tell you, once I realized that my money was safely stowed away, safe from being misplaced, I felt pretty good. Sassy, even. I had MONEY in my BRA. How cool is that?! As I strolled with a bit of a jaunty air– hey, don’t judge– to the employee lounge, I imagined all sorts of other items that could be stowed away… business cards, sticks of gum, credit cards, notes with passwords or phone numbers… oh, the possibilities!

As I approached the vending machine, I decided that loose change was out of the question, clearly, but was a price I was willing to pay for peace of mind when I am caught pocketless and unawares. Coming out of my pleasant reverie, I nodded hello to the person standing at the next vending machine. Then I noticed the fifteen or so other people in the lounge, milling about. I could feel their eyes on me. Watching. Waiting. It’s like they KNEW or something! And they were judging me for my wanton ways! I mean, there was MONEY in my BRA! And, what? Was I just going to reach in and brazenly pull my dollar out of my bra, just like that?! Good LORD! I hadn’t thought this through!

STOP STARING AT ME! I thought, my heart beating wildly…

As a line began to form behind me, I realized I would have to suck it up or remain in my present state of decaffeinated non-productivity.

Caffeine won.

I slowly turned back to the machine, took a deep breath, and with my flushed face proudly held aloft I reached into my shirt, fished out my folded dollar bill, and snapped it open with a flourish. Ha! I thought. Take THAT, judgmental bystanders! And when that can of Diet Dr. Pepper finally dropped– thunk thunk! – I calmly retrieved it… and I got the hell out of there, vowing to donate my pocketless pants to the needy and leave bra stashing to the experts, by golly.

So… yeah. Pockets are handy. I’m taking a stand.

Yes, I said “Man Boobs.” What of it?

Guess what?!

Okay, a raise of hands: How many of you just reflexively shouted out “chicken butt!” (or at least thought it enthusiastically)? Don’t lie! I don’t judge.

But we were guessing, right? After indulging in a moment of juvenile humor, of course. Seriously, stop denying it.

I’ve been MIA for a bit of time– just a teensy bit!– because I finally “officially” launched my little side bidness I mentioned, oh, say, about a year ago? Give or take? Yup. Check me out! I am ALL about the website design and maintenance! Yessirree, Bob!

CHECK. ME. OUT.

I’ve already got some clients (hoo! I said “clients”! in a sentence in which it refers to people who will pay me money! MONEY! exchanging HANDS!), so I’ve been a little busy getting my bearings and whatnot, but I am determined– I’m making my determined face right now– determined, I say! to get back to blogging the snark on a regular basis.

Plus, we have TV again, so download Skype and give me a holler if you want to shoot the snarky breeze with Chassy Cat and friends for the TV recap podcast I am STRONGLY considering calling Boob Tube REWIND. Just so you know. I’m not sure if boobs will be a prerequisite for chatting, but if we swing that way, perhaps man boobs will be sufficient.

And I just said “boobs” way too many times for one whole post that is not in any way related to the loverly Kat McPhee.

Chassy Cat, OUT.

Validation! Concurrence!

Guess which new TV drama won the People’s Choice Awards?! Just GUESS! Gossip Girl? NO! Private Practice? UH-UH! Journeyman? NEIN! Could it have been… oh, MOONLIGHT, perhaps?! Hell, YES!

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Be truthful. How sexy is that Australian accent? DEAD sexy, that’s how sexy! Not that I care. Just thought I’d point it out, is all. Ahem.

Man. I love validation. What can I say? I’m needy like that.