>> Friday, March 15, 2013
I know it's not happening until April 7th, but imagine how delighted I was when while pouring over the sneak peek pics that had been released, I saw something a little familiar on none other than Mrs. Megan Draper! I'm pretty sure I said something along the lines of, "Holy shit, that looks just like my dress!" straight to my computer screen.
Yep, that pink beaded number is in the shop as I type this! I like to imagine the kind of women that once wore the pieces I sell, and seeing those awesome shots of her with the big Barbarella hair and waterfall earrings made me smile. I'm sure the original owner rocked something similar. If only it weren't Megan Draper sized, I could keep it for myself.
On a separate, but related note, check out the original version of the song by Gillian Hills. It's part of the yé-yé (Yeah! Yeah!) movement, a pop genre that was big in Europe in the early 60's. I'm kind of obsessed. If you are, too, or you just want to try it out, this is a really great playlist. Zou bisou bisouuuuu... zou bisou bisouuuu... zou bisou bisouuuuu...
>> Friday, March 1, 2013
If you haven't tackled yours yet, I have a pointer for you. Nothing is better after a taxation marathon than carbs and booze. You'll thank me later. Like icy hot for the brain, those two. Sophia knows what I'm talking about.
>> Sunday, February 24, 2013
>> Sunday, May 13, 2012
Dear god, I am the worst blogger ever! I haven't posted anything
in nearly three months, and, not only that, my last entry has been
screaming "PRESIDENTS DAY!" at everyone the entire time. Let that be a
lesson to me: Do not use date-specific header images lest I want to
remind everyone of what a lame ass I've been about posting. Duly noted. I'm
not even going to go into a list of excuses to explain my absence.
Instead, I'm going to use the tried and true method of pretending this
ridiculous lapse never existed, and move on from here. Tally ho,
Before I begin, how awesome is that gigantic neck scarf/deep v-neck/matching eye shadow combo?
I don't know if you guys have noticed, but SUMMER IS HERE! Okay, okay, summer isn't technically here, but the anti-chub-rub powder on my inner thighs says differently. I don't know what summer means to you, but to me it means the pool. It means slathering myself in SPF, hanging onto the edge of a deep end, and plowing through as much trashy literature as humanly possible. You see, you can't bring good books to the pool. They will probably get wet and greasy, and sometimes they might fall into said deep end, not that I've ever done that before... twice.
This summer, I'm planning on revisiting what is probably the most amazing literary garbage ever written AKA the work of one V.C. Andrews AKA the mother of salacious old money scandal. If you are like me, you probably encountered her most notorious novel Flowers in the Attic toward the end of elementary school. In the fall of my sixth grade year, a classmate brought in a worn down copy that somehow magically fell open to very interesting plot points... plot points in which a "rigid male sex part" may have been mentioned.
You see, to my girlfriends and I, this was the most exciting thing you could get your hands on. We would tear through it with increasingly horrified expressions on our faces, and pass it back and forth with dog-eared pages between spelling tests and recess breaks. Not only was it sexually explicit, it was completely and totally disturbing in every way. If I had to get someone to guess the word "incest" in a game of Pictionary, not only would that be a hilarious game of Pictionary, I would be tempted to draw a blossom in the rafters of a mansion. Let's just say that the author's characters tend to, eh-hem, keep it in the family... ifyaknowwhatimean. Even without the introduction of that finger-down-throat-style gag inducing concept, Flowers scarred me more than any parental sex talk or health class video ever could. I was like 11 years old and although I thought I knew the basics of where babies come from, I had no idea that sex could hurt... until Ms. Andrews described how "the resisting flesh tore and bled". Wait! The flesh did WHAT!?
No matter how traumatized I became, I was hooked. On a month long, cross-country camping trip with my family, I took along the sequel to Flowers. My parents are both big readers so we would stop at any used book store we passed to stretch our legs and take a break from one another. I started haggling with the shopkeepers, and trading my old books for the next in the series. There were well over 50 books out at the time. The woman basically kept our day long bouts in the car from becoming ongoing battles between my younger brother and I over what constituted the exact middle of the backseat. I'm not saying I read every one, but I managed to make my way through enough sleaze that I earned more stickers than my Book-It badge could handle. Can we say personal pan pizza party of one? No? Please tell me other people out there remember Book-It.
>> Monday, February 20, 2012
This just in: Presidents wear incredibly boring outfits! In fact, the presidential sartorial scale seems to range from Eww -> Bland. Because of this, I hereby see Presidents Day as a suitable time to "ooh" and "ahh" over some good ol' Jackie O shots. Personally, I prefer the former First Lady's post-White House style. It's not that the Chanel suits and pillbox hats don't make me smile. It's just that after her time as a First Lady, she seemed to let loose a little bit. The longer haired Jackie with the effortless trench coats, turtleneck tops, huge sunglasses, and kooky headscarves has always been a style icon of mine. The grace and elegance of her White House years are still there, but she seems a little more relaxed and fun. The fact that she's whizzing by the camera in about 90% of the shots you'll find from this time period makes her seem less like a paper doll and more like a real woman with things to do and places to be which is always a plus in my book.
>> Saturday, February 11, 2012
As I sat on my couch writing out some valentines for my girlfriends, I realized that I needed a little background noise so I brought up Netflix and what did I find but Last Tango in Paris. I hadn't seen it since I was 15, and jumped at the opportunity to revisit the film as an adult. Let me just mention that you should be an adult to view this movie. As a kid, I worked at our local library re-shelving books. This library was small and run by an amazingly sweet and mostly conservative group of middle aged women. I only mention this because their video section was basically wrought with scandalous movies which they unknowingly labeled as "romance". This is also how I wound up watching Blue Velvet while eating a caramel apple cross legged on my living room floor in forth grade, but I digress. Last Tango in Paris is a love story, yes, but it is a brutal one. It's angry and shockingly pornographic. It was even banned in Italy for 20 years, for god's sakes. Despite this fact, it's equally lush and even romantic at times which, in my opinion, makes for a strangely touching experience.
The most lovely thing about this movie are the many shots of actress Maria Schneider, most of which seem to have been filmed through various doors and windows. When she's not getting naked with a slightly bloated Marlon Brando, she's meandering about in some of the best seventies get ups I've ever seen.
Anger, sex, loss, love, and gorgeous clothes: basically the perfect Valentine's Day movie! All pseudo kidding aside though, if you find yourself alone with a spare two hours, are not prudish in any way, and have a fondness for the beautifully strange and uncomfortable, I definitely recommend finding this one. If you don't have a Netflix account, check your local library.