What kind of a name is Ouiser, anyway?

What I'm Listening To: Hearts on Fire by Cut Copy

I just saw the movie "Steel Magnolias" this weekend. Yes, that hilarious tearjerker chockablock full of cutesy one-liners that’s overacted by a bunch of big 1980s stars. Over the years I’ve witnessed multiple cultural references to this movie, but I’ve never had the resounding pleasure of seeing it. (Much like a lot of other movie classics I’ve missed, like “Miracle on 34th Street”, “Citizen Kane”, etc. But I’ve watched “Stepbrothers” like a billion times, so I think I’m okay.) So I leapt at the opportunity to see this classic gem on television this lovely Memorial Day weekend – oh, that and the car was stuck in the garage because the spring broke on the door and we couldn’t open it, so basically we were stuck at home anyway. Lots of fun!)

I missed the first 15 minutes, so it opens at the scene where everyone’s gathered in Truvy’s (what is Truvy short for, anyway? Truvilla?) home beauty salon getting ready for Shelby’s wedding. I am seriously worried about Julia Roberts as Shelby making it through the door with her massive wedding coif. It’s a tangled shellacked foot-high mass of poufy strawberry blonde spiral curls anchored by a banana clip!! Amazing! I know huge hair was just a fact of life in the 80s (just take a gander at my high school yearbook) but this ‘do is like the grand hair poohbah of 1989. Well, it was the end of a decade of excess -- what did you expect? Chua, even I had a fluffy spiral perm back in high school – which didn’t really coordinate well with my alternative punk rawk all-black wardrobe. Yeah, trying to straddle the line between being a sulky Cure-obsessed sad-sack and a member of Academic Decathalon was tough! Ha!

Speaking of wardrobes, it’s time once again for me to bitch about 80s and 90s fashion. I’ve included a photo of me at my high school graduation – which, coincidentally, was the same year Steel Magnolias came out. Why does it look like I borrowed my grandma’s burial outfit? BECAUSE CUTE TEEN OUTFITS DID NOT EXIST IN THE 80s. Oh, wait, yes they did -- if you wanted to look like a neon-splashed or Easter egg-hued spazasaurus. I blocked out the motivation as to why I chose to spend this monumental day in such a flowered monstrosity…probably to torture my classmates. I’m sure it was a success. (Okay, I had the best intentions of including a HS graduation photo, but this blog is not cooperating. Maybe later.)

So for two lovely hours movie viewers are exposed to what can only be termed as an 80s fashion horror show, a parade of yoke-collared pastel dresses, huge shoulder pads, sloppy boxy jackets with big patch pockets, and shapeless sack skirts. It was almost physically painful to see wealthy crank Ouisier in one of her trailer trash Chanel knock-offs consisting of matching jacket lining and print shell, or Shelby sporting a frighteningly fluffy Christmas sweater and stirrup pants. The only person wearing something decent is…can you believe it? Dolly Parton. Her vintage-y polka dotted church dress with the splashy ruffles was ah-dorable.

Bottom line, I don’t get why this film is such a female cult favorite. All it did for me is raise questions, like why did Shelby REFUSE the orange juice when she was obviously going into diabetic shock? Diabetes is a well-known and completely treatable disease even in the 80s, so why do they all act like Shelby’s some saccharine-coated time bomb? Why didn’t Truvy’s husband ever want to go anywhere? Why didn’t Dylan McDermott take his top off – at least once? How did frumpy geek Annelle go from hotsy-totsy makeover to religious nutbag in the space of two hours? Was she just trying on personalities for size til she found one that fit? I don’t know. And through the whole movie I’m trying to figure out for the life of me where I’ve seen Annelle’s boyfriend before – oh, right, he’s the creepy dude in those Mummy movies with smelly Brendan Fraiser (doesn’t he look like he smells bad? I know!!) Okay, turning off Shelby’s life support at the end was admittedly heart-wrenching and uh, maybe I did get a little misty-eyed. But snappy Southern comebacks and a couple of stray tears still doesn’t justify why this movie turns so many people’s crank. Most of the time it just made me roll my eyes, not wipe them.

From the ridiculous fashion and hair, the inane one-liners, the diabetic tragedy of organ donations (huh?) or gastrointestinal treat of an armadillo-shaped groom’s cake, viewers are forced to walk away from this movie feeling at least something heartwarming about friendship, funerals and bald dogs. Me, I just felt a little sick to my stomach. Sorry, y’all.

Don't get your undies in a bundle!

What I'm Listening To: Can I Get Get Get by Junior Senior

I was in the locker room at the gym last night. Don’t even get me started about those women who think that the words “locker room” actually translates to “exhibitionism alley”, prancing around naked as they blow dry their hair, or hold long involved conversations with their boobies sticking out. No, that’s a whole ‘nother blog post.

I would like to turn your attention to the undergarments of some of these ladies, especially the older ladies. Now, as my circle of life comes around another bend, I really have begun to distinguish as to what “older” means – now that I’m almost “older” myself. Older is like…over 70. Ha!! But back to today’s topic, which is…wait for it…granny panties.

What are granny panties, you ask? Well, they are waist-high nylon underpants. They come in either industrial-strength beige or dingy grey – honestly, could you imagine a printed granny panty? I mean, what would the print be? Sparkly walkers? Cute orthopedic shoes? A Depends pad or two? The mind boggles.

And why do older ladies insist on wearing this style of underwear? Honestly, I’ve never seen anyone under 60 wearing these underpants. Do you hit a certain age and one day, doot doo doot, walking to your mailbox and wow! It’s a package from the Granny Panty Patrol. “Dear Mrs. Jones – Welcome to the world of being an Older Lady. Now that you’ve reached this pinnacle of lady-dom, please accept our humble gift of your first pair of Granny Panties. Wear them with pride, Granny!” That’s just wrong, R-O-N-G.

Because guess what? It’s AMERICA, land of the free and home of the sexyback, and a LADY can wear ANY underpants she wants – at ANY age! For realz! You can go to Target, or Vickie’s, or hell, even Frederick’s of Hollywood you hot slut, and they won’t turn you away from the lingerie just because you’re an Older Lady. So why wear those granny panty monstrosities? You don’t see Samantha from Sex and the City wearing granny panties, and she’s like a million! Chua!

I’d love to hear from some Older Ladies as to why you’ve chosen to wear these undergarments. Is it that you think you can’t rock a thong anymore? Is it you have a secret penchant for wearing tatty beige nylon near your lady bits? Please reveal the mystery! Or better yet, throw those nasty things out and wear a hot pink lacy number next time you’re hitting the gym. My undergarment sensibilities will thank you.

Everybody's a Comedian...except me.

What I'm Listening To: Paranoiattack by The Faint

Last week I watched the movie “Funny People”, the one with Adam Sandler and the now svelte (but still a disgusting shlep) Seth Rogen. Click on the link to learn more about it if you haven’t seen it already.

First off, I haven’t been to a live comedy show in like a million years. In fact, I don’t think I’ve EVER been to one. And this movie makes me NEVER want to go to see a comic live. Is that all it is? A fat dude standing on stage, telling me about what his balls might say to his dick? That is stupid. I’m just saying, all the comedy in this movie basically consisted of jokes having to do with genitalia, scatology and impotence. Uh, whatever happened to intelligent humor? Does that not exist anymore? Or are comics just too lazy to get past the laughs they receive when reveling the crowd with their “oh, and then my balls said…” type of humor. I am soooo not interested in hearing that your butthole said hi to your taint. That is totally lame and that signifies to ME that the person is a total lazy comedian. But hey, no one said that Adam Sandler was talented. “Lunch Lady Land”? Snort. I have sung better songs DRUNK – and RIGHT OFF THE TOP OF MY HEAD!! Whatevs.

Hey, I do NOT envy Adam Sandler and his ilk, though. Being comedian looks like it would be really tough. If you’ve been following along with this blog over the year or so, you have probably laughed out loud at the misadventures of me – from Barbie in her clog to sex-crazed roomies to my suggestions for Halloween treats for teenagers. So hey, maybe I AM funny, whatever that means to you. I make up stupid songs. I adopt ridiculous catch phrases that everyone seems to start using. I’m pretty good at comic timing, if I may say so myself. I write a silly blog about my so-called life. But could I get up in front of a roomful of people and do a “comedy routine”? Hellz no!

Don’t think I haven’t thought about it. I mean, sure. Everyone’s probably seen some crappy comic on TV and been like, “Hey, I could do that!” If anyone loves attention and making people laugh, it’s me. But the thing is, what might be funny sitting around at the bar with your friends, or lying in bed with your husband, or written online, or joking around at the lunch table, is probably not going to go over well when you try to talk it through on a stage. And my humor relies on mostly inside jokes and situations in their organic setting – not trying to describe a conversation my boobs might have with my butt. I mean, come on. That’s just gross. Besides, my boobs haven't spoken to my butt since high school ... all because of that one guy. Chua!

So I will stick to pouring the tea, ending every other sentence with "chua!" and singing dumb songs about crab cakes and table vultures, thank you very much. So don’t haunt any comedy clubs waiting for me to go on. I’ll probably be the one in the front row heckling! HA!

Sigh...once again 90s clothes were awful!

Okay, I'm kinda hidden behind my partner-in-party, Sarah. But you get the idea.

What I'm Listening To: Tall Boy by Har Mar Superstar

I know I’ve talked about this in the past, but god, 90s clothes sucked. I can’t believe what we considered fashionable clothing back then. And we actually left the house in these hideous outfits!!!

I just was talking with my hairdresser about my “go-to” outfit for going to The Cardinal, a dance club in Madison, back when I was college. Okay, you’re gonna love this.

My idea of a HAWT outfit to go to the club started with a snap-crotch dark heather grey stretch cotton bodysuit from J. Crew. It had long sleeves and a scoop neck. Okay, let’s stop here. A BODYSUIT? COME ON!!! That’s just R-O-N-G wrong. You are supposed to wear body suits UNDER stuff, but hey, not me!!!! And even though the sides of the top were starting to pill, and the scoop neck made me look like I had a monoboob, it didn’t matter. I was HAWT, people!!!!

Then I would wear a big baggy pair of men’s jeans from the Gap. All through high school and college I wore mens jeans, no lie. I think the final time I wore womens jeans was in like 8th grade. They were these super cute black pinstriped skinny jeans from Express with a zipper at the ankle. They were soooooo cute, but they made my feet look like surfboards. Oh well. Then I’d top this sexasaurus outfit off with a bulky black belt with a big silver buckle, and men’s black oxford shoes because my mom wouldn’t buy me a $100 pair of Doc Marten’s.

My only jewelry was a moonstone wrapped in wire along with a nasty silver celtic cross on a dog tags chain. No earrings. I think I was still wearing my high school class ring at this time, but not sure. I never did anything to style my hair – just let it air dry and just blow dried my bangs so they’d stay straight across my forehead. *rolls eyes*. It was hilarious.

Oh, and here’s a photo to get your morning started off right. Enjoy!

What effed up outfits did you wear in the 90s and thought were cute?

New Moon on Monday... oh, wait. It's Sunday. Sorry!

Sorry about my lazy habit of forgetting this blog...I promise to shape up. Right.

Anywhoo, unless you're living under a rock, you're probably aware of the Twilight nutsiness that is taking over the world. With the second movie New Moon bustin' out all over, the tolerant Jezebel staffers took a stab (ha ha!!) at trying to make it through the latest Twilight film without excessive eye-rolling, sighing or just generally throwing up in their mouths a little bit.

They failed. And you can read all about it here! Thanks ladies for doing my work for me!

Sparkle Plenty, babee!

I hate my purse.

What I'm listening to: Wendy Rabas' awesome mix cd -- that girl can burn some tuneage!! :)

I hate my purse.

Oh, I liked it well enough when I bought it. Stroking the supple leather at Banana Republic, admiring the creative details of its exterior, impressed by its neutral mushroom shade , I decided that this was the purse for me. It’s roomy and unstructured. It’s a shoulder bag. It has a zipper closure. It looks kinda expensive-looking but it’s still under $100. So I dug out my credit card and next thing you know that sucker was MINE. I skipped out of the store, excited that soon I would be toting this fabulous bag.

Uh, yeah right.

My first taste of this bag’s short life expectancy was when my blackberry wouldn’t fit in the purse’s interior mobile phone pocket. Oh, that’s no biggie, I told myself. Who needs to find their phone anyway?

After a couple days of using this thing, I realized that instead of a purse, I had bought myself a veritable black hole with shoulder straps. Everything I put in this purse got lost, and then I’d look again 10 minutes later and find the item, resting innocently at the bottom of the bag. In due course, my lip balm, my work ID, my cosmetics bag, my keys, and even my WALLET (which is pretty sizable!) went missing in this Bermuda Triangle.

And the zipper closure, which had been attractive at first, was such a pain in the ass to open and close. The bag had no structure and the zipper was metal, so every time I tried to open the thing with one hand while it was on my shoulder resulted in a sticky zipper and a loud sigh on my part while I grabbed the flippin’ thing with both hands so I could actually open it. From then on I just left the purse open. *rolls eyes*

This purse is a disaster. I am sad.

So now I’m on the lookout for a new purse. I have very strict criteria and expectations from my “daily” bag, as I call it – the purse I carry on a regular basis. Here are my requirements – let me know if you see anything, k?

• Needs to be a neutral color so it goes with basically every outfit I own.
• It can’t be too sporty or too casual because I have to use it at work where we have a strict business dress code, but it can’t be too formal because it has to coordinate on some level with my workout togs
• It can’t be too big because I don’t have that much stuff to carry, but it can’t be too small because my essentials take up enough space that a clutch isn’t gonna cut it.
• Must have shoulder straps, but the straps can’t be really long or too short, and they can’t have a stupid superfluous buckle halfway up the strap itself, because I hate that
• Purse hardware must be silver or brass-toned, no gold.
• Must be of an actual fabric or leather found in nature -- not look like it was made out of a bunch of cow buttholes sewn together.
• No well-known designer names should be visible on the exterior – so bye-bye Coach, Dooney & Burke, etc.
• Must have some sort of outer pocket to hold car keys
• Structured bags that can stand up on their own are preferable.
• Interior dividers and multiple compartments make me happy.
• Oh, and above all, it has to be less than $100 because regardless of my drunken sailor spending antics, I am a cheapskate when it comes to fashion.

With all these requirements, finding a decent bag is tough. Usually I end up buying something that elicits comments like “Oh, I think my mom has that purse.” Or situations arise where I see my purse on the arm of my 89-year-old mother-in-law (God rest her soul). Bottom line, I’m not gonna be the chick with the purse that everyone squeals over. I’m the one in the restroom who gets asked if she has any extra Depends.

Needless to say, I’m going purse shopping soon!

Who the heck is Ed Westwick, anyway??

What I'm Listening To: The sound of my heart going pitter-pat!

*deep breath* I would now like to share with you one of the most electrifying moments in my life: The day I met ED WESTWICK. Prepare yourselves, people.

About three Saturdays ago, Anne called me. “Hey, let’s go to dinner and drinks tonight!” she suggested. After a bit of discussion, we decided to go to Café Hollander in Wauwatosa. This place is a beer snob’s idea of paradise – a beer selection that spans the globe and back again, along with the old faves like PBR and my true love, New Glarus Spotted Cow Ale. I don’t like beer that much, but I’ll drink it. Beer makes me kinda farty, but whatevs.

So we go to the restaurant around 6:30 PM, eat dinner (it was okay, nothing spectacular, but the deep-fried gouda was pretty tasty) and then Anne suggests having a drink at the bar. Let me tell you, I am so glad that I agreed.

So we’re sitting at the bar, finishing our drinks, and I put my beer down (yes, the Vodka Tonic Queen had a Spotted Cow) and turn my head. And this super hot guy is standing next to me. And he looks A LOT like Ed Westwick, aka Chuck Bass from the TV show Gossip Girl.

I’d like to stop right here and explain my Chuck-love a little bit. Now, as you all know, faithful readers, this blogger LOOOOVES ME SOME CHUCK!!!!!!! I mean, I have paused the television to take photos of Chuck on Gossip Girl. I have created an entire screen saver devoted to photos of Chuck in his various PR poses – Chuck at the beach, Chuck at a movie opening, Chuck just adjusting his collar. I cannot explain my true love of all that is Chuck. And yes, I am old enough to be his teenage mother – he’s 15 years younger than me. But who cares!!! It’s CHUCK. SEXY, DIRTY, FLIRTY, HEARTBREAKER, GROWLY-WHISPER, NAUGHTY-BOY CHUCK.

Okay, I’ll stop now. I’m just embarrassing myself, huh.

Anywhoo, I turn my head and kinda check out at this guy on my left. And it looks just like Ed Westwick. Seriously. And I’m like, there is no freakin’ way that CHUCK BASS is in Milwaukee. It must be someone else, some guy that just looks like him. So if you know me, I like to take random photos of attractive guys. I mean, I’m married, so it’s totally no pressure and nothing big for me to ask some hot boy if I can take his photo. And I am totally thinking that there is no way in god’s green earth that this is Ed Westwick. But then I heard the guy ask for the beers with a British accent. And then I’m done. It totally IS Ed Westwick!!!! OMG!!!!!!

So I turn to him and I say, “Hey can I take your picture?” And this is before it’s sunk in that it’s Ed Westwick. But then I get a full-on look at this guy as he turns to me. My heart starts pounding and I’m stuttering. It totally is Ed. O.M.G. I am standing next to my fantasy man.

And this guy who looks like Keanu Reaves' older brother comes up behind us, and is like “I’ll take your picture with Ed.” So I’m thinking this is probably the guy that holds Ed’s drugs, for pete’s sake. So I give him my camera and I’m telling him how to hold it so the battery door doesn’t fly open and ruin the BEST MOMENT OF MY LIFE, like it seems to do every time I’m angling for a good photo. Damn camera!!!! We’re both sitting there apologizing to Ed about asking for the photo, but he is super cool about it. He even puts his arms around us and TOUCHES US!!! What a sweetie!!

But the photo turns out okay, and Anne and I look adorable. Ed looks, well, like Ed. Super hot!!!! So I turn around after we take the photo and there’s Jessica Szohr, aka Vanessa on Gossip Girl. And she’s giving us the bitch look, probably because we blew her cover. Come ON!! Just because your show is watched by girls only slightly out of diapers and who haven't yet cracked a box of maxipads doesn’t mean ALL of us are babies. And one of the bar patrons asks us if Ed is someone famous, and Anne is super cool and just says that he’s an old friend. How awesome was that!!?!

We scurry out of the bar because I can't bother Ed with those incredibly inportant questions buzzing round my brain like "What's gonna happen this season?" and "Boxers or briefs?", even though I'd love to sit next to him as he read the menu out loud in his fabulous accent. Next we call our other friend Becca, who was supposed to join us for dinner and had to bail, and practically scream into the phone about our little adventure!! Of course she is disappointed, to say the least. What follows, including Anne and I happily squealing at the top of our lungs in the car and clutching each other, then driving home like maniacs so we can email Star magazine to see if we could get the photo published in the Readers section, etc etc. This all just compounded the adventure to the nth degree.

However, my FAVE part is my joy in posting our celebrity poses photo on Facebook, and having to add a link to Ed's entry on Wikipedia so all my geezer friends can understand the magnitude of my star encounter. Half of them still commented "who the heck is that guy, anyway?" Hey, if you don't know, that's fine with me -- less Ed lovers to fight off the next time we see him in Tosa.

Now if only Rob Pattinson would drop by Mad Planet for Anne's sake! :) Dare to dream!