aka Chesty LaRue

He Was Young, He Needed the Money

While out to dinner the other evening, I mentioned to El Jefe that he should go over and comment on the Chick's blog for Thursday, as it was Group Therapy Thursday, and she wanted people to confess something that others wouldn't know about them.  I asked El Jefe what he might contribute.

"Well, I could tell them about my Cosmo spread." he said.

And I started laughing because I had forgotten about it.  And because it was TRUE.

First Cosmo Cover Ever, 1972.  A bit before El Jefe's cover spread.

Back in the day, El Jefe was a young studly soldier in the U.S. Army.  Tall, blondish, lovely eyes.  Cosmo magazine swept into town to do a photo shoot about unusual occupations for women, and they chose being a soldier as one of them.  (This is where I should probably be insulted over the phrase "unusual occupation for women" having been a soldier at that time myself, but I have gotten over it with the help of a lot of therapy, chocolate and margaritas.) 

Of course no good woman soldier should be alone in her photos - she should be surrounded by buff men in uniform (this I completely support) and this is where El Jefe comes in.  He was the right height and build (i.e. Tall, blond, blue-eyed) for what they were looking for, and he got to be one of the nameless buff men to hang with the hot Army Chick Representing For Those of Us Who Wore The Uniform Back Then.  So he actually was ORDERED to participate in a spread for Cosmo. 

He said it was interesting, and that they had to do all kinds of poses.  I asked him about if he did his best "Blue Steel" and he said no.

"I'm pretty sure there's a lot more to life than being really, really, ridiculously good looking. And I plan on finding out what that is."

There is a rather sad ending to this story, though.  Not a single picture of El Jefe made it into Cosmo.  Apparently it was too much hotness for the masses.  That and they only used one picture from the photo shoot. 

G and S thought this was all very interesting, and wanted to know why he agreed to have his picture taken for Cosmo.  He thought for a second, and then said, "I was young, I needed the money."

Your Careless Whisper has ruined my Freedom, but don't forget to Wake Me Up Before You Go-Go, because you still take me to the Edge of Heaven

If you guessed by the title that this particular blog post will be about something having to do with the fabulous 1980's pop group Wham!, you are correct.

I went to see a little movie last year called "Music & Lyrics" and have been eagerly awaiting the release on DVD.  This particular movie was made FOR ME.  I have no doubt at all. 

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"But why do you think so?" you ask.  Well, its easy - "Music & Lyrics" is basically the imagined life of Andrew Ridgeley.

"Who?" 

Mr. Andrew Ridgeley, the other half of Wham! that wasn't George Michael. 

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You see, I had the World's Biggest Crush on Andrew Ridgeley.  Actually, that isn't true.  I loved Andrew Ridgeley, probably more than I love my label-maker today.  Perhaps even more than I love my dog.  It was the kind of true love that one can only have when one is 14-17 and life is but an open field, and you can actually believe that you and Sting might have a future together.  (My love of Sting is a more mature love - that came about in my 20's.) 

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Ahh.

But this isn't about Sting, this is about Andrew, whom I loved so passionately that I had an entire wall of my bedroom papered with his photo.  It was "The Andrew Wall" and I am terribly sad that my mother never took a picture of it.  (But she did call me this year on Andrew Ridgeley's birthday to remind me it was his birthday, in case I wanted to send him a card, or something.  Too sweet and funny.)

I loved Andrew when he had the "Young and Frosted Ambiguously Gendered Look."

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I loved him during the neon and tight shorts era.  It appears roughly at the 1:03 mark.  You can drool over the painters cap and tube socks.

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I loved him during the mullet years, and especially during the period of time that is marked by his fondness for large Tartan Suits that really only need clown shoes and a red nose to make one hell of a good Halloween costume:

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Nice bondage outfits in that second picture.  But to truly appreciate Andrew's hair, we have this picture:

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I would have killed for some of these pictures in the 80's.  Damn the Internet for taking so long to get here.

Even then, I somehow knew that it would never be possible for me and George Michael.  Even so, I always felt that George was somehow tame in comparison to Andrew and his sexy Greek roots.  He was always tan, buff from playing soccer, and looked hot in white:

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Random Andrew Fact:  Did you know he was actually the stylist for the band for about forever?  And everyone thought he was gay, even though he was dating one of the back-up singers.

I loved him during his race-car years:

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And especially when he cut off the mullet and started wearing black leather:

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And when they announced that the band was breaking up, I sobbed into my Shaun Cassidy pillowcase, likely clutching a copy of Tiger Beat to my chest, and thinking nasty thoughts about that George Michael for wanting to go solo.  Pictures of their final concert and videos were also plastered all over my walls:

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Of course, it never occurred to me back then that Andrew might want to go solo as well.  But he did, briefly, and I was a proud owner of "Son of Albert":

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The album didn't do well, and I can honestly admit that I NEVER LISTENED TO IT.  I wanted to keep him in my mind exactly the way I wanted him to be, and so I simply gazed at the cassette and never listed to it.

Not that I didn't still have fantasies about him somehow meeting me, falling in love, leaving whatever model he was dating, and whisking me off someplace romantic where he would feed me chocolate all the rest of my days. 

Of course real life intervened, and instead he met a lovely girl and remains with her today:

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You might recognize her.  She was in Bananarama.  I didn't stand a chance, especially since I didn't play an instrument, nor was I in a pop band in the 80's.

And thus Andrew drifted off into obscurity, and my passion for him abated, and I moved onto real life marriage and a deep love for Sting.  Who seems to just get better looking the older he gets.  That yoga is a beautiful thing.

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See?  Even in Spanish he is hot.  Then with the eye make-up, and now with the HOTNESS.

Andrew and George apparently remain friends to this day, which is nice for them.  Even though George seems to have been cryogenically frozen in time - the man doesn't appear to age at all.  And according to Wikipedia, Andrew has been writing songs under pseudonyms, surfing, and working to better the water quality in the waters around England.  He lives a quiet life in the English Countryside.  To which I say, good for him. 

And which is why I got such a kick out of the movie "Music & Lyrics."  I started cackling at the first opening notes of the video for Pop Goes My Heart! and didn't really stop till the end.  And you HAVE to watch the video.  The guy does an excellent George Michael impression.  And they even have an angry drummer!  It is CLASSIC.  I want it on my iPod.  I swear if they had an album I would buy it.

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Therefore, I suggest you all run right out there and buy the video for the movie.  Or rent it.  I'm really not picky.  You will love it if you grew up in the 80's.

And I will leave you with a picture of Andrew from back in the day for inspiration.  I think I had this one on my locker door at school:

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Because there is just not enough of me to go around

Its here!  The Blog You've Been Waiting For!  (Other than mine, of course.)  "The Chick & Chesty Show" premieres today at a computer near you. 

There will likely be talk of costumes, as well as family members, but otherwise The Chick and I plan on keeping our new venture separate from our established blogs, and its really just there to amuse us, when you get right down to it. 

We invite you to check it out and comment on the fun things that are funny. 

How cute were we with our afros and mullets?  And I swear that is a teeter-totter, not a see-saw.  Really. 

She Wore an Itsy-Bitsy Teeny-Weeny Gold Lame Chiffon Pettiskirt

It has been a busy spring here at the LaRue household.  Sudden surgery, business trips, A-Honor Rolls (go G!) and LOTS and LOTS of sewing. 

Some of the sewing I have basically brought upon myself (see Festival, Renaissance).  Some of it I am being paid for (see Post, Today's).  And some of it is stuff I have been working on for YEARS and have finally gotten off of my dead ass to complete (see Dress, Anatomy of a Renaissance). 

Today I am going to display the latest of my creations, the Pettiskirt.

(That's Lillian 2.0, my child-sized dummy in the back there.) 

Don't get all excited, I did not invent these.  They are, however, the most popular dress-up item for the under-6 set in the Boutique Children's World today.  They also can run you around $75+.  I am making this particular one to go under a dancing outfit for someone. 

They take SCADS of yardage of fabric, and if you don't have a ruffler for your sewing machine (which I currently do not) they can take LOTS of time gathering those individual ruffles and sewing them on. 

Should you want to make your own, I suggest you go to The Domestic Diva's Blog and follow the instructions she has there.  The link to Martha's site has instructions for an 18-24m size, although the video is helpful.  You want the link below the picture - it tells how to measure to make a pettiskirt for someone of any size, such as the 15-year-old I am making mine for.

Turns out the original one I made for said 15-year-old is not quite long enough in the back, so I made her a different skirt, and finished this one for someone else.  However, since I had children specifically so they would wait on me, do my chores and model for me (and I need to work on those first two still) I borrowed the smaller one and made her pose:

 

Everyone should wear jeans with chiffon.  Its the new fashion - I'm sure I've seen Sarah Jessica Parker wearing something like that somewhere.

Basically, a chiffon pettiskirt (with gold lame silk dupioni waistband) should take you 4-4.5 hours if you do not have a ruffler attachment for either your sewing machine or serger.  Particularly since you have to roll the edges of the chiffon on the end ruffles.  That can take forever, as you should have around 35 yards in that last little 2 inch ruffle.  But the results are worth it, and I GUARANTEE that anyone under the age of 10 will drool over it.  My 10-year-old (above) who claims to be too old for such things thought FOR SURE that I had made this for her.  Which is very sweet in a "its all about me" kind of 10-year-old way.

More pictures of work in progress to come.  Also, I am excited to announce a joint venture with the Cheap Chick coming soon - a blog that is basically just for the two of us to talk about things.  If you want to read it and find it funny, well, hey!  Good for you!  Hope you enjoy it.  But it is essentially just for the two of us to talk about whatever we feel like discussing.  It should premiere later this week. 

And hey!  Send pictures or post comments about what you all are making.  Its fun to share.  Mrs. Dremen, my kindergarten teacher said so. 

LaRue Weekend Edition: 13-year-old Birthday Party

Wow am I tired.  Last evening we hosted a birthday party for G and her friends, which included 11 girls and 1 poor guy.  (The other guy invited couldn't make it.)  I did tell the guy, J, that he was a brave soul for being there with all those women.  He shrugged and said, "I like women, so it works for me." 

G wanted a carnival theme (not Carnivale with the masks and Venetian courtesans - not till she's 16, anyway) and thus I convinced my Grandmother, my Mother, my sister's significant other, and S to participate in running games:  junk food walk, toss the ball in the pond and hit the lily pad, knock over the cans, dunk the basketball, and the water gun challenge. (I vetoed renting a dunking booth.) 

After a brief exchange with the party goers that involved me instructing them as follows:  "Do NOT squirt the 10-year-old with water.  Do NOT toss the 10-year-old in the pool." and them responding with "OH MAN!"  they were very nice to S and she had a blast.  Guy J spent some time with her and she thought he was hysterical.  She also gave out tons of tickets for prizes for whatever she felt like and at one point I heard someone say, "G!  Your sister is AWESOME!" 

The Chick was kind enough to come and play Fortune Teller and read the Tarot cards.  She was hysterical.  Some of the questions asked by the kids were very sweet.  Some very telling for their age, and some rather depressing.  Examples of questions asked by actual 13-year-olds:

1.  Will I be pretty when I grow up?

2.  Will I still be friends with these people when I grow up?

3.  What will my favorite color be when I turn 18?  (Black)

4.  What will my job be?

5.  Will I be famous?

The Chick told me she tried to dole out little life lessons along with the cards. And she took over the auctioning of prizes when the time came, as I am not nearly loud enough for 12 13-year-olds.  It helped that we had a microphone.   

Turns out that about 80% of the kids were either my height, or taller.  Which was very disconcerting.  One girl mimicked me at one point and I told El Jefe about it.  He asked me if I had said anything to her.  My comment?  "Oh yeah, I was going to look UP at this 5'9 child and wag my finger at her."  Instead I simply used my Mom Voice and she sat down quietly.  The Mom Voice, not unlike The Drill Sergeant Voice.  It should be patented.

We had hot dogs and chips, popcorn, candy, and El Jefe bought a cotton candy machine and went to town with it.  G said that people kept telling her it was one of the best parties they had ever been to.  Which satisfies my little interior perfectionist.  Especially since in my senior year of high school my buddy S and I were known for throwing parties.  We had a Murder Mystery party, 50s and 60s party, volleyball parties, water parties, Hawaiian party, etc.

Ah youth.  That would be me in the large picture hat.

The best part is that the parents were PROMPT.  By 10:10 all but 1 kid were gone.  And I was able to sit down, put my feet up, and have peace and quiet at my house.  It was lovely.  The silence, that is. 

Which is going to last until approximately July, when we have S's 11th Birthday party.  Lord only knows what she wants her theme to be.  It could involve Space Travel or Firearms.  Who knows.  But this I know - 13-year-olds?  Are MUCH louder than 11-year-olds.  I don't know why.  It must be the hormones.  Or maybe the hair gel seeps into their brains...

Don't Bring Me Down, BRUCE! Misheard Lyrics UPDATED

On Fridays here at aka Chesty Larue I have decided to be a complete slacker and simply reprint some of my favorite posts from my old blog.  These are those stories. (You can hear the DUN-DUN in your head, can't you?)

Because some of my previous posts have not been very cheerful, I am guaranteeing a fun post today.  SO!  A fun post that is guaranteed to be fun.  Really.  If you are not happy I will send you a dollar.

I was driving in the car the other day and listening to my 80's Mix CD which was kindly provided by Cheap Chick over there on the left,  (TURN UP THE RADIO!)  and found myself having lyrics issues again.  Some are common to others, some are LaRue-Specific.  Let's share, shall we?

He was so fabulous.

1.  (Hee.  I tried to type "Another One Bites the Dust, but inserted "Bust" instead.  Turns out its a real song.  Who knew?)  Did you know the beginning is 'Steve walks warily down the street?'  No?  Did you always think it was "she walks way long down the street?"  You would be in good company.  And the line "Hey, Oh take it, Bites the dust, Bite the dust, hey!"  Always sounded like "Hey!  Oh take it!  I'm adopted!"  Which really makes no sense to me.  But hey!  According to http://www.kissthisguy.com, I am NOT the only one who heard this!  YES!  (You may insert "Another One Rides the Bus" if you so choose.)

That is a lot of permed hair, right there.

2.  There is the Classic S, which is that she thought "Evil Woman" (e-e-e-vil woman!) was actually "Medieval Woman".   Which apparently is quite common, and also apparently did NOT occur to me until she said it.

When bad tanning happens to good people.

3.  OK, this is not a LaRue misheard Lyric, but is damn funny.  I was looking up "Wake Me Up Before You Go-Go!", which someone thought was "Wake Me Up and Throw Your Cocoa".  Hee.  CHOOSE LIFE! GO-GO!  (Not an abortion thing, a George Michael thing.)  I love Andrew Ridgeley.  Probably more than my label-maker.   

"I am so regretting not using that Ben-Gay about now."

4.  "What a Feeling!  Bees are Beating!'  Um no, that would be "Bein's Believing".  Which I NEVER would have got.  (All alone I have cried, silent tears full of pride!)

"Do you think we should stop and ask for directions?"

5.  Reach out and touch faith! I'm really not certain how people can confuse the lyrics to "Personal Jesus" with "Personal Cheez-Whiz" as the words are the TITLE.  As for the video, I don't remember there being a lot of Old West action in the Bible.  Maybe it was in the Apocrypha.

"Ok guys, look totally pissed off.  No, more than normal."

6.  "Rockstar" by Nickelback, G's new fav song.  (Although I do not particularly like to hear her sing about joining the mile high club.)  "Gonna cut a lot of grass (or do a lot of grass) so I can eat my meals for free".  Yeah, not so much.  Should be "Sign a couple autographs".  Much better sense.  Love this video. 

"We should name ourselves after a food - how about Hot Cocoa?"

7.  Did you know that "I Believe in Miracles" or "You Sexy Thing" was sung by a band called Hot Chocolate?  I SO want to hear more of this band now.  Just because of the name. (Also, check out the video - its a Pixar dancing mouse.)

Just look at those sexy mullets.

8.  CCR's "Bad Moon Rising" goes from "There's a bad moon rising" to "There's a bathroom on the right". Um, helpful, but no.

"Aren't I pretty?"

9.  "Building a Mystery" by Sarah Mac.  My thoughts, "You strut your ass to wear in a suicide pose".  The real lyrics, "You strut your rasta wear and your suicide poem".  Um, ok.  Sorry all you rastas.  Whoops.  (And seriously?  The song makes no sense, so my lyrics could have been correct.  I love her, but she's up there with Duran Duran on non-sensical lyrics.)

She is the love child of Frida Kahlo and Carmen Miranda.

10.  B-A-N-A-N-A-S!  I honest to God did not get that "Hollaback Girl" meant as in hollering back to a boy.  I thought it was just some random Gwen Stefani thing.  Like dancing with the Harajuku girls and dressing up like she was Japanese.  But she does have a HOT husband.  (Incidentally, my SIL who is Japanese, likes her music but thinks she's weird. And Gwen, you need to pronounce Kawaii correctly.)

You totally want a Vegemite sandwich, don't you?

11.  Men at Work and the Immortal Classic, "Land Down Under"  Turns out it really isn't "where women blow and men blunder."  It is IN ACTUALITY (that's a shout-out to my brother there, love him) "where women glow and men plunder..." Just so you know.

"Go-Kart Mozart was checking out the weather..."

12.  I was only briefly confused by the lyrics to "Blinded By the Light".  My Dad had the album and showed me the real lyrics.  So I can tell others when they are wrong.  Its a nice little superiority complex I've got going on.  I am sharing them now with you:  "She was blinded by the light.  Revved up like a deuce, another runner in the night."  There is no douche involved, I assure you. Don't you feel smarter already?

Confess - you love the commercial where the models randomly attack sleeping men in lawn chairs and make them over to look like the models.

13.  Not me, but damn funny.  "Might as well face it you're addicted to love" becomes "might as well face it, you're a dick with a glove."  HEE!

He needs someone to hold him, whoa-o-oh... and to cut him out of those tight pants. Sheesh.

14.  This is also a shout-out to my brother, who when he was a young 3 year old, thought that Air Supply's "You are every woman in the world, to me!" was somehow directed to him - "You are every woman in the world, Timmy!"  Which just gets funnier as time goes by.

BRUCE!

15.  And now to the title.  Contrary to popular belief, this song does not go, "Don't Bring Me Down, Bruce!"  what it says is "Don't bring me down, Groos!" which is a made-up word, and supposed to be similar to the German word 'Gruþ.'  However, so many people heard it wrong that the BAND ACTUALLY CHANGED THE LYRICS and now they sing 'Bruce.'  This is such a common misperception in words that my favorite website, the afore-mentioned www.kissthisguy.com does NOT even have this listed as a misheard lyric. 

I think everyone should go to that website.  You will have a fabulous time reading and laugh at your own silly mis-hearings. 

I'm just going to continue on my way, singing Starship's "We built this city on the wrong damn road!"  (Isn't Grace Slick kind of scary?)

If Only I Had Super Jazz Hands*

The Chick has a post up about Super Powers and I thought how swell it would be to have Super Jazz Hands.  Just think of the possibilities....

She was also harassing telling me that I should post more pictures of work in progress, so here goes:

Did you know it takes 4 yards to make a single ruff for my wrist?  And its not like I have these huge meaty wrists either.  I like to think they are dainty.

The sleeves that are going to be attached to that silver beaded bodice I posted pix of previously.  (say that really fast 10 times - posted pix of previously.... go ahead, I'll wait.)  They are heavily beaded and embroidered, made of velvet and lined with satin so they are SOFT.

The Passion of the Chick.

No, seriously, I have no idea what she was going for here.  However, it does nicely display the sleeves.

More beading fun this weekend, and then OOH!  Sleeve puffs for Monday.  Bet you can't wait.  Until then, stop by Friday for Flashback Friday.  It will be fun.  But not as fun as SUPER JAZZ HANDS!

 

Oh Honestly, Angela! and Other Classic Literature from the 80's

As so often happens, I was out the other night shopping with The Cheap Chick.  I was looking for fabric and jewelry, and she was looking for a winter coat.  Neither of us was particularly interested in expanding our minds via literature.  Not when you can get your Jane Austen fix watching Colin Firth walk out of a pond soaking wet in period garb. 

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You can thank me later.

At my particular Savers, the books are over near the changing area.  A cover caught my eye and I went over to look at it.  It turned out to be a book I have wanted to buy, yet did not want to spend $25 on a hardcover.  This copy was the hardcover, marked down to $2.99.  I love being cheap. 

For some reason this book had been placed in the Children's section.  Chick and I started browsing the titles and suddenly it was like we were in 1986 again - there were so many large permed heads and Ken Doll Guys on the covers I kept expecting someone to start playing "Jesse's Girl" (and she's lovin' him with that body, I just know it) or "St. Elmo's Fire." (Gonna be a man in motion, all I need is a pair of wheels... and holy crap, everyone looks so young. Remember Andrew McCarthy's coffin? And when Emilio kissed Andie?  Good times.)

I decided that I needed to purchase some of these books and tell you people about them.  Because they are truly very funny, and very representative of what we all read back in the Decade That Should Be Forgotten.  First up:

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This is a classic novel about Gwen and her romance with a guy named Jack who she meets at the beach.  The tag line is:  How do you know when you're in love?

Turns out Gwen knows pretty fast.  And it didn't require me to read the whole book.  I did the same thing I did with "Giants in the Earth" (WORST BOOK EVER) - I read the first chapter, a middle chapter, and the end chapter.  And that was all I needed.  Turns out Jack is kind of an idiot.  He gives away a gift his mother gave him, a bracelet with his name on it, to this other girl who hates Gwen.  And this is it for Gwen, who decides that although they love each other, they can no longer be together.  So she breaks up with him in the hallway at school.  And then:

""I broke up with Jack."

"I'm sorry," Manda said softly.

"Why?  You didn't even like him."

Manda started the car.  "But you did."

"No," Gwen said loudly.  "I didn't like him.  You're using all the wrong words.  I love him.  Right now, I love him."

Then she stopped talking and began to cry, loud sobs and keening wails that racked her body..."

And she vowed never to forget him, this guy who was such a jackass, apparently, to her and to others.  They had such great messages in the 80's for girls in regards to boys. 

Next up is this little classic:

This one is a sequel.  Tina wants to raise money to "adopt" a needy child through the Rescue the Children program, and her little brother is going to help her.  (Anyone remember Sally Struthers on those late night infomercials?)  Her sister Angela (of the "Oh, Honestly") clearly has no concept of this, as she can't get past the concept that these children don't have toys.  According to the back of the book, "Tina thinks Angela has a lot to learn about what's important..." 

I didn't even need to read this one to know the ending.  Angela has some epiphany that causes Tina to view her in a new light, and Angela also somehow manages to come up with the rest of the money.  Perhaps through a donation from someone who thinks she is spunky, I don't know.  And she donates her stuffed elephant to a needy child. 

I would have eaten this stuff UP when I was in middle school.  (I was reading Barbara Cartland in Junior High.  Romance, you know.)  Little siblings, Christmas, a stuffed elephant, helping others, its a cornucopia of plot.

And then:

Just LOOK at that cover.  I think this one is my favorite.  I was that girl in the striped shirt.  I freely admit it.  And holy crap people, DARCI IS IN THE BAD LUCK CABIN!  This could be serious.  Especially since, like most other books from this decade, this was a sequel.

Darci has never been to camp before, and likes the people in her cabin.  ALL of the popular girls get put in another cabin, of course.  Maybe they were called to it by the siren song of Aqua-Net.  Who knows?  Either way, Darci's cabin is NOT cool.  And naturally there is a trophy involved.  And Darci gets poison ivy.  And the two cabins get tied in the competition.  (Of course.)  What do you think happens?  Will they cheat to win?  Do cheaters ever win?  And naturally they don't win the big trophy, they win the "Girls Who Tried the Hardest Trophy," and that is enough for them.  Which is kind of lame.  What happened to killer instinct?  Particularly since there is a hot guy named Greg she has been mooning over who finally talks to her at the end of the book. 

I don't know about you people, but my camp experiences were never like this.  The only boy at camp was Seth, the grounds-keeper's son, and MY GOD was he hot.  Poor guy spent all summer being chased by prepubescent Girl Scouts.  Somewhere at Camp Ruby Lake it is written "Seth is Hot" on the ceiling of Cabin 5.  My roommate was just a tiny bit obsessed with him. 

Otherwise?  We never had competitions.  And camp wasn't like the Parent Trap either.  Maybe East Coast camps that cost $1,000's of dollars were like that, but I spent my fair share of time scrubbing dishes, rather than taking fencing lessons.  And something quite funny - when G went to camp for the first time, she wound up in the same cabin, in the same bunk as when I was there, many, many moons ago. 

The Chick's favorite books from this time period were of course Sweet Valley High:

Ooh!  Deceptions!  Who didn't secretly want to be a perfect twin?  With a great, hot-looking older brother?  And with their own convertible?  And a hot boyfriend?  And be editor of the Newspaper, or head of the Cheerleaders?  Years later, I can still rattle off their names:  Elizabeth and Jessica Wakefield, Bruce and his Ferrari, Lila Fowler, Enid the best friend...  These books were like tiny little bits of crack for Junior High girls who lived in a SLIGHTLY less wealthy suburb than the Wakefield twins. 

But let's think about this for a second.  Why was Jessica such a bitch to Elizabeth?  And why was Elizabeth such a doormat?  What were their parents doing in all of this?  Although the clothing descriptions were classic.  There is a new set of these books that have come out, all gussied up and brought into a new century:  The Fug Girls Tell All. 

You know what these books remind me of?  One Tree Hill.  Before they all grew up and Chad Michael Murray started to take himself so seriously as an actor.  Heh. 

But MY favorite books were The Girls of Canby Hall series:

I LOVED these books.  What girl doesn't have boarding school fantasies?  Of course the best would be if it was a British boarding school, but this was East Coast, and just as good.  Of course their definition of diversity was to make sure that one girl was always African-American, and from a working-class family.  Really progressive of them. 

But the tales of Preppy clothing, boys from the local colleges, townies, and getting along with the other snobbier girls were just so much fun to read.  And I did get a chance to go to boarding school in my junior year of high school, briefly.  I feel that I can honestly say that other than easier access to drugs (no Mom, I didn't inhale) and everyone living in the same environment all the time, there is really not much difference than regular high school.  It was fun, and the ceremonies that they had and the beautiful old buildings, and walking into town to go to the bakery on the weekend, and hanging out with people from all over the world and with house parents was very cool.  But ultimately the dynamics were still the same.  The homework load was heavier.  There was scheduled study time.  And somehow I wound up with a single room with the largest closet in the building.  But deep down, it was the same.  Which was a bit of a let-down after all those expectations.  But it is an experience I am glad I got to have.  Remind me to blog about it and my Prom some time.  The Horror.

I do admit that I love those books, though.  I would love to have the entire collection again.  And I would make my children read them and wallow in the the sweater vests, Polo shirts, little tartan wool skirts and knee highs.  OOH!  And the penny loafers, with the penny in them.

Wasn't childhood grand?  Aren't you glad Harry Potter came along?  I feel like sending a Thank You card to J.K. Rowling right now after having read (kind of) these books. 

What were your favorite books from your childhood? I ask because I care.  And hey!  Children's books at Savers are only $.69 each.  So you can buy back your childhood for very little money.  Let it be a salve on the wound that was your High School years. 

I Don't Know Where You've Been My Lad, But I See You Won First Prize*

On Saturday I saw a double feature with George, which was loads of fun.  I recommend seeing Juno in the theatre (the cheap theatre in Hopkins is still showing it), but I think Made of Honor, while cute and having Patrick Dempsey in it, is not worth the $9.00.  Save it for Netflix.

I went into the second movie knowing nothing about it other than Patrick is trying to prevent his girl buddy from marrying some guy.  Turns out said guy is Scottish and the movie goes over to Scotland for part of the filming.  They have an excellent shot of the Great Glen which is just as amazing as when I drove through it, way back in 1998.  I remember sitting in the car thinking to myself, "Men in skirts lived in these conditions?  Amazing."  This was before I developed a healthy appreciation for the Man in a Kilt, and before I had my Scottish Garment Business.  As the film went on they had a Highland Games, and suddenly there were Highland Dancers on stage and I thought to myself, "Wow - this stuff follows me everywhere."  It also got me thinking back to my trip in 1998 and how I finally discovered What a Scotsman Wears Under His Kilt.  So I thought I would tell you about it.

I was a young thing of 26, G was turning 3 (and actually did on the trip) and S was almost 9 months old.  About 3 days after we returned from our trip she skipped walking and went directly to running.  It was very surreal.  We had gone to the UK to visit friends of ours from the Army - L, J and their kids E and R.  They were stationed over in England and thus we visited England and Scotland with our own personal tour guides.  It was great fun. 

 

Aw.  They were so little then.

The flight was okay going over (and hellish coming back with a 9 month old who didn't feel like sleeping), but we made it fine and lasted (mostly) the whole first day.  Poor G could barely stay awake.  She accidentally wound up drinking this horrible orange Squash beverage straight up that is supposed to be diluted with water, and is about 99.9% sugar.  It caused an instantaneous awakening for about 4 hours.  Then this happened:

   

I found her 10 minutes later, passed out, face down, on a mattress in the spare room, snoring. She wouldn't wake up, and instead slept for about 12 straight hours and was then fresh as a daisy.  Oh that the rest of us could have had it so easy. 

In England, in York visiting the gardens.  G lived in that backpack, and S was quite comfortable (and apparently unconscious) in the stroller with rain guard, which I had never seen before, but which is a necessity in England.  And yes, S is not wearing any shoes or socks.  She was a much happier baby when her feet were bare.

We had a great time traveling and seeing just about every Castle or Historic Monument that existed. 

Look at my voluminous Polar-fleece.  Back in '98 no one in Scotland had Polar-fleece.  They were fascinated by mine.  Bothwell Castle.

One of the places we visited was Duffus Castle, picked by El Jefe strictly for the name.

Want to be the Earl of Duffus?

Our traveling companions were extremely fond of babies.  The pictures you see here of me holding a small child are rare.  I don't think I actually held the kids for more than an hour each day.  This also meant that every time I turned around, I would find S (being very portable at 9 months) usually sitting someplace odd, posing for a picture.  On top of a sarcophagus, in a pile of cannon balls, or in a basket in a shop:

Always happy to pose.

Our destination in the far north of Scotland was Inverness.  Inverness is a beautiful city, with great food and a fun atmosphere.  It was also one of the only towns where I had difficulty understanding the townspeople.  It turns out that the smaller the town, the thicker the accent.  And having been a linguist I pride myself on being able to understand anybody.  This is not possible in rural Scotland.  I have no idea what they are saying, but it sounds beautiful.

This was most evident in Crieff (home of Ewan MacGregor) where we toured the Glenturret distillery.  The girl giving the tour was gorgeous (lovely red hair) and was doing a fine job.  I just had no idea what she was saying.  None of us did, but we were all so entranced by her we didn't say anything.  We ate at the restaurant there, only to discover after the meal that EVERYTHING on the menu had whiskey in it.  The appetizers, the soup, the salad, the dinner, the dessert.  (The whiskey in the whipped cream was divine.)  The children all slept like rocks that night.  An excellent demonstration of the thickness of the Scottish Brogue is by Robin Williams.  There is liberal use of the F word, so may not be SFW.  Damn funny, though.  ("And then we'll give them a tiny little flag, so they can have some hope!")

Back to Inverness - part of the reason we had gone there (other than to sample their Haggis - uck - and their alligator - yum) was to go see where the Battle of Culloden was fought.  The terrain in Culloden was incredibly rough, and I couldn't believe that anyone without horses, artillery, etc., could fight on it, but they did. 

Luckily for us, we had arrived 1 day after the 252nd anniversary of the battle.  The day of the anniversary the weather had been so bad that they had canceled all activities and rescheduled them for the day we were there.  There were all kinds of people walking around in traditional Scottish garb, with swords, pistols, etc.  Spotting a photo opportunity, my buddy L stopped several men and asked them if they would be willing to kill her children so she could take a picture.  They agreed:

   

They look really scared with those big grins, don't they?

One of the things I discovered that day is that contrary to what the Fashion Police might tell you, it is actually considered acceptable (at least in Scotland) to wear more than 1 tartan at a time.  If you have ancestors from 4 different clans, then wear all of them.  Its OK.  Its bright, but OK.

Because I am such a geek, I had to take a picture of the Fraser family stone.  I was a huge fan of Diana Gabaldon's book Outlander (which El Jefe calls "Scottish P*rn.")..

This is all very nice, you are thinking to yourself, but what about what is under the kilt??

I am arriving at that part of the story.  I was holding S and watching the parade when I realized she needed to be changed. 

I started walking back to the car, via the trail.

Off to the side about 25 yards away was a man picking some heather.  He was wearing a traditional Great Kilt.  (Incidentally, Scotsmen would drop their kilts when fighting, and only fight in their long undergown, or Leine.  Much easier to fight without 9 yards of fabric draped around your body.)  I glanced at him again and realized that he was REALLY bending over that heather, and that his kilt was a little on the short side.  Because he was revealing to the world what God had given him.  (Also - Scotsmen typically wear something under their kilts when in America, because American women are cheeky and will peek.) 

I was horrifically embarrassed, and turned my red face away and started walking faster to the car.  An elderly couple approached me, all decked out in matching kilt/hostess kilt, Argyll jacket/lace blouse, etc.  At the time I thought they were Clan Chieftains, but I know now that this is just regular Scottish formal wear.  They looked at my red face, then saw Highlander Man off picking the heather.  They looked back at me, smiled hugely, and laughed.  The woman had tears in her eyes and patted my arm and waved at S as they walked by.  I high-tailed it to the car.

When the others joined me and asked me why I was so red (still), I explained what had happened.  Much merriment at my expense ensued. 

So I feel confident in assuring those of you reading this blog that Scotsmen do indeed wear NOTHING under their kilts.  At least the real Scotsmen don't.  Just ask them. 

* The title comes from a classic Scottish song called The Scotsman.  A poor drunken sot passes out under a tree.  Two passing ladies decide to peek under the kilt.  In appreciation they tie a little blue bow on him.  When he awakens and goes to pee, he finds the bow, and muses aloud, "I don't know where you've been, my lad, but I see you've won first prize."  A cartoon for your viewing pleasure.

The Hazards of Sewing after Midnight

It is usually advisable to not try to sew something you never have before (a crinoline) with leftover pieces of fabric, after midnight.  Because otherwise your best buddy winds up looking like this:

Leftover fabric:  $0.00

Fancy sewing machine:  $3,000.00.

Gutterman thread:  $3.29

Dancing in a pink tutu/crinoline at 1am:  Priceless.

It really does not get any better than this.  Truly.