aka Chesty LaRue

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. 

< 

"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. 

<

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.) 

<

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."

< 

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.

<

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:

<

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

<

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:

<

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:

<

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

<

<

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:

<

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":

<

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:

<

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.

<

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.

< 

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:

<

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?)

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.

Today's Fire in the Kitchen Post Brought to You by the Letters S and G

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?)

Yesterday morning I had business errands to run, to tidy up the last few things I had left to do before I was officially "retired" from my Scottish business.  G had loaded the dishwasher, and El Jefe was out doing home maintenance work to prepare the house for sale.  While casually driving to the dry cleaners, I get this phone call:

S:  "Um, Mom, G and I think something is on fire in the kitchen, but we can't figure out what it is."
Me:  "WHY ARE YOU CALLING ME?  Go get your Dad!  It is probably the dishwasher."  (Our dishwasher routinely ate plastic things)
S:  "OK, we'll check the dishwasher."
Me:  "NO!  GO GET DAD!"
S:  "It is the dishwasher!  Look at the smoke!  And it smells really bad."
Me:  "GO GET DAD!  GET OUT OF THE KITCHEN!"
S:  "G went to get Dad.  I can see the smoke in the dishwasher!"
Phone goes dead.

I dial frantically and finally someone answers.  It is S.
S:  "Hey Mom!  Where are you?  Can you buy some treats?"
Me:  "NO!  Are you still in the kitchen?  Where is Dad???"
S:  "Dad came inside and made the fire go away.  He says you have to come home RIGHT NOW."
Me:  "I am on my way."

I arrive home to my husband pissed as hell and covered in lawn clippings and white dust.

El Jefe:  "So G comes out to get me and tells me there is a fire in the kitchen, and S is still there.  I run up there and there is so much smoke I can't see the fire in the dishwasher so I grab the fire extinguisher and empty the thing."
Me:  "You did what?"
El Jefe:  "You get to clean the kitchen.  You might want a mask."

Inside I discover the kitchen covered with white-ish yellow dust EVERYWHERE.  The children are downstairs watching TV, after having walked in bare feet across the kitchen.  I look in the dishwasher and realize the very end of a spatula had been up against the coils.  It was slightly singed.  El Jefe emptied an entire fire extinguisher for this??

It took 6 hours to clean the kitchen.  We vacuumed and scrubbed from the top down.  Threw out food.  Got rid of old appliances.  Ran the dishwasher 3 times (still nasty in there - we may need to get a new one).  I had planned on doing this for putting the house up for sale anyway, but it just got done sooner that I had intended.  When El Jefe saw the tiny singed spatula, he was rather sheepish.  And sad.  It was his favorite spatula - it had Christmas trees floating in the silicone.  I also commented that the fire had taken place in the DISHWASHER, while it was RUNNING.  Turning it to the rinse cycle would have likely stopped the entire thing immediately.  He protested that he didn't know how big the fire was due to the smoke.  I agreed it was a good decision, but that he probably didn't need to use the entire fire extinguisher can.  He agreed.

I had repeated drills with the children in regards to fire awareness.
Me:  "If there is a fire, do you stop and call me on the phone?"
S & G:  "NO!"
Me:  "If there is a fire do you stay in the house?"
S & G:  "NO!"
Me:  "If there is a fire and a parent is home what do you do?"
S & G:  "GO and GET THEM!"

I asked S why she had stayed in the kitchen with the fire.

S:  "But the fire looked really pretty."

These are the things that concern me about them ever babysitting on their own, or moving out.  Or turning into pyromaniacs.

Ultimately there was no big fire, everyone was safe (in spite of making less than stellar choices) and my kitchen is incredibly clean and tidy, although still a mite stinky.

There will be lots of margaritas tonight.

Sometimes More Ass Is Just More Ass

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?)

(Normally Flashback Friday is indeed on Friday, but I am mixing things up a bit this week.  I have several exciting medical tests involving not one, not two, but THREE different organs, and I am a bit busy.  Consequently, this is what you get.  You get what you get and you don't have a fit.  Got it?  Good.)

I had another post up about yet another decision career-wise I need to make in my life and took it down because I am tired of whining.  I would rather talk about my ass.

So I will!  My friend Felicity was talking about waist cinchers the other day.  Not knowing what they were (and assuming they were something naughty), I did a little Google search on them and discovered something that for me was disturbing.  It is called the "Padded Brazilian Boom Panty."  (As seen on the Tyra Banks show, for those in the know.)  Because apparently Brazilian women don't have enough ass on them.

 

Click HERE for a padded ass.

Now I am not trying to belittle these women - I know women who have a very small booty, or are in fact mostly non-bootified.  (Is this even a word?)  However, I come from a long line of women to have inherited the family butt.  (There will be no discussion of the family thighs, or nose.)  We have solid (mostly), large, round, protruding, glorious German butts.  It is just part of our genetics.  Like red hair and teeth with no cavities. 

I have a ghetto booty.  I am the subject of the "Baby Got Back" song.  I buy the Blue Color pants from Lane Bryant because my waist and butt do indeed have more than a 10 inch difference between them.  Think about this for a minute.  Add those 10 inches back from my waist to my chest and you have what is commonly called an "hourglass figure."  I call it "Damned Difficult to Dress."

Consequently, the idea of padding your booty is more than a little amusing to me.  If I added any padding to my own posterior I would look pregnant in reverse. 

Another interesting product out there actually increases your hips (or thighs):

Good God.  If they want some of my "hip & butt enhancement" I would certainly be willing to share. 

In the interest of fairness and sharing and provocative commentary, I felt that I needed to share this with all of you.

And while no one likes a smart ass, and everyone likes a little ass, as stated above, sometimes more ass is just more ass. 

The Best of the Old Blog: God Bless the Y Chromosome

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?)

All you people with boys out there:  pour yourselves a glass of wine, pat your male significant others on the back and congratulate them on the fine work of their Y chromosomes. 

The teen years will be filled with countless trips to the grocery store to restock the fridge, to Old Navy for when they outgrow their jeans AGAIN, and to the laundry where you will be washing many loads of stinky socks.  If they put them down the chute.  What you won't be doing is this:

S comes in the house today all bleary-eyed, windswept looking and tragic. 

S:  "I got kicked off patrol!"

Me:  "What happened?"

G (always helpful):  "Tough break, kid."

S:  "G!!!"

Me:  "G, go downstairs, you are not being helpful."

G:  "What?!  What did I do?!"

Me:  "GO."

G:  (grumble)

Me:  "So, S, what happened?"

S:  "I don't know, I just got kicked off!" (falls sobbing into my lap)

Me: (sensible) "Did Mr. X tell you this?"

S: (sniffling) "No..."

Me:  "Then how did you find out you were kicked off?"

S:  (warming to the righteous anger coursing through her veins) "Well, H told A who told C who told me that I was kicked off!"  (sobbing again in my lap)

Me:  (filled with logic) "Um, how would H or A or C know if you were kicked off?  Wouldn't Mr. X have told you?"

S:  (now starting to be confused) "I don't know!  They said I was, so I am kicked off!"

Me:  (again with the logic) "And WHY did they say you were kicked off?"

S:  "H told S that it was because I hit some kid with my patrol flag but I didn't!  It never happened!" (sobbing again)

Me:  "Why didn't you talk to Mr. X?"

S:  "I just came right home because I was kicked off!"  (sob)

Me:  "I think we need to call Mr. X."

RING RING

Me:  "Hello Mr. X, this is Ms. Larue, S's mom.  S came home today rather upset because she says she was kicked off of patrol.  Do you know anything about this?"

Mr. X:  (totally clueless about all of this) "What?  Of course she hasn't been kicked off of patrol.  Actually, I was wondering where she was.  Who said she was kicked off?  I would be the one to tell anyone that."

Me:  "Well, it sounds like a girl thing, with H telling A who told C who told S.  Apparently it was about her hitting someone on the head whom she never hit on the head.  Your thoughts?"

Mr. X: (clearly glad he is unmarried and doesn't have daughters) "Oh geez.  Could I talk to S?"

Me:  "Why, certainly!  Let me put her on."

LENGTHY PHONE CONVERSATION WITH S SAYING "Uh huh, yes." EVERY OTHER SECOND. 

S:  (to Mr. X) "Well, H told A who told C, and it didn't happen!"

PAUSE

S:  (to Mr. X) "Ok.  I will see you on Monday.  Do you want to talk to my Mom?"

PHONE IS HANDED TO ME

Me:  "Hello?"

Mr. X: "Thanks for calling me.  S let me know the names of the kids (re: girls) involved and I will make sure no one is spreading any other rumors about anything.  I will see S on Monday when she helps train in a new patrol member for the morning shift."

Me:  "Thanks!"

CLICK

Me:  (to S, who is now miraculously recovered) "So, what did Mr. X say?"

S:  "He said that he is the only one who decides who gets kicked off, and that he is going to yell at the other kids, and that I get to train in a new person on Monday because I am so good at Patrol!"

Me:  "Ok, that's good.  Do you feel better now?

S:  "Yes, but I am going to have to tell my friends that I wasn't kicked off of Patrol."

Me:  "Which friends?  When did you have time to tell anyone?"

S:  "I told them in the hallway.  I only told D, G, A, B, J, JJ, Y..."

Me:  (???) "Why didn't you go talk to Mr. X instead of telling all of these people?"

S:  (clueless) "I dunno.  Can I have a snack?"

And THAT, people, is why they invented Prozac, Wine, and ear plugs.  And why there is not a single woman I know who would go back and be a teenager EVER AGAIN. 

Don't F*ck with the Babysitter: A Photo Essay

Movie Night at the Larue household has been a recent addition to our exciting and thrill-filled lives.  Its a chance to sit down together, enjoy some quality cinema and eat large bowls of popcorn with entire sticks of butter melted on them.  Its a beautiful thing.

We decided to start with some of our favorite movies from our youth: 

Uncle Buck ("If my whole family moved away from me, I'd have a heart attack too.")

Down Periscope ("Think like a pirate. I want a man with a tattoo on his dick. Have I got the right man?")

City Slickers ("What did you use for protection, paper or plastic?")

Ferris Bueller's Day Off ("When Cameron was in Egypt's land...let my Cameron go...")

and my personal favorite,

Undercover Blues ("Darling, do the oysters come with guns?"). 

It has been like a time travel trip through my most unfortunate fashion years.

One day I happened to be at Target and saw a huge pile of movies in the $5.00 bin and bought a copy of one of my favorite movies from 1987:  Adventures in Babysitting. 

I decided to have it be a girls night, as I didn't think El Jefe could stomach the cuteness.  And although it was a PG-13 movie, I figured that the 80s were kinder, gentler days and it would be suitable viewing. 

HELLO!  I forgot about the F-bomb from the gang fight on the train, the conspicuous display of the Playboy magazine, the constant swearing, the blatant disregard for parental authority and poor Penelope Ann Miller's hair.  That right there was scary enough.   

At this point in the movie, S turned to me and said, "Which one was you and which was the Cheap Chick?"  Then she thought a second and said, "You were Brenda (Penelope), weren't you?"

(Notice the hot pic of Duran Duran with their mullets taped to the camp cabinet.  I probably ripped it out of Teen Beat.)

I told her that at one point the Chick had also been Brenda.

(In context, this was a re-enactment of the Chick's arrival to her surprise birthday party.  We were all too doped up on hairspray to remember to take pictures when she arrived.)

Then I told her we had also both been Chris Parker.

It was the 80s.  Cut us some slack. 

G was lounging over on the futon and casually commented, "You know I'm really not getting into the movie right now.  It just seems really slow.  I don't know if I like it or not."  Which is pre-teen code for:  "Good God this sucks!  What do I have to do to get her to let me leave and go IM my friends and read Harry Potter fan fiction?"

I told her it would get better soon.  And it did.

The blues song is really a classic part of this movie. 

What?  You've never seen it?  Well just click here:

Babysitting Blues

While viewing the movie, I realized that there were a lot of famous people in it.  For instance, Bradley Whitmore, the scummy boyfriend with the Camaro with the personalized license plate "SO COOL".  He apparently went from hunk status (no picture available, sadly) to this:

Josh Lyman, Deputy Chief of Staff, Bartlett Administration.  Who knew? (And the Camaro is his OWN car.  With his personalized plates. Seriously.)

And little Tony Rupp, who played the obnoxious sex-obsessed best friend Daryl:

Who knew he would turn into a sensitive film-maker who is a squatter in a building in New York and refuses to pay his RENT?

"Is there anyone in the mainstream?  Is there anyone alive with a sex drive?"

OK, perhaps he didn't change so much.

And my personal favorite, "Thor" Dawson the garage owner who is touched by the worship of a young girl and agrees to waive the $5.00:

Who would think he would wind up eventually becoming an alien bug?

And then a detective on the major case squad with possible Asperger's?

DUN-DUN!

More importantly, who knew Vincent D'Onofrio was that ripped? 

Some folks went on to Yale (Maia Brewton) and others to movies of the week (Elisabeth Shue) and another to dating Al Pacino (Penelope Ann Miller).  And then there is this guy:

Isn't he dreamy?  Don't you want to get engaged in Italy and then tell your insane Dad you are marrying him?  And how cool is it that he is now the voice of Superman? 

Sigh.

I did become concerned as the movie went on what kind of an effect it would have on S.  She is known for her daredevil attitude and so I would occasionally throw in little asides like, "You know, you can't REALLY slide down the side of a skyscraper in tennis shoes and a little helmet and live."  I like to think that she listens to me.  Sometimes.

And when the movie was over and everyone was singing the Babysitting Blues, I asked G what she thought of the movie now.  "Well, it was really slow at the beginning, but had some good parts to it.  I would give it a 5." 

It occurred to me that this movie was ripe for a re-make.  Movies like Ferris should never be remade.  It would be like remaking Casablanca.  In some cases people should just leave WELL ENOUGH ALONE.  But in regards to this movie?  It could easily be updated and I don't think a re-make would hurt anyone's feelings.

"Get out of my house!"

And lo and behold I am a visionary.  Disney saw this opportunity and is making "Further Adventures in Babysitting" starring their current top stars, Miley Cyrus and Raven-Symone.  I admit that I like Raven.  I do - she's a talented girl.  But Miley Cyrus?  Lord help me.  Hopefully her father won't be anywhere near this movie.  But when I told S, she squealed and wanted to know which one Miley was playing.  I told her probably Brenda.  (HAH!)  And she looked at me and said, "Why would Miley be playing the dork?" 

And I cried quietly that night into my Shaun Cassidy pillowcase.

Any suggestions on other quality films to share with the family?  We do have Pretty in Pink up next (yummy young stud James Slater), but after that we have an opening.  Your suggestions?  Because I am really trying hard to prevent El Jefe from showing the 3 hour epic that is "Patton." 

Please help me.  Please.