aka Chesty LaRue

Reason #241 Why it Can Suck to Live in Minnesota in the Summertime

Accidentally snorting mosquitos.

'Nuff said.

Promises, Promises

Where are the hot vampires?  That's what you're all thinking, right?  She promised us some hot vampires and the Mullet Hall of Fame and we've got NOTHING.  Nothing but a bunch of chatty pre-teens/teens on summer break.  Where's the Lou Gramm and that totally cut sax player?  Why is she torturing us like this?

I am letting you know that I feel for you.  I do.  I WANT to be posting about hot vampires.  I do.  But there is a problem:  I don't yet have the DVD. 

The Chick is giving it to me tomorrow, and then I should have some delicious vampire goodness for Monday's post.  Complete with extra feature info and the Mullet-tastic-ness that was hairstyles for men (and some women including myself) in the 80's. 

Speaking of mullets, I have been trying to find a way to embed THIS video on my blog, and apparently Sony doesn't want me to.  I even joined YouTube for Pete's sake.  So clicking on the link is the only way you can see the fabulousness of the ruffled tuxedo shirt with the Standard Rock Star Lead Singer Steve Perry-Like Hair (DON'T STOP BELIEVIN'!), the highly technical soft focus, and the back-up singer who looks like Hurley from Lost.  And what is with the lead singer looking up his nose?  Who is he singing to in that terribly uncomfortable position?  (and how freaky is it that the new lead singer of Journey sounds EXACTLY like Steve Perry, and yet is a small dude from the Phillipines?  He's really pretty awesome.  YouTube, the next Monster.com.)

Incidentally, I have a theory about this video.  I think it is one of those dream sequences they used to have in old 80's movies where the lead character would drift off into his thoughts and start day-dreaming about Molly Ringwald and how hot it was going to be when they got together when he wasn't busy locking his old girlfriend outside of his bedroom while simultaneously getting her hair caught in his door and causing her to ultimately make-out with Anthony Michael Hall.  Except I think this guy was actually at the Prom when he started day-dreaming.  Why he hasn't got any girls in his dream is a mystery to me.

I had also promised a post about my office, but that is going to wait for Sunday.  Turns out Manager Mom is taking a page from Mrs. G. and all of us bloggers out there are going to post together, all over the place. Consider it our version of a team building exercise.

Hopefully the pictures will not reveal the true nature of my office, what with the DQ bags in the trash, and me sitting in the big black chair reading about "Swingtown" on TWOP.

So check back Sunday for pictures of the Brain Factory, or what I like to call "Where the Magic Happens."  Or "the Hollow Mountain." You have no idea how much I want a Hollow Mountain lair.  There generally is not a box to check for "Evil Overlord Hollow Mountain" when you are searching the real estate listings.  But there SHOULD BE.

Miscellaneous Tuesday, How I Love Tiffany's and The Saga of Paco

This would be what I have been working on.  Because it is going to be finished by next week, by God. 

Also, the Tiffany's bag contained part of my anniversary gift from El Jefe, which was a lovely crystal heart on a silver chain, from the Elsa Peretti line.  (15 years is crystal, you know.)  There was a big hullabaloo with shipping, and the crystal heart part did not arrive on the actual anniversary day. 

Yes, I realize I could benefit from some moisturizer.

But Tiffany's made it right, and gave me these as a "We are so sorry for messing up your big day," gift:

(Hey Ma!  Check out the clean ears! And yes, that is pretty damn close to what my actual hair color is.  It is THAT bright.)

The lovely sterling silver heart earrings are from the same line as the necklace, and to be given a $200 free gift in apology was pretty damn nice of them.  I am thinking that I am going to be a customer for life.  (This is my first Tiffany jewelry, and nothing says "I love you" and "Ah, this day has gotten so much better" than a little blue box with a white bow.  As obnoxious and entitled as that sounds, it is SO TRUE.)

And I would like to end this post with my favorite line of cards right now - The Paco Collection from Hallmark Fresh Ink.  What the hell is up with charging extra for square cards, anyway?  (I apologize for the flashes - my scanner has gone kaput.)  Click on the cards for the big version if you are so inclined.

Paco #1, The Original:

Inside it says "Birthday or not, do not go with Paco."

We then encounter Paco again.  This time with actual glitter.

Inside they implore you:  "Don't disappoint Paco!  Dance!"

Paco's final appearance in the cards is difficult for Paco:

  

The inside?  A simple "Happy Birthday."

I can't tell you how much I love these cards.  I am thinking of framing them and putting them in my office. 

For tomorrow, a photo essay on the space where all the magic happens: my office. 

For this weekend:  Larue reviews "The Lost Boys."  Complete with gratuitous shots of Kiefer Sutherland and Jason Patric and LOTS of links to the soundtrack.  Also included:  "Mullets in the Movie - A Retrospective."

Use #103 For Compressed Air

Getting those pesky little hairs out of your bra after a haircut.

It can also give you a bit of a thrill.  If your life is dull and such.

If I had a million dollars

(I want to say thanks to those who responded about the cell phone.  I will talk more on that tomorrow.)

Hey!  Guess what!  I have a new friend and she is going to give me a part of her inheritance!  Here is a map of where she is from:

Ok, she isn't actually an "Ivoren" but is instead from Sierra Leone.  Her name is Lian Ali and she is an orphan.  She was in University studying Medicine when her father died.  Then, tragedy upon tragedy, well, I'll let her tell it:  "The death of my late father gave my mother serious intensive illness killed her n few month after my late fathers death."  Which really sucks, you know?

Anyway, her father left her a lot of money:  "My Father die 3years ago and left me and mother with inheritance worth 14.500,000.00 US dollars (Fourteen point five million us Million dollars)."  I like how she spelled out the 14 POINT 5 million for me.  I know her first language isn't English, and it was nice of her to make sure that nothing got lost in translation.

Turns out she can't trust any of her relatives, either.  Especially her uncle.  She said "i am warned not to trust him or any of the family member because the death of my late father lays on his fortune and it is masterminded to them and they may also kill me" all of which her mother told her from her deathbed.  So much to handle for one so young.

So for now she is staying at her Great-Grandmother's house in Sierra Leone.  And she needs my help to get her inheritance and come to America.  "Though I have not meet with you before this introduction neither you know me but I believe that; one has to risk confiding in succeed sometimes in life."  I totally get this.  Sometimes you just have to trust a stranger in order to move forward in your life.  The Circle of Life and Leap of Faith and all that.

I mean, she needs my commit zeal!  She is entrusting me with this most important of jobs.  Although I believe she did get a bit confused, and thought I was a man.  My last name is unusual, I can see how she might be confused.  "But my problem is that I need the assistance of a reliable and responsible man in your country to assist me retrieve this consignment fund safely to invest the money in your country under a mutual agreement without the concept of my fathers relative or any third party. "

And it would appear that we would need to be married for this all to work out:  "I can send you the proves of this consignment if you promise to help me sincerely in your heart and that you will take good care of me when i get married to you not. But my coming to your country will be after the transfer of our consignment fund to your country is successfully or anyhow you decide to assist me on that. Please help me because my heart feel good with you and i want to be your future partner, for better or worse."  Which, you know, is fortuitous now that California has legalized gay marriage.  However, this is a lot to think about and I really don't want to be a bigamist to poor El Jefe.  But hey!  We could join the FLDS and then El Jefe could marry her!  And I would get a kickin' new hairstyle and still be able to make my own clothes.  This will require some thought.  I mean, Texas is nice, but it gets awfully hot there.

When you get right down to it, all my buddy Lian really wants is to be loved:  "I have the great pleasure in confiding this matter to you for help if you can honor my mail as i honor you and give me your sincere love and kindness to me regarding my request and myself."  And what is wrong with that?  Everyone wants to be loved.  And she wants someone to help her with her money and protect her from her evil relatives.  I can get behind that.

And who knows?  I could help her with her English, and we could go shoe shopping together with her inheritance, and keep her safe from potential masterminded plots to kill her.  It could be a win-win for everyone.

In closing, I will paraphrase from her detailed letter:  "I hope you will honor my post and reply with your comments, May almighty be with you (amen). "

Happy Weekend to You: Random Thoughts Edition

Guess what I saw today at the Orpheum Theatre in Minneapolis?  Go on, guess! 

Fine.  No need to be snippy about it.  I saw "Spamalot."  And it was FUNNY.  And BAWDY.  And there was singing and dancing and British Humor, and the people in front of us at the THEATRE (note the pretentious RE spelling at the end) wearing TYE-DYE and HARLEY DO-RAGS.  It was terribly fun.

But you see, I didn't want to go.  Well, I did, but I didn't.  I have a HORRIBLE habit of planning get-togethers, or agreeing to go to places that I am legitimately excited about, and then at the last minute not wanting to go.  Because the effort is too great, or I'm tired, or whatever.  Wah, I know.  The Chick likes to say, "Oh, your diamond shoes are too tight.  I feel for you."  So I am attempting to get over this problem.  Maybe I am a reverse agoraphobic.  Who knows, really.

But I finished sewing a project that has taken since Christmas (or what feels like the beginning of time) to complete, and it finally left my house on Thursday and there was much cheering, and re-arranging of the office, and happiness, and then my body just GAVE UP.  It said to me, "Larue, listen up.  You have been stressing about this shiny object for months and we just can't have that.  So we are going to refuse to move any muscles, or stay awake until we feel you are properly rested.  Which could take up to a week, so get comfy."  And thus I fell asleep in less than 2 seconds last night.  Although I was almost asleep a second prior to that, but El Jefe leaned over and said, "Are you awake?" at which point I said, "AARRGGHHH!  I am SO TIRED and AM TRYING TO FALL ASLEEP!  WHAT DO YOU WANT?"  And he said, "Nothing."  And two seconds later I fell asleep. 

I asked him today what he had wanted to tell me, and he said, "Oh, probably something really important, but I don't remember now, so its too bad for you!"  Because he is like that.

And thus the Dreaded Disease has been occupying my waking moments in terms of excessive body fatigue and irritability.  I swear TO GOD if S had come out of her room one last time last night to show me something, or ask a question she already knew the answer to (SO infuriating), or to touch me in some way I was going to lose my mind.  It was as if every little nerve ending was lit up and ready to explode.  Of course this is when the children choose to give me some sweet gift that then makes me feel like a complete shit of a mother for trying to come up with ways to send them to British Boarding School.  It always happens that way.

Next was the fact that one of my favorite houses is up for sale and I refuse to get any hopes up or even speak of it other than briefly here because it NEVER ends well and I am trying this new thing where I am not being whiny about housing.  (Its not going very well though.  Please knock on some wood, say a rosary, or whatever it is you do for good luck.  I surely could use it.)

And lastly, I have RUN OUT OF THINGS TO BEAD ON MY CURRENT PROJECTS.  Which means, people, that I actually have to sew the suckers together now.  And find a new project to bead.  Which requires thought, planning and effort.  Of which I have little of right now.  (See previous statement about my body deciding to FALL OUT of the march of my life right now.  Slacker that it is.)  And so tomorrow is cleaning day for house selling, sewing day for items now so completely encrusted in beads that they stand up on their own, and probably walking around singing, "The Song that Goes Like This."  And possibly making something with elderberries.  But no hamsters.  That's just gross.

Oooh! Shiny!

(Now with pictures!)

I like to embellish things.  This holds true in many facets of my life, not just the one that involves hours of hand-beading.  Although there are those who say that I have never met a fabric I couldn't add something to.  And they would be correct.

Life, like fabric, just looks a little brighter with a bit of sparkle.  A dash of bling.  A little something EXTRA.  Its like extra cheese on your salad at Olive Garden.  IT'S JUST BETTER.

 

This is not to say that I believe in lying, because I don't.  Just ask my children.  They know that even if they have screwed up royally and are going to be grounded till the end of time, it is far better to tell the truth about said screw-up than it is to lie about it.  Because if you lie about it?  #1 - I will find out.  I went to school to be an interrogator and I will know.  I always do.  #2 - The punishment will be twice as severe.  You're going to be grounded till the end of time?  Great.  Why don't you not plan on watching TV, playing the computer, etc.  as well.  And picking up dog poop in the yard for extra measure.  This is how serious I am about lying.

But embellishment, in the right context, is different.  Sometimes a story sounds better with an extra comment - perhaps something you wish you had said or did at the time.  As long as this is a story about YOU, or something that is being fictionalized so as to protect the innocent, as well as your ass.  You should not be embellishing something about another person that you claim to be true.  And as long as people know that said stories are occasionally embellished.  One doesn't want to be all James Frey and deceive the masses and Oprah.  That's a sure-fire way to lose your publishing contract.

That said, I try very hard not to embellish stories here at the blog.  Quite often my life is interesting enough that it needs no embellishment.  Certainly S provides me with plenty of fodder for discussion.  (And OH the THINGS she has DONE lately that are still too fresh to blog about.  Trust me, they are good.)  Truth, as they say, is usually stranger than fiction.  And often more interesting. 

But I so like life better with embellishment.  I like to add pearls and beads to fabrics.  I like to find just the right picture to hang in the hallway.  I have been known to spend hours, months, YEARS, looking for the perfect curtains.  And I don't usually leave Joann Fabrics without some sort of trim for something I am working on. 

However, this needs to be done sparingly.  In writing and in life.  Too much embellishment in writing and you run the risk of having all your characters talking in Tom Swifteys.  Too little and you are aping Hemingway.  (And as much as I love Hemingway, I could never follow his dialogue - without the occasional He Said, She Said it is hard to know who is saying what.) 

In life one needs to avoid what I call the "Versailles Syndrome" otherwise known as "More is never enough!  Throw something else at it and see if it sticks!"  Opulence is NOT embellishment.  And the more there is, the less likely it is that you would appreciate all of it.  You simply wouldn't have the time.  Because if you are going to embellish something you SHOULD appreciate it.  It should have a purpose, and a function, and the item (whether literature, clothing or life) should be BETTER for it.  Like the previously mentioned Olive Garden Salad. 

 

You must also be able to take criticism of your embellishments.  This weekend as I did the Larue Family Tour of Cemeteries, I decided to add some more beads to my trim for one of the gowns I am completing.  I had gotten several small leaves done when I showed it to my Aunt and asked her opinion.  She frowned and said, "I don't think it looks elegant enough to coordinate with the other embellishment.  I would do X, Y, Z." 

 

I looked at the design and knew that she was right.  And ripped out the new work I had just completed and went with her suggestion.  It was exactly what was needed.  Not any more, and not any less. 

Embellishment is about knowing when to stop.  And this post today?  Is done.

What's New With You?

Where have you been, you're thinking?  Don't you take this blogging thing seriously? 

Well, yes I do, but I have actually been busy IRL (in real life for those of you who don't speak computer) and been a little distracted.  Finishing up some FABULOUS sewing projects, of which pictures will be posted sometime this afternoon/evening.  Come back and check them out.  I am rather proud of the excessive hand-beading, actually.

Last thought - for days now that Yahoo commercial has been in my head.  You know, the one that goes "YAHOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO-O-OOOOOOOOOOOO." 

Turns out that I am substituting that inflection for my name as well in my head.  Thus it sounds like:  "LARUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUU-U-UUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUE."

My head is a strange place indeed.

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. 

Animals and Babies: An Essay on Preparing for Parenthood

Does anyone other than me hate it when you hit your foot on the power cord before saving your witty and charming post and the computer loses the entire thing?  Just me?  OK, then.

The other day over at Mrs. G's Blog, there was a post offering advice to a lovely soon-to-be mother.  The advice was excellent, and the commenters got in on the action, offering great bits of advice to this soon-to-be sleep-deprived woman.

This got me thinking about when I was pregnant (back in the day) and all the advice I was given.  Some of it was really practical (You will NEVER have enough onesies.) and some of it seemed a little extreme at the time (Who cares if your Girl Child is wearing boy's clothes?  At least they will be clean!).  But the piece of advice that has stuck with me was that having a pet ahead of time will prepare you for having a baby.

(Not paying attention at ALL.)

I call bullshit on this one, for the most part.  Let's run down a list of possible pets, shall we?

(Noisy, don't clean up after themselves.)

Parakeet, or other bird-like creature.  Since babies don't come with claws this doesn't really seem that practical, although the screeching at random times and for extended lengths could be considered as a reasonable facsimile.

(Technically a drawing, not a photo)

A fish, or a tank of fish.  Normally all one needs to do with fish is to periodically filter their water, feed them daily, and remove the dead ones after they try to kill each other.  Since babies rarely participate in extreme sports, or fights to the death, this would seem to also not apply.  (Although cleaning the fish tank is not unlike cleaning the Diaper Genie.  Both can smell equally as bad, and are SO MUCH BETTER for having been cleaned.)

(Ick.  Just ick.)

Reptiles.  I will NOT be discussing reptiles today, as I hate them with the heat of a thousand suns.  I would also then be freaking out and looking under my desk for the nonexistent snake that would bite me, wind itself around my body, and then my family wouldn't find me for 3 days until the smell had seeped out from under the door of my office and my children would need years of therapy.  So NO SNAKES.  Also, no sharks.  I HATE sharks.  There will be no keeping of sharks as pets.

(I don't care how cute it is.  Its still a rodent.)

Bunnies, gerbils, hamsters, rats (shudder), guinea pigs and other small hairy creatures that are not typically domesticated.  Not really applicable unless you are planning on putting your baby in wood chips, and really, that shouldn't happen till they are at least old enough to clean them themselves.  (See Birds above for claw issues.)

(Will choke a bitch.)

Exotic animals.  Your llama, monkey, lion, tiger, bear, oh my.  If you are keeping an exotic animal you are INSANE.  Bears will cut you.  Lions will eat you.  I am not sure what llamas will do to you, but it most likely will not be pretty.  And I am saying right now that trying to raise one of them as a baby is NOT the best way to try to experience parenthood.  Trust me.

(A toy, yes.  Do you really think everyone on the farm was going to come together for one big picture?)

Farm animals.  I really don't feel that horses, cows, chickens, pigs, etc. are that comparable to small humans.  If you want to prove me wrong, feel free.  But I think the poop cleaning involved may be the closest in terms of the total amount of actual diapers changed over the lifetime of a human child.

OK, OK, wise ass, you are saying.  What about a dog?

(AWWWW.)

I was getting to that next.  If you really want an animal that is as close as possible to raising a human baby, you should have a dog, from puppy hood.  A puppy whines, cries, howls, pees everywhere, poops everywhere, needs to be fed a lot, wakes you up in the middle of the night so it can go outside and pee and poop (unlike the human child who usually waits till age 2-3 to pee outside) and generally behaves not unlike a baby.  It also requires a lot of love, patience, time, attention, and discipline.  Otherwise it will pee/chew/bite/poop/drool on something that you care about.  Like your expensive rug, or your Prada shoes.

The difference is that within 2 years your dog will be peeing without your help, behaving itself (with luck and training) and no longer needing to go out at night.  (As per Wikipedia, the 1st year in a dog's life equals 1 human year and each year after that is 7 years.)  Your baby won't be doing this for quite some time.  And behaving itself is rather random - it could be years - nay, decades - before your baby learns to behave itself.  After all, have YOU learned to behave yourself?

I guess the long-winded lesson here is that a dog is most likely the best bet in trying to compare what having a human infant is like.  And quite often they show jealousy when a baby is brought home, so it will also teach you about sibling rivalry before the 2nd baby comes along.  Its a win-win, really.

(Filled with bershon.)

There is one animal that is NOT a good example of a baby and that is a cat.  People might think that having a cat (even a kitten) is the same, but it is not.  Cats seem to be litter-trained since birth.  They have no real need for you other than for food, water, and changing the litter box, and to be perfectly honest, they wouldn't really care if you hired someone else to do that.

Cats do their own thing.  They do what they want, when they want it.  They do not come when called.  They could care less about any of your needs.  They might feel snuggly and lovable, and they might also feel like thwapping you in the head with a paw when you walk by.  They can be completely docile, and then the next minute be so inexplicably naughty that you wonder to yourself, "What the hell?  When did you start showing an interest in that computer cable/outlet/Grandma's inherited vase/vintage linens/plant/brand new Coach briefcase?"  They leave fur everywhere and when presented with visiting company, are just as likely to ignore them as they are to expose their backside and start grooming themselves there. 

In regards to humans, cats are teenagers.  Unaware, loafing, living off of Mom and Dad till they are 50, obnoxious teenagers.  And if you want to see what it is like to have a teenager, buy a cat.  Just make sure to randomly throw money at it that it will chew on/shred, and buy it lots of extra cat treats.  And pay for cat insurance.  And let it talk on the phone.  It will stay up late at night, howling, all on its own.  You will be amazed at the similarities.

So to sum up (too late), animals that are not acceptable for comparing with babies:  Farm animals, exotic animals, rodents/bunnies/4 legged hairy things, fish (NO SHARKS), reptiles (la la la, I can't hear you), and birds. 

Animals that will give you a reasonable expectation of parenthood:  Dogs for babies, cats for teenagers.

But truthfully, the best thing to prepare you for babies is this:

Don't you just want to kiss those little chubby cheeks?  Well, you can't, he's my nephew.  Find your own.

Good luck, all you parents to be!