The Chick and Chesty Show

Intermission

The Chick and Chesty Show is going on hiatus for the summer.

We will return Fall 2008 with the Pulitzer Winning content you have grown to love.

See you then.

All About Men: The Clooney Factor

The Chick is still in SISSY SMALL FONT.  Chesty is still in BOLD CONFIDENT FONT.  Hee.

Last week, Chesty called me with news I TOTALLY already knew about.  I swear, I think she thinks I live in a cave with no access to the outside world, just because I don't have the Interwebs at my house.  (You are the only person left in the WORLD that doesn't have an Internet connection at home.  Except maybe for the Amish.  And you wouldn't look good in a bonnet, is what I am saying.)  That's what WORK is for - aimlessly trolling the Web for useless bits of information.  Like the piece of information she called to share:

George Clooney is back on the market.  Whoopty-friggin'-do. (SOME women would have been thrilled by this news.)

As she gleefully informed of his break-up with what's-her-toes (you know, the girl from Fear Factor who became famous for drinking a cow-heart frappe or something), I realized that she assumed Mr. Clooney was one of my Future Husbands.  Um, no.  No he most certainly is NOT.  Here's why:

George Clooney has stated innumerous times that he will never ever ever ever marry.  Then, he has gone on to prove his statement by dating and breaking up with half the women in the Northern Hemisphere.  Tremble, Australia, I think you're next.  (I think he has already been there.  Although Antarctica seems to currently be Clooney-free.  Ooh!  And Iceland!)

Why on EARTH would I want to date a man who would tell me, at the onset of our relationship, "Listen, you're fun and I love you and all that, but please remember I'm going to dump you in a year to six months.  Now, how about we fly to my villa in Italy and make wild monkey love?" (Maybe it is because I am an Olde Married Lady, but I think the occasional bout of wild monkey love in a villa in Italy on the frickin shores of Lake Como might possibly be worth it.  Ya know?)

I say, no thank you, Clooney.  (Apparently you don't know.)  You may be pretty, and smart, and gorgeous, and rich, and handsome, and funny, and REALLY SMOKIN' HOT (HELLO!), but you can never have me (I know, I can feel his pain all the way here in Omaha.) (I sense a dsturbance in the force.).

In short, George Clooney is not one of my Future Husbands, because he won't ever be anyone's husband, future or otherwise.  And ladies?  If you think all he needs is the Right Woman, and you are that Right Woman, and when he meets you he will have a Complete Change Of Heart, you are sadly deluded.  And if you are that misguided and gullible, I have some land in a Florida swamp I'd love to sell you.

(This is exactly what each of his dates is thinking - that they will be the one.  And you know why???  Because of the Warren Beatty factor.  If Beatty, known Lothario and confirmed bachelor can settle down with Annette Benning, produce 4 children and still be happily married, women think it is possible for the Clooninator.  I realize that Warren never announced to others that he wouldn't get married, and that he actually bought his last home before Annette because it had a space for a nursery in it, but most people DON'T KNOW THIS.  They just think - hey!  Warren changed his mind!  So will George!  And who is to say he won't?  Not for me anyway, being married, and actually not interested in dating him either, provided I was actually single.  But that has everything to do with me thinking he is an asshole, and nothing to do with him refusing to get married.  Plus - the man had a pig for a pet.  That is just too weird, even for me.

Men I would never date?  Colin Farrell.  Even though he is cleaned up and has a son he clearly adores, and seems like a fun and nice fellow, I just can't get over the skeeze of yesteryear.)

But do you know who IS one of my Future Husbands?  Scott Speedman.  I keep seeing him in those freaky trailers for "The Strangers," and he is so hot, I'd gladly be chased around by an axe-wielding, psychotic, dolly-mask-wearing trio just to have smoochies with him.  Yum yum. 

(Just doesn't do it for me.  But do you know who I did find oddly attractive?  Joel Madden from Good Charlotte.  And only in his "Dance Floor Anthem" video.  I don't know why.  It was a fleeting attraction that has thankfully passed.  I mean, Hillary Duff and Nicole Ritchie?  No thank you.)

While we're on the subject of men I find attractive, I have an weird confession to make - you know who I think is kind of awesome?  In a raspy voiced/long-haired/dangerous and sleazy/slightly dirty way?  Michael Wincott - the deep and husky voiced villain from "The Crow," "the Conte of Monte Cristo," "Metro," and the slightly less villainous leader in "Alien 4."

What can I say?  I like a man with a sexy voice.  And his is the ultimate in sexy voices EVER. (What about your confession to liking Pete Wenz of Fall Out Boy for about 5 seconds?  Huh?)

(My secret confession as to final man I like is Bruce Willis.  Sure, he is a Republican.  Yes, he seems to have a strange relationship with his ex and her husband.  Although good for them in being willing to get along for the Sake of the Children.  But ever since he was David Addison at the Moonlighting Agency I have had a soft spot in my heart for him.  I don't care if he is 50-ish.  I still adore him.  I just wish he would stop dating 20 year olds.)

And you?  Who do you love?  And would you go to Lake Como with The Clooney?

This Weekend Only: Men We Wouldn't Date

Chesty here - check back this weekend for our post on men we wouldn't date.  And men we were oddly attracted to for only one moment.  And men we wouldn't marry.  And other men.  Just because.

Dancing 101: The Chilean Rainbow

Hello - Chesty here.  Hey, and me, too! (says The Chick)

It is a known fact that The Chick is an excellent dancer.  Awww, you're making me blush!  I have photographic evidence dating back many years to prove this.  Dammit, I thought I burned those pictures...  How do I know this?  Well, for the simple fact that The Chick can actually do RECOGNIZABLE DANCE MOVES.  It's true, I am the master.

The Mashed Potato?  Check.  The M.C. Hammer dance?  Check.  Ooo, I like that one - it's fun and stompy.  But I hate the pants.  The Twist, Macarena, Electric Slide, The Swing, Popping (and Locking), Disco, Bunny Hop, The Cabbage Patch, The Running Man, The Robot, The Pony, The Time Warp, The Hustle, and the Damn Hokey Pokey.  She can do it all.

Err, actually?  I can't do the Electric Slide.  YOU can do the Slide, Chesty, and have taught me the steps approximately one billion times, but yet... I still can't do it.  It's like my brain blocks it out.  Slide-blockage, as it were.

I have seen it with my own eyes.  I have even seen her whip out a little Thriller action and some mocking of Molly Ringwald from "Breakfast Club."  She was also on the Dance Line in high school, and helped them win the National Championships.  It was all me, baby!  They won because of ME!!!  The Chick can groove.  And shake it.  Don't forget, I can shake it, too.

And then there is me.  I like to think that I have rhythm.  In a "hey you didn't slam into anyone while dancing and knock them over" kind of way.  I can do an excellent Belinda Carlisle impression.  And I am a bit above the Flail and Wail kind of dancing.  And I can do The Swim like nobody's business.  You're too modest.  Your Electric Slide moves ROCK THE HOUSE. 

But on the dance floor, I do not excel.  I enjoy myself, I don't offend or injure others, but others do not stand back in wonder as I shake my groove thang.  Which is a Good Thing.  Also?  You are not the performing monkey.  That would be me.  You, my friend, are the organ-grinder.

This is the opposite of The Chick.  I have seen others actually draw attention to her superior dance moves.  Are you sure they weren't just pointing and laughing?  I have seen her do a dance where I can say, "Hey!  If that was in Wikipedia it would be labeled under 'The Charleston.'"  Yup, I know how to Charleston - a talent many are lacking, sadly.  She has mad skillz.  And I'd teach you, but I'd have to charge.  Yo.

The Chick has a signature dance, which apparently has some well known name, but which El Jefe and I call "The Chilean Rainbow."  It's really less of a signature, and more of something I do to entertain the masses.  On Margarita night at the Chesty Home, The Chick will often dance for us, and this is of course the most requested dance.  That and the Beyonce' booty-shake - which I can only do after about 3 El Jefe Margaritas.  It just cracks my shit right up.

Then several years ago El Jefe and I were watching "Deuce Bigelow European Gigolo" (I don't know why...) (me neither...) and suddenly we both started laughing so hard we had to pause the movie.  The "Man-Whores" were discussing various sexual techniques, and then they would go up on stage and perform dances (and/or the techniques which luckily we didn't have to watch) and one of them went up and did a little dance called "The Chilean Rainbow."  Why Chilean?  The world may never know.

And it was The Chick's dance.  Unfortunately there are no links on You Tube to this particular dance.  Luckily for YOU, The Reader, The Chick has agreed to a little instructional photo essay on how to properly do the "Chilean Rainbow."  However, I'm not going to charge you for it.  But if it were my Milkshake, then I simply WOULD have to charge.  Clearly.  Dur.

(Incidentally, if you save the pictures and click through them very quickly, it is a little like a flip-book of the dance.  Fun for everyone.)

THE CHILEAN RAINBOW AS DEMONSTRATED BY THE CHICK:

1.  Get in the "Ready" position.  It's best if you yell out, "Ready!"

 

2.  Get in the "OK" position.  And you should yell, "Okay" here.

3.  Get in the "squat" position.  Note the hyper-extension of my elbow.  Sweet.

(as seen from the side)  Yup, I'm sucking in my ass in this picture.

4.  Now swing your other arm to the right, in a winding up motion.  No, not winding, SPANKING.

5.  Then swing the same arm to the left, in a "spanking motion."  AKA, Smack that ass.

(as seen from the side)

6.  Then swing your hand back to the right again.  Give that ass another firm smack.

7.  Repeat.  Repeat.  Repeat.  Until someone tells you to stop.

I have seen a variation on this where the left hand is a fist, rather than out front in the "stop" position.  I believe this is an individual choice as to personal preference.

Because the Chick has agreed to this photo essay, she has the right to choose an equally embarrassing photo montage of me to show all of you in the future.  And trust me, I will.  Bwahahaha!!!  Of course we also may have to do some follow-up photo essays of other dance moves if you, THE PUBLIC, cry out for more.

(Start crying.)  (You could snivel, too.)

 

 

Music & Lyrics: Chick & Chesty Version

Today Chesty will be portrayed by the BOLD FONT.  The Chick will be in little sissy REGULAR FONT.  Hee.  (Also - dance post coming this evening!)

CHESTY:  As anyone who has visited my blog knows (and that should be all of you because I am filled with confidence), I have this little thing for misheard lyrics.  I love them because they amuse me so.  I mean, "You might as well face it, you're a dick with a glove?"  CLASSIC.  What could be better?

CHICK:  I, too, enjoy the misheard lyric.  In fact, I actually own an entire BOOK of them, called (appropriately enough) "'Scuse Me While I Kiss This Guy: And Other Misheard Lyrics," by Gavin Edwards.

Did you know that there's a NAME for misheard lyrics?  They're called mondegreens – read the book for a detailed description of why.  It's too long and boring to recount here in our fascinating and fast-paced blog entry.

CHESTY:  However, there have been moments where I have listened to songs on the radio and sang along, thinking to myself "Good Lord, I must be getting the lyrics wrong.  Who else would sing 'I'm just a squirrel trying to find a nut to make you move your butt?' Obviously I am hearing this wrong."  And yet, often enough, I find that the song in question does indeed have the odd lyrics I was singing. 

CHICK:  Actually, Chesty, it's: "I'm just a squirrel, looking for a nut, so move your butt…"  which, of course, makes SO MUCH MORE SENSE.  C&C Music Factory did have some lovely, thought-provoking lyrics, no?

Dance music in general produces some of the best WTF? lyrics out there, like "KLF is gonna rock you!  (Agents of muumuu…)  It's three A.M. eternal ohhhwohwoh."

Huh?  Who is KLF, and why are they the Agents of muumuu?  Do they love muumuus?  Are they trying to teach the world to wear muumuus?  I NEED TO KNOW.

Oops.  Misheard lyric announcement.  Apparently, they are saying Ancients of Mu Mu, which is the name of the fictional conspiratorial group from "The Illuminatus Trilogy."  Of course.  And please don't forget, they are JUSTIFIED as well as ANCIENT.  Duh.

And thank you, Wikipedia, for that bit of knowledge.

CHESTY:  There are some bands where I just don't care how odd the lyrics are because I love them too much.  For instance - Wham!, Sarah MacLachlan, Sting both with and without The Police, The Clash, etc.  And Duran Duran goes without saying - their entire oeuvre belongs in the Misheard Lyrics section of the blog.  (And what is with the bellhop in the middle of the dessert in that one video?)

CHICK:  Ahh, you are referring to the classic, "Union of the Snake."  And what, pray tell IS a Union of the Snake?  Is it a secret society?  Is it a code name for the Ruskies – like everything else was in the 80's?  Let's defer once again to the Source Of All Knowledge (Wikipedia).

Oh.  Hmm.  Apparently it's about tantric sex.  Well, isn't that interesting?  Moving on.

CHESTY:  Duran Duran singing about sex?  So surprising!  But for some songs and artists, there is just no excuse.  My personal all-time least favorite song?  "The Trees" by Rush.  Now, El Jefe is a HUGE Rush fan.  And I really don't have any problems with most of the songs by Rush.  But this song just annoys the hell out of me and seems like it could have been written by a room full of 3rd graders.  Let's revisit some of the lyrics:

 

"There is unrest in the forest

There is trouble with the trees

For the maples want more sunlight

And the oaks ignore their pleas."

CHICK:  Damn those oaks and their conflict-avoidance issues!  What does a maple have to do to get some respect around here?

I like their song about "philosophers and ploughmen."  Could they get anymore pretentious if they tried?

CHESTY:  I realize that this is commentary on society and its norms, but THEY ARE TREES, PEOPLE.  Not the UK and Russia.  Maybe I just don't like social justice songs.  Maybe it is because Getty Lee looks like Tina Fey to me.  I JUST DON'T KNOW.

 

CHICK:  HE TOTALLY DOES!  And dude, what is up with that hair?  Two words for you, Great. Clips.

CHESTY:  Another song that bothers me is "Another Night Another Dream" by La Bouche (which means mouth in French - thank you High School French Class!).  My issue here is not necessarily the insipid lyrics; it's the way it is sung.  

They start out with a perfectly lovely young lady singing about how when she dreams at night she dreams about her man and how it is true love.  This is quite sweet.  Then they have someone who sounds like my Uncle Carmichael from the Sopranos sing back to her, creepily:  "Just another night, another vision of love, you feel joy, you feel pain, 'cause nothing will be the same, Just another night is all that it takes to understand the difference between lovers and fakes."  Ok, I don't have an Uncle Carmichael, but that would be what he would sound like.

But then!  Suddenly!  Uncle Carmichael turns into my Yiddish Grandmother from Long Island.  "I TAWK, TAWK, I TAWK to you."  What the?  (Ok, already, I also don't have a Yiddish Grandmother.  So sue me for making a point here.)  Then the sweet young thing who doesn't realize she is dating a guy with potential borderline personality disorder sings her sweet song again.  It's enough to make a girl run right into the arms of Weird Al Yankovic, is what I am saying.

CHICK:  I always thought Uncle Carmichael was saying "lovers and pain," which gives a WHOLE nother meaning to the song.  Bondage-a-go-go, anyone?

I hated that song in my youth, and would hide in the dance club bathroom whenever it came on.  It gave the boys too many ideas about sex, and dreams, and dreams about sex, and sneaking into my room to leave me subliminal messages about sex.  Ugh.

CHESTY:  But those are my main two obnoxious songs that I can immediately think of.  Chick?  What say you?

CHICK:  I say, "More wine for the Son of Poseidon!"

Also?  I say that my least favorite song right now – the one that is on a permanent loop in the soundtrack of my brain – is "I'm not gonna write you a love song…"

Why not?  Geez, is it too much to ask that you do your freakin' job as a songwriter and, oh-I-don't-know, WRITE A FREAKIN' LOVE SONG?????  The nerve of some people.

The song lyrics I LOVE, and that Chesty absolutely hates (HATES), are the ones to "Feed The World."  Do they know it's Christmas time at all?  And, thank God tonight it's them, instead of you.  Sing it, Bono! (Good GOD I hate that song.  See my Christmas post this year at my personal blog for more on this topic.)

As for there not being snow in Africa this Christmas?  What about on the mountain tops?  There are mountains in Africa – I learned about them in seventh grade Geography class.  So what gives with the tops of those mountains?  It isn't hot enough in Africa to melt THAT snow.  So technically, yes, there WILL be snow in Africa this Christmas, and pretty much every Christmas thereafter.  (OK, then why do they always show the pictures of the DESERT in that video?)

Unless the global warming gets worse.  But that's a post for a different day. And a different blog.  Moving on. (Please do.  I SO hate that song.)

If I love "Feed The World,"  I absolutely HATE "We Are The World."  We are sooooo not the ones to make a bright day, so let's start giving.  Granted there is a choice we're making, and perhaps we ARE saving our own lives, but UGH.  (BRIGHTER day, not bright.  I remember this because I was forced to sing this in public, at a choir concert.  I can't remember who had the Michael Jackson parts, but he was cool back then.  I think the choir teacher even wanted us to wear only one glove each.  She was a little cracked.)  What an annoying, full-of-yourself song.  And Cindy Lauper?  For the love of God, TAKE IT DOWN A NOTCH.

CHESTY:  Indeed.  I far prefer Jimmy Kimmel's version of this song.  Josh Groban was an inspired choice. 

And what songs bug YOU, the reader?  Do share!  We love hearing from you.

We are Slackers, Yes we are!

Chesty here. 

We are complete slackers.  I freely admit it.  I have been busy sewing and working and single parenting this week to two hormonal girls while El Jefe gallivants around Florida claiming he is "working" when I swear I have heard those Damned Cheerful Disney people in the background and the Chick has been doing her radio and TV thing in additional to doing her real estate thang and hanging with visiting babies.  Clearly we haven't given any thoughts to the wants and needs of all of you.  We've been selfishly keeping all of our fun ideas, commentary and general effervescent selves away from all of you.  And it has been wrong of us, and we are sorry.

SO!  In honor of all of you, we are going to have a double weekend post.  The first is in regards to how we really feel about song lyrics (Duran Duran I am looking at YOU), how George Michael didn't even look like himself (much less sound like himself) on the American Idol Final (ok, the Chick really doesn't care about that, but I do!  Say no to Botox, George!) and FINALLY the cherry on the top of the sundae, the icing on the cake, the Ginger to your Fred Astaire:  DANCE LESSONS FROM THE CHICK.  (But she will NOT be your Private Dancer, so get that right out of your head right now!)  With pictures and everything.  It will be SO worth you checking the blog this weekend.  I promise. 

My Country Tis Of Thee

The part of the Chick today will be played by Regular Type Font.  The part of Chesty today will be played by Italicized Type Font.  Just so you know.

Every year, on January 27th, millions of people across the globe celebrate the birth of The Chick - often with song, interpretive dance, and the occasional puppet show.  And, of course, with gifts; many of them shiny.

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(It is very easy to buy the Chick gifts.  If they involve the words "cashmere," "shoes," "Posh Spice," "shiny," or "Australian Men," they are usually winners.   Especially if they actually CONTAIN Australian Men.)

This year for the birth of ME, Chesty gifted me with the most excellent book,"Wear More Cashmere."  It's all about bringing inexpensive luxury into your daily life, like dressing up for dinner at home or going in costume to the Ren Fest (an idea that Chesty and I clearly endorse).

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(If you are not dressing up in costume to attend the Ren Fest, you are not trying hard enough.  And you get better service, better deals, and quite often, better parking! And the Pickle Boys hit on you.  Although, thinking it over, that is not really a plus.)

My favorite idea from the book is Number 28:  "design your own family or personal crest, one that embodies the way you live your life."

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(So my family crest would be dipped in chocolate, then?)

Granted, I'm a MacDonald of Glen Coe, and we already have a family crest, a motto, a slogan, and enough tartans to costume a period drama.  But I didn't want some lame old crest that some dead dude made up in Ye Olden-e Times-e.  No.  I want a crest that truly represents me, The Chick, in all my glory.

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("would you be willin' to trade ALL the socks, from this day to that, for one chance, just one chance, to come back here and tell our enemies that they may take our socks, but they'll never take... OUR SHOES!!"...hee)

Then I asked myself, "Self, why stop there?"  Why only a crest?  (Indeed, why?)  Don't you need, don't you DESERVE more?  (Damn straight!)  I want a motto, a national anthem, a state bird, and my own gemstone.  (Right on, sister!)  In short, all the goodies you would get if you were a state or country.  (Represent!)  So I decided to create The People's Republic of Chick (catchy, yes?) and have my own national-type thingees.  Minus the drudgery that's associated with being a country - like politics and trade laws and war and dealing with America. (But don't you want your own private jet, like Air Force One?  And hot men in uniform to fly it?)

The People's Republic Of Chick:

1.  Crest - a red, high-heel shoe against a background of green $20 bills.

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2.  Motto - "If the shoe fits, buy it."

3. Bird - the pink flamingo

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4.  Gemstone - cubic zirconium.  Cheap and shiny, like me!

5.  National Anthem - Duran Duran's Union of the Snake.  The lyrics make no sense, and neither do I. (Is this the one with the bellhop in the desert and the models?  Or the one on the Pirate Ship with the models?  Or the other one with the models?)

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6.  Official Food - Totino's Party Pizza and salt-n-vinegar potato chips.  No redeeming nutritional value required.

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7.  Official Drink - Champagne.  Mere alcohol doesn't amuse me at all.

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8.  National Holidays - January 27th, the Birth of The Chick.  Also?  Whenever there's a particularly good sale going on.  All work-type activities will halt, while my citizens go shopping.

9.  National Past time - Shopping.  Dur.

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10. National Sport - Scoping out hot Australian men.   Extra points for smooching one.

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This is a good start, but I will see you one better, and create:

Isla de Chesty!

1.  Crest - a needle and thimble stuck atop a pile of Joann's coupons, and lots of melted chocolate.  (I say you still need to work in Dancing with the Stars somehow.)

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2.  Motto - "I can make that."

3.  Bird - The peacock - we need a well-dressed bird at Isla de Chesty.

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4.  Gemstone - Pearls - but NOT a pearl necklace.  Get your mind out of the gutter.

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5.  National Anthem - "If I Had a Million Dollars." But not a real green dress, that's cruel.  And haven't you always wanted a monkey?  (No, but I'll take the million.  Think of all the shoes I could buy!)

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6.  Official Food - Fine Belgian truffles, possibly deep-fried.  (With cheese.)

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7.  Official Drink - Root beer.  Caffeine and gluten-free.

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8.  National Holidays - December 17th, birthday of Chesty, the Day after Thanksgiving (National Sale Day!) and the Friday before Tax Day, when the Textile Center holds its big fabric garage sale. 

9.  National Past time - Hand beading.  It is just so very zen.

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10. National Sport - Competing to see who can use the most coupons at Joann's in one visit.  And possibly watching Clive Owen movies.  Maybe at the same time.  You don't know. (Oooo, or shopping with Clive at Joann Fabrics!  With coupons!  That would be AWESOME.)

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And what would YOU, the reader want for your country?

Hey Yoko! We're Not Splitting Up The Band!

Chesty:  Every person needs a side project.  “Duran Duran” helped spawn “PowerStation.”  Jack White of “The White Stripes” formed “The Raconteurs.”  Stephen King plays in the “Rock Bottom Remainders” when he isn’t busy creating genius on the pages of scary books in Barnes & Nobles worldwide.

Chick:  Stephen also wrote under another name – Richard Bachman – which means he had two, two, TWO side projects for the price of one.  Because he is AWESOME like that. 

Chesty:  The Cheap Chick and I decided that like the greats that have gone before us, we needed a side project.  And since most things are funnier in groups and after a lot of margaritas, we decided to form our very own SuperGroup, or in this case, SuperBlog: “The Chick and Chesty Show.”

Chick:  Coming up with that name was HARD, yo.  First we had the “Cheap and Chesty Show”, and that was just wrong. Then we had the “Cheap and Larue Show” – boring.  Finally, “Chick and Chesty” came to us, as if in a dream.  It was fate.  It was meant to be.  Like me and Gerard Butler. 

Chesty:  For many years people have been amused by our antics in thrift stores, dinner parties, Renaissance Festivals, and 7-11s.

Chick:  When were we in a 7-11?  They no longer exist in MN.  I think you mean KMART, and were too ashamed to admit it.

Chesty:  Well, we have been amused, anyway, and it’s not like we’ve been paid for our humor, or anything.  However!  We decided that this needed to be taken globally, and what is more global than the InterWebs?

Chick:  I say we take it to the streets and have a dance off.

Chesty:  Consequently, the purpose of this blog is really just to amuse ourselves.  To discuss things of interest to us, in particular, things that just don’t really fit on our own individual blogs.

Chick:  So if you’re looking for me to tell you about something cheap, too bad!  Look elsewhere.  I’m off the clock here.

Chesty:  If you find it amusing?  Great!  Welcome!  Have a mint.  If you don’t find us amusing, then you can just go find your fun elsewhere.  Although it is unlikely that it will ever be as great as us.

Chick:  Trust us, we’re AWESOME.  Or, as Jem says, truly truly truly outrageous.

Chesty:  This blog will be updated whenever we feel like it, with pictures, stories, shoes, and other assorted Fun Things.

Chick:  FUN!  THINGS!  AND LIKE THAT.

Chesty:  We hope you enjoy the show.

Chick:  And if you don’t, you can stick it in your pointy ear.

The Chick and Chesty FAQ:

NOTE – Chesty is first, and Chick is in parentheses.  Although, nobody puts Chick in parentheses!  Or, in the corner.  Whatever.

1.  Are you guys related?   Our parents claim not, and they should know.

(Although it would it explain a lot.)

2.  How do you guys know each other?  We met in 5^th grade and became good friends in 6^th grade, where we worked on our Opus, “The Locker Mystery” in between getting bad perms and large glasses.  Since then we have remained friends, based largely on our abilities to get jokes that no one else finds funny.  It works for us.

(Ahem.  I did NOT contribute to The Locker Mystery.  I was denied, DENIED I SAY, by you and Bobbi.  You two shut me out of the creative process.)

3.  Are you guys married?  To each other?  No.

(But how cute would that be?  Awww)

Chesty has been married for almost 15 years to El Jefe and is the mother of two girls entering their teenage years.  The Chick is happily single and childless and shares her remote with no one, and has an unrequited love for Gerard Butler.

(Dammit!  He WILL be mine!)

4.  What do you do for a living?  The Chick is a Realtor and minor, local, D-list television celebrity.  Chesty is a Renaissance Woman and does it all – and isn’t paid enough.

(Hey, neither am I.  The real estate market doth sucketh right now.)

5.  Can I meet you guys?  The Chick might be willing to meet with you in a well-lit public place with lots of witnesses - especially if you have Gerard Butler with you - but Chesty is a delicate flower and doesn’t venture out often.

(Also?  I’d settle for Clive Owen, or Colin Firth.  I’m easy like that.)

6.  What else should I know about you?  We like chocolate, margaritas, shoes, dressing up in costume, travel, Australian and Latin men, and long walks on the beach.

(Ooooo, and karaoke, and fried potato things, and YouTube.  But NOT pina coladas.)

7.  What is the purpose of this blog?  To amuse ourselves and bring more of ourselves to the masses.  You may thank us by buying us expensive shoes.  The Chick wears a 6.5 and Chesty a 9.

(I say there is no purpose.  Purpose is highly over-rated.  As is meaning, symbolism, grammar and Christ-themes.)