Hairy Situation

Poor Husban-dito had to have some oral surgery today–nothing new as his teeth are for shite–and after the trauma we went to the diner to kill time so the pharmacy could fill his RX for those illicit narcotics that he loves so much.  While at the diner, we were treated to a visual display of hair styling at its finest and I had to share it with you.  This man inspired a solid 30 minutes of debate and discussion at our table.  Behold, Mr. Mullet:

Lest you think me a snob, I’ll freely admit to sporting a Fullet (female mullet) of my very own in 6th grade.  My mullet was top-shelf, complete with pointy cut-outs around my ears.  My look was so stylin’ that I left a trail of drooling boys in my wake everywhere I went.

Ant and I laughed like hyenas and caused a small scene (nothing new) while we choked down our Silver Dollar pancakes.  We idly wondered if there are dedicated barbers and stylists who take an oath (similar to that of the Hippocratic) to uphold the laws of the mullet.  Perhaps there’s a secret society that stylists and wearers belong to–there’s a secret handshake or something.  Do you think you can just go to any salon or barber to achieve this look?

Stealthy me, I feigned inordinate interest in my phone/email so I could fire off the snapshot just for YOU!  You’re welcome.  No problemo.

There are entire websites devoted to photos of mullets, but I’m more interested in your own personal mullet experiences.  Have you (or someone you love) ever sported a mullet?  Can you support your claim with photographic evidence?

Hangin’ Tough

A friend of mine called last week and asked if I had plans for June 18th.  My planner indicated that I was free and my friend let out a whoop of joy.

“Say yes,” she said without preamble.

“But I don’t know the question!” I argued.

You know I ended up saying “yes”, which is how I became the proud owner of a ticket to see NEW KIDS ON THE BLOCK at Radio City on June 18th.

Can I tell you a secret?  I lurved NKOTB when I was a pre-teen and was particularly smitten with Donnie, the bad-ass red-head.  (I later went on to marry a badass red head who, during the NKOTB era, wore a pin on his jean jacket that said ‘New Kids SUCK’!)

Now it’s time for your secret confessions to dear Auntie Curly.  Tell me which New Kid was your fave…or did you prefer Donny Osmond?  I know you all will be dying to see the photos from the concert–my friend bought the closest seats possible as I told her to spare no expense!

Well, I’ve got to jet to the mall to pick up some Z. Cavariccis and Aussie scrunch spray!

XOXO

The Aftermath (Nuclear Winter?)

Forgive my posting lapse, I’ve been terribly busy playing with all my Christmas loot.  I made out like a bandit–a Kindle, a macro lens for my camera, a vintage (pink!) Princess phone, and a coveted, antique Royal typewriter (pink, of course) were my highlights!

I hope Santa treated you all to some good loot (if there was any left after he stopped at Chez CWG).  Here’s to a happy, healthy, and raucous New Year! 

Stay tuned later this week for the swashbuckling and romantic tale of how a Kindle made its way  into my paws at the 11th hour.

xoxo

CWG & Husban-dito

The Weather Outside is Frightful…

But a little snow won’t keep Husban-dito from wishing you all a very happy, healthy, and snowy holiday season!  Now, he’s got to get back to shoveling because I’ve still got shopping to do.  Cheers!

White (Trash) Christmas

There’s always one in every neighborhood.  It’s only the toss of the dice that saves you from (or condemns you to) living next to the cretins on the block.  As luck would have it, Husban-dito and I pulled the short straw and have, for almost 10 years, lived next door to Naked Ned*,  his trollish wife, and 9-year-old offspring. 

I can pinpoint the exact moment that I knew they’d be trouble: During our first week of home ownership, I was raking leaves and tidying the yard (back when I did such plebian tasks! Ha!) and bent down to pick up a bunch of leaves.  Except it wasn’t a pile of leaves…it was a DEAD squirrel.  I ran in circles screaming and flapping my hands  until Naked Ned (he struts around shirtless) emerged from his cave house to investigate the ruckus. 

He’s good for snooping around since he doesn’t work and has collected disability for a spurious back injury since forever.  (I’ve seen him lifting go-karts, lawn mowers, using a leaf blower to BLOW his leaves onto OUR yard, and doing other manual labor that might suggest his injury isn’t quite as bad as he leads the State of NJ to believe.)  But I digress.

Ned laughed when he found out that I was screaming about a dead squirrel and then, w ithout hesitating, he BENT down, snagged the squirrel by its tail, slung it over his bare shoulder and stalked off toward his house.  As he got to our property line, he looked over his shoulder at me and shouted, “Squirrels are good eatin’!”  Then he disappeared into his garage and I fainted on the lawn.

Fast forward to last Thursday night as Anthony and I were carrying our bags to the car while preparing to leave for Vermont.  I almost fell off our porch when I noticed Ned’s newest holiday decorations.  His son recently began racing go-karts and Ned purchased two trailers for the go-karts, which he parks in his driveway.  We don’t much mind because it blocks our view of their ugly faces.  But look at what our white trash neighbors did:

Yes, friends…my neighbor strung Christmas lights on his go-kart trailers.  What’s next?  Will he festoon his Super Charged Ford pick up with lights next year?  If so, I hope Husban-dito and I have moved away and aren’t here to see it.  (I’m sorry that isn’t the greatest picture.  We were laughing like hyenas and couldn’t hold the camera steady to get a better shot.)

So, who’s bringing down your ‘hood with their holiday lights?  Anyone leave up lights until Easter on your block?  Commiserate with me, please!

*Ned is not his real name.  I’m afraid he’ll sue me for slander if he sees this–he’s quite litigious.