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Thursday, April 30, 2015

Supermodels can’t really fly

While flipping through my favourite fashion magazine I began to notice some weird trends

1.       Someone shot all the supermodels with a Taser gun and knocked them out!

2.       Women who model purses never look inside them

3.       Models have horrible posture

4.       Madonna has bad cramps

5.       Why do women have to be naked to sell jewellery?

6.       Fashion has just gotten silly.

Like, I am an 80’s girl. I grew up with supermodels who were beautiful… Christy Brinkley, Cindy Crawford, Elle Macpherson. All stunning, and glowy and bright.

My latest issue of Vogue features models that look strung out, passed out and just out! Half the time I don’t know what they are selling.

Look at this ad of a model laying across the bed. It’s for a purse, but when was the last time you got in bed with your purse? I mean I love my purses as much as the next gal and I often dream of them when I am in bed but take one to bed. I don’t think so. It’s just not realistic. Why does she look passed out? I just want to shake her and say “Don’t fall asleep with that much makeup on you’ll get zits.” Why don’t models ever look in the purse? If you’re going to sell me a purse show me how much junk it can hold. I want to see a model looking through the purse with her iPhone in her mouth, her makeup bag under her arm, her wallet in one hand while she is looking for her keys with the other but pulls out the TV remote instead. Now I would buy that purse!

Then there is the Madonna Versace ads. Now like I said, I am an 80’s girl and I loved Madonna all through the whole crucifix phase, the wearing her bras on the outside, the freedom of expression but there’s something off about these pictures.

Is the purse too heavy? Is her back out from dancing? Is she taking a quick fart break in between photos? Is it period cramps? Is she tired? What’s up? I don’t get it. If I was wearing a Versace dress and carrying a Versace purse I would be standing proud with that thing slung over my shoulder like a boss.

What was going through the photographer’s head? “Madonna, bend over like you’re trying to fart through two pairs of Spanx and we will put a concrete block in the purse so your arms will look even more toned when you try to pick it up. Now work it Material Girl. Work that gas out.”

I think the look on Madonna’s face says it all. “I’ll crack your head with the cheeks of my ass it you say that one more time bitch.” I think Madonna would say that. I would if I had her arms.

Then there’s the posture thing. When did slouching become a model pose?

The model in this ad looks scary thin which is probably why it looks like she can barely hold the purse but her back is so rounded she looks like she should be in a brace.

I can hear the Nuns at Our Lady of Mercy in my head saying “You’re going to end up looking like the Hunchback of Notre Dame if you don’t straighten up.” Then I would snap to attention and straighten my spine.

I guess this model wasn’t raised Catholic.

It took me a while to figure out these models were selling shoes and accessories.

I just don’t know why they have to be naked to do it. Wouldn’t the jewellery look better with clothes?

When I buy jewellery I like to see how it looks with what I am wearing or plan on wearing. Maybe I am doing it wrong.

The next time I am in a jewellery store I am going to take my top off and try on a necklace then ask the salesperson how I look. If they say “Stunning! Model like!” Then I am going to buy it. If they call the cops they won’t make a sale from me. I’ll let you know if it works.

I noticed this dress advertised as Haute Couture. Maybe I am missing something. Maybe art is in the eye of the beholder but to me this model looks like she ran through a wall, made a dress from the broken pieces, and may have hurt herself badly because she is obviously bleeding to death.

Where would you wear this? I imagine myself walking into a huge ballroom and a waiter coming over with soda water and a napkin to help take the bloodstain out my dress. Or the police showing up questioning me about where my husband is. Or my Mother coming back from the dead to ask “You’re not really going to wear that are you?”

Am I missing something? This dress is just plain silly to me. Is it a case of the Emperor’s New Clothes?

I know the 80’s had its faults but it also had its glamour. You just don’t see glamour in fashion anymore. I think the grunge years did it in and it just never recovered.

Having said that, I won’t be cancelling my subscription to Vogue anytime soon either. I’ve loved that magazine all through years, I even turned a blind eye when they put a Kardashian on the cover.

Maybe I have fallen out of fashion’s target market.

Maybe my Carrie Bradshaw days ended with the TV series.

Maybe I am too old to understand it anymore. Maybe Madonna is slouched over because the weight of being a fashion icon is too much for her to carry?

I am going to have to sleep on it. I am going to take my favourite purse to bed with me tonight and see if I am missing something, and my black stilettoes.

No, maybe not the stilettoes, that would only get hubby excited… but it would give me more time to think about my purse collection.

Tuesday, April 28, 2015

Breaking news: Cats speak out against City’s Regulations

Felines throughout North America’s oldest city are up on their hind legs this week.

In a catty move, the City of St. John’s announced their new “Regulations for Cats living in the City of St. John’s.”

While the Mayor and City Councillors think this is the Cat’s Pyjamas for solving the problem of cat roaming, over population and damage control, feline’s are calling foul.

Sylvester Escott is a 15 year old Tabby, that’s almost 80 in human years. He says the Mayor may be grinning like a Cheshire Cat over this one but Mousers everywhere are mad. He has agreed to sit down, or lay down, for an exclusive one-on-one interview with me about what he refers to as the “Ratty Regulations.”

Reporter: Thank you Sylvester for taking the time to speak to me and give your side of the story.

Sylvester: You’re welcome. I feel someone had to speak up. These new regulations has left us as nervous as a cat in a room full of rocking chairs.

Reporter: How did you first hear about the new regulations? Were you or your community consulted in anyway?

Sylvester: Well Thomasina down the road was using her litterbox Saturday afternoon. Her human had just cleaned it and laid down a new lining of newspaper and Kitty litter.  After doing her business she proceeded to bury it as all good cats do. Well to put it in Thomasina’s own words “I just finished burying one pile of crap when I dug up another!” She called a neighbourhood watch meeting on her back fence and read out the new regulations. It was the first we heard of them.

Reporter: So the ad in the newspaper was when they let the cat out of the bag?

Sylvester: That’s right. You know what they say “When the Cat's away the mice will play” and play they did with these ridiculous regulations. Banning cats from roaming the City of St. John’s! Who do they think will control the rat and mouse population now? City Council? Really, the pot holes up by Stavanger Drive have been there that long Shannie Duff has declared them a heritage hole now! How the hell are they going to do our job? Then to set up live humane cat traps. That’s just a Cat-o-nine-tails form of punishment for helping keep the city clean.

Reporter: You have to admit that cats do cause damage to property and are a nuisance to neighbours by leaving droppings around their yards.

Sylvester: Then I ask you. When will the City of St. John’s ban humans from roaming?

Reporter: Why would they want to?

Sylvester: Well Spring has sprung in the City of Legends. Try walking five feet without seeing a discarded Tim Horton’s cup, a McDonald’s bag, or Pepsi tin. Every parking lot, school ground, lawn and trail is full of human garbage! It’s not cats throwing old fridges in the bushes on the Rennie’s Mill Trail. It’s not cats that clean out their cars in parking lots. It’s not cats that throw their cigarette butts out the windows. Humans create a 100 times more garbage than cats do.

Reporter: (Pause) Sorry the cat had my tongue there for a minute. But you do urinate and do #2 outside on peoples lawns and flower beds sometimes.

Sylvester: Well Hey diddle diddle, the Cat and Fiddle. We do have to go when nature calls. It’s called fertilizer.  At least we are discrete about it. Try walking down George Street, Duckworth Street or Water Street on a weekend night. Are you telling me that it is cats who are pissing up against all those clubs, restaurants and businesses? Like, I know a Tomcat that’s pretty proud of the length of his tail if you know what I mean, but even he can’t write his name in the snow like a drunk staggering on George Street.

Reporter: The City says that it’s for your own protection. Every year they see hundreds of cats die due to cars, predators, cat fights and exposure to disease. So for your own safety owners should not let their cats outdoors unattended.

Sylvester: Let’s get something straight first. Cats do not have owners. We own humans. So don’t play cat and mouse with me. Let me ask you a question. How many humans die each year because of cars, predators, cat fights, and exposure to disease in St. John’s alone? Thousands! You are the number one cause of global warming. The number one cause of spreading diseases. You are the only animal that will abandon their young before they can fend for themselves. You are the only animal that will kill your own kind for no reason other than you don’t like each other. Let’s not pussyfoot around here. Instead of these high paid city councillors wasting their valuable time creating regulations for cats, how about they spend some time creating shelters for homeless youth we see sleeping in alleyways downtown? How about cleaning up the graffiti off historic buildings? How about filling a few potholes!!!!! I want answers to these questions!

Reporter: Well curiosity is obviously killing the cat so to speak. How are you going to fight this?

Sylvester: We are mobilizing as we speak. I’ve contact Pussy Galore in our national office and she is hopping like a cat on a hot tin roof. She told us to get every feline in the city to attend City Hall’s next meeting. There won’t be enough room to swing a cat when we unite.

Reporter: So you will be attending the next City Council meeting?

Sylvester: No, we’re not “attending” the meeting we’re going to piss on their cars in the parking lot. Try getting the smell of cat piss out. Talk about your new car smell. They’ll get our Cat-Calling Card.

Reporter: All City Council is trying to do is please City residents who don’t like cats and who have complained about them on their property. Is that so wrong?

Sylvester: People who don’t like cats? What is this the Salem witch hunt? It’s bad enough you humans put Halloween costumes on us. Next you’re want us to walk upright and wear pants. Did you not watch the Lion King? It’s called the circle of life. Humans create garbage, garbage brings rats and mice, and cats kill rats and mice. Unless the City is advertising for a Pied Piper position I don’t see how this is going to work. Why don’t they regulate the birds? When was the last time a cat shit on your windshield or head? We’re so upset over this, we are never bringing our musical back to this city!

Reporter: That’s all the time we have. Thank you Sylvester Escott for taking the time to speak to me….(weird sound comes from cat) Excuse me did you have something you wanted to add before we end?

Sylvester: No, just a fur ball. Sorry.

Reporter: There you have it. City councillors have dragged the feline population into a cat fight. It is unclear if the new regulations apply to cats visiting other areas around the City. The City also can’t say how the Animal Surveillance Security Enforcement Section (Asses) will be able to tell St. John’s cats from Mount Pearl cats.
The Mayor of Mount Pearl says he will have nothing to do with a Pussy Patrol and that Mayor O’Keefe better keep his hands off Mount Pearl pussies.

Thursday, April 9, 2015

Don’t talk to your teenaged daughter like I do. It doesn’t work!

I can’t remember the last time my teenaged daughter asked for advice.

Advice on anything! I think I’ve been replaced by Google.

I think back on all the good advice my Mother shared with me and now I have a dory load of good advice to share.

Like, don’t sit on the seat in a public washroom and if you do have to sit, put toilet paper down first. Then hold the fork of your underwear out with one hand while you’re using it so your underwear don’t touch the toilet.

This info has to be shared.

Not everyone knows to hold the fork of their underwear away from the bowl!

So I Googled “How to talk to your teenage daughter” and came up with some great tips.


Start Talking to Your Daughter Early:
Great tip. I sat on her bed at 6:30 AM and started telling her about my day ahead. She wasn’t open to it at all. She literally kicked me off the bed and threw me out of her room and I am not that light so it was a huge chore for her to get me off the floor. Those dance lessons are really paying off.

Be Open When You Talk With Your Daughter:
I started with “I was 21 the first time I had sex. How old were you?” She ran away from me so fast the salesgirl at Garage thought she was a shoplifter and called security to chase her. They found her in the parking lot hiding behind a van but I told them she was just trying to get away from me.

Find the Balance Between Friend and Mother:
I thought this one was going to be easy. I showed up at her school dance in my Tina Turner black leather mini skirt and matching boob-tube. Snuck up behind her and said “Let’s ask those two cuties over there to dance.” She called Child Protective Services herself and asked if any foster homes were available.

Be Detailed in Talks With Your Daughter:
So I started the conversation with “We haven’t discussed yeast infections yet have we?” I followed it up with close up, detailed pictures that we could discuss but she spent so much time with her head in the toilet throwing up I gave up on the conversation.

Use Everyday Media to Trigger Conversations With Your Daughter:
I sincerely asked, “Do you think Kim’s ass really broke the internet? Because I think those screaming goats did a better job.” Now she has installed a lock on the inside of her bedroom door and a cat door so her father can slide food in.

In the end, I don’t think Mothers or daughters should trust Google to help them communicate or for advice.

Finally God intercepted. She yelled out “Mom, I think I have a fever.” I ran upstairs, into the bathroom, grabbed the thermometer (not the rectal one), Vicks Vapour Rup, Tylenol Cold and the Hall’s cough drops.

She allowed me to take care of her for a whole 20 minutes before kicking me out of the room. I was in heaven. I was needed.

Google may be good but it can’t comfort a sick child… or use a rectal thermometer with love.

Tuesday, April 7, 2015

Hiding evidence in plain sight

I have hubby trained to call me when he is on the way home from work each day. Not because I really care if he has left work or not, or because I miss the sound of his voice when we’re apart, but because I need time to hide the evidence.

What evidence?

ALL evidence! Evidence that may convict me in divorce court one day if he ever drags me there.

For example, the Tiffany Style Wisteria Table Lamp I ordered from the Home Shopping Channel. It was 60% off for two days only. I had to have it.,N:2043879,E:11814797&nav=n%3a0

Up to five years ago I didn’t know what a Tiffany Style lamp was, then my sister showed me hers, and now I am obsessed with them. I have a dragonfly lamp, a butterfly lamp, a chicken, Aladdin Lamp and now a Wisteria table lamp.

I have a deal with the mailman. If he sees my husband’s truck he cannot deliver any bag or box. He does it too... I think he is afraid of me.

I put my new lamp on top of the piano and strategically placed dust and cat fur around it. This makes the lamp look like it has been there for years. Then I cut the box up and put it in the recycling bin and shred the bill. I chop up the Styrofoam and burry in the bottom of the garbage bucket and throw the contents of the kitchen garbage bucket on top of it.

It is all executed with the precision of a Navy Seal operation.

My ring from Ebay came today. The mailman always delivers the mail before three o’clock so the kids don’t see anything either.

The ring is beautiful. It’s big and gold coloured with cubic zirconias all over it. I’ll look like Joan Collins on the set of Dynasty when I wear it. It was only $10.  I don’t know where I will wear it. Maybe out walking the dog.

The box is already hid in the recycling bin and the paperwork already shredded.

The mailman and I have worked out a system. He checks for hubby’s truck. I watch for him from the kitchen window. We give each other the signal. If he has a box or parcel, he rings the bell twice to let me know there’s a package in the mailbox. Why? Because the Postman always rings twice.

I get enough time to admire my latest acquisition and discard the evidence before hubby comes home.

If I get caught up admiring my latest adventure, hubby calls to warn me, or tell me “I am on the way home.” Sometimes he’ll say “Why are you in such a rush to get rid of me? What are you up to?”

And I’ll brush him off and say “Don’t be so foolish.”

As soon as I hang up the phone I go into Ninja mode. Chopping up boxes, shredding paper faster than a White House intern, hiding evidence.

For the record, the best place to hide evidence…. Is in plain sight.

People always look under couches, in drawers, on top of closet shelves. No one ever sees what is in front of their face.

Then fifteen minutes later he comes through the door. “Something looks different. It’s brighter in here. What did you do?”

“Oh, I moved the Wisteria lamp from the table in the basement upstairs and put it on the piano. I think it looks nicer there.”

He stares at it for a few minutes. “It does look nicer there. I never noticed it in the basement.”

Evidence has blended in nicely. Operation … complete.