Gracious Samba Dancing

First, my apologies to regular readers. For a birthday present one week ago I received a new computer game that has literally stolen all my attention. Worlds have been created and destroyed, single-celled organisms have become ungulates. I blame Spore, but I have now been sated.

And with that, I now present to you Carmen Miranda and Martha Stewart's love child.



All you have is wax fruit and dried weeds? Don't use it as a centerpiece! Put it on your head as the perfect accessory to complete the dress you made from the Damask table cloth. Arrive at the Halloween party as Thanksgiving incarnate! Cartha Miranda-Stewart will show you how!

You-terus

For 2009 the look is female empowerment. To embody this, Ferragamo has naturally made a dress that is a hysterectomy. Yes ladies, take your prolapsed uterus and drape yourself in it proudly! It drives men off and you'll have to do everything by yourself - what is that but empowerment?

Be afraid. Be very afriad.

Dominique had been running late. She was in Paris, and was supposed to be in Milan for a runway show. She was freaking out, so someone suggested she just use the newest form of travel: Instantaneous Transportation. Dominique leaped into the machine, checked her makeup in her compact one more time, and while doing so failed to notice a bluebottle fly buzz into the machine with her.

KA-ZAPP! Dominique opened her eyes to find herself in Milan. She was there, but she was feeling decidedly odd. As she stumbled out of the machine on the receiving end, she felt a strange and compelling desire to eat a bag of garbage, which freaked her right out because usually she never ate anything.

As she quickly made her way to the dressing room for hair and makeup, everyone she met looked at her peculiarly and then hurried off. Dominique collapsed into the make-up chair, and looked into the mirror to find many many images of herself staring back at her. And each image had the head of a fly. She screamed, but was too tired to do anything else. "Help me. Please help me," she plaintively called to the make-up people.

Sondra, the head make-up artist hurried over, jumped at the sight of Dominique, but quickly regained her composure. "Not so bad," she consoled. "My make-up can do wonders and with the couture you'll be modeling no one will even notice anything strange about your face. I think I've got enough mascara for all of your eyes, and if you happen to grow a proboscis while you're in the chair with me, well... I've got JUST the shade of lipstick for you! Don't you fret honey, Sondra will make it alright!"

And this is how Dominiquefly got her new start in the business. She made four arms look chic! Multi-armed clothes will be all the rage for 2009!

Donatella

The original caption reads, "Italian designer Donatella Versace smiles on the catwalk after the presentation of her collection."

If that's her smile I'd suggest running away before she grins.

Excess

To the little girl whose parents never denied her anything, No. No, you may not wear all five of your tutus at once. Why? Because you look like a package of cupcake sleeves.

Decisions, decisions

She'd spent the previous evening crafting to calm her nerves, making cat toys for her pets. She'd fallen asleep at her worktable with her head on some freshly glued "creations" and when she woke up she had the Styrofoam balls glued to her hair. And she'd been using super glue.

She did her best but the foam balls and crafting wire would not come undone, and then she'd had to leave for work without making any headway and getting everything unstuck. Everyone at work was frankly horrified, and she felt stupid and blushed. No one knew quite what to do, and even the head hairstylist was at a loss, all efforts to fix her hair failing. Finally the runway show's producer had to be notified.

He looked her over in silence for about 30 seconds, and then said briskly, "Darling you have two options. Either shave the head bald and wear a diamond-encrusted gown, or leave it and wear a pillowcase. You choose. Ready? Go!" Jeopardy music seemed to play from nowhere. She broke down. She almost tore her own hair out of her scalp and saved having to make the decisions. After 10 seconds that seemed like a century she ducked her head and said, "Pillowcase"

And that's how she came to be wearing a sack on stage and looking none too happy about it. Maybe she should have just gone bald....

Rock Hudson?

What kind of statement is one making with stone clothes?

He's stratiated and many-layered? He's an escapee from a mob torture/killing? He's cold and emotionless? His name is Peter? His rough edges need smoothing? He's a little bit rock 'n roll?

He's hard?

Well, more power to him I guess. I just hope he doesn't wander into a tumbler.

Leave nothing to the imagination

Why didn't the Victorians think of this? Show him your lingerie right there at the alter, hey, show him the goods as you're walking up the dang aisle! Cuts the anticipation right in half, and THEN IN HALF AGAIN! He'll be bored of you before you two even make it to the limo and then you won't HAVE to spend the rest of the night thinking of England. Silly Victorians and their lust over a bare ankle - makes you almost wonder if they were really into sado-masochism if they never thought of telling the punchline before the joke. If they'd just had dresses like this maybe the sun would still be not setting on their empire.

"I am a cowboi who wandered into NYC and have become accustomed to it there."

Joe hailed from Tumbleweed Wyoming and had never been farther east than the badlands of Hell's Half Acre until he was 23. One day, however, he'd been out on his horse Trigger when they came across the biggest rattlesnake you ever done saw. It was as big around as a weak man's forearm an as long as a parlor settee. Trigger spooked and fled with Joe on his back, running for all he was worth and didn't stop. Joe tried at first, unsuccessfully, to calm the startled horse but eventually saw it was no use; Trigger was in a Zone now. Luckily Joe had thought to pack enough for a very long journey, because he was obsessive that way, and so there was plenty of jerky. He had to learn to shave on the back of a wild horse and that was no mean feat, but he learned that humans are quite adaptable.

Trigger ran and ran eastward and eastward, until one day he finally collapsed in Shamokin Pennsylvania, dead of exertion. Joe mourned him, as much as you can mourn any horse who runs for days without stopping until it kills itself, and then continued east, since that's the direction he'd been going anyway. Walking, hitchhiking, bus and/or Vespa, Joe kept on going until he reached Greenwich Village New York. He stepped off the free-ride Vespa onto Christopher Street, looked around and promptly changed his name to Joei.

He had no clear idea where he was, only that in this place men were unafraid to hold each others hands (and more) and that the fashion sense he saw around him matched the images he'd had in his head all his life. He was well and truly home. Within a week he'd found a job at an indy bookstore, met the most wonderful man named Tiler and set up house with him, gotten his own Vespa (which he called Trigger 2.0) and become vegetarian. But as they say, you can take a boy (by crazed, running horse) out of the country, but you can't take the country out of the boi, and Joei's true cowboi nature was forever peeking through.

Eventually Joei and Tiler found an abandoned Asian baby in Central Park, brought it home and started their family proper, a healthy child with a Greenwich Village/ cowboi heritage. And they all live(d) happily ever after.

ME-YOW! or the Crazy Cat Lady

That's certainly one way to remember your cats after they pass on.

In yesteryear they all were saying, "Don't mix your stripes with your plaids." Next year however you'll hear a lot more of, "Don't mix your long-hairs with your short-hairs!"

It's the Berries!

It's an historic look that's the Bee's Knees for next year, with the return to the flapper, always a subtle one. Without These Glad rags you'll get the High-Hat, be known as a Piker unless you drop the Jack on this Orchid. Shebas and Sheiks alike will look at your gams, and you'll know you're Hotsy - Totsy. And How!

Comes with gym socks to wear on one's hands. Preserving the hand creme? Sign of your OCD? YOU DECIDE!

(20's slang garnered from here)

Is that an ichthyosaur on your head or are you just ... icky?

It's like when someone has a booger hanging out their nose. You wonder, "Do they realize it's there? Should I say something? Or is it a fashion statement?"

And they're thinking, "If I just act natural, like I wear a dinosaur skeleton on my head always, even when I shower, maybe they'll go along with it!"

Either way, it's uncomfortable for both parties.

Give. It. To. Me. Ba. By.

It's a dominatrix ensemble, I guess. A dominatrix ensemble intended for a robot. Why in heaven's name do they have a little girl wearing it? Because TXL-DomTron2300 couldn't get the strut down, that's why.

Life imitates art!

One should always turn to the comic strips for inspiration, assuredly!



Here comes Little Orphan Annie! If only the model could mimic her soulless, hollow eyes...

And following her (close behind with her greedy hands outstretched) Vera Wang gives us



Miss Hannigan! Now you too can feel comfortable guzzling bathtub gin and plotting to con billionaires. Wang's fabric choice is very versatile, providing freedom of movement while chasing little girls, and extreme comfort if you choose instead to simply pass out in the mid morning. It's all good!

Well THEY look Miserabluh

"Do you hear the people sing, All of the hit songs from Les Mis? Even the great Andrew Lloyd Webber Wished the songs were really his."