jennsylvania

Are You Ready To See My '80s?

Setting:  My bathroom, post shower, yesterday.

Me: (to myself) Hey... I wonder if I could make these stupid hair extensions curly?  That would look even more'80s than if I used hot rollers.  I'm totally going to try.

(ten minutes and half a bottle of scrunch spray later...)

Me:  I did it!  I achieved perfect '80s hair!  It's huge!  It's just the right combination of big and curly and wavy!  My hair looks just like Tawny Kitaen's!

(runs downstairs)

Me:  Fletch!  Fletch!  Check out my hair!  What do you think?

Fletch:  Wow, you look just like... (long, thoughtful pause) David Coverdale.

* * *

And if you come to one of my upcoming events, you can see it, too. 

If you can't make it, visit my Facebook fan page where I encourage everyone to post their own Pretty in Plaid photos.

Twitterers, you can follow my tweets @altgeldshrugged on and find out more on tour and media appearances @pretty_in_plaid.

See you on the road!

 

Apparently my '80s included these sunglasses.  Shameful.

Earth Day-Day (Which Has To Do With Seagulls Which Is Kind Of Earth Related If You Think About It)

As promised for all you '80s haters (please note the corrected apostrophe placement, thankyouverymuch), here's a list of every animal that has bitten me. 

Mind you, not all of them have made tooth-on-flesh contact, but if there was at least an attempt or a nip, I'm listing it here:

dog (seven times, all in the face, yet I still try to kiss every one I meet)

cat (Quinn says they're dangerous - how did I never know this?)

mouse (started with two after a high school biology project, ended up with eleventy million, thanks to the kind of biology the class was trying to prove)

rat (high school boyfriend's pet)

hamster/gerbil (aren't they basically the same thing?)

Guinea pig (same as above, only supersize)

Not so bad, yes?  Kind of typical of the bites you'd see if you really love animals and you're always trying to shove carrot sticks into their maw.  But that's just the (finger)tip of the iceberg. 

Moving on:

ferret

chinchilla

parrot

rabbit

Which is probably why they put all those "Do not stick your stupid fingers in the cages, you dumbass" at pet stores. 

Up next, I show my rural roots.  Although the bulk of these took place not in my neighborhood, but in in Petting Zoos.  Which in my case they should probably call Biting Zoos:

cow

pony (OWIE)

donkey (OWIE OWIE)

horse (OWIE OWIE OWIE OWIE)

pig (only mouthed me) (heh! dirty!)

sheep

goat

llama

chicken (more of a peck, but same concept) 

In terms of the great outdoors, there's:

raccoon (only a little baby, captured by another high school boyfriend)

an entire flock of seagulls (they thought my thumb was the Cheeto I was trying to feed them) (also why they post those "Do not feed the birds, you dumbass" signs)

pigeon (ditto, only with popcorn)

duck (ditto, with cracker)

goose (ditto, with breadcrust)

squirrel (ditto, with $11/pound Brazil nuts that I bought specially for him)

chipmunk (no food, he was just an asshole)

Finally, the exotic:

zebra (very similar to a horse bite)

camel (also like a horse bite, only he followed it up with a spit chaser) (I HATE CAMELS)

elephant (again, more of a mouthing thing which happened after I rode him at a very sad local circus and frankly, I don't blame him)

Also?  I've never had a rabies shot.  That probably explains a lot.

Coincidentally, this list encompasses every animal I've ever touched.  You'd think that after the first ten bites or so I'd be content to admire them from afar, but if this website demonstrates anything, it's that I'm incapable of "learning."

My theory is that I must somehow smell delicious. 

The more likely scenario is that I keep invading wild animals' personal space with my sausage fingers and it's miraculous I've not yet lost a digit.

Anyway, you Eighties-phobics can stop reading here. 

For the Eighties-philes, read on.

Have you guys ever been to Demotivateus.com?  That's where I found this poster:

This looks like a recent photo and my guess (hope?) is that the guy is attempting to emulate what made the '80s cool. 

But Polo-man is so very wrong.

You know what made the '80s cool? 

Why, rock and roll fashion paired with Flock of Seagulls hair, of course.

First up, Erin works the wing and the David Byrne-girlfriend-is-better-stop-making-sense-huge-shoulder jacket.

 

Little photo, BIG STYLE.

Next up, Marla (pictured on the left) shows us her swoop.

 

This was taken right before she was about to play her French horn while wearing Madonna gloves.  Bonus points have been awarded.

Shannon does Marla one better.  Not only does she sport a superfantastic swirl, but she does it WHILE DRESSED LIKE BANANARAMA!

"While dressed like Belinda Carlisle" would also have been an acceptable answer here.

So I guess I beg to differ with Demotivateus on one point... while you may be four-popped-collars cool, you'll never be Flock-of-Seagulls cool.

(And if you want to attract a flock of seagulls, bring Cheetos.)

It's Day Whatever I Say It Is, Alright?

A few of you have voiced your displeasure at it being all 80's all month around here, which... OK, I get it.

I don't agree, but I get it.

Not every single one of you thought the 80's were the greatest decade to exist forever and ever, amen.  If you were a toddler back then, or if hearing Duran Duran gives you flashbacks of being thirteen and getting your p-e-r-i-o-d in the middle of geography class, I can see how this month is less "celebration" and more "painful memory."

The handful of you did ask me nicely to cease and desist and I respect that.  Yeah, I write what I want, but I only have an audience as long as I write what you want, too.  So I listened.  (FYI, I deleted the responses you guys put on the website as fights in the comments section make me stabby and I do not want to have to turn this car around, missy!)  

Anyway, for those of you who aren't into it, I'm going to post something random and non-decade specific in front of the 80's entries for the rest of the month.

Today's moment of I-Love-the-Double-Oughts zen is brought to you by my BFF Stacey Ballis.  She has a message for all who voted for her in the cocktail contest.  Plus, she's going to start telling one of the funniest stories I ever heard on her spankin' new blog.  The best part is the story isn't quite over yet so there's a Truman-show "how's it going to end" quality to it which I LOVE. 

You go read and enjoy her funny stories from this decade, while I share a dirty secret with the rest of the class. 

I did something yesterday I swore I'd never do again.

The day started out normally.  Fletch and I indulged in our usual Sunday ritual of hanging out and having coffee.  We sipped and chatted until it was time for me to get ready to attend an afternoon book club.  I always pay special attention to grooming for these things so I spent an inordinate amount of time on my hair, curing and blowing and spraying the perfect style.  All my products have been personally recommended by my salon and leading fashion magazines, so I walked confidently into the inclement weather, steadfast in my belief that my 'do would do.

I went to the book club and had a lovely time.  Between driving and parking in garages, I was only exposed to the elements for approximately thirty umbrella-covered seconds, yet when I glanced in the mirror upon arriving home, I didn't see my artfully fluffed coif. 

Instead, perched upon my head, I saw the pelt of something long dead.

My product had failed me. 

How it is possible to live in an age where a satellite tells my car how to get to book club, yet I can't find a hairspray that keeps my bangs smooth?

I pondered this dilemma while re-doing my hair in bathroom mirror.  As I straightened and fretted, Fletch asked me to bring out another roll of paper towels.  I reached in the bath's storage closet and when I pulled out the towels, I knocked over a bottle of Pine Sol.  When I bent to right it, something caught my eye.

A soothingly familiar white bottle gleamed from the darkness of the closet. 

I leaned in closer and grabbed hold of what had been given to me as a joke at my 80's party in January... an aerosol can of Aqua Net. 

I examined it in the light, turning it back and forth in my hand.  I gave the crusted old nozzle a tentative push and was shocked to see its contents spray forth freely and evenly. 

Hmm. 

I pumped it again with the same results.  A solid mist formed, and interestingly enough, it didn't have that spilled-nail-polish-remover smell that used to twist my stomach.

I squirted it one more time, remembering all the good hair days Aqua Net provided before I got pretentious, calling "hair spray" product and eschewing the drug store for the salon.

I wondered, could the recent butt of all my 80's jokes still have some value?

Shading my face with my hand, I decided to find out.

I sprayed and sprayed and sprayed.

My smooth bangs stayed and stayed and stayed.

Then I went out to dinner and stood in the rain for ten minutes saying goodnight to my girlfriends.  When I got home I went directly to the mirror. 

And you know what? 

AQUA NET STILL WORKS.

So this week (and for those of you who continue to dig the 80's tribue) we're going to honor that which defined us in our... SALUTE TO SPRAYED HAIR!

 

Tiandra loses a couple of points because the sides could be wider, but gains them in length and dedication to curl.

 

Christie's 'do is an idea specimen of the proper length-to-width ratio, however this was shot in 1991 so I can only award partial credit.

In an ironic twist, Dani's hair could cut you.

And today's winner of the Aqua Net Lifetime Achievement Award...

  

Kelly!  (Laugh all you want, but personally I'd have killed for that volume back in the day.) 

Coming tomorrow (for those of you who are into it), a flock of seagulls styles.  And speaking of seagulls (for those of you who aren't into the 80's) I'm going to provide the definitive list of every animal that's ever bitten me.  (It's more extensive than you'd think.)

As for me, I've got a book club to get ready for this evening. 

I'll be using the GPS system to get there... and generous amount of Aqua Net.

Let's Just Call It Day Sixteen, OK?

Sometimes I'm wrong, despite my utter conviction that I'm right.

(I planned on putting clever examples here about times I was mistaken but I just called Fletch and asked him and his direct quote was, "I can't recall a time recently when you were wrong.") 

(Which doesn't do a lot for the idea I was attempting to illustrate, despite this being a valuable admission that I will certainly file away for future use.)

(Or maybe he was just busy when he picked up the phone and cared not to engage me?)

ANYWAY, I was wrong yesterday. 

There IS something more tragic than the garden-variety, puffy-sleeved, lacy, ruffled prom dress.  And I didn't even realize it until I re-read a photo caption from repeat offender Maureen who brings Big Love into the equation.  Here's what she had to say: 

"I'm not sure why we all did the Southern Belle thing—it wasn't the theme. I am in the first row, bottom left. You can't tell from the photo but my dress was pink and white stripped. My friend Michelle, behind me, looks like a she's ready to be someone's Sister Wife."

 

You know it's tragic when Little Miss Red Ribbon Trim doesn't even garner a second look.

Next, here's Lori who appears to be delighted to attend the Joy Book mixer at Juniper Creek.

 

"Golly, I hope Bill Hendrickson's here!"

And then there's Jodi.  She says her area of concern was prom-ing it with her date Napoleon Dynamite.

 

Hey, Jodi, cheer up!  At least he's not Roman Grant.

Point?  I was mistaken. 

Because when I remember specific items from 80's and think, 'There can't possible be a worse look,' there's always a worse look... am I right, Shannon?

 

"Right, Jen."

 

Day (I Forget), The Post In Which I Fancy Myself A Physicist

A number of wonderful things came to be - or at least came into their own - in the 80's, such as...

personal computers

cellular telephones

MTV and subsequently, Madonna

the artificial heart

Michael Douglas (before he got creepy)

Tom Cruise (before he went nuts)

Reaganomics

CD-ROMS

U2, REM, and the Police

kicking the Soviet Union's ass in the Olympics (listen up, Commies, if you don't show up, you can't win)

Naturally, I have a theory about all of this. 

I believe that balancing out every achievement and advancement back then - perhaps due to Newton's third law or some larger Karmic force - there was an equal and opposite reaction.  The 80's truly were awesome, but I feel that awesomeness came with a price. 

For each victory like the fall of the Berlin Wall, there was a catastrophe, like the crash of the Challenger. 

Sure, we gained Robert Pattinson and Ed Westwick in the 80's, but we lost Marvin Gaye and John Belushi. 

While Molly Ringwald taught us about imperfection and attainable beauty, Christie Brinkley made us feel fat.

We cheered when Patrick Swayze lifted Baby out of the lake, yet Glenn Close made us fear a few pints of boiling water.

We discovered Aquanet but we used it so much we poked a hole in the ozone layer.

Bob Geldof brought us Live Aid, but only because of the famine in Ethiopia.

And I believe that these equal and opposite reactions continue to cycle.

Delight begets disaster.

And then fortune begets failure.

Which leads to triumph begetting tragedy.

Although, really?  Could anything have been more tragic than the ruffled, lacy, puffy-sleeved prom dress?

 

I give Shannon bonus points for the pearls and not being too puffy-sleeved, but I have to take them away for her stabby, stabby thumbnail.

Here Shelly's tiers may induce tears.

Jeff Daniels called; he wants his tux back.

Next up, Tracee is the one with "the tree sprouting out of my hairdo."

 

On the the one hand Tracee appears to be getting married, not going to prom.  On the other, at least the top of her dress isn't cut Starter-jacket style like the gal in the middle.

Kelly's dress is neither too ruffled, too puffy, nor too lacy.  And yet these positives are outweighed by the photographer's decision to pose them in front of a trailer.

 

Here's how I imagine this conversation went: "Kelly, honey, in twenty years Al Gore will have invented the internet and you'll want this shot of you, your date, his mullet, and this here wagon preserved for all eternity."

For this one I detached the photo but I can't find the email that went with it.  So this is someone's mystery prom picture.

 

If only I could find out who the middle girl is so I could congratulate her and her lacy, ruffled pals on taking the puffiest purple sleeves in the world to prom.

Oh, wait. 

Perhaps it's for the best the above is unidentified. 

Because Rebecca and her friends just stole the Purple Puff Princess crown.

 

I think we just discovered specifically who broke the sky.

So... there you go.

In terms of events having a never-ending circularity, I like to believe the sacrifices these ladies made by wearing those dresses are the direct cause of everything good and pretty we have today, such as Dior Show mascara, Starbucks, and the Twilight series.

But then again, it's just a theory. 

 

Day Ten Is The New Day Nine

Today we celebrate this oft forgotten trend of the 80's... the drop-waisted dress. 

I was a big fan of the drop-waisted dress.  I wore them all the time.  (I have no clue why.) 

Who came up with this look anyway? 

What went through their minds in the design process? 

"Hey, we should create a style that completely disregards the more traditional aspects of a woman's figure, like the bustline and the waist.  How about we tear a page from children's fashion and instead of emphasizing an hourglass figure, we make everyone a giant rectangle?  And?  And!  We can gather all the fabric at the hips for maximum boxiness!  Yes!  Genius!!" 

Here's a not-me Jennifer at her high school graduation.  Jennifer was, "So enamored by my dress that I had to remove my gown ASAP to show it off.  I swear, I wore that drop-waisted number until the elastic crumbled."

 

"Laugh all you want; I still look pretty.  And at least I'm not wearing the first ever pair of man-pris like the dude behind us."

Next up, Cindy sent me this shot of her prom in 1986.  She's the second one from the left in the back.  However, she's not the area of concern in this photo.  (I remember seeing the subtle pink and white stripes of that dress in stores.  I loved that dress.  I'd have cut you for that dress.) 

Frankly, I'm more interested in the girl to Cindy's right who's sporting the drop-waisted, semi-formal sailor suit.

 

"No, no, no.  When I get married, I'm going to wear a sailor suit, but it's going to be a gown, and all my bridesmaids are going to wear sailor hats... with veils."

Finally, this is Ginny.  (Follow her on Twitter @GinZone.)  Ginny sent me this photo with the explanation that it was taken the day she left for her AA flight attendant training.  Coincidentally, this was also the height of her Princess Diana wannabe phase.

 

My favorite part of this picture? 

It's not the outstanding example of drop-waistedness... the bell sleeves... the herculean hip bow.

Rather, I adore this shot because it looks like she's going to prom with the plane.

Anyway, that's it for today.  I'm taking a posting break for Easter weekend until Monday, so if you're not too busy coloring eggs or ordering Chinese food and going to movies or dressing your kids in their own drop-waisted dresses, I'd love to see your 80's.   

Send them to showmeyour80s@gmail.com! 

P.S.  I'm still working on the Prom II, Revenge of the Ruffle post.

P.P.S.  Don't forget, the audio book contest ends Monday!

Day Seven

Truvy:  "What are your colors, Shelby?"

Shelby:  "My colors are 'blush' and 'bashful.'"

M'Lynn:  "Her colors are 'pink' and 'pink.'"

Shelby:  "My colors are 'blush' and 'bashful,' Mama!"

Ouiser:  "How pretentious precious is this weddin' gonna get, I ask you?"

 

It's a good thing pink is Amy's signature color, too.

Day Six

BERSHON:  It's how you feel when you're 13 and your parents make you wear a Christmas sweatshirt and then pose for a family picture and you could not possibly summon one more ounce of more disgust, but you're also way too cool to really even DEAL with it, so you just make this face like you smelled something sort of bad and sort of roll your eyes and seethe in a put-out manner.  (from Sarah Brown, The Millionizer, as posted on UrbanDictionary.com.)

Did that make sense?

If not, perhaps this photo of Connie and her sister Bobbi will help to clarify the concept.

 

Bershon.  It's what's for dinner.

I give this photo major 80's props for the use of electric blue eye shadow and enough product to keep the hair from touching the ears.

Connie tells me, "I have a blog called The Young and The Relentless and the last day of every month I blog a month's worth of entries from my old journals."  I've checked them out and they're a delightful combination of awkward and awesome... which is kind of a perfect description of the decade they define.

P.S.  I'm doing this all month, so don't forget to mail me your shots at showmeyour80s@gmail.com!

Day Five

I got a huge kick out of seeing how many of you talked about your deep and abiding love for Sixteen Candles' Jake Ryan (AKA Michael Schoeffling) yesterday in the comments. 

What's ironic is there's a scene in the fifth book (releasing May, 2010?) which is all about Jake Ryan.  Since I don't want to spoil the story, I'll just give you the crux of it.  Stacey, Fletch, and I were at a fancy book release party, talking to a guy who was our age.  We were all having a great time until I learned this man had never heard of Jake Ryan.  Seriously?  It kind of made my head explode.   

I theorized - loudly - that this guy couldn't grow up not only in our era, but, in fact, in the town where many scenes were filmed and not know Jake Ryan.  Then the guy theorized, or rather, clearly stated, he COULD grow up then and there and not get the Jake Ryan reference. 

Stacey, noticing I was getting shoutier and spittier than usual, intervened and suggested maybe it was more of a girl thing.  This quickly morphed into an $8 bar bet where I wagered that he couldn't find one woman in there between the ages of 30-45 who'd not only recognize the name Jake Ryan, but would most likely become swoony over the mention.

Naturally, I won. 

Well, sort of, anyway. 

Apparently when you're trying to fix your friend up with a nice, albeit clueless guy it's probably best not to challenge him to have a conversation with every single female in the room.

Anyway, after I wrote yesterday's post, I Twittered that I was going out to dinner with the girls and then watching Role Models with Fletch.  My friend Quinn tweeted back, "Is Paul Rudd is the mind-boyfriend to all women over 32 and under 50?" 

Which is kind of brilliant, because OF COURSE he is.  My suspicion is all of us Jake Ryan fans turned our affections towards Dear Paul Rudd after Jake disappeared off the face of the earth. 

Point? 

Whether Jake or Kiefer or Val, I guess what I learned from yesterday's comments is that we all loved someone unattainable back then. 

But no one loved anyone more than Jennifer loved the New Kids on the Block.

 

 And yes, I'm willing to make a bet on it.

Day Four (Let's Hear It For The Boy)

Can I just say something? 

YOU GUYS ARE ADORABLE. 

And I'm not just talking about your 80's photos, although I'm enjoying them even more than I imagined I would.

The thing is, I've gotten at least a dozen emails from you telling me who Frankie is.  I guess I wasn't clear that the question was rhetorical.  I know who Frankie is.  You weren't allowed to be a teenager in the 80's without an awareness of Frankie.

I have a particularly strong Frankie Goes to Hollywood body of knowledge because back in '86 my friend Sean was obsessed with all things Frankie, manifesting in him dressing almost exclusively in Frankie-wear.  He had the RELAX shirts as well as a variety of others, e.g. FRANKIE GOES BANG, FRANKIE SAYS WAR, etc. 

Sean was the token surfer dude in the fraternity house.  He had a perma-tan and shaggy, sun-bleached blond hair (with a TAIL) and puka-bead necklaces and he always paired his Frankie shirts with some variety of Jams shorts, regardless of weather.  (The fact that he was from OHIO never actually ruined his California-cool credibility, either.)  

Sean's room in the house was called The Beach (naturally) and the room was bisected by a giant platform.  There was a waterbed underneath the platform, and on top, he and his roommate kept a minifridge and TV and stereo.  One of my friends dated him, so we'd gather in The Beach all the time.  We'd sit cross-legged on The Deck, and he'd play the club mix of Welcome to the Pleasure Dome for HOURS on end while we drank Fuzzy Navels.  Due to the mass amounts of peach schnapps-residual clouding my memory, I can't quite recall if palm tree murals had been painted the walls.   

(Also, sidenote?  Just about every fraternity guy at my college majored in BCT - Building and Construction Trade - or some kind of structural engineering.  Their rooms were marvels of beds suspended from the ceilings and secret turret rooms and elevated platforms.  Never underestimate the ingenuity of a man with a hammer and a case of Little Kings.) 

Point? 

Reminiscing about guys in the 80's made me remember one of the most prominent male icons of time.  Let's see if you can guess who he is: 

His career exploded in the 80's and he briefly dated Molly Ringwald.

Nope, he didn't star in Top Gun.  (Did anyone else's significant other go through an unfortunate Maverick phase, too?  For a solid year - and long before we met - Fletch had a penchant for buzz cuts, bomber jackets, and cowboy boots.)

He was a cast member on Saturday Night Live in the late 80's. 

Nope, not Ben Stiller or Adam Sandler.  Neither of them became bona fide movie stars until the 90's.  (Does anyone remember Sandler from the show Remote Control?  LOVED HIM SO MUCH BACK THEN.)

Anything yet?  No?  Then how about:

Before he failed at making an elephant lamp and prior to stating, "Chicks can't hold the smoke," he went on Vacation with his sister Audrey.

Fine, maybe this shot of Cindy from Cincinnati's friends will spark your memory:

 

"JAAAAAAAAAAAAAKE!!!!"

Seriously?  Another hint?

Well, then, if Tony (the blond in the middle wearing shades) doesn't give it away, then nothing will. 

 

"We have seventy dollars and a pair of girl's underpants.  We're safe as kittens."

If you still don't know who I'm talking about, I beg you to go rent Sixteen Candles, Breakfast Club, and Weird Science, like, immediately.  (You kids will thank me.)

Anyway, I'll wrap this up with a discussion question - who were your favorite male icons in the 80's?

 

Day Three

When I was looking at your photos yesterday, I began to notice a disturbing trend. 

In the late 80's, the hairdos became so extensive that they actually started to make us look... older.  And not necessarily in the "Heh, heh, Mr. Bouncer, no need for you to check my ID!" way that we hoped. 

At some point, maybe circa 1988-1989, our collective love of styling product launched us straight out of our teens and directly onto the set of Working Girls.

For example, here's Steph and friends in Catholic high school:

 

Their baby-faces say "Senior year, woo!" and bonus points are awarded for the Mickey Mouse suspenders, button-covered jean jackets, and acid wash, of course.  Yet with those 'dos, if you put them in an overly pad-shouldered blazer and gave them a steno pad, no one would guess they weren't Sigourney Weaver's secretary.  Or Harrison Ford's new squeeze.

And check out this shot of Kim and pals:

 

This is a fraternity dance, meaning these gals are somewhere between the ages of 17-22.  Yet their hair has a mortgage, two car payments, and a solid nest egg invested Roth IRAs. 

I'll bet you dollars to donuts that all these ladies look younger right now than they did in these shots.

Damn you, Joan Cusack, this is all your fault.

(photo credit not found)

But if you tell your brother call us, we'll forgive you.

Day Two

First, who is Frankie? 

And why is he so concerned about our collective stress management?

Anyway, meet Beth. 

 

Technically, Beth is not showing me her true 80's.  She dressed like this one night last year on a dare, which is even funnier because she was headed to a country-western bar.  I'm also including her shot because I loved this part of her email:

The 20-something cocktail waitress  was confused by my “Frankie Say Relax” t-shirt.  She asked if it was some sort of promotional t-shirt.  “Yeah.  For valium.”  I weep for the future.

For those of you who question her authenticity, check out Laura, circa 1984, having just returned from a trip to Europe.

 

I suspect Frankie would be proud. 

And relaxed.

Day One

This one's from my friend Amy at MazingAmy.

It's... hairtastic.

The fluff! 

The curls! 

The lack of layers except for short bangs! 

THE CRIMPING!

(Bonus points for Amy's popped collar and Crimpy's fancy Guess sweatshirt.)

Please keep your photos coming!  Email at gif or jpeg to:

showmeyour80s@gmail.com

I'll see your 80's tomorrow!