Pun Slinger Zinger: A-OK at the Kitsch Corral

Bag: Simply Vera, Kohl's

Shoes: Betsey Johnson, Macy's

Skirt: Dolls Kill

Some time ago, I boldly announced that I might wear spurs to get my flu shot.  Which I had no business doing, as I'm not Annie Oakley and have no access to weaponized footwear.  So I did the next best thing and stepped into my star-spangled mules.  Sticking with the stellar theme, I teamed them with a star-print top.  Then I burst into that Acme like a supernova, goading the pharmacist to do his worst.

By which I mean that I zeroed in on my phone before I even smelled the alcohol. 

And that's how I used fashion to face my fears.  

Me and the unicorn I rode in on. 🦄⭐

The Mustang Gang: Father Knows Jest

I was getting into my car to drive to my parents' to drive to my sister's for Father's Day when my mom called.  "Wear warm clothes," she warned.  "We're taking the Mustang."  A couple of years ago, my dad finally bought his dream car, a gently used, painstakingly maintained Mustang convertible, and he drives it every chance he gets.  

I'd ridden in it only once, last Father's Day, on an ice cream run.  But my sister's was forty minutes from my parents'.  So I knew that I needed to bring the big guns in the form of a hoodie and scarf.  And I was glad I did!  For most of the ride, my face was entirely covered.  

Which was just fine with me, because warmth and sun protection in one.  Even if my sister said that I looked like "something out of an '80s Grey Gardens."     

     

Anyway, a good time was had by all.  It was a day of dad jokes and classic rock (The Cars, as Dad quipped, appropriately included) and baseball talk (the Phillies lost, but they'll get them next time.)  We had hot dogs and hamburgers by the pool, and I got to hang out with my nieces and nephew.  The seven-month-old had a high time playing with my necklace, which was adorable until she tried to eat it.

On the way to my sister's, we had stopped at Acme so Mom could pick up some ice cream (apparently, the Mustang's programmed to fetch Father's Day dairy).  Dad and I waited in the car.  He took off his baseball cap and said that his hair was almost all white.  I said that it looked good on him, and that I had more white hairs too.  When Mom returned, Breyers melting in hand, Dad filled her in on our conversation.  I thought that it was poignant that we'd gone from Dad teaching me how to ride a bike and drive a car to us comparing notes about the follicular passage of time.

At the end of the day, Dad thanked Mom and me for humoring him with the Mustang.  And although we didn't say so in pun form at the time, wild horses couldn't drag us away.

On that note, I hope that everyone had a happy and memorable Father's Day.  Hopefully, with lots of laughs and ice cream. :)

R is for Red and Retro: July Five Alive, Come and Sea

Bathing Beauty Charm Bracelet

Bikini: Venus
Sunglasses: Michaels

The Fourth of July is the star of the summer.  But you never hear anything about the fifth of July (which is why it's not capitalized :).  You know.  When the smoke from the sparklers has cleared and swimsuits and citronella are seventy-five percent off.  Maybe it's because I live at the beach and waited for what seemed like an eternity amid angry mobs of day-trippers at the local Acme to pay for some lemons.  But there's no denying that there's a certain relief that comes when the fanfare and crowds have evaporated, and the sun-steamed world is restored to sweet peace.  After all, peace is the essence of summer.  They don't call them the hazy, lazy days for nothing.

Rosalie shore seems to think so.  What's that you say?  Who the heck is Rosalie?  Why, the 1950s femme fatale figure dangling so fetchingly from this Bathing Beauty Charm Bracelet.  A siren of swimming pool cool, she also appears on the matching Bathing Beauty Charm Necklace that I made last December.  I remember that it was the Christmas season because a) I mentioned Manchester by the Sea in my post, and b) because I said so here.

But I digress.

Simply stated, this Bathing Beauty Charm Bracelet was begging to be made.  Because a necklace without a bracelet is like a queen without her king, a rodeo clown without his bronco, or Guy Fieri without a hunk of pork butt.  In other words, unthinkable.  What's more, this particular bracelet will be a not-so-secret free gift for the lucky lady (or lad!) who buys the Bathing Beauty Charm Necklace.  So, I'm celebrating the Fifth of July (now is the time for capitalization) with peace and, yes, primo pieces.  Even though I once said that calling my creations "pieces" was precious and pretentious and probably a whole host of other icky "p" words.  Still, as always, that's a sacrifice I'm willing to make for the sake of sound wordplay.

Just as Rosalie is willing to sacrifice a serious acting career by playing pinup.

For Camping and Kitchen . . .

 Fabulous Felt Campfire Cutie Necklace

Sweater: So, Kohl's

Skirt: Boscov's

Shoes: Bongo, Kohl's

Bag: Marshalls

Belt: Apt. 9, Kohl's

 Greengrocer's Girl Necklace

Dress: Modcloth

Tee: So. Kohl's

Cardigan: Candie's, Kohl's

Shoes: Alloy

Bag: Bisou Bisou, JCPenney

Fabulous Felt Rosy Posy Necklace

Dress: LC Lauren Conrad, Kohl's

Tee: So, Kohl's

Shoes: Betseyville, JCPenney's

Bag: Princess Vera, Kohl's

. . . so says the Acme store-brand matchbox sandwiched between two of this week's photos.  Well, they got the "camp" part right.  After all, what better word than "campy" to describe a necklace that features felt flames? Neckwear notwithstanding, you won't catch me around a campfire any time soon (and not only because the glue in that thing is flammable enough to take out a Winnebago).  At least not unless I find myself as a movie extra in a scene that calls for toasting marshmallows around a bonfire on a cozy beach or in a creepy clearing (depending on if it's a romantic comedy or a slasher flick. Who am I kidding?  Of course it's a rom com; I can't even cook a steak without getting squeamish ).  

Faux film or not, I shouldn't mock matches.  I was mighty glad to have mine last week when the power went out.  Ditto goes for the candles that I usually eschew.  Lemon curd custard and nasturtium nectar smell more sweet than sickly when they're illuminating your cave of a campsite, er, casa.  The only drawback?  Having to put my latest glue-clogged project on hold.  Safety first, senoritas.      

Who Says You Can't Eat Potato Chips for Dinner?

Certainly not me. In need of comfort food after all of this rain as well as a recipe that wouldn't take too much time (because I had to go grocery shopping after work -- yuck), I pulled out an old favorite from my mom's recipe box: chicken and almonds. The name makes it sound almost wholesome. But if you know me, then you know better. Check out the recipe:

Ingredients:

2 cups boiled chicken
1/2 cup almonds
2 tablespoons chopped celery
2 tablespoons chopped onion
2 teaspoons lemon juice
1 cup mayonnaise
1/2 cup grated American cheese (I had to go low rent with the processed version, as it was all I had, having forgotten to buy the real stuff on my Acme run.)
1 bag potato chips, crushed (The recipe never specified just what size this bag should be. I used about 1/3 of an 11 oz-er.)

Directions:

Combine ingredients in an 11" x 9" casserole dish and bake at 400 degrees for 20 minutes. It doesn't get any easier than that. Unless, of course, you're resuscitating one of those awful boxed casserole things. To be fair, I did mess this dish up once, back when I was still living with my parents. The original recipe called for salt as well as potato chips, and in true lemming fashion I went ahead and added both without considering the horrifically salty consequences. At the time my mom and I attempted to eat it. But that wasn't happening, not even after we tried to dilute it with some Romaine. My mom asked what had happened, and I said, "I just followed your recipe!" She seemed to think this was funny, saying something like, "Oh, no one actually adds the salt." Needless to say, when I copied the recipe down for my own, I left that part out.

Chicken with Almonds in its unadulterated, full casserole form.

And here nicely plated with a crisp salad and some creamy avocado chunks. The bf doesn't like avocados, which meant more for me. :)

Saturday Night at the Acme

Yeah, you read that right. After a casual dinner on the island this past Saturday night, the bf and I headed to the Acme to load up on the week's groceries. Now, ordinarily I don't like grocery shopping. It strikes me as boring and tedious, and I often go on autopilot, efficiently grabbing the things on my list as fast as I can so I can get the heck out of there. The bf takes a different approach. He likes to take his time, exploring all of the possibilities and new products. True to form, he made one of his discoveries on this trip -- Atlantic City postcards for just ten cents each! "You could make something out of them," he suggested. But of course. Greedily, I rifled through the pile, settling on ten of my favorites and wondering how many times I'd barreled past them on previous trips in hot pursuit of JELL-O bowls or Smartfood.

The bargains didn't stop there. As we meandered down the toiletries aisle (one I dutifully skip when shopping solo), I came upon a wire basket brimming with Cover Girl cosmetics marked down to $1.99. Abandoning my thou-shalt-not-OD-on-purchasing-makeup mantra, I gleefully scooped up a powder compact, liquid foundation, and two eyeshadow quads, one all business (neutral browns called Country Woods) and one party ready (wild shades dubbed Tropical Fusion). Even as I type this post I'm contemplating returning for a lipstick or two . . .

So, about these postcards. They scream decoupage to me, and I have just the wooden box upon which to Mod Podge them. I can't promise results any time soon, though, as I'm waist-deep in totes and jewelry to be created for the upcoming shows.

Fruitcake

At the self checkout in Acme a couple of weeks ago, I spotted a display of Hostess fruit cakes. I thought about the many fruit cakes I'd given as gag gifts over the years and grabbed one, sure it would come in handy. But Christmas came and went, and I hadn't unloaded it. So the bf suggested we try it. I was hesitant. "Oh, come on," he said. "It's full of fruit; you'll probably love it." Still unsure, I put a greasy morsel in my mouth. And instantly swallowed so I wouldn't have to taste it anymore. The bf had the same reaction, which is saying something because he likes everything. We threw the rest on the lawn, for the birds.

Hey, at least now we know.