Showing posts with label Frank Sinatra. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Frank Sinatra. Show all posts

Saturday, January 21, 2023

Mugs on Mugs: Starting the Day the Golden Girls Way


Forget having a cup of Joe.  How about having a cup with Blanche and Dorothy?  Bea-cause that's what's on the breakfast table with these Golden Girls mugs I got for Christmas.  (Even if they're in my craft room instead of kitchen.  Me sully Rue or Bea with tea?  Never!)  Cute and colorful, they're a Miami devotee's dream.  But I especially love how they broadcast each Girl's philosophy:  

Blanche: (on the inside, so as not to take up real estate better spent on her face): "Day after day, I just get more fabulous!"  

Dorothy: (in all caps) "No, I will not have a nice day."

We all know that Blanche is her own biggest fan and that no one bosses Dorothy -- not even the Ticketmaster rep who trills "have a nice day" after saying that the Sinatra show is sold out.  These ladies are a (sorry not sorry) strong cup of coffee -- and that's why we love them!  Blanche oozes glamour; Dorothy corrects your grammar.  Yet they have one thing in common: they're not to be messed with.           

Try it and you just might end up in jail -- or, even worse, Shady Pines.

Saturday, May 18, 2019

Buckle Up, Buttercup

All belts from Belt is Cool, Amazon except for the orange one, which is from Marshalls.


But then, "suck it up" works well here too.  Especially when it comes to stubborn guts and too-big butts.  Because a belt -- especially these woven ones -- can accommodate behinds of all kinds.  (No notes about a belt going around your waist, please; I like the behind thing.  Mostly because it rhymes.)  You just pull tight, stick the needle thingy in any hole, and go.  Of course, there is such a thing as pulling too tight because sometimes I feel like I'm wearing a corset.  That said, I have a couple of elastic, buckle-less bow belts that spring open if I eat a big meal.  Which I naively found out last Thanksgiving.  

So, belt it out when you want to keep it all in.  Or are just jonesing for some Peg Bundy-style funky flair.  I blame that last part on the husband, who insists on humming "Love and Marriage" whenever I wear one of my beloved waist cinchers.  

But I'll take it.  It's better than "Baby's Got Back."