Badthropologie ii

In the words of one loyal reader, "This outfit makes me want to donate my eyes to science right now."

Science probably wouldn't take your eyes, dear reader.  It's that bad. It's like they've been staring at a welder's torch.  A sequined, tweed welder's torch.

Regrethropologie

This Joo has been gone for many moons.  It takes a real emergency to tear Bad Joo away from M.  This is just such an emergency.

It has come to this Joo's attention that Anthropologie is off its fucking rocker.  That's right. www.anthropologie.com sucks limp donkey pantsuit, apparently.

The jury will direct its attention to Exhibit A:

Now, these Joos recognize that Anthropologie has to ride the cutting edge, the razor's edge, if you will, of fashion.  But it appears to these Joos that Anthropologie slit its wrist on said cutting edge, bleeding all over the good carpets and reminding us of why Anthropologie can't have nice things.

The jury will direct its attention to Exhibit B:

$1900 to look like a fat Israeli Heidi?

The jury will direct its attention to Exhibit C:

It's almost as if Anthropologie's buyers came across a lot of bad Simplicity patterns from the 1980's in some forgotten warehouse. And the model brought her own vintage Contempo Casuals belt.  Whose idea was it to pair this with a white tee?  And again, WTF???

Exhibit D:

We were all forced to wear this skirt to a piano recital.  It didn't help to pair the damn thing with bangle bracelets then, and it's not helping now.  And denim shirt much?  Ow.

This is not over. The Hammer pants haven't been discussed, and the $2,000 jacket stolen from some tribesman passed out on peyote has not even been brought up. 

This isn't over, Anthro. Go back to the drawing boards, and we'll make it stop.  Until then, IT BURNS!

Hey 19

M is 19 months old. That's right, internettes. It has been nineteen months since This Joo pushed that bad boy out of her ladybits whilst surrounded by a veritable crowd of well-wishers. At 19 months M - a.k.a The Otter/The Bird/The Little Gray Mouse/The Little Brown Louse/The Grouchy Gray Grouse- amuses this Joo with his daily antics of telling EVERY DOG IN THE NEIGHBORHOOD TO "HUSH", saying "no" to everyone else, and having Autistic-like fascinations with bubbles (which he asks for fifty times a day).

No, he's not yet sleeping through the night. And, yes, he's still nursing. KEEP YOUR LAWS OFF MY BODY. Wha?

Awesome Stinkface Photo Copyright 2011 Jessamyn North Photography

This Summer Sucks My Balls and Your Balls

please note the casts and the red streak in A's hair

Just for the record this summer has been nothing but a giant pain in the ass for me and my charming offspring. Esquire, however, is having the summer of dreams what with his training runs for the 50 mile race he is doing in August. You read it right. I know. Kill me first. The first memo received early summer was to let me that my first born is oops deaf. Great. So it wasn't my imagination that for the last three months I was having to put a bullhorn up to her ear and yell into it through a microphone for her to hear me. Alleriges...tubes...and we have hearing. Oh and she is allergic to everything. Including your balls. Next J also had to have a set of the tubes put in. Check. No more ear infections. And then...the biggest of all balls...B catapulted herself out our living room window. Perhaps some of you recall A doing this 3 years ago. Well I clearly didn't learn any lessons from that so I have continued to keep my windows open. Sure enough I was just getting into the tub with J when A started screaming and then...oh God...oh shit...oh big, fat balls...running outside completely naked, picking B up, B passing out, me screaming to get the neighbors, calling Esquire, going to ER, being admitted, and two broken arms and a concussion and strangely no visit from CPS. There my friends is what a shitty summer includes. Oh and just to add to the glory we are going camping for a week. Ha.

Weeeeeeeee're Baaaaaaaaaaaaack

These Joos apologize for their long absence. They were saving baby seals in Afghanistan. Or something.

To recap the last few months, the little bungalow is done (more later on that), the Joos are joos, and B fell out a window and broke her head and both arms (but is otherwise fine).

And we promise to be better about posting if you'll just give us half a chance in the future. Aw, baby, don' be like that. Come on'. Give Jooie some sugar...

"I'm Not Finished"

As Edward Scissorhands famously said to the Avon lady who discovered him, the little house is not yet finished. But we're getting there. Really.

This has been an eye-opening experience. In the course of rehabbing the little house, this Joo has learned all kinds of things that she, the experienced bungalow drooler, did not know. For instance, didst thou know that unglazed porcelain hex tile still exists? It does. And it's not too expensive from your local big box tile store. Didst thou know that a vintage wall sink from the 1930's can be had at a salvage yard in the Midwest for around $15? It can. Also, red oak floors simply coated with oil-based polyurethane turn the color of red oak floors covered with varnish 100 years ago. TRUE STORY.

All this and much, much more await this Joo in the Little House That Could. Move-in is scheduled for March 26. NO FOOLING.

fin

Dance Hall Days, Love

Thanks to Past Perfect, historic preservation consultants, I tracked down the above article, written during the construction of the little bungalow in 1910 and published in the local paper. This article confirms that the little bungie is not a kit house, but rather constructed and planned by a local builder.

While this is very cool, perhaps what is most cool is the description of the second floor, "...the second story is left entire, to be used as a gymnasium, dance hall, or anything else that the owners may desire." Take your baby by the hand indeed!