Another triple digit day, week, and month here in the Lone Star State with zero precipitation and not a chance of rain as far as the eye can see. I can’t wait until the temps drop down to 95 and we ladies can wear just one brassiere per day. You try walking a dog/doing dishes/trimming hedges at 8am and see if your bra doesn’t wind up ready to wring out by 9am. October can’t get here too fast!
Well, if that’s the way you feel about it, Janis, don’t smile. No matter. The 1962 Hardin-Simmons University annual offers up plenty of ladies more than happy to flaunt their bangs, including the “inverted heart.”
One of these ladies even showed some teeth.
These gals only look smug because they’re perusing pics of people with even inferior bangs.
And how about these bedroom eyes?
Three Oklahoma A&M College students return to campus in the fall of 1947. Big Hoss here seems to be taking it in stride.
When in doubt, use a ruler as a belt.
A smirking deputy, spent from hours of public service, stops at a booth to:
Being beautiful in 1942 had more to do with how daintily you held your fingers to your chin than with the symmetry of your features. If, by chance, you had man hands, you could look off to the side wistfully. But it wasn’t nearly as effective.
You don’t see much of this style these days. Little wispy bangs curled and spiraled like a double helix. Those of you in your 40s may also recall the curse of the add-a-bead necklace back in the day: one was supposed to wear it UNDER the collar, but like Bad Bangs shows us here, it would often pop out from under the collar.
I’m pretty sure this is Pam Dawber during her Mork and Mindy days, but that has not been confirmed. In any event, she is distracting from her two bang pieces with this horizontal stripe (probably boatneck).
This next lady looks pretty self-satisfied, having shoved her curled partial bang off to the side of her forehead, where it will not interfere with activities of daily living.
Each of these lovely ladies can console themselves that they were not donning the Dorothy Hamill cut, so popular in 1976, a full SIX YEARS PRIOR. Poor Paula cannot say the same.
Way to keep the 70s in the 80s, Paula.
As some of you may have noticed, I’ve been MIA for a week now. My family and I took some time to visit Myrtle Beach (our first trip to the East Coast) and our first flight together.
We stuffed ourselves on insanely high-priced meals (burgers run about $17), visited Broadway on the Beach, as well as The Boardwalk, frolicked in the waves, and took a spin on the Sky Wheel.
Now that I am home, belly full of Tex-Mex food, I have loads of laundry to do–and lots of catching up here on WordPress! Glad to be back.
Welcome to Vogue Sep 2013, 902 pages of over-the-top, aesthetically displeasing ads that I DO NOT GET. I still regret paying $1 for it. All I wanted was some perfume samples.
Look, I liked Vogue as a youth. I enjoyed models and high fashion and keeping up with the trends, perusing through the modern and artsy pages. Perhaps they were even inspiring at one point. But now? Now I cannot get past these ads. Vile.
Spare me any comments about how high-concept or fashion-forward Vogue is; you’ll only sound pretentious or as tired as Madonna’s antiquated song. Ads don’t happen by accident; I’m 100% certain this contrived androgynous look was exactly what they were going for.
All I know is, somebody, please FEED HER. (Not Jennifer Lawrence, but the topless one). And make sure she keeps it down, if you know what I mean. And while you’re at it, throw a shirt on her and trot her to the closest neurologist to see if those dopamine receptors are down, because this one’s smile is broken.
Ralph Rucci, this makes me feel uncomfortable, and discomfort does not buy your product. In fact, it makes me want to ralph into a toilet bowl (where you should put your flowy too-long skirt, fur muff, belt, gloves and bad eye shadow). And take that hairdon’t back to Moe from the Three Stooges. But props to you for getting celebs to buy your clothes! Rich folk love them some runways. Cha-ching!
And I apologize to Crispin Glover, who is actually much easier on the eyes (yet arguably as eccentric) than the aforementioned shemale.
I spent yesterday evening, pruning myriad branches in the back yard. I have no green thumb, no knowledge of correct pruning, nor any desire at all to do it the right way. All I know is there are too many branches, too many twigs, too many green sprouting leaves everywhere, and I have a pair of pruning shears. And although June in Texas is usually the last vestige of anything green before the Great Drought covers the land, I cannot entirely appreciate it, knowing that branches are toppling over the fence into the neighbor’s yard. I had no choice but to go all Edward Scissorhands on the trees, and this dragonfly stopped by to bid adieu to a fallen branch.
One thing I learned about vitex trees; you can lob off one sprouting branch, and (just like grey hairs), twenty will appear in its place. You have to be vigilant, or they sprout like crazy, winding around each other like kindergartners fighting to be first in line.
I did feel a bit sad, watching these lavender blooms fall to the earth. Oh, well.
As I passed by these pretty little things, I could hear The Judds singing:
Are the roses not blooming this morning?
Has the sun lost its beautiful ray?
And of course, my response was: Actually, the roses are blooming this morning. And they are fine indeed.
I Don't Get It 