Category: Vintage
There Was Another One?
Three Pairs of Four-Eyes
Behold the power of the cat’s eye glasses to make an otherwise attractive 16-year-old girl look 74 years old.
However, the presbyopia epidemic dared not cross the threshold of the Anderson home, for these two towheaded teens were clearly spared (or too vain to wear them in their portraits). If Delores and Donna were in fact twins, I can say with certainty that they were fraternal. We all know who the pretty one is. But if it’s any consolation, Donna had the better marriage. The Andrus twins, however, were identical, down to their floral pinafores. The only difference appears to be Norma’s daring sideswept bang. And her mischievous smile.
Then we have the bottom row, all of whom spent significant amounts of time with pink foam curlers–or perhaps, cans of frozen orange juice. The result can only be called breathtaking. In the case of the center ladies, I half expect a surfer to fly out from under the tidal wave atop their tilted heads. Magnificent! And Jean is really selling the look. Once you see the Sophomore Favorites, you’ll understand why they tried so hard. Two words. Elmer Snodgrass.
Once the word was out that he didn’t like Jana “in that way,” it was on. IT. WAS. ON. Competition was fierce. Jeanette Hill accidentally dropped her books in front of him. Classic Jeanette.
It didn’t work. Sandra Mabry used her graceful swanlike neck and coconut macaroon earrings to entice him in Economics class.
No dice. Pastor’s daughter, Donna Smith, lay in wait for him in the parking lot, asking for a light for her Camel.
He did not light her Camel. Those broads were swell, but they all lacked one thing that only Nancy Shurbet possessed.
Super-tinted lenses.
Life Cycle of a Bad Relationship
- Giddy, alert, on your game, let’s do this
- Still excited, feeling comfortable enough to be both goofy and gassy
- Second thoughts, self-medicating, borderline anemic
- American Gothic, mugshot, regret
Tell Your Exes Where To Go
Passport To Refreshment
I’d be pretty miffed, too, if all I had to drink was 12 oz in a Coke bottle. What’s that–three sips? That’s like drinking one glass of wine, one Pringle, one chip with salsa. It’s just a tease. But no worries–as soon as school was out, the kids hit the corner drug store for (no, not anti-depressants) fellowship, gossip, and soda pop.
Toss ’em back, girls. Finals are tomorrow and you’ll have to pull an all-nighter. And I’m not sure NoDoz has been invented yet. But take heart; in just two score years, the soda will be flowing like the River Thames.
SEVEN OUNCES! AM I READING THAT CORRECTLY? THAT’S A SHOT GLASS. But mercy, did it triple, quadruple, and whatever words there are for getting six times bigger. But that ain’t nothin’. Sonic sells the Route 44. Don’t you want to take the Nestea plunge into this cherry limeade?
Come to think of it, where’s the Route 66? Would that fit in the cupholder? Maybe, but it would dilute by the time I got home. Ugh! First World Problems!
Now, honestly, do you think they were only drinking one soda per sitting back in the day? That’s not what the soda companies wanted. When research in the 1930s showed that people’s blood sugar went down at 10:30am, 2:30pm, and 4:30pm, Dr. Pepper was all over that with their new slogan. Those of you who are slaves to the man have real jobs recognize these three times. I bet you get your caffeine on at 10, 2 and 4.
Yeah, there’s no way they just drank one. Think about it. If you’re on a date with Johnny, it only takes about three minutes to get through an entire bottle. Then what do you drink?
What did they drink before free refills? Did they order water? Did they just sit and get dehydrated for the next hour? There is no way I could eat Mexican food with only 12 oz to wash it down, especially if I just swallowed a serrano pepper.
Maybe they only drank one soda so they could save room for this:
I meant the ice cream, not the soda jerk. Although he looks dapper in his starched whites. Can you begin to imagine what that would taste like? Ice cream from a cow that ate grass, that roamed around on a farm, not pumped full of growth hormones or antibiotics, before the estrogenization of dairy, before man boobs and low T. Sorry, I’m off on a tangent. Where were we again? Oh, yeah. Soda. Could it get any crazier?
It has.
So what’s the answer? Where do we go from here?
Oops. Nevermind. That’s actually a lighter.
Huddle Up
Pre-Star Wars Lightsabers 1953
Hungry Eyes
Nobody puts Baby in a corner, unless it’s a corner drug store. After performing the iconic lift scene with Johnny, Baby took a break with a malted down at Cunningham’s Drug Store. Looks like she had the time of her life.
Making Plans
Free Milk; No Cow Purchase Necessary
Oh, sure, it starts out innocently enough, the rush of adrenaline as you bare your calf to fifth-grade boys. But it isn’t enough. And Liquid Paper and Sharpies haven’t been invented yet, so you can’t huff them in the calm quiet of a restroom stall. But rebellion is in your blood, and you seek the thrill.
Soon you’re smoking Pall Malls to see who can get esophageal cancer first .
By college, you’ve gone all Sister Wives.
You’ve lost your self-respect. You consider relocating to Salt Lake City. But then Dorko McGoober here kicks you out of the tribe. You’re alone. All you have are your vices. You avoid your grandmother’s phone calls. You stop taking multivitamins. You rat your hair. You accept a date from a greaser, and it all goes downhill from there.
He dumps you after three weeks. You turn to the dark world of roller derby.
But your mood swings are unmanageable. You get into fights with that hussy, Rhonda. You have to be pried apart. The manager tells you they have to let you go; you’re no good for business. You’re washed up, kid.
And then you hit rock bottom. You take a job as an “entertainer” at Jack Ruby’s Carousel Club. You tell yourself it’s just temporary.
You look in the mirror, and suddenly 50 years have passed. Where did they go? What do you do now?
Don’t give away free milk, ladies. It’s a downward spiral.
When Steve McQueen Says You’re Hot, People Listen
The 1964 yearbook staff at the University of Oklahoma had the juevos to ask Steve McQueen to participate as “Beauty Judge” for their beauty contest. He actually took the time to reply.
Ask and ye shall receive. After all, years of girl-gazing did qualify him to judge. And he chose Miss Barbie Listen. Yep, that’s her real name.
Can you blame him? Her hair is only perfect. Her dress and gloves are white as snow. And I think it was very diplomatic of him to name five girls in the tie for 4th place. Nobody wants to be the loser. But I imagine Barbie Listen comes from the school of Ricky Bobby:
Suck it, losers.
I Don't Get It 