“Stop writhing on the floor and pet my rubber glove chicken” and other strange things I said in the 1980s.

Much of my early college days were a blur.  I was 17,  and 300 miles away from home in the big city of Toronto, surrounded by other equally young and stupid people.  And my college did it’s part to encourage the corruption of its youth.  Not only did it host regular pub event on campus, but it often shipped busloads full of novice alcoholics to Buffalo and Niagara Falls, New York.  The bars were bigger.  The drinking age would remain a mere 19 until December of that year.  And the pubs had sober-sounding monikers like The Library. Yes, we could honestly tell our concerned parents that we were spending our Friday nights at the library.  How convenient.  Club Exit in Niagara Falls was a little harder to explain.  I don’t remember much about either of these places, but I know they served booze.

Um.  They had menus?  And tables?  I thought the whole place was just a big, black void.  At least, that's how I remember it.

Um. They had menus? And tables? I thought the whole place was just a big, black void. At least, that’s how I remember it.

And, yes.  The legal drinking age WAS 19.  And I WAS 17.  But we won’t discuss how I got around that one.  Because, of course, it was all perfectly legal.

This is all that remains of Club Exit.  A logo.  And a drinking glass that I have never parted with.

This is all that remains of Club Exit. A logo. And a drinking glass that I have never parted with.

In between my vodka & Tang induced blackouts, I do recall one rather bizarre detail.  People dancing on the floor.  Literally ON THE FLOOR.  Lying on it.  Writhing to the music.

Has anyone checked to see if they are okay?  Maybe they are having synchronized seizures.

Has anyone checked to see if they are okay? Maybe they are having synchronized seizures.

The song was either “How Soon is Now” by the Smiths or “Every Day is Halloween” by Ministry.  I loved both, so I grabbed the nearest cute guy (vodka and Tang makes a person brave) and dragged him up on the dance floor.  I’m showcasing my best 80s moves and I notice that my tall-haired partner is missing.  I scan the dance floor.  WTF?  Did he vanish in to thin air?  Hell no, that would have been the preferred option.  Rather, he is prone on the floor–apparently having the time of his life.  I don’t even think he noticed when I walked off.  I should have stepped on him.

Ah.  I loved the 80s.

Rather than embark on the uncovering of three new weird and goofy facts, I thought that today I’d simply re-visit some of the weirdest stuff from the ’80s, the best decade yet.

Slouch socks. How did we fight the urge to keep pulling these damn droopy things up?

Parachute pants were basically tents with legs and flattered NO ONE...including the chick donning them here.

Parachute pants were basically tents with legs and flattered NO ONE…including the chick donning them here.

The women of TV's "Dallas" sported linebacker shoulder-padding that made their heads look rather pin-like.

Shoulder pads: the women of TV’s “Dallas” sported linebacker shoulder-padding that made their heads look like push pins.

The Adidas bag.  No high school nerd was complete without it.

The Adidas bag. No high school nerd was complete without it.

Absolutely everything came in dusty rose--clothes, walls, furniture.  Ugh.  Didn't the K-Car even come in a shade of this 1980s colour?

Absolutely everything came in dusty rose–clothes, walls, furniture. Ugh. Didn’t the K-Car even come in a shade of this 1980s colour?

The Chevette.  Yes, it was butt ugly, but everyone had one or knew someone who had one.

The Chevette. Yes, it was butt ugly, but everyone had one or knew someone who had one.

Atari-This exciting piece of technology caused ooo's and aaah's everywhere it went.

Atari-This exciting piece of technology caused ooo’s and aaah’s everywhere it went.  Now it just makes us laugh.

Stirrup stretch pants were all the rage.  I know they that when I see them, they make me rage.

Stirrup stretch pants were all the rage. I was short so the foot part always hung loosely and bunched up in my shoes.

Who could forget The Man With Two Brains?  Believe me, I've tried.  Oh pointy bird, oh pointy pointy.  Anoint my head.  Anointy-nointy.

Who could forget The Man With Two Brains? Believe me, I’ve tried. Oh pointy bird, oh pointy pointy. Anoint my head. Anointy-nointy.

Knots Landing's Lisa Hartman had great (big) hair.  I wore mine exactly like it in grade 12 and thought it was the coolest thing ever.

Knots Landing‘s Lisa Hartman had great (big) hair. I wore mine exactly like it in grade 12 and thought it was the coolest thing ever.

High school me and my rubber glove chicken.  Yup, I was a dork.

High school me and my rubber glove chicken. Yup, I was a dork.

Photo Credits:  The Library (urbanspoon.com),  Club Exit (trademarkia.com), slouch socks (elliesox.com), parachute pants (digital changeling.com),  Adidas & Dusty rose (etsy.com), chevette (charest.net), atari (thenestway.com), stirrups (sodahead.com), Man with 2 Brains (www.guardian.co.uk), Knots Landing (bonkbusterdiaries.com).

2013 is a pain in the neck. And why do I smell cheese?

I’ve always heard that whatever you are doing on New Year’s is what you’ll be doing for the rest of the year.  If this is true, 2013 will be a “pain in the neck.”  Literally.  I don’t know what the heck I was doing in my sleep the other night–I hope it was fun–but, for the past two days I have felt like this woman:

I wonder if this would make me taller.

I wonder if this would make me taller.

after someone removes her neck rings.  Seriously.  As much as I like having a neck (how else would I be able to wear necklaces and scarves), right now, I would gladly have it lopped off and opt to simply have my head sewn right on to my shoulders.  Except that would make me shorter.

On a lighter note, I bet Wile E. Coyote would have fun with this lady’s neck and a giant ACME magnet.

I wonder what would happen to a knife thrower if he did his act in front of one of those giant magnets?  Would he look like a piece of Swiss cheese covered in ketchup?  Sorry.  Neck pain brings out the sadist in me.

Which reminds me of a joke we used to tell when we were kids.  What’s orange and red and lies at the side of the road?  A wounded cheezie.  That one still disturbs me.  But it fails to prevent me from eating cheezies.

And my husband can't even tie ONE of these by himself.

And my husband can’t even tie ONE of these by himself.

1)  I am glad that women don’t have to wear neckties.  Especially to July weddings.  But the way I feel today, I think that donning 150 or so ties would provide an awesome amount of neck support.  Like a flashy neck brace.

Although, as I gaze upon this picture of Arnold Albert, the Guinness Record Holder for wearing the most ties at once, I must admit that he looks anything but comfortable.  Should the human neck bend back at a 90 degree angle like that?

I am impressed that he managed to tie 150 neckties though.  In my household, I am the tie tier (that looks really weird in print).  I’m glad to know that my skills developed during the “1980s women wearing skinny black leather neckties era” have not been lost.

Finally.  A room I don't have to worry about staining with cheeto fingers.

Finally. A room I don’t have to worry about staining with Cheeto fingers.

2)Let’s face it.  Art work made of food is pretty cool.  I have already featured cheese sculptures and Cereal masterpieces.  Today, in honour of wounded cheezies everywhere, I present Cheeto Art.

This piece is entitled “The Cocktail Party”  by Sandy Skoglund–an artist who specializes in tableaux that marry photography and pop culture.  Too bad orange clashes with my red hair.  That cheezie dress looks pretty cool.

Then again, Conan O’Brien is a ginger and he looks pretty good in Cheetos. 

Who wouldn't want to clone a few best buddies and try their hand at indoor hot-air ballooning?

Who wouldn’t want to clone a few best buddies and try their hand at indoor hot-air ballooning?

3)  As I previously mentioned, I am currently tempted to perform a “neckectomy.”  While perusing the Internet for instruction, I came across a promising offering at Amazon–“Do-it-yourself Brain Surgery.”  Surely, if I can do a lobotomy in my living room, a neck removal can’t be that difficult.

And if that doesn’t work, I can always recruit Humphrey the hamster into the whole “breeding combat hamsters” endeavour.  If I can wake him up.  I’m not sure how effective a narcoleptic fighter hamster will be in the face of battle.

Some of this book’s other offerings appear more promising.  What could be easier than converting one’s home into a romantic ruin?  Well, a “ruin” at least.  I assume a romantic ruin is just a ruin with scented candles.

Excuse me.  I’m off to perform neck surgery.

I’d rather have a bottle in front of me than a frontal lobotomy.

neck cartoon

Photo Credits:  Long necked woman (www.coolpicturegallery.us), tie guy (plus.google.com  Guinness World Records profile),Cheeto room (sandyskoglund.com), Conan (ellerg.blogspot.ca), book (amazon.com).