Five Men's Fashion First Impressions (With Apologies to Guinea Pigs and Rats and the Readers Who Love Them)

What better way to ring in the last day of the year (a day not often rung in, but let's go with it) than with the triumphant return of the Five Men?

And what better way to ring in the triumphant return of the Five Men (once you start ringing things in, it can be tough to stop) than with this terrifying, $300 lamb-fur satchel, first discussed by Ambika in this spot-on analysis?

Gah! This thing gets scarier every damn time. Let's hand it off to the always articulate men, shall we?

Brother, Age 12: OK...Inside-out cat?

Boyfriend: Whoooaaa.
(Two minute pause)
Me: Take a little longer.
Boyfriend: Hey! Maybe I just won't do this. Then it'll be Four Men's Fashion First Impressions.
Me: That's just as catchy. I engineered it that way so I could break up with you.
Boyfriend: Damn.

Father: (Scoffs) It looks like a purse made of a giant regurgitated owl pellet. Or if I was happily dreaming, it would be made out of 15 or 20 guinea pigs. [Editor's note: My dad has guinea pig issues. Maybe I'll explain later.]

Brother, Age 20: Oh shit...hmmm...(sighs)...umm...
Me: Well, what do you think of it?
Brother, Age 20: Guinea pig? (Turns to leave the room)
Me: Hey where are you going?
Brother, Age 20: What?? It's just really ugly.

Brother, Age 20, returns twenty minutes later, mumbles sheepishly: You know what I just realized? That bag reminds me of Cheesehead*.

Brother, Age 18: Umm...first impression? Shag carpet at a brothel in the 70's, converted into a bag.


*Cheesehead here of course refers to my brother's beloved childhood pet rat. We awoke one morning many years ago to find Cheesehead's cage was empty, and a confrontation with my parents revealed that Cheesehead had died in the night and been buried. My brother and I mourned and we believed the Cheesehead saga was behind us, but a few years ago my mom let it slip that there was much more to the Cheesehead story than she'd previously let on: Somehow, this obese rat had crept out of his cage and made his way into my parents' bed, and my father, settling in for the night...sat on him. In short, my dad popped Cheesehead.

I would like to note here that we have questioned both parents extensively, and have found no evidence of foul play. Also, to my knowledge, this has nothing to do with my dad's disdain for guinea pigs.

God this post got weird.

Merry Christmas to all my stunningly gorgeous and intimidatingly intelligent readers!

If I were a long suffering orphan and my life were an ABC Family holiday movie, Kirk Cameron would show up at my orphanage in a Santa suit and say, "What is your Christmas wish, little girl?" and I'd say, "A shopping spree at Nordstrom with all my readers!" and he would drive me there in a sleigh to meet all of you and he would probably try to talk about Left Behind and I'd be like, "Kirk, seriously, let it go," and then he'd get offended and the sleigh ride would get really awkward for awhile but then we would arrive at Nordstrom and I'd try on dresses with all of you and oh boy would it be swell!


Even though Kirk never showed up (the bastard), I did receive a lovely early present last week when Catwalk Queen named Daddy Likey to their list of Top 100 Fashion and Lifestyle Blogs (check out #13). Thanks so much to Gemma and all the Shiny girls (hopefully they don't remove me from the list for posting a picture of Kirk Cameron), and congrats to all my fellow bloggers!

I'll be back after I'm sufficiently bloated with merriment (i.e. ham). In the meantime, have a wonderful holiday and enjoy this cyber fruitcake!


p.s. Alien vs. Predator: Requiem comes out tomorrow! GOD BLESS AMERICA

ATTENTION SAUCY BRITS

Is "Saucy Brits" an OK thing to say? That's not a derogatory term, is it? I think I heard it in a Hugh Grant movie once, but now that I've put it up there in blaring capital letters, I'm worried that it might be the equivalent of Susie Bubble titling a post "ATTENTION FAT, LAZY AMERICANS," which of course she would never do (unless maaaayybe a fat, lazy American did something really horrible, like sat on her cat and refused to get up, but I'm not even sure that she has a cat and good god this sentence is getting out of hand), but you get the idea?

Anyway...assuming I haven't mortally offended you and/or completely lost your interest, I'm in need of some advice. ASOS: perhaps you've heard of it? They carry delightfully cute things like this top, which my friend Lydia is currently coveting:

What has been your experience with ASOS quality? Do you think this top would look good for an hour and then disintegrate in the rain? Or would it last for decades and become a family heirloom Lydia could pass down to her future well-dressed daughter?

The prices are wonderfully low in pounds, but switch up that currency to dollars and add shipping costs and all of a sudden a coat costs roughly as much as a mini cooper. I've had my eye on a few things on the site as well, so your feedback here could greatly affect numerous American closets.

Help me, Great Britain. You're my only hope.*

*OK, so I kind of lied about the "only hope" thing--I'd love for anyone, anywhere, who has shelled out shipping for an ASOS item to respond. I've got multiple hopes.

An Imagined Conversation Between Myself and This Extremely Grumpy Mike & Chris Model

Me: So...that's a really nice jacket.

Model: I guess.

Me: That's a Mike & Chris, right?

Model: Yeah.

Me: Oh my gosh I'm so jealous! Are you, like, in heaven right now?

Model: No.

Me: Well, it looks fabulous on you.

Model: I know.

Me: Not to pry, but wow, much does that thing cost? Their leather jackets go for a grand a piece, so a basic cotton trench...hmm...300 bucks? 400?

Model: I don't care.

Me: Did you know that you're wearing my monthly income?

Model: Hm.

Me: Sooo...what's your favorite movie?

Model: I hate movies.

Me: I'm trying to decide between Annie Hall and Heavyweights.

Model: Dreadful.

Me: Which one?

Model: Who cares?

Me: I'm confused.

Model: Mm hmm.

Me: OK, I've gotta know--what's your deal? I mean, you're wearing a Mike & Chris jacket! I'd be pissing with joy right now if I were you. And not only that, you've got a slammin' bod, great bone structure...sure, your hair could use a hot oil treatment, but couldn't we all?

Model: I suppose.

Me: So what's your deal? Is it global warming?

Model: Actually, yeah.

Me: Awww, no tears! It'll be fine. Mike & Chris just came out with some really cute sleeveless tanks and dresses! Actually, to be honest, they're not thaaat cute. They're alright I guess. But obviously their greatest strength is still hoodies and outerwear.

Model: See? Why bother? It's all futile. Life is pointless.

Me: Oh, come on, life's never pointless when you're wearing a Mike & Chris! My life is pointless, sure, but YOU, you've got things goin' for you!

Model: Idiotic drivel. Why are you talking to me?

Me: Have you ever seen that great Woody Allen bit where he's standing next to this girl at a museum, and they're looking at a Jackson Pollock? He asks her what the painting says to her, and she goes on and on about the negativeness of the universe and how there is no God and our very existence is meaningless, and after awhile Woody says, "What are you doing Saturday night?" The girl says, "Committing suicide." So he goes, "How about Friday?"

Model: No, I haven't seen that.

Me: Oh.

My Extremely Modest Eighteen-Year-Old Brother Takes a Shower

My much-requested guest blogger sibling is back with a brutally honest (and always humble) account of his latest shower. In the words of Dog the Bounty Hunter: take it away, Brah:

The sweat soaked the back of my neck, my sideburns were completely saturated, and my shirt produced a smell that most closely resembled broccoli. Having just worked out for thirty minutes (until being scared from the empty gym by a sound that could only be attributed to a velociraptor), I was understandably grimy.

Staying at my sister's condo, I had no choice but to use her shower. When Nona suggested that I write a review of her new peppermint body wash, I thought "Why not go further and review the whole shower experience?"

To begin, the bathroom has a mirror that covers the entire wall; there is no escaping it. So for me, the experience was off to a good start. It took a turn for the worst, however, when I was unable to turn off the scolding hot water and had to receive instruction through the door. The shampoo was adequate and the basic ivory soap served its purpose. It was when I moved to the conditioner that I ran into problems.


The red conditioner bottle* read "None of your frizzness" or something stupid like that. What the shit? Now I'm depressed. I overcame my anger for shitty marketing and lathered up the old mop and was surprised to find an instant silkiness overtake my hair.

With a renewed sense of hope I tried the face wash. I am seriously considering adding face wash to my shower lineup at home due to the recent appearance of zits which, due to perfect genes, are a family taboo. Aside from burning my eyes worse than the time I drove a nail into a can of silicone spray this face wash was pretty satisfying.

The final and arguably best stage of the entire experience was the peppermint body wash**. Two hours after the shower and as I sit typing this I am exuding an intoxicating strong peppermint musk.


In the end, my DaddyLikey's shower experience was above average. Still, there is much room for improvement***.


Editor's notes:
*He is referring here to Herbal Essences "None of Your Frizzness" Smoothing Conditioner
**More specifically, the divine Philosophy Candy Cane body wash/bubble bath that my lovely friend Laila gave me for Christmas.
***Jeez, he's harsh.