Ask Fran.

Anonymous Annie said:

Dear Fran,

Sometimes I feel like it's Funky Friday but then I realize it's Monday or even Wednesday mid-afternoon. What do I do about the fact that I don't like my job, miss my friends and eat shit like it's good for me and isn't actually accumulating on my hips?

Dear Anonymous Annie,

I thought it over really long and hard for a second and I think I’ve solved it. Samantha, I really think you should stop eating shit. I truly believe you will make more friends if you stop your repulsive behavior. Your breath must smell horrendous. Miranda, your shit does in fact stink. Because other than that, you sound really exciting!!! You have great enthusiasm (i.e. “Funky Friday”). Another question for you, Marlena. You signed off as “Anonymous” which led me to wonder something….do your friends even know that you miss them? You have to stop calling them and hanging up! That’s creepy and so 90’s “Scream” the movie. Furthermore stop calling them and being like “Hey Lulu, it’s Virginia, how are you?” just because you want to remain “Anonymous.” Lulu has no idea who the eff Virginia is, and I just really think it’s time for you to reveal yourself, Jessica. Also, quit the job. If you don’t like it, don’t let that be the one thing dictating your life. Or your overall happiness.

-fran

Hope Floats Eternal.

joie de vivre (from the French joie, "joy"; de, "of"; vivre, "to live, living"; "the joy of living") is  a term used to express a cheerful enjoyment of life.  joie de vivre, as one scholar has written, "can be a joy of conversation, joy of eating, joy of anything one might do...and joie de vivre may be seen as a joy of everything, a comprehensive joy, a philosophy of life, a Weltanschauung.  robert's dictionnaire says joie is sentiment exaltant ressenti par toute la conscience, that is, involving one's whole being."

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L.O.V.E.

And so, love came to us one afternoon, in the form of Didion (portrait-ed above) and her deary sister Beulah.

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Sigh. Swoon. Repeat.

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Now go here to adopt one of your own... Pretty please.

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*j

Isn't it Pretty to Think So?

art love

we'd like to think we don't sweat the small stuff.

but then we get real sweaty over extraordinary small decisions like black boots brown boots flats heels or barefoot? And then we pet the sweaty things.

we'd like to think we are growing wiser with age.

but then we realize no we are getting little wrinkles with age specially around our eyes and also finding the more we go the less we know?

we'd like to think we are cool as a cucumber and fresh as a daisy.

but then we attend a fashion event and get ultra awkward when meeting and talking to strangers and we show up wearing our white girl's version of a rasta hat and plaid yellow rainboots. to a fashion event. a FASHION event.

Ho-hum whoopsie daisies and bang on the drums, at least we're fun,

*f

Shhhhh...!

product love

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These handy-dandy little cards are classy, understated, and pack a helluva punch. Because sometimes, people should just shut the front door.

Heh, heh.

*j

Cheers, Beers & Let's Drink to Our Health

Today our bones and our windows and the streets we walked to work on are like this...

It's a green tea day. We feel calm, cool and collected, if a bit heavy-lidded. Winter is in its mid-life, hunker-down-and-freeze-its-ex-and-his-new-lover-into-the-cold-frozen-lake mindset and all we can do is not let it into our lungs and our bellies and our souls.

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We want to sleep it all away, under the covers and beside our books and our glasses of orange juice that taste so good even when it's cold. We want to sleep through our alarm and the sun and the wooden calendar that crashed to the floor in the middle of the night and made us jump up thinking we were being invaded by rapists or thieves or both.

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We want to sleep 'til it's over, sleep 'til it's thawed and ready for us and all the colors are bursting to show off and come play and make us stay out way too late with the smell of sunscreen in our hair and the stick of vodka lemmies on our hands.

We want desperately to will it to this...

art love, via colourlovers

*j

Damn the Man, Damn Our Faults

art love

Sometimes we mess up and, hey, it's no big deal, mambo-mommas. Life's one big pancake and we're just trying to eat our way through. Ya win some, ya lose some, and you drop some eggs some balls some to-dos some friends some commitments some glasses along the way.

But sometimes, just sometimes, we mess up and, hey, it's a hurdle we just fell on top of, lassies. It's a simple thing we just could not complete, and does that mean we are destined for job loss and love loss and missing kitties and effed-up kiddies?

Sigh. Are we done with these years yet? When we say goodbye to this long decade, we're going to celebrate by messing up a whole bunch of stuff, and laughing in its wake.


*j

What We Want Right Now.

French Martini

1½ oz. vodka
½ oz. Chambord
1 ½ oz. pineapple juice

Fill mixing glass with ice.
Add vodka, Chambord and pineapple juice.
Shake.
Strain into a chilled cocktail glass.

Because in our true heart of hearts, we'd like to live European. Bathe very rarely and stroll by the Seine. Oh, we know that's touristy but we'd don't give a shit. We wanna smoke skinny ciggies with a Pierre. Drink, hollar, and spit. But since we are quote unquote poor, let's go to Tarantino's in LP and cause an uproar. Anyone down? Jude we hate to do this right here and now. But we propose an impending date with french martinis, Tarantino's, and a coupla dirty whores (us)! Because duh, it's Best Friend Holiday Day Month.

Peace, love, and sanctuaries for immigrants,
*f

Lighten Up, Ya Monkeys

cartoon love

*snicker, snicker.*


*j

Ladies who don't lunch.

Are you so cool, it should be like illegal?
Do you aim to be the fuggin' hottest trophy chick, to snag the hottest trophy dude?
Have you or do you, plan on crushing a beer can overhead?

Cool. We totally get you. Cause like, we have been on a few float trips in our lifetime. Cases of Busch Light in tow. Just us. Our friends. And the good 'ol Missouri river. Dark and murky. Jumpin' off rope swings along the way. Hoping for the best, but not really knowin' how deep the water is below. Beer spillage, cigs floating by. Ahh, such a beautiful sight. A little nudity. Some kissin' with strangers. A good old flash of the nip nip and a little love from Random Randy or Stranger Steve never killed anyone, right? Exactly. We aren't sayin' we're like super proud of it. It's just that, well...those are the facts.

So, if you have ever drunkenly eaten at River Rat's Pizza (do you have the t-shirt to prove it? again not sayin' we're proud of it...just a fact) then check these charms out. Maybe buy us a few too for Chrismahka. We kinda like the creepy little yard gnome. Or the afro pinup girl. And we know exactly where we'd wear it too.

Float trip 2k8 anyone?

*f

A Tuesday Truth

Sometimes we feel swallowed by the guilt. The wishing we'd said something more clever (or is it cleverer? really, we just don't know sometimes), more kind, more in line with what they wanted. The wishing we wanted the same thing as them, as all of them. Why doesn't the double fudge brownie in front of us look as good as the apple cream cheese cupcake in the window? Is it really okay, as they say but goshfuckingdarnit don't seem to really mean it, to make everyone trek over for our apple cupcake goodness, when no one else really, I mean really, supports our decision?

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If our world was filled with nothing but fudge brownies, oh, what an easy world that would be (in more ways than one). It would make it so much easier. So much smoother. So much happier. If only we could want what they want or make them want what we want. But damnit, we like variety in our pastries and in our life, so there (cross your arms in a huff with us, pretty pretty please). Really, lads and lasses, why isn't it okay to just want what we want and like who we like and that be enough for everyone? Yes, we are in our twenties and it is that emotional time of the month, week, day, hour. But these are our feelings, nonetheless. So. Why is it so hard to have different opinions, when everyone preaches about how different is good? Why do people say to go with your heart on things but then when you do and they don't agree, they pounce. Why are we posing so many endlessly circular existential questions today? Double ugh.

So (pretty much) everyone says, 'please yourself.' 'don't let others tell you what to do.' 'don't let others make your decisions for you.' Well, mon cheries, sometimes and on somedays, it feels that everyone only utters those fabulous self-help goodies when they aren't the ones doing the telling and the making. Ahh, so goes life.

But just remember. If you want the apple cream cheese cupcake, go and get it. And add some ice cream. (Not that we're telling you what to do. Sheesh.)

*j

2 Cents Thursday: Hippy-Hipsters

cartoon love

We will never be a true-as-blue hippy-hipster. And this is why:

1. Instead of an eye-roll here and a scoff there, we giggle with glee and get over-excited by most anything.

2. We peruse, on occasion, the Bananas and Crews of the world.

3. We talk loudly and smile incessantly.

4. We say the word 'like' and flip our hair.

5. We love openly and laugh until we pee.

6. We are on Facebook.

Now, if only we didn't like their clothing style so damn much. What the hay. Put on your shades, don your American Apparel, and let's blow this popstand like two valley girls looking for pink crewnecks.

*j

I'll be 30 next month, and I plan on living forever.

Do you fancy yourself open-minded and maybe a little fuckin' weird? Do you think trolls, wizards, and ghosts are kinda hilarious- in most contexts? Have you ever tried to read The Bible or eat a salad and found that both were kinda sucky?

Well you should meet Baby Cakes, the giant man-child created by the darkly sparkly mind of South Park writer and cartoonist, Brad Neely. Episodes are posted on superdeluxe.com and Neely posts new shorts every 6-10 days on the site. And uh, bring a change of clothes. Because you might just poop your pants laughing.

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Good morning, John.

click here for song, photo love Annie Leiboweitz

JL: Good morning, Yoko.
YO: What do you want to do today, John?
JL: Oh Yoko, it doesn't matter baby, my love will turn you on.
YO: No seriously, John. I think your friends are all starting to hate me.

JL: No way babe. You could never split us up. In the middle of the bath I call your name.
YO: John!! I am an artistically misunderstood avant garde phenom!
JL: Oh Yoko, my love will turn you on, relax you Dada lovin' anti-commercialist.
YO: I am an artistic radical John! Let's record some really weird space screamer shit together.
JL: Oh Yoko, oh Yoko, oh Yoko, oh Yoko. You are one rad chick. Let's have a super trippy Friday.

Have a super trippy Friday, y'all.

*f

1996 was a good year.

Vintage yearbook pic from F & J's Definitive Years. At the time, our convos went kinda like this:

F: What up, bitch.
J: What up, bitch.
F: What's new with you? Cool lipstick.
J: Yeah. Um, nothing. Just chillin' like a bitch, pimpin' like a ho. You?
F: Cool, cool. Same.
J: You should really wax your eyebrows.
F: Yeah, but I won't learn people actually do that until years later. Let's go to the cafeteria.
J: Great idea, I'm dying for a Ho Ho. I fuckin' love cupcakes, man.
F: Yeah, I could use a weener dog. Get it, weener? Weener!
F & J: Hahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahaha.

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Welcome to Our World, Gentlemen

video love, via Howie, and the ever hip Cup of Jo

Oh how we adore this little gem of a film. The penultimate public service announcement to little girls the world over. Do watch and do comment after, won't you?

*j

Chocolate Chipped Honey Dipped Donut Holes

You know those Mondays when you feel like the weight of the world is literally hanging off your hips? Does it make you think to yourself hey pretty lady, maybe we should have slowed down on those La Creperie cream puffs? Or maybe not have had that footlong gas station special at 3am? Yes, those blueberry donut holes sure looked nice at the time but dizzamn was it nasty to wake up layin' in crumbs with frosting-ringed lips and sugar coated teeth. To top it off, you now feel that it's not so much the issues at hand but rather that you are, in fact, the eight hundred pound gorilla in the room.

Fret not, our pet. Just don't make a habit of it, Anna Nicole Smith. And when you're feeling a little too big for your skinny jeans or a little scared you may be eligible for the next Biggest Loser- keep the following thoughts in mind, and rev up your womanly sex engine.

Wiki on the curvaceous Brige Bardot:
"....the princess of pout...exuding a naiive and carefree sexuality...the first feminist pinup...a tiny wisp of French delinquency...delicious smile...stole all the world's sexual thunder...a James Dean in a bikini...she may have been portrayed as a beautiful sex object, but she ruled the roost. She kicked out any man she was tired of and invited any man she wanted."

Fran's double d mother Jennibelle:
"Remember Frances, men like shape."

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A Tuesday Truth

*we still dig Shakira
**we still aspire to learn this silvery hot belly dance

-shake yo ass watch yo self get down james brown (happy tuesday),
-f

C'est la vie!

We still think moustaches are funny, yo*. We know, we know...they are like so two to three years ago. Along with the whole skull/pirate/ninja thing. But ve do not care! Ve are raconteurs on an escapade to le moon and beyond! Or somezing.

But if you agree (you know you do), please please- run to your nearest Pottery Barn Kids store and pickup a most excellent package of stick-on fake moustaches (do it). You will love your new moustache, Burt Reynolds.

*sometimes when we have a few Red Vines we like to pretend we are our friend Howie. We slip on his glasses and get all Howie-ish. On one occasion we even wore a fake moustache. We kinda liked it for a while. And then we thought wtf are we doing. We looked like Rebecca Romijn-Connell in Ugly Betty. And not at all like that pretty girl in the stylish hat above. So we ran into the bathroom, waited behind all the high-heeled backless shirted mini skirted ladies, and scrubbed our moustache off. Mama woulda been sooo proud.

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Footnote to Fran's Post:

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Um, and Judy here had to add this fab image from her own collection. Click to enlarge, it's a goody! Dearies, please listen up: If you want to instill some good ol' party fun, pass around a permanent marker, instruct all present to draw mustache on inside of index finger, and proceed to run up to one another with said index finger placed over upper lip. It brings hours of fun. Literally. Hours.

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*j

Tims 4 My Hooligans

happy friday kim jong-il
you freaky peacock go-go dancer.
happy friday all you other peeply vodka soaked red viners.
get yo freak on, fly yo freak flag.
it's friiiiiiday, ice cube.

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