tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-47798205657031020022024-03-13T23:18:43.700-07:00Shit My Mom BuysUnknownnoreply@blogger.comBlogger31125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4779820565703102002.post-20971263299335023262011-08-01T14:10:00.000-07:002011-08-01T14:11:29.638-07:00This is a contribution from my dad<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhxNBQsuN1rIsL8EKQjmgM7juiy9Fy2-O_PtwHa81oXycP2BbT5RIuzZYg0kP1lf7BvHe7_DvbKLl9k8vHE7AmpAgMImdhoAGqyaFzAxDijcpRPPX2oxQ0RbIjVzGxiLrQybGdEkghcHg3K/s1600/photo-212.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhxNBQsuN1rIsL8EKQjmgM7juiy9Fy2-O_PtwHa81oXycP2BbT5RIuzZYg0kP1lf7BvHe7_DvbKLl9k8vHE7AmpAgMImdhoAGqyaFzAxDijcpRPPX2oxQ0RbIjVzGxiLrQybGdEkghcHg3K/s640/photo-212.JPG" width="480" /></a></div><br />
I wish I could say we used this fireplace and there was a toasty flame that helped dry my dad's socks, but alas, this fireplace is unused and my dad just thought it was a convenient place to hang his socks up to dry (as opposed to, say, the bathroom?).Unknownnoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4779820565703102002.post-86379687057683553162011-06-30T09:34:00.000-07:002011-06-30T09:37:04.990-07:00Rose Hills Water<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"> </span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;"><span style="font-family: Times; font-size: 16pt;">This isn't technically shit my mom bought. This is more like shit my mom saved. We just got back from Hawaii. My dad picked us up from LAX in our car. In the back seat was Lucy's suitcase, filled with mini bottles of water. Brad was like, "Harabuji, where did all these bottles of water come from?" My dad was like, "Oh, they're from Rose Hills Cemetery." <o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;"><span style="font-family: Times; font-size: 16pt;">Let me backtrack a little. My grandfather is buried at Forest Lawn Rose Hills in Whittier. My grandmother is buried in Korea. This past year, my dad decided to bring his mother's ashes to LA and bury her in his father's plot at Rose Hills. He made me call the cemetery to find out pricing, and it was pretty gross: "$3000 to bury two bodies in one plot; $850 to open up the plot on a weekday, $1200 on a weekend; $300 for a special urn for the cremains [I HATE THAT WORD]; $200 random fees; $100 to remove the grave marker; $100 to destroy the grave marker" blah blah blah blah blah. You get the picture. I told my dad and he was like, ok. So my grandmother's ashes arrived via Korean Air about a week ago, and my dad brought them to Rose Hills. They opened up the plot on Wednesday. My mom and dad were the only people who could attend the "ceremony" because my sister and I were out of town and my aunts and uncles were all working. But the folks at Forest Lawn had set out a tent and a dozen chairs, each with a miniature bottle of Rose Hills water.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;"><span style="font-family: Times; font-size: 16pt;">So of course my mom took all the water. They'd paid for it, right? (And it probably cost $20/bottle, SERIOUSLY). Brad thinks this is so morbid of my mom and refuses to touch or taste the water. It's still sitting in the suitcase in our car.<o:p></o:p></span></div></span><br />
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</span></div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4779820565703102002.post-8634010227294838522011-06-19T20:29:00.000-07:002011-06-19T20:29:34.234-07:00Faux MarbleLess than one week after the marble altar atrocity, my mother outdid herself. She bought another dining table and chairs (we now have 4 sets in our house) for the basement. No one eats down there, but my mom doesn't care. My sister e-mailed me a picture. I am boycotting the house.<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhE9um6XkFo0EfCmqTOjyXOZyq75cM7mfJK2R8U9XJdQZMUcneainybrUi5QMvRZKAGlpg0d6JsTI9wztFzKt0dEr9xM05Kh_DHAjzrvSGki5kT5GqEomjkMgXLw81zG1gNn9iQNvCDZORA/s1600/photo-180.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="478" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhE9um6XkFo0EfCmqTOjyXOZyq75cM7mfJK2R8U9XJdQZMUcneainybrUi5QMvRZKAGlpg0d6JsTI9wztFzKt0dEr9xM05Kh_DHAjzrvSGki5kT5GqEomjkMgXLw81zG1gNn9iQNvCDZORA/s640/photo-180.JPG" width="640" /></a></div><br />
The rug is also from the army and is stained (my mom claims she can't see the stains and doesn't care).<br />
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I know what you're thinking. You think it's not so bad. I mean, it's terrible taste, but it's not like the marble altar upstairs. Except it is. Because this shiny table and its matching chairs are not made of marble or granite at all. No, they are made out of PLASTIC. Or, as my mother corrected me, they are made out of FORMICA. As if that makes it any better. This furniture belongs OUTSIDE, except not even, because it's upholstered in fabric. Plastic and fabric.<br />
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Like I said, I'm boycotting the house. This offends me on so many different levels. It would be gross even if it were made of actual marble or wood. The fact that it's made of formica/plastic/faux-marble is like adding insult to injury.Unknownnoreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4779820565703102002.post-52568429107472929792011-06-13T20:36:00.000-07:002011-06-13T21:34:06.127-07:00Long Time, No Post!Apologies for being MIA. I just couldn't bear to go over to my mom's house recently. My dad would refer to trucks depositing new Army purchases at the house, and I would just stick my fingers in my ears and pretend like I didn't hear anything.<br />
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But Brad and I went over this weekend and both screamed Holy Mother of God when we saw the following:<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh68eQ3Q_hxb-r4lC0-hW1X_CNo4Ymjwxemula_0GPiPwD8YtK8qDsq6nbc0haDE3dahwqlY9yQgtEBMH3v5tixTtHWJ5JUu4inr7vreZaL13suiU45rW3Zad02pPJDt9U381fp7n-2iOjM/s1600/photo-167.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh68eQ3Q_hxb-r4lC0-hW1X_CNo4Ymjwxemula_0GPiPwD8YtK8qDsq6nbc0haDE3dahwqlY9yQgtEBMH3v5tixTtHWJ5JUu4inr7vreZaL13suiU45rW3Zad02pPJDt9U381fp7n-2iOjM/s640/photo-167.JPG" width="480" /></a></div><br />
Why is there a marble ALTAR covered with plants in the living room?! (The wood carving seems kind of temple like, too...I think my mom also got that from a thrift store, since it suddenly appeared one day, and not after a recent trip to Thailand or something). You might remember from previous posts that there's a skylight in the living room, and my mom is OBSESSED with placing her houseplants directly below it. She has bought at least 5 different pedestals/tables over the past few years, and she keeps swapping them out when she finds something bigger, better, and uglier at the Army.<br />
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Here's a sideview:<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh_3CDJI4ErDpb4zj0R3b0giNbYc6gWysYk3U9zf-aDOBqk5I-OeDvKzrrWTASa7cJv30RFvcsmFq47bWGkUv-97QbKw81hMlvQZx8XM3RYWMMVb8RuYWemXwgN1ormkAvx6G5o55lxXOrg/s1600/photo-171.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh_3CDJI4ErDpb4zj0R3b0giNbYc6gWysYk3U9zf-aDOBqk5I-OeDvKzrrWTASa7cJv30RFvcsmFq47bWGkUv-97QbKw81hMlvQZx8XM3RYWMMVb8RuYWemXwgN1ormkAvx6G5o55lxXOrg/s640/photo-171.JPG" width="480" /></a></div><br />
I'm in pain. The console table is also an Army purchase, as is the green patterned afghan on the couch in the background. I think my parents bought the painting at Fedco in the 70s. I know it's terrible, but I have a soft spot for it because I grew up with it. Unlike the other stuff.<br />
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So where, you wonder, did the glass tables that previously resided under the skylight go? Never fear, they just migrated to the next room:<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjGY51vILQ7LPKgIfRV3TzFSVOLQTurOLK2fEVIxWsAniWHX7gCNGv_3DvXNUttwi-WA0PKNznRRXISNEb7BFLEIx06z03HkMyx3QvcYv7r9T5Zjj1HisVXMTO77Bpt_hFziIGRXixy8qJ0/s1600/photo-168.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjGY51vILQ7LPKgIfRV3TzFSVOLQTurOLK2fEVIxWsAniWHX7gCNGv_3DvXNUttwi-WA0PKNznRRXISNEb7BFLEIx06z03HkMyx3QvcYv7r9T5Zjj1HisVXMTO77Bpt_hFziIGRXixy8qJ0/s640/photo-168.JPG" width="480" /></a></div><br />
Can you think of a more RANDOM arrangement of furniture?! The glass coffee/end tables are right up against the munchkin chairs, which are then pretty much right up against the piano. You can't get to the chairs. You will notice that the twin dolphins and the conchs have moved from the fireplace to the glass tables.<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhxgH6oMUShDjbNbcT5HXE3j2lJN16Gt7miAYhKys5Q1-HZ2YKRPU9DmRU1173-8tnDI3AFmsRzsBbZvkQLiFCq3RsmwfIiGIC1LyiVCF3jnDhj2rSDgwYiVEsY3z-Cjz5jdnqR3ineOL5e/s1600/photo-170.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhxgH6oMUShDjbNbcT5HXE3j2lJN16Gt7miAYhKys5Q1-HZ2YKRPU9DmRU1173-8tnDI3AFmsRzsBbZvkQLiFCq3RsmwfIiGIC1LyiVCF3jnDhj2rSDgwYiVEsY3z-Cjz5jdnqR3ineOL5e/s640/photo-170.JPG" width="480" /></a></div><br />
The conch shells are now filled with some cheap touristy shell necklaces that my mom purchased from some thrift store. She previously had the strands spilling out so it looked like the conch was vomiting. I think the current set-up is marginally less appalling.<br />
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In the background, you may have noticed the following bizarre structure:<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiOmgPHZZh8HpSS-7Z4LAYsNC1Ulc-NG3dP-SRhO-bHn1hqNnU6yzEoZ8xhal5XoQYXHhwMg6BSTnQeVc92DUZYP7SR4_cJ1hOwDu42RuWOphvmZrwIqVidxYz053cUVYu_NLExA2B5Xn_e/s1600/photo-169.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiOmgPHZZh8HpSS-7Z4LAYsNC1Ulc-NG3dP-SRhO-bHn1hqNnU6yzEoZ8xhal5XoQYXHhwMg6BSTnQeVc92DUZYP7SR4_cJ1hOwDu42RuWOphvmZrwIqVidxYz053cUVYu_NLExA2B5Xn_e/s640/photo-169.JPG" width="480" /></a></div><br />
My mom rearranged her stack of pots. The broken x-mas tree stand is still on the bottom, along with the pot and some random platters. I couldn't figure out what the thing on top was. My dad thought it was supposed to hold a plant, but it also looked like maybe it was a table with a missing top. I don't know. It looks like a ghetto Eiffel tower.Unknownnoreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4779820565703102002.post-92069996477214696642011-02-04T17:40:00.000-08:002011-02-04T17:40:30.677-08:00Welcome to the shit my mom buys<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh5BLCr3OmiIS3AirflwgM_MzGfjTsUtHF4c4QHwx22xRlg-zQf0Pf0-x13MmNY8BDQOw_ux3S0tueuRD82jk088taZxE9WPG3odfBdoJtoh0Ld5yJTB3wWc3WfpKB-9Jj5PrnaxFD_xKwx/s1600/photo-67.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh5BLCr3OmiIS3AirflwgM_MzGfjTsUtHF4c4QHwx22xRlg-zQf0Pf0-x13MmNY8BDQOw_ux3S0tueuRD82jk088taZxE9WPG3odfBdoJtoh0Ld5yJTB3wWc3WfpKB-9Jj5PrnaxFD_xKwx/s1600/photo-67.JPG" /></a></div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4779820565703102002.post-41424570695666503212011-02-04T17:39:00.001-08:002011-02-04T17:39:43.778-08:00I don't even know what this isMy mom says it cooks eggs on both sides.<br />
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First she tried to hang it in our kitchen. We took it down.<br />
Next time my mom came over, she rigged it to the window shade, using the drapery cord. Meaning we couldn't open or close our shade without getting it tangled up in the calendar. Brad was pissed and took it down.<br />
Next time my mom came over, the calendar magically reappeared in Lucy's room, again tied to the window shade with a drapery cord. Again, Brad got pissed and took it down.<br />
Today, I was sitting in Lucy's room, and the closet door was ajar.<br />
And there it was. The calendar. Hung up among Lucy's clothes.<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgm3k3i3D4ggiRT05CnrgqQRyTWstaDFmwc7BOtLC0YeJoIjRfRSi9nxltlFToedQVNIN8u4KvAq9WZjeFtsf1Rvxb0Fe51birwZoUpHaQPk4CH7qLx1tS3Qkp-x2odkDsTeTJQGGoP_LB4/s1600/photo-64.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgm3k3i3D4ggiRT05CnrgqQRyTWstaDFmwc7BOtLC0YeJoIjRfRSi9nxltlFToedQVNIN8u4KvAq9WZjeFtsf1Rvxb0Fe51birwZoUpHaQPk4CH7qLx1tS3Qkp-x2odkDsTeTJQGGoP_LB4/s1600/photo-64.JPG" /></a></div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4779820565703102002.post-67727295549797267902011-01-13T21:10:00.000-08:002011-01-13T21:10:00.074-08:00Flip-FlopsYou know those sneakers that light up when you walk or run? The kind of sneakers that little kids wear?<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgT9unMQdz0KjIooS1BvpRXHFj9Ts40jvxZVmMeMyqvxgdGZkxkvdG8krS5PmthRVQ6INjrdw74T40SqZXFse8NqBj147yhcCiT1EP0NgaZxZ-4zw1BtHWfdC6vWAuarIF0apxm_Sq2foaF/s1600/IMG_1117.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgT9unMQdz0KjIooS1BvpRXHFj9Ts40jvxZVmMeMyqvxgdGZkxkvdG8krS5PmthRVQ6INjrdw74T40SqZXFse8NqBj147yhcCiT1EP0NgaZxZ-4zw1BtHWfdC6vWAuarIF0apxm_Sq2foaF/s320/IMG_1117.JPG" width="240" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">My mom has flip-flops that light up when she walks.</div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4779820565703102002.post-71921845101315695072011-01-02T17:38:00.001-08:002011-01-02T17:38:32.072-08:00Volcanic Rock with Price Tag Sticker Still On It<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjEnM8SS4htMQYURi5cGvnU9OSCoNWOJRCp7-p1nwEH25dQkRln6vXLLjTgfjSZ-2WyJ-lbU2JD65L2EHwR_TMQceLfaMc5zPArM1r8g0VChnDLnKEYgZbugz0XDdEvhuMYaKr06xiPXcrp/s1600/volcanic+rock.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjEnM8SS4htMQYURi5cGvnU9OSCoNWOJRCp7-p1nwEH25dQkRln6vXLLjTgfjSZ-2WyJ-lbU2JD65L2EHwR_TMQceLfaMc5zPArM1r8g0VChnDLnKEYgZbugz0XDdEvhuMYaKr06xiPXcrp/s320/volcanic+rock.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4779820565703102002.post-56853164684431273262011-01-02T17:36:00.000-08:002011-01-02T17:36:23.791-08:00Hot Dogs & More!<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">My parents used to own a fast food restaurant called Pioneer Chicken. They sold it more than ten years ago, but they still use leftover restaurant supplies at home. My mom pulled these out for New Year's lunch today. I don't know why they say "Hot Dogs & More" instead of "Pioneer Chicken," but my brother-in-law was a big fan of their retro stylin' so I decided to feature them here. They're not a thrift store purchase, but they have that intangible thrift store vibe.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
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</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgmW3dqGu47BX92ijdeEYoUR7lRsYKWQio3DDTe-7tb5bZ6ap0ZWUkCWChFPCRYrmOVPqSvxBcWJJQGp5KVvImJBNKr13uOQ1nPlwccN7WI7gxVn4QC87CR3V2ckyWEQ6DikJB0VUHLkzYf/s1600/hotdog.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgmW3dqGu47BX92ijdeEYoUR7lRsYKWQio3DDTe-7tb5bZ6ap0ZWUkCWChFPCRYrmOVPqSvxBcWJJQGp5KVvImJBNKr13uOQ1nPlwccN7WI7gxVn4QC87CR3V2ckyWEQ6DikJB0VUHLkzYf/s320/hotdog.jpg" style="cursor: move;" width="240" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4779820565703102002.post-76046281730285989272011-01-02T17:32:00.001-08:002011-01-02T17:32:53.314-08:00Love Breaks My Vase Into Pieces that I Glue Back Together<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjvjfbCzAuZu2S2xeSv83nk-P7zDksaGgyYnV-ASxYu7XSi_I2vl_49jfPCjIxrYYSwirsaHIxBCO6EH0xFvH_E9DlJhv9O13pCm7y0brsCOxHS3KYGWvxQx8NsEktEZp779MXKMtV1CGcH/s1600/mosaic.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjvjfbCzAuZu2S2xeSv83nk-P7zDksaGgyYnV-ASxYu7XSi_I2vl_49jfPCjIxrYYSwirsaHIxBCO6EH0xFvH_E9DlJhv9O13pCm7y0brsCOxHS3KYGWvxQx8NsEktEZp779MXKMtV1CGcH/s320/mosaic.jpg" width="240" /></a></div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4779820565703102002.post-64238379912727389742011-01-02T17:31:00.001-08:002011-01-02T17:31:50.731-08:00Drum on a Roasting Rack<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjDcMFCMCcTLdhMI-7140b69bk-UI5l8uQP2fjzy4pkoLdF4DWIocZx_QKbVpog_6UEDL9vtusD4ootSbWtQsHPz2u32bTEAlhF8PKoTmpVsm1LO88NcA97Uj6JVX9Yr2yJJ_LTLatRWRsg/s1600/drum.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjDcMFCMCcTLdhMI-7140b69bk-UI5l8uQP2fjzy4pkoLdF4DWIocZx_QKbVpog_6UEDL9vtusD4ootSbWtQsHPz2u32bTEAlhF8PKoTmpVsm1LO88NcA97Uj6JVX9Yr2yJJ_LTLatRWRsg/s320/drum.jpg" width="240" /></a></div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4779820565703102002.post-3087003586664508552011-01-02T17:15:00.000-08:002011-01-02T17:15:37.182-08:00Fireplace VignetteHappy 2011 everyone!<br />
<br />
When I was last at my mom's house, I saw this wicker wine bottle carrier thing. My parents don't drink, so I was curious how my mom would repurpose it. Then I came over for lunch today and found it, OBVIOUSLY, in front of the fireplace...<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjvBGUrPYNWaK7PwOj7-4C-9szQ0jvdsoR5apIEUusMJK3Y4fKVzKlwFKKHVf6Cf8rnG2wgTD3s8VFR9gvgwSnzSNcMXHUGDtxTptZzK7EKMRfYh8cOAwwXLBubvwChH2MG6PfapMfJN4eU/s1600/fireplace.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjvBGUrPYNWaK7PwOj7-4C-9szQ0jvdsoR5apIEUusMJK3Y4fKVzKlwFKKHVf6Cf8rnG2wgTD3s8VFR9gvgwSnzSNcMXHUGDtxTptZzK7EKMRfYh8cOAwwXLBubvwChH2MG6PfapMfJN4eU/s320/fireplace.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br />
...along with (from left to right):<br />
1) another green marble wine holder/cooler and two matching candlesticks<br />
2) fireplace pokers, etc<br />
3) two conches<br />
4) (two-bottle wicker wine holder)<br />
5) basket of pine cones left by the previous owner of the house<br />
6) two marble sculptures of twin dolphins riding the surf<br />
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Doesn't everyone decorate their fireplace this way?Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4779820565703102002.post-12303742136308569012010-12-24T19:21:00.000-08:002010-12-24T19:21:30.592-08:00The Rest of X-MasI ran out of X-mas crap to post. There was a weird knit hanging door knocker--or belt?--that I wanted to feature, but I can't find it.<br />
But never fear, my mother has been busy buying up more crap. The most recent purchase was some rusty patio furniture from Out of the Closet thrift store. *sigh*. I will save that for later.<br />
Here is a random hodge-podge of stuff I photographed today.<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhKvsYsrs26jskNn-mrcVoYau8qJ4uYxbxHdd57V9-wHo6Aek1L1mqSyYNFOvzoLujA8_k7oN9hLz-4oO1e8G9KEikbIX3QnxfuiNQnfNFcPEX8z2KWEuFmBfTRiogRMg7H3c-iBDGMnSmb/s1600/IMG_3868.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhKvsYsrs26jskNn-mrcVoYau8qJ4uYxbxHdd57V9-wHo6Aek1L1mqSyYNFOvzoLujA8_k7oN9hLz-4oO1e8G9KEikbIX3QnxfuiNQnfNFcPEX8z2KWEuFmBfTRiogRMg7H3c-iBDGMnSmb/s320/IMG_3868.JPG" width="240" /></a></div><br />
As I was sitting down to Christmas Eve lunch, I saw this in the corner.<br />
Me: "Mom, why is there a shoe tree in the corner of our dining room?"<br />
Mom: "That's a shoe tree?"<br />
Me: "Yeah. What did you think it was?"<br />
Mom: "I was going to put plants on it."<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjjwZ7-FU_3RquyaLQuvj-hReL9cysB_Q0t4CtZIpu9U8xEw3QpGGAljmRSZCUzLN4U57Xy5cNUCeh6iMmPsFA61YKnWrulRqiY3TBUThBKoQ-onVtrUg4B40CnMaS9j5oFDnZUqS5bZKqc/s1600/IMG_3865.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjjwZ7-FU_3RquyaLQuvj-hReL9cysB_Q0t4CtZIpu9U8xEw3QpGGAljmRSZCUzLN4U57Xy5cNUCeh6iMmPsFA61YKnWrulRqiY3TBUThBKoQ-onVtrUg4B40CnMaS9j5oFDnZUqS5bZKqc/s320/IMG_3865.JPG" width="240" /></a></div><br />
These are random coasters with beads around the edges. I guess they're not that bad, all things considered. One of these days, I'll do a series of all the ugly trivets my mom has bought from thrift stores.<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjgt0APTH8IVpI71080ieAM3pxCeOqAu9whEHK5UYDy_cuLLWiGc2QJ1LCHgPDvDaJvmKsL6jlMWRPEe-2j4-Wbxxo_MDeez4UlhVWu1f_NlEQXo15st61hYvg5rFqwiidHmhCOaDqqE6Of/s1600/IMG_3867.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjgt0APTH8IVpI71080ieAM3pxCeOqAu9whEHK5UYDy_cuLLWiGc2QJ1LCHgPDvDaJvmKsL6jlMWRPEe-2j4-Wbxxo_MDeez4UlhVWu1f_NlEQXo15st61hYvg5rFqwiidHmhCOaDqqE6Of/s320/IMG_3867.JPG" width="240" /></a></div><br />
This is the newest random stacked sculpture my mom has constructed out of a side table, a planter, a glass dish, and a vase.<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhJLziwI2EFvWXVmbyYSS4zj8WkvvmUj7vkI1bf5d91ljugydJ23wDSPF8CMgn1UjPkn7lqMreSwAGH5tChcvX1nRJQ8H9WgU-vE3EOiJvTv_7nvwR51ug_1spr_JlyDTnboxZmcanAYFGL/s1600/IMG_3869.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhJLziwI2EFvWXVmbyYSS4zj8WkvvmUj7vkI1bf5d91ljugydJ23wDSPF8CMgn1UjPkn7lqMreSwAGH5tChcvX1nRJQ8H9WgU-vE3EOiJvTv_7nvwR51ug_1spr_JlyDTnboxZmcanAYFGL/s320/IMG_3869.JPG" width="240" /></a></div><br />
So hideous. I think it's the Virgin Mary. Why does her head look huge and her neck look like it's about to snap in two?<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgNS-fgn7fJm_VaFI2WinKAAmtIooHZLUC07O5ScoefWM3zsiliDIdRTHs40kODFtnrST058yOz3KZ4l4EZu1uM82KuRrVrW0Jy7Q1bD3a3SpdWaZCZawI7jFxv1M30y7wlGydjp1kpNoFf/s1600/IMG_3871.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgNS-fgn7fJm_VaFI2WinKAAmtIooHZLUC07O5ScoefWM3zsiliDIdRTHs40kODFtnrST058yOz3KZ4l4EZu1uM82KuRrVrW0Jy7Q1bD3a3SpdWaZCZawI7jFxv1M30y7wlGydjp1kpNoFf/s320/IMG_3871.JPG" width="240" /></a></div><br />
Fresh from the Army and still in its ghetto packaging (packing tape and saran wrap), a salt and pepper shaker. My mom collects these like she collects trivets.<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhohIkrPRHnjHCUmcx2WB7y8mNKHMFvDs4TYsWqni1aM6iRrUKY7MfnC_78EytgaycROq2Jr2jPwXH5hUU4910E56zHqs4yrjEySptfJ9oJ7GDE8YpHdP9Y_wAhZ0B5hi69PWOSre6leoMi/s1600/IMG_3681.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhohIkrPRHnjHCUmcx2WB7y8mNKHMFvDs4TYsWqni1aM6iRrUKY7MfnC_78EytgaycROq2Jr2jPwXH5hUU4910E56zHqs4yrjEySptfJ9oJ7GDE8YpHdP9Y_wAhZ0B5hi69PWOSre6leoMi/s320/IMG_3681.JPG" width="240" /></a></div><br />
You may recognize the doily from previous pictures. I don't know what the glass thing is, but I'm pretty sure it shouldn't be filled with marbles and rotting orchids.<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjBsUKF6u0CG7t9Rq_hRjKhu8I0RRV7Rl8tHvXA1chKEx1WXZlAYbeKLjcuXsdrWtM8rkooJX7mTvzVuX4R9koFOP1Vzy8xeML0S1VJkB9obOBDdSKTgeZybbfKpyYkD48AwJe-SZQbBJY6/s1600/IMG_3684.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjBsUKF6u0CG7t9Rq_hRjKhu8I0RRV7Rl8tHvXA1chKEx1WXZlAYbeKLjcuXsdrWtM8rkooJX7mTvzVuX4R9koFOP1Vzy8xeML0S1VJkB9obOBDdSKTgeZybbfKpyYkD48AwJe-SZQbBJY6/s320/IMG_3684.JPG" width="240" /></a></div><br />
Last one. Can someone please explain what the saying on the frame means? "We can expect nothing more than that which we believe possible." Wuh?<br />
<br />
My husband and sister think I'm being too mean to my mom and that I should take this blog down. I'm going to think about it. In the meantime, I want to take a moment to say that my mom does sometimes score decent purchases. She bought Lucy a floral party dress and a pair of winter boots from the Army recently. Granted, we live in Los Angeles, so I don't know when Lucy would need winter boots, but the party dress she can wear for Easter. My mom is crazy but she is also hilarious.<br />
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Happy Holidays!Unknownnoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4779820565703102002.post-77292994064954106332010-12-11T07:27:00.000-08:002010-12-11T07:30:17.386-08:00On the Fourth Day of XmasMy mother gave to me:<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg4fLxPLX7KQD7jIr_nMdxgglpDWtCYjTOilrbsGGD7G4awHj5wtZlwo84kRzHSsUuoqaI7QrAzqPTM2YsgaOJDlu4EdWxPRxQh7xVVGqwSqfZ3lZ83Srl1dIQqZ-OBXLj6VdDdG5rF6JxD/s1600/Santa+and+Mrs+Claus.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg4fLxPLX7KQD7jIr_nMdxgglpDWtCYjTOilrbsGGD7G4awHj5wtZlwo84kRzHSsUuoqaI7QrAzqPTM2YsgaOJDlu4EdWxPRxQh7xVVGqwSqfZ3lZ83Srl1dIQqZ-OBXLj6VdDdG5rF6JxD/s320/Santa+and+Mrs+Claus.jpg" width="240" /></a></div>Santa and Mrs. Claus cupcake toppers<br />
Six miniature hats and scarves<br />
Two tragic ornaments<br />
And a hairy golden bell with a plastic misteltoe toupee<br />
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* the picture is of my mom back in Korea when she was about twenty years old. The picture is wallet size, which gives you some sense of how tiny these cupcake toppers are. Also, they keep toppling over, which drives me crazy. Santa always ends up lying on his stomach.Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4779820565703102002.post-47300022407030342942010-12-07T10:25:00.000-08:002010-12-07T10:25:58.698-08:00On the Third Day of XmasMy mother gave to me:<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgx2K2owKEAzT7LNr79Zhl6PBMqAVZxCa9dzxT0qhVWfnfegvK-FxDyIQvEKYROnNtqWDHXJRpeMpezl_6Ux10cqmKgHEqEFKOtayvbJB_hnSlKK80B4NCOmFXx-ycwoY0GR5unMdOM3AWa/s1600/hats.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgx2K2owKEAzT7LNr79Zhl6PBMqAVZxCa9dzxT0qhVWfnfegvK-FxDyIQvEKYROnNtqWDHXJRpeMpezl_6Ux10cqmKgHEqEFKOtayvbJB_hnSlKK80B4NCOmFXx-ycwoY0GR5unMdOM3AWa/s320/hats.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>Six miniature hats and scarves (ok, I know I should have waited until the 6th day of Xmas, but this was too good to save)<br />
Two tragic ornaments<br />
And a hairy golden bell with a plastic mistletoe toupee<br />
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* These miniature hats and scarves came in their original packaging (c 1980), but with no figurines included. So I searched around the house for someone in need of winter clothing:<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjKgUzhU_5pHVm1mEBTLifjbr5F6ky6VLD_DGNz382AWEf86cKrHedbEbSFcSlptyhcRzv798xm8bjfhC4-OJVOktxUQOeo3rBKNwT6fTVupO2mhQeQqsoBFHD97_G3NKrqbKOqYnLSkW1x/s1600/gabba.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjKgUzhU_5pHVm1mEBTLifjbr5F6ky6VLD_DGNz382AWEf86cKrHedbEbSFcSlptyhcRzv798xm8bjfhC4-OJVOktxUQOeo3rBKNwT6fTVupO2mhQeQqsoBFHD97_G3NKrqbKOqYnLSkW1x/s320/gabba.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>And they fit perfectly!Unknownnoreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4779820565703102002.post-58621415407312146852010-12-07T10:18:00.000-08:002010-12-07T10:22:35.213-08:00On the Second Day of XmasMy mother gave to me:<br />
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</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhJsr3XSUhTn3zasyeWAhlpK9JFr6zupSe7uOBrnKDWmEBGcLbyXbxbHZjxrW-AuZDn8ShwdJ98sNcXxSeKUJuIN3pr_9pHVW-urXf-dgET2PM7IVpoYlJad_093XJdN8tdo-zs8qrADien/s1600/greenball.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhJsr3XSUhTn3zasyeWAhlpK9JFr6zupSe7uOBrnKDWmEBGcLbyXbxbHZjxrW-AuZDn8ShwdJ98sNcXxSeKUJuIN3pr_9pHVW-urXf-dgET2PM7IVpoYlJad_093XJdN8tdo-zs8qrADien/s320/greenball.jpg" width="240" /></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgj3aJ06BsnXmxObzC6ysHmEOYquPDZKNxlDG3MOdH8wNqJsj8iYfN2US_qt43gvkDrFT6_SrcpUcy0zn8uVrN_Q7Et3IOJkaGuUPOnsOvQ3RalDa721mjTjnGhDOXfxiEgzYHOb7mrFAxi/s1600/yellowball.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgj3aJ06BsnXmxObzC6ysHmEOYquPDZKNxlDG3MOdH8wNqJsj8iYfN2US_qt43gvkDrFT6_SrcpUcy0zn8uVrN_Q7Et3IOJkaGuUPOnsOvQ3RalDa721mjTjnGhDOXfxiEgzYHOb7mrFAxi/s320/yellowball.jpg" style="cursor: move;" width="240" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
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</div><div>Two tragic ornaments</div><div>And a hairy golden bell with a plastic mistletoe toupee</div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4779820565703102002.post-43779564042342185662010-12-07T10:15:00.000-08:002010-12-07T10:15:48.920-08:0012 Days of Christmas Shit My Mom BuysMy friend Jake suggested that in honor of Christmas, I devote my blog to "12 Days of Christmas Shit My Mom Buys." I thought this was a great idea, as Christmas crap is always in season at the Army.<br />
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My mom gave me all her tree ornaments and decorations last year, much of which had been collected painstakingly, year after year, from the Army.<br />
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So, for the First Day of Christmas, my mother gave to me:<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjDoxGunDjPsqbDCIT-EBwCUuz2AKFWrlCJMNyEaPX4DCaufKHHXuXZVJD64HbGbz7MPN085NBhASWEGZ6ciwLO-wmogj2wHUob3D2CGRfnmiAfi-Co2yHa21xzEtptOn_nXjjf8TchgTRB/s1600/hairybell.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjDoxGunDjPsqbDCIT-EBwCUuz2AKFWrlCJMNyEaPX4DCaufKHHXuXZVJD64HbGbz7MPN085NBhASWEGZ6ciwLO-wmogj2wHUob3D2CGRfnmiAfi-Co2yHa21xzEtptOn_nXjjf8TchgTRB/s320/hairybell.jpg" width="240" /></a></div>A hairy golden bell with a plastic mistle-toe toupee.Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4779820565703102002.post-22680555430536302072010-10-31T20:30:00.000-07:002010-10-31T20:30:22.269-07:00Jesus Loves You<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiZBWheRwfYZG4hCoYjy10cxUOtaISBhQaB-ni-tRrJ0KMYWg61hj7pgPKQwCCPqZhpHObcKtKNrcZareGwkIRrQsCxVQiRqhLJscy2vVnTyVHVDdGFbv3oOzWhJ5ZBfIrvx6ZKL6V9xThk/s1600/jesus.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiZBWheRwfYZG4hCoYjy10cxUOtaISBhQaB-ni-tRrJ0KMYWg61hj7pgPKQwCCPqZhpHObcKtKNrcZareGwkIRrQsCxVQiRqhLJscy2vVnTyVHVDdGFbv3oOzWhJ5ZBfIrvx6ZKL6V9xThk/s320/jesus.jpg" width="240" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">This is part of my mother's extensive collection of Jesus paraphernalia. I can't remember what the caption says--maybe Jesus Christ is risen? or Jesus Christ is King? He sits on my mother's desk, next to the monkey candlestick. </div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4779820565703102002.post-69982598769684804412010-10-22T19:04:00.000-07:002010-10-31T20:31:39.570-07:00Strawberry Hick<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div>Sorry for the delay in posting. My mom is in Korea for the next two weeks, so I plan to do some recon at her house and should have some more good shit to post. But for now, here's a gift she bought for my daughter Lucy when she was first born. It came without tags, so I assume it came from the Army.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi_e7NNXmNmrgGz6ROhSGqE2aNMprsVisFA0zmIXynucVdj9EyI9knArGUrAsccgEhyBhSOh8WRkl-sjnmC-tOcZz8p8crTN6uvO_ob9sMOFn7qD5VLzqQvHJ358MjdFh-saUSwgSTo0GwE/s1600/strawberry.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi_e7NNXmNmrgGz6ROhSGqE2aNMprsVisFA0zmIXynucVdj9EyI9knArGUrAsccgEhyBhSOh8WRkl-sjnmC-tOcZz8p8crTN6uvO_ob9sMOFn7qD5VLzqQvHJ358MjdFh-saUSwgSTo0GwE/s320/strawberry.jpg" style="cursor: move;" width="240" /></a><br />
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</div>According to the care label, this seems to be a promotional item from Del Monte and is part of their "Country Yumkin" line. This is Country Strawberry, and he's wearing a cowboy hat and has a snaggle tooth and googly eyes. He scares the shit out of me, partly because I think he looks like a decapitated head. He doesn't seem to bother Lucy, though.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEidG_CsZTFrQ9oyOFJe5oWzcUtQsHT6Lcnr-bQR3TaDfRbHh5LurBcvjbJ1LTO9Q1nqv6TTazH-_64qhgj-sZU8Ik3XlSBnntk-j7REsUOe6bUnjwJ3XoUPkdSWXOY4aelGjiDFPXaSM9-I/s1600/photo-10.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEidG_CsZTFrQ9oyOFJe5oWzcUtQsHT6Lcnr-bQR3TaDfRbHh5LurBcvjbJ1LTO9Q1nqv6TTazH-_64qhgj-sZU8Ik3XlSBnntk-j7REsUOe6bUnjwJ3XoUPkdSWXOY4aelGjiDFPXaSM9-I/s320/photo-10.jpg" style="cursor: move;" width="240" /></a>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4779820565703102002.post-17704645546745203662010-10-02T19:02:00.000-07:002010-10-02T19:02:26.995-07:00A Tale of Two Crock Pots<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiZ4QKC_NZpAX9GFifsMgyBdRaH7Zf_UzIjenQHXZe_U1JVh29acrdHkPsAfmS8oXdl2kADdQh5pyVROgaZMMV_f5KR7A17USiRCBhfk52ViwDszmUcS3DdnfVo-7pT7QFmklCL7yG2W6xi/s1600/CP1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiZ4QKC_NZpAX9GFifsMgyBdRaH7Zf_UzIjenQHXZe_U1JVh29acrdHkPsAfmS8oXdl2kADdQh5pyVROgaZMMV_f5KR7A17USiRCBhfk52ViwDszmUcS3DdnfVo-7pT7QFmklCL7yG2W6xi/s320/CP1.jpg" width="240" /></a></div>My mother is a Crock Pot fanatic. I don't really understand why, since she rarely makes anything in them--no pot roasts, no braises, no stews. The only time she ever used a Crock Pot while I was growing up was to boil Chinese herbs, which she would then force feed us. It was not a good memory. Anyway, over the years, she has collected so many Crock Pots from the Army that she's taken to giving them away to my sister and me. She gave me the Crock Pot above sometime last year. It's the "Crock Watcher" model, and I would date it to around 1975, based on the brown and orange color scheme. A few months ago, she decided I could use an upgrade. Et voila:<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi-USvLkarE3kr6uyIV4sByWzFX_QpgLKP4aPmKwRa6EWOHboCrlVuIg8rNxTKZly9JfT7tYFUWsqadnnx9Ycp9zRiT0_GLd9KJdm0atAbO-jSOHsd3oQ0ZP8OOJ4zbxpxRD5e_m4A_rVYE/s1600/CP2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi-USvLkarE3kr6uyIV4sByWzFX_QpgLKP4aPmKwRa6EWOHboCrlVuIg8rNxTKZly9JfT7tYFUWsqadnnx9Ycp9zRiT0_GLd9KJdm0atAbO-jSOHsd3oQ0ZP8OOJ4zbxpxRD5e_m4A_rVYE/s320/CP2.jpg" width="240" /></a></div>I've been upgraded from a 1975 Crock Pot to, whaddaya think? a 1985 model? 1990?Unknownnoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4779820565703102002.post-13174834557949119282010-09-26T10:27:00.000-07:002010-09-26T10:27:33.783-07:00More plant stands<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiBfqPQfQLP75yZNg5XzBGmpzyU9oOwjYkz1Mmu9H0tYwMhm4KrRBMXNewnbo4MLNY1W_TzSx-ebyPd7OXMnoGFyRpZXy7hDEY7o__cfIjbf6g7JCYbS7hqMNrSLUdx63Nxqa5B1Ustbcky/s1600/IMG_3429.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiBfqPQfQLP75yZNg5XzBGmpzyU9oOwjYkz1Mmu9H0tYwMhm4KrRBMXNewnbo4MLNY1W_TzSx-ebyPd7OXMnoGFyRpZXy7hDEY7o__cfIjbf6g7JCYbS7hqMNrSLUdx63Nxqa5B1Ustbcky/s320/IMG_3429.JPG" width="240" /></a></div>These end tables showed up at my mom's house this weekend. There are four of them arranged in rows of two. My mom is using them as plant stands. It's a little bizarre, since they're just kinda hanging out in the middle of the living room, but my mom wanted her plants to get sun from the skylight above. All fine. I mean, the tables are ugly, but whatever. Then I took a closer look...<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjMEf2lirM1-So_ApYqrJbFyr2TshksfBZisQe3lAYiWIvmE4HYraKndYXEERfKsKwWncmF4VyAhgjUQA2eDVtG6Gz_l7q2GVGvZT7ifgyWjHyvOsJvfiNAYphj3DvVZCw4DbapeVOGVBSk/s1600/IMG_3430.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjMEf2lirM1-So_ApYqrJbFyr2TshksfBZisQe3lAYiWIvmE4HYraKndYXEERfKsKwWncmF4VyAhgjUQA2eDVtG6Gz_l7q2GVGvZT7ifgyWjHyvOsJvfiNAYphj3DvVZCw4DbapeVOGVBSk/s320/IMG_3430.JPG" width="240" /></a></div>...and yes, that is a ball taped to the frame. It snapped off, but the previous owner kindly reattached it using packing tape. This makes the monkey candlestick look like a work of art.Unknownnoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4779820565703102002.post-28738996455479434592010-09-23T18:56:00.000-07:002010-09-23T18:56:59.296-07:00Judge Sonia<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjF3QRDE_nxd4P4fXUNgNLrfEZCrXUKZA8XavbDPZMWfeeMbDQUx_muuPJPOG06ODcPIW54dT7OgQA9xhqK9sJ1RM8U90YACtstuwmg5idz8r1xAAKOGFZUau4oHWCyS2TvkpZWZqOZIZmj/s1600/JudgeJudy.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjF3QRDE_nxd4P4fXUNgNLrfEZCrXUKZA8XavbDPZMWfeeMbDQUx_muuPJPOG06ODcPIW54dT7OgQA9xhqK9sJ1RM8U90YACtstuwmg5idz8r1xAAKOGFZUau4oHWCyS2TvkpZWZqOZIZmj/s320/JudgeJudy.jpg" width="240" /></a></div>The latest gift from my mother, purchased from the used book section of a thrift store. My mother is a big believer in self-help books. In college, I would get care packages filled with ramen, bottles of Centrum, and books like "Men Are From Mars, Women Are From Venus." I've only read the back cover of Judge Judy's book, but I already know my favorite of her "ten hard and true lessons for happiness" is Lesson #4: "Denial is a river in Egypt." True dat.Unknownnoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4779820565703102002.post-68016606467751712792010-09-22T06:40:00.000-07:002010-09-22T06:40:12.207-07:00Is that a Renoir?<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhA-Ukf4bdtIQa8MaB3X8lS7nWsRdTQHME-BSfb9WXNWZFqQFg0p3kezJ16OD1PgjsPZfS3aP1ORqeUMT4f11ng_NN84tpjtdgoOK0lRDCa03ktzae4UXyGtHtJzzQFv9mHMmSPUX7vbALk/s1600/IMG_3417.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhA-Ukf4bdtIQa8MaB3X8lS7nWsRdTQHME-BSfb9WXNWZFqQFg0p3kezJ16OD1PgjsPZfS3aP1ORqeUMT4f11ng_NN84tpjtdgoOK0lRDCa03ktzae4UXyGtHtJzzQFv9mHMmSPUX7vbALk/s320/IMG_3417.JPG" /></a></div><br />
Do you ever wonder who buys bad reproductions of famous artworks for their houses? That would be my mother. In contrast to the Last Supper she has hanging in her bedroom, this Renoir actually has a decent wooden frame (though it's still gilt). The real painting hangs in the National Gallery of Art in Washington, DC. The fake painting hangs in Sonia's Gallery of Bad Taste in Los Angeles, CA.Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4779820565703102002.post-68219040584251261712010-09-22T06:35:00.000-07:002010-09-22T06:35:37.891-07:00Funeral parlor<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhEL7vMjHmJG1-BFONijijaFXBrGNncGeDGTe2iG3XYiMqFXynonr-tVdlsFHIag6F4RRn8E9D15lp8eEeMMEKYZM_g1ZGcDLFwFbtCrUQLy3xgHdfjeW51VF32yKv9cvjv_J1e2OIoVPbb/s1600/IMG_3414.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhEL7vMjHmJG1-BFONijijaFXBrGNncGeDGTe2iG3XYiMqFXynonr-tVdlsFHIag6F4RRn8E9D15lp8eEeMMEKYZM_g1ZGcDLFwFbtCrUQLy3xgHdfjeW51VF32yKv9cvjv_J1e2OIoVPbb/s320/IMG_3414.JPG" /></a></div><br />
I think my mom actually purchased this from Wertz Brothers, but it's still heinous. This is in the living room. My mom can't pass up anything that is marble/granite or gilt. I don't even know where to begin when it comes to the chairs. They look like office chairs for munchkins. The doily under the vase is from the Army. My mom loves anything handmade/crocheted/knit. In the background, you can see the handmade cozy my mom made for our piano. The piano bench also has its own cozy.Unknownnoreply@blogger.com1