thanks to for getting smurfed


Everything old is new again…except maybe me.  For some reason, I swear the universe is channeling 1980-something.  The economy sucks, the Washington Redskins are winning, and George Strait has a number 1 song.  Even the Smurfs are cool!  I swear we’re Back to the Future, McFly!

So there I am walking through Wally World and Papa Smurf is staring me in the face.  Really?  Okay, I have no problem with the Smurfs, especially since their language is quite similar to my fuck vocab where you can use it with anything.  Hence a “Get the Smurf out!”  or a “She got Smurfed last night!” or my personal favorite, “He Smurfing lied to my Smurfing face!”  I’m all down with the Smurfs, as I’m sure you are, but some things need to stay in the past.  Seriously.   A reappearance of some things is appreciated.  Some things… not so much. 

Besides the reincarnation of Gargamel and Smurfette, I am impatiently waiting the return of Footloose.  I love a small town turned upside down for the betterment of a community story.  Sure, they won’t be a young Kevin Bacon (known at my house as Kevin Sausage) and a too-skinny Lori Singer, but it’s all our time to dance anyway.  (P.S. – at this age, our time to dance is in our homes after the kids go to bed.  It is no longer for public consumption, unless you’re doing a square dance, a fox trot, or the chicken dance.  I have no tolerance for your lambada moves at Club Shag-nasty.)  But if you really are in the mood to dance, I have to think we can’t be too far away from un-released, never heard Michael Jackson songs bound to make a huge MJ resurgence and leave you dancing in your skivvies on a hardwood floor.  It can only be a matter of time.

What I hate to think about is that our Zack Morris phones are long gone and an iphone is ready and waiting to text your grandma-underweared-hot-ass-dance moves to a friend.  God help us.  I also don’t want to see your 40-year old body in leggings and an oversized off the shoulder sweatshirt with your bra hanging out.  Two pencils hanging from a hot air balloon is not attractive.  Thus, the need for the 80’s to stay in the 80’s. I truly believe that look is flattering to no one unless you’re aiming to be the next Planter’s Peanut mascot.  Then, you might have a chance.  All I can tell you is that I have photos from the 1980’s:  it was scary then.  It could only be scarier now.  I strongly recommend  you leave that painful look to the oblivious teenagers who think it’s something new and stylish.  Little do they know they will someday die of embarrassment when someone pulls up the pictures off fb at a job interview. 

I also have to admit I hated those elf boots the first time around and now they’re haunting me every time I walk into a shoe store.  No, no, it just can’t be!  Sure , I’m down with bringing some faux fur (or even real fur) back.  I’m sure you had a furry collared coat at one point, didn’t you?  Or were freezing your ass off mid-winter trying to look cool still wearing your denim jeans jacket?  Sure hope you kept it because jeans jackets are back.  Nothing says 2011 like a 1989 jeans jacket. Lol. Just please, I beg of you, don’t sport your jeans jacket with high-waisted pants.  I can’t handle it.  Hell, I’d rather you stick to the new little plaid skirts they have on the racks.  Apparently, Britney was just a few years ahead.   If you’re real lucky, they’ll bring back moon boots.  I could also be completely okay with the blood red cords if they weren’t detailed by skeleton skulls.   I think I’m a little creeped out by that.  Of course, I’d also like to say no thanks to Keds, stirrup pants, and big bangs (the hair kind, not the tv show or fornicating types).  I survived the 80’s but have no desire to have history repeat itself.  Well, maybe if we had another Facts of Life reunion.  I could be gung-ho about that, but that’s it.  Otherwise, let’s leave the leg warmers and hair scrunchies in the hope chest where they belong, unless you wanna sneak out the Sorry! game board.  I’m ready for that.  We can get all kinds of Smurfed up when I beat your ass.  wink, wink.