Archive for the ‘Favorite Peeps’ Category

For those of you not fortunate enough to have followed last year’s contest, a small word of explanation:

My family is weird. Just…odd. The immediate family, the extended family, on both sides and all branches of the family tree.  Last year, in honor of Jesus’s birth, we decided to amass the ugliest Christmas sweaters the world has ever seen. (Don’t ask. I don’t know either.) With no rhyme nor reason, we showed up in all of our finery:

2008 Entries

This year, we refined the rules into two categories. Embellished and Fugly Off the Rack. Because really, there’s homemade ugly and there’s why-in-the-name-of-all-that’s-holy-would-someone-manufacture-that? ugly. And this is where our categories separate.

Honestly, I don’t have all the photos in yet. (You know who you are!) But I’ll post what I have and add to the mix as they trail in.

———First up we have Fugly Off the Rack:—————-

Marvelous Marva (or “Mommy” to some of us) is modeling an untouched, Some-Kind-of-Blunderful frock that surely makes me want to weep. Shiny presents stick to her bosom and in case she ever wants to, oh, I don’t know…tie Santa up…?…she has ROPE stuck on there, too. Nicely played, Mumsay, nicely played.

MARVA: "Seasons Beatings! For the S&M crowd we have this black little number complete with festive restraints!"

 Next, we have yours truly modeling a hot little number SO ugly, even a crappy picture does it justice. I found this little beauty in a secondhand store and have the resale tag still attached to prove it. HOW, I ask you, could someone have let this little baby go?

KELLY: "As a Christmas gift, can you ever really go wrong with flowers and a big red bow? Yes, evidently you can."

Here we have Marvelous Marva’s hubby Tim in a fashionable frock with Old Saint Nick himself adorning the front! I’m not sure this qualifies as ugly, it was a gorgeous blue that matched his eyes. Then again, it DID have a stocking stuck to the arm that not just anyone can pull off. Hmmm…you be the judge!
And finally, we have the Doublemint Twins. Steve and Marci, aren’t they cute? These newlyweds arrived in equally icky sweaters celebrating the holiday season. BONUS points to Marci for wearing ugly Christmas socks to match! (My apologies for the lousy photographs. One of these years I’ll invest in a nicer camera. ) 🙂

Are they cute, or are they cute?


In our next category, we have  sweaters for the artsy-craftsy folks who just can’t leave Ugly Enough alone. You have to admire their dedication and wonder just where these little gems will wind up when the season is over. Somewhere, there’s an old folks home about to get FANCY.

These three lovely ladies are a Mother-Daughter-Sister combination. I’d tell you exactly who’s related to who, but what fun would that be? And besides, I get so confused.

I’m loving the general state of fugliness those sweaters entail, but bonus bravo points for the head wear. Seriously.

Oh. All. Right. Mother and Daughter are on the ends. You're so nosy!

(L to R) DIN, MARSHA, HILLARY: "Lady Gaga, eat your heart out!"

To the left we have Din, sporting a festive pink number complete with a snappy head scarf that would make RuPaul proud. (You GO, girl!)

In the center, Marsha models her pom-pom Nutcracker army. (I will not take the cheap shot, I will not take…) It comes with a wreath trim which is just hideous enough to showcase below:

Why?  Just...Why?

MARSHA: "You KNOW you want one. Yes you do!"

Now who wouldn’t want that bad boy hanging in their closet? Not only can you wear it for Christmas, but it works for Marching Band, Veteran’s day, 4th of July, a gay pride march, you name it. So versatile!
Next, we have Hillary all by her lonesome wearing quite possibly the fugliest sweater I have ever seen. And I’m IN this contest! 
Miss America watch OUT!

HILLARY: "I FOUND Elmo squashed on the road. Honest!"

Bows with bells? check.
Hanging presents? check.
Christmas lights?
Run over Elmo, dried, skinned and turned into a boa? check, check and double check!
It’s too bad I’m not an official judge. I’d have to award her extra points for the sassy shoulder scarves…or is that a cape? If that’s a cape, I’m bowing out of this contest right now. Better to openly admit defeat than to be uglied right into oblivion!
As I said, these are the photos I have to date. As I get more, I’ll add them so check back! Feel free to vote in the comments section for the garment you find the most offensive. Remember, we have two categories, so vote for one of each. I never got a copy of the official rules, so I don’t care if you’re a contestant or not. Vote away!

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Way back in November when I turned the-age-that-shall-not-be-mentioned, (Just kidding. I’ll mention it. I’m 39.9), I requested to be teased mercilessly about my impending birthday for a shot at blog post fame. I have to say you folks came through, and Mom2three, blogless heifer that she is, made me laugh the hardest with:

Kelly is so old, she watched “Good Morning, America” when it was called “Good Morning, Neanderthals.”

Kelly is so old, her high school mascot was a locust.

I admit it. I peed a little. Thank goodness they were both hers or I would have declared two winners.

Now, M23 requested a small roast, (foolish woman), and I’ve been lying in wait until I was sure she’d forgotten all about it. I do believe it’s time. And so today I bring you The Official Mini-Roast of Mom2three.

M23’s real name is Megan. It’s not MAY-gen like every normal baby book name, it’s MEE-gen. Now MEE-gen hangs her hat in the South, and as most of you know I’m from Michigan. Her pronunciation of her name has a whole different ring to my Northern ears. On the phone, MEE-gen sounds like MAY-gen to me.

“Ha! This is MAY-gen!”  “May-gen who?” “Not MAY-gen, MAY-GEN! Mom2thray! From on-lahn!” “Mom to who?” “Thray! It’s may!”I’m sorry, but we’re happy with our phone service.”  “I don’t wanna sale you anythang you big dope, it’s may, MAY-gen!” 

(Note that the insult was the only thing I understood. This may very well be what brought about the war between the North and South.)

MEEgan with an EE and I have been friends online for some time. How much time, I really cannot say. I’d ask her, but I’d never understand her response.

I’m just saying.

Why look…here is our lovely Mom2three now!


Ok, so maybe that’s not her now, but wasn’t she cute in high school?

Back off gents, she’s married. She still looks good, too. At F-O-R-T-Y! (Did I just say that? Out loud? You didn’t hear it though, right? Don’t tell her I told you. She’s still got that beatin’ stick, I just know it.)

And honest, she doesn’t look the age-that-shall-never-be-named.

Really–she hasn’t aged a day.















Luh ewe, heifer. dance-cow*runs like hell!*

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Dusty, is that you?

Dusty, is that you?

Dusty Mama, (affectionately known as the Dust Mop) and I are are long time friends by keyboard. We have never met in person, which is probably a good thing since neither of us has that kind of bail money. I was tickled she won the Name that Winged Rodent contest, because that means I get to devote an entire blog entry to roasting her alive. 

You might think that as friends, I’d post a glowing report about what a wonderful person she is. You might think wrong. Now hand me the tongs and the barbeque sauce!

I don’t believe in sugar coating anything, so let’s get right to it. For you, dear blog readers, I’m going to divulge Dusty’s biggest secret. The one Dusty DOESN’T Want You to Know. I’m only gonna say it once, so listen up. Are you ready?

Dusty used to be a man. And a good looking man at that. She was a promising young actor by the name of James. (Although he preferred to be known as Jimmy.)

I am sooo putting on a dress after this photo shoot.

Alas–fame and fortune proved to be too stressful for our high strung hero. After a string of failed relationships, (all with Mel Brooks, but you didn’t hear it from me) Jimmy knew he had to get out of the limelight. After faking his own death, Jimmy dropped out of sight by changing careers.

Enter the food industry. Jimmy rose in the ranks from dishwasher to busboy to meat packer in no time. They said no one could stuff a sausage casing like Jimmy, and no one ever will. In the fudge meat packer industry, he was King.

For a number of years he was happy in his meat mashing world; but sadly, fame found him yet again. Reporters and cameramen hounded his every move as Jimmy’s venture grew into a sausage empire.

Damn you, sausage patties, DAMN YOU!

Zesty goodness packed in a plastic sheath.

This brasierre is killing me.

This brasierre is killing me.

Unable to dodge the paparazzi, hounded by sausage lovers everywhere, Jimmy packed his bags and moved under cover of darkness–the only clues left behind were his personal meat grinder and the lingering aroma of slaughterhouse. Once more Jimmy was gone, and his adoring public mourned for the loss of their beloved Sausage King.

Meanwhile, Jimmy had a plan. He grew his hair and legally changed his name to Dusty. With this new found private life, Dusty lived out the next few decades in style, marrying half a dozen three or four times (the Sean Penn incident was never quite proven) and having a family ala Michael Jackson. (Or was that with Michael Jackson? I forget just now.)

Dusty now leads a quiet life in rural Wisconsin, where (s)he can be heard referring to (him)herself in the third person on occasion, making such comments as, “Jimmy is SUCH a pain in the ass, but I love him anyway.” Most notably to her friend Shellie, who mistakenly believes she’s Dusty’s sister in law.

Oy. That family.


Ok, ok. In all seriousness, Dus is a shoot-from-the-hip kinda gal who speaks her mind. She’s a dear friend and a fun blog read. So go read, already!  From my Front Porch (Dusty’s Family blog), I’m Not a Bitch, Just Giftedly Outspoken! (Take no prisoners and eat the wounded!)

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Have you been wondering where I’ve been for the past couple of days? Probably not, but I’m going to tell you anyway. We had a Sisters weekend with Mom and my siblings over in Frankenmuth, Michigan–tourist capital of Christmas. (Yes, it’s June. Bite me.)

Ahh yes, here is our motley crew. That’s Mumsay on the left, followed by sisters Skinny Rat and Paulie Precious. I’m bringing up the rear as the big-eared boy in blue. The only sibling with dignity (Mouse) is suspiciously absent from this photo. No, she didn’t take the picture. She was hiding in the hotel room away from this madness.


Our little mini-vacation had only two rules: No husbands, boyfriends or other man-pets, and no kids. (We did allow a friend along, but she was hilarious and definately not a man-pet, so that was ok.) This was a Ladies Only trip, and we wanted to let loose! We wanted Nightlife…to tear the place UP! (One night we watched Jurassic Park in our comfy Mommy-jammies while eating donuts and Double Stuff Oreos, but shhhhh…don’t tell anyone.)

Hey–our weekend, our brand of fun.

So what else did we do? First up, we went to Bronner’s. About a zillion square feet, Bronners is the largest Christmas store in the world. If you need that special Peruvian nativity scene or personalized Mortician’s Christmas ornament, you WILL find it at Bronner’s. (Although oddly enough we couldn’t find a Computer Geek ornament anywhere. That’s not to say they didn’t have them–the place is so visually overstimulating Jimmy Hoffa could’ve ridden by buck nekkid on a reindeer and we might not have noticed.) Take the virtual tour to see what I mean about the vast size of the joint. (Fair warning: Don’t watch that thing after you’ve had a few drinks. It’s one giant room spin.)

Bronners is one of those places you MUST visit while vacationing in Michigan. Those of us who live here, however, are not quite as enthralled. It was fun for about 20 minutes, and then all the ornaments began to blend. Another 10 minutes, and the perpetual Holly Jolly Christmas music made my left eye begin to twitch. Half an hour later I lost my way out. Thankfully, we found a trail of candy cane crumbs that coincidentally led to the correct parking lot. (Thank goodness–they have several.)

If you ever want to reconnect with your siblings, take a kitschy mini vacation together. We laughed until our sides hurt. We did every tourist-y thing we could think of, from shopping at the outdoor mall (Frankenmuth, Mi shot glasses, anyone?) to eating at Zehnders (world famous evil chicken dinners–and as we all know, the best chickens are lightly seasoned and on the grill). We snapped tourist pics (as evidenced above), bought goofy souvenirs and had a perfectly marvelous time.

I can’t wait to go next year.

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