Last week I shared my news that I’ve returned to writing and have a NEW blog venture to announce. Wow, flashback friends! I’m incredibly humbled by the warm welcome back – thank you all!
So many wonderful comments of support! If I had to pick a few, I’d say my favorites were:
Yahooooo! I’ve missed you, Angie!
Where were you, Angie? Horshack from Welcome Back, Kotter died and I was worried sick about how you were taking it.
Great* news! *If your new blog isn’t about the ‘80s, please omit. Comment should then read as “News!”
I don’t remember you….did I sell you that Cabbage Patch Doll on eBay?
I’ve missed reliving the ‘80s with you, Angie! The world is scary now and nothing bad ever happened back then except for New Coke.
Just the Ten of Us was the best spin-off ever, how dare you.
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I am blessed.
In fact, I was so struck by your expressed enthusiasm for Childhood Relived, I’ve decided to incorporate more fun flashbacks into my NEW blog than I’d originally planned. Which, come on, can I ever have a single conversation without referencing Three’s Company anyway? Not. Even. One.
I’m thankful to get to share this blog with a couple of my best-friends-forever-with-necklaces-to-prove-it who are talented writers and especially witty in a way that makes me regress back to my pants-piddling days of tying windbreakers around my waist to hide the evidence. I hope you’ll choose to follow me there and eventually grow to accept and love these writers as much as I do, possibly letting them braid your hair, shop for your first bra, and walk you down the aisle at your wedding if that isn’t moving things too quickly. I want us to be a family.
So without further ado (actually, perhaps more ado later when I start bribing you with ridiculous contests), I present Punch Drunk Village: www.punchdrunkvillage.com .
Which has nothing to do with this Village. Unless that would make you visit me there. Then, yes, and I’m the cowboy.
It just came to my attention that last week marked the 4th anniversary of my blog, Childhood Relived! Four years….wow. It goes so fast. Why, only yesterday my blog was knee-high to a grasshopper and now it’s all grown up, living in my basement and binge-watching Quantum Leap reruns on Netflix.
Oh, something-something time in a bottle…
Meanwhile, it also just came to my attention that I’m soon to celebrate another blog anniversary! Yes indeed. Next month marks the 2nd anniversary since….I ditched my blog. (Gulp.) Two years….wow. It goes so fast.
Hello, remember me? Me, your friend in flashbacks, the one who once ate playdough and piddled in my pants? The one who had imaginary conversations with John Cusack, the one who helped you remember the exact swish sound your parachute pants made when you walked? The one who looked pathetically like this:
Yes. That was me.
And then I birthed a human baby, you see. And that baby required some time and attention and parts of my body. And I was up in the night and, weeeeeeeelllll, when you’re averaging 5 hours of sleep a night, it turns out you actually cannot (1) operate heavy equipment, (2) fly airplanes, or (3) google photos of John Stamos’ 1988 hairdo for a blog post on the top 10 best TV sitcom mullets.
But now my baby is a toddler and practically on his own. And I’ve missed it around here. I’ve missed you. I’ve missed us! And so now, well, I’m sort of back. If you’ll have me.
Soon I will be posting the details of my new blogging venture. I’m very excited about it! Like more excited than I even was about New Coke! Like this will be super better than New Coke, I promise. Or just think of it as a Childhood Relived spin-off. Like when a show ended and you were all, awwww…it’s over. And then you were all, yaaaaay! It’s over but it’s kind of back, only with different Big Misunderstandings and new characters and one could even look a tiny bit like Don Knotts if you squint just right, and then it’s almost like old times.
Just like that.
So pretty-please-with-some-Skittles-on-top stay tuned to what will surely be the greatest spin-off ever created since
Three’s a Crowd Joanie Loves Chachi Just the Ten of Us The Brady Brides Laverne & Shirley.
When I get famous someday . . . . what? How? Well, naturally through my invention of the first hybridized winged unicorn, “Rainbow Horny Wings,” which Mattel stole from me decades ago. You know, after I sue Mattel for the royalty fees and then finally get the worldwide credit I damn well deserve . . . what were we talking about?
When I get famous someday, I always imagine my first interview will start out something like Navin Johnson’s first interview after his invention of the Opti-Grab.
You know, Navin Johnson? You know, The Jerk? If you don’t, then I’ll forgive you. But then, you know, Steve Martin? (But if you don’t, or if you ask, “Father of the Bride?” then our relationship must end now.) You know, one eyebrow raised, staring smugly into the camera, where I’ll so boldly, publicly contemplate my own existentialism. “Who is Angie Z.?”
And then I’ll really be somebody.
But if that never happens, fortunately I already have my exclusive interview in the bag.
Over yonder at the fantastic humor blog She’s A Maineiac, Darla, one of the greatest people I know that I’ve never actually met before, featured me as her blogger of the month! And, as such, I participated in her monthly interview, Firsts and Lasts! Check it out here.
Because, just like Navin, I really am somebody.
Remember back in the good ol’ days when we all thought disco wouldn’t die?
You know, like an incessant whiny housefly you’ve swatted at twenty times — and yet it keeps on doing the Hustle?
And then, perhaps all too soon, the Last Dance was actually the last. And the sun went down on KC’s Sunshine Band. And Studio 54 ran out of coke.
Maybe disco didn’t suck. Maybe it was just horribly misunderstood.
This blog kind of died too. But I’ll be damned if it sucked.
I’ve been away a long time. And I didn’t even have the courtesy to leave a note or call to tell you my plans. Not even those made-up kinds, like I’m just staying the night at Christy’s house tonight and, yes, I promise her parents are there.
Nothing. How irresponsible of me.
WordPress declared my blog dead too.
July 1st marked my blog’s 2-year anniversary. Woohoo!
To celebrate, after 18 months of living high on the blog-hog, WordPress stripped me from its short list of Recommended Humor Blogs.
That hurt, WordPress. That hurt bad.
And then I returned to my blog this week, after a two and a half month leave of absence, and the windows were all boarded up. My newspapers were piled in the front lawn, my screen door was stuffed with sales flyers, and squatters were hanging out giving time-share presentations to whoever stopped by.
Not the kind of homecoming I expected.
Well, speaking of squatters, if you want to know the truth of why this blog fell apart, it’s this. Earlier this year, a little thing called pregnancy happened.
And the little womb squatter I’m now supporting is likely not getting out until he’s good and ready. Which will be a while.
I forgive that he’s cramped my blogging style.
But I might not forgive him for the other styles he’s cramped.
Like how I now find stretchy polyester to be the best invention since Fruity Pebbles. And how I’ve surmised that housecoats really can be both practical and fun.
But while I haven’t been blogging lately, I also haven’t been cleaning the cat litterbox. So I’ve got that going for me.
I don’t know where I’ll go from here with my blogging. It feels like this might be the end, my dear flashback friends. Especially when I try to envision balancing a baby on my boob, while I burn the midnight oil to upload inane images like this one:
Which probably would look exactly like this . . .
. . . only, in my version, Mary is at her laptop searching for an obscure Billy Ocean video and screaming profanities.
But on the other hand, this blog means way too much to me to want to give it up.
Don’t give up on me just yet. Right now I’m mulling over the future of my writing — and pondering what things will look like down the road. Like whether my butt will stay this way. And how I hope he has hair this time — but not on his back.
And after all, even Twinkies are now making a comeback! Hip, hip, hooray!
And I heard this song on the radio just yesterday! And I didn’t even hate it!
Although, I was obviously wearing something like this at the time . . .
. . . so that probably skewed my thinking.
To be continued?
Yeah, sidekicks — you know, like the partners in crime, the partners in fighting crime, the “not marquee enough to steal the show” guy, the “not pretty enough to get the guy” girl, the whipping boy, the supporting role, the court jester and the like. I love sidekicks.
Maybe because they never get the glory.
Maybe because my heart bleeds for underdogs.
Maybe because I’ve always been the sidekick.
It’s true. And I know that probably comes as a heart-stopping shock to your system. Like you totally thought I had enough charm going for me that I couldn’t possibly be the impish character providing the sympathetic audience guffaw, didn’t you?
But then you’re probably forgetting that I didn’t look like this:
So much as this:
Here are a few of my favorite TV sidekicks.
Squiggy (Laverne & Shirley). Squiggy was like an unneutered Jack Russell dog bathed in pomade. He made even Lenny look good. Even Backseat Laverne wouldn’t have him. Hell, Shirley found even the Big Ragu more appealing. Yet how could you not feel sorry for this little guy and want to adopt him and take him home from the shelter? After he’s been dewormed.
Al (Quantum Leap). In the face of uncertainty that comes with time-travel, Al always made me feel safe, like good things would happen if we only found our way into the future, all the while wearing crap like this:
Velma (Scooby-Doo). While Shaggy and Scooby were off getting high and Fred and Daphne were off getting pregnant, you could always count on the smart, loyal, practical Velma to keep her head about her and meddle her way into cracking the case, all the while wearing crap like this:
Boner (Growing Pains). The fact that he was so naive, so nonthreatening, so lame and asexual that he made the network censors completely forget how the word “boner” translated to the show’s teenage fans is nothing short of a Christmas miracle!
Natalie & Tootie (The Facts of Life). Was Natalie a sidekick to Tootie or was Tootie a sidekick to Natalie? And does their dual-sidekick status somehow cancel out that they were sidekicks to everyone else on the show, including Mrs. Garrett? Could they be some type of super-sidekick duo, thereby making them more powerful than Blair? I cannot begin to work through that mind-bending conundrum for you today.
Derek (Silver Spoons). Derek was the first bad boy I ever loved. And even though he’s an unconventional choice, I thought I’d throw him on my list as a sort of tribute to my good pal Jason Bateman and the other unappreciated, overlooked sidekicks everywhere. Who’s the sidekick now, huh, Ricky?
Other famous sidekicks who almost made my list: Kimmy Gibbler, Cousin Oliver, Mr. McFeely, Barney Rubble, George W. Bush and Balki Bartokomous.
*** Who’s your favorite TV sidekick? ***
It so happens I had one of these furry flea-bitten spider monkey dolls.
I’m not proud of it.
If you’ve been with me for a while, you’ll already know how I feel about monkeys. You’ll know I have a long history of being repulsed by monkeys.
Whether this kind.
Or this kind.
You name it.
And then you might wonder why I owned a Monchhichi.
You might wonder why any kid would own a Monchhichi.
I can easily explain.
They have these holes in their heads. In which you can stick their thumbs. Or sometimes a peeled banana. I saw a knock-off Monchhichi with a peeled banana in its hand that could fit inside its mouth and/or ear, and that seemed sanitary enough. As opposed to its fingers which . . . aren’t.
So back to the holes. We all know how kids like to stick random junk drawer items — pennies, jawbreakers, pipe cleaners, what have you — into their own bodily orifices as if their orifices are simply handy hidden pockets. Then, inevitably, the items get stuck and have to be removed with tweezers or through surgical means.
This is fact.
I know a kid who stuck beads up her nose until it bled and she had to go to the hospital. I once tried to fit a Chiclet inside my belly button. My neighbor used his mouth to carry around his Smurf collection. We’ll say upper quadrant out of respect for the Smurfs.
Mattel is an evil empire and they know just what makes kids tick (and pick and lick for that matter).
Monkeys are not much different than children, am I right? They’re filthy little creatures who stick things in their orifices, play with their feces and eat lice off their pals’ shoulders. Which is a lot like monkeys.
Enter Monchhichi. Finally a doll children can relate to. My former kid-self included.
Need more information? Doing a report on monkeys soon? Wondering how to spot the signs that a monkey has stuck its fingers into your favorite box of chocolates? Check out the post I wrote on Curious George, the most vile creature of them all.
And enjoy this clip for daily flashback purposes.
Monchhichi, wherever you are, I raise my glass of Tang to you.