Daphne's Cottage

Jezebel or Southern Belle?

Are you a ‘Jezebel’ or a ‘Southern Belle’?

Have you ever drank too much champagne and woke up in bed with your panty-hose filled with leaves, twigs, and dirt and can't remember how they got there?

Have you ever been so angry at your husband you ran after him while he tried to speed away in his slow moving Volkswagen, grabbed onto his bumper in your nightie, no underpants, screaming obscenities throughout the neighborhood? When the car finally hits third gear you're forced to let go into a massive mud puddle. Out of nowhere, a pack of wild dogs appeared, consisting of a skinny dog on its last leg, a fat dog, a tiny dog, and a poodle. Mortified, you take off with the dogs in hot pursuit until you run into your husband’s boss, who unfortunately lives on the same street.

Have you ever followed a man, while incognito, with your best friend, all over town, to see what mischief he's up to? Of course, we all have, but.....
Have you ever followed your man, to his buddy's mobile home, which lies in the middle of a cow pasture on a moonless night, where you know 15 of his trouble making friends will be? With microphone and recorder in hand, you crawl on your hands and knees through the cow pasture setting off a cow stampede with them heading straight for you. Dazed and confused from being run over by a cow, you make your way towards your final destination, a damp, dark, muddy, bug-filled world, under the mobile home. As you lay on the ground trying to record the most intelligent, Pulitzer Prize winning babble about boobies, butts, and sports, you realize your fat butt is stuck. After many unsuccessful attempts to free yourself, with panic setting in, you feel a humongous critter making its way towards your 'danger-zone'! You begin to wail and pound on the floor of the mobile home, knowing within moments, you're about to be busted.

Have you ever been so angry at your man, that you took a laser pointer, worked your overweight cats into a hysterical frenzy directing them down the hallway bouncing from wall to wall into the darkened bedroom of your nude sleeping husband? Then you zero in on the buttock area with your amazing laser light. At this point they leap, they pounce, they circle, …THEY ATTACK!!! The whole time trying to control gut-wrenching laughter, you let him fall back to sleep and continue the attack the rest of the night. Another entertaining adventure is to paint your husband's toenails candy-apple red as he sleeps! This can be a very delicate process because you don't want to get paint on your Daphne Sheets and you don't want him to wake up in the middle of the assault.

While watering the plants, have you ever sprayed an unsuspecting cat, a neighborhood kid, or your husband en route to his car because you knew you'd laugh about it for the rest of the day?

Do you have photographs lingering somewhere out there of you at 'Spring Break' that you're petrified might re-surface one day?

Do you secretly wish to be Hugh Hefner's fourth girlfriend without the cha-cha? Have you ever had a country-western song written about you titled "He was hit by a fast movin' train"?

Are all of these women that I mentioned above, ‘Jezebel’s’ or ‘Southern Belles’? None of the women are Jezebel’s considering, one story about a pack of dogs was my mother and the rest were about me.

A Southern Belle, Jezebel.

Of course my mother is terribly concerned I’m only going to tell horror stories and incidents. I do plan to tell stories of the wonderful charming women of my family and their quirky ways. My great-grandmother could have an entire novel written about her and her eccentric family. One fond memory I have of her was her undying love for her pet gander whose name was “Big Daddy”. My family raised geese on their property as a fun scenic hobby. The gander of the bunch was as mean as Satan who chased and bit everyone. After chasing granny one too many times, she grabbed that gander by the neck and twirled it around a few times. From that moment on, that gander would not leave her side but would continue to chase anyone who got within 30 feet of her. She would lay in her hammock by the lake while the gander circled her softly pecking and making soothing goose noises. Their love-fest was so strong that she bought the goose a rhinestone collar and many times took it to town on a leash and walked around with it in all of her glory, fur coat, gloves, and picture hat. What a sight.

Unfortunately, their love affair ended when out of spite or jealousy my grandfather, chopped its head off against the tree that held the hammock. All the while, my mother and great grandmother watched through the window devastated, they never got over it. This story is just a small incident out of many that shaped my mother’s personality and made her the compassionate, strong woman (i.e. nervous wreck), that she is today. Will there be a lot of male bashing in this blog? You betcha!!! However, I will be telling wonderful stories about the men in my family.

Granny was a huge influence on my mother and I. And to this day, my mother can remember so vividly slipping away with granny in her big Cadillac, driving off to Tampa to shop in the finest boutiques and lunch at fancy restaurants. Granny would dress my 11 year old mother in a satin gown, wrap a woman’s mink collar around her neck, one of her leopard hats, and massive gaudy rings on every finger, and this is how they would drive to Tampa. The whole way there, mama being allowed to smoke cigarettes, encased in a long rhinestone cigarette holder and sip martini’s from a liquor flask. She even bought my mother a sterling and mother of pearl cigarette case. Coincidentally my first cocktail and cigarette was given to me by my granny at the ripe ole age of 12. Did she give me a fur coat too? Absolutely. What’s even more scandalous, she let me drive her ancient Cadillac all over town when I could barely reach the pedals. It was all very glamorous. I have only begun to touch on granny. She looked, dressed, and acted the part of the Hollywood movie star. Through all her glamour and glory she had a wild streak. I used to come around the corner and bust her with her head tilted back taking swigs right out of the liquor bottle. One time out of anger she tried to chase my grandfather into his bedroom but he locked the door. So she got an axe and tried to chop the door down.

One night in a fit of rage over the loss of her beauty, granny cut her head off of every single picture she had.

I am starting off light as to not scare the blog reader, but it’s going to get wild in here, if you dare to read it that is. By the end of 20 to 25 stories, I hope to convice women that a race of barbarian women will rise up and conquer all men (and keep a few around for breeding purposes) and that’s why women deserve to pamper themselves and buy what they want from my site and all other boutique sites cause we, as women, deserve it.. My next blog, next week, will be more scandalous than this. I hope you can take it. Enjoy.

I'm going to be posting many pictures.  This first photo is of my mother.  She still feels safe to bend over in front of me after years of collecting photographs of her bending over.  Check back for my special series "Unlocked Doors" and "Surprise Ambushes".

My mother, the Southern Belle, around the same time she latched onto her husbands car bumper screaming obsceneties. She still looks the same but then again, she's pumped full of Botox.

Welcome Colette, what a pretty name, it sounds so French and spunky. I'd also like to thank everyone else who have sent me emails inquiring about the title of this blog. There is a big difference between a Southern Belle and a Jezebel. Yes, it is true, we are famous for our "iron fist under our dainty glove." We also tend to sit back with a smile on our face letting our men think they rule the world, but they really don't hehehe. I must slap my hand for saying such bad things about men all of the time.

A Jezebel is not what one would call a "ho" (although she could be one). She is a woman who runs all over town at all hours of the night having a gay ole' time, dancing on tables, with too much makeup on, one too many cocktails, and too many men on her dancecard. Most of us have a little J-Belle in us. I like to think I have many types of women living inside my little female brain. I know I have enjoyed many a night dancing on tables, but I did have my underwear on!!! Which is a whole different subject I'd like to cover one day, (to thong or not to thong.)

The women in my family would roll over in their graves if they knew women were strutting all over town with a piece of string hiked up their butts hanging out for all of the world to see!! I guess one day we will have people walking around naked. Whatever happened to having a little mystery? Besides, if you show it all of the time, men will get bored. There was something so sweet and so erotic back in the day when a man saw a woman's ankle, it was perceived as scandalous and highly erotic. Or in the Orient, the woman's neck was the most attractive and seductive part on her body. Now we have women on national TV getting out of limo's with no underpants on with a whirlwind of photographers snapping pictures for all the world to see. Talk about self-esteem issues.

I pray we as a society have a backlash to all this vulgarity and women can go back to being mysterious, delicate (but strong-willed), and intelligent treasures that men respect. I have no idea how we will earn respect if tihngs exist such as "Girls Gone Wild". Boy, I would like to take the owner of that show, hogtied, out into a field somewhere, 90 miles from anywhere, and have a chat. Oh yeah, I would bring my taser!!! Of course the women that are doing the show, need their panties jerked up something fierce too. I better stop before I get so mad my eyeballs start rolling back in my head, and I start speaking in tongues, foaming at the mouth.

The other day when the infamous Alec Baldwin called his 11 year old daughter a "Little Pig", my husband said my head turned all the way around, just like the "Exorcist" and stared right at him with my tongue wildly flickering in mid-air, making little growling, grunt noises for at least five minutes. The whole time he was analyzing and planning his escape route. I have no recollection of this. So ladies, we all have a little J-Belle in us, just try to keep it behind closed doors, and please ladies, wear underwear in public.

Meia, The Devil Dog

Again, I would like to thank all of the people who have made comments and left me wonderful emails. I never thought so many people would find us so quickly and would find our stories so entertaining. I was going to wait a while until I wrote another blog, but after so many emails I decided I would write a blog once a week. If you enjoy this blog, be sure to sign up for my blog feed so you can be notified when I post another blog. This blog was supposed to be about another subject, but after spending the adventurous weekend at my mothers, I felt the urge to write about it, mainly for therapy. I intend to tell many strange pet tales, but this blog will be dedicated to the one and only true dog from hell. The most heinous act a dog has ever done will be told at the end of this story!!!

The weekend started off uneventful. My mother and I rolling on the floor lauging in our nightgowns one minute and within seconds one or the other proceeds into hysterical fits of nervous breakdowns and can't go on any longer.

We accomplished many things the first night pertaining to our fabulous little boutique. We managed to find the most beautiful and charming handbags and artists I have ever seen. I cannot wait to showcase these lovely items and I will be talking about them in my next blog. Anyways, back to the horror that is awaiting me. I should have known at the end of the first night things were going way too well. The first incident came at 1 AM when I was awoken to a loud banging and jingling noise. I opened my eyes, terrified that I might see the hovering ghost of Granny, which is a whole nother blog coming soon.

What I saw was that devil dog "Meia" who my mother has had for years. She had obviously hid in my room and was now in the middle of head-butting the door while her dog collar jingled against itself. I know for a fact she would stop and look at me with a grin on her face. After letting the dog out and mischieviously placing her into my mother and fathers bedroom, I quietly shut their door. I went back to sleep only to be awakened 40 minutes later to a piercing noise coming out of the dying batteries within the smoke alarm.

Being only 5feet 2inches tall, no chair in the room, and deathly afraid to wake my father, I had to lasso the smoke alarm with my bra strap. While it was still going off, I flung it out into the yard.

The next morning, I was tired and cranky. My mother and I witnessed her dainty, gorgeous, long-haired, rag-doll cat who we lovingly call "Pussilicious, wildly racing room to room. Deep, long drawn out meows, obviously terribly upset over something, back and forth she raced. After about 5 minutes of chasing and cornering the petrified cat, we finally found the object that was terrifying her. A loan dark item from the catbox had attached itself to her fluffy tail.

My mother, as usual decided I was to handle this situation because of all the years that I caused her much grief and misery. As you may have well guessed, Meia the devil dog, finding the whole incident fascinating with her love of gourmet cat sausages, was also chasing the cat which added to her horror. One of my mothers many tasks in life is to keep Meia away from the catbox.

Another favorite past-time of Meia's is to race in the cow pasture and locate the nearest and freshest cow-patty, roll in it, and then head back to the house. My mother has an immaculate and beautiful home, and these incidents have caused her to have several, day long nervous breakdowns.

After cleaning the cat and doctoring all of my cat scratches, I took half of a valium and decided to paint my toenails, while I read my emails on my laptop which was sitting on a foot stool. The second I took the cap off of the fingernail polish remover, Meia, the dog from hell, jumped up to attack some invisible bug or acknowledge Granny's ghost, and knocked the bottle out of my hand onto the laptop keyboard. After another valium and a phone call to Dell's laptop order line, I had to tell the news to my husband that I blew up the laptop. After a huge fight and one more valium, I noticed my highly unusual Aunt, heading up the drive. She stops by once a week to inform us about her many illnesses acting up and what one of her 30 doctors has prescribed to her, which is usually valium, vicodin, and 3 White-Russians that she occassionally adds to the mix. She is my favorite Aunt.

By this time I was slightly impaired by the valium and got the bright idea to film my Aunt with the video recorder. I made a huge and hysterical discovery. If you focus the camera on a woman's arm pit, it looks exactly like a certain body part that I cannot mention. For the next hour, the three of us wildly took close-up snapshots of our underarms trying to see who had the prettiest one. We then loaded the pictures onto the big screen TV and for the rest of the night we made ourselves sick from laughter. It was by far the funniest thing I have ever seen in my life!!! I would kill to post these pictures but my mother has threatened me with death. I am sure you can use your imagination.

In the middle of watching two lizards in a romantic encounter for 30 minutes my mother and I smelled a horrible odor coming from behind us. Meia had been in the cow pasture, and she was grinning. It was time to get the hell out of there and away from my mother's mad house to the hell-hole I live in with my husband.

As I drove away, I began thinking about the history of Meia, a stray who appeared on their property about 10 years ago who was taken in due to the pleading of my son. This dog must eat off of a special paper plate, is terrified of her water dish, and has to sneak up on it with much hesitation. Her flatulence and corpse-breath is beyond human comprehension. She even follows my mother around room to room every second of the day, refusing to leave her side, constantly tripping my mother causing her to take many tumbles. If I had to list every psychotic thing about this dog, I would be here all day.

My mother thinks one of her childhood dogs has been reincarnated in the form of Meia Allundra Moon, the devil dog from hell. My mother and her brother (the unknown wine critic who will grace us with his presence later on) chased the original little dog coming from opposite ends of the yard and scaring her into rolling over and releasing five or six mini-torpedoes from her rear-end. This heinous act occurred several times. Now my mother is tortured on a daily basis by their dog of long ago.

My father's greatest fear in life developed a few years back from what we like to call "The Incident." The story is so horrific I have never been able to speak of it before and this is the one and only time I will talk about it in my lifetime. Packed tight in a SUV heading for the mountains, two adults, one mean-mouthed Diva, one teenaged boy, lots of luggage, a yowling cat, and "The Dog." We entered downtown Atlanta in the maze of spaghetti junction traffic. There is no going back and NO STOPPING!!!

Halfway into this tangled maze the dog starts to panic. My mother and I exchanged nervous glances. Within seconds the dog is frantic, panting, swaying back and forth, with her eyes rolled back in her head! As Big Daddy's horror sets in, he weaves in and out of traffic and puts the pedal to the medal!

We are still two miles from the nearest exit. The dog began to bow up! We all become very tense. The Diva starts to scramble towards the back of the SUV. The teenager started pointing and wildly laughing while making a mad dash for the video camera! Dad now realizes his fate!!!

The dog plunges herself into the front seat onto the middle console. She takes her stance and once again begins to bow up. In a last ditch effort, mama tries in vain to find a cup. But it's all too late.

With the saddest look I have ever seen on a grown mans face, my father awaits his fate, which is slowly emerging from the dogs backside, two feet from his face. My mother sprang into action as she hurled the small sausage-like torpedo into oncoming traffic.

My father never takes his eyes off that dog now when they travel.

Before Daphne's Cottage

I knew there would come a time where I would have to talk about a semi-serious subject. (and there won't be many of them) I also knew the time would come where my mother would demand to be heard and now the time has come. I wanted to write this particular blog cause I believe that no matter what, women can accomplish any dream they set their minds to. I have been lucky in the fact that I have a wonderful family to stand behind me and give me lots of support. I truly believe that even without this support you can still accomplish your goals and dreams.

A year ago my life was 100% completely different than it is now. I have always had the desire to have a boutique and to design a line of loungewear, sleepwear, fun-frilly tops, and slippers and sandals. It is probably going to take me close to a year to accomplish this part of my dream, however, the boutique part is about to become reality within a month or two.

I woke up one morning and just decided to "do it." I felt as though I had nothing to lose, except my husband’s money which is nothing new. I have dragged my mother into this as my business partner and we have never had more fun. I have met so many charming, intelligent, and fabulous women on this journey. I have discovered the world is filled with imaginative and creative people which renewed my faith in humanity. I of course must mention that I have run into many brilliant male artists as well. I really hope that you enjoy these stories. My mother wanted her introduction to be about what our lives consisted of before we took on this adventure and how within one moment your life can change and be turned upside down.

I now hand the keyboard to my mother.....

Since Elizabeth feels that she must mention me from time to time and use me as the butt of most of her jokes and tell all of my secret tales, I feel I must present my side of these stories and give my opinion when I see fit.

Most of the time when she calls me and reads to me what she wants to put in the blog, I either hang up on her or have to threaten her. Elizabeth and I are very close we have many things in common but also many differences. I am far more concerned with public opinion and always doing the right thing and putting others first. Elizabeth would like to put herself first as the leader of the 'Free World.' Knowing my daughter and her nature it amazes me, and always will, that she woke up one morning and finally decided to do this. Not only has she picked out some of the most beautiful things from around the world she has managed to make unbelievable contacts and a few celebrities to come along for the ride. (To be named later.)

She is working 18 hour days, falling asleep mid-sentence, and once I even saw her fall asleep standing up. One year ago her one true career ambition was to be a CIA hired assassin, traveling the world, taking out undesirable men. The scary thing is, I know deep down, she'd be there number one employee as I have seen her in action, I will let her reveal those stories.

I believe there are two personalities fighting inside her brain. One side is a gun-toting mobster that would make Tony Soprano cringe and the other a mint-julep, glove wearing, Southern Belle, with a sweet angelic grin on her face. A year ago before this all started, a 24 hour day in our lives went something like this.....

• At 6AM, I get up, dress, fix breakfast, start housework, and prepare to go on a long walk. Elizabeth is still asleep, having stayed up most of the night.
• 7AM I am trying to sneak out of the house trying to avoid my father, who lives on the ranch, and also walks in the morning. Walking with him means an hour of loud booming, ranting and lecturing about politics, the end of the world, and unbelievable exaggerating and outright lying. Once I heard him tell someone that he flew with the ‘Blue Angels’. His other favorite topic is, “When is Elizabeth going to behave, stop spending money, and lose 10 lbs?” My parents have zero patience for people who are even five pounds overweight. Once when Elizabeth gained 20lbs after several surgeries we would have to strategically place blankets and prop pillows all around her body when they would stop by. On another occasion she wrapped herself in a large quilt pretending to have the flu. Elizabeth is still asleep and is dreaming, once again, about aliens abducting her, telling her secrets and showing her space décor. I know at least once a month she will call me and insist these abductions really did happen.
• 8AM I manage to avoid my father by hiding behind trees, crouching in bushes, and sprinting down our lane to the road. Elizabeth is still asleep and has now progressed into meeting the alien leader. It seems that they think she is their goddess.
• 9AM I exercise, meditate, do make-up, and make one of my many lists. I know Elizabeth will make fun of me and tell about the one time she found one of my lists hidden under the couch. The list was titled “End of the World Grocery List and Survival Tactics.” Elizabeth is still sleeping.
• 10AM I watch HGTV and Martha Stewart while I complete various projects and start a new painting. Still sleeping, the aliens reveal the secret of life to Elizabeth.
• 11AM I brush and play with my cat, continue painting, and try in-vain to avoid the dog, which is the bane of my existence. Elizabeth wakes up gradually, angry, very angry and lounges in bed for at least an hour, pointing her toes and admiring her feet, which she once had the bright idea of opening a website, starring her feet. She forced her husband to photograph her feet for two days straight, until she became bored of that idea. She also has a firm and strict belief that when you are in bed with a man you must always be pointing your feet, never flexing.
• 12PM I prepare lunch, do laundry, pacify the latest problems of my husband and deal with the dogs latest exploit. All this while doing my Chi breathing exercises. Elizabeth eats 8 peanut-butter cups for breakfast and plots her first phone call to me.
• 1PM After trying on a series of expensive robes and nightgowns, which she lives in, in front of the mirror, experimenting with facial expressions (mostly pouting) . She grabs her coffee and peanut butter cups and situates herself on the settee. The calls begin, dread sets in. Elizabeth as usual, talks too long ( she loves to hear herself and thinks her voice is like a harp), there are a lot of dramatic pauses and wasted time that drives me crazy. She relives every event from the night before including all of her boring cat stories assuring me all the while that she is right about everything.
• 2PM I run errands, Elizabeth calls me in the car and wants to know how long it will take to kill a man, with a high cholesterol diet. She then tells me about her latest alien abduction dream and how it caused her to become psychic.
• 3PM I am home and have begun to paint again. More calls, she is disappointed that murder by high cholesterol might take years and wants to know if feeding moldy cheese to a man who is allergic to penicillin will kill him. Again she is bitterly disappointed.
• 3:30PM the call I dread the most that starts off with “Mom, I need to tell you something.” Heart pounding, she tells me that she was pulled over for speeding and flirted her way out of a ticket but the officer gave her a citation for an expired drivers license, which is 6months expired. She then tells me that she will have to go in front of a judge as this is a misdemeanor offense and why didn’t anyone tell her that she had to renew it. She informs me that she is going to prison and mean barbarian-amazon women are going to attack her, hold her down, and cut off her golden hair. After 15 minutes, she actually convinces me that this could happen which makes me go into hysterics and I have to go lie down. My husband convinces me that we are ridiculous and that people don’t go to prison for expired licenses.
• 3:45PM she calls back and asks if I could throw myself on the floor and have convulsions if the judge sentences her to the “Big House.” Horrified, I continue to hound my husband with prison questions until he angrily throws the paper into the air and heads for the backyard where he sits in silences and stares at nothing for over an hour.
• 4PM Elizabeth calls and asks me if her beauty could possibly make a female judge jealous. I yell at her and tell her, “No, because your butt is as big as a garden mule!” and I hang up on her.
• 4:10PM she calls and asks where one would buy a wheelchair and oxygen tank, knowing exactly what she’s thinking (her in a wheelchair on court date) I take the phone off the hook secretly wishing they would haul her off for a few days so I could have some peace. I will not mention some of the other ways she came up with to get out of going to prison. In the end, she didn’t even have to pay a fine.
• 4:30PM I must stop all progress and nonsense for the fifth time today to help my husband locate something. I find it in less than a minute every time. Elizabeth begins her hour long bathing ritual which involves using four or five different French soaps, three hair products, and several French lotions. The French to her after years of investigation are the only people who can produce high-quality body products.
• 5PM I suffer through a visit from my mother who wants to discuss the same exact things we discussed the previous day and her other favorite subject, “Why is everyone so fat and has Elizabeth lost 10lbs yet?” “Is she still eating peanut butter cups and should we have an intervention?” By this time Elizabeth is painting her toenails for the fourth time this week and his combing through her massive and elaborate collection of hair jewelry. She is now considering taking a valium or two. If it’s two, the phone calls become very interesting.
• 6PM I prepare a full nutritious dinner and make sure to feed the birds and squirrels in my yard and other various critters. Elizabeth’s husband has arrived home and is locked in the bathroom hiding. He knows he must soon come out, venture out into the night to buy Tampax, the latest decorating magazine, other various items, and peanut butter cups.
• 7PM, more calls. Elizabeth wants to know if a man can die of sleep deprivation. I am fed up with all of these questions, so I call her a “crazy bitch” under my breath, but she hears it and starts yelling. I am forced to hang up on her. She calls back 10 minutes later and asks how to make chicken and dumplings and how one would grow salmonella on chicken and can salmonella kill a man?
• 8PM Elizabeth calls again while I desperately try to watch “Dancing with the Stars” and try all of the dance steps myself, while my husband watches cage fighting in the other room. She has called to inform me that she is having a nervous breakdown and cant take it anymore and what restaurant she sent her husband to get take-out from.
• 9PM I try to calm myself knowing that ten o’clock is coming soon and she is forbidden to call after that time, but she calls again. What will it be this time? Another kidney stone, a trip to the hospital, her thumb is paralyzed again; another nervous breakdown, or she may have fallen off of the kitchen counter again. For the love of God, I have never been able to get a good explanation as to why she walks on her kitchen counter so much.
• 10PM nervous breakdown over, Elizabeth fires up her laptop, shifts into high-gear, puts on her tiara (yes, this is true) and half her jewelry, does dramatic elaborate Marie Antoinette hair-do’s, grabs her candy and mirror, and starts to shop online. I bathe, organize things for tomorrow, and check my Feng Shui charts and try to think positive thoughts.
• 11PM I am asleep and Elizabeth is entertaining herself by making up highly inappropriate songs filled with cuss-words that you could not pay me to repeat. She then puts the words to a tune so she can sing them to me in the morning convinced that she is a genius. She is also trying to teach her cat how to speak. She then spies on her loud “Yankee” neighbors who seem to do a lot of strange and private things outside in lawn chairs.
• 12AM Elizabeth is up for the night coming up with new and inventive ways to torture her husband, making mental lists of all the things she will need to tell me on the phone tomorrow, and watching either Marie Antoinette or Anna Nicole on DVD. She also works on her scrapbooking where she likes to cut pictures of her head and place them on Pamela Lee’s body.

Now of course, we have many calls back and forth due to our great excitement about launching Daphne’s Cottage, which is Elizabeth’s concept and dream. We make a great team deciding on many beautiful and unusual items we want to carry to make women feel good and look good. We are having so much fun and Elizabeth has worked very hard to make Daphne’s Cottage a charming, entertaining, and exciting place to shop and visit.

Elizabeth sometime in the 90's being a Diva and wearing bad fashion.

Elizabeth's scrapbook art. Her head on Pamela Lee's body.

A Wal-Mart Adventure

I am in limbo, in a prison without walls, caught forever between two hells, and sliding rapidly towards my 19th nervous breakdown. I began this blog at the end of a hellacious week spent at my parents home. Why am I here yet again so soon after the last mind-boggling visit of two weeks ago? I'll try to answer that question as I lay here staring at the ceiling, still in my nightgown at 4PM, several valium coursing through my veins, and half a plate of brownies consumed. I would like to add even though my mothers main focus has been on my candy consumption lately, which is driving both of us up the wall, when she sees Paula Dean bake brownies, she races like a bat out of hell into the kitchen to start baking, and 45 minutes later slowly glides the plate of brownies under my nose.

Back to my answer, I am here cause it's preferrable to being in my own home which has become intolerable. My husband and I live in the lovely historic district of our city and there are some elderly eccentric women who are my neighbors. One in particular has become the bane of my existence and has raised her "snooping level" to new heights. For years this woman has circled my yard like a hawk, peering in my windows, and trying to get a glimpse of any wrongdoings. My husband and I have thought of many ways to stop this woman and finally decided to purchase a Twister game, place it in front of the picture window, get the Wesson oil out, a bottle of vodka, and a fake joint. And then, "Let the games begin..." Unfortunately the thought of my naked body is so frightening to myself that I had to abandon this plan. My new plan involves downloading monkey-mating ritual noises and placing them near an open window. Then turn up the volume!!! I know by the next morning, the rest of the biddies, would be wagging their tongues and calling me a fornicator. After a week of this and the pressure of getting ready to open Daphne's Cottage, I could no longer stand the look of agony and irritation on my husbands face, his many maddening quirks and strange personal habits, his endless questions, and imperial statements. I had to flee or I would be operating my boutique behind prison bars. I was beginning to have thoughts of where I was going to bury his body. A large hairball from my cat finally sent me over the edge and I began frantically packing my tiara, a dozen nightgowns, a pound of Reese peanutbutter cups, and some happy pills, and I headed to my mothers peaceful oasis. (Of course I tell myself it's a peaceful oasis everytime... but I must be delusional)

As usual the first 24 hours at my parents home is utter bliss. Mom and I have a ball spreading out all the new goodies for the boutique. We put on our nightgowns and jump in her king-sized bed, which is the most scrumptious, enticing, and most heavenly bed in the entire world. If I could be in that bed everyday, I'd be a happier person. I hope I die in that bed.

For dinner, she fixed all of my favorite southern delicasies (ALL FRIED). We model all the new handbags that have come in and try on the fabulous new jewelry. I also like to torture my mother and model skimpy trashy thongs so I can see her rolling on the floor in hysterics. I then take Pussilicious out of her cat village in my mothers closet where she tries in vain to hide from me. I like to torture her and my mother with whiny cat noises and off-color songs about body parts. My mother is a real lady but she cannot control herself and becomes hysterical with laughter and begs me to quit, while gasping and pleading. The 24 hours end and the fun-fest is over. The dookie begins to hit the fan. We make the fatal decision to go to the Wal-Mart!!!!!

There is no Target or crafts stores in her small town, so it's the only game in town. We were in a crafting mood and hoped to find something fascinating to work on. It didn't exist but there was plenty of excitement and "shock and awe." I try to avoid Wal-Mart at all costs because of an incident that happened several years ago when I was surrounded by a herd of massive Yankee women who were there to have their screaming brats photographed. Mom and I were cut off in the lingerie aisle and I began to hyperventilate and lost my ability to speak. Momma, becoming severlely alarmed, had to help me to the car. When I was finally able to speak, I uttered the words "Mom, I saw huge outlined va-j-jays in tight bicycle shorts!!" At this point my mom calls me "crazy-bitch" drops me in the parking lot and glides serenely to the car. I have not learned to live with the va-j-jay situation as it seems to be spreading over the civilized world. I do not understand how a woman can check her hair, makeup, teeth, and even her nose, but not her most prized possession, the look of her va-j-jay. Is it a new fashion statement, a mating ritual, I don't know. I do know these women must have some feeling of being uncomfortable in that region. My mother was highly concerned about using the word va-j-jay but I assured her that I learned the word from Oprah who uses the word at least once a week on her national TV show.

On this particular day at the Wal-Mart, obviously there were many redneck women sniffing out a mate. None of them seem to notice they were 80lbs overweight, missing a few teeth, had six inch roots, unwashed hair, severe purple eyeshadow, a ripped up NASCAR tanktop, made for a small child, that encased two of the largest, saggiest, deflated water balloons that I ever saw. A certain sector of women in the south only wear a bra on their wedding day and in their caskets. It was clear that most of these women had not consumed any food that day because their cracks were gnawing on their shorts. One of these women had what we hoped was a decorative birds nest sitting atop her crack. All of these women seemed to have flat butts but inexplicably acquire hundreds of dents and dimples that ripple like water on a lake with every step. The foot fashion is always a pair of dirty flip-flops that house black bottomed feet and long toenails that are yellowed and have chipped red toenail polish. Alot of these toes have their own decorative patch of hair. Most of these fashion Diva's have four or five barefoot childeren that are screaming and feature threads of mucous running down their noses. Many of them seem to become flatulent, especially when I come close. They get very excited when they see a Diva of my caliber.

There must be a husband or two wearing rebel yell hats, hiding in the hunting or fishing department, planning their next hog hunt, and savoring their only peaceful moment of the day. When I pass these men and they see what they would call "one of them fancy types" their tongues become lax and they are in danger of losing their cheek full of dip. There also seems to be a strange movement in their tattered blue jeans. These are the only men that terrify me. I envision them capturing me in a burlap sack and forcing me to do chores, butcher wild hogs, and bear many children, all the while living in a single wide mobile home with no electricity.

My mother is very sympathetic and compassionate towards these people and says they are doing the best they can and tells me that I am going to hell. After wild fits of laughter on my part, mom begins one of her many guilt trip campaigns and tells me that one day, I will return to the earth as one of these redneck people, and this is what I will deserve. She knows that I will go home, look in the mirror, and realize that I'm a terrible woman which will make me live at the foot of the cross for at least a day or two until my natural personality emerges again or my mother drags me to the Wal-Mart.

Back to the day in question, after wading through a sea of these people, enjoying their weekly entertainment, we head to the craft department where 9 out of 10 times there is always an ancient creature parked in the middle of the aisle preventing anyone from passing around. A bomb would not move her. On this particular day we have also brought along my Aunt. To torture her and my mother I hunt down the most vulgur, see-through, skimpiest underwear set and hang them from the front of the cart for all to see, but them. As usual, I know when we get to the front of the checkout line the clerk will hold them up for a price check as I have removed the tags. Another way I like to embarrass these two is to loudly speak in various foreign accents. I especially like to do this in upscale department stores and at fast food drive thrus. My favorite is to speak in tongues and pretend to be afflicted by Tourette's Syndrome. (Please forgive me Lord!!) My Aunt cannot control herself when I begin these self-entertainment sessions and is left helpless, bent-over, and unable to breathe. After years of this, my mother has learned to hold her laughter, pretend she doesn't know me, and slowly glide from the store with an imperial look on her face.

One of my most fondest memories was the day (which is a National Holiday for me) I discovered a remote controlled "Flatulence Machine" at the mall. I practically had to be carried out of the mall on a stretcher. I found this divine gift on Christmas Eve which was the perfect time because elderly relatives would be showing up for dinner that night. My first victims were my mother and my aunt on the way out of the mall. My mother if I recall correctly, ran out of the mall the second she saw the look in my eye and knew what was to come. My next victims were my elderly grandparents. I duct taped the machine under the chair that I knew my loud, know-it-all grandfather would be sitting in. With the remote control in my hands, like a precious jewel, I calmly waited. There are not too many lulls in conversation when my grandfather is around, so I had to be on my toes. The second a silent moment happened I pushed the button, which fired off the loudest longest trumpet blare one has ever heard, which made him jump and began a silently working of the jaw which seems to be common in the ancients. I fired off a few more, while he looked around bewildered and wondered if it might have come from the dog which is a possibility at all times or if it was he, who was eminating loud sonic booms that were beyond his control. After five or six of these offenses, he loudly demanded to know, what in the hell is that noise! This was done out of the earshot of my grandmother who is extremely lady-like and prissy. Unfortunately a certain body part has worn out over the years and my grandmother thinks that certain noises cannot be heard. I now went in for the kill and placed the machine behind a pillow that she was sitting against. The company that made this fun machine was kind enough to give us a variety of noises and sound volume control. I began to set off the loud and long ones, even threw in a few dainty ones. I did this at a rapid pace, which would give one the impression that something serious was about to take place in someones britches. After 30 seconds of this abomination, I perpetrated on my poor defenseless grandmother, she jumped up and politely asked my aunt if she was okay? At first my aunt was totally silent, with a look of bewilderment on her face she was actually considering that it actually might have been her, seeing that she had been so ill of late and also had four White Russians that night. My uncle and my son who actually compete in this type of sporting event were immediately electrified by these fascinating sounds and began to bounce off the walls! My father being extremely prissy on this matter began to sniff the air. The whole family started to eyeball one another and sniff the air. My father sensing mass hysteria, finally looked over at me and knew it was me who caused this vulgar display. He demanded the remote and my fun was over!!!

After several weeks of playing with this glorious machine and threatening certain family members with public humiliation, Father finally snatched the machine after I threatened to push the button in the middle of the Sunday lunch crowd at the Country Cupboard in North Carolina. I have many times threatened to buy another one,but after my father found my mother crying over the situation he yelled and said he was going to cut me out of the will. I will never forget my fond memories of hiding the machine in my aunt's handbag as she strolled through many stores and firing the button several times as she neared the checkout. I did buy another remote controlled machine, but I can only use it on my husband. However, I have been severely punished when I was standing in a long check out line at the ABC liqour store and the machine malfunctioned in my handbag and started to fire off offensive noises one after another. People began backing away and looking at me in horror! My husband grabbed my handbag, ran out of the store, and abandoned me. I was then left to explain to these mortified people who did not believe me that I had a fart machine in my purse. The pendulum swings both ways, karma will always catch up to you.

My mother will not be speaking to me for awhile because I have divulged this top-secret information, even though I have assured her that in every house across the world there are people and teenaged boys wildly carrying on making noises and hysterically laughing about it.

And so as we leave Wal-Mart behind and the sun sets and the rednecks go home to their barbeque grills, my last view of the parking lot as we drive away is a 6'5'' shirtless man who must have weighed 450lbs wearing only a pair of "Daisy-Duke" style shorts digging for something in the back of his pickup truck, bent over, with a plumbers crack that was a foot-long!!!!!....... He seemed very happy and content. We waved goodbye to Wal-Mart and I claimed once again that I would never go back. My mother smiled serenely and said "we'll see."

Warrior Princess

In the South, we have traditionally accepted family-members or friends that would have been considered crazy, or borderline mentally ill, as merely overly sensitive, prone to hysteria, hot-blooded, eccentric, going through the change, and our all-time favorite, "it runs in the family". As I sit here trying to come up with a blog concerning the grand-opening of Daphne’s Cottage, nothing comes to mind. I can only think of the women in my family, women and their struggles, and how we as women can pull ourselves up by the bootstraps and change our lives for the better. One particular story comes to mind.

Local man flees the scene of his soon-to-be ex-wife’s home after wife gains bionic strength and throws a fully-lit charcoal grill and two ribeye-steaks thirty feet through the air, landing upon the back of the once-devastatingly handsome, but now overweight barefoot flatulent man. Witnesses say the man ran, screaming for his life! One witness claimed to see one of the steaks bounce off the back of his head and the other slamming into his back and clung for dear life for another ten feet. Sparks and flames flew off the scared and startled man as he wildly patted his head and shirt, which led him to trip. Finally, bionic-woman caught up to the bewildered, dazed and confused man. More witnesses claim when redneck-man rolled onto his back they saw the look of Satan in the powerful woman’s eye. And down came a fishing-rod, missing his private-area by one inch. Again, he took off, finally reaching his prized possession: his fifty-thousand dollar pickup-truck. Off he went, shirtless, into the night, only to be heard from a few nights later, when he called the goddess bionic-woman and begged for some of his clothes, belongings, hunting-gear, fishing-gear, and his antique, priceless Gibson guitar. Bionic-woman laughed sweetly, and replied, “Why, of course. I shall leave them in a box, at the end of the dirt-road on our horse-farm.” He thanked her, thinking he got one over on her.

The princess, being much more of a cunning creature, smiled to herself as chills ran all over her body when she pictured herself hidden behind a tree, watching the ignorant, useless man open the box only to find his clothing had been halfway-burned and then extinguished with a bucket of black paint. This scene would never leave her, and every time she thought upon it, she would always feel better when she heard of nasty things men do. As she crouched behind the tree, waiting for his arrival, she couldn’t help but think back to a year ago, when she first met him: dashing, handsome, charming, a real man’s man. He was tall, broad-shouldered, strong, fit, meaty hands; he oozed masculinity, and strongly resembled Russell Crowe in the movie Gladiator. He also told her that he was wealthy, owned his own business, and told her he shared all of her same beliefs and morality. Never did she think that a year later, he would gain forty pounds and she would discover that his two front teeth were missing from a long-ago bar-room brawl, and he somehow forgot to mention his insatiable appetite for all things fried, and his uncontrollable flatulence-problem after smoking two to three joints of marijuana every night, .

She heard his pickup-truck turn the corner, and out bounced the fat, mentally challenged man. He bent over to open the box. As he saw the contents, he began to hyperventilate, screech, scream, and grunt. He kicked the box and stomped on his charred belongings. What a thrill this was for her to see. She wondered when he would realize his three-thousand dollars worth of hunting and fishing gear and priceless Gibson guitar were missing from the box. You see, the beautiful bombshell had sold these items to the little wiener’s very own cousin. What trouble that would cause, she could only hope. Another thought dawned on bionic-woman. she wondered if he knew she had one-hundred percent cleaned-out his check and savings account. She had ruined the little dog-dookie completely.

Later that night, the phone rang. It was the redneck's big momma, a massive, redneck woman, with one foot high teased hair, blue eye-shadow, polyester suits, and a massive belly that prevented her any glance at her va-jay-jay for the past twenty years. This fat woman was either ignorant herself, or one-hundred percent hoodwinked by her son. She managed to produce another daughter, who was so inbred, she ran around town, totally crazy, half-naked, telling people she worked for the FBI and saved children from burning buildings.

Of course, one could find all this tragic, but I don’t. I will leave that to my mother, the goddess of guilt-trips. Anyway, old hefty cow said, “She couldn’t understand why the princess had ruined her son in every way, and sent him back home to live with her in financial ruin.” She lied and said, “Her son was heartbroken and couldn’t get out of bed, and that he was terribly hurt by the soon-to-be divorce and his loss of all of his prized possessions and money he had saved for years.” The princess laughed softly, and could hear the fatass in the background, coaching his fat, old momma what to say. After busting the two, the redneck grabbed the phone. He screamed and panted, “Why did you do it? Do you know what you’ve done? You’re an evil woman from Hell and I’ll get you you crazy bitch!” The princess, all along, died laughing, adding to the little piggy’s anger.

Many moons went by before people heard a peep from fat-lying-flatulent-man. Some still ask, what can a man possibly do to deserve such heinous acts hurled at him? There were many tales answering this question; some lies, some half-truths. I for one, know the truth, because I was there, and witnessed it all. After six months of marriage to a man who lied about the whole money and business thing and said he had a master’s degree and other tall tales, there was thick tension building in the air. Bionic-woman was catching on fast to this fat man’s bullcrap. By fat, I mean he had obtained a gut and an ass the size of a garden-mule from drinking beer and eating everything fried in less than a few months.

It began one steamy, hot day, bionic-woman set out to the grocery-store with her goddess mother, returning home thirty minutes late. Redneck man was irate and jealous, and wanted to know where she was, and why did she have to take his truck to the grocery-store? The redneck man expected the little, feeble-minded woman to have ESP and to know he, the king, wanted to hook up his boat and test it in the water before his fishing-trip with all his other fat redneck menfolk, who we all know for a fact are all gay. Men only want to hang with other men. If you take notice, watch how men get all pumped-up and friendly when their buddies call. They only want to be around women when a leg is cocked up in the air, or when a meal is being prepared. After explaining to the rotten weasel that she took the truck to hold more groceries, he called her a liar, accused her of being a whore and raised his massive, meaty hand that hung from his 6’2", two-hundred and fifty-pound body, and struck the 5’2", hundred-and-fifteen pound dainty princess square in the jaw. The coward then dragged the helpless princess into the house, so the neighbors would not see him take an extra-large crockpot of boiling green beans and dump them all over her, then smash an antique-table, barely missing the dazed and shocked young woman. The big brute then kicked two holes in the wall, followed by a fist. He picked up the keys and said, “Next time, be home on time, you stupid bitch!” Mortified, hurt, and bewildered, the broken-hearted princess picked up the mess, cleaned herself off, and started her plan.

For three days while the pea-brain fished with his male gay counterparts, the bionic diva went on a massive research-mission. By the third day, she discovered the thing she had lived with was not a business-owner at all, he was just an employee. She found that he did not have a Master’s Degree, only a G.E.D. He was on probation for smoking pot and had three prior arrest-convictions. She suddenly realized that she had married a poor, toothless, overweight, pot-smoking, redneck, pathologically lying, and flatulent, devastatingly handsome wife-beater! The shame. How would she face her family? They had all been fooled by his charm, the swaggering good looks, and manners. It had only been a six-month marriage after a whirlwind engagement.

The day the low-down dog got home from his fishing vacation, the black widow was waiting, open arms, kind words, and a five-course fried meal, enough to choke five elephants. She should’ve known she was dealing with a redneck, by the food he ingested. She knew just what to say: “Honey, while you were gone, my parents decided to let me cash in a bond; a very large bond as a late wedding-gift. "Only thing is,” she said, “she needed to be added to his checking and saving’s account in order to deposit the money.”

She let him think he would be much better at managing the money than her. That was a done deal. The gleam in his eyes, picturing himself spending her money on new hunting-gear was hysterical. Never was he more romantic and sweet that night. The scumbag actually thought he was dealing with a dumb blonde airhead. That night, the princess lay in her bed, hardly controlling her evil laughter. Bright and early, they raced to the bank and signed the papers. He patted the good little girl-dog on the head, and wished her a wonderful day, and not to forget to deposit that check. Off he went, so full of pride and ego. The useless twit. That day, she drained his accounts bone-dry! Back at home, the rest of the plan played itself out to perfection. The fat retard’s inbred, black-toothed cousin, who was extremely hot for the princess, came to the house to purchase all the hunting and fishing-gear. Laughing, the cousin said, “If you really wanna make ‘em mad, lemme take a few o’ those gargantuan pot-plants he’s got growin’ back in the trees behind your property.”

A cold chill and thrill went through the little diva’s body. “Hot damn! I will crush him even more!” How could he grow pot-plants so close to our home? Furious, clenching her teeth, the little princess changed that day and became what she is today: an avenger packing heat.

With the phone in one hand and the card of his probation-officer in the other, the pot plants located, she waited. Dead calm. Whoever said revenge is a deadly sin and something that tarnishes the soul is full of dookie, she thought. She thought to herself, at no other time in her life did she feel this much alive, this ecstatic, joyful, electrified, and pure, raw ecstasy.

The hour grew closer. Then she heard the rumbling diesel engine of his truck heading down the dirt-road towards his private Hell. Shoes flung off, shirt disregarded at the front door; he grabbed a beer, a plate of marinated steaks, and headed for the grill. The brave heroine came out and demanded to know why he had lied about his job, his money, cars, probation, pot-plants, and what the hell, two missing front teeth? Why on earth did he not inform her in the beginning that he had these problems? She was taken aback by a series of loud noises that she determined could only be coming from his britches. He told her she was insane. She screamed that she wanted out of the marriage. He bent down and grabbed his knees, and said, “This is what I think of our marriage!” He then pointed his meaty finger in her face and emitted a loud report from his nether region. The noise was so loud, long and thunderous; it scared a flock of crows out of a nearby tree that had been watching the activities. The diva’s strength and bravery grew. She called him a toothless, impotent fat redneck. He started to move toward her. She hit redial, which was programmed to 911, his rage so deep he didn’t notice. The warrior-princess began to scream as if she was being murdered, so the police would get there quicker. The brute pushed her down, cutting open her knee on a rock. Good, she thought. Blood, more evidence for the police.

She rose and called him a raging homosexual, a redneck’s deepest fear. And to this, he threw a bottle of beer at her head. The warrior caught it by some universal force in one hand. Stupefied, the redneck spit at this queen of fury. With this, like a scene out of a movie, wind began to blow; the ground seemed to shift, a bright thunderbolt streaked the sky as dark clouds moved in. The witch-diva’s eyes turned black as coal from a pale green, face snow-white, lips blood-red and stiff. With one swoop, she picked the fully-lit grill up with one hand and held it over her head. The redneck felt a warm trickle of wetness traveling down his leg. He turned to run; she took off after him at an astounding speed in four-inch Jimmy Choo heels. She could smell the little bitch’s fear. With every pounding step he took, several explosive noises reverberated in his britches. The warrior-princess died laughing. At the exact moment, the redneck turned around, she hurled the fully lit grill and 2 steaks into the air at an astounding speed right towards the petrafied fleeing man. Boom! A direct hit!! Sparks, flames, steak juice exploded in mid air, the remnants spraying down upon the running man. One of the hot steaks slapped the man on his cheek. A females blood curdling unholy howl escaped his lips. While jerking movements and grunts took over the redneck, his legs moved up and down stomping the dirt into large tall dustclouds mixed with grill smoke. He began an uncontrollable cough through his screams. He slapped at his back! He pounded his head with his fists! His arms waved frantically through the air! He checked his bulge (or lack of one)! He suddenly tripped and fell! He began to roll! Back and forth he rolled, grunting! Grass and dirt filled his gaping mouth, spitting, kicking, and cussing! He finally realized he was not on fire after all.

When the redneck finally opened his eyes and got to his knees, a horrific thought dawned on him. During his spastic, sporadic, and flailing about tantrum, he lost his retainer, donning his two front teeth in the thick pasture grass. The princess went into wild hysterical laughter! Out of the corner of her eye, she saw it. Swiftly and inconspiciously she walked over to the retainer and put her foot upon it. When he looked away, she bent down and scooped it up. The thought of the fat redneck spending time in jail with no front teeth sent pleasure chills up and down her spine. Sensing her guilt, the redneck scrambled to his feet and started to move towards the princess. The princess slowly pulled a small handgun out of her back pocket, held it in the air, and fired off a shot causing the shocked man to stop in his tracks with eyes wide opened! She then pointed the gun right at him and said, "I will shoot you right in your 'manhood' if you take another step towards me." She heard sirens in the distance coming to her rescue. He bolted towards his truck. Off he went, into the night not knowing the police were down the road waiting for him.

In the end, the princess managed to have the monster arrested for battery, having a controlled substance with the intent to sell, violation of probation, and resisting arrest. She destroyed his life and his reputation. A year later, she sent the redneck's mean-mouthed mother a package. Inside the package was a large amount of broken up wood that once was his priceless Gibson guitar. The point of the story is, no matter where you are, or what struggles you're going through, or who is bringing you down, you can pull yourself up by the bootstraps and make lemonade out of lemons. The other point being, no matter how many news reports you hear about men and their horrific acts, there is always a little woman in a little town, giving back to him what he deserves. Stay tuned for wife chases husband in a brand new cadillac.

Warrior Princess

Lisa Kaus

     The day has finally arrived to slowly open the doors to Daphne’s Cottage Boutique. It has been a long, hard road filled with nervous breakdowns, hilarity, and exuberant moments. I have many wild stories about how we got here, but I will save them for a rainy day.

     Daphne’s Boutique has one main goal and that is to bring to you, one of a kind finds, limited edition treasures, or just highly unusual things. We feel women should pamper themselves and live a beautiful lifestyle, as much as possible, and not follow any rules concerning decorating or what someone else considers beauty or art. What you perceive as ‘eye candy’ should be what you have in your home to look at everyday to bring you peace and joy in your and home and family. With that said, we plan to bring to you many beautiful and unusual things from around the world, but there are a few categories I wanted to mention on my blog. The beautiful and whimsical work of Lisa Kaus, the sassy charming handbags by BariJ, and our far away Fairy Princess, who lives in France and her fantasy world, Laetitia.  I would like to start with Lisa Kaus.

     Over the past few weeks I have tried in vain to come up with the perfect blog for Lisa Kaus and her wonderful charming art. I have tried clever witty intros, dramatic intros filled with bragging, I even tried the typical mushy sweet as pie intro. I decided “to the point” was best.

     When I decided to carry art work in my boutique, I went on a long and tedious search for an artist whose work would ring true to my Southern sensibilities, yet have a wide appeal to all who appreciate the imaginary world of Lisa Kaus. We in the South have a greater appreciation of all things lovely, charming, and unusual. Many of us who still cling on to our dusty antiques and family portraits are eager to jump into her fantasy world.  Lisa’s cunning flora and fauna, delightful figures, and settings will tickle your imagination and sweep you away to a new and endearing place and feeling every time you view one of her creations. What a perfect match and breath of fresh air she has brought to us.

     When I first contacted her she was already terribly busy fulfilling other obligations to art galleries and the wonderful Earth Angels. I was so fascinated with her work and so determined to get her, I persisted and drove her crazy with the thought of a nutty Southern woman calling her every day with threats of chaining herself to her front gate and not leaving without art. She promised to make a few pieces just for us. We won!!!

     The day we opened the box filled with Lisa’s work, Daphne’s Cottage changed. Our whole structure and our goals shifted. With every glimpse of her work, the air grew thick and tense. Women eye-balled one another. Their once graceful charms flew out the window. Harsh words were spoken, horrific glares, bodies became rigid, sides were drawn, favors were called in, and bidding wars ensued. Threats, demands, pleading, pouting, and fingers were being pointed. There were moments I thought I heard whispers in the crowd to knock me down and grab the art and run. Two former debutants almost duked it out in our rose garden. All over Lisa Kaus and her paintings. Not to mention her Tinnies, wood houses, and cake art. When those were brought out, several elderly women fainted.

               I knew Lisa would be popular, but not like this. The e-mails started, then the phone calls. The name Lisa Kaus started to travel from friend to friend, sister to cousin, and state to state. Everyone wanted to know what inventory I had of Lisa Kaus. I started to get commissions for original pieces. They became larger and larger, more grand than the last. Women wanted prints to tide them over until their original work arrived. Lisa and I started a list and marched on.

     Daphne’s Cottage has several extravagant showcase parties planned for Lisa Kaus  in Atlanta, Savannah, Highlands in North Carolina, and several exclusive private showings just to mention a few.  We have several beautiful ads coming out in all your favorite magazines and we look forward to showcasing a new and fascinating batch of work that will be flying in to us next week. We have many, fun and exciting future plans that we are all looking forward to. Will we carry other artist’s like Lisa Kaus? She truly has spoiled us in every way, so for now, we concentrate on her, but we will always have one eye open just in case she refers another artist to us. Not only is her work full of charm, warmth and love but she as well exudes these qualities.

   Please keep on the lookout for an exciting blog coming up that will showcase a thrilling piece of art Lisa and Daphne’s Cottage worked on. I will let her show them first.

We hope you enjoy Lisa and her work as much as we do for many years to come. If I do happen to have a piece up for sale on the website, grab it fast, they don’t last long.  Stay tuned for my other two magnificent artists to be show cased...........................

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BariJ Handbags

BariJ BariJ, there simply are no words to personify how we at Daphne's Cottage feel about you and your scrumptious handbags.

In the beginning we thought we actually had the capabilities to design and fabricate our own handbag line. After designing and fabricating 300 handbags by hand, day and night, 18 hours a day, and months of crying jags, screaming, fighting, nervous breakdowns, valium and White Russian mixing, stomping on bags, kicking them through the air, and two of the worst moments of all; my mother attacking the sewing machine with her foot, and the incident I shall only mention once, my mother in her see through nightgown, no undies, dancing around, daddy's large trash firepit as she threw bags into the smoldering fire, one by one, cursing like the exorcist and laughing maniacally. We failed.

The handbag designing ended that night and the quest for the 'Holy Grail' of high couture fabric handbags began. This quest was a total nightmare. As the bags we ordered started to come in, our hopes sank with each new shipment. They all came in and looked like floppy-thin rag bags with a hundred and fifty dollar price tag. The nerve. All the bags we saw were no better than the very own bags we made and threw into the firepit. Then...... EUREKA!! The goddess of luck shined her smile upon us and in strutted sassy darling BariJ. Not only is BariJ a wonderful handbag designer, she is also a master applique artist. After speaking with BariJ several times, I knew that a relationship between the two of us was going to fit like a glove. BariJ has an adorable, charming, and easy going personality. She was enthusiastic and eager to please. BariJ clearly stands apart from the crowd with her innovative stylish avantgarde, but classic handbags. She has an eye for style and the ability to make it her own.

We consider ourselves aficianados of all fine handbags and therefore we had certain criteria we were determined to meet in our handbags, and BariJ met them all, not only is she the consumate fabric handbag designer, her future fashion plans will blow your mind. We ordered a small batch of 25 handbags, full of anxiety and anticipation, we waited. The day came when three large treasure boxes were delivered by a buff tan UPS stud muffin. I could tell he was clearly enamored of my intense beauty and my seductive eyes, but I had no time for this, I will get him next time! My stomach cramped and I began to hyperventilate, the time had come.

As I slowly opened the box, the first thing I saw was layers of fluffy pink tissue paper and a gorgeous mixed-media handsewn card with a small vintage brooch placed in the middle. As my hand dug further into the treasure box, I felt that familiar Christmas morning crinkle of rustling paper. Out came the first bag, nothing could prepare me for what I saw!!!

I am dead serious when I say these bags looked completely different than the bags in the photos that BariJ sent me. These bags were a million times better than the bags I thought I was gettiing. The crowning glory were the fabrics and her masterful mixing of the patterns. They were rich, dramatic, and completely unique. My mother then gasped, an angry expression on her face said it all, after months of trying to make a bag stand on its own and failing she finally saw the bag she tried so hard in the beginning to create. BariJ had managed to conjure up the perfect combination of interfacing, the stitching was perfection, the four tiny balled feet on the bottom gave the bags extra support.

After the initial shock wore off, my eyes started to marvel at the vintage French ribbon brooches. There were six yards of velvet ribbon made into a multi-layered, cunning, and nostalgic bow with a vintage brooch nestled in the center. These could be removed if one chose to do so and placed on a jacket, a hat,a beautiful blouse, or anything that tickles your fancy. I immediately attached my ribbon brooch to the back of my thong. I wiggled and jiggled in front of the mirror while dancing to ABBA. My cats sensing a new toy became instantly enamored of my pleasantly plump bouncing buttocks and made a flying leap for the fascinating wiggling ribbon. This necessitated a speedy exit to the bedroom as the cats lunged frantically at the now dangling ribbon.

Every bag we pulled out was better than the last. Some of her bags had one of a kind hand sewn appliques. We had never seen anything like this in any other boutique or any of our travels. These original appliques are cleary one of the main reasons that sets BariJ's handbags apart from the rest. They are highly unusual, artistic, and impossible to copy. We immediately placed a huge order of handbags due to the popularity of these bags. There are women beating down my door and calling me frantically and so I now spend my days consumed with sneaky and manipultive ways to call BariJ and convince or bribe her to work faster and harder.

BariJ is becoming increasingly popular throughout the south where all things charming, whimsical, and beautiful are sought out. BariJ has been gracious enough to offer Daphne's Cottage exclusive BariJ bags, exclusive appliques, and limited edition and special one of a kind bags from time to time. She has many future ideas and goals that we are so excited to be a part of. Her creativity never ceases to amaze us and everyday brings a new idea or design. It is an amazing feeling to be around such creative and inspiring women. Just to let you know, if you ever want to get one over on BariJ or bribe her, dangle a fabulous pair of shoes under her nose, and she will do whatever you say. Just like our friend Lisa Kaus will do anything for a good handbag.

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10 Horrific things to do to your man while he sleeps

Try to remember when you're reading these delicious ideas that no matter what you have to do or how gross or unlady-like the action may be, you can still hold on to your dignity, feminine charms and lady-like attributes as long as you.... wear pink high heels, a pink feathered trailing robe, a tiara, hair up in a fabulous do, with ringlets cascading down your back, and most importantly every step you take and every movement you make, that you do so with tiny dainty steps and actions.  If you have to pick something out of the catbox do it with grace and style.  As you walk away from the catbox, with a small tootsie roll, inbetween kitchen tongs, swing your hips in a cutsie-pie feminine motion taking dainty steps which will allow your long robe to billow out like a queen, and your ringlets to bounce up and down. 

All of these assaults mentioned below, I have tried on all of my husbands, and I am constantly on the lookout for new and fresh ideas.  Some of the more horrific things I have accomplished to do to men cannot be told at this time due to the dead relatives who may roll over in their graves and due to my mother's nervous condition, which she treats with the occasional valium and White-Russian chaser.  Of course you never want to take it too far like my Aunt Martha did one night when my uncle complained about a dried pork-chop.  She waited for him to go to bed and shot him dead.  After her dirty-deed, she sashayed back to the living room in her pink high heels to finish watching Wheel of Fortune.  The justice system in the south, having a sympathetic hand toward its women and their plight, let her off on one small technicality.  She was having her menstrual cycle at the time.

1. This assault will need to be done in the middle of summer.  Make a salmon paste in the microwave, or your favorite stinkbomb recipe.  Get it nice and hot and easy to spread.  Try to get it to the consistency of spreadable tub butter.  Take his shoes and very carefully peel back the inner insoles.  Spread the salmon paste underneath and glue the rubber insert back in.  This assault will be for the man who has called you a name, denied you that beautiful dress, asked you the question, "How many BariJ bags are you going to own?", or the big question, "What have you done all day and why is the house such a mess?!"  If you really want him to know what you have done all day, buy a package of Post-It notes and place them all over the house with statements on them such as; Who dusted this lamp?, Who hung up these clothes?, Who washed these windows?, etc, etc....  Easily, Post-It's would be all over the house for him to read.  This assault will also kill two birds with one stone; if he flirts with any girls at work or vice versa, this now will come to a complete halt. 
2. This abomination will be for the women who own cats and have men who sleep in the nude, which should be outlawed by the way.  Nothing is worse then waking up in the middle of the night and looking over to see the hall light reflecting on two shiny objects attached to your man's body.  Many times I have awoken to this nightmare and slapped at these two monsters.  Buy a can of tuna.  Do this on a night when he has had a few beers or he is overly tired.  Corner the cats and do not feed them all day.  Creep into the bedroom and put a spoonful of tuna juice mixed with tuna pieces, nine inches below his belly button.  Carefully lift a certain floppy appendage with kitchen tongs and place another spoonful.  If you do not have it in you, then put the tuna between his toes or under his arm.  If you can manage to get him on his stomach, well....... then ladies, you will have a perfect line to trace the paste through.  Grab the fat and ravenous cats, and let them go to town!  Remember to always take photos or have a hidden video camera handy.  This is very important because you will want to play the video at Tupperware parties, baby and bridal showers, office parties, and family functions.
3. This is a very bad one for that especially bad man.  You must have a gay-man friend on hand for this.  If you don't have access to a gay man then comb the newspaper ads and hire one for the evening.  Promise him a Bari J handbag or one of Lisa Kaus' pink cupcakes as payment.  Get your husband liquored up and wait for the passout.  Enter your gay cohort.  Throw him up in the bed with the gay man and photograph him in all kinds of compromising positions.  Make 20 copies and put them in a safety deposit box.  Now, tell that little flick of a flea that if he doesn't do exactly what you say during your relationship or your divorce/breakup that the photos will circulate all over town.  I have done this and it is a wonderful and useful way to extort money and credit cards from the poor little cheating dog.  You will also gain a new best friend in the gay man.
4. This one is all about good clean fun.  I did this one many years ago to my first husband.  We lived on a piece of property that ended right next to an ancient unused graveyard.  I would tell him incidents and stories of seeing and hearing things and he became a firm believer in ghosts.  Late one night I got the brilliant idea of tying a thin piece of thread to my finger, the other end had a clothespin attached to it.  I ran the thread out the window.  Every few minutes I would pull the string which would make the clothespin rattle against the window.  My husband would become very alarmed over this, frozen in terror, he would refuse to get up, as I lay there, hysterically laughing (pretending I was crying).  You could easily do this one yourself, just sit back and enjoy yourself watching your husband race outside with his gun looking for a perpetrator or a ghost, but remember, when he races outside, drop the string that way you won't get busted.
5. This next one is to cause major afflictions and insecurities in your man's brain.  When your man wakes up, act like you are very very upset about something.  If you are a good actress you can pretend to cry and have very shaky hands.  He will immediately begin to ask you what's wrong.  The first thing you should say is, "We need to talk." in a very serious tone.  Just walk away from him and say, "I can't even look at you right now."  When he comes home that evening searching for answers, tell him while he was sleeping that you were awoken to his loud sleep talking.  Tell him about how he went on and on for fifteen minutes or so and the words he spoke were very very clear.  Tell him he continued to call out the name of one of his closest friends.  Pick the friend who is the most handsome by the way.  Tell him he was moaning in pleasure, begging the man, and making statements such as, "Bill, I love you, and I want to be with you", "I need you Bill", "Kiss me Bill", and something about round firm buttocks, and "Oh God Bill".  While you tell him these things, you will need to be shaking and crying.  Tell him you don't know what to do now and you're not sure if you can stay in a relationship with a man who has closeted intentions and secret desires.  His first reaction will be anger.  Let him stew on it for a few days while you remain distant and dead silent.  Hopefully, this won't backfire on you and he informs you that it is true!  After he has pondered on this for awhile and questioned his manhood, he will start to fear that he is going to lose you and he will immediately start to hand over credit cards and cash.  Another wonderful thing to come of this is, it will most likely cause a certain thing to not rise to the occassion anymore, so no more avoiding him at bedtime.
6. If your husband gets drunk on the Fourth of July or any other night and you're mad about it, throw him in bed naked, and get him rolled over onto his belly.  If it actually is the Fourth of July, carefully... carefully... insert the end of a sparkler, ever so gently into his crack, light the sparkler, and run.  If it's not the Fourth of July, then just grab a long match stick, light it and run.  You can do this between his toes as well, which here in the South we call that a "hot foot" so I guess if you use the crack for a sparkler clamp it would be called a "hot butt".  Be very careful in certain areas where your husband might have an over abundance of hair.  Have motel reservations ready and your BariJ handbag in the car with the motor running.  Flee, run, flee!
7. Again, this will have to be for the women who own cats.  This is, by far, one of my all time favorites.  I have done this many times against many men.  Each time it gets better and better.  You must buy thick plastic gloves for this mission and a pair of kitchen tongs.  Head to the catbox.  Grab as many tootsie rolls that you can find and place them in a ziplock bag.  Throw them in the freezer, while remembering to do this with style and grace.  Continue to collect three to four days worth of doodles.  Unthaw all the doodles and wait for his sleep.  Head out to his car, this part will get a little sketchy, but trust me, it can be done with the utmost dignity.  With gloves on, feel underneath the seat, you will feel alot of metal and places you can easily smush the doodies into.  It is very very important to secure the doodie, otherwise they will roll from underneath the seat towards the gas pedal.  You do not want this because you want him to have to pick at it for the rest of his life to get it off.  He will most likely have to sell the car.  If you plan to keep your man after this assault,  you can blame it on neighborhood night time trickster banshees that break into cars and spread mischief. 
8. Simple things can be done such as painting his toenails blood red and have zero fingernail polish remover on hand.  I cannot tell you how many fun nights I have had doing this.  Enter your husbands phone number, email, photo, address, and all other personal information to all male seeking male companionship websites and dating services.  Eyebrow shaving is a great one too.  All of these things can be done, you just need a steady hand and you have to be fast.  So practice before you attack.  These ideas are the typical all-time favorites.  You can scream out as loud as you can, "Fire, fire, fire!!! and when he awakens completely startled and scared, pretend you are dead asleep.  You can put itching powder on selective places on his body.  You can super-glue his hand to all kinds of fun places.  Once I glued my husbands finger to the inside of his nose.  Another trick with salmon paste is to make a tuna paste mustache under his nose while he sleeps.
9. For this assault you will need a Barbie and Ken doll, a 12 pack of beer, a camera, and again, a pair of kitchen tongs.  When your husband gets home at night, be extra super sweet, and  meet him at the door with a bottle of one of his favorite beers.  Give him a long massage and feed him a frozen undercooked TV dinner.  You don't want to go too overboard.  Continue to fill his belly full of beer, whisper "sweet nothings" in his ear filled with promises of "tonight's the night",  "are you feeling lucky tonight?"  Then when he's nice and toasted put him to bed.  Again, in the nude.  If your husband is like mine, he will be in a sleep coma 10 minutes later.  You will want to strategically place the Barbie doll or the Ken doll (whichever you prefer) on or around your husbands 11th finger in various poses, for example Ken doll can grab on,  straddle, and give a big hug to the hot dog, while smiling towards the camera.  You will then want to loudly yell the word BOOBIE, which will immediately awaken your husband with a big smile upon his face.  The second that happens snap the picture.  If you are planning on divorcing your husband, you can use the photo on all of the Christmas cards you plan on sending out. 
10. This one may arguably be the worst one yet.  You will need to save this one for a very special day for the little man when he has a big meeting with the boss, a presentation, a conference,  or whatever the next day.  There is a new weight loss pill on the market called "Alli."  The goal of this drug is to breakdown fat, which means one cannot eat fatty foods while taking this medication.  The side-effects are horrendous which include anal seepage, exploding diarrhea, and painful flatulence.  To tell you the truth, I think I would prefer to remain fat.  The night of the attack, cook buttered biscuits, Crisco fried-chicken, french fries, and a Mrs. Smith frozen apple pie.  Mix in three to five Alli pills (depending on your husbands size).  This should hit your man right around mid to late morning.  When it comes, it will be hard and swift.  Picture him racing to his car, hand covering his backside, throws a newspaper in the seat, and squealing out of there like a bat out of hell!  As he races through the door, wildly ripping his clothes off, he screams, "Something is terribly wrong!!  Call 911!!  Get me to the hospital!!"  Enjoy the rest of your afternoon.

One of the perpetrators in the above stories.

A Sally Jean Surprise

How would any of you feel to receive a package unexpectedly one Saturday morning from Sally Jean, The original Queen of vintage art collage jewelry?!?!?  I can tell you how I felt.  First of all, I was glad that I was on the phone with my mother, because if it hadn't been for her calming me down I would have gone into cardiac arrest on the spot.

When I opened the box my heart started to beat faster, my breathing became shallow, sweat started pouring off of my brow, and my hands started to shake.  I eased my hand in so gently, as if a snake might burst forth and bite me.  Out came a Robin's Egg blue box, my favorite color.  My fingers clamped up, I had to wildly tear through the box with my teeth like a mad dog, snarling and growling all the while.  Nothing could have ever prepared me for what came out!  It was a necklace that was so amazing, so original, so unusual that I cannot adequately describe it!  You will have to scroll down to see it, I will say, it had the first initial to my name in the middle.  My mother on the other end of the phone began to panic and worry.  Words failed me, I could only moan and whisper.  Then, I realized, there was another box in the package.  That's when my knees buckled and gave out, I slid to the ground.  Both hands had now become numb and useless.  I had to shake the object out of the box with my feet.  A large charm bracelet tumbled to the ground.  My whole body was now numb, alas, only my tongue worked.  I managed to move the charms about with my tongue and realized it spelled out my name, E-L-I-Z-A-B-E-T-H.  Black set in, I started to move through the tunnel, and I saw "The Light."  The last thing I remembered was my mothers voice screaming, "Do you want me to call 911 or what?", "I told you eating five and six candy bars a day would cause you to go into sugar coma!!"  I also vaguely remember having the thought of Lisa Kaus standing over me saying, "Do you know how lucky you are to have an original Sally Jean piece of jewelry?" 

     My husband said he came in and found me unconscious on the floor and not breathing.  Nothing he did to revive me worked until he screamed, "UPS is here with a large package from Lisa Kaus' studio!"  I immediately woke up, grabbed my jewelry, and set out to do what Jesus told me to do when I met him in the tunnel, and that is, to spread the word of Sally Jean for the rest of my life to all the women on Earth, and many gay men.  I instead drove to all my friends houses just to make them pea green with envy.  Sally Jean, I will never get over that experience in my life, and I am forever grateful to you.

I'm happy to say Daphne's will be announcing a new jewelry artist who will be showcasing their work with us very soon.  We are even more thrilled to say the majority will be her original pieces. 

October will be full of surprises, introductions, announcements, and tricks and treats.

September Arrivals

This last month has been crazy crazy!  I received a gigantic shipment of Bari J handbags that I will slowly be putting up over the next week.    I truly believe this is her best work yet . She work's like a mad woman for me on my one of a kind and exclusive bag's, and I truely appreciate her.

Lisa Kaus, Lisa Kaus....  My partner in crime.  Lisa Kaus has sent me 30 new pieces of art, which include; wall art, her fantastic wood houses, and she's even managed to squeeze in a few of her rare Halloween pieces.  With every shipment her art becomes more and more fabulous, tantalizing, and wondrous to me.  She even squeezed in a surprise present for me that I will cherish forever. 

I will be writing a formal introduction about Michelle Legler and her mosaic art when I receive her Halloween shipment next week, which will include; Halloween cupcakes, and slices of cake.  Last week she sent me 2 large gorgeous pieces of mosaic art that are just stunning.  I do so look forward to working with her.

Laetitia Mieral is sending me some of her first ever Halloween pieces, all the way from France, that are so mezmorizing that words fail me.  It is very hard for me when I get her packages because it almost kills me to part with her magical creations. 

Last, but not least, the big announcement of the century.  I will be carrying exclusive one-of-a-kind Sally Jean works of art!  I am so flabbergasted by her generosity, her willingness to please, her personality, and above all, her work.  In case you have lived in a cave for the past few years, Sally Jean is the Queen of original vintage art collage.  For her to allow me this rare opportunity is so thrilling and so exciting and such an honor to me.  What's even cooler is that Sally and Lisa are good friends and live near each other so I get to hear all of the wild and fun tales, boy would I love to be a fly on the wall when those two get together.  Many thanks to LK and SJ! 

I will be unveiling several pieces of art over the next few weeks from Whippoorwill Studios, followed by a formal introduction. 

Please keep checking back as we get in something new every week and I plan on posting more blogs and more blog entries at least once a week, sometimes more.  Like I always say ladies, you are half dead, close to being dead, or will be dead some day, because life is short.  So there is nothing wrong with buying 2 or 3 Bari J handbags, 2 or 3 Lisa Kaus, 2 or 3 Sally Jean, or 2 or 3 of anything else your heart desires.  If your husband doesn't like it, refer to the blog above.

                       

Sally Jean Strikes Again!!!

Again, I would like to ask, "How would you feel if you opened a box and pulled out the two treasures pictured below?"  When I pulled out the crown, I immediately had tunnel vision, started speaking in tongues, fell back and saw Mother Theresa hovering above me in a pair of Jimmy Choos.  I honestly think Sally Jean is an alien.  Normal peoples brains are not that creative and brilliant!  She also had a signed copy of her book for me and all I can say is that I can't wait for the second book.  Again, Sally Jean you amaze me!  I'm blown away and speechless and I thank you from the bottom of my heart! 

Coming soon fat butt desperation, PMS, rants, and very bad things that happened during this cycle.

To be a Bitch or not to be?

Where have we been? I have received well over a few hundred e-mails asking where we are, what happened, and when I was going to blog more. I had no idea how many people liked the stories and wanted more, so much so that a publishing company contacted me and wants me to write a book. A Fannie Flag style. That is one reason I went MIA. However there are MANY reasons we went MIA and the story is fantastical, hysterical, outlandish, and I can't wait to blog it. I am putting the finishing touches on it now. Mom and i had huge fights over the blog, but she caved in and let me tell the truth of what happened no matter how humiliating. So when you see a blog with the name of "Where have we been", grab your pussy, I mean cat, a plate of brownies, booze, pills, joints, cig's, whatever your vice is, a big blanket, turn the lights down low, close the blinds, tell your husband to go away, or go to hell,  and prepare for a long tale of a roller coaster ride and enjoy !!!!! It's coming soon !!! Am I bragging? Yes!! So? Oh, keep on the look out for some future thing's that are about to go down. Mighty Elizabeth is about to do the smack down on a few clueless people!!! This last illness has made me a wild woman, and I am letting her out!!! Always being a lady of course. Here is a little blog I wrote  month's ago, that I thought was too bitchy and not funny enough, but I can write a semi serious blog once a year...

All you bitches out there, I just hope you all gain mounds of cellulite !!!!!

If you recognize yourself as a bitch or if you are on your way to bitchdom let mounds of cellulite be your fate!!!!!

Not to mention corns, calluses, saggy boobs, stretch marks, chin whiskers,  constant bikini waxing,  fla