How to Turn Your Dad Into Pamela Anderson

This post is a ghost from a Halloween past…but couldn’t resist sharing again this season.

Kissy Face

A few years ago I was dying to dress up as Kid Rock and needed a trashy Pamela Anderson to hang all over me.  Because my dad is no stranger to the spotlight (and always my hero) he leapt at the chance.

But how in the hell do you transform a 6’4″ man into a petite (OK not happening….ever), blond, big busted bombshell?

You start feet first by carefully applying polish to gigantic toes.

Heavy duty gloves for a hazardous job as my dad has a green toe I lovingly refer to as Foot Fungus.

Hoping the thick ass gloves prevent the Foot Fungus from jumping to my body.

Top off the precious pedicure with an orange bow (to make those feet look a teeny tiny bit more feminine and festive).

The bow helps….kinda.

Next, a base for the famous face must be applied as the transformation continues (the application of foundation “hurt his face,” according to this cross dresser).

Suffering to be beautiful has never been this man’s motto.

Also be sure manly Pam has brushed his teeth this century before getting too close.

Be sure your Pam has brushed her teeth this century.

I learned the hard way and had no breath mint.

The trickiest and final step is squeezing Pamela into her costume because we created her famous rack by stuffing as much quilt batting as possible into nylons.


Even the largest bra found at Wal-Mart had velcro extenders added in order to get the damn thing to clasp shut.

Dying a men’s tank top red (and almost ruining a washer in the process) we applied masking tape to create the Lifeguard logo. I scored the checkered shorts in the very big ladies section at Wal-Mart (go figure), topping man Pam off with a blond wig.

Prettiest Man Pam ever. Right?

But by God, she ended up looking like a fabulous Baywatch knock-off and now all Pamela needed was her handsome rock star flavor, Kid Rock.

This union totally lasted… a whole six months.

Our band of misfits were all gussied up, ready to fill our party drinking cups.

Playmate Crazy Pants, Hugh Hefner, Playmate Mama, Pam Man and yours truly.

Playmate Crazy Pants, Hugh Hefner, Playmate Mama, Pam Man and yours truly.

With the complete transformation in place, Pammy was (happily, excitedly, thrilled to be) the center of attention. She tended to overshadow even the most glamorous celebrities at the party.

Marilyn Monroe couldn't help but manhandle Pam's assets.

Marilyn Monroe couldn’t help but manhandle Pam’s assets.

Where's Cher?

Where’s Cher?

Everyone was completely obsessed with Pam’s chest –  even men that view breasts as their day job.


Hugh Hefner couldn’t believe his old man eyes.


This dude who knew this Pam was a dude couldn’t help but motorboat.

But even the ladies couldn’t resist a round with Pamela’s chest.

But they do make for a nice place to rest your head.

Lifeguard flotation devices also doubling as head rests.

Although this real life odd couple went on to hit the skids, Kid and Pam were able to let bygones be bygones this particular Halloween.


Is my dad fun or what?

And while this may not be the Pamela Anderson of everyone’s dreams, she’s awfully pretty to me.

Pam Man is the fairest in this Nashville land.

And that my friends is how you transform your studly, ex-NFL playing father into a sex pot.

But let’s not forget, beauty is in the eye of the beholder…



Hauntings of Halloweens Past

Growing up (and still today), Halloween was the kick-off to a long-awaited holiday season.

I'll cut a bitch

I’ll cut a bitch – even at the tender age of 3.

With an assist from my dad.

Picking up knifing skills from dear old dad. How about the back of the pumpkin matching our beautiful, multi-colored carpet?

In the small Iowa town where I grew up, we had costume parties at school (when you used to be able to call it a Halloween party complete with witches and bats, instead of a bland Fall Festival with scarecrows and hay bales – why were party poopers invented?), parades to prance proudly down our eight block Main Street (where every single on of the 1,200 citizens seemed to show up) and trick-or-treating mania where I’d have to come home halfway through the evening – and dump my candy hiding it all from my dad in the dryer or it’d be gone by morning) because my pumpkin got so overloaded, it was too heavy for me to carry.


What better way to celebrate Halloween than to dress up as Cookie Monster and pedal your best lookin’ stuffed animals on a parade through town? Forget my adorableness for one second – what about the clown behind #165?


Spectator sport for the entire town (there’s still time for you to go this year). And let’s discuss my mom’s creativity with the cookie wheels… genius!

Carrying the burden of celebrating Halloween by myself, being a lone Cookie Monster got frustrating.

Ho Hum

Lone monster.

Therefore, I begged my parents to procreate so I could have a partner in crime. And lucky for me, I was presented with my sister who was immediately awarded with side kickin’ it as my lifetime partner-in-crime (lucky her). If I was going to be dressing up (oftentimes making an ass out of myself in later years) she was going to be doing it too, by God (town parades included).

In the beginning of our twosome, we were all about cutesy costumes.

Sugar'n' Spice

The rockstar and Raggedy Ann. A little sugar for my spice.

And the ‘cute’ theme seemed to carry on in our early years. Except for the tilt in our heads. And the fog in the background…

Creepy Hollow

Cute masked crusaders in Creepy Hollow.

As we got a little older, I suppose we wanted to be edgy (or as edgy an elementary kid and toddler could be). I let my young inner badass out, as my sister started to scare the pants off no one.

very busy

That’s right. I was a badass even in elementary school. My Fisher Price mobile cassette player really upped my ante of rockstardom.

We kept it in the almost scary department as my sister joined me in grade school.

Scardey Crow

Scaredy crow and premature mini old man. Almost spine-chilling. Almost.

Then I graduated to truly frightening and fearful territory as I crept toward junior high.  Pebbles looks less than horrified as I try my best scare tactic on her.


I’m also starting to wonder if there was any other color of hair paint than green, since that tends to be a trend here.

As we thought we were oh so grown up our costumes reflected our mature attitudes.

Lady and the Tramp.

Lady and the Tramp. Or Princess and Sock Hop Girl…however you want to look at it.

Only to remind ourselves in following years just how far from adults we were…especially yours truly. A recycled mask and costume from previous years (where’s the green hair spray? Lose your creative juices and get lazy on us, Mom?!) hid my “I’m way too old for this shit” attitude toward trick-or-treating.

Barley a Boo

I can’t tell who’s more excited – the monster or the witch.

And being older we’re not so much cute, cuddly or even scary creatures…we’re just mostly cocktailed.


The odd couple. Pocahontas and Kid Rock.

Now that we’re miles apart during the costuming time of year, it’s fun to look back at our sisterly ghosts of Halloweens past.  I can’t wait to see what her little monsters will be for their first Halloween.


Being twins, little B and B will never have to beg for a partner-in-crime.

You should take a look at the old skeletons in your closet.

You aren’t a fraidy cat, are you?



Miami Mini Me

I used to have a boyfriend when I visited Miami. He pulled my chair out for me, brought me endless piles of sea shells from the beach and wanted to fall asleep in my bed (while I sipped on red wine. Nice influence, I know).

Sleep tight and don’t lose your grip on the wine glass tonight!

But a few years makes all the difference and my boyfriend has moved on to more exciting adventures – like playing football on the beach with fellow seven-year-olds, exchanging stats on the Indianapolis Colts with his uncle and reading engaging books on a Kindle. Sigh.

In denial that my small boyfriend no longer adored me, I caught myself a mini me – his younger sister.  When she asked to smell my wine, I warned her she’d think it would smell like feet but after putting her nose in my glass she said “that smells like candy.” Hello twin.

Two peas in a generation gapped pod

Two peas in a generation gapped pod.

After our initial wine conversation, we bonded over the love of sequins, sparkle and sass.  When she wanted to spruce her sweatshirt up with my gaudy earrings, I knew we were besties.

Earring lover

A gal after my own heart!

She was a fabulous shopping assistant – helping me decide if I really needed sparkly, studded sneakers.

Co-sgning on fabulous kicks

Co-signing on fabulous kicks.

Double the trouble, double the fun!

Double the trouble, double the fun!

And when she was able to coerce her uncle into one of her new sequin headbands, my heart swelled with pride.


An uncle sacrificing style for his fabulous niece.

Because I can do the same thing with the men in my life.

Best looking

A dad putting his manliness on hold for his daughter.

Who needs a kid when you can have an adoring mini me?

Go get you one!

Go get you one!