HAPPY HALLOWEEN!

The following poem is one of my all time favorites. I just adore the inscription.

Hope everyone has a great day. Don 't let the goblins get you!



LITTLE ORPHANT ANNIE

by: James Whitcomb Riley (1849-1916)

INSCRIBED WITH ALL FAITH AND AFFECTION

To all the little children: --
The happy ones; and sad ones;
The sober and the silent ones;
the boisterous and glad ones;
The good ones -- Yes, the good ones, too;
and all the lovely bad ones.


LITTLE Orphant Annie's come to our house to stay,
An' wash the cups an' saucers up, an' brush the crumbs away,
An' shoo the chickens off the porch, an' dust the hearth, an' sweep,
An' make the fire, an' bake the bread, an' earn her board-an'-keep;
An' all us other childern, when the supper-things is done,
We set around the kitchen fire an' has the mostest fun
A-list'nin' to the witch-tales 'at Annie tells about,
An' the Gobble-uns 'at gits you
Ef you
Don't
Watch
Out!

Wunst they wuz a little boy wouldn't say his prayers,--
An' when he went to bed at night, away up-stairs,
His Mammy heerd him holler, an' his Daddy heerd him bawl,
An' when they turn't the kivvers down, he wuzn't there at all!
An' they seeked him in the rafter-room, an' cubby-hole, an' press,
An' seeked him up the chimbly-flue, an' ever'-wheres, I guess;
But all they ever found wuz thist his pants an' roundabout:--
An' the Gobble-uns 'll git you
Ef you
Don't
Watch
Out!

An' one time a little girl 'ud allus laugh an' grin,
An' make fun of ever' one, an' all her blood-an'-kin;
An' wunst, when they was "company," an' ole folks wuz there,
She mocked 'em an' shocked 'em, an' said she didn't care!
An' thist as she kicked her heels, an' turn't to run an' hide,
They wuz two great big Black Things a-standin' by her side,
An' they snatched her through the ceilin' 'fore she knowed what she's about!
An' the Gobble-uns 'll git you
Ef you
Don't
Watch
Out!

An' little Orphant Annie says, when the blaze is blue,
An' the lamp-wick sputters, an' the wind goes woo-oo!
An' you hear the crickets quit, an' the moon is gray,
An' the lightnin'-bugs in dew is all squenched away,--
You better mind yer parunts, an' yer teachurs fond an' dear,
An' churish them 'at loves you, an' dry the orphant's tear,
An' he'p the pore an' needy ones 'at clusters all about,
Er the Gobble-uns 'll git you
Ef you
Don't
Watch
Out!

The Score


2000 American soldiers: Dead

Weapons of Mass Destruction Found: Zero

Halloween Hullabaloo

Some local PTA’s have been promoting the idea of banning “scary” Halloween costumes. Which makes me wonder, just what is considered scary? (A George Bush mask would be mighty scary to me.)

A Connecticut clergyman, Bishop Jay Ramirez, and head honcho for the Kingdom Life Christian Church in Milford, publicly criticized a local school district for celebrating Halloween at all, saying Halloween “promotes occultism and immorality.”

(I don’t know what parties Ramirez has attended, but every since I was a child, Halloween had nothing to do with occultism or immorality. Maybe I just wasn’t invited to the wild parties Ramirez seems to know about.)

Feminist groups are advocating that parents of daughters should not encourage “princess or bride costumes” but should encourage doctor costumes, or other costumes that promote independence and strength.

(Try all you want, the little girls I know want to be princesses, fairies, queens, brides and even mermaids, but few want to wear work boots and buffalo-checked shirts and go as a lumberjacqueline.

According to a survey done by The National Retail Federation, consumers are expected to spend 3.3 billion dollars this Halloween. This comes out to be about 50 dollars a person. Last year’s top costumes were Spiderman for boys and (who would have guessed it??) Princess for girls.

I think PTAs, feminist groups and Ramirez and his ilk, should wake up and smell the hot cider.

Lighten up folks, bet you went trick or treating as a child. Bet some of you were devils and some were princesses and that has nothing to do with who you are today.

Halloween is nothing more than a good excuse to dress up, invite guests, play Toccata and Fugue in D minor and Monster Mash, and name your refreshments crazy things like: Hotter the Hell Chili or Witch’s Brew Stew.

It isn’t about religion, future career choices or promoting the occult. And, 3.3 billion dollars says I’m not alone in my feelings.

Boo!

It's Time for Billionaires to Cough Up Some Big Dough

Even if a whole state blows up, washes away or burns down, I cannot donate one more cent so don’t ask.

I have been hit up for donations as if I had won the Powerball on Wednesday. Au contraire…no Powerball, not even a three number ticket. So I cannot give out anymore money to anyone for any reason.

Recently, I have given money to political candidates, animal rescue, cancer walk, leukemia fund, public radio, Katrina, school fundraisers, Fireman’s boot, and more…

I have given until it hurts. It does hurt now, because I also need to pay some bills and eat once and a while whether I want to or not.

The celebrities and CEO’s who are making a fortune need to pick up the slack here and donate some big money. They need to make donations for themselves and for those of us who have given until we are just about ready to ask for a handout ourselves.

So I call upon the people below to give until it hurts. Okay, just give until they’re down to one billion dollars which for them must be like me giving until I’m cashing in soda bottles to buy gas.

Rank Name Worth ($) Age Residence Source

1
Gates, William Henry III
46.0 billion
47
Seattle , WA
Microsoft
2
Buffett, Warren Edward
36.0 billion
73
Omaha , NE
Berkshire Hathaway
3
Allen, Paul Gardner
22.0 billion
50
Mercer Island , WA
Microsoft, investments
4
Walton, Alice L
20.5 billion
54
Fort Worth , TX
Wal-Mart
4
Walton, Helen R
20.5 billion
84
Bentonville , AR
Wal-Mart
4
Walton, Jim C
20.5 billion
55
Bentonville , AR
Wal-Mart
4
Walton, John T
20.5 billion
57
Bentonville , AR
Wal-Mart
4
Walton, S Robson
20.5 billion
59
Bentonville , AR
Wal-Mart
9
Ellison, Lawrence Joseph
18.0 billion
59
Redwood Shores , CA
Oracle
10
Dell, Michael
13.0 billion
38
Round Rock , TX
Dell
11
Ballmer, Steven Anthony
12.2 billion
47
Redmond , WA
Microsoft
12
Anthony, Barbara Cox
11.0 billion
80
Honolulu , HI
Cox Communications
12
Chambers, Anne Cox
11.0 billion
83
Atlanta , GA
Cox Communications
14
Kluge, John Werner
10.5 billion
89
Palm Beach , FL
Metromedia
15
Mars, Forrest Edward Jr
10.4 billion
72
McLean , VA
Mars, Inc.
15
Mars, Jacqueline
10.4 billion
64
Bedminster , NJ
Mars, Inc.
15
Mars, John Franklyn
10.4 billion
67
Arlington , VA
Mars, Inc.
18
Johnson, Abigail
9.8 billion
41
Boston , MA
mutual funds
19
Redstone, Sumner M
9.7 billion
80
Beverly Hills , CA
Viacom
20
Ergen, Charles
8.9 billion
50
Denver , CO
EchoStar
21
Newhouse, Donald Edward
7.7 billion
73
Somerset County , NJ
publishing
21
Newhouse, Samuel Irving Jr
7.7 billion
75
New York , NY
publishing
23
Pritzker, Robert Alan
7.6 billion
77
Chicago , IL
hotels, investments
23
Pritzker, Thomas J
7.6 billion
54
Chicago , IL
hotels, investments
25
Johnson, Samuel Curtis
7.4 billion
75
Racine , WI
S.C. Johnson & Son

Anyone want an easy idea for a Halloween costume?

Locate in your home, tag sales, Goodwill etc. a plate made out of brass, or spray paint a plate with brass-colored paint.

Find a tan sweatshirt or long sleeved t-shirt and matching sweatpants. Cut two floppy dog ears out of construction paper and pin to each side of your head. Fashion a tail from an empty roll of wrapping paper that you twist and turn until it resembles a tail. Pin to back of sweat pants.

A real dog collar or bow around the neck looks cute too. Blacken your nose and draw whiskers on your cheeks.

Cut six holes in the front of your t-shirt or sweatshirt. Place the holes like this: Three rows of two parallel holes (approximately 8 inches apart), starting at your upper chest. Do not make these holes very big. Make them about the size of a dime.

From inside the shirt, poke baby-bottle nipples through the holes. Secure to the back of the shirt with tape. Grab your plate and off you go to the party!

If someone asks you what you are, say “A Brass-plated, Bitch”.

(That's the kind of mood I'm in today. Tres bitchy and for no good reason!)

Grandma's Halloween Story about Candy Apples


Grandma had two big apple trees in her backyard. One was a Baldwin apple tree and the other was a Macintosh. With no spraying, fertilizer or fretting, Grandma’s apple trees would supply not only her family, but half the neighborhood with wonderful crisp, worm-free apples every autumn.

One year, the trees had a super yield. The branches hung low to the ground because of the weight of so many apples; perfect, round, red and juicy. Grandpa picked them daily and put the bushels of apples in the garage to keep them cool.

It was a few days before Halloween when Grandma decided she had to do something with all these apples. She couldn’t let them spoil. So the idea came to her to make Red Candy Apples and hand them out to the children who’d come to her door trick-or-treating. This was not going to be an easy task, but Grandma loved children and felt it would be worth her labor.

She bought 220 Popsicle sticks from the hardware store and created batch after batch of the red syrup in which each apple would be hand dipped.

Grandma’s Original Recipe for Red Candy Syrup

1 cup water
3 cups sugar
1/2 cup white corn syrup
1/4 cup red hot candies
1/2 teaspoon red food coloring


Grandpa and Grandma worked tirelessly the 48 hours before Halloween. Grandpa even had to drive to other towns to find more red hot candies as they’d bought up every bag of candy in their own town.

Apple after apple was dipped into the hot red syrup, turned upside down to dry and then hand wrapped in cellophane and tied with twine. It took hours and hours of work, long into the evening and even after Grandpa's bedtime, but finally they were done.

They were a sight to behold; 205 shiny, red, candy apples that she and Grandpa lovingly made for the neighborhood children or friends and family who might stop by on Halloween.

Halloween night, she was mighty proud to give out such beautiful treats to the first children who came to the door. Happy faces accepted the candy apples with glee and the word spread throughout the neighborhood that at Grandma’s house candy apples were being passed out.

Soon, the lines of children at the door grew longer and longer and Grandma beamed with happiness that the children appreciated all her hard work and were even coming back a second time in the hope of getting another candy apple.

Finally it was 9 PM and all the candy apples had been given out. Bone-weary, Grandma turned off the porch light and went to bed with a heart full of satisfaction and happiness. This had been her best Halloween ever; she had made so many children happy and that warmed her heart.

In the morning, she woke up still filled with happiness from the night before, shuffled off into the kitchen to make the coffee, and peering into her back yard, said aloud, “Damn those little bastards, “They cut my G. D. clothesline!”

No more candy apple making for Grandma after that.


Baldwin Apple

Stuff I Asked For on Past Christmas Lists –
(Which reminds me to be careful what I wish for.)


Wood Carving Kit

Don’t ask me why, but I had to have a wood carving kit. I wanted it so badly I could smell the wood shavings; I imagined myself carving fine ribbons of wood from a block of pine, until I transformed it into a thing of beauty.

The problem with wood carving, for me, is I have had numerous knife accidents in my life. I love a sharp knife for cutting and chopping but I also get distracted easily – the result being a few slices here and there that caused fear in my heart and blood splatter in my kitchen.

Still, I put “wood carving kit” on my annual Christmas list and sure enough Santa brought it to me. I opened the box and saw the tools I would have to use to carve wood and instantly got that sick feeling in my stomach that said: “Attempt to use these tools, Fool, and you will carve off a thumb for sure.”

When my stomach speaks that loudly to me I listen. The wood carving kit is still pristine, in its case and hidden somewhere in the attic to protect myself from it and vice versa.

Home Electrolysis Kit

I had a simple plan. I would start removing hair on my legs beginning at my ankles, and in a year would have smooth, hair-free legs that needed no attention ever again from the likes of a razor. Again Santa tried to please me and bought the expensive guaranteed-to-work electrolysis equipment for me. And with an eagerness only known metaphorically to brides or beavers (ha), I plugged in my zapper and began my work.

As Laurenbove would say: Jebus it hurt! I zapped and squealed with each zap. I told myself to butch up and I continued until I had zapped a two inch square of leg which was now one continuous oozing red wound.

I waited to let it heal. If after healing that patch was hair-free, I would start again, but I really wasn’t a masochist at heart – I needed to see results before I’d volunteer for more pain and suffering.

In about 8 days the red wound had lessened and turned into a crispy patch of scab. Out of the scab, what seemed like a million hairs had sprouted. They were healthy, thick and now black instead of blonde. Okay, that did it for me; the zapper was placed back into the box and sent to the attic to live with the wood carving kit.

117 Piece Cake Decorating Kit

Apparently I must be drawn to kits, since my third wish was for a fancy schmancy cake decorating kit with numerous tips that would help me to create gorgeous cakes that were works of art for all to behold.

I threw a box cake in the oven and eagerly pawed through my booklet and accouterments that came with my 117 Piece Cake Decorating Kit. Should I do basket weave frosting? Should I opt for the wisteria hanging off the side of the cake colored in periwinkle blue or should I attempt the circus cake in primary colors?

Oh boy, I was prepared to have fun. I whipped up huge bowls of frosting and lined the kitchen table with newspaper. I was ready to decorate.

Unfortunately, in my state of euphoria imagining this beautiful cake I was going to make, I burnt the real one in the oven. Since, as they say, you can’t make a silk purse out of a sow’s ear, I found another box cake, threw that one together and placed it in the oven which was still pumping out heat waiting to cook something correctly if I’d just get the damn thing out of the oven on time.

I managed to take this cake out when it was moist and perfect and waited anxiously for it to cool. I filled my frosting bags with colored icing and selected appropriate tips to fasten onto the bags. I had my spinner-rose-creator appliance in position and my decorative “rake” that would add ripples to my frosting for an “ethereal” effect, according to the directions.

Two hours later, the fruits of my labor had produced a gray cake that looked like the cat walked on it.

It was then, I realized cake decorating must take a knack that I did not have. My frosting colors had bled one into the other; the rake had the effect of feline claws on upholstery and did not add anything near "ethereal" to the look of my confection.

The kitchen was a mess, sticky and multi-colored; the cake was the color of dun. No one eats a dun cake. Even a blind person could have sensed this cake was not appropriate for consumption.

So, with a gentleness I was not feeling in my heart, I packed up the 117 Piece Cake Decorating Kit and brought it up to the attic to nestle in the box with the two other requested, yet rejected, kits.

Since then, every time husband inquires as to what I would like for Christmas, I have to remember my kit experiences and reject any idea I might have for a present that falls under the kit category.

No kits for this kid, ever again.

Time to Re-Read "The Theory of the Leisure Class" by Thorstein Veblen

I love the Sunday New York Times, but the ads suck. Good lord, you’d have to be a Trump woman to buy the $900 bra recently advertised, or the $1266 shoes that are simply a few straps on a sole.

These prices are ridiculous! It’s such a turn-off to me. A bra shouldn’t cost that much even if it consists of a human with two cupped hands following you around all day.

Shoes that weigh about 7 ounces should not cost $1266, plus we’re heading into fall so who can wear these almost-not-there shoes when the wind is blowing and the temperatures are falling?

I guess the lady buying these shoes will get carried from her home to the limousine to the restaurant or party because she sure won’t be able to comfortably walk in these strappy little nothings.

(As an aside, I was recently told by an inside source that Trump’s future wife was born last week and should be ready for conspicuous consumption in 18-20 years.)

Also, by now, I would think most women have read numerous times that expensive, skin creams do not work better than simple old fashioned lubricants. Vaseline is as good as “Deep Facial Repair by La Prairie” which goes for $500 for 1.7 ounce jar. Lube is apparently just lube.

If these anti-aging creams worked you wouldn’t find a single rich person with a wrinkle – but that is not the case.

Tell me what toddler needs a $700 mink trimmed sweater? Can’t you picture this sweater with apple juice stains and baby dribble in the fur?

As the rich get richer and the poor get poorer and the middle-class sinks into the poor category, I find these ads repulsive and morally repugnant.

The implication that by the very fact you are reading the New York Times you are disgustingly rich enrages me.

Many readers are people like myself who could never afford nor would they ever purchase anything that outlandishly costly or ostentatious.

If I had the money to buy those items, I’d still select something much less expensive and then donate to people and places that needed some help.

How much money does a rich person have to spend on a pair of shoes before they think to themselves, this is ridiculous?

And if the Times insists on advertising these over-the-top items, then they should lower the price of the paper. If you're advertising a $900 bra then the manufacturer should be paying a fortune for the 1/8 page ad.

Otherwise, why not put a big headline over the ad that says: Melania and Paris, check out this bra, want a couple dozen?

Evil Thoughts on Guestroom Sheets

OR

A Sheety Situation


I hate changing sheets.

I hate all the yanking and pulling and untucking and gathering of used sheets.

I don’t like to do my own sheets, but worse are the guestroom sheets. Other people’s dead skin cells are scattered across, on and under these sheets. Then there’s the blanket – does that have to be removed and washed too?

Then the quilt which is big and heavy – do I have to wash that damn thing just because one person spent 6 hours in the bed? (Last visitor)

Now we can move on to the down comforter. Do I have to unbutton the comforter cover and wash that? What about the down comforter itself, do I have to wash that?

I can’t wash that I’d have to send that to a dry cleaners and it would cost me a week’s salary.

Then there’s the shams and throw pillows, the pillow covers and the mattress cover – when does it end?

I have frequent guests who spend the night and I’m having guests on Saturday who’ll be staying one or two nights. I wish they were also the last people who slept in the guestroom because if they were, I’d smooth the covers and I’d be done with it. Let their new, dead, skin cells commingle with their old, dead, skin cells.

But no, I had a single person sleep a short time in that bed a few weeks ago. I am looking at the bed which I can see from my office and it looks pristine, crisp and made to perfection…only it has those dead skin cells from the last guest and god knows where they are located…might have wormed their way into the blanket or the decorative shams…

So, I will do the right thing, I will strip the bed down to its bones and wash everything I can wash and air the down comforter outside in the bright sunshine we’ve acquired ever since Squirl blew blue skies my way.

But this is an awful lot of work, and I’m so tempted to try to forget the sheets were used once before and just leave the bed the way it is…almost perfect.

Aw sheet…might as well start the process now of ripping the bed apart.

My guests had better bring me a bottle of wine is all I have to say, or even better, offer to remake the bed with clean sheets before they leave.

Rain, Rain Go Away,
Come Again Another Day,
Mary Wants To Go Out and Play!
(or at least dry off a bit)

If it were raining cats and dogs, or if it were raining men, I don’t think I’d be so fed up. (I like cats and dogs and men.)

Instead it’s just raining rain; wet drops splashing against the window, rising above the gutters, forming pools in the yard, (and in the basement) messing with everyone’s mood and sapping us of energy and excitement about the weekend --if not life in general.

I can’t laugh at the “ark” jokes anymore.

I am tired of being holed up in the house waiting for it to pass. I’m tired of wearing my blue slicker everywhere, if I do go out. Tired of the sounds of windshield wipers; even tired of the sound I used to love, rain falling on the roof when I was snug in bed.

I know I shouldn’t be complaining – what’s a little water? What’s a lot of water if your house isn’t floating down the street or if you have a roof that’s working?

Still the relentless rain dampens spirits along with every person who has to step outside the door for even a second.

Who wants to go pumpkin picking in the pouring rain? Who wants to rake leaves or take a brisk walk in all this wetness?

Who wants guests trudging in your house with muddy boots or sopping sneakers?

Who, I ask you, wants to pet a wet dog or cat? Or smell one for that matter.

So, being partly American Indian, I am going to do a sun dance.

Maybe not I just found this on Google:

The Sun Dance is a ceremony practiced differently by several North American Indian Nations, but many of the ceremonies have features in common, including dancing, singing and drumming, the experience of visions, fasting, and, in some cases, self-torture.

It’s that old “self-torture” part that gets me every time.

Perhaps I can grow a cranberry bog or a rice paddy in my backyard. That’ll be my next Google search.

So to all those who see sun…raise your hands in praise to the mighty yellow globe. To the rest of us, keep scraping the mildew off your backs and do a daily check for toe fungus.

Got to go put my slicker on and get the morning newspaper.

Ta Ta or as Laurenbove would say: Bye Bye, Love You!

The finest clothing made is a person's skin, but, of course, society demands something more than this. ~Mark Twain

Acumamakiki got me thinking about my favorite items of clothing I’ve ever owned. When you think about it, we all probably have closets filled with clothing, but only a few special outfits stand out for all time.

Here’s my list.

Blue spaghetti strapped nightgown: royal blue with a floaty long skirt. It fit me like a glove and I felt extraordinarily lovely every time I wore it. Where did it go? Did I tire of it or did it make its way to Goodwill where someone else might fall in love with it and become a princess every night that she wears it?

Raccoon coat: I have this in my closet. It is very old so I don’t feel guilty at all for wearing fur. It might be older than I am actually. Still the fur is lush and silky; the fit is just right and there is no warmer coat in the world so I always wear it for our annual family Christmas tree shopping outdoor party. I feel that I honor the fallen animals (who’d be long dead by now even if on feeding tubes) each time I put it on.

Navy blue power suit: It’s gone. I guess I thought it was out of style so I dumped it. When I come across any pictures of me wearing that suit I am impressed with the suit and the woman wearing it. I look successful and confident, worthy of hiring (it was my interview suit) and capable. Wish I had that suit back. It would be fun to put it on again and see if it still carried all the magic in its fine wool threads.

My black leather pants: They are a perfect fit and best of all they are warm and comfortable. I feel alive in these pants and sexy and able to conquer the world. I love the feel and smell of leather and it is empowering when I wear them. Plus my ass looks good in them!

My J Crew button fly jeans: I don’t care if they are in or not; they are so comfy, worn out in areas, but worn out by me not by a company purposely distressing the material. They aren’t too low rise and they aren’t too high. They aren’t too tight and they aren’t too loose. I can wear them with boots or flip flops and both looks great. The denim is soft and thin now but still they remain my all time favorite jeans. They also make my ass look good!

My Gap jean overalls: These are deceased. Many people hated them because they were an extra large and looked like clown pants on me. But I loved the thin fabric and the no binding at all feeling that I had when I wore them. I loved the red stitching and the big rolled cuffs. I still love them in my heart, but when they became filled with rips and tears and I got older, even I felt a bit foolish in these oversized overalls.

The yellow long sleeved nightgown husband bought me when I had our first baby: I wore this nightgown until the elbows were worn out and the fabric was onion-skin thin. I always felt loved and cozy and happy in this nightgown though it wasn’t much to look at in its later years.

Boys size 14 plaid flannel bathrobe: I bought this in Goodwill and loved the soft flannel and red and green plaid. I liked how warm it was while being very light weight. Husband disliked this robe and made many robe purchases for me attempting to dissuade me from wearing my little boy’s bathrobe. Eventually the robe’s elbows split and the hem was down and I decided it was pretty ratty looking so I threw it out but forever it will remain my all time favorite robe.

The French bra and panty set with the hand sewn seed pearls: These items were bought by husband when we were on vacation. Terribly expensive and luxurious – beautiful silk and lace with the precious little pearls adorning both the bra and panty. Talk about feeling beautiful! When I’d put this set on I could be wearing an old flannel shirt and torn jeans, but I’d feel like a million bucks because I knew what I had on underneath the old shirt and jeans!

Long sleeved silk dress: This dress also fit just perfectly and had movement and elegance I haven’t seen in another dress ever. It had a beautiful black and white floral pattern that wasn’t too busy nor was it too overbearing. It was buttoned down the front with small mother-of-pearl buttons and had a flowy skirt. It was a beautiful breathable silk that could be worn in the winter or summer…outstanding dress. It is a mystery to me where it went as I could wear it today and be in style.

My French blue crepe prom dress: Believe it or not, I do still love this dress and again, I could be wearing it now and it would be in style. When my peers were going for full skirts and ruffles and bows, I chose this sleek, sheath dress with scooped neck and straps. It was the same color as my eyes (I was told) and made me look tall! (This is hard to do at five feet zero inches).

I was the only girl at the prom in a sheath dress and I loved (and still love) being unique. I wore this dress 3 or 4 more times to formal events but eventually it was thrown out. I love the memories I had wearing this dress. I should have saved it for sentimental reasons if nothing else.

There are a few more items I could describe, but these have to be the top items of all time. What about your favorite items of clothing? Have any all time faves?

A dress makes no sense unless it inspires men to want to take it off you. ~Françoise Sagan

If I Wanted to Freeze and Eat Crappy Food -
I could have gone to my mother-in-law's house.


It’s so damp and rainy here in Connecticut I’m growing moss on my north side.

To make matters worse, I had to go out in all the rain and wind, yesterday, because I had a lunch date with my sister which entails a fairly long ride on a busy highway. I adore my Cabrio, but it is tiny and larger cars and trucks enjoy speeding up behind me as if they intend to eat my car for a snack.

The rain didn’t stop their speed or their desire to eat my car or commit sodomy with my trunk, whatever it was that was on the minds of the drivers who had to be inches from my bumper or they weren’t happy.

Since I don’t own a rubber suit, I had to locate rain gear to take along with me. The only umbrellas I have are golf umbrellas and are as tall as I am. It felt like I was carrying a giant’s umbrella, but it was better than nothing. I chose to wear leather pants (hoping the rain would drip down rather than soak in), a sweater and a slicker…kind of dominatrix meets Morton salt girl.

So I make it to my sister’s in one piece and off we go to lunch. She picked out a pricey new restaurant that was as unwarm and unwelcoming as any restaurant I’ve ever seen.

The place was populated with business men having lunch, but I guess two women didn’t seem like we’d spend enough money or chat the place up to colleagues – so we were barely noticed. The waiter looked at us as if we were keeping him from his real customers: four men drinking martinis…not that there’s anything wrong with martinis. Right Weetzie?

(Note to waiter: these men who got all your attention were overheard talking about their plane connections, none will be returning to your restaurant while my sister lives a half mile from your place and eats out numerous times a week.)

It was freezing; I had my sopping wet slicker with me as no one mentioned there was a coat room. I did get a very nice half glass (and these were small glasses!) of Pinot Noir to sip, hoping I’d warm up (it didn’t work) and we ordered our food. We weren’t expecting great fare now as you can sense the soul of a restaurant.

Cold décor; cold waiters; cold temperature --equals crappy food.

It was true, the food was barely edible. I’d have rather had a peanut butter and jelly sandwich.

My shrimp were translucent…I couldn’t eat them so raw, so I sent them back apologizing to the waiter for my mundane palate in hopes that no one would spit on my food.

They came back…looked like new shrimp as none of them were missing a bite. This group was even less done so I sucked it up…nibbled around the edges and hid them under the pile of tasteless, super-lumpy, cold, mashed potatoes.

The profiterole I ordered for dessert looked and smelled like the cream had turned. It was a runny brown with curdled clots of an even browner substance. I didn't eat these either, but brought them with me in case I developed severe stomach cramps and needed to have this brown substance evaluated by a doctor or chemist.

My sister was treating me to lunch and I didn’t want to seem ungrateful, but I couldn’t wait to leave and get warm.

Even this morning, after I've had enough time to digest both the lunch and the experience, I am perplexed as to why anyone would own a restaurant and then not give a damn about their customers.

The Morning Paper is a Lethal Weapon

Just got through reading my morning newspaper and it’s a good thing I am not suicidal or homicidal as I do believe, the simple act of catching up on the news can lead people to do destructive acts.

We have a horrible tragedy in Pakistan to read about where up to 30,000 people have been killed --and still the after effects of Katrina which destroyed dreams, homes, families and lives.

We’ve got your basic bird flu pandemic with talk of Bush’s idea of imposing martial law to help quell the spread of this flu. Achtung!

We’ve got the Harriet Miers nomination to ponder even though we’ve been told that her “longtime companion?” Nathan L. Hecht, a Texas Supreme Court justice has assured reporters that Miers is personally anti-choice and Bush has repeated: "I made my position very clear in the course of my campaigns. I'm a pro-life president. And I know her. I know her heart. I know what she believes…. And she knows exactly the kind of judge I'm looking for."

Oh goody goody…that quells the worries in my heart! He knows what's in Miers' heart and apparently it's to take control of every uterus in the USA.

We have the dog whose mouth was duct taped closed because the owner said he barked too much and the bag of kittens found floating in a local stream.

Reservists are accounting for more and more deaths in Iraq and there’s a 25 percent chance a devastating earthquake will hit California in the next 20 years.

Had enough yet?

I did…As I was just about ready to sob into a Kleenex, I turned to the sports page. Soon a huge smile took over my face.

The Yankees lost!

Certainly a bad news day in the newspaper…but it held a ray of sunshine for me.

(Apologies to all Yankee fans, but I’m a Mets and Red Sox fan and you know I am not allowed to root for the Yankees under any circumstances, even if your brother is playing first base.)

To My Devoted Spammers

Dear Spammers, you win. I give up. I am installing word verification on my blog. I absolutely hate to do this as I find it another step that has to be performed due to the actions of the lowest common denominator.

You spammers are the same as those big white theft protector devices that are attached to clothing – a big pain in the ass. I don’t steal and I don’t spam, yet I must suffer the consequences of those that do.

So pat your selves on your back and grin; another one bites the dust.

I must now give up my freedom and alter the freedom of my guests on this blog…I hate that I have to do it but after seeing scores of spam comments this morning I realized I must anti-spam or quit blogging.

To all spammers I offer you this wish: May you have a thousand rubies, ten thousand emeralds and a hundred thousand diamonds! And may they all be in your gall bladder.

Flashback/ Archive

What was I writing about a year ago? I wondered, maybe you did too.

Thursday, October 14, 2004

Well I am spitting mad!

Watched the debate last night, and no one seems to care or mention or write about or whisper a word about the saliva bubble that collected in the corner of Bush's mouth.

Am I the only person who was stunned yet transfixed on that spittle? I watched it grow and grow...then hold it's own for a large portion of the debate. Why didn't someone motion to him that something was brewing in the corner of his mouth? Why didn't he feel slightly wetter in that area himself?

The only time I can see that happening is if you are loaded up with Novocaine and your lips are numb, or if you are teething.

Bush usually has egg on his face but spit bubbles are going too far.

The Sound of Silence


I woke up to the sound of the birds chirping and the dog barfing…not the most pleasant way to wake up.

But I did sleep the whole night in peace and quiet due to Breathe Right Throat Spray. Love those Breathe Right people. Don’t know how they do it, but contained in the sprayer is a snore smotherer.

It really works. It not only stops the big snores, it stops those poof poof sounds that can make me as crazy as a big loud, growling snore.

My bed is my own again.

I don’t fear going to bed knowing that my beloved’s mouth will end up inches from my ear and I will be kept awake listening to the sounds he can create in the night.

Not any more!

No bed jiggling; no “get on your side” shouts; no leaving the bed for the couch; no built up resentment towards the poor man who has no idea he’s making audible sounds in his sleep.

And so they lived happily ever after…

What is Harriet Miers: Trojan Horse or Red Herring?

or

Whose Uterus is it Anyway?

Some people think that Harriet Miers might be a Trojan horse. That on the outside, she appears to be a down-home Texan, Bush loyalist, and a not-too-bad-of-a-lawyer candidate for the Supreme Court.

Others believe that she will, once appointed, drop the folksy demeanor, extend her claws and shred Roe vs Wade among other rulings detested by the bullying Bush, anti-choice supporters. That she will come equipped with a rabid, right-wing agenda that she’ll adhere to like glue.

A sticky situation if that should happen.

Still others, including one opinion I admire greatly, my husband’s, wonder if she is the red herring. She is so unsuitable for the court, that it will be easy to argue her away on numerous levels; experience, politics, and the fact she was Bush’s personal lawyer, make her selection look like a gift from the White House rather than a thought out decision for the good of the country.

What if the latter opinion is true?

What if she was appointed for the sole purpose to be Borked? What if this is just a Rovian ruse created to find a way for an even more conservative, agenda-driven crony to get the nomination? (One endorsed by the likes of the Dominionists and the religious nuts who want to see the USA turned into a Christian nation.)

Really, how many candidates can be vehemently opposed by the Democrats before the administration pleads to the masses and says: They didn’t want Miers so we withdrew the nomination, but now they don’t like Miss X or Mr. Y and we can’t keep putting up candidates until all the liberty-loving, Liberals are happy!

Something doesn’t smell right about this nomination.

Either way she isn’t just a simple pick – Bush has too many ties to the religious right for him to risk putting a moderate on the court.

In fact, Business Week wrote:

“Supporters point out that she (Miers) is a devout fundamentalist Protestant and volunteers for a Christian ministry.

The group Texans for Life revealed on Oct. 3 that Miers gave $150 to the organization -- then known as Texans United for Life -- in 1989.

At its annual dinner, featuring a keynote address by anti-abortion leader Henry Hyde, Miers was listed in the program as a bronze sponsor, the group said.”


The fate of a women’s uterus will be sealed by the next Supreme Court judge. And it isn’t looking good right now for people who believe internal organs shouldn’t be legislated or controlled by government.

Those with no uteruses or non-working uteruses will be taking over yours. So take your uterus to lunch today or send it flowers, do something.

Blogger’s Blahs

I just don’t have a single funny thing to say.
(Post Provincetown Depression)

I have serious things to say but I’m exhausted from caring so much, so I’m choosing to be quiet.
No, I guess I’ll bitch and moan a bit.

The fact that Bush gets another nominee for the Supreme Court sends shivers up and down my spine. Harriet Miers is a Bush loyalist and another person without a paper trail. One thing for sure, she is just George Bush in an ill-fitting dress.

The fact that Jet Blue out sources its maintenance to El Salvador because, according to a Wall Street Journal story last January, the Salvadoran mechanics make $300 to $1,000 a month -- far less than their U.S.-based counterparts, makes me fear that people are opting for cheap flights while risking their safety.

Pepto Bismal should alert people in big letters, that after taking their product your poop will turn black. Why don’t they do that?

Allergies, specifically sinus problems are increasing at a rapid rate as our air quality continues to worsen while no one cares. People are living “sick” and until the quality of the air becomes really important, we are all just a bunch of canaries waiting to go into the mine. Hope we survive.

Rich people should pay huge amounts of taxes. They should not get tax breaks.

Super-star sportsters shouldn’t be paid millions because they can ride a bike, or hit a ball with a bat, or stick a ball in a net.

Ditto to actors, singers, TV personalities.

Ditto to CEOs who demand huge salaries which is one of the reasons outsourcing is so popular.


An Update

The pickles are done and in jars now and the crock is out of the dining room. The pickles are authentic Jewish Sours, loden green, garlicky with a speck of hot, crisp and succulent. A great job done by husband including his superior presentation: they are in large Ball jars with sprigs of fresh Dill, pieces of hot red pepper and pure white cloves of garlic. Beautiful to look at and wonderful to eat.

The civil union I attended Saturday morning was very moving and beautiful. The Justice of the Peace did a magnificent job. The breakfast, catered by DJ, was delicious. I still wish it could have been a marriage because eventually that is where same-sex unions have to go – we can’t have each state creating their own terminology and laws and not recognizing other state laws or we will become the Divided States of America.

Breathe Right Snore Relief Throat Spray – this stuff really works. Husband used it last night and I didn’t wake up once to snoring. Husband made one tiny snore that sounded more like a ventriloquist throwing his voice as the sound appeared to emanate from the living room. But that was all. This product is worth its weight in gold!

I am seeking a fudge recipe that is not based on marshmallows or evaporated milk, but is an old fashioned butter sugar chocolate recipe. It is one of my life-long desires to be able to whip up a pan of fudge that tastes as good as the kind you can buy in specialty stores, like the fudge I had on the cape.

Also seeking a recipe for homemade Kahlua that tastes like Kahlua. As autumn makes her presence known, I must be turning to sweets and booze…rather than “put up” peaches or stewed tomatoes, I want Black Russians and chocolate fudge.

Not an interesting blog entry today, but the only way to get through writer’s block is to keep writing!

Speaking of writer’s block, is it extremely quiet in blog world lately or is it just my perception?


Pee Ess

Paintergirl just tagged me for this mini meme:

The Rules:
1. Go into your archive.
2. Find your 23rd post
.3. Find the fifth sentence (or closest to).
4. Post the text of the sentence in your blog along with these instructions.
5. Tag five other people to do the same.

My sentence: Whatever it is, I am not one of these people. Now this statement was made in reference to hypochondriacs who enjoy going to the doctors. Wish my sentence was a better one but it does fit my blah blog. Ha!

Okay I tag: John Doe Jr., Irina, Summer, Along, and Weetzie! (I figure if Weetzie would do that long banned book meme she's got to be up for doing this one sentence meme...)