Wow is it windy outside! I went out to get the newspaper and the wind was a force to reckon with. I wanted to go right but the wind wanted me to go left. I felt like Dorothy for a minute and wanted to call out for help from Auntie Em. I managed to get the paper and catching a glimpse of my face in the mirror I realized I'd been transformed into a white, female version of Don King. Scary.

There's a comedian who says Halloween is a great time for women to dress like sluts. No matter what the costume is, it's the slut version. Ex: nurse slut, witch slut, clown slut, bee slut, etc.

I am contemplating attending a costume Halloween dance tonight, but I have the choice of witch slut or an unslutty scarecrow costume. Do I go with the slut or the unslut?

Of course, if the wind keeps up, not matter what I wear I'll end up looking like Don King so I guess it doesn't matter.

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Let's see, we've got war in Iraq and Afghanistan and now the hawks are dying for us to jump into Iran too. In the mean time we have resorted to paying recruits $20 grand to get them to sign up and have lowered all criteria for joining the service.

You can be emotionally unstable, mentally impaired, dumb as a box of rocks and sign on the dotted line and be pushed into the front line within no time.

Look, if we must have war, why not have each country who wants war pick out their best wrestler or whistler for all I care -- then have a competition and let all other countries vote as to who wrestled or whistled the best. Why must war be won by how many people died and how many you killed? Could even be a bake off, pies or cakes, anything other than death and destruction. I'm on to something.

I'm bummed. I keep waiting to see Lon Chaney movies on TV and there aren't any. I am going to have to remember to get my own DVDs for next Halloween season as I love the old horror flicks from the 30s-50s. I especially love the "special effects" from the era...how creative!

I have not been able to get into the modern day horror movies -- just too bloody for my taste. I like the suspense type of horror movies...Hitchcock is another favorite of mine -- thankfully, his movies are on tv frequently.

I also have not done the corn maze this year, but there's still time.

Go Red Sox!

There they are in all their beauty...clean and fluffy and defurred. Unfortunately, the old camera is giving up the ghost of a chance of a decent shot. (Ok Kodak cutie, why must you die on me?)

Neither dog likes having his picture taken. They take offense; they feel violated. Beau had to turn his head away because although I commanded him to stay, I never taught him a command that says don't move your head...so each shot is a profile.

Archie just ran to his favorite rug, plopped himself down and took it like a man. Notice their lovely scarves and prettified selves!!

We took them to Murphy's Paw in Stratford Ct. What a great, new place that I wouldn't have known about or traveled to if I hadn't gotten a promotional postcard telling me about the grand opening. I recommend it highly. They did a fabulous job on these guys and the place is adorable too. Well worth the ride.

They managed to get home in good shape as the rain had eased up a bit. Exhausted from their day of beauty, they were content to stay in for the rest of the day. Now the sun is shining and they should be able to go in and out without a total undo or their new do's.

I have a few odd, random things to say.

I think people like Joe Torre because of his extra large schnoz. I think most people are so grateful that they don't have a schnoz like that, they take that gratefulness and turn it into a love for the man.

I think Britney Spears is so sick at this point in her life, I am wondering if she can recover. If there ever was a reason to keep your young daughters at home and away from Hollywood, she's the poster child.

People, both Americans and Iraqis, continue to die in a non winnable war and there's lots of chit chat about how bad it is over there but nothing is done to stop the killing. Thou Shall not Kill is a joke, maybe because in that same set of rules is the old Thou Shall not Covet thy Neighbor's Wife or Goods and we all know coveting is at an all time high.

(my breakfast is served so that's it for now)

If you want to, you can hire me to end any drought. I am a rain woman. I can affect the climate; I can make it pour if you'd like.

All I have to do is make a grooming appointment for my two Golden Retrievers and the heavens open up and the deluge begins.

This is an example of irony at its best.

They will prance out of the groomers looking like show dogs, silky and spotless with brand new bandannas around their necks and as soon as they get home they will roll in the mud like the swine they truly are.

I will have maybe 5 minutes at reveling in their clean, beautiful coats when all hell will break loose.

This does not happen just once in a while, it happens every time I make an appointment to have them groomed. It doesn't matter what the weather experts say, it will rain, pour actually.

I'm bringing my camera this time and taking a few shots before they turn into slobs again.

Boobs.

Let's talk about them.

What's the big deal?

What constitutes a boob?

I've seen guys with a true B cup and women so flat they could go topless. But it's only females who have to cover up...even flat females.

Guys with boobs can let them jump and jiggle in public almost anywhere where it doesn't say:
Shirts required.

Or guys can wear a loose, arm-holed, wife-beater with armpit hair curling all the way to their knees.

Women can't do that. Inequality is what I say.

When I think of boobs, I think of bras. Good lord they're nasty things! Men get to wear nice, soft, 100 percent cotton undershirts. Women have to buy contraptions that can set off an alarm at the airport. Is this fair?

Men have more loose, jiggling, left dressed, right dressed, moving, growing, shrinking, twitching, body parts than women do...yet all that stuff is not stuffed into a wired contraption.

Men can let their stuff do their thing under loosey goosey boxers or buy garments that lovingly cradle their parts in -- yet again -- 100 percent cotton: comfy, tighty whiteys.

I want to buy a bra made out of cotton balls and meringue; down and Charmin.
Well I can dream, can't I?

The Killing Month

I've been on a "bender" - a mystery-reading bender. I think I've read a half dozen novels in the past week...all plot-driven, easy reads with death and mayhem somewhere in the book.

Every so often I do this; I just can't get enough of this genre and I've now tracked my yearly mystery reading marathon to October. It must be the Halloween influence - murder is really not a summer thing, nor is it a dead-of-winter thing, certainly not a muddy, crocus-filled spring thing: murder belongs in the fall and especially October.

I mean, picture a homicidal maniac breaking into your home on January 22 when it's 6 degrees outside, warming his hands by rubbing them together, teeth chattering and sinuses throbbing from the cold? It doesn't work. Not scary.

Picture this same homicidal maniac breaking in on a hot summer day, tan, wearing Bermudas and a Hawaiian shirt, -- where would he hide his ax?

Or spring, can you see this guy lumbering through the mud, running between raindrops, just to get inside your house when he could be dry and cozy in his own house?

But in October I can picture this guy wearing a black turtleneck and black pants; dark mornings and dark nights - he can pick either to slither along side of your house, avoiding windows, quietly clipping your phone lines and using his knife to cut the screen and lift the window to gain entry.

Scary!

So when I write my first mystery novel, you can be sure it will take place in October.

Now did I scare you?

All the windows and doors are open and the clean cool air is flowing in all directions; curtains fluttering in the breeze and leaves twirling by the windows and a sound of moving air that seems more like the roar of ocean waves. I love fall.

Tonight we'll stay home for dinner and I've got chicken baking in the oven; the oven heat is nipping at the chill in the kitchen -- here and there chunks of oven air mixing in with the cool breezes coming from the open door. I love fall.

I wish I had a clothes line where I could pin up sheets and watch them dance like lumbering ghosts and bring them in before the night dampness and put them on my bed and smell that smell all night long: fresh air.

I love fall.

A New Post for Canopener and my adoring fans (hahaha)

A nice thing to do on a rainy day is drive to the beach where most people have shuttered up and packed up and left town. That's what we did today. We owned the place.

If you do find yourself lucky enough to be in the Westbrook CT area, then please treat yourself to a huge mouth watering lobster roll at:

Westbrook Lobster Restaurant and Fish Market,
346 Boston Post Road
Clinton, CT 06413
Phone: 860-664-9464

Yummy yummy yummy. Say hello to Michelle, the bartender and know you will get the freshest seafood at the best price around. (The coldest draft beer too.)

Now that's what I call a great way to spend a rainy, gray otherwise miserable day. I had so much fun.

After our fantastic lunch, some of us meandered over to the new Goodwill to look for bargains and some went to a nearby garden shop.

I found the greatest Abercrombie thin weight sweatshirt with green writing for the mere price of $3.99 and as soon as I wash off some rich kid's nasal effluence from the sleeve, I'll be feeling mighty cool.

I also found THE perfect coffee cup. It's huge but light, a handle that offers a large space which will fit lots of supporting fingers, a thinnish lip with a curve and is stamped with the Blue Willow pattern I love. 99 cents on that purchase. I got change from my 5 bucks. How about that?

Filled to my gills on seafood, from here (the computer) I shall pick up my current book and my favorite afghan and head for the sofa. I am totally sated even though I spent money I should have saved for a rainy day...oh, wait a minute...it is a rainy day now isn't it?

Necrophilia

Well I must admit there is a small amount of shame when one admits to dabbling in necrophilia -- I'm not sure what is worse necrophilia or coprophilia, but I have never even thought of participating in the latter as I have had occasion lately to participate in the former.

It all started with the online game Fish Tycoon. I refused to indulge myself by buying the $19.95 full version of the game, nor did I care to download the ten day trial game. I contented myself with the free online version even though most of the features needed to win the game would not be available to me.

I started playing about a month ago, here and there when I could get my computer to work and get my husband off the computer.

It is an addicting game and I decided I would win it at all costs.

You mate fish breeds until you get the "magic fish" of which there are seven. I was doing pretty well, had 4 of the magic fish by both research and coincidence when I realized that some of the fish I needed for breeding were dying almost instantly in my tank.

Alas, how was I to win with dead fish? And then by sheer serendipity I mistakenly mated a live fish with a "dead" fish and voila -- there was my magic fish.

Dead fish mating became the only way I could win and so I brazenly mated the dead ones until all seven magic fish were found.

Now I am rich in Fish Tycoon dollars and have solved the puzzle of the magic fish but must live with the shame of using dead fish to win.

That's my story.