Boooooo! Ghostie Boooooo!

I don't like skeletons, but this one cracks me up. He seems very jaunty with his walking stick and his Jack-o-Lantern. He seems all geared up to walk the Highlands in a kilt.

"You take the high road and I'll take the low road.

And I'll get to Scotland Before Ye....."

This wee tot is preparing to start a bonfire using a pumpkin as a cauldron. Worse, she appears to be preparing cubes of tofu to boil! Is that Jolly? Where are her parents? Damn Liberals!

I don't have anything clever to say about this one because all I can think of is how goopy that kids hair and feet are going to be. But I do wish you a Highly Entertaining Halloween!

The Tall Tale

Ah, work! The Joy of Work! The Joy of a client who is a touch...touched. Yesterday was my day for Driving Miss Kitty and off we went for the groceries. She toddles inside and I bring in the grocery bags, two at a time for as long as it takes.

As we were walking in together she said, "I met John's new girlfriend yesterday. She's really tall. No, I mean REALLY, really tall. I've ever seen anyone that tall before. She was really tall. No, I mean really. Really tall. Have you ever seen anyone that tall?"

We chatted on for a while until I thought we had exhausted the ins and outs of just how TALL she was. I thought I'd go back outside for the first batch of groceries, figuring that by the time I got back she would have forgotten. Alas, as I came in the front door she ambushed me at the kitchen door and picked up right where she had left off:

"I'm not kidding. She was really TALL. I mean, really, really tall! I've never seen anyone so tall. She was REALLY tall."

"She sounds really tall, Miss Kitty" I said. And dove back into the driveway for some more bags.

"I'm not kidding. John's girlfriend is REALLY tall. I mean, Really, REALLY Tall. Have you ever seen anyone that tall? I've never seen anyone that tall."

Two more trips from the car, and two more rounds of "Really, really Tall."

I had hoped that this Tall Tale would have died down by the time I brought all the groceries in, but it went on the entire time I put things away and folded up the bags for storage. I finally said, "Well, How tall WAS she?"

Miss Kitty, 5'2", placed her hand in the middle of her chest and said, "She came up to about here on me."

Smell the Burning Flesh!

I've reached that age where my body has unexpected and uncontrollable temperature fluctuations for no reason whatsoever. And at any time. No rhyme or reason for it. And some body parts have different temperatures than others. For instance, my face and neck will heat up when my fingers and toes are chilly.

So it was not that unusual this weekend, while riding in my friend Cordelaine's new car, for me to be freezing cold. Really, very, very cold. I asked everyone else in the car if they were cold, and most of them were just room temperature. Cordelaine fussed with the temperature settings for half a moment and then got distracted driving.

When suddenly my butt started to get warm. And warmer. And WARMER until I thought my ass was on fire and I was shifting around in the car seat feeling like the polyester blend pants I had on were going to melt and extrude themselves liquidly through tubes and be formed into something recycled like a park bench, while my charred thighs and buttocks would be mistaken for pork barbecue, hot and sizzly from the smoker. If I walked down the street, people passing by would say, "Hey, I'm in the mood for some ribs!" followed by "Why is that woman's ass on fire and she's not wearing any pants?"

Since I had just asked everybody if they were cold it seemed kind of silly to suddenly ask them if they were hot, so I shifted around from buttock to buttock in ever-increasing hot discomfort for quite a while until I finally had to say something.

"Gee, Cordelaine, my bottom feels really hot!"

"Gee, Miss Pinks!" she replied, "That's because your electronic seat warmer is set on HIGH."

And I had to put up with bun warmer jokes for the rest of the day.

Practicing my Slouch

I remember learning how to slouch. It was the 60's and I was at a basketball game against the kids from Athens City, a small town 10 miles from my hometown. They were our rivals; mostly hillbilly's and Mainlanders, but their school had the cutest boys. Way cuter than the ones from my school. They seemed to have some kind of edge: an edge that was created from booze, cigarettes and poverty; but I didn't know that and it was as attractive as a magnet to me.

I was standing in the bleachers, observing these kids. They had slumped shoulders. It looked so cool, so relaxed, so laid back and desperate. Really hot! This was the 60's, you know! I thought I stuck out like a sore thumb with upright posture and straight shoulders.

So I stood there and copied them, twisting myself like a soft pretzel until I had the correct stance. It felt awkward and hard to maintain, but I did it! And it paid off, too, because later that same game, Buff Orpington came and sat with me and held my hand. Pretty daring for a 7th grader! The slump is what did it. I mastered the slump and suddenly I had a suitor.

Ah, peer pressure. Somewhere over the years my path must have diverged from needing to join the pack. Later, in the 90's I remember a young man walking me to the parking lot because "I want to see what kind of cool car you drive!" Because I was hot! And still slumped coolishly! Of course he was mighty disappointed. Instead of the Volvo Cabriolet or Jaguar or Beamer he had envisioned, I drove an older model Honda with a crushed driver's door and flaking paint. He wrote me off as unyuppie and unworthy in that moment, and I didn't care a bit.

Because I remember :

"That's when a smoke was a smoke
And grooving was grooving.
Dancin' was everything
We were young and we were improving

Laughing, laughing with our friends
Holding hands meant something, baby..."

It's been almost 40 years since I twisted myself into an S curve in order to belong to The Cool People. I still retain the slump, it's just called a Hump now.

Tea! and Bathtubs!

I've been wondering about some things, and one of them is: What kind of person designs and names fonts? Is not that an odd and quirky niche to find oneself in?

They are often named with such whimsy that I have a hard time passing them up to download just because they are charming. For instance, the one I recently saw called, "The Last Font I'm Wasting on You!"

And another thought: It is a very bad thing that in order to keep warm, one is obliged to drink more tea than is good for one!

And finally: Why does the bathtub get dirty? Does it not take a bath right along with one?

Zombie Pumpkins

Somehow I can't quite bring myself to post about the Fires that are raging away in Southern California. The news is full of it, and I'm actually quite sick of it. I get it and I feel for the people in dire circumstances who have lost their homes. I feel and fear for the firefighters who are down there battling against all odds, tired, overworked and understaffed for such a monumental amount of wildfires.

It's just that I can't take the media coverage of these events! They don't offer safety tips, tell which roads are safe and which fall too close to the fire zones. They aren't being any help at all, in fact. They just go stand in front of somebody's charred ruin of a house and pontificate about the horror of it all.

Worse, they have shown that Poor Princesses' lost Elvis collection a dozen times a day! Oh WOE! And they seem obsessed with where the football/basketball/baseball teams are going to go now that their stadiums have become safe-havens for the homeless and displaced. And they can't seem to cope with the fact that 24 has been unable to complete a filming schedule due to smoke and cinder activity. Have we really become so obsessed with the trappings of Hollywood?

Oh, speaking of obsessions and TV and Hollywood stuff:

It's been quite the year on Dancing with the Stars, so far! What with people falling, fainting and flailing, it's certainly been entertaining in a scary way. Marie Osmond is my favorite: not because she can dance, but because I see her as a more accessible and fun person than Jane Seymour. Jane is so darn stuffy, no matter if she's dancing the tango, the quickstep or the rumba, she acts like she's in ballet class, and that gets on my last nerve. Plus she's prissy. Marie, on the other hand, seems like the kind of gal that would come on over and stuff herself on my cooking and then help wash the dishes! (Thanks, Queen Q. for all the years of eating and dish washing!)(My idea of the perfect guests.)

This year, I am highly in favor of someone firing the costumers. I wonder where I'd go to lodge a complaint? Between dressing poor Jenny Garth in the dead carcass of Big Bird with tail feathers trailing, and making lovely Edyta look like Pocahontas in the bathtub or a decaying zombie dressed entirely in cobwebs, I think they've stretched to the limits of their creativity and have just turned silly. Naked silly. Jane and Marie seem to be dressed according to their age and sense of modesty, but the actual female professional dancers all look like Barbarella!

Only more nekkid and trailing more shredded hankies.

But there is one thing that cannot be faulted in any way. There is one person who must be watched, admired, adored and salivated over. There is one person whose burning Russian Fire and sexy glutes makes it all worthwhile: Maxim Chmerkovskiy.

I love it that he is not even remotely gay. And that he's always in a foul mood. Because he's like a Greek God, and they were always testy. And like a Greek God I shall have to worship from afar, because Ponsonby-Chmerkovskiy is just too much of a mouthful! I cannot trade in my spinster status for such a ponderous name.

Last but not least, a little holiday fun! An entire field of Zombie Pumpkins, dancing away in a ballroom frenzy!

Global Warming and the Cold Water Heater

Here's a science fiction thought for you all! As I was taking my shower this morning I was reflecting on how wonderful this old building has been for always supplying me with a plentiful supply of hot water. Honestly, the water is TOO hot, and I have to be careful to turn the hot tap on just a little bit and the cold water tap more. Otherwise I could get scalded.

So I was thinking, what if this global warming really starts to kick in? Someone needs to invent a Cold Water Heater, because there would no longer be cold water just dormant in the pipes, etc; All water would be hot water, and you'd need some kind of refrigerant in place of the hot water heaters for everyone.

Of course by that time we'd have all starved to death from the drought and the fact that the crops had all boiled up when they watered them with hot water.

But as my Landlord told me this morning, "If it starts to be plagues and pestilance and boiling seas, with frogs raining from the sky, we could all run out with a big napsack and gather up the frogs and say, "mmm! Frogs Legs!" "

You Can't Make This Stuff Up!

One of the best parts of my blog is getting to make up silly and twisty headings for each entry. Sometimes I can come up with more of those than I have posts to go with them! As a Teenager I co-wrote a small novella named "Fletcher's Freak" and had plans to write my next one: Moldy Red Licorice, Or, Loathsome Adventures in an El Camino. I am sure you are sooooo glad I never wrote that second one! At one time I had a small notebook full of upcoming book titles.

Yesterday I saw a new store in midtown Sacramento and I realized a twinge of envy when I saw the sign above the door. This appeared to be an adult/party/lingerie type store, and just GUESS what the name of it is?

Dirty Fête.

To My Cousin Happy Breakfast Wilkerson:

Here it is! This is the bear I rescued from your abusive clutches when you were a mere 3 years old. You had left him, unfed, unkempt and face down in a mud puddle, too exhausted from many maulings to be able to hoist himself out of there and save his own life.

I gave him a new home and here he is, 20 some years later, happy, content, chubby and clean, the way a stuffed bear should be!

So far you've done a good job raising your human son, but if you take one wrong step, YOU'LL NEVER SEE THIS BEAR ALIVE AGAIN!

The Human Paloma Picasso Virus

I'm always disturbed when pharmaceutical companies trying to make big money use scare tactics to get us to buy expensive drugs that they've just invented whether or not they work or whether or not they have any basis in reality. For instance, Aricept, the drug that may or may not slow down the progress of Alzheimer's. That is what they claim, It MAY slow it down, but how would you know? If you are taking the drug and surviving the diarrhea, the dizzy spells and the Alzheimer-like side effects, how could you tell you were progressing slower than you would have progressed to begin with?

It's the same thing with this Human Paloma Virus, or is it Pamplona where they run the bulls? Either way, it seems completely ridiculous to me that they can say a VIRUS may or may not create Cervical Cancer in you, at some vague future point in your life, so you need to get inoculated against possibly getting it 20 years down the road. Maybe. Perhaps.
First of all, who ever heard of a VIRUS causing Cancer? If that were true, wouldn't it be the biggest breakthrough for all mankind, EVER? You could immediately use the same shot to prevent breast cancer, lung cancer, etc;

Secondly, don't viruses MUTATE? Isn't that what they DO? Don't they practically morph the moment they go from one host to the other, and isn't that why the annual flu shots are such a joke (and an expense?) They maybe protect you from one form of flu, but by the time that flu gets around to your neighborhood it's no longer recognizable as the original strain?

People who swear by those flu shots cannot convince me that they wouldn't have avoided the flu that season anyway. You cannot prove that those shots kept you from getting the flu! They even tell you in the small print "You may get some form of flu this winter, just not the flu that this shot will protect you from."

In the case of the Human Paloma Picasso Virus, how can they tell that 15-20 years from now that particular virus will have stayed exactly the same so that the shots you got are still valid?

My cousin Tivo Jane Coggins has cervical cancer. It's a scary thing, but as she says, "I haven't used that plumbing in years so yank it out!" She is really a kicker, to say the least. Her husband Vernelle Coggins collects antique cars. He's got bunches of them up on cinder blocks in the front and back yard, gathering rust. It was perhaps this love of all things vehicular which led them to name their two children Rotary Motor Coggins, Jr. and Chassis Axle Coggins.

Gramma Frosty Baker has decided that Chassis Axle needs to get her some of them Human Paloma Picasso Shots, because she firmly believes that since her daughter Tivo has cervical cancer, her granddaughter Chassis Axle is soon to follow, 20 years from now.

If she thinks cervical cancer is hereditary, then why bother with the anti-viral shots? It makes no sense to me. But she's getting on the bandwagon and so are millions of others, and all I can think is that 20 years from now all those girls will be sterile.

Or have mutant multi-colored babies that have their eyeballs on the sides of their faces like this:

Have Cake Will Travel

Imagine my surprise at logging on this morning and seeing so many Birthday Wishes from Friends of Pea! How sweet and kind of all of you, and you have NO IDEA how much I appreciated each and every one of your remarks!

My birthday was so strange this year, but it got better later on. For one thing, my friend Jeff showed up in the early eve with a German Chocolate Cake that he baked himself. Never before in my 51 years of life have I had a MAN bake me a CAKE! It is delicious, too, with EXTRA coconute pecan frosting!

Oh, and my Cousin Skeeter Jean sent me some PINK M&Ms! PINK M&Ms! PINK M&Ms!

Pink M&Ms people!

Happy Birthday to Me!

EEeeeeeg!

Another Day another Medical Procedure.

I had to get up at the crack of dawn this morning and head on over to Mercy for my long-awaited EEG. Hey, it only took 10 months to get this scheduled!

Mercy is an older hospital and parking is at a deficit. I ended up on the roof of the parking structure and when I left, there was a line of cars completely blocking me in, two of which had to be moved so I could get out of my parking space. I told the toll booth attendant I wanted 10 minutes cut off my parking fee. He laughed in my face. Laughed in my face, I tell you!

But first, I parked and raced over to the hospital and went up to the EEG department, which was locked up tighter than a drum. I had to wait for someone to come along and put in the little keypad code to open the door and then I was told I had to go back downstairs and register. Nobody tells me anything! Fortunatly, registration is quick and I was back upstairs in 15 minutes flat.

The EEG tech was such a sweetheart, and she explained the procedure in depth before we got started. I was suprised to learn it takes about 20-30 minutes for the test itself. I got to lay down on a comfy bed and close my eyes while she glued 27-29 little diodes on my head using school paste. I'm not kidding, this isn't the gel stuff they use for an EKG, this is actual glue. She warned me I'd have to go home and shampoo when this was over.

She then explained I'd open my eyes and shut them and then do some slow breathing for 3 minutes then lay perfectly still for 15 minutes and then she would turn on some flashing lights for 3-5 minutes and then we would be done. The whole thing was soothing except for the flashing lights which were very uncomfortable.

When all this was completed she took the thingies off my scalp and earlobes and forehead and then did a little scrubbing to get the most obvious glue off and then handed me a comb and told me to look in the mirror and fix my hair.

I wish I had a photo of the fright that I confronted in the mirror! My hair was sticking out like Brillo Pad Weeds! I had to crack up, because although I never consider myself fussy, my friends say I am quite vain. There was no way to salvage this mess and I was wishing for a hat or a burkha.

As I was driving home I put my hand on my scalp and felt little dollops of sticky glue all over the top and back of my head! Ewww! So I raced home and shampooed before that stuff could dry on there.

Now it will be weeks before I hear any results, alas, but at least this test was finally done!

Seven Years of Bad Luck

OH NOOOOoooooooooo!!!!!

Strange Bedfellows

Years ago I noticed a correlation between sleeping with my head to the wall and migraines. I am a restless sleeper and I 'travel' in my sleep, so after a night's sleep I end up with my neck wedged up against the wall at a horrid angle. So I don't do that anymore!

Instead, I sleep at the foot of the bed. It looks odd, but it's just me so nobody is complaining. This leads to some unusual bedroom arrangements, though, because the 'normal' options of a nice centered bed in the middle of the wall is not really necessary for me.

For the most part, I just put the bed on a diagonal. I like that a lot. However, now that it's coming on cold it's time to move the bed from the outside corner into the middle of the room. Because I won't have any heat this winter (wish me luck on that poverty decision! Ugh!) I'm relying on down comforters, a hot-oil electric radiator and an inside wall for insulation.

I worked on this all morning long. I had to take the Swifter to the ceiling and corners because of the cobwebs. (What is a cob, anyway? Has anyone ever seen a cob?) I had to dust everything and clean the mirrors. I had to shove and pull and prod and push the furniture around in order to get it where I wanted it to go and then I had to vacuum where everything was before and once it was placed I had to vacuum the newly exposed places. I actually took the edger and did all the corners and wall edges!

Even though I put up with plenty of noise from Night Terror Neighbor and OCD Door Slammer Neighbor, I see no reason to be a nuisance, so I waited until the advanced hour of 9:00 am to start the vacuuming. Hey, I've been up since 4:30 so they should consider they got a bargain!

I had the idea to put the bed up against the mirrored closet doors this time; something I've never done before. It is far enough from the wall to be able to have easy access to the closet (I don't use that end of it anyway, so it's fine) with room to put my night stand and lamp.

I really like the results. Too bad I didn't think to take a 'before' picture and too bad my bedroom is hard to photograph in a way that makes it a candidate for Archeological Digest/Country California Living magazines.

After a few days of recovering from all this expended energy, I am going to tear into the living room and do some serious vacuuming in there as well. I had a guest the other day who wore black and I was mortified to discover that when she left her outfit had converted mysteriously into herringbone salt and pepper grey. That damn cat hair!

Spoiled Milk

For my birthday I got these absolutely beautiful and awesome salad server implements (what the heck do you call them?) They are hand-beaded and come all the way from Australia. (So they DO have lettuce in Australia!). Click on the picture to make it bigger so you can see better detail on the beads and also how neat the candle flame looks reflected in the bowl of the implements.

Here is a really MORONIC concept that just baffles me: FAT FREE HALF AND HALF.

I don't get it. Isn't fat free half and half called SKIM MILK?

Who do they think they are fooling by thickening some skim milk with liquid styrofoam and putting a bunch of sugar in it for flavor? If you wanted fat free creamer for your tea, wouldn't you just buy one percent milk?

1 Burner Shy of a Full Stovetop

Yeah. I am really dragging my carcass around this morning. Fibromyalgia, as I have learned, likes to sneak up on me and give me a smackdown once in a while. The weather is changing into the wet season, and that affects how I move and think, as well.

Almost first thing in the morning I like to put the kettle on to boil so I can make my pot of tea.

This morning was no different. Except as I entered the kitchen I heard the tick-tick-click-click sound that these old burners make when they are turned on. It almost sounds like a gas stove, but its not. Its the sound of electricity.

And to my horror I discovered that I'd left the large right rear burner on ALL NIGHT LONG!

What's that going to do to my electric bill, I wonder? Worse yet, what does that say about my scrambled brains that I cannot remember when was the last time I cooked anything on that burner!

I suppose I will have to start double-checking this at night to make sure it's really turned off. Unless I could get Obsessive-Compulsive Neighbor to come up and do it for me.

The Eyes Have It

I went and picked up my contact lenses this morning. They were supposed to be in last Friday and they said they would call, but they never did. Always one to give people an extra day or so, I waited until this morning then I called. Sure enough, they'd been sitting there waiting for me since last Friday and they forgot to call me.

This is a momentous occasion because it is the first time in about 2 1/2 years that I've been able to see properly. And let me tell you, that being blind is for the birds! Getting unblind was even WORSE of an ordeal, and now it's starting to look like seeing again is also going to be a trial. It's been about a year since I got taken off my hard lenses, and today just wearing these things for an hour has made my eyes soooo tired. I can feel them everytime I blink. It's annoying. I keep hoping I will just forget they are in there and get on with the show.

Speaking of Shows, I know there is a God because He allowed Wayne Newton to get voted off "Dancing With the Stars" last night! Heck for all I know, He ENCOURAGED it. Because Wayne just wasn't cut out for the dancing. I like it when they get rid of the dead weight right away so that the real dancing can begin. And for that I could just sing "Danke Shon!"

I told Jeff last night that what I chiefly needed was a butt rub. I told him my butt was so sore, and I think it is from sitting and sitting and sitting and sitting. That really tires those butt muscles out, being used all day long like that without a break. Sadly, he says he doesn't know me well enough to rub my butt. I countered with "I don't know you well enough to let you hog the remote!"

It's a week away from my birthday and he is required to break up with me right before the actual date. He has done that 3 years in a row, I think it's to get out of getting me a present. We shall see...

Shaped like a Human Tortilla

I've been Tagged! I'm so excited! This is the first time ever! Usually I just steal these things!

1. Where were you at 3:02 AM this morning?
Prowling around the campsite, foraging for food and fodder.

2. What was the first thing you thought this morning?
Did I just spend 8 hours dreaming of Britney Spears hair?

3. Is the person you have a crush on older or younger than you?
Younger. I get crushes on men with abs and glutes and arm muscles, and they are always younger.

4. What did you do last night?
Watched Dancing With the Stars.

5.What do you hope to do this weekend?
Go to prison, but just as a visitor! Passing Go and collecting 200 dollars first, of course.

6. Do you think you will be in a relationship 3 months from now?
Yes, with a shopping cart and a park bench.

7. Do you own a stereo that cost more than $100?
I don't own a stereo of any kind. And there were none to be had in the marketplace this morning! Not for ready money!

8. Have you ever told someone of the opposite sex you loved them and meant it?
Usually my declarations of love are insincere.

10. What were you doing this morning at 7am?
TEA, Mrs. Bolting!

11. What were you doing this afternoon at 12pm?
Don't you think I have anything better to do than to track my day by the hour? I was standing on line at the Post Office. Post, Miss Post!

12. What was the reason you last cried?
Do I need a reason?

(This survey jumps to #19 now, I don't know why.)

19. Have you ever talked to someone when they were high?
I live in California, I've never talked to anyone who WASN'T! Even my cat is high on catnip.

20. How many red lights have you ran?
I've never ranned a stoplight, nor have I run one. I have however, R-U-N-N-O-F-T!

21. Have you ever cried while taking a shower?
I regularly cry in the shower. It's where all the significant moments of my life have taken place. It's where I took my first tuba lesson. It's where I first read Byron. It's where I first beheld the Virgin Mary in a grilled cheese sandwich and it's where I composed my Opus.

22. What was your favorite grade?
That one outside of Denver where you are looking straight up into the Rocky Mountains. But not the downhill grades! Those are scary.

23. What were you doing at 12am last night?
Did you expect me to say hittin' the bars and shootin' some pool with the fellas? Good Lord! Taking off my corset, brushing my locks one hundred strokes and donning my nightcap, of course!

24. Whats a sure way to catch your attention?
Speak fluent English.

25. Have you ever, in any way, been betrayed by someone you trusted?
Is this a yes or no question, Dr. Phil, or may I expound?

26. When was the last time you were given roses?
Dead roses or live ones? Because it makes a difference.

27. Is there anything that you are craving for right now?
Chocolate covered lobster. Alaskan King Crab Legs. German Chocolate Cake. You know, birthday foods!

28. Where did your last hug take place?
It was dawn. I was straddling the flagpole of the Empire State Building. The Jaws of Life Helicopter was clattering overhead. The black-clad Swat Team Captain scooped me up and dragged me to safety. I'm sure it had meaning. I'm sure I saw the look of surprised attraction in his eyes. When I get out of jail, I'm going to track him down and stalk him until he agrees to marry me.

29. Do people ever make stupid mistakes when spelling or saying your name?
Usually they just mutter through it. Ponsonby, how hard can it be?

30. Have you ever started a sentence with "No offense, but..."?
No offense, but you SUCK! Actually, I used to play this little game in the car with my abusive boyfriend of yore. I would roll down the window next to some scary dudes and say, "I think you are perfectly lovely, but my boyfriend thinks you look like a dirty bag of bile!" It was so much fun! Especially if they were biker dudes.

31. Do you drink tea?
I just don't get this question. It defies physics, propriety and addles all my sensibilities.

32. When was the last time you saw a cop?
Last Saturday Night when I invited him in to look out my window so he could see the scene of the crime more clearly below. It was one of many homeless incidents. A drunken brawl, to be exact. I witnessed the whole thing. I was the chief witness!

33. Did you ride in someone elses car today?
No. I almost asked this lady at the grocery if she would push me around in that shopping cart/automobile thing they provide for kids, but the dessert section distracted my attention.

*****
Well, consider yourself tagged if you made it this far! If you put this on your blog, please leave a note in my comments so I can come by and read your answers!

Save me from Britney Spears, O Lawd!

I don't know what my subconscious mind was trying to tell me, but last night I dreamed all about Britney Spears. It went on and on and on, and I had to hang out with her through every kind of nonsense she could come up with to grab attention. I even had to help her put that hayhead she calls hair into some revolting pig tails using orthodontics rubber bands.

I've always enjoyed the fact that I dream in color and have vivid, involved plots that are ever changing and always entertaining...but sometimes it backfires. Do I really need to dig in Britneys purse for a stick of gum? TOO much information!

What I'm really excited about, though, is the new season of Dancing With the Stars. At first I thought it wasn't going to be too good: My favorite, Marie Osmond, didn't seem to be too rhythmic or light on her feet, and so many of the cast are strangers to me that I didn't think I could relate to them.

However, it's getting better each week. I find myself bouncing around and cheering while the show is on. How can you not love a good quick step or tango? I have to say I am more fond of the traditional ballroom than the Latin Dances...I really don't enjoy watching sparkley-clad couples slime all over each other to a Latin Beat...but if it's done right, the Tango is sooo romantic!

My pics and pans are:

Wayne Newtons' got to go! He is too scared to loosen up. To be fair, he's the oldest contestant there, but that black shoe polish he puts on his hair and that smear-on bronzer are soooo Vegas. It's too much!

My Favorite Guy is Melio or Helio or Elio? The one who is dancing with Julianna, my favorite from last year. For a Race Car Driver that guy has some seriously fancy footwork! He reminds me of one of those French Actors from the 40's and 50's. Yves Montand I think it was.

I don't know what to say about the Boxing Champion! He can move, yes, but the top half of his body seems separate from the bottom half. It makes him seem awkward and clumsy.

All the women are good this year: Jane Seymour is such a class act that it's hard to believe her when she does things like the jive where you have to get down and dirty. But I love her anyway and she's good enough to go very far in the competition.

I like the Scary Spice girl. She's hot anyway, but she has Max for her partner and he's the most manly-man dancer I've ever seen. They are usually so gay, if you know what I mean.

The female dancer that I don't like is the Cheetah Girl. She reminds me of a cross between a munchkin and Alvin and the Chipmunks. The fact that she's already a professional dancer (hip-hop) makes her have an unfair edge in this competition. She may be good but I don't have to like her.

The only thing left to say at this point is what I've said before: They need to fire the costumers. If I see one more birds nest or slash-away stomach exposure I'm going to watch the competition in a blindfold. Which makes no sense but I am still trying to shake off the Britney Dream so you'll have to cut me some slack, this morning.

Spawn's Day Out

Hi! This is Spawn! I snuck over here to pester the neighbor lady for snacks while my Mom was hogging the laundry room. I heard the Neighbor lady talking on that little back gizmo she holds to her ear that the Mom of Spawn used the laundry all day long yesterday and it was heaped with wet towels and piles and piles of dirty laundry. I wanted to tell the neighbor lady that she should try living in that mess! I have to and I don't like it. Oh, sure, the piles of clothes are nice for napping, but all those damp towels? I don't like them one bit!

This neighbor lady runs a much nicer facility. I'd like to move on over here but that neutered Male Mackie hisses at me every time I come near. I ignore him because Mom of Mackie always gives me some serious snacks and pets when she sees me. She tells me I'm handsome and portly and soft and furry, just the way a cat should be! I love all this praise but I love the snacks more.

I can tell this Mom of Mackie is one of those humans who gets a lot of pleasure out of fussing over us Superior Beings, so I make sure I let her fuss over me at least daily.

Today, however, was an extra bonus day! My Mom let me outside and she never cares where I go so I padded over to the neighbor ladies house and stood outside her screen door and jingled my collar bell. Usually this makes her come running with a handful of kibble and lots of warm words and soft strokes. Today, she was puttering around somewhere in the back, so I just came right on inside. Hey, she left the door open a crack, what else is a self-respecting curious cat to do? I had to explore; it's my God Given Right and besides, it's coded into my DNA. And I could smell the food: the wet kind.

So I just mosied on in and helped myself. I saw some toys laying on the floor, and one in particular was grabbing my attention because it smelled like the kitty-weed that makes me so giddy and light hearted when I roll in it. So I batted that around for a while and had a lot of fun. I had just sat down to have a light bath when the neighbor lady came out of her sleeping room and saw me and squealed just like an edible rodent! Apparently she was surpised to see me. I'll have to come over here more often when the door is open and surprise her, just to get more of that kind of fussing!

She did put me right out, though, and I can't figure out why! At least she was nice about it. She was telling me that she had on black! I'm wearing BLACK! she said. I took this as an indication to deposit a lot more hair than normal onto her pelt, since my hair is white and she was being so obsessive over the black. I like to be obliging.

Well, she took off and I'm alone now outside the door. I guess I'll wait for another day to come visiting, but for now I'm going to go roll in the dirt, looking cute, so that I can entice somebody else to give me a handout!

Going to Borneo by way of Chef Ramsay

I became such a fan of Hell's Kitchen the last two seasons that I couldn't wait to watch the newest offering from that British Culinary Tasmanian Devil, Chef Ramsay. Last night was the second night of the show, and I found myself flipping the channels and feeling a little bored. Oh, no!

With Hell's Kitchen, although Chef screams, yells, curses and abuses those folks, you start liking him; you can't help it, and you find a couple people that you become fond of and you want to see how it all turns out over the course of the season.

With this new show, it's all resolved in one episode, which is nice, but it makes it hard to become fond of anybody. Last night, I felt fond of the Eating Bowls owner, but thought his wife was annoying and the wait staff invisible, and that just left the odious...Mike? Brian?....see what I mean? I can't even remember the name of the Manager.

The first episode had been about an Indian restaurant that was a complete cockroach-ridden mess, and it had lots of scurrilous characters to despise, and some to hope for, and it reminded me a little bit of the long-suffering Babu from Seinfeld.

But the Mixing Bowl (not really called "Eating Bowls"; I just made that up to see if you were paying attention) didn't seem to be in that bad of shape, and the menu didn't seem that dismal, and the ending wasn't that hopeful. I'll still keep watching, because there are bound to be better episodes ahead, and it's always fun to watch Chef Ramsay tell it like it is...it's just that this episode really didn't do much for me.

******

But that's not what I came here to talk about. I came here to talk about Misheard Lyrics. You know how you get a song in your head and it won't come out, and you love it and you sing it and you imagine the feeling of what it's all about? One of those songs for me is Santeria, by Sublime.

In it, a man is hurting because his heina (Latino Queen) has found a new Sancho. The singer wants to pop a cap into Sancho and he wants to slap her down. Just as you finish picturing this angry response, the song turns sad, poignant and lyrical, and it sweeps me along every time.

What I really want to say, my baby,
what I really want to know is
way back when,
in our day...When my soul lifted wings?

Just the idea of his soul lifting wings from love of this heina makes me adore this song. Reflecting back on his anger to the good times that went before. Then the next lyric swings back into the anger and retaliation again:

Tell Sanchito that if he knows what is good for him
He best go run and hide
Daddy's got a new .45
And I won't think twice
To stick that barrel straight down sancho's throat
Believe me when I say that I got something for his punk-ass

Okay, that's violent and Spanish-Harlemy, but don't you want to use that last line in conversation somewhere? I've got something for your punk-ass! Don't Mess With ME! One of these days, Alice, Straight to the Moon! I keep looking for opportunities to use it, but somehow telling the mild-mannered mailman who is always late with my mail that I've got something for his punk-ass if he doesn't get more punctual seems a little bit like overkill.

Then he goes on to say,

I gotta get out, I feel the break, feel the break!
And I gotta let it out
Daddy's gonna love Borneo!
And when I get back, I'll find a new heina
And my soul will lift it's wings!

Well! How can you not love a song where the guy gets to go to Borneo to heal from a broken heart? Borneo! Wow! That's so far away! It's so primitive! Does he have cousin's living there? Or is it just a random tropical escape? Did he just close his eyes and point to a spot on the spinning globe? Or had he read about Borneo as a child and now was the perfect time to go there? And how did he get the money? He just bought a new .45 and those don't come cheap. Anyway, it's wonderful and enchanting to me that's he's taking off to Borneo to get a soul lift.

Except of course that's not what the lyrics really say! Because I looked them up and now it's all spoiled for me! There is no Borneo! There is no soul lifting wings!

What I really wanna know (my baby)
What I really wanna say, I can't define
Well it's love that I neeeeeed
My soul will have to

Wait till I get back
Find a heina of my own
Daddy's gonna love one and all
I feel the break, feel the break, feel the break
And I gotta live it out

So really, he's just going down to the 7/11 for some smokes and then he's going to hit up every Senorita in town. The songwriter missed a great opportunity not to include Borneo in his lyrics! If he hadn't died of a heroin overdose shortly after this song was released, I'd hunt him down and tell him I've got something for his punk-ass!

Companions

They say there is someone for everyone, and that may be true. It's not true for me YET, but I've seen plenty of other couples: fine, fancy or odious and obnoxious that belong together like two peas in a pod.

Even Mackie belongs together with his 10 year old scratching post. Every time I think I should get rid of it and get him a newer, fancier high-rise, I realize that I cannot separate a Cat from his Pillow.

I may not meet that Special One until I gaze down the corridor of the Seizure World Home and see him cackling toothlessly at me as he rolls towards me on his Hoveround, but the folks downstairs have found each other early, and they are a Perfect Match.

Each evening, as I lay me down to sleep, I hear the hyena-like laughter of Night Terror Guy in the bedroom directly below mine. He thrashes violently in his sleep and talks a blue streak and it's always something Science-Fictiony. Like the time I heard him say, "Behind you! The Spawn Behind you!" which sent shivers of terror and visions of slime running down my spine, let me tell you!

Last night, it was 20,000 Leagues Under the Sea as I heard, "The only way out is through the Porthole! The Porthole!" Or maybe he said Portal, in which case it would be Time Travely. I don't know, either way it's a weird thing to hear conversationally before drifting off to sleep.

In broad daylight, this is a big, strapping redheaded dude, fairly guy-ish, prone to video gaming to the point of rotting his eyeballs and wearing the pads off his fingertips, but otherwise a pretty nice, quiet sort of person.

As is his girlfriend, a pretty tiny Japanese woman who never makes eye contact and never says hello when passing her on the sidewalk. I've only spoken to her once, when I was in their apartment asking about the video games they played, when she piped up in a friendly, conspiratorial tone that in her opinion, Night Terror Guy played TOO MANY video games.

I couldn't quite see them as a couple. I mean, I think they may just be roommates, but even so they seem very oddly matched. Until it dawned on me.

Every morning I hear her leave for work, lock the front door, SLAM the screen door and clack-clack-clack go her heels down the sidewalk to her car. At exactly the end of the building, she turns around, clack-clack-clacks back, opens the screen door, and Checks to see if she's locked the front door. Every morning. SLAM goes the screen door the second time and clack-clack-clack go her heels down the sidewalk, off to work at last.

Mystery solved, as to what the attraction is: She's Obsessive Compulsive Girl! They Belong Together!

Red Shoes, Baby!

Yes, it's autumn and that means many wonderful things: pumpkin's and candy corn and burning leaves and bittersweet bouquets. It also means saying goodbye to the beloved shoes of summer.
Specifically, these Red LizFlex sandals.

They are getting a little faded on the tops where the sun hits. They are getting a little scruffy around the toe, and a little scuffed along the heel. But they are beloved shoes and it's my guess I'll pack them carefully away and wear them again next season.

But why? Because they are RED. Red shoes. Sure they are popular and lots of chicks think they invented the coolness of red shoes. But let's just take a walk down memory lane, shall we?

It starts before the Dawn of time, back in the early 90's:

You'll have to look past the gawd-awful Big Hair and the RED BOW advertising myself as some kind of Minnie Mouse/Madonna hybrid...and you'll notice that the delicately crossed ankles are the supports of a pair of red shoes.

Now lets go further back, practically before recorded history or language: To the 80's. Once again you will see me, this time in some servicable, church-wearing pumps. And they are RED:

And back again to the 70's...red shoes and white bobby sox, not your best choice but still, those Red Shoes had to be worn!

Apparently there were no photos taken of my feet in the 60's. Head Shots abound but not too many showing footwear. But don't worry, we can still continue our journey back into Red Shoe History: The 50's. Look closely and you will see that these feet are made for walkin' and they're wearing Red Shoes. If you look closely you can see that they are no doubt the famous Red Ball Jets! The original Nike! The precursor to the Jogging Shoe! Running, Jumping, Flying Red Ball Jets! And I had them in RED:

And again: Earlier Year, different shoes, but still RED:

All the way back to my 3 year old Cowgirl Days:

Looking at those lace-up red leather shoes, I want them! I want them bad. So it it any wonder that as I was looking at my cousin's blog this morning and saw the pic of her sister wearing these Red Shoes that I had to have them?

Gimmee Them Shoes, Leroy! Their MINE!

That's it for my Feet in Red Shoes History, and I guess I'll close with the lyrics to a famous southern song from O Brother Where Art Thou?

She's Long Gone with her RED SHOES on

Better find another lovin' baby!

No Pillows in the Cyanide Desert, O Lord

When I was little one of my favorite things was to look through the Sears and Roebuck and the J.C. Penney's Catalogs. I wasn't looking at the toys, however, I was looking at the pages with the room decor. I played this little game I made up called "Match To Match." I would look at each page and point with my wee finger at each thing that matched all the others. And I would chant a little ditty as I did it: "The bedspread match to match the curtains to match the pillows to match the sheets to match the lamp shade to match the tablecloth to match to match To MATCH!" Nothing in my life has given me such pure satisfaction since. Oh, the joy's of a matching, well decorated room!

I remember going to Sunday School at the Lutheran Church. NOT my regular venue, as they were a stuffy lot and solemn and not much for fun. I liked to go where my cousins went, the Methodist Church, because my Aunts were the Sunday School Teachers and would hand out candy bars if we got all the books of the Bible memorized in order.

At the Lutheran Church, we had to sit and punch out pale cut-outs of Jesus holding a lamb and then glue Him onto a page that was a bleak outlined sketch of the Cyanide Desert. I didn't like this at all. I thought it was a horrid place to make Jesus hang out. Why couldn't He be pasted into the J.C. Penney catalog? Wouldn't He much rather be in a room where things MATCHED and were tidy and soothing? Why was He forced to stand around in those smothering hot robes in the bleak and lonely desert?

P.A. prepares to Part the Red Sea.

I'd been to the desert and I wanted no part of it. It was hot, sticky, and everything had a wretched bleached look to it.

I stand upon Mt. Ararat and look for things that Match, to no avail.

In those days, before air conditioning, the prospect of the American Desert Southwest in July was more akin to a nightmare of hell than a pleasant family vacation. And that's how I remember it. I didn't see any reason to paste Jesus into such a landscape. I hated it!

I had already gotten pretty fed up with those Lutherans anyway, because the only other time I remembered going to their Church was at the Christmas Pageant. I had been forced to learn the Away in a Manger Song and it just horrified me that the Baby Jesus was not allowed to have a PILLOW! You know the song:

Away in a Manger, No crib for a bed
The little Lord Jesus, No pillow for His head...

Okay, those may not have been the lyrics but that is how I remember them.

In the Jewish faith, at religious ceremonies, the Messiah is given a place at the table so He will feel welcome when he drops by at last. Good China, a wine glass, proper linens and even a bread plate. Now, that's my idea of the proper way to treat Jesus! And when He comes to my house, He can stay in the guest bedroom, where there are PLENTY of pillows and things that MATCH.