A lil Scrabble do ya

I love words; their ability to communicate the power of our emotions, to describe unbelievable beauty or deeply seated joy. So its no surprise that Scrabble is one of my all-time favorite ways to pass an evening. I have two friends with whom I play  most often, and, let me  tell you, we get intense.  When Eliza and I get into it over a rule or the spelling of a word, the people around us hide the kids, move the furniture, and place their bets. Eliza, who knows more words than anyone I've ever met, gets her talents naturally. I once placed Scrabble with Eliza and her 89 year old mother, Townsley.  That geriatric wordsmith wiped up the floor with me.

The last argument Eliza and I had was when I played the word "gonna."  Eliza said it is not a word. I said it is, citing the famous, award-winning movie, "I'm Gonna Git You, Sucka." I swear, sometime its hard to play Scrabble with white people.

Anyway, because I am a such a lovely person, and I had forgotten to bring any weapons that evening, I conceded. That time.But I still say that if the word is good enough to be in the title of a Wayans Brothers film, then, by golly, it is legitimate word.

We are a merciless crew.  One time, Kitty showed pity for me, and she has regretted ever since. Mature player that I am, I was  whining about how I only had low scoring letters and not enough vowels, and whatever, so Kitty threw me a Scrabble bone and gave me an opening to play a  quadruple-letter slot. I, of course, jumped on it, using all of my letters to play the word, "Chortle."  The  points, along with the bonus 50 points earned for using all of my letters, came to a whopping 130 points.

That made me chortle like a madwoman. Kitty did not chortle.  As a matter of fact, I don't believe she has chortled since.

Since I can't play Scrabble every single night, I suffice with playing "Words with Friends" with my friend, Jenn. By the way, did you know that I was the person with whom Alec Baldwin was playing WWF when he got kicked off the plane? Sure, Alec never revealed it was me, as we have a very psychologically complex stalker-stalkee relationship. Every time I see him in the courtroom, I wave a blow a kiss and he responds by doubling his security team. That Alec, he is a riot. 

Anyway,  Jenn was hesitant to begin playing with me, as she swore up and down that she was not good at spelling or vocabulary.  So I gave her my best playing tips (both of them!!) and now she is kicking my butt seven ways to Sunday. Note to self: Do NOT let Jenn talk you into playing poker with her.

So if any of y'all out there in blogger land want to do some intense Scrabble playing one night, let  me know. You bring the weapons, I'll bring the chortle. 

The Expatriate

Thinking about the upcoming winter has many people daydreaming about moving to a warmer, sunnier place. Before you go packing those bags, please let me share the story of Miss X.

Miss X, for reasons that I ...er, ah, she..will no longer admit to remembering, decided several  years ago to leave ol' Balmer for greener pastures. Her life needed  shaking up, she decided, a challenge. Miss X sold her house, quit her job, said goodbye to everyone and everything she ever knew, and just drove away one fine morning.

She chose a place where few people spoke English.

A place where there were only two types of weather:
dang, it's hot, and
dang, what's the name of today's hurricane?

A place that smelled like one thousand exploring cow farts.

A place with bugs...bugs that flew, crawled, slithered, or burrowed, all with the temperament of a pissed-off toddler.

Why, oh why, did Miss X choose Florida?

Miss X 's realtor found her a charming mo-bile home in what he described as a "quite little neighborhood."  That's how Miss X found herself right smack dab in the middle of the Senior Citizen belt, which stretch-marked from the "Welcome to Florida" sign all the way to the Keys.

The neighborhood was, indeed, quiet...at times...not, however,  at 6 am, the time when most of her neighbors liked to mow their lawns, release their barking dogs for some exercise, or just gather together and bitch about Eisenhower. But come the wee hours of 8:30 p.m., Miss X found herself on her lanai, alone in a silent, dark community.

There were entire days when Miss X's only human contact came from the daily obscene phone calls she received. Miss X couldn't ever prove those calls came from her pervy neighbor, but Mr. Calhoun gave himself away by stopping every few words to take a puff of his inhaler. Plus, the calls stopped around 8pm, the exact time it was lights out in the Calhoun residence. Coinky-dinky? Miss X thinks not.

High unemployment being what it was, Miss X found herself waiting tables at a very famous chain restaurant. (Rhymes with Spacker Sparell). Poor Miss X soon discovered one of the sad ironies of life--a college education means shit when you are trying to balance a tray full of hot food and cold drinks. She realized that she was, really and truly, the world's worst waitress. It didn't help that most of the  patrons were also her elderly neighbors, who, very conscious of money, left pittances for tips. Miss X understood; after all, the pay from So-So Security is way low, and the cost of inhalers and local obscene phone calls is way high.

Miss X had to admit the truth to herself:: she had made a mistake. She needed to get back to where she once belonged. Just six months after saying goodbye to Baltimore forever,  Miss X was back.The city was just as noisy, dirty, smelly  and crime ridden as always, but, to Miss X, it was a slice of heaven. It was home.

So, the moral of this little tale is : The grass ain't always greener. And, most importantly, STAY THE HELL AWAY FROM FLORIDA. 

Fifty Shades of Stupid

I admit it...I got caught up in all the hype for "Fifty Shades of Grey." For those of you smart enough to save you money, please allow the Grey-Haired Goddess to review this book for you.

College senior Anastacia Steele (her middle name must be Sheila, or Susan, or Samantha....trust me on this) meets handsome, multi-zillionaire Christian Grey. For reasons that are never clear, he falls immediately into lust for Anastacia. She rejects him because she is a dumbass woman who is already in a relationship, sort of.

She graduates from college, and Christian tries to assist her by setting up interviews for dream jobs with his colleagues. Anastacia refuses this because she is a dumbass woman who wants to make it on her own. 

Christian, seeing her need, buys her a new car and computer. She insists that she will not accept these gifts, but will use them as loans, because she is a dumbass woman of independence,  if not financial security. 

Anastacia flies from Oregon to somewhere down south to visit her mother and step-father. Christian pursues her in his private jet. At this point, any normal woman would have sensed some stalking danger, but Anastacia, because she is a dumbass, trusting soul, begins to think that maybe Christian is a good catch after all. 

Still with me? 

But Grey-Haired Goddess, you might ask, what about the hot parts? Ah, the hot parts. Hmmmm...in my opinion, the supposedly hot parts were more....tepid..room temperature....but perhaps you should decide for yourself:

Anastacia decides to give herself to Christian, and discovers his "kink" about sex. The first sex scene lasts about 2 paragraphs...talk about a quickie! The second sex scene is a little longer, but still as scorching as day-old oatmeal. 

After meeting her parents and his parents and getting all into each others lives and sexual preferences, Anastacia decides to leave Christian because she is a dumbass woman who thinks perhaps she needs to investigate life on her own.

The End. 

For any multi-zillionaries out there, please be aware that the Grey-Haired Goddess will be most happy to allow you to buy her new cars, computers, beach houses...oh, really, anything that you rich little heart would like. I am  sweet that way. 

In exchange, I promise not to snicker at any of your preferences, and ensure complete confidentiality. 

After all, I am not a dumbass.

Thou Shalt Not Gossip... Part Two

"No, no, not questioning...well,  maybe just a little. I mean, that no gossiping thing, well, its really gonna lose the chick vote, you know what I mean?"

"No, I don't, " God replied.

"You married? " Moses asked.

"No."

"Engaged?"

"No."

"Ever had a long-term......"

"No."

"Ah, you're not one of the Greek gods, are you?"

"NO!" God sputtered. 

"All I'm saying is, the girls, they like the gossip. It gives them something to do, besides having babies and fending off Roman soldiers."

"Hey, which one of us here is GOD?"

"Hey, which one of us here has ever gotten laid?" 

"Oy vey," God said.

"Just a suggestion. Why don't we..."

"We?"

"...we get rid of that don't gossip thing, and replace it with something nice for the ladies. My wife is always kvetching that nobody appreciates her, so how's about something like, "I command thee to be nice to your mother."

God thought about this for a moment and replied, "You know, that's not bad, kid. How about, "Thou shalt honor thy mother."

"I like that," Moses said, "Thou shalt honor thy mother and thy father."

"D'uh! Who said anything about fathers?"

"What? All your father has done for you, and you want to break his heart?"

"Okay, fine, " God said, proving that even God isn't immune to Jewish guilt. "Look, I'm outta here. You clear about your mission? Freeing your people then delivering the commandments?"

"Got it, Chief," Moses replied.

And off Moses went, and he did free his people, and he did deliver the commandments. And, for the remainder of his life, whenever he heard anyone gossiping,  Moses would beam at them and say,

"You're welcome."

Thou Shalt Not Gossip...NOT

One day, a long time ago, a simple shepherd named Moses was tending a flock. Suddenly, he noticed a burning bush to his right...a bush that seemed to be calling his name.

"Hey, Moses....yeah, you, c'mere," the bush commanded.

"I don't think so, " Moses replied. He wasn't in the habit of answering to talking bushes which were on fire.

"C'mon, kid. It's me...God. I have chosen you for a very special mission."

Intrigued, Moses sauntered over to the bush, his shepherding rod in hand just in case this was a practical joke his brother, Aaron, was playing. If it was, that long overdue smackdown was surely in Aaron's immediate future.

"Wassup?" Moses asked, suspiciously.

"Well, its about time. I have been burning here for about 2 hours trying to get your attention," God admonished Moses.

"Yeah, well.....you know, we're in a desert. It's like, a hundred degrees out here. If you really wanted to catch my attention, why didn't you show yourself as, I don't know, a snow cone, or a piece of ice? I would have come running for that."

"Look," God answered, "Can we just get down to business?"

"Or a big pitcher of cold beer. That definitely would have..."

"Moses!" God shouted, "Concentrate, okay? Here's the scoop: you have been chosen to lead your people out of slavery, then deliver the Ten Commandments to them so they have guidelines for living good and righteous lives. Got it?

"Okay, " Moses agreed, "but not tonight. I have bowling tonight. Hey, can I see those Ten Whatamacallit's?"

"Ten Commandments, " God corrected him, "Sure, take a look-see."

Out of the sky fell two large tablets, with Five Commandments written on each.  The tablets landed at Moses feet, and he stooped to retrieve them. After a few minutes of reading, Moses spoke up.

"Hey, God, listen....these are real good and all...."

"Thank you, " said God.

"Except for this one....Thou Shalt Not Gossip. Listen, bud, I don't think that one's gonna fly, "

"Are you serious, Moses? You are questioning the Lord, your God?" God really knew a lot about voice projection, and now his voice was booming.

Notes from the Greatest Spy in the Universe

Note:

The Can Opener is in a foul mood today.  First, she stayed in my condo ALL day, kvetching that it was too hot to go outside. Then she complained that I was taking up the entire couch and she had nowhere to sit. Who said she was allowed to sit?

Commander, how much longer will I be on this assignment? I clearly remember the conversation we had about me spying on the Can Openers and reporting back to you, and I swear I thought you said you'd be back for me before the Tuna Harvest. Remember that?

Note:

The Can Opener finally went out of the condo today. I didn't think she'd ever leave. I have three days worth of toilet-paper shredding, hair shedding, and fur-ball coughing-up to catch up on .  I am exhausted just thinking about it.

Note:

I was in a deep sleep, dreaming about home, when the Can Opener woke me up by warbling my cat name over and over.  Turns out she wanted  me to go into the bathroom and kill a spider. WTF? Like I was going to get off the couch just for that.

So, Commander, what's the hot skinny (two things the Can Opener is  NOT) on my transfer? Haven't heard from you in about a long time. I am beginning to get nervous.

Note:

I got some tuna fish today for breakfast. Woo-hoo! Normally, when there is tuna fish, the Can Opener will give me some pieces each morning till its all gone. So, Commander, I  can wait here a few more days. Lets make it mid-week, what do you say?

Note:

Tuna gone. No messages from the Mother Ship. I am having a Catfka-esque experience. I pray I do not wake up tomorrow as a cockroach.  If the Can Opener sees me, she will scream then try to kill me with her shoe. 

Note:

It has been a while since I have written. This whole planet of Can Openers like to do the same things over and over, and the worst annual event is coming up soon.  The Can Opener will celebrate this poor excuse for a holiday by robbing me of my dignity.  One year, she forced a "Superman" outfit on me, and cooed while she took a zillion pictures. If you have seen these pictures, note that I am NOT smiling.  

I have already seen this years humiliation while rummaging around in her closet.  It appears she plans to dress me as an Amish cat.  Commander, I am begging for you or Death to save me from this horror.

One thing I want to make clear: if anyone on the Mother Ship has seen these pictures, I implore you to destroy them before they are seen by others.  Marvin, this means you.  I know how you are.  You may be my sister's kitty daddy, but if I find out that you have circulated this pictures to the guys, I swear I will kill you dead 9 times. That's right.....9 times.

Note: 

Had a long growl with Jingles, the new cat next door.
Turns out he is one of us.
Turns out Marvin is now the Commander.
Turns out I am probably screwed. 

Also turns out that male cats are supposed to have balls. Jingles showed me. I used to have them, until one day when the Can Opener took me for a "nice ride." Things got blurry after that. All I know is, I woke up later in the Can-Opener's bed without my balls.  If it weren't for my three meals a day, daily brushing, four hundred cat toys, and my nightly num-nums, I don't know how I would go on.

Note: 

Since it appears that the Mother Ship has decided I am expendable, I have decided to forget what the Can Opener did to me. She does serve me well, I  will give her that.  

Marvin, dude, is this anyway to treat me? You slept with my sister. Remember that time I helped you to score some primo catnip? We are nearly family, for Cat 's sake.

Whatever you decide, I do want you to know that I forgive you.....NOT!!! I swear I will hunt you down and have my revenge, or my name isn't Mr. Boo Boo Fluffy Butt!!

The Grey-Haired Goddess Sees All

There is good reason for me to believe that when I pass from this life I am heading straight to h-e-double hockey sticks. I could list all of the 876,389 reasons why I think this, but let me illustrate with a recent example.

Dr. Lifesaver was out of the office, so I decided to take the down time and concentrate on two things I have avoided my entire life--the nitty and the gritty. Yes, that's right--the day was spent on technical reports involving numbers and stuff. Arrghh. Somebody save me from the details.

A friend, who also works at the hospital, called to inform me that Stan**(not his real name) was bring the new manager, Harry**(nope, not his real  name, either) around to introduce him. I was so bored out of my mind that I drew this conversation out as much as possible.

"Tell me all about Harry, " I begged, a little too chipper for believability.

"Ah, well, um...oh, yeah, he has a son in college. Pre-med, I believe..." she trailed off.

"Fascinating! What else?"

"Um,...what else?"

Clearly her level of boredom in this conversation had surpassed my overall boredom. Difference was, she actually had some interesting things to do and quickly got off the phone, leaving me to store this tiny bit of  Harry information into the back of my brain. It's where I keep other useless trivial, such as words to '70's television theme songs, best ways to lose weight, and other stupid shit.

About an hour later, Stan and Harry appeared at my office door.

"Hey, Grey-Haired Goddess," Stan greeted me as he entered with Harry. "This is Harry, the new clinic manager."

Harry extended his hand as a greeting.  A plan emerged in my little pea brain.

I grasped the hand of Harry and said, " Good to meet you." Then I closed my eyes, as if I had fallen into a trance, and said, real spooky-like, "I can feel you have a son."

Stan's jaw dropped. 

"How...how did you do that?" he asked. "No, really...how..."

I ignored him and continued, still clutching Harry's hand. "And your son, he's in college. Ah, pre-med."

Stan, literally, jumped backwards out of my office. "Nu-uh! How'd you know? Nu-uh." he shouted from the hallway.

Meanwhile, Harry looked like he didn't know whether to say a prayer or jump out the window. 

Stan reached into my office, grabbed Harry by the elbow and yanked him out of my office. Then they amscrayed. Really fast. Seriously, there are skid marks outside my office.

So, to all my friends who are perfectly law-abiding and straight and  narrow--and I know I have some friends like that, even though your names escape me at the moment--please remember me after we depart this life. Send me some cool ice water from time to time, if you would.

The rest of y'all...the seers and sinners, poets and problem children...those nearest and dearest to my black little heart...I will meet up with you at the burning gates. 

ACHTUNG, BABY

Recently, my place of employment hosted a smart young researcher from Berlin, Germany. On her last day with us, a luncheon was given in her honor, because 1) she did an outstanding job and 2) any excuse for a gyro!

"Grey-Haired Goddess," said Berliner lamented to me at her farewell luncheon, "my school at home is a mess. So disorganized. Those administrators need someone like you to straighten them out."

"Did you hear that?" I  fairly screamed at Dr. Lifesaver, who was actually sitting right next to me. "I think you should sent me to Berlin." After all, telling others how to run their businesses, schools, and  lives is more than a hobby for me. More, even, than a vocation. It's a sacred calling.

Months have gone by, so I figured it was time to remind Dr. Lifesaver that neither I, nor Berlin, are getting any younger.  I burst into his office, where he is occupied with some X-Rays. You should see him look at those things, scrutinizing every single detail. You would think it was life or death or something.

"So, remember that researcher from Berlin?" I ask him. "Remember how I should go to Berlin and help them get organized? Yeah, let me know when I should start packing."

Dr. Lifesaver gave me that look, so I rewinded and quickly told him the story from the beginning, .

"Oh, yes, Berlin," he replied. "Hmmmm...Mrs. Dr. Lifesaver has always wanted to see Berlin."

Uh-oh. I don't like where this is going.

"So you...want me to make the reservations?" I ask. "You know, for me." I clarify.

"Ahhh....let me get back to you," he replied.

Dang. I know what that means. It means I am going to get another stupid postcard to add to my stupid postcard collection.

Last time I tell him my travel plans.

Dear Lottery

Dear Lottery,

Hi. How are  you?

I am fine, but a little unsettled. I keep buying your tickets, week after week, and it seems like...well,  it seems like you are ignoring me. None of my numbers ever come up...not one!

Hey, remember that scene in "Fatal Attraction" where the Glenn Close character warns the Michael Douglas character that, "I will not be ignored!" Then she boiled the bunny. Do any of you have pet bunnies? Hahahahah..just kidding.

My point is, I would appreciate it if you would throw a few numbers my way. I am not being selfish, seriously, I have reasons for it. Like:

1) my car. Oy, my car. To save money, I have recently been doing my own car repairs. Since I know shit about car maintenance, my repair instruments are: gum, plaster of Paris, and scotch tape. So far so good, but it doesn't appear that the gum/tape duo is holding the engine together as well as I had hoped. Plus, the plastic of Paris exhaust pipe is already exhausted. BTW...those repair instruments are the same ones I used for.....

2) physical maintenance. Which explains a lot of money going towards co-pays, etc.  That Plastic of Paris tooth that I created to replace the real tooth that fell out...believe it or not, not a great substitute. Every once in a while, the Plaster of Paris tooth falls out as well. And do you think the Tooth Fairy has reimbursed me for any of these errant teef's?  Ha! Cheap bitch.

3) cable TV. Ah, once upon a time, when a RED-Haired Goddess roamed the earth, sex, drugs, and rock and roll ruled. Now, however, the thing that gets my blood racing is....cable TV. Love me some "Mad Men." (OMG...did you see Sunday's episode? Poor Sally!) And with cable rates going up....Don't judge, Dear Lottery. Don't judge. 

So, as you can see, a few million extra dollars would certainly help me in leading a life in which I would like to become accustomed. To quote the late, great Dorothy Parker, "I've never been rich, but I just know I would be darling at it. "

In conclusion, dear Lottery, I will continue to buy your tickets in anticipation that you will smile upon me. I will smile back....just pretend you don't see those two plaster of Paris teeth right there up front. 

Sincerely,

The Grey-Haired Goddess

Dear Henry

My Darling, Dearest Henry,

I just can't believe that they have taken you away from me! For life! Without parole!  It's only been two days and already I feel like its been forever since we've touched. I swear, those sneaky  lawyers took my innocent words and twisted them all around. Like when I told the jury that I saw you the night of the murder, and you were covered in blood and holding the gun that happened to have the same bullets that killed those very same people you had sworn revenge on. And they convicted you on that flimsy evidence!

If I had known that those words were gonna convict you, I 'da taken the 8th Commandment....no, wait, I think that's the one that gives us the right to arm bears......so maybe its the 3rd Commandment..no, I think that gives women the right to gloat...whatever, I would have just taken that commandment that  gives me to right to say nothing. I  promise, my heart, that I will work with your lawyer, Mr. Ludlow, to get you out of jail.

All my love forever,

Lucille

*****

My Dearest Henry,

I have an appointment to  meet with Mr. Ludlow this morning to review your trial. I know that your mother doesn't think he is a good attorney, but for a public defender, I think he's a swell guy. Mr. Ludlow thinks that your verdict can be appealed with the right loophole.  Tell me, Henry, is there any insanity in your family? Veneral diseases? Did barking dogs ever tell you to do something illegal? Do you ever hear voices in your head?

Try to work on this with us, darling.

All my love forever,

Lucille
*******
My Dearest Henry,

That Jerry Ludlow is such a hard worker. We have been spending many evenings together working on your case. Most nights we really get into it. Your mother has been watching the kids for me so that Mr. L. and I can really concentrate on what we are doing. I don't know why your mother gives me such a hard time about watching the kids. After all, there is a good possibility that two of them may be yours.

All my love,
Lucille
 *************
Dear Henry,

Sorry its been a while since I have written. Jerry suggested that he and I do some investigating up in Atlantic City. He heard a rumor that somebody who lives up there may have some information that would prove your innocence. I cannot tell you the number of hours Jerry and I spent in the hotel room, just waiting for "Bobby" to contact us. (that was all the information we had). He never did, so not only is he covering up for a triple murderer, he is also a big, fat liar.

Henry, I thought of you the whole time. One night we had room service, and knowing how much you love seafood, I had a lobster in your honor.

Love,
Lucille
*******
Dear Henry,

Jerry has come up with an idea that he thinks will help you.  He suggested that you and I divorce. That way, it won't look like I am trying to get you off just because you are my husband and possibly the father of  Geraldo and Kourtney. It will look like I am just a concerned citizen trying to undo a terrible wrong.

I asked the kids what they thought. Bon Jovi, all full of himself now that he is 14, said it didn't matter to him. He just wants to know if you can get Richard Ramirez's autograph.

The twins, Brittni and Tiffni, said, what's another divorce? They are so practical, those girls. And lucky! Just the other day Brittni found a diamond ring, a real diamond. A bloody finger was still attached to it, but Bon Jovi sawed it off.

Geraldo is so big now, but doesn't understand what divorce  means. I told him that it meant you would no longer live with us, but he pointed out that you don't live with us now. He had me there. Kourtney just shrugged and said Jerry smells better than you. So let me know what you think.

Love and Peace,
Lucille

*****
Hi, Henry,

Well, the divorce papers are filed. Really, its the best thing for all of us. I am sorry if you felt pressured to sign them papers. Believe me, I had no idea that  Jerry knew gang members in prison. I really don't think they would have broken your legs and arms if you hadn't signed. Are you sure you heard them clearly?

Your mother is running around town, yap, yap, yapping like a little dog, telling everyone that Jerry is living with us. He's  not living with us...he is just here a lot during the nights and weekends. What is the real killer show's up? He stays in our old room with me because he feels I am in the most danger. He is so protective that he is even taking me to his nephew's Bar Mitzvah on Saturday, as he doesn't feel safe leaving me alone, except for all the kids.

Peace,
Lucille
********

Hi, Henry,

Oy, things have been so crazy here. Jerry has brought some of his tchockas over to our trailer, like his Barco-Lounger and big screen TV. He theorized that since he is here so much, he might as well be comfortable. The kids just love that big screen TV, especially since its hooked up to HBO.

I do apologize for not visiting you more often, but I have been so sick in the mornings lately, and my feet get swelled up for no reason. Plus I have gained a few  pounds. I will start coming again after I have lost this weight, say in about 6 months.

Shalom,
Lucille
*******

Henry,

I miss you so much that I had another baby just to fill the void. I named her Pamela Paris GaGa.

Jerry isn't around so much anymore. He feels that the real killer has probably lost interest in me, and he says he just can't get any work done around here, what with all the kids and all. So he comes and goes. Your mother just doesn't understand. Thank God our place and hers are on opposite sides of the trailer park.

Lucille
*********

Henry,

I think its time we start to look for another lawyer. Jerry said that he has gone as far as he can with everything. He took all of his stuff out of the trailer and never looked back. The kids are devastated. Brittni screamed, "Just when we get something good, it goes away." But I promised her that I will find a way to get the cable back. Doesn't your buddy Fender do illegal cable hookups? I think I have his phone number around here somewhere. He's still single, right?

I need to ask you a favor. Bon Jovi got caught trying to rob a bank. I swear, these kids grow up so fast. Nobody in my family ever starting robbing banks till they were in their mid-20's.

I think he will just get some time in juvey, but if he does end  up in the big house, would you kinda look out for him? His Uncle Jimbo is there, but he should be sprung soon. You are the only lifer he knows. And Bon Jovi always did like you. Of all of the kids, Bon Jovi complained the least about your foot odor.

Hang loose,
Lucille

 

Still Crazy After All These Years

On Wednesday, April 11th, Charlie Manson is going up for parole again. I think my penchant for crazy people is well-documented, but ol' Charlie is  completely off-the-charts looney.  43 years after the Tate-LaBianca murders, he remains the ultimate American boogeyman. 

The crazy people I am attracted to are like the ones I grew up with.  Some families hide their crazy relatives; not my family, we flaunted them. Made sure the craziest ones were front and center at family dinners, vacations, weddings, funerals and all other kinds of familiar get-togethers. 

My grandfather was married six, maybe seven times. Nobody really know for sure. One Easter, he had invited all of the grandchildren to his house for an Easter egg hunt.  Right before we got there, Grandpop and his then-wife, Grandma Teet, had had whopper of an argument, so Grandma Teet forcibly removed his dentures from his mouth and hid them. 

Grandpop didn't miss a beat. He offered us kids a quarter for each Easter Egg we found, and a whole dollar if we found his dentures.  As I drove home that night in the family Buick, with an entire $2.25 to my name, I remember thinking that when I grew up, I wanted to be an Easter egg/Denture finder.  I should have stuck to that plan. I'd probably be making more money. 

Crazy people also married into the family, like the guy who married my cousin Betty Jane. Guy was a skinny little white kid from Dundalk who got "politicalized" at Dundalk Community College. In 1970, he hijacked a plan to Cuba.  Guy sent a list of demands that had to be met before he would release the plane's passengers from the Cuban runway. 

1) American capitalism is over. Americans must change to tried and true Socialism. 

2) All American Banks will open their vaults and distribute money to the poor and downtrodden. 

3) Cousin Betty Jane will STOP harping on him to appear on "The Newlywed Game." He will not sell his soul for a refrigerator. 

Cousin Betty Jane responded that it wasn't just a refrigerator, numb nuts. It was a FRIGIDAIRE! Then she promptly filed for an annullment. Guy stayed in Cuba, taught Socialist History at a Cuban University, and now is laid to rest in a very nice plot overlooking Havana. 

Anyway, lots of luck on Wednesday, Charlie. You are too nutzoid for even my family, and that's saying something. I don't anticipate seeing you on the streets anytime soon, but, should that happen, let's just keep walking past each other.  And one more thing....don't go callling on cousin Betty Jane, either.  You just might find yourself in a fresh, new hell called, "The Newlywed Game. "

Forgive Me, PETA, for I have sinned

I have a life-long agreement with Mother Nature. I don't invade her house; she doesn't invade mine. This is why I don't go camping or fishing, or any other activity that involves the outdoors and/or bugs.

Apparently, the huge spider in my shower didn't get the memo.

When I drew back the shower curtain last night, this...this..hairy creature, with big, black, bloodshot eyes, looked up from his cozy porcelin perch, as if saying, "Hello, Grey-Haired Goddess. Why don't you come in and take a shower with me?"

Well, I have heard that line before, but never from a spider. 

I ran into the living room and grabbed Clementine, the cat, awaking her from a pre-bedtime nap.

"Clemmie, come get this icky spider in Mommy's shower, " I begged her. "You get a chance to be a hero, instead of just plain old ornamental!"

Clementine was not happy to be flung into this drama.  She toggled on the edge of the tub, took one look at the spider, jumped and fled into the bedroom.

"Good idea, " I called after her. "Take a power nap to devise your strategy."

Having the funny feeling that kitty wasn't coming back anytime soon, I had to devise Plan B. None of the friends I phoned were available that very minute to come to my place to kill the beast. Okay, on to Plan C. Take on the spider, one-on-one. God, why must I do everything myself?

I devised an ingenious plan....corner the spider onto a piece of paper, then release it outside, in the wild freedom of the patio.

The spider, I must say, was not game for this. I must have poked his legs with paper about one hundred times.  I don't  know whether it was exhaustion, or paper cuts, that finally got him on board. I scurried into the living room, holding the spider/paper as far away from myself as possible.  The master plan was working. I was a genius.

Let me rephrase that....I would have been considered a genius had I remembered to UNLOCK THE PATIO DOOR FIRST. 

My patio door doesnt' have just a plain, old lock to it...it must be unlocked with a key. A key that was on my keychain. A keychain that was somewhere on this earth but not, apparently, within eyesight.  Shit!

So now I am hopping up and down in the living room like a participant in some deranged Mexican hat dance, just knowing in my heart that this spider was probably getting nauseous on  this wild ride and would, no doubt, be vomiting all over the paper any second now. 

I run back into the bath, with just a split-second glance into the bedroom. Clementine is sleeping soundly on my bed. Traitor. 

Now my mind is just about to explode from fear of spiders, spider bites, spider vomit, and all things icky. In a panic, I throw the paper into the sink, turn on the tap, and watch as the biggest, ugliest, nastiest spider gets sucked down the drain. I think I may have heard a tiny cry at the end. 

Please forgive me, little spider. I am sure, in a future lifetime, you will be my miserable boss, creepy neighbor, or slimy future ex-husband. I will do everything I can to make this up to you. 

So long as you don't get in my shower, okay?

 

 

RUNNING FROM THE FUZZ

Today I am a wanted criminal.

It all started innocently enough. I was the middle child in a lovely family....screw all that, let's just get to the crime that has turned me into a fugitive.

Yesterday, I pulled into the Hopkins garage as I do everyday. I immediately saw it...a primo parking space on Level 1.  Level 1!! Not Level 2, 238 where I usually park. A space right there by the ramp into the hospital. OMG!!!

I, of course, immediately fly to the coveted space, just to discover IT WAS ALREADY OCCUPIED. By one of those sneaky little Cooper cars that are so damn small you can't see them till you are inches away. Making me think there was an open space.....I hate those lying-ass cars. 

The unfortunate part of this, aside from the steam of profanities that assured my parking space in Hell, was that I had  no choice but to continue with the one-way traffic flow that lead out of the garage, back to Madison Street. Which is a one-way street, going away from the hospital. 

So, as many criminals before me, I made an impulsive decision which changed my life forever. I made an illegal u-turn in the garage to go back UP the parking levels.

All of a sudden, there were HopCops (Hopkins police) all OVER the garage, running towards me, screaming, waving arms. I think one of them even dropped his donut. 

I've never had that many Coppers tail me before. I didn't know what to do. In my  confusion, I just did the only thing that I could think of...

I waved to them. 

Then I floored it all the up to level 4,891, where I hoped they would never find me.

By now, I was thinking like a master criminal.  After parking my car in the pigeon target practice area, I pulled the coat hood over my head and slinked (slunked?) towards the furthest elevator. Ten minutes later, I was crossing the overpath into the hospital, into safety. I had just pulled off the perfect crime, a hardened criminal walking among the innocents. 

No doubt my mug shot, taken my one of the garage surveillance cameras, will be all OVER the internet shortly. So if you see a wanted poster of a fat-faced white chick waving from a beat-up old Hyundai, with the caption, "WANTED--THE PARKING GOOFBALL"--please, I beg you, don't turn me in. I am just too set in my ways to do time in The Joint. 

Besides, you don't want to mess with a hood like me. I am, after all, THE PARKING GOOFBALL. 

Driving Miss Crazy

I drive a lot, which means I spend many hours listening to the car radio. When I turn the radio on, I usually  hear something like, " ....and that concludes our 10 hours of straight music. Now some messages from our sponsors."  D'oh!

I am a child of television, which I guess makes me a visual kinda girl. I have the darnest time understand product pitches without pictures.  All last week, I kept hearing a commercial informing me about the pleasures of Popery. ("Ah, the soothing essence of Popery will relax your mind. Let your spirit soar!")

Really? The Pope can do all that?

Well, no, he can't. But maybe potpourri can. I finally figured out that the Pope does not come in aromatic choices of sandlewood, lavender, beach breezes, or sugar cane.

It's worth sitting through those commercials, though, when a really great song comes on. Last weekend, the  window was down, the radio volume was up, and I  just grooving to The Stones, "Paint it Black." I  felt young and hot.

Then I sneezed, which yanked my head forward, causing my sunglasses to fly off my face and onto the car panel, which rendered me hysterical as they are prescription sunglasses and I am no-kidding blind without them. For a second there, my whole world was black indeed.

Luckily, I found the glasses pretty quickly, so no harm was done, except to my ego.  I remember when I didn't need glasses to see, didn't pee a little bit when I got excited, and being hot had nothing to do with flashes.

But there is no need to get upset over the natural aging process. As a  matter of fact, I think what I am going to do right now is go to the store and get something soothing that will ease me into a relaxed frame of mind.  I sure hope there will be a variety of scented Pope's to choose from. 

USA TODAY

Hi, all,

Please check out my article in USA TODAY:

http://content.usatoday.com/communities/popcandy/index

Meanwhile, my blog will have a new entry very shortly......