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Monday, February 28, 2011

I am speechless

I thought it would never happen--me being speechless-- but it did, and I am.  Whatever you do, do not listen to Charlie Sheen's latest interview excerpts from the Today Show.  If you do, prepare to seek help afterwards, as a black depression is going to descend upon you the likes of which is incalculable.  The man is so ill and so out of touch, it will make you sad--and then you will just want to shake him, forgetting that he is truly SICK.  All of us have known an alcoholic and lots of us have had them as close family members.  To see the illness full blown in someone who "thinks they can control it with their mind", in their grandiosity and arrogance, is a pain I don't need, thank you very much, Charlie.  So, that said, this will now be a Charlie free zone.  Not gonna read about him, don't want to hear his paranoid ramblings, best of luck to you, Charlie.  Done. Finito.

I received this over the weekend and it just made me laugh, and want to drive over for kisses, hugs, and to play.  Go ahead...just tell me this didn't make your Monday better.  You know it did.

Sunday, February 27, 2011

Updated Mouse report

We made a quick run after lunch yesterday up to the Farm to see for ourselves how everything looked.  Maxine, our house cleaner, had done an excellent job of cleaning, so unless those little rodents came running out last night, the big house looked good.  According to Rodney (caretaker), Maxine doesn't do mice either and he should know--Maxine is his "Auntie".

The little house was a different story, since Maxine just goes down there occasionally.  To put it in PC terms, there was still evidence of our little rodent friends, even on some of the beds, and in the bathrooms.  Luckily, there were no dead mouse "floaters" in either toilet, as there have been in the past, or I'd have been out the door.  Wanna see a fat gal run, that'd do it.  As much as I hate to do it to her, Maxine may be in for a visit to the little house sooner, rather than later.  I did scream once, just for fun, while Fred was in the back bedroom at the little house.  When he came flying, I was standing there laughing.  I just had to do it. It was just too fun not to.

Sis went with us and scoped every square inch of both houses, for a critter to chase, with no luck, thank goodness.  She ran all over the front and back pastures, sniffing, and while Fred pulled gross weeds out of the tank, she found a shallow spot for a drink.  The front tank is about two feet low and we could sure use some rain, as everything is really dry.  The rehabbed dock is still good but the paint is already coming off, due to the recent harsh weather.  Welcome to outdoor upkeep.  It's just constant.  Rodney is supposed to be fixing the screens on the doors of the big house and little house--they get punched out by balls on the porch or kids, on a regular basis.  And by kids, I am referring to the adult kind and the small kind. 

On my walk down to the little house, I stopped by the water trough to check it out and except for a few leaves and a little wad of horse spit, it was clean as a whistle.  I flicked out the gross stuff and left it nice for John's horses.  I love to watch horses drink from a trough or even the creek.  They put their muzzle in and then swish it around, to get some clean water.  And then they slurp.  And stir some more.  I just love that sound.  The horses did ask me to tell John they'd really like some oats and a flake each, of some fresh alfalfa, daily.  It's been cold and they need some pampering.  I gave them John's cell number.  Good luck on that one, guys.

Oscar buzz

I'm on it simply because it's so bizarre.  Can you imagine the amount of Botox that's been injected over the last two weeks?  And not just in faces either.  Because those dresses are so expensive, and usually borrowed, almost all of the stars get Botox injected into their underarms, to prevent perspiration.  I am serious.  You think those gals aren't bet they are, and nothing would be worse than stepping out of your limo, coiffed within an inch of your life, with big sweat rings on your dress.  And if they inject their armpits, let's just say they shoot everywhere they could possibly perspire, prior to hitting an overdose.  I am not joking.  And then there is the exercising, waxing, plucking, spray tanning, the buffing, the fluffing, the moisturizing, the nails, the hair coloring, and the hair snipping timed perfectly so as not to have that just snipped look.  

And then the big day arrives, and though you haven't eaten in weeks, you still can't, because you have to squeeze into all those Spanx, to hold in whatever meat you still have left on your bones.  Then your stylist tapes your boobs to hold everything just so.  Next, it takes three people to pour you into your dress and it's so tight, the thought of sitting down for three hours in it makes you want to faint.  And did I mention you're still hungry??  Yeah, that too.  Once you're finally dressed and ready, you climb into your limo, with a bar inside, knowing if you drink anything, well, you're gonna have to tinkle.  And you already know you are going to be snaking along, in that l-o-n-g line of limo's, eating all that car exhaust for hours, needing to tinkle.  Bad.  Real bad.....'cause you're really nervous.

  And once you finally arrive, the bathrooms are inside the Kodak Theater, so you have to do that long walk of shame, being interviewed and asked "who you are wearing", before you can hit the litter box.  All of this must be done with that sultry look on your face, when all you really care about is.... well, you know.  And then you have to wait in line with all the other gals, and when you finally think you've made it, you have to peel off  those Spanx, assuming you wore any underwear at all or wedge up your dress.  Then there's the check to be sure you didn't catch your dress in your Spanx, leaving your business hanging out or dipped your dress in the toilet.....and you still haven't eaten.  Check the spackling job on your makeup, review your acceptance speech, check your teeth, before leaving.  Check, check, check.  Now, you sit for three hours.

I don't know about you but by now, I'm exhausted.  What if, God forbid, the powers that be don't even like your dress and you get slammed as Worst Dressed, only to be shown over and over again on ET.  And then you don't win....and your Jimmy Choo's are killing you.  Then it's time to turn in those borrowed jewels and hey, I don't want to.  I wanna keeeeep mine.  But at least you finally get to eat.  That food better be damn good after all that. 

Saturday, February 26, 2011

The Mouse Report

It's soooo not good.  It's not good at all.  According to the exterminator, there are "mice all over everywhere" at the big house at the Farm.  He's coming back out again the first of next week to put out more traps, and traps around the exterior of the house (the poison kind that makes them die, die, die), since we need to reverse the flow from inside the house, to outside.  Oh, this does my little mouse hatin' heart such good to know it wasn't just bad--it was w-a-y bad---especially when Fred was poo-pooing me last week. The bad news is, one of this blogs very own followers is reportedly headed up there this weekend, so Hallie, beware.  I left you a cell message in case you wanted to abort the mission and stay home.  The little house is just as bad, too, so caveat emptor.  Eeeewwwww. Groady.

Now, I realize this would be a prime hunting opportunity for Sis and would most likely kill her.  All those running, squeaky little mice would frustrate the ever loving hell out of her, and if she caught and ate them, then I would have to kill her, because that alone would be grosser, than just having mice.  I'm not havin' a mouse chasin', mouse eatin', dog. Plus, if they'd already eaten any of the poison, and she ate them, well, there goes Sis.  No thanks.  She can just hunt here at home.

I do need to tell you about the most fabulous souffle' (pronounced doo-flay around our house from when the boys were little.)  I had the mushroom with truffle oil souffle' at Rise Thursday nite, on the recommendation of our waitress, and it was outrageously wonderful.  I'm a huge truffle fan--even if it's just truffle oil--and this did not disappoint.  The artichoke appetizer was also deeeelish and because I'd already had the flourless chocolate cake before, I had to have it again.  It's the richest, deepest, darkest chocolate that oozes out more warm chocolate, when you cut into it, and is served with ice cream.  Bruce had the lightest, fluffiest, strawberry souffle', with a strawberry sauce that nearly put him into a coma.  It literally melted in your mouth and at one point when I looked up, he'd already polished off the whole thing.  If you haven't been to Rise, go.
It's nothing super fancy--just food that is sublime.  And be sure and check out the bathrooms.  The trough like sinks are my most favorite thing.  Very country french and so fun.  I want one!!

Friday, February 25, 2011

Goodbye, Charlie

Charlie Sheen has done a number on himself, yet again, but this time it may have really far reaching effects--sort of like Mel Gibson.  In his latest rant, he made some out of control comments that caused the network to cancel his show, at least for the remainder of the season but given what was said, that show is gone, IMO.  Permanently.  One more alcoholic/addict implodes on himself.  So sad.  I'm sure his family is just waiting to attend his funeral and sadly, it may not be long.  According to the experts, if he doesn't get serious about getting into recovery and staying there, it's going to be game over for him.  Merely a question of time until he dies. WOW.

 Sounds like we'll be seeing lots more photos like this one, huh? 

Thursday, February 24, 2011

Somebody's turning 5

Today's note worthy event (at least for Benji) will occur this afternoon at 4pm in Nashville.  According to Benji, Columbia Records and some other Big Woo Woo's will be attending Scarletta's showcase, this afternoon.  For those not in the music lingo loop, a showcase is hosted by a Recording company like MTM, for potential Record Companies to come shop, and hopefully, sign the group being promoted, to a record deal.  Scarletta has been waiting for a year to start doing these because you only get one shot to make a really polished first impression, and if you are not quite there, wherever there is, you're likely to be remembered for "oh, that band"--and not in a good sense either.  Everyone can always improve but if you are really dismal in the beginning, well...see ya.  There's just too much competition in Nashville to waste your shot.

  They've been playing these every Tuesday and Thursday for a couple of weeks, with different labels and industry big wigs attending every time.  The Record labels send out their scouts and if the scouts are impressed, next time the big guns come to listen, so we'll see what, if anything shakes out today.  Scarletta seems to love doing this because they all love to perform.  I'm not going to tell you they don't get nervous--they do--but Benji said now it's just fun and since the band is really like a family, all three of them together just feels really comfortable.  They are each confident of the other two and with Nathan, their killer fiddle player back on board, everything is all normal again.  So, at 4pm, send good thoughts their way.  The whole thing just makes me nervous and jumpy as an old cat.

Tomorrow, one of my other favorite men in the world, turns 5.  Yep, my main man, Hudson, is having his partay at 3pm tomorrow, with all his buds, so that will be fun.  Sister Hadley has already asked if she can blow out the candles on his cake and got a big, fat, NO.  When I dropped his gift by yesterday, she wanted to open it, too.  Something tells me tomorrow may be a little tough on Had. Birthdays just suck when they aren't yours.
See...I told you he was adorable....

Wednesday, February 23, 2011

Field Mice? Noooooooo!

Over the weekend, I learned we have field mice in the big house at the Farm.  Translation: we have them at the little house, too, and I just cannot handle mice.  Yeah...they're cute in a cage...but not running all over the house where I can see them, thank you very much. And rat poop everywhere is just not consistent with the big clean up we just had.  I'm sure that last really cold snap is what sent them chewing their way back in and I can't say as I blame them--I just want them GONE.

I've been lobbying Fred to get an Exterminator up their for the Big Kill and to plug any newly chewed entrances but he seems all so what about it....his solution is (wait for it...) mouse traps.  Dude...this is not 1950!!  OMG....and when do you suppose he's going to get those put out, and then who gets to dispose of them??  And the smell??  Are you kidding me??  We need to do both houses and that's that.  If he doesn't call the Mouse Killers today, I'm gonna, and he knows that's no idle threat.  He has until today at noon to get it set up, so Fred if you are reading this, tick, tick, tick, time's a' wastin'.  I've got nothing planned today and will meet them up there if necessary.  Let's just getter dun'.
And he knows I have extra leverage here:  tomorrow's our 32 anniversary.  :)
Kisses, Fred!!

Tuesday, February 22, 2011

My Hero

Today I almost had to do something I've never done before because someone else has no boundaries.  Here's the long and short of it:  Creepy Guy, mom's old BF, has been calling me and my sister, though mostly me, for the last three weeks almost daily.  He'd left an initial message, which we'd both decided is none of his business, and refused to answer his calls or return them.  Now, you'd think after three weeks, he'd get the message but, nope, not the case at all.  That's how creepy he really is.  I kept thinking he'd be....well...less creepy, but no--not a chance.  Leopards do not change their spots.  My mistake.  Plus, we know he has an agenda--he wants something-- and we already know what it is.  Fagedaboudit, Creepy.  Ain't gonna happen.

  To give you a little background, Creepy Guy is the verbally, physically, and emotionally abusive creep who has been married three times, and beaten up at least two of his ex-wives, though he claims that's not true, though we had hospital records to prove it.  He's never laid a hand on mom (that we know of) and we stepped in to keep her from being wife #4, way back years ago. Swell guy.

OK, back to present.  This morning he called at 8:30AM.  Talk about ruining your first cup of coffee....that did it.  Fred and I had already discussed call blocking him but had decided just to wait him out a little longer, forgetting that at 84, with Macular Degeneration and half blind, and a mean streak the size of the Sahara, he had nothing better to do than robo-call me every day.  I don't think Fred really knew how bad this was bugging me, either, until this morning, when my hair practically burst into flames after Creepy's call.

 Mid-morning, I called Fred and told him that was IT--- I was d-o-n-e-, done.  My plan was to call block Creepy as fast as my fat little fingers could punch numbers, when suddenly, Superman, My Hero says " I'll call him myself and tell him never to call our house again, ever.  Are you OK with that?"  Was I OK with that??  Oh, Lordy, you better believe I was.  I had wanted to do that myself, but knew from past experience NEVER to get on the phone with Creepy--especially if you didn't want to feel slimed afterwards.  So suffice it to say, Fred, is now a.k.a. Super Fred.  Ahhhh, now my world is safe again.  No more calls from Creepy.  Thank you, Super Fred!!

Monday, February 21, 2011

She's the bestest

There's someone I have never blogged about but I want you to know her the way I do.  This person is like a daughter-in-law to me only she's not married to one of my boys--she's married to one of my sister's.  Technically I guess that makes her my niece but she's lots more than that.  She's my friend, my confidant, and the warmest, funniest, best mother on the planet Earth.  She thinks her kids are every bit as funny as I do and knows I love nothing more than hearing about the latest things they've done--good or bad--especially the bad ones, though.  Those make me howl and remember stuff my kids did (and thank God every day that they are now grown ups, living on their own). 

We also share a lot of the same taste in design.  If she likes it, put money on the fact that I most likely will, too.  And, we like to cook.  And trade recipes....or sometimes just talk about them, if we're too tired to actually cook them.   She's very artistic, unlike me, and paints.  Yep, she does, and you should see her work.  Veddy, veddy nice.  She's super organized and writes thank you notes for everything, even when I tell her not to.  And her stationary is to die for...beautiful colors and fabulous engraving.....and sometimes, just kicky and fun.  Even her kids have their own stationary, with their names on it, and she writes their thank you's for them, since they are still little peanuts. And did I mention kind?  Yep, she's that, too.

She loves clothes and jewelry and has great taste in both, and never cares that I look like something that crawled out from under a bridge in South Dallas, 'cause that's how I usually look when I stop by to play with her monkeys.  She's delightful, and fun, and smart.  And I'm crazy about her.  I love you, Nic.

Sunday, February 20, 2011


Late yesterday afternoon, I got a hilarious call from mom saying she needed me to do some shopping for her.  She told me what she needed--more underwear--and despite the fact she'd just gotten more a few months back, she needed more.  I guess some get lost in the Laundry or whatever, I don't know.  Luckily, I had just finished putting a pot roast into the oven, so I was free to run over to her place and do a little further investigation.

BTW, the pot roast recipe is in the Pioneer Woman's Cookbook Benji gave me for Christmas and it rocks.  Carrots, onions, I threw in potatoes, and a chuck roast all seasoned and seared before going into the oven.  Add fresh rosemary and thyme, and beef broth and Ooo, la la.  I added a little red wine when I deglazed the pan just because.  It was the right thing to do.  It really was.

So, smelling like pot roast, off I went the 4-5 blocks to mom's.  Sure enough, it was a bona fide Laundry Emergency-- she was out of clean ones-- but it was the conversation that we had that was hilarious.  She was adamant that she needed a certain brand of old lady big white waistys--Lollipops-- and she must have told me 5 times.  Just when I think my mom has totally lost all of her marbles, she can remember she's out of underwear.  And the brand she wants.  Lollipops.  And while we were talking, she had her TV on so loud, watching Wheel of Fortune, that she put her hands up to shout, Lollipops, one... more... time.

The funny part is, the last time we ordered underwear for her, she left them sitting in the box, unopened for several weeks, until I asked her what was in the box.  She said she didn't know and didn't really care, (omg) so I opened it.  You would have thought it was Christmas morning when I handed her those Lollipops.  This time I'll know better.

So, yesterday I grabbed several pairs, ran home and threw them in the washer, jumped on my computer and ordered her six more pair, and ran the clean, dry, folded ones back to her, for today.  Sunday is her Laundry day but this wasn't going to wait.  Today is her church and go to the Country Club for lunch day, with her friend, and I'm just glad she called me yesterday, and not this morning.  When I told Fred about it yesterday, he just rolled his eyes.  Now, every time I look at him, he starts laughing and singing that old song "Lollipop"....

Saturday, February 19, 2011

Maple Walnut Heaven

I might as well face it.  Sis lives for the weekends and Fred.  I'm OK but he's just flat dog heaven.  They already have shot and breasted one dove so far this morning, before 10AM, and she's running all over the front yard like the true hound she really is.  I must have been insane to think I could compete with that.  So much for me and my car rides and trips to the Bank and PetsMart.  She wants HIM.  Period.  OK, fine.  I get it.  Soooo much for turning her to the dark side.  She already has been and it's just not my dark side.  It's Fred's.  They are in the kitchen now, talking, as he bags up the dove for the freezer. 

My sis and I had lunch with mom yesterday, and except for being re-introduced to the same people over and over, it was nice.  You know, with Alzheimer's, you don't remember that you've already introduced your two daughters to your friends, and I guess the good news is, your friends probably don't remember either.  Such was lunch, and by the time it was over, my sister and I were both exhausted.  Mom kept holding up her hand to block the glare in her eyes, but wouldn't change places at the table.  I offered to help her switch places but no sale there.  Instead, she wanted me to hold my head in one position and not move, to block the light in her eyes.  Thank God my sister was there so I could just glance at her, for relief and an oh, shit look.  We breezed right on and while they indulged in the Maple Walnut ice cream, I had coffee.  The M-W ice cream is like Meth, so it's better for me just not to go there.  I think it may be BlueBell and it's definitely freak out worthy.  I don't know if it's sold in grocery stores and frankly, I don't wanna know.  Tooooo dangerous. 


 This was yesterday's post I forgot to post.

Today I am in a total quandary as to what to do with Sister.  She is still hang dogging (pardon the pun) around here and still super needsie.  This may be totally normal in the dog grieving process as theirs is similar to humans, but man, oh, man this it getting o-l-d.  She's whiny and sad and whatever I do, other than let her run all over the front yard, is just wrong.  She perked up a little this weekend when Mr. Mertz let her retrieve 2 doves he'd shot.  They had a brief tussle when she refused to drop the second bird and ended up with a mouth full of feathers.  She still thought that was simply mahvelous and stayed out there with him, spitting feathers, until he came in to wash off the breasted doves.  He's Daddy Disneyland in her eyes.

In order to try to get her out of her grief/ depression, I decided a little outing might help, so I let her ride to the Bank this morning, and go through the drive through.   She was elated--she pre-jumped into my arms before I was quite ready to put her in the car, stood on my thighs nearly paralyzing me, and put all of her weight on my left arm, instead of the arm rest.   We took off, window down, ears flying, her sniffer working over time.  As we pulled up to the money machine, she decided she didn't really like it much-- all flashing lights and noises-- and started bucking to get away, and I'm seat-belted in, arm out the window.  And then my phone rings. It was an in car nightmare.

After lunch, I decided to let her try again, so we headed to PetsMart for a new squirrel, Bobo, or other toy.  She did fine on the drive over but the smells in the store put her into nasal overdrive.   Then a toddler saw her and screamed, running towards her, and that did it.  She is terrified of children and went into full blown freak out mode, hauling towards the front door.  Now she's not so much grieving, as traumatized.

Thursday, February 17, 2011


I just returned from the scariest event I do yearly.  Yep, a mammogram.  And while today's wasn't as painful as the ones in the past, it was no less frightening when an extra view was needed.  I always try to tell myself not to freak out, and always say my prayers before and after I'm done.  Hey...I'm no dummy.

  Luckily, the extra view matched up perfectly with the MRI my doctor had requested last year, for just this very reason--to have a baseline for comparison.  While expensive, it just paid off brilliantly so I am one grateful gal.  Yahoo and now I'm going to go take a walk with Sis, and thank God every step of the way.

And even luckier, this was not my mammo machine or tech.

And while we are on the subject of boobs, I just don't get John Wiley Price.  It's not that I think he's such a bad guy, it's just his anger issues and outbursts that concern me.  He seems to care deeply about Dallas, or at least that's his shtick, but the man really needs to get a grip on himself.  Especially as a public figure.  He is way over the top and out of control and that's not what we need.  We need a cooler head for all of Commissioners.  If you need counseling, and he clearly does, get it.  There's no shame in needing help.

Wednesday, February 16, 2011

I should have been a Bear

This is undoubtedly the most boring time of the year--especially when it's overcast outside.  I'm one of those people who reacts big time to the amount of sunlight.  I start dragging my tail feathers when it's like it is today.  And since I was awake on and off all night, that could be part of the dragginess.  I still think people should hibernate like bears--it would just solve all my problems.  Go to sleep fat, wake up skinny, and start eating until the next enforced snooze.  Sounds like a hell of a deal to me.  Plus, in your reproductive years, you are only partially conscious when you give birth and then go back to sleep.  You don't even have to get up to breastfeed--your cub(s) is right there with you and dines whenever.  No diapers to change, no bottles to fix, or even any even colic to mess with.  They cry, you roll over on them.  Case closed.  Man, I would have made a really great bear.  I even like to fish. 

Tuesday, February 15, 2011

Being Right

There is just no more dangerous situation in the world than me being right.  I was talking with friends yesterday and we all concurred that when firmly ensconced in our positions of "Queens of Everything", and "Keepers of Truth and Justice", we can be the biggest asses in the world.  When I get that overwhelming desire to win or to have the last word, I'm going to act like and be someone I would never want to be around.  And it's always because I think my opinion or judgement really matters, and it doesn't.   Sometimes it's just difficult to see the bait in the water, as it's trolled past you, and NOT bite it. (Cue the Jaws music.)

Today I know if I don't like something or agree with it, I don't have to comment (even though I am dying to). I realize that's a no brainer, but putting it into action is a whole different story when someone is really rattling your cage.  I've learned to walk away........with my keys in hand, if necessary.  Or nicely say, "I'm hanging up now".  That momentary rush of adrenaline and feeling of superiority after a verbal smack down just isn't worth it anymore.  I'm not playing.  It's no longer necessary for me to ride the dump truck all the way to the dump, before realizing I'm at the dump.  Again.

Now, that said, I'm no doormat either.  I belong to the "Say what you mean, mean what you say, just don't be mean when you say it" Club.  As one of my favorite people always says, "When you're tired of catching sh**, put down your mitt".

Monday, February 14, 2011

A Grandaddy of a gesture

The other day, I stopped by Matthew Trent's shop in Preston Center to pick up a necklace I'd taken to him to re-configure for me.  When I went in to get it, a lovely gal and her husband were visiting with Matthew over a ring they were in the process of having made.  While I looked around, I couldn't help but hear some of the conversation, which was a cool story I'll pass on here.  While she tried on the green wax mold of the ring, with the some of the stones in place --a work in progress-- I happened to look over.  Holy, moly....I almost went blind on the spot.  Matthew asked me what I thought of the ring and while the style wasn't exactly me, it was a stunner--so that's all I said" Stunning!".  And that's when the party started with all of us. 

While Matthew went to go get my lowly little necklace, the gal and her husband asked me what I really thought, if I'd ever had Mathew make me anything, etc.  I told them I had, that he was the best, in my opinion, and that's when the gal told me the story about her diamond.  It looked to be 2.5-3 carat solitaire, was honkin' big and sparklingly beautiful--so white it was almost blinding.  I'm a jewelry gal, too, so just know I was salivating.  It seems, when she was born, her grandfather bought this stone for her, tagged it, and put it in his safety deposit box, to be given to her at his death.  He never mentioned it to her and she knew nothing about it.  I'm not sure her parents even knew because she said they had never mentioned it. 

Her grandfather died fairly recently, the stone had been given to her, and she and her husband "were creating something really special to remember her grandfather by".  You could tell by the looks on both of their faces that they were still really emotional around the significance of this last gesture from her grandfather.  She was downright teary.  And slightly overwhelmed.  Wow....great story...  and a grandaddy of a gesture.

Sunday, February 13, 2011

Martha's Month

I am in deep do-do.  I just opened my March Martha Stewart Living magazine to find that the page I made fun of, a ways back, is now all changed, and I am crushed.  Even though I made fun of the stuff Martha supposedly does on any given day, like clean and repair the window screens, empty the compost bins, or air out the linen cupboard replacing worn sheets and blankets, I still secretly loved thinking Martha, or anybody, really does all that stuff.  I know she doesn't, but thought it was a hoot that she thought we'd buy that.  I didn't care about the meetings or TV appearances she always had listed (yawn), but I loved seeing how she only exercised a few times a week--  I was totally on board with that.
  What about when she determined it was time to clean your ceiling fan or air out your rugs?  What is this...Little House on the Prairie?  My rugs have been outside exactly once--on their way inside this house.  They do not vacation or air out.  But I love thinking Martha's all sounds so clean and fresh and orderly.  And probably is--with a entire fleet of staff doing it for her.
This new page(s) is just not working for me.  It's actually now spread over two pages and includes plugs for all of Martha's shows.  There's just not enough of all that homey and organizational stuff I complained about, but secretly loved. 
Well, damn.  Be careful what you gripe about--it just might change.

Saturday, February 12, 2011


Sneaky people.  Don't they just make your skin crawl and want to run away as fast as possible?  When I was younger, they just made me mad.  Now they don't make me mad as much as just totally creeped out.  And if my sister is reading this, she's screaming out laughing because she knows exactly who I am talking about since we talked about this yesterday.  She said she already knew what my blog topic would be today.  And, she's right.

Yesterday, this certain someone got pantsed for the cheapo, creepo he truly is.  And throw in dishonest, too.  This is someone who tried to pull a fast one, and got caught--though he doesn't know he's been outed.  But, my sister and I do and it's more fun than I know what to do with.  I told Fred what happened on the way to dinner last night and he just howled and got a smirk on his face.  It seems like the older I get, if I sit back and watch, whatever I really need to know either gets revealed to me, or confirmed for me.  If I just listen to my intuition or inner voice, and follow it, it's interesting to see how often it's 100% on the money.  I've gotten to where it's down right uncomfortable not to, so I just don't or really try not to.

Since I don't think it's fair to kiss and tell, I'll just say this.  The person I am referring to did something along the lines of this but no animals were involved:  he tried to take an old horse, paint it's fur, give it dentures, and pass it off for a younger "horse".  Did it kill anybody?  Heck, no.  Was it unnecessary?  Totally.  It just confirmed what we already knew anyway.  The good news?  We laughed our heads off and went right on.
If nothing else, I guess I can be grateful for the laughs it provided.

Friday, February 11, 2011

Mexican Hot Chocolate Que bueno!

For the last several days, I've had a hankering for Hot Chocolate and while I knew I could slide, literally, up to Starbucks for theirs, I wasn't really up for that.  Then last night, a foodie post I subscribe to had a recipe for Mexican Hot Chocolate, and that just did it for me.  No, I didn't have the yummy chocolate bar of special Mexican chocolate, all crunchy with sugar, ground almonds, and other naughty things, but I did have cinnamon sticks, milk, Godiva ground chocolate and cocoa, so I just whipped up my own.  Ohhhhh, say it hit the spot would be a drastic understatement.  It was so good that a certain someone around here kept begging me to "taste it".  Really.  You think I'm dumb enough to fall for that after almost 32 years of marriage?  I know he's not capable of a sip of anything.  Especially if it's mine...he thinks mine always tastes better...'cause it does, but that's another story.  I laughed my head off watching him try to get me to share.  The stuff was all out, right there, and he could have made his own, but noooo...he wanted mine. (I would have made him one when I made mine but he wasn't available to ask, so snooze, ya loose, buddy.  And, yes, knowing him, I could have just made him one anyway, but torturing is waaaaay more fun.  Sometimes, it's what keeps you together for 32 years.  Watching the other person wheedle is just soooo entertaining.)

I went by to see mom yesterday and drop off some bottled waters--she only wants the little 8 oz. ones-- and some other girly supplies.  Every time I show up unannounced, with a load of stuff, she looks a little startled.  After thinking about it, I understood how she might feel.  But if I call first, she doesn't always answer.  I'm trying to be respectful of not overloading her, but also trying to keep her from running out of things.  Then there is my time, as well.  Making several runs a week is just not on my agenda so thus becomes the battle for balance.  Not too much--not too little--just right.  Damn....I feel like Goldilocks and the 3 bears.  She keeps wanting me to buy her orchid plants, but she keeps killing them with the heat set at 80 degrees and then not watering them.  (It's so hot in there I practically have to strip to spend anytime in her room with her, and I usually cut the heat down a little, for self preservation.  Plus, I think it may keep her warm but dehydrates the heck out of her.)  She told me yesterday "But you and Gretty can water them".  Oh, gad.  She's sitting right there.  If she couldn't walk, maybe.  But she can, and she needs to, so fagedaboudit.  We're going to buy her a fantabulous silk fake-o and go with that.  I just cannot torture a beautiful orchid plant.  Fred, yes.  An orchid?  Definitely not.

Wednesday, February 9, 2011

Do I need to know???

Tranny flight attendants?  I really don't know what to say.  They are lovely looking...I guess the bigger question is: why do we need to know they are trannies?  Couldn't we just buy a ticket and fly and not have that be part of the "flight experience"?  Seems to me to be an awfully unnecessary, but I admit, interesting, revelation.  I know I'd stare at them, initially, just to see how feminine they actually were but after that, I'd be right back to my book or magazine.  At least until the in flight cabin service.  I admit it....I would want to hear their voice but since they ask you what you want to drink, that's all taken care of for me.  And, I could always check out the size of their hands and feet before take off and during cabin service, so unless they are planning  to dance and sing show tunes, I'm already over it.

See....this is what happens when I have too much time on my hands, snowed in.  I think about really random stuff.  And then blog about it.

Biscuits...I was hungreee...and bored

An App. for Confession? Really?

Wow.  I just saw on the Internet where the Pope has approved an App. for Confession, for the Roman Catholic Church.  I'm not kidding.  The article said it is not meant to take the place of confession--it's merely to assist Roman Catholic's in living their faith.  With all due respect, I'm not thinking I'd want to launch my list of sins out there in cyberspace for just anybody to be able to retrieve.  I am also not Roman Catholic so if you are, weigh in here and tell me what you think.  Would you ever pay $1.99 for this app. and would you ever use it? 
What if you lost your phone?? I have to be a smarty pants.  What's next?  A Communion App.??--and you lick your phone?  Ugh.  Yeah....I had to go there.  You knew I would.  I'm bad.

Goin' it alone

Now that it's been a little over a month since the Wigman's departure, I'm getting a chance to really get to know Sis.  Before, she was just always Wig's bumbling side-kick, but now that she's on her own, her real personality is emerging.   When someone comes over now, she barks and her fur stands up down her back, especially outside in the front yard.  She never did that before and she seems a lot more protective, especially inside when it's just the two of us here.  Gone is the rambunctious, devil may care girl.  She's a lot more serious these days.  And she is definitely not a morning gal or a morning greeter, either, and Wig was both of those.  He got up out of his bed every morning of his life, to come greet me in the kitchen and give me kisses.  Sis?  Not on your life.  She might be up out of her bed, but she'll be sitting in one of the den chairs ( her thrones), sitting almost upright like a person, and you can come greet her, if you want.  She only hops down to come in the kitchen when she smells toast--her toast--or so she thinks.

She used to practically tear the den door off butting Wiggles out of the way to run outside, but now acts like she doesn't much want to go...or only if you hang around outside with her.  Somebody has gotten a little needsie.  If Fred's out there, she's definitely out there attached to him like Velcro, but to just go out alone has lost it's thrill, for now.  Every night after dinner, she wants to be chased, with her green Santa headless Bobo.  Before??  Never.  And now she talks a lot-- and it used to be just Wig.  Maybe he talked so much she didn't have to...I don't know... but, man, can she be a yakker.  She doesn't seem to be as assertive as she used to be either, but I guess now with no competition, she doesn't have to be.  She seems more vulnerable, timid, and less sure of herself now that's she's going it alone.  Understandable, though.  She has big paw prints to fill.

I'm a tad bit worried about my impatiens plants that are in my pretend greenhouse, a.k.a., our garage.  When Fred went out to start his car, he said the door beside the our big garage door had blown slightly open so this latest ice and snow may have claimed some of my little friends.  Everyone has had a major haircut, a big drink of water, a tad bit of fertilizer, and several trips out of the garage on vacation to soak up sun, between ice storms, but they still may croak.  My huge hanging fern looks like it's been on chemo, so it may be history, too.  The new gardenia bushes that were planted last summer are still alive, which is no small miracle.  I'm counting on those gals for some enormous blooms in June, but we'll see. 

I have taco soup already made for dinner tonight.  To me, there's just nothing more warm fuzzy than a hot bowl of soup for dinner.  For some odd reason, I have a hankering to make scratch biscuits so I may do that as well.  There's just something I love about having my hands in dough.  It's soft and I like to play with it.  Toasted biscuits for breakfast (lunch,dinner) is just off the charts, too, as far as I'm concerned.  Ohhhh, pass...the...butter, puuuulease.

Tuesday, February 8, 2011

How do you spell relief?

Snow crazies.  It sounds like we are in for another round of ice and precip so "gird your loins".  Bad weather makes people in Dallas bat shi** crazy, as was evidenced Saturday when I went to the grocery store.  I haven't heard that many cars honking at each other, the finger flying, or that many stressed out people, ever.  And that was just from ice and snow.  You could tell everyone had endured way too much togetherness at home, were bored out of their minds, and just down right grumpy.   This seemed to be more than just cabin fever--people were just almost postal.  Even my grocery checker, Steve, was about to have a melt down.  Yes, he is high maintenance and, yes, a customer had been overly rude to him, but I can usually talk him down out of the tree tops and get him laughing about something ridiculous.  Not this time.

So, here's my solution.  I think everyone should be required to go to "therapy" for at least 6 sessions, quarterly, to keep us all from hurting each other or ourselves. could even be group therapy to facilitate numbers  And you get assigned to a group--you don't get to pick one.  If you know someone or are related to someone in the group, you get reassigned.  Everything is confidential, only first names are used, and sessions last 2 hours each week, with a short break.  You get to say whatever is on your mind and no one gets to comment, tell you that you're wrong, or being stupid, silly, selfish, etc.  They just listen, and when it's their turn, they get the same "gift".  Total acceptance and relief at dropping their load.  And, if people want to learn ways to improve their situation, they can ask for other people's experience, that worked for them.  Still--no judgment, no criticism, all confidential. And, it's free.

Now, are there some problems with my idea?  Sure...but it's just a borrowed idea.  But it works.  It really does.

Monday, February 7, 2011

It's Monday all right

Fred and I took Sister to see mom yesterday, before the start of the Super Bowl.  Suffice it to say it was not a pretty picture and while I'll spare you the details, let's just say I came home really blown and sad.  'Nuf said.  Sis, however, had a simply mahvelous time.  At least one of us did.  I called my sister to fill her in and in doing so, blew her circuitry as well.  Sometimes I hate to tell her things for that very reason-- but protecting her doesn't seem to be a better idea either.  Whoever said a "shared burden is a lighter burden" was right --and wrong.  Sharing helps-- but only for a little while.  As my dad would say, "some days it's chicken, some days it's feathers".  Yesterday was just chicken sh**.

Then this morning, I was hurrying to get out the door and was almost sure I had washed my cell phone, along with a load of towels.  I couldn't find it anywhere and I had to be somewhere, so it had to wait until I got home.  Sooo, I got to stew on know how you awfulize for awhile until that gets boring and then start on the "well, is this really the end of the world or will I live despite this?"  I was in total "whatever" mode when I got back home, and unloaded the washer. No cell phone.  Next, I called my cell and heard it ringing somewhere in the back...omg...on my chair, partially covered, where I had put it down, to pick up the laundry.  Yeeeeehawwww!  Suddenly, my day looked a whole lot better knowing I would not be hanging out at the cell phone store all day haggling with AT&T.  Whew.

I just made a Sam's run and they had just gotten a shipment of the most incredible phaleanopsis orchid plants I've ever seen.  They were enormous.  Some were 3-4 stems, each loaded with blooms and buds and the price of $16.88 blew my hair off so, of course, I bought myself one.  I had to.  Guys--note to self: if you need an early Valentine, go get one of these.  They last for 2-3 months and are available in various colors.  Punt the cut flowers--these last longer and are tres' chic.  And cheap.  Gals, no Valentine?  Buy one for yourself!  You deserve it and you can be your own Valentine.  And get yourself some chocolate, too.

Sunday, February 6, 2011

Ponzu sauce?

I was recently reading a recipe and now I can't remember where I read it, but among other things it called for, you needed a 1/2 cup of Ponzu sauce.  OK....I'll bite.  Since I was totally clueless and my Japanese has gotten a little rusty, I went to my foodie dictionary, Food Lover's Companion.  It has "comprehensive definitions of nearly 6,000 food, drink, and culinary terms".  Whew.  But here's the best part: in defining Ponzu, it uses three other Japanese words--2 you must cross reference, in order to figure out what the hell is in in Ponzu sauce.  I'm serious.  The words were Kombu (seaweed), Katsuobushi (dried tuna flakes), and Chirinabe (a one pot dish).  Fageadaboudit.  The other stuff it listed I at least have a working knowledge of, but seaweed and dried tuna flakes?  I'll pass.  I'm sure somebody out there is game enough to try it but I'm betting their last name isn't Harris.  Or, even Caroline, for that matter.

On tonight's menu is Fred's ultimate delish din-din:  Smothered Dove.  He was going to fix it for dinner last night but there was one small hitch--the dove were still frozen.  So, when we got back from dinner, he did his thing, and once cooled, slipped them in the refrig. to snooze.  I didn't realize we even had any more dove since the hunter who cleaned them, forgot to mark them as to contents of the container.  I've learned not to thaw anything that's not marked--it's usually something wild and random that I don't want to cook, much less eat anyway. These are a combo of his Farm and alley/ front yard hunts --he's always shooting at something--so even if the game sucks, dinner will be grand.

On a happy note, Sis is thrilled to have all this snow and ice melted.  She was seriously bored and even fell off into a snow drift by the back door, naked.  Her coat wouldn't have helped, since her tummy is what went snow first, but she was just pissed after wards.  Can't say as I blame her.  We are off shortly on a walk to get outside and enjoy some sunshine and exercise.  We girls just need to get outside.

Saturday, February 5, 2011


My neighbor just drove in his drive way and his car was sporting a "carhawk".  You know...the kind where the snow has melted off the sides of the top, just leaving that tall stack of snow down the center.  Awwwk-ward looking at best.  But, the sun is out, some of this junk is melting, so the end is in sight--at least for a little while. 

Speaking of awkward, here's my latest dilemma.  A man my mom used to date, and allllmost married, keeps calling me to "inquire" about mom.  I say he allllmost married mom only because we had an intervention to prevent that from happening.  I've blogged about it in the past but take my word for it--he's a wrong number, and I shiver to think how close he got to our family.  He's abusive, mean, and just down right sick, and he refers to himself as "Uncle __X___".  This guy knows I will not tolerate him--but he's calling me to find out about mom.  This is especially strange in that he likes my sister, and he's not calling her.  This same guy had asked me a year ago to take some earrings from mom, that he liked, so he could have them made into cuff links.  See?  I told you he was a rats ass.  Anywho, thank heaven for caller ID, as I have zero intention of speaking to this man, much less "giving him a report on mother", as he's requested.  Around here, that's what we call "Nunya"--as in nunya bidness.  Take the hint, buddy.

Friday, February 4, 2011

What Super Bowl?

After my third package of hamburger buns yesterday, I knew I was headed to Tom Thumb anyway so bird seed would be next.  I arrived, chatting with a friend on my phone, asking what I needed for one of her recipes--couldn't remember everything.  As we were chatting along, I felt something...sort of like a touch on my back, but didn't see anyone when I turned around.  Then, I looked down.  Oh, yeah, was the cutest little boy in the world, with a ginormous smile on his face, and cowboy boots on his feet, chewing bubble gum.  Yep.  Hudson.  I got off the phone, we hugged and I kissed all over him, and we laughed our heads off.  His mom was shortly behind us, with Hadley pushing one of those little kid's mini grocery carts.  Off he and I went to get cheese for my recipe, and a big sack of bird food for my sparrows.  He's a wonderful cheese chooser and just fun, no matter how you slice it.  I need to call him this morning to report on our bird feeding.  We've had quite a response from hungry birds and Sis.  Yep.  I caught her eating bird food in the backyard that I'd thrown on top of the ice yesterday.  She'll eat anything.

Now on to the top disappointment of the week.  Good Morning America chose the third place voting finisher, Liz, instead of Cooper Boone, who finished in first place.  They never said it would all be based on the voting--I get that--but a third place finisher??  Yeow.  Guess I'll be sticking with The Today Show and I sent them an appropriate nastygram to that effect.  Go figure.  And the point of voting was whaaaat?

I blogged earlier last month about people spending $200 to stand outside the stadium, for the Super Bowl.  Don't you know people who did that are having a large cow right now??  Not to mention the people who bought those major expensive tickets, who can't even get here, due to the snow?  And all the private jets flying in, that can't land??  And all the parties that have been paid for that no one can attend.  Not to mention all the lost revenue for Dallas.  Everyone on TV is trying to keep a stiff upper lip but wowser....the NFL and Big Jer must be wearing Depends about now.  The good news??  We all get to stay home and do all those little honey-do's or just chill, until this stuff melts.  I'm so grateful my heat is on, my refrigerator is full, and my birds are fed.  The rest is just gravy.

Thursday, February 3, 2011

I got out yesterday simply because I had to...or I was going to start pulling my eyelashes out, one by one.  Bored, much??  I went to Preston Center on two errands and then went to North Park to walk, but jettisoned the idea of a movie.  Sis said I had to take her if I went to a movie and I just wasn't up for that.  I loved being out, though.  It was cold, but brisk and beautiful--very Ansel Adams outside.  Black, white, gray.  Lovely.  And I loved seeing all the people outside with their Labs, throwing balls and playing, dogs coats steaming, almost impervious to the cold.  The dogs, that is.....the owners looked miserable. 

Because I was worried about my fighting, probably frozen, little sparrows, I took yet another freezer burned package of hamburger buns outside, and decorated the driveway.  It was fun ripping up and tossing all that old bread and I could hear the birds all talking about the buffet below, but not a single sparrow showed up.  At least not any I saw.  Usually they come in droves--- and fight like two cats in a bag--- but not yesterday.  They're probably lying on the beach somewhere in Mexico, laughing their beaks off that we're here freezing.  I told you they were mean. needed that picture, didn't you?  I know I did.

Thankfully, we were not among the power outage chosen few yesterday though my sister and Brian were.  Just as I was about to run a load of clothes yesterday, I remembered my stuff was not exactly mission critical and there was simply no reason to suck more power out of an already drained system, with some people totally without heat.  Who said blonde's aren't smart?  Soooo, I flipped on the tube instead.  And, played on the computer.  :)

Wednesday, February 2, 2011

Wake up, Mr. Sheen

Day 2 of the sleet and ice crisis and you'd think it was the only topic in town because it sure as heck is, on local TV.  That, and the Super Bowl.  Errrgh.  Not particularly interested in either and when they preempted the Big O's show yesterday, to talk about the weather some more, that was just WRONG.  I am tempted to get out today simply because I am going totally stirrrrrr crazy and I know I'm not alone there either.  The only thing that's cooling my jets is the reminder of what happened this time last year, when I hit a patch of ice.  My car was in the shop for weeks and I drove at least four different rent cars during that time.  I still think I could s-l-i-d-e to North Park and exercise walk inside, if nothing else.  And maybe sneak in a movie.  I think it's only right, don't you?

OK.  Enough of this weather stuff and let's get on to something really important:  Charlie Sheen's home Rehab.  C'mon.  Are you kidding me?  Rehab at home?  NOT.  That's not even Rehab Lite.  That's just total BS.  Way too comfy, familiar, and waaaaay too easy.  Don't want to do something?  Rehab at home says you don't have to.  And Group therapy??  Hello, there is no group.  Just you, Charlie, and I'm not thinking you're going to learn much from yourself right now.  The sad part is, you can't make someone want recovery and Charlie clearly doesn't.  He's a really sick guy and I am honestly sorry about that.  Until he really does want to get better, he's going to keep doin' what he's doin', and it will most likely kill him.  The saddest part is, he doesn't think so.  Addiction sucks.

Tuesday, February 1, 2011

Downton Abbey

In the event you are bored out of your mind in this cold and ice, I have an immediate cure for you if you don't watch PBS on Sunday night.  If you Google Downton Abbey, for a short time longer you can watch all four (1.5 hour) episodes online, and that will not only burn six hours for you, but you will be hooked and ready for the second part of the series, once it's finished filming -- slated for viewing in 2012.  It is fabulous, veddy, veddy English and I even got Fred hooked watching it.  Part 4 was this past Sunday.  Enjoy!

Ooops, I did it again...

It has begun.  The beginning of The End.  I've been considering it for awhile--especially when it's cold--but this morning I finally did it.  I heard Sis whining and got up thinking she wanted to come back to the bedroom.  Nope. Not exactly.
When I popped up, she was standing in the doorway looking all sad and pitiful, sooooooo when she ran over to me, I scooped her up and put her under the covers with me.  And we snuggled.  And spooned.  And when Fred walked out of the bathroom, I told him something really BAD had happened and he ripped off his headphones-- he listens to The Ticket with a religious fervor, every morning.  I peeled back the covers and there she was..... all slick and black and beautiful, and he liketa d-i-e-d.  I always did this with the Wigman--even in his later days-- and paid a tremendous price for it.  It became like dog crack-- on both sides.  I might as well face it.  I'm a dog junkie and I'll get my fix wherever I can find it.  And so will Sis. The smell of warm dog combined with that slick black fur and those soft, soft, ears of hers, was just too much.  All that steely reserve of mine about no dog fur in the bed, flew right out the window. And did I mention it's cold?? 

I am now toast.  She'll probably expect it from now on.  Maybe not.  I might get away with it if I can brainwash her later but the prospects aren't looking good.  She's sitting right behind me in the chair, reading this.  I'm screwed.