Our New Year's Eve Decadence

We had a snacky kind of lunch today at the Tip Top Cafe, which consisted of an order of onion rings we split.
Dinner is at 10 p.m. tonight at Ruth's Chris Steakhouse.
We figured 10 p.m. was a suitably decadent time to eat dinner, and we won't have to wonder whether we'll be able to stay awake until midnight, since we'll be out already.
We ran into a friend of mine who owns a B & B downtown, and she invited us to watch the midnight fireworks off her rooftop, but I ain't driving downtown with 200,000 drunk sons of bitches down there raising hell in their souped-up jalopies and SUV's.
I figure around midnight we'll be finishing up a glass of port or some other beverage I am not supposed to have instead of running the streets like a bunch of 20-something ne'er-do-wells.
Yes, I am old and starting to sound crotchety. This Canuck is running me ragged with her youthful enthusiasm and vigor. In fact, I am going to go take a nap now.
Happy New Year again, y'all.
Zzzz.

Happy New Year!

We are back from the coast where we had a wonderful time.
I refused to wear sunscreen, saying the winter sun wouldn't burn me. I was mistaken. She, however, is golden brown and looks like an ad for a tropical resort.
We ran the gamut of weather conditions, but overall the beach conditions were close to perfect. They certainly compensated for the big, fat speeding ticket Officer Bubba slapped me with in George West, Texas on the way down there. Now I gotta take those stupid classes to avoid a jillion dollar fine. Eighty-four in a 70 mile zone. Big fucking deal.

On a jaunty little three-hour beach hike, Aviva went in the water and removed her bathing suit, waving it in the air for my edification.
I, being the freezing, shivering, fully clothed chicken shit I am, did not rise to the challenge and go in and get her. She remained a good sport however and emerged from the water topless, so there was that.
We went to Matamoros, Mexico on the way home yesterday. Aviva had been to resort towns in Mexico, but never a border town, and her delicate Canadian sensibilities were assaulted visually, audibly and olifactorily.
The men undressed her and repositioned her with their leering eyes. One scoundrel actually offered her beer or bottled water as we shopped in his dubiously authentic jewelry shop. He called me señor, the prick, and I got no such beverage offer.
I am used to walking with her and having both sexes leer at her, but in Mexico they actually licked their lips and drooled like mangy curs watching a juicy T-bone walk by.
Two hours of mercado shopping and we left, empty handed. Not even a bottle of Kahlua or tequila did we buy. She had nasty eye prints all over her.
On the long wait to get back over the international bridge, blind guys, beggars and junk salesmen threaded their way between lanes of traffic, surrounding us like magpies. I noticed smoke billowing up from my rear window interior brake light housing and had to stage a daring daylight rescue- taking Aviva's bottled water and pouring it into the housing. I heard a loud pop and the smoke stopped. The brake light exploded. But we averted a vehicle fire, so that was nice.
Somewhere near Corpus Christi, the skies turned an ominous shade of black and we found ourselves driving through torrential rains and hail. The only thing to do in such cases is keep moving, so we did.
My morning frijoles by then were percolating in my intestines like nuclear warheads, and I drove home slightly standing to avoid any pesky explosions.
We went for margaritas and tacos before we got to my house.
Then the next thing I knew I was awake, and it was today.
Happy New Year to everyone. We have no firm plans yet.

Off to the Beach

Saturday morning. We are going to the beach where the temps are in the high 70's and there's a sugarless no alcohol low carb piña colada waiting for me (and something stronger waiting for her).
We had a little cocktail party last night. Ow.
Now it's time to pack and get on the road for South Padre Island.
;)

Thursday After Christmas

So far so good. We are having an amazing time.
Christmas Day was quiet and nice.
She gave me the most incredible, museum quality Inuit carved serpentine statue and some other very nice gifts.
Last night for dinner we had a bottle of Chassagne Montrachet, pecan crusted Chilean sea bass, six different kinds of mushrooms sauteed in olive oil and vermouth, and a salad of field greens with pomegranate seeds, sea beans and avocado in a mango vinaigrette.
Yesterday afternoon we scored some bean and chicken tamales, and Aviva was able to experience the apex of Tex Mex Christmas cuisine.
She likes Texas.
My cats' fur is making her crazy.
She got me a dish drainer.
I let her drive my car to Walgreen's.
We ate on the Riverwalk the other night and a storm blew through while we were there.
We have seen about 8 Cow Parade cows scattered throughout town.
Today we are going to the Alamo, and out for margaritas tonight.
She met my mother the other day. Mama liked her and asked if she'd moved in with me.
Time is zooming by.
I don't want her to leave.
;D

Merry Christmas everyo

:D

Day 2

;]

;D

Sunday!

I had a wonderful time last night seeing my ex Cris and her brother Brett who lives in Portland. He's very funny and she is too, except her humor is dry and his is- what's the other side of dry, wet?
Anyway, Brett hates my haiku blogs so...

Poor Brett from Portland
Sorry you hate my haiku
Beats a soiled tampon

Anyway, Aviva is enroute, so I must make some last minute preparations.
Methinks my blog entries may thin out for a few weeks.
She hates for me to get too personal about our business, so if you see me posting this emoticon
;)
just know that everything is peachy in the personal department.

One More Day

Oy vey! Aviva's coming to town in about 33 hours.
Everything's come together pretty well, and I am ready for our vacation to start.
All I have left to do is vacuum. That sounds easy, but with two cats and a no-allergy-having person who hates to vacuum regularly, we are talking an ordeal of epic proportions.
James has been sneaking toys out of his basket and hiding them in every corner of every room. He favors the little cloth mice that might easily be sucked up in my 500-pound Kirby heavy duty Suck-o-Matic.
I know he's doing it on purpose.
He knows something's up.
He's like a jealous lover on a Mexican novella soap opera. He keeps glaring at me like I have wronged him. Fortunately, James is not a vindictive kitty. So far.
He will first try to charm Aviva with his adorable post-toddler antics, but if she doesn't take the bait, he'll just hide and pout instead of peeing in her shoes or suitcases. He may also puke for effect.
My old cat Bart doesn't care what I do or with whom I do it. As long as there's food in his dish and a sunny or warm spot to nap in, Bart is totally cool.
Tonight I am going to sequester both kitties in their bedroom, so they won't blame Aviva. Bart will be fine but the baby will be horrid, I just know it.
James will try to wrestle Bart all night, Bart will get fed-up and slap him around a little, James will cry real loud and bite Bart's neck, then Bart will pounce on James and pin him to the floor with his Virginia ham-sized torso. If I could just train Bart to keep him pinned all night, my life would be easier.
Ahh, I don't care. All I know is, my Christmas is fixin' to get a whole lot merrier in about 32 and a half hours.

Trent Lott Resigns Leadership Spot

A racist Republican? Whhaat?
Please.
The dude's white, Republican and from Mississippi. What were they expecting, Dianne Finestein? Of course he's gonna slip if he goes off script and speaks from his heart, which as we all know by now is lily white.
This is as silly as the GOP convention, where they brought in more black acts than a Motown Review.
Look at the fucking legislation over the last 100 years. The last decent Republican vis a vis racial equality was Abraham Lincoln.
Anyone who feigns shock at Trent Lott showing his true colors is either naive, delusional or just dumb as hell.
Do I think he should have stepped down from his senate majority spot?
No! I didn't think he was anything but what he was anyway, one more white boy wanting to keep the nigras and uppity wimmen in their places.
They'll just replace him with another GOP wasp male who hasn't yet made an accidental racist remark. At least we knew Lott was likely a racist bastard.
Now we'll just have to deal with another stealth honky.

Whoops

Last night I called Aviva to discuss the end of Survivor.
It was late so we didn't stay on long.
After we hung up, I tried to read a little in bed, but the jackass neighbor across the street and two houses east had his Tejano music on so loud it was vibrating my windows.
I laid there doing a slow burn until 11:45, then I dialed 911 to make a disturbing the peace complaint.
This morning I awakened early, and since it's an hour later in Montreal, I called to say good morning to A.
I speed dialed but the phone didn't make the connection so I punched in her number.
We spoke briefly, but as we spoke I heard the call waiting beep. I didn't answer it because there's no reason for anyone but her to call me before 6 a.m.
After we spoke I turned off the bedside lamp and planned to catch a few more Z's.
As I lay there, I saw a bright flash through the living room window. I still had electricity, so I ignored it and closed my eyes. Then there was a loud rap at the door.
I went to the front door and asked who it was.
"Police Officer."
I opened the door and there stood a cute little cop.
Seems I had speed dialed 911, they had tried to call me back and when they got no answer...well, you get the picture.
So now I am awake and this is how my day started.

Festive Survivor Haiku: An Overview

Rev. John: first to go
The pastor was too bossy
Heathens booted him

Jed, Dallas Dentist
Thought a whole lot of himself
The others did not

Robb, the cocky prick
Tried for last-stand sympathy
He's back bartending

Ken the Brooklyn cop
Such a pretty face and bod
Wrong tribe, poor fella

Jake the Texan guy
Chose brawn not brains for his tribe
The weak tribe killed him

Ted the rump humper
Won a truck but failed to kiss
Brian's silly ass

Clay, what can I say?
The mystery is, how did
he stay for so long?

That leaves sweet Brian
Shifty as a car salesman
He's favored to win

Tanya, poor dumb thang
So beautiful Tanya was
But dumb as a post

Brusque Stephanie Dill
Didn't play well with others
So they kicked her off

Shii Ann, such a mouth
Kissed the wrong asses too soon
Benedict Arnold

Erin, I miss you
Those giant fake bazoongas
and that nice, tight ass

Penny, evil one
Face glowed like Satan at night
Very bad mojo

Ghandia, the Diva
Teased Ted's big black boner
Then said she didn't

Jan, still in the game
Why, I can't begin to guess
Must be that fine ass

Helen, my fav'rite
Balls of steel, yet sorta sweet
Let's hope they choose her

My Ultimate Survivor Picks

Fourth Place: Jan
Third Place: Clay
Second Place: Brian
and the winner is:
Helen.

Let's hope I am right. :)

Speaking of Haiku...

I forgot that I do haiku when I've nothing much to say. Therefore...

Winter is here now
I have to wear thick T-shirts
And long pants, as well

My kitties are bored
They gallop wild through the house
Like tiny Clydesdales

Drizzling outside now
I have a brand new roof though
Drizzle, bust a move!

Aviva, my love
Four days left to wait for her
Patience really sucks

So much left to do
Yet here I sit, blogging stuff
And drinking coffee

The kitties shed fur
And Aviva's allergic
Time to vacuum them

Come here, little James
Let Mama Hoover your fur
HEY! Don't hiss at me

Bart! Here, kitty boy
Let Mama Hoover you too
Oh no! My cat puked

I Got a Survivor Jones

Four days until A. gets here and the one thing keeping me composed is the thought of Survivor's last episode, which will be on from 7-10 p.m. central, this Thursday on CBS.
I am thinking the reunion show could have a catfight or two.
Between Ghandia, that pissy little Dallas dental student Jed and that infantile Palooka Robb, I think resentments may run high.
I'll be eyeing Brain's nose carefully.
And Jan, I wonder if she'll clean up pretty good...
Is that a Texas phrase, "You clean up pretty good?"
I forget what's national and what's Texas.
Does everyone get 400+ pickup truck ads on TV per day?
Is every month "truck month" in your state or province?
Do they have a lot of ads for steak sauce?
My nephew (14) went to Montreal last summer on a class trip with his Austin schoolmates. First thing he said when he got back was, "There are no pickup trucks there."
Hmm. First thing I noticed in Montreal (besides her) was all the Persian and Iraqi cab drivers. I didn't notice any pickups either, now that I think of it.
But, I digress.
Anyway, I haven't picked a winner quite yet. I'll announce my pick on Thursday.
Your assignment is to pick out a potential catfight on the reunion show and write a haiku or two about it on my BlogBack™.
Example:

Ted glares at Ghandi
"Yo, diva, did you notice
I got a new truck?"

The Charmaine and Brian Heidik Story

Hidden microphones in the Heidik household have revealed what happened before Brian took that violent punch to the nose from his buxom bride:

Brian: Honey, I'm home!
Charmaine: Did you win?
B: Uhh, no. I came in third.
C: But I wanted that money!!
B: I know dumpling, but that Helen and Clay outfoxed me!
C: Fuck that shit- you promised me a million dollars!
B: I know, precious, but...
C: But nothing! I need collagen! I need my implants enlarged! I need lipo! The poodle needs grooming! Our little son whatshisname needs, oh I don't know, baby toys or some fucking shit!
B: But you have that white Cadillac, darling!
C: It was used when I got it, you loser!
B: Well, we can get you a later model. We have a '96 on the lot- real sharp!
C: I WANTED A BRAND NEW CAR, YOU IMBECIL, IMBE... DUMMY!! YOU PROMISED!
B: I'm sorry, sugar baby!
C: And look at you! You're too skinny to get any movie jobs! Your nose looks like a pelican beak with that skinny face!
B: Oh but baby, you can do another movie so we can afford all those...
C: Shut up, Pelican Beak!
B: But, but, but!
Charmaine then punches Brian in the nose. BAM!
B: You hit me! I'm... I'm bleeding!
C: Shut up!
B: I'm calling the cops!
C: Go ahead, you used car selling, no-surviving loser!
B: Hello 9-1-1? This is Nicole Simpson. I think you know my husband's record...

The Cocktail Party

When Aviva gets here, we are planning a very small cocktail party so she can meet some of my closest friends.
We've been going around and around trying to decide what to serve and we've finally come up with a theme. Please add any snacks we've missed.

-Hors D'ourves Porcupine
Wrap a grapefruit in foil, set on plate and spear with Vienna sausage chunks, Velveeta squares, rolled up cold cuts and green olives with pimentos. Garnish with parsley.
-Chex Mix
-Frito Pie in individual Frito bags
-Rack of Spam
-Spray on Cheeze with Ritz crackers
-Jell-O Mold
-Fruit cocktail, mandarin orange and Cool Whip ambrosia
-Whitman's sampler chocolates
-Celery and peanut butter
-Moon Pies and Little Debbie snack cakes
-Rice Krispie treats with holiday red and green M&Ms
-Tuna Surprise Casserole with mushroom soup and crushed potato chips
-Melted Velveeta and Ro-Tel tomatoes served with tortilla chips.

-Boxed White Zinfandel wine
-Lone Star beer
-Assorted Shasta sodas

A More Interesting Blog?

All right you complainers, here's perhaps a more interesting blog for you, filled with pathos, angst and drama.
• My best friend Anna may move to Fair Oaks, which is about 25 miles from me instead of 4 miles. She is not an outdoorsy type, but they are looking at a 7-acre spread. Think Lisa on "Green Acres" and you have Anna, as far as luxury and pampering go.
I can just see her, in her Gucci leather mules and St. John knits out there swatting scorpions off her leg.
I think she just wants to move there to be closer to Nordstrom's.
Her little boy Andrei fell and cut his chin the other day. Four stitches. He's potentially gay, so that may mess up any plans he may have had for a career in the drag queen industry.
• I finally found jeans that fit my disproportionately skinny legs, but I am horrified at the brand. Wranglers. I consider them the choice of the country music loving mobile home set, but I don't care. All I know is Old Navy jeans could fit someone with elephantiasis in their legs.
• Today at the grocery store I saw frogs legs for sale. I have never tried them, but then I have never eaten a cat turd either, but I don't have to eat one to know it would be disgusting. Why stop at their legs? Why not eat the rest of them too?
• I found out that my next door neighbor is a Class A scrounger. Before I throw anything away, I ask her if she wants it and she always does. Yesterday I gave her about 40 old fucked up T-shirts. She was delighted.
• Okay this blog wasn't that much better than the last few, but fuck it. For the price you can't go wrong. Besides, I have to go grout some things in the bathroom.

Sunday Bloggy Sunday

Last night on HBO I heard they were going to rerun the entire season of the Sopranos the two weeks Aviva will be here. I wish I could hire a stooge to tape all the episodes for me. I can't be bothered trying to remember how to do it every time.
When CD burning first got hot, I bought a Sony burner for my iMac. I never could get the damn thing to work, so I ended up selling it to a friend in Michigan who ended up selling it to a mutual friend in Houston. I just can't get a handle on recording tapes, videos or CDs.
Another thing I don't understand is carpentry.
I have great hand to eye coordination and manual dexterity. I can sculpt a life sized gnat. I can draw perfect renderings of people or things. I just can't get wood and nails to go together.
Does that make me a bad lesbian?
I feel like I should be handier around the house but the fact is, if it has to do with electricity, plumbing or carpentry I am clueless. All I can do is paint and maybe spackle a bit if I'm pushed.
Okay, I'll admit it. I have nothing to talk about.
But people expect a daily blog and here it is.

Thanks, God

Ahhh, such bliss. A brand new, perfect roof in a nice shade of sage green, clothes spinning in the dryer, a furnace that works and a beautiful woman who's coming to see me in 8 days.
The heating guy of course told me I needed a new unit but I told him just find out what's wrong with this one and fix it. So he cleaned it up, it worked fine and I got out for only $45.
Alas, he was not so lucky. As he went to leave, his van's drive shaft fell out. Yes, it fell out with a thud on the street below. Poor guy was stuck in front of my house waiting to be towed for five hours. He declined my offer to come in and watch ESPN, but I did give him some bottled water, fruit, an energy bar and some almonds. He was a nice guy and he smelled good, like spray starch.
The roofing guy was nice, too. I have convinced him he needs a logo, a brochure and a corporate identity, along with exterior signage and a few other tidbits. The cost should run- oh, about the same as the roof cost me. :)
Today I have to venture out and forage for goods. I have to go to Borders to get my main client a gift certificate and myself a Scrabble Player's dictionary, since Aviva's coming and she's addicted to kicking my ass at the game. In the 50 or so games we've played online, I have won exactly two of them.
The weather today is simply gorgeous. It's a bright, sunny day with temperatures expected to climb into the lower 70's. It'll be a great car detailing day.
So that's my haircut blog for today.
Enjoy your day, and be careful out there.

From The Smoking Gun.com

Despite snakes, monsoons, and food-stealing monkeys, the beach where CBS's "Survivor: Thailand" was filmed may have been safer than the California home of one of the reality TV show's final five contestants. That's because the wife of castaway Brian Heidik was arrested last month and charged with spousal abuse. Charmaine Heidik was busted by cops on November 17 following an altercation in the couple's suburban Los Angeles home, according to police and the below misdemeanor criminal complaint. The 30-year-old woman, who spent two days in prison before being released on her own recognizance, allegedly punched her husband in the nose. A bloodied Heidik then called 911, but he refused medical treatment when officers arrived. At her arraignment last month, Charmaine Heidik was ordered to stay at least 100 yards away from her 34-year-old husband and to not "own, use or possess any dangerous or deadly weapons." A Superior Court judge also granted Charmaine a one-time visit---in the company of a sheriff's deputy--to her former Quartz Hill residence to pick up belongings. Charmaine, who, like her husband, has starred in a variety of soft-core pornos, made an appearance on last Thursday's (12/5) episode of "Survivor," which was taped five months ago. She was one of several family members allowed a brief on-camera reunion with their contestant-relatives. Heidik, whose trial is scheduled for December 16, faces a maximum of a year in jail if she's convicted of the corporal injury to spouse charge.

At the Grocery Store

Now that I am limited in what I can eat, I shop for fish at this very snazzy place because their selection is amazing. Tonight I got Chilean sea bass, albacore and some gorgeous gulf shrimp. If you haven't had Chilean sea bass, rush to get some, it's the most elegant, delicate, buttery fish you can ever hope to taste.
Meanwhile, across the aisle was a well-known lesbian socialite I know who will go nameless.
This woman is heiress to a zillion dollar fortune, from an old Texas ranching family. Their ranch and Rhode Island are about the same size. Their ranch house has been featured on America's Castles. They are richer than everyone in Texas.
She's an eccentric type. She takes her own special pasta to restaurants and has them cook it for her. So, I know she's a very fussy eater.
Well, I spied her looking at the frozen exotic meat section and what does she ask for? Duck.
She won't eat the pasta from a 5-star restaurant, but she'll eat something that could have come waddling out of the San Antonio River.
Duck sucks. I don't care if it's Peking duck, duck l'orange, roasted duck, duck salad or duck burgers, duck is horrible, dark and greasy.
Ducks are nasty creatures. They crap about every 30 seconds, and they bite.
Their quack is not attractive, and the only cute duck is a baby duck.
But she wanted a big, dead duck. To eat.
Duck. Yuck.

Survivor: The Perfect Pick

What is Santa bringing me for Christmas?
He's booting Clay the smarmy ferret off the island tonight.
He's got to.
Clay, the shiftless, layabout ASSman.
Clay, the cornpone Louisiana hayseed with an accent like a buzzsaw on concrete.
Clay, the backstabber.
Clay, the no-water getting, napping slacker.
Other than Jan, her unsightly ass and her peculiar death rituals, I see no other option. Okay, well, Ted is a loser but he's got a better disposition than Clay, the little bitch.
I see Helen as the architect of Clay's ouster. I see Brian in collusion.
Tonight's the night and Clay's the pigeon.
Oh yeah, baby.

Oy Freakin' Vey

Yesterday my brother Billy and I worked for 7 hours trying to untangle the mystery of 220 wiring. It turns out Robert, my dearly departed handyman, had jerry rigged the ground wire to the left thing and the left thing to the ground wire hole and the leaky roof may or may not have caused some contacts in the breaker box to foul or something.
All I know is, we had to go to two electrical stores (talk about boring shopping) and get two plug-in circuit things that cost me 69 fuckin' bucks.
We also had to switch some things around so the 220 for the air conditioner is now the 220 for the dryer, so come summer I'll have to get everything re-re-wired. But my dryer works, and that's all I wanted.
After all that manual labor all day, I was exhausted and dazed. My brother has the stamina of a pack mule.
That evening, the weather started getting chilly and my heater was not coming on. I turned the thermostat higher and it still didn't kick in, all night. The pilot light is on, but something between that and the thermostat doesn't work anymore.
Oh goody, another service call.
Meanwhile, the roofers are slated to come tomorrow and of course we are having a torrential rainstorm today.
James the Sensitive One is apparently afraid of men now, because when Billy arrived first he started hiding, then he emerged and started puking. He puked on the kitchen floor and Billy walked right through it. Men are far less aware of what they do to freshly mopped kitchen floors.
So let's review. This month: new electrical work, new roof, new radiator on my car, property tax bill and Mom's retirement home relocation costs. Add to that the cost of a new mouse for my computer, whatever the heater costs to fix and I have basically blown around $3,800, all in one month. Ouch.
After all that, I still feel great.
Aviva will be here in 10 days, and I won't remember a thing about the rest of this month.

Ai yi yi!

In 11 days Aviva will be here and I am starting to get my biggest ducks in a row.
My big brother is coming down from Austin today to fix my pesky 220 wiring and that means I'll get to be his assistant.
I have selected the perfect hardware store outfit and shoes so I can swagger around the hardware store, acting like I know what I'm doing. Bro will pick something out and I'll say, "Yep, that looks about right to me."
Then on Friday, the roofers will be here to start ripping off old shingles and putting on a new roof. Nothing like a crew of four neanderthals pounding on the roof all day to make for a productive workday.
I bought new hypoallergenic pillows because down feathers make Aviva sneeze and talk like Lisa Loopner from SNL. I tried one out last night and it was like sleeping on a bag of cement. That won't do.

In the news this morning, I see the U.S. has finally come out and said it to Iraq, "You use chemical weapons (gas) on us and we will nuke you."
While I hate the thought of going to war, I think this bold threat might help remind that clown Saddam that we are the biggest bad ass country on earth and we can level his crappy little state if we are pushed.
I'd much rather see the U.S. rattle their sabres than use them.
Yesterday on the news I saw a feature on teachers in Saudi Arabia, adult males teaching young males. They tell their students that Al Qaida is a noble organization and that the United States is evil.
Some of their textbooks even say that Jews must be killed and Israel must be eradicated. This is coming from our "ally" Saudi Arabia.
Saudi government officials waffled and claimed that these teachers and textbooks are not the norm. Bullshit. The Saudi government segregates classrooms so only the boys receive the bulk of the education. They force women to cover themselves like mummies and allow gay people to be stoned to death. Are we to believe they don't have any control over curriculum? Please.

Cracker Barrel

Those right wing, religious fundamentalist puppet/crackers at Cracker Barrel restaurant have finally dropped their homophobic stance on gay employees, and have instituted a policy that prohibits discrimination toward their gay and lesbian employees.
I have never been to a Cracker Barrel because I never saw the point of spending my queer dollars in a restaurant that blatantly displayed hatred toward gays.
Now that the coast is clear, I may go there, except I hear the food is pretty fattening and unhealthy.
Anyway, it's okay now for queers to graze at the Cracker Barrel...if you want.
If you'd like to send the CEO an e-mail, encouraging his company's arrival into the Real World where diversity is a good thing, he can be reached at:
devins@crackerbarrel.com
Let's give him a little praise for seeing the light, shall we?

Sopranos?

Huh? What the hell happened last night?
No way is Carmella going to divorce Tony. It was a cliffhanger, that's all.
Furio better keep his ass in Italy after Carmella blabbed.
The most classic scene was Tony on his boat serenading that creepy lawyer with the Rat Pack shtick.
Too many loose ends left untied last night, if you ax me.

«greybird *looking around*»

Hmmm... I think I fixed it! On with it, Karen. Where's Monday's post?

Code Red

I see the code for my bloglinks has expired. I don't even know what that means, since GreyBird is basically my blogging brain in everything but the actual words I write.
I have humbly asked her to fix it, and let me thank her in advance for her assistance by offering a few Grey Bird haiku.

Oh, mighty Grey Bird
Such a computer braintrust!
She's a gen-i-ous

Bird's puppy Thilde
Has taught Mommy many tricks
Like fetch, sit and stay

Snowy in Birdland
Good thing she has a girlfriend
to shovel the snow

Cleaning Out Drawers

I spent the day reviewing the last 15 years of my life, pulling receipts and cards and photos and printed e-mail and letters and trinkets out of my office file and art space cabinets until my eyes crossed.
I filled two Hefty big bags with junk I had no room for anymore.

Some of my castoff treasures (besides old letters and paper trash):
• A faux silver clam-shaped candy dish
• A watch with a dial approximately the size of an apricot
• A teddy bear statue
• 400 assorted pieces of shopworn blank letterhead paper
• 78 non-matching envelopes
• 3 giant plastic paperclips
• One sheer silk scarf with an autumn leaves motif (don't ask)
• 4 out of date calendars, unused
• 2,578 dried-out felt tip pens
• 34 bottles of acrylic paint, fossilized
• 1 jar rubber cement
• 6 petrified paint brushes
• 46 ugly generic florist vases
• 2 copies, The Globe tabloid
• 7 scratched, dented, stained or torn religious prayer cards
• 12 tiny plastic babies
• 4 Wallace and Grommit collector cards
• 32 Home Depot paint stirring sticks
• 12 pounds, broken stained glass chunks
• 12 really bad poems
• 3 battered reporter's notebooks
• 2 work aprons
• 57 hotel sewing kits
• 67 buttons
• 17 bottles hotel moisturizer
• 58 partially used match books
• 7 sets of boarding passes and used airline tickets
• 36 credit card receipts
• 3 nail clippers
• 1 broken miniature Caterpillar front end loader
• 1 very ugly freebie mousepad

That's just my office and artspace. The kitchen drawers are next. :0

Blog Salad™

In lieu of cleaning the cats' bedroom, vacuuming the house, scrubbing the bathtub or cleaning my car, it's time to toss another Blog Salad.™

-Here are the 10 most unsafe cities in the United States, according to a study:
St. Louis, Detroit, Atlanta, Gary IN, Baltimore, Camden, NJ, Compton, CA, Flint MI, Tampa and Jackson, MS.
I have been to St. Louis, Atlanta, Camden and Compton. Camden and Compton scared me the most. They take that 'boys in the hood' shit seriously in those locales.
If I were President, I'd find the money to rehab those 10 cities and provide their citizens with affordable child day care, education incentives, vocational training, real jobs and decent housing. It's a disgrace the way our government allows cities to rot.

-Dubya has not mentioned Osama bin Laden publicly since June. Now that we know he's still alive, how did Teflon George get by with this? Osama masterminded the 9-11 massacres. He's still the worst enemy America has. I wish he led an oil-rich country so Bush and his cronies had a reason they thought was important enough to go after him.

-Unemployment figures in the U.S. reached a 10-year high this week. Bush can't find bin Laden, he wants a costly war with Iraq, he's letting the Saudis screw us and he's not tending to the domestic budget at all. The surplus Clinton left us is GONE. We are in deep debt again. Who can still support this ineffective moron?

-Have you ever tried to find Chanukkah wrapping paper in Roman Catholic San Antonio? Let me say, it's tricky. Once I found some pretty silver and blue paper festooned with Stars of David, I wrapped all of Aviva's gifts, only to hear her say, "What? Chanukka's over, I want Christmas presents." I told her, "Too bad, you're a Jew and you're getting belated Chanukkah gifts."

-There are 20 different ways to spell Chanukkah.

-If you are diabetic and you eat a cucumber and half a bagel with a teaspoon of peanut butter on it before bedtime, your glucose level will be 10 points higher than usual the next morning.

-Some cats don't care about what you spray on furniture to get them to stop clawing. They just hold their breath while they are doing it. James is a scofflaw and I am thinking about kitty bootcamp for the fuzzy little bastard.

The James Report

As you may recall, James is my 18-month-old kitten who used to be the Pulp Friction poster boy in his little argyle sweater.
Now he's a big, muscle bound tomcat, yet his spoiled, adorable kittenhood mentality remains intact.
I recently acquired a new loveseat, upholstered in a sturdy, tapestry style fabric.
James and his accomplice Bart, my older tomcat, have managed to lacerate several spots on my new loveseat with their oft-trimmed claws.
The baby's foster mother Katie suggested I brew a tea out of some herb called rue and spray it on the loveseat. Rue?
In case the witchcraft botanica doesn't stock rue, has anyone else got any suggestions on how I can stop my bad, bad boys from tattering my furniture?
Meanwhile, Aviva likes cats, but she can't tolerate them in bed with her. Allergies.
James thinks my bed is his and he allows me to share it with him, providing he's allowed to stroll over me at will, and gets to get under the covers and fuse his spine to my ribs while he sleeps. If I move, he meows angrily.
James does not like the words no, get off, get away or stop it.
James is not a cat to reason with. He is uncompromising in his viewpoints and far too cute and fuzzy to kill.
Aviva is not a woman who will tolerate her allergies being stirred. She too is far too cute and fuzzy to kill.
So I have a dilemma. Shall I sequester the boys into their bedroom at night, with the door shut off from the heater in the hallway?
Or, shall I risk the wrath of Aviva, who has ways of communicating her discomfort that might include the words no, get off, get away and stop it?
One way or another, some pussycat will have to adjust.
All three are capable of retribution.
I know not what to do.

Survivor: See ya, Jake

No doubt about it, Texas land developer (is that a real job?) Jake Billingsley is outta there tonight.
I may have been thrown off by a few picks, but not this time.
Jake has failed to endear himself to the remaining majority tribe and they want him outta there. He's the last of the Suck Guy tribe and that's all there is to it.
Frankly, it's all a formality until next week when we see the Chew Me Guy tribe members start to feed on each other. Jan better watch her wobbly ass. She's probably next.
Bye, Jake. See you back in Texas, Bubba.

A Word About Words

We need to get together and fix some words and phrases so they make sense.
For instance, when someone is being introduced to an audience in a business setting, superlatives are often used to describe the person:
"John is an ambitious, determined, uncompromising business leader..."
Uncompromising? Why is that considered a good thing? Sounds to me like John is a hard ass who lacks flexibility and refuses to listen to others.
Obversely, when someone is found to be doing something wrong, we might hear:
"She was caught in a compromising position."
What's wrong with compromising? Why does it get such a bad rap?
I wish some people in my life would be more compromising.
I wish some people in my life would be less uncompromising.
And I wish people would stop giving the word uncompromising such a good rap while discrediting the word compromising.
It's good to compromise.
It's bad to be uncompromising.
Just remember that.

Chores

Oy. She'll be here in 18 days.
She's very neat and tidy. I am more bachelor-esque.
How do kitchen floors and cabinets get so funky?
Attention: if you are an obsessive compulsive housekeeper, please contact me for a good time. Meals included. Hope you like salmon and spinach.
Please hurry.
Please.
Hurry.

Prosperity

I got my prosperity shit together years ago, thanks to Louise L. Hay and her excellent book, "You Can Heal Your Life."
I know God wants us all to prosper, and that poverty is just another way we tell ourselves we aren't deserving.
I am usually financially carefree and solvent, making good money to pay for things that bring me comfort and pleasure. I'm by no means rich, but I do have a comfortable life that allows me a lot of freedom.
Lately, the material world has conspired to test those values.
My property tax bill landed with a thud.
My roof has reached the critical mass stage. Massive rainstorms over the last several months have taken their toll. It's time.
My mother had to move and setting her up in a new place called for additional expenses nobody was anticipating.
Now my very sound and reliable Acura has developed a new wrinkle. Seems after I drove to Austin this weekend, she started leaking antifreeze on my brother's pristine black driveway. So, I refilled the little reservoir, said a prayer, checked it on the way home and had no overheating problems. No leakage when I got home, either.
Then yesterday, I went on a 20 mile round trip errand and found leakage again.
Last night, I went to the post office real quick and early morning rains may or may not have rinsed away any additional leakage.
Anna wants to have lunch today at Whole Foods. I simply told her if I don't show up, the radiator failed me. I am not going to be scared into staying off the roads, because I know I'll be okay regardless of what may occur. If the car starts overheating, there are tow trucks available.
So that's it. I'll take the car in tomorrow and hope for the best. I love my mechanic and trust him implicitly.
If it's a new radiator, I'll just be thankful for VISA and Mastercard trusting me enough to allow me to get it fixed.
When bills mount and resources are strained, it's just the Universe telling me something is out of balance and needs to be tended to, so that's where I'll put my energy.
I believe that in testing our core beliefs, they are only strengthened. That's my story and I'm stickin' to it.

I've Gone Boring.

Sheesh. I am starting to bore myself.
All I think about lately is eating right, exercising and getting ready for Aviva's visit by trying to remove any vestige of allergens from my dust and kitty fur insulated domicile.
I am sleepwalking through work. Luckily my editor is, too.
My glucose levels are almost normal now. I can't fucking believe it. When I no longer need meds at night, I am going to tell that doctor this crap can be put into remission, and I plan to wag my finger in the process. My next appointment is in January. By then I plan to be within perfectly normal glucose range.
Harry Potter's first movie runs on HBO about three times a day. I am addicted to it. I can't keep from watching it. I've seen it at least 12 times already.
Uh oh, it's time to go. I have a dozen sugar free Jelly Bellys coming to me and the Harry Potter movie just started. Again.

Sopranos

Damn, Edie Falco earned her Emmy tonight.
Carmella's so hot for Furio, my TV screen started steaming up. And Furio is acting like he's locked inside a tragic opera.
I could smell the olive oil and garlic sizzling when those two were on screen together.
They made Tony look especially large and sloppy tonight so Carmella could look at him and gross out while she hid her Furio-inflamed frenzypants.
One more thing...during the Billy Budd discussion, A.J. was making faces whenever someone made a gay joke, and he kept talking about his lit teacher Mr. Wiggle.
Could it be possible that Tony's son is (dramatic pause) ...gay?
Meadow's boyfriend- kack- it won't last. He reminded me a little of Sponge Bob Squarepants. His head was shaped like Bob's.

Christmas Gift Ideas

What we need are practical gifts people actually will use.
I have invented some.

Bitchometer: worn as a bracelet, the Bitchometer beeps when you've raised your own blood pressure by being too much of a bitch or bastard.

Gut Watcher Pro: this belt detects a too full belly and emits a high pitched, hog squealing sound when the wearer has pigged out too much.

Mama Clapper: When mother starts to talk or complain too much, the Mama Clapper starts clapping until she quiets down.

PMS Alert Bracelet or Necklace: When your favorite gal is fixin' to start, the simulated gems on the PMS Alert jewelry turn from a placid, sky blue to bright red.

ScreenFix: With just a touch of a key, the solitaire game, blog, private e-mail, pornsite or other unauthorized PC activity switches to any letterhead, form or spreadsheet you use at work.

KittyBuns Litter: Finally, a cat litter that smells like fresh baked cinnamon buns. The more it's soiled, the stronger the fresh baked cinnamon bun scent becomes.

Survivor Rehash

Did anyone catch the Wednesday night Survivor midseason special?
Well, I did, and I was happy to be watching it with none other than Cris, the behavioral psychologist who offered some very interesting asides on some of the tribe members.

Ghandia.
Could you fucking believe her RuPaul Super Model of the World Vogue faux photo shoot posing? I mean, come on, she's not hideous but she's got an ego to match all that wobbling junk in her trunk.
Beware anyone who says, "I know I'm hot" to a camera that will feed that message out to millions. What gall.
All she had to do was cut her eyes to the rest of the tribe while she was vamping to see her sashay/chante´act was making them cringe. Diva, my ass.
Poor dumb, horny Ted. He took the bait and she charmed his man cobra like Schehera-fuckin-zade. All I can say is, prick teasing is bad. Bitching about it later is bad, too. Soliciting an apology and accepting it, then turning on the apologee is worse than bad. It's treacherous. And so it was.
Adios, diva, and don't let the door hit that bodacious ass on the way out.
Ted.
Dude, you've had maybe 400 calories in the last 18 weeks, why do you look like you're still Mac'n?
Robb.
Antisocial personality disorder, according to the shrink. Anger management problems. Intense immaturity. Another one whose assessment of himself exceeded his actual assets. Skateboard to the head. Repeat until patient is sedated. Sent him home. Good.
Clay.
Clay the ASSMAN. The toady little ferret also turned out to be a leering ass watcher. He likes Erin's ass. He likes Brian's ass. He likes elephant ass. Hell, Jan better be careful or he'll glom on to her saggy ass.
Jake.
Poor guy. All that rubbin' fox pee and deer spoor on his boots to draw a bead on a 20 point buck apparently clogged up his brain's ability to sense when he's grossing people out. His fellow tribespeople aren't the huntin' fer meat types. Jan likes her squirrel already shot and Clay is a crawdaddy man hisself.
Helen's just gotta win. Please.

Gimmickry

Why do I buy into Christmas?
I think Jesus Christ is okay, I think he was a conduit to God, just like I think other historical religious leaders were/are.
To me, God is God, and any religious entity who founded a religion based on God has at least some spiritual credibility.
Well, I am wondering about Allah, but that's another blog.
Thing is, I don't identify strictly as a Christian.
I am a God believer, but not just through the life and teachings of Jesus.
I am a Jew. I am a Buddhist. I am a Hindu. I am a white witch. I am even still a bit Catholic, at least as far as the cool saints, icons and other religious gear go.
I guess that makes me a pan-denominationalist, although Islam/Muslim dogma has yet to offer me anything I think I can apply to my life as a lesbian, feminist woman.
Anyway, Christmas is coming and I decided I am not going to do anything traditional to celebrate it this year.
Aviva the Jew will be with me, and I am thinking instead of the traditional Christmas thing, if the weather holds, we may just drive down to South Padre Island and take a few days to walk on the beach.
I think God lives at the beach. I think it's a great place to reflect on the God that lives within all of us.
I fail to see how getting to Walmart at 5 a.m. to get the jump on holiday shopping today has anything to do with Christ. I fail to see how a new DVD or a down comforter will show anyone I know that I love God. My family is very fortunate in the prosperity department and they don't really lack for anything material.
So that's it.
I'll donate some money to the needy this season, and take my lover to the beach.
Ho ho ho!

Big Big Shopping Day

I'm not going shopping today.
The $4 I'd save on some gift or doodad isn't worth the emotional angst I'd suffer from traffic, parking woes, crowds and inundated shop clerks.
Yesterday we had a great time. Good company, good food and a great movie afterwards.
Harry Potter and the Chamber of Secrets was simply fantastic. It was better than the first one, which I loved, because it was darker, more complex and scarier.
I still have a crush on Professor Snape. Go figure.
We took my best friend Anna's little son Andrei, who was actually rather attentive for several hours. I only wanted to smack him a few times.
Anna's husband, the one immersed in the work of Byron Katie, was really very nice to see again. We talked about his obsession briefly, but he seemed relaxed with it and listened to what few things I did have to say.
He's a doctor and a distance runner and Anna's parents are fitness and diet freaks, so we were all able to discuss glucose and carbos and all this nutrition crap that's been obsessing me.
Anna's mom brought a sugarless cherry pie that was so good I nearly swooned. Splenda is good! I had a small slice, but still my evening glucose level was in the low 200's, so I rode 15 miles on my bike last night to try to repair the damage.
My glucose level this morning was a mere 126, so that proves to me that exercise really helps in controlling diabetes. Best of all, it has an almost immediate impact on glucose levels, so there's the instant gratification I love.
So, how was your Thanksgiving?
Will you go shopping today?

Gratitude

On this day of thanks, I am grateful for friends who consider me family and family I can *often* consider friends.
And I am grateful for resilience in my life, in health, in work and in love.
So, I leave you with this inspirational lyric I think encapsulates my life, and perhaps your own. Happy Thanksgiving, everyone.

Tub Thumping

We'll be singing
When we're winning we'll be singing
I get knocked down
But I get up again
You're never going to keep me down
I get knocked down
But I get up again
You're never going to keep me down
I get knocked down
But I get up again
You're never going to keep me down
I get knocked down
But I get up again
You're never going to keep me down
Pissing the night away
Pissing the night away
He drinks a whisky drink
He drinks a vodka drink
He drinks a lager drink
He drinks a cider drink
He sings the songs that remind him
Of the good times
He sings the songs that remind him
Of the better times
Oh Danny Boy
Danny Boy
Danny Boy
I get knocked down
But I get up again
You're never going to keep me down
I get knocked down
But I get up again
You're never going to keep me down
I get knocked down
But I get up again
You're never going to keep me down
I get knocked down
But I get up again
You're never going to keep me down
(Repeat 100 more times)

General Holiday Haiku

All this turkey talk
Makes me wanna eat a lot
Four ounces, white meat

I'll have pumpkin pie
Minus the crust and filling
No whipped cream, either

Eggnog with some rum
Consumed with great pleasure in
ER waiting room

High glucose Thursday
Maybe some ketones thrown in
Hey, where'd my feet go?

So sad this season
Nick Cage dumping Lisa P.
Wonder what happened?

No wine tomorrow
Good I'll not be with fam'ly
Driving me to drink

What's left to do Thurs.?
No big dinner, booze or sex
And I hate football

My cats look happy
Wonder if their food tastes good
I may try some soon

Aviva, damn her
Up there in cold Canada
And not here with me

Twas the Day Before Thanksgiving...

Hoo boy. My day before Turkey Day will be a fun one.
Almost a month after diagnosis, I finally have my appointments to see the diabetes nutrition nazi and the diabetes educator.
Today's the day I'll no doubt hear about the need for a kitchen scale so I can weigh my diminutive fish filets and spinach leaves.
I've already come up with some shtick to disrupt the class. Let me try some out on you:

"Hey, those whey protein power shakes mixed with skim milk are a helluva lot better when you add a big scoop of Haagen Dasz."
"I know liquor is bad for us, so I switched to Everclear so I don't need as much to cop a buzz."
"How many carbohydrates are there in a joint?"
"To save fat grams, in my bacon, lettuce and tomato sandwiches, I only use half the mayo, and I stopped toasting the bread in a pan full of butter."
"Pork chops is white meat, ain't it?"
"When my glucose is high, I find a shot or two of tequila brings the numbers right down."
"I can't give up chocolate, so if I eat some now I just make myself puke it up afterwards."
"I switched to WOW potato chips, and they taste real good with sour cream onion dip."

Between comments, I'm going to hum "Ain't Nothin Gonna Break My Stride."

A friend from Paris sent this to me...

LONDON (Reuters)
Britons have sex more often than Americans and Spaniards,
but are outdone between the sheets by the French, Dutch, Danes and
Canadians, according to a new survey.
The Durex Global Sex survey revealed that Britons make love an average of
149 times a year, pipped only by couples in France (167), the Netherlands
(158), Denmark (152) and Canada (150).
Those taking their love-making at a more relaxed pace included Americans
(138 times a year), New Zealanders, (135) and the Spanish, who limped in at
an annual love rate of just 121.
Some 3,500 people from the UK took part in an online survey organised by
condom manufacturer Durex which polled 50,000 people worldwide.

What Do You Want For Christmas?

I have no idea what I want and I don't know what to get Aviva.
I need ideas.
Here's what I don't want:
Chia anything
Software
Knickknacks
Pajamas
Figurines
Fruitcakes
Clothes
Liquor
Cigars
Afghans
Beanie Babies
Teddy bears
Anything by Ronco
Inspirational books
...and much more.
Now, what do I buy a nice Jewish girl for Christmas?

Ward and Gatti

Did anyone see the Mickey Ward and Arturo Gatti fight on HBO last night?
Damn, it was just like the old time, Gillette sponsored fights.
Two Palookas trading punches like Rock 'em Sock 'em robots. Wowzah!

If we were dumbass hicks

My lover is bright. Nothing escapes her sharp eyes or ears. I get by with nothing.
I want us to become dimwitted hayseeds.
I want us to be called Lurlene and Hank.

Lurlene: I think yer damn blog wuz too damn personal 'bout me the other day.
Hank: So, what of it?
Lurlene: I have some gol dern issues with it, at's all.
Hank: Issues? You been watchin' Oprah again.
Lurlene: Well, so what if I was, whatta you goin' to do about it?
Hank: How 'bout I take you to the five and dime and buy you somethin' purty?
Lurlene: Like what?
Hank: Whatever you like, doll baby.
Lurlene: What about a new hairnet and some lawn flamingos?
Hank: At'd be okay.
Lurlene: Well, go get the truck warmed up then.
Hank: Can we have some make up sex first?
Lurlene: As long as you don't touch my hairdo.
Hank: Okay, then. Take off them stretch pants, doll baby, and come 'ere and gimme some.
Lurlene: Oh Hank, you say the sweetest damn things.

Yep. Life would be so much simpler.

Ennui Blog

Ever had one of those days when nothing seems to matter?
Seems my life is in one big holding pattern.
I am bored. I am restless. I am feeling under the weather.
I have chores to do that I am avoiding.
I think I'll go root through my closets and get rid of a ton of crap I no longer wear.
Shoes, too.
Maybe that'll help.

twentyfivethousand

Hard to believe I've had 25,000 hits since November 2001.
Seems like just yesterday I ruined my BlogBack account with my 10,000 hit sweepstakes. BlogBack Marcus still has my kiss prints on his butt from my pleading to get my comments back.
I am sick tonight. I have either Formula 409 poisoning, bronchitis, a common cold or allergies. I am thinking wine would help any of those maladies, but wine has sugar and blah, blah, blah, you know the routine.
I have settled on two Canadian Tylenols with codeine. They don't really help the symptoms, but they make me feel naughty and that alone helps me feel better.
Anyone know where I can get specific flavors of sugar free Jelly Bellies? I like the popcorn, cherry and one of the yellow ones. The pink ones are pretty awful. So are the pear ones.
I have started to grow feathers and fins from my new diet. Sooner or later I am going to have to bust loose on some red meat. I am thinking a Thai steak salad with a peanut dressing I rework without sugar.
I read a vegan diet can put diabetes II into total remission. Too bad all my experiences with vegans are that they are pains in the ass to eat with and hell to cook for. What are they allowed to eat, anyway? Black beans? Feh.
Liza and David were just on ET. Yikes. They are even funnier on Codeine.

Miss World: Infidels and Demon Spawn in Swimwear

From Reuters:
...The Miss World contest, which Nigerian officials hope will showcase the country and add to its tourist appeal, initially ran into trouble amid worldwide publicity over Amina Lawal, a 31-year-old woman who was sentenced under Islamic law to death by stoning for bearing a child out of wedlock.
Following assurances by the government that no one would be stoned, some 90 contestants arrived in Nigeria last week, with many voicing support for Lawal and other women sentenced to death by courts enforcing Islamic sharia law.....

Lemme see if I got this straight.
It's okay for an Islamic man to knock up an Islamic woman, but she faces death by stoning if she is discovered. Gee, that sounds fair. "Sharia" must mean ridiculous in whatever language it is.
Now I am no beauty pageant fan, but I don't mind them. It's not my thing, but neither are tractor pulls.
That doesn't mean I think either should be banned, nor does it mean I think my values are any more or less important than anyone else's, unless someone else's includes stoning to death an unwed mother, disrupting an ages old beauty contest or otherwise smashing their beliefs into people's faces by whatever means possible.
Who is the Allah guy? He doesn't sound like any manifestation of God I've ever read about. More importantly, why would anyone choose to follow a deity whose tenets are so archaic they disrupt the entire world?
Why are intelligent women still following this ass backward religion?
I mean, I was born Catholic, but I realized by age 12 they were selling crap I wasn't in the market for. I had a choice and I made it.
Any woman who tolerates any religion that has no tolerance for women should wise up and smell the mint tea. Are there no learned Islamic women willing to come out and denounce this hate mongering, dogmatic, sexist religion?
What exactly are the payoffs of being an Islamic woman? You tell me. I can't see any.

Survivor: Pick a scum, any scum

Hoo, Boy.
Even the pointy brass immunity necklace looks like shit.
Let's see what scumsuckers we have left:

Brian Heidik: Apparently he didn't hide much dik in his semi-soft porn days, but he did manage to hide his affluence until his wife, Bimbo Heidik, tipped off the other vultures.
He's in danger now.
Jake Billingsly: This geezer has some kind of magic immunity for now. He's harmless and kind of funny, though he has become quite the gasbag with his macho tales.
Jan Gentry: I think she's been around so long because people instinctively ignore her and have gotten used to her not really being there. Plus she's too icky to kiss good-bye.
Helen Glover: "Then you take some butterscotch chips and sprinkle them over the toasted coconut and bake it at 350 degrees in an 8 inch jellyroll pan..." She's using the Betty Crocker routine to sand the edges off her rough cedar veneer. I still like her and I think everyone else likes her, too.
Clay Jordan: Why he hasn't been ambushed, killed and used in Helen's jerk chicken recipe is beyond me.
Penny Ramsay: Pact with the devil. Gives free nocturnal blow jobs. She must.
Ted Rogers, Jr.: His only salvation is that his jelly belly makes everyone else feel svelte.

Okay, I have no idea how these people evaluate each other anymore after they booted Ken, so I am going to pretend I am a Chewy Suck member and vote off Clay.
And if Clay isn't it, then Jan is.

Survivor picks coming later. Work beckons.
I have bronchitis and a low grade fever.
Yeecch, what a Thursday.

Prince Michael II

Seems Michael Jackson is in trouble for holding his latest victim... eh, son over the edge of a fourth floor balcony at a German hotel.
Six month old Prince Michael II was photographed being held by his... eh, daddy as he dangled over the balcony so well wishers below could see him. The child had a cloth over his head but his bare feet and legs showed him to be the same pale white skin color as his father.
Let's discuss:
1. Who would turn over an infant to this freakazoid?
2. Does anyone on Earth believe these kids were sired by him, and if so, does anyone think it was done the old penis and vagina way?
3. Does anyone doubt that Michael is a pedophile, specifically with little boys?
4. Has anyone out there actually purchased a Michael Jackson CD or tape since they heard he was a kiddie diddler?
5. Didn't he used to be black?
6. Did his nose ever up and fall off?
7. Do you think he got his mitts on Webster or Macauley Culkin when they were tots?
8. Do you think he was into Bubbles the chimp sexually?
9. Do you think Michael Jackson actually have sex with Lisa Marie Presley?
10. What would Elvis have thought of his baby girl marrying MJ?

Midweek Haiku

Here we are, humpday
Going out to lunch today
Oh boy, more salad!

My poor Aviva
Has to go back to the pit
And deal with more crap

I noticed today
The cats eat like I do now
Kibble, in a bowl

I had a nice dream
Eating coffee Haagen Dasz
Woke up to soy flakes

Thirty-three more days
Til' I see Canuck again
Celibacy sucks.

My pants are baggy
So are my shirts and sweaters
A silver lining!

I Need Some Contributions

No, not the paypal kind where you chip in for my blog efforts. If I started getting paid for blogging, I'd feel like it was a job and I'd have to be more careful with what I wrote.
I need contributions for Aviva's brilliant new project, a soundtrack CD for her office.
She needs songs about the drudgery of working for a maniac.
My first suggestion was "Car Wash" by Rose Royce.
She added, "I Will Survive" by Gloria Gaynor.
Johnny Paycheck's "Take this Job and Shove it" was deemed too blatant to make the cut. You know how subtle those damn Canadians can be.
I suggested "Working for the Man" by Roy Orbison.
She threw in "Another Brick in the Wall" by Pink Floyd.
I suggested "These Boots Were Made for Walking" by Nancy Sinatra and "You Don't Own Me" by Leslie Gore, but I think Aviva's polite silence ruled them out.
Oooh, I just thought of another. "The Thrill is Gone" by B.B. King. That would work.
So what have you got?

Odds and Ends, Mostly Odds

These self actualization rackets like the Landmark Forum and the Work of Byron Katie continue to get on my nerves. I am safe from direct effects of it, but it's tearing my heart out to see what it's doing to the two women I love most.
My poor girlfriend's idiot zombie boss is breaking all kinds of employment agreements on one side and hawking up platitudes about integrity on the other. Fuck that shit. Walk it, don't talk it. Show, don't tell.
My best friend Anna's husband is walking around in a daze. He's someone I love and consider a dear friend, but he's been avoiding me like I'm smegma. He must know I'd ask him where the fuck his head has gone.
These brainwashing groups may start with the noble idea of providing insight to the mind-needy, but once the money starts rolling in, the original intent becomes polluted. They offer the suckers some intangible thing they think they need, but it's all just smoke and mirrors.
They appeal to the habitual personality, the addict, the soul starved. People don't seem to get they already have everything they need within to find serenity and peace.
All they need to do is live a decent life, don't fuck people over if they can help it, and try to accept change as a part of life, and presto, serenity will be there.

Meanwhile, my 90-year-old mother's cheese is slipping off her cracker.
Senility is overtaking her like a greyhound in a weenie dog race. We are going to take her out of the deluxe, fancy pants assisted living place we put her in last October and put her in a smaller place where they bring her meals and give her meds without her having to figure out when to eat and when to pop her pills.

My life is fine now. I've accepted my diabetes sentence and yesterday I broke down and bought some sugar free Jell-o. I hated it before, but after three weeks of no sugary stuff at all, it tasted like raspberry manna from Heaven.
Maybe it's been the exercise and clearing out the starch and sugar from my intestinal track, but my mind is clearer now and I find myself calmer and more patient. Little problems with Aviva that used to drive me over the edge just don't seem important anymore.
Maybe we just relaxed and started loving each other.
Not to get biblical (oy vey!) but I am reminded of Paul to the Corinthians:
Love is patient. Love is kind. It does not envy. It does not boast. It is not proud. It is not rude. It is not self-seeking. It is not easily angered. It keeps no records of wrongs. Love always hopes. Love never fails.
I'm not there yet in every line, but it is something to shoot for.

Tony?

I had a little trouble wrapping my brain around The Sopranos last night.
Too many creepy things happening.
That horse portrait Pauly had turned into a Napoleonic thing- that was just wrong.
Christopher's intervention, that I liked, especially the free-for-all ending.
I can't believe he sat on the dog and smothered it. If any stoned moron did that to one of my kitties, I'd have to smother him or her.
Why did Tony shtup that one legged Russian chick? What happened to that woman that he stole from Ralph? I would have liked to watch a little more of her writhing around.
Tony is on Prozac- how is he getting it up to be so damn promiscuous? I tried Prozac once and Michelle Pfeiffer herself couldn't have awakened the little dead man in the boat.
And Florio and Carmella, no no no! We just know she's gonna do him and we just know Tony's gonna find out and have him thrown into a wood chipper. If Carmella really has feelings for Florio, she needs to strap on a chastity belt and keep him off her. Besides, all he brought her from Italy was vinegar. What kind of seduction gift was that?
The show last night was written by someone on acid, I think.
It was kind of like the Sopranos, but it was wayyy off the usual mark.

Woo, What A Late Start!

Uh oh. I am on deadline and I awakened at 9:45 this morning.
Apparently Mr. Sandman stayed over because he liked my down comforter, that slothful bastard.
So I crawled out of bed, showered, shivered, brewed some coffee and opened my e-mail to find a jackpot of Jewish notes. Three from Aviva, two from a Parisian Jew on my list and a few from my new best e-friend, Jodi the Kosher recipe girl.
You may as well start reading Jodi's blog, "Because I Said So." It's newly linked to the left and she's funny.
Here's what's not so funny.
My dear Aviva is the one whose boss has been insisting everyone take the post est Landmark Forum, and last week he had everyone at work in a state of shock with his lengthy meetings about the forum, his perma-glazed facial expression and his yammering on and on about "integrity" and being "authentic."
Aviva has the experience, people skills and employee support to literally walk away and start her own business, but she's not the type to do that. Nor is she a confrontational type. But I am thinking she's not going to take much more of this idiot's crap, so everyone please join me in sending her some take-no-crap vibes. Kick his ass, baby!
Also, today is my good friend and ex lover Cris'es birthday.
She's so cool, as her gift to herself she's quitting her megabuck job today. Yep, she's going to give herself the gift of herself. Cris is an overachiever. She has an MA in psychology and an MBA. She also has a wonderful artist inside her, and that's who's going to be free to grow in a few weeks. I couldn't be happier for her. Happy Birthday, Cris!
Meanwhile, I have to work.
My editor extended our magazine publication deadline until Friday, so I don't have to work *hard* I just have to show a little progress.
That means I am logging off, going out to forage for this week's meager food supply, and get my hormone prescription refilled before I turn into the Wolfman.

Frida

Last night I saw the Salma Hyeck movie "Frida," about Mexican artist Frida Kahlo. It was absolutely stunning.
From the many books I've read about Kahlo and from a historical perspective, this movie was right on target.
Salma Hyeck is so sexy my eyes rolled back in my head. The tango scene with Salma and Ashley Judd would turn even the staunchest straight girl into a lesbian.
The story between Frida and Diego Rivera was complicated and very aptly illustrated the thin line between love and hate, and the pain two people who love each other can cause.
His oafish charm and her intensity and beauty reminded me of my own relationship in some ways, except I am not a bad ass cheater like he was.
The Mexican history and cultural aspects of the movie were totally authentic.
Go see it. Talk about it. Even the soundtrack was good.

Diabetes Dietribe

Well, so far so good. I've lost 5 pounds in two weeks and have been mired in a miasma of culinary confusion. It's been a challenge to make delicious foods without butter, starch or sugar, but I'm getting there.

The Good:
Pam butter flavored cooking spray. I don't care if it kills cockroaches, I'm using it.
Pine nuts. Sprinkled on salads, they make it seem less like a diet drudge.
Dr. Brown diet black cherry soda. Aviva turned me on to this and it's fabulous.
Lipton diet Brisk tea. Yum.
Baby spinach, arugula and carrot threads. Sold in a bag, I have it every day to cancel out that disgusting green leafy vegetable requirement.
Tuna in a vacuum packed bag. Not too bad. The albacore is actually good.
Rainbow sugar free 100% whole wheat bread. Not too bad.
Promise fat and sugar free margarine. Suspicious, but not bad on toast.
Tilapia. A nice, white, mild fish.
Salmon. Impossible to screw up salmon.
Mustard. Sort of like mayonnaise, okay, at least it's wet.
Kashi Go Lean Crunch cereal. Soy beans I think, but pretty good. Another Aviva thing.
Hard boiled eggs. Perfect for those times I am about to freak out. Seventy calories of pure protein. Aviva strikes again.
Almonds. Especially tamari almonds. Yum. Also nice on salads and spinach. Thanks again, Aviva.
Sugar free Jelly Bellies. A dozen of these during a bad sugar Jones will save my life, I just know it.
Diet 7-up. Diet Sprite is slimy. D7up is good.
Skim milk. Okay, without the occasional 6 inch stack of Oreos or packet of graham crackers, milk isn't a beverage anyway, so what the heck.
Glucerna diabetic meal replacement bars. Not bad in a pinch.
Borden's No fat half and half. Hello again, coffee!
Couscous. Love it. What is it? I don't care, I love it.
Diet Mountain Dew and diet Red Dew. Yum!

The Bad:
Stevia sugar substitute. This is said to be the Mercedes Benz of healthy alternatives to sugar, but it tastes like crap. Sweet n' Low is better, even if it does cause mutations.
PowerBar Protein Plus bars. Zero grams of sugar but 17 grams of "alcohol sugar." That seems worse to me than sugar.
Diet IBC root beer. Just doesn't cut it.
Diet Coke. After 40 years of Coke, I just can't make the switch.
Tofu. Fuck tofu and the horse it rode in on.
Soy beans, roasted and salted. See tofu.
Diabetic cookies and jams. Sneaky sugars like mannitol and fructose. Liars!
Diet Sprite. Slime.
Diet ranch dressing. Huh uh.
Whey protein powder. Oh my God, it tastes like chocolate beef. Disgusting!
Egg beaters. I'd rather not, thanks.
Sugar free Jell-o. I don't even like regular Jell-o.

What Unmitigated Gall

I read this quote from a UP article about the recent Hebron situation.

"In the Gaza Strip, hundreds of Islamic Jihad supporters rallied in celebration. Abdullah Shami, a leader of the group, said "there is no room to give up or to surrender to this criminal Nazi enemy who seeks to exterminate Palestinians in collusion with America.''

Calling Jews Nazis just shows what assholes these Islamic "Jihad" clowns are.
If Abdullah Salami had even a nodding acquaintance with the Nazis and the Holocaust, he'd know to shut his ignorant falafel hole.
His comparison is beyond tasteless, it's hateful. His "leadership" role casts aspersions on every Palestinian, and doesn't do a lot for Islam, either.
I hate war, but this guy I'd shoot myself.

Almost a Year Later

My first bloggoversary is November 30.
I reread some of my first blogs and it amused me to see how far I have and have not come. Like a raccoon, I seem to often take one step forward and two steps back.
The thing is, I am basically happy despite all my potential woes.
Something new this year are the friends I have made in this weird Blogging medium.
Joel Sax over at Emperor Norton did a little acknowledgment to his blog link writers and I think I'll do the same.
BarCodeKing. My first straight male bloglink and someone near to my heart because he is so different from anyone else in my life. He's cranky. He's politically somewhere to the right of Spiro Agnew. He argues with me. He doesn't care about shoes. He can be hilarious when he wants to be.
Shelley at Cynical Life. She's just the sweetest Jewish Yankee girl and she gives great comments. She is chicken soup in girl form.
Decaf Venti Shari. She writes delicate little hors d'oeuvre blogs. She's gentle and fun.
GreyBird. I love the Bird and our friendship extends past this medium. She's mature beyond her years and a great confidant. Plus she does all my tech shit.
Hoopty. When I feel insane I read his blog and feel much better about myself. He's nuts.
Jaded Ju Jill. She's too intelligent for her own good. And she's real. And she's tough but it's a bluff.
Ordinary Morning Melly. She's my San Antonio connection. We talk all the time, late at night, solving nothing, laughing at everything. She's 23 going on 43. Brilliant.
Pax Nortana Joel. He's a sweet, vulnerable, gentle, open man.
Sal: A complaint. Another nice Jewish girl. Very smart, very kind.
Sicksider: Kimberley is the best writer in blogworld, bar none. Her intensity and brutal honesty send chills down my spine. She's got to publish a book, it's her destiny.
Smack the Weasel Robyn. Hilarious. A natural raconteur. Plus she's Jewish, and we all know what a Jew wannabe I am.
Spacemonk Mike. I love him like a brother. He's a pure soul, filled with light.
Techfluid Chari. Another phone pal. I wanna be her when I grow up.
Time for your Meds Tracy. Crazy bitch, she dragged most of us into the blog thing. She's charismatic, hilarious and with some strong editing, she could be a best selling writer!
Welcome to my life Kelly. She's a cupcake, a maniac, a brain, a wit and a cutie.
WKen. Wow. He's a womanizer, a teddy bear, a goofball and a brilliant guy, full of heart.
Thanks to all of you for making my life more interesting.

My Big Fat Ted Wedding

What's with Ted on Survivor? I am so sick of his lumbering around shirtless with that expectant mother belly wobbling all over. Just his head has lost weight, making him look like Zippy the Pinhead. Someone get a hook and drag him out of my line of sight.
Oh and Ted, not to be mean, but your baby is frightening with that junior James Brown face and hair. Sasquatch has nothing on baby girl, bless her furry little heart.
Chari over at Techfluid read my mind and stole all of my more acerbic observations already, but I will continue to gild the lily with new ones.
Jan's ass looks like 4 pounds of sausage in a 20 pound casing. Please, Jan, slip on some jeans or a sarong or something to block that frightening butt.
Penny, you are the daughter of Satan. Night vision exposes the 666 on your head. Please get thee to a nunnery- off the island.
Clay, you put the louse in Louse-iana. You'd have to move up the evolution scale to equal the charm of that pig farmer from last time. Ugh.
Jake. That Texas J.R. Ewing thing is getting old. You made the monkey yawn. Be quiet and for God's sake, put on a shirt. You need a Manzier™ to harness that floppy left breast of yours. It's bigger than mine, fer Chrissakes.
Brian: Grand piano. Beemer. Cadillac. Bimbo wife. That video from home betrayed you, you yuppie scum. You don't need the money.
Helen. Poor Helen with her face carved out of cornbread. Helen with the incongruously lilting voice and horizontal bicuspids. Helen with no husband and some big strapping kids to feed.
Give her the money. She's all we got.

Diabetes News: Part LCVIII

My first follow-up diabetes appointment was yesterday and there's been some marked improvement, so says the doctor.
Instead of four times a day, now I only have to test my glucose levels in the mornings and 2 or 3 odd times during the week.
This morning's glucose count was 126, which is only one tiny point above normal.
I think the secret is baby spinach leaves, arugula and lite balsamic vinegar and olive oil dressing. Every time I make that, my levels plunge. :)
The greatest discovery this week besides sugar free Jelly Bellies has been FAT FREE half and half. I don't know how they did it and I am not asking, but Borden's has done it and my coffee drinking days are back again!
Damn, I know I am boring lately, but this is about all I have to discuss right now, so there you have it.

Pecked by a Thousand Ducks

I am so busy today I can't see straight.
I have eight articles to write, a doctor's appointment, groceries to buy, a bathroom to clean, dinner to cook and Survivor tonight.
And just when I get on track and start accomplishing things, I pause and hallucinate Aviva in that white sweater, smiling at me.
Tonight's pick for Survivor- gotta be a tribe merge, and adios Jan. And take your bat embryo and chicken head with you.

Landmark Forum

I took the est training in the 70's. It was the one where they didn't let us go to the bathroom and yelled at us for 16 hours a day, all weekend, so that we'd learn to experience life, not just live life.
It was okay, but in retrospect it was silly, costly and excessive, and had I been anything more than a naive 25-year-old, I would have told them to shove it mid-training.
In the 80's, est founder Werner Erhard (nee Jack Rosenberg) got into some IRS and media trouble and rechristened est into something he called Landmark Forum. Basically the training was the same, it just had a new name to avoid the taint of the est reputation.
Eventually Erhard sold the company to his younger brother and lammed out of the country with the money.
A friend of mine works for a small advertising company, where the boss is a recent Landmark Forum "graduate."
Though he can't really articulate or exemplify the drastic changes he says he's experienced through the training, he's a zealot who cannot resist preaching the forum gospel to his hapless employees. He jabbers forum cliches by rote, forces them to endure two hour meetings about the forum, and basically has everyone entirely freaked out.
First he offered to pay the tuition for each of his employees to take the training and its subsequent seminars. Now he's making it a condition of employment.
The trouble with cults like this is some people get wigged out and end up doing just what this joker is doing.
Another friend has a husband who's doing "the work of Byron Katie." Same basic shit with a different name. The guy is all about Byron Katie and it's screwing up his marriage and family life. As his friend, I think he's gone off the deep end.
So, as a public service, I am going to give for free the lessons of these programs so my readers can save money, time and sanity.
1. This is it. Enjoy it while you can.
2. The choices you make are what you'll get in life. Choose well.
3. You will be as happy as you make up your mind to be.
4. It's not their fault.
5. Suck it up and quit that bitching.

There. You are now a Zipdrive Seminar Graduate. Go in peace.

Sugar Free Jelly Bellies

I have found an alternative to real candy. Fake Jelly Bellies.
After a Greek "diet plate" (one tiny skewer of beef and a lot of lettuce) for dinner tonight, I found myself wanting more. More something.
I found sugar free Jelly Bellies and I am a believer.
I went to the grocery store after dinner to forage for tomorrow's meager sustenance.
I bought four ounces of salmon, four ounces of tilapia, 6 cremona mushrooms, 2 bananas, a small orange, 2 six packs of diet black cherry soda, two whole wheat bagels and some soap that smells like lemon grass. And those fabulous sugar free Jelly Bellies.
My culinary life is starting to look like that of a Tibetan monk's, except for the Jelly Bellies and black cherry soda.
I can't believe a dozen faux Jelly Bellies have made such an impact.
The grocery store I went to has a "diabetic section." It consists of cookies and jams that have no real sugar but tons of disguised sugar, so they are just about as bad. I read the labels and snorted in derision.
So far the only upside of this shit is that my pants are all loose now.
My fingertips look like pin cushions from all the glucose testing.
And I miss that Canuck. Like crazy.

Procrastination

Hmm... getting back to work is a trifle challenging today.
I have eight articles to write and maybe a dozen people to interview, but I had to catch up on my blog links and that takes time.
Two weeks into my brand new diabetes and I have to say it's not the most rewarding challenge I have faced in my life.
Aviva and I walked for at least a few hours every day, we ate pretty sensibly and my glucose levels are still averaging in the mid to high 100's, which sucks. Must have been the wine. Note to myself: find a diabetes/wine loophole.
Canada was good for reducing external stress. It was nice to be in a no war zone and not have to listen to a nonstop media barrage of Bush vs Iraq.
Canadians are a little formal but generally as sweet as lambs, and they don't like all this jingoistic aggression.
Aviva gave me a huge bag of Canadian chazarai (tschatzkes) and I bought another pile of stickers, magnets, decals, flag and patches. I have an Army fatigue jacket I plan to festoon with Canuck patches as my own little war protest garment.
When I told people in Montreal I was from Texas, they gave me sort of a smile/cringe.
I felt I had to quickly add that I was neither a Bush fan nor a war monger.
We have much to learn from our Canuck cousins.
For instance, their immigrants are far less Canadianized than we expect ours to be, and the natives just deal with the differences more peacefully.
They don't even honk their horns at idiots.

Canadia Revisited: Part Two

On Friday, we ate dinner in Old Montreal at Gibbys
, in a building erected in the 1600's. We sat by the fireplace. Aviva by firelight is better than chocolate. Then we went home and explored international relations in depth.
On Saturday, we celebrated being Jewish. Aviva took me to see her childhood homes, her elementary school and high school. It was very sweet to see where she used to hang out when she was a pint-sized Canuck.
We finished up at Cavendish Mall, home of many elderly Jewish people who squat at the food court nursing a cup of coffee for hours on end. I bought the Roots store out of
T-shirts, and I also got a little silver star of David I now wear next to my St. Christopher's medal on a chain around my neck. Hey, may as well hedge my bets.
Aviva gave me a two inch thick wad of Canadian Tire money in a red Roots wallet. We went there and I converted it into a Bare Naked Ladies CD.
We went home and rested, then dressed for dinner. She wore a black skirt and a white, lacy sweater. As we exited the taxi, several drivers eyed her and ran their cars into light poles. A horse attached to a carriage reared up and whinnied at the sight of her. Pedestrians ran into mailboxes and stepped in puddles. I was puffed up like an adder walking next to her.
We ate at an elegant French seafood place called la Meree. The service was tuxedoed, very French and impeccable. I asked about dessert and the waiter said, "Non, first you have zee cheese plate." I said, "Cheese plate?" He said "Oui, a leetle camembert, some brie, a leetle port salut, some muenster, some sweeze." So we had cheese after our stupendous Caesar salad por deux, grilled halibut and some kind of lobstery thing.
Singing star Bono was at the next table, in a foul humor.
Diabetes be damned, I had a glass of port after dinner and we were drunker than Cooter Brown leaving the place. International relations improved and several bilateral agreements were firmed up afterwards.
Sunday night. Ahhh. Dinner at home. Aviva made the best lasagne on Earth. We shared a bottle of Puligny Montrachet. Cue camera to waves crashing on beach, with fireworks.
Monday morning. Yeecch. Parting was such sweet sorrow.
I just love that girl.

Canadia Revisited: Part One

I love Montreal.
Aviva and I had the most wonderful time together, except we suck at good-byes.
Thursday night we drove home through some slushy snow to watch Survivor together.
The outcome was disappointing and ruined my 100% average. But I really didn't care.
Friday morning we lolled around, then took a taxi downtown, where we trudged around a million cool shops and split a smoked meat sandwich at this multi level restauranteria.
Smoked meat is some kind of Montreal tradition. It's kind of like pastrami, served on rye with mustard. It's good.
Then we hit the casino.
I promptly lost $40 in loonies. Then Aviva started playing a quarter slot machine and won $55. She gave me the money and we left. I like that in a gambling companion.

Montreal

My stay here is about over, I leave tomorrow.
We've had some snow and rain but overall it's been pretty nice.
Monday night I'll be doing a big old travelogue.
The women in Montreal are really pretty. They dress well and have a certain style all their own.
None compare to Aviva. She's the prettiest, womaniest woman I have ever met.
She confounds me and astounds me.
And with Montreal as a backdrop, it's been a hell of an adventure.
See y'all tomorrow.

Survivor Picks!

Before I go...
I see two women in the crosshairs this week.
From the Suck Joy tribe, look for slippery Slytherin Penny from Plano to get the boot.
From the Chew Me Guy tribe, it's time for Jan to get her hillbilly butt back to Bugtussle.

True, I can't stand Clay but he's like a certain GOP family- creepy but hard to get rid of.
Both 'ladies' have used up their nine lives. Penny is shifty and Jan is way too Minnie Pearl to stomach much longer.

Your picks?

Mensa Mensa

I am a perfect blend of agony and ecstasy today.

Agony:
Republicans elected out the yin yang. Look out, economy! Hello war!
Hear me now and believe me later- the surplus is gone, the war is going to screw up the economy even worse and only the GOP's and their cronies will get rich off this.
Dubya is a Madison Avenue creation and the voters fell for it.
Kind of like the Pet Rock.
The Senate and Congress are crawling now with Republicans, like cucarachas in a dirty kitchen.
Say good-bye to the arts, human rights, gay rights, prescriptions for elderly, and basically anything that doesn't embrace white rich men and their wives.
Fuck it. It's gonna be a long two years.

Ecstasy:
When the going gets rough on the homefront, what better to do than board a plane and go to Canada to indulge in practices that would melt the Grecian Formula out of the GOP's hair?
The thought of seeing Aviva tomorrow night in Montreal cancels out the agony of the elections.
No news, no computer, no cares, just her.
Life can be sweet, even with diabetes and a shitload of new Republican crooks, ready to do the bidding of the Idiot Prince.

See you folks in a few days. :)

Good Voter Haiku

Mikey the Spacemonk
I knew he'd do the right thing
Namaste, buddy!

Chari Techfluid
Voted in Florida, hmm?
Is your chad dimpled?

Apocalypse pd
Had to vote for some indies
No dems over dere

Barcodie, gee whiz
A straight, male republican
What you doin' here?!?

Kelly, 23
Already knows the true score
Vote Reps in, get war

Melly in Tulsa?
I don't recall being asked
If you could leave town

Greybird, we await
Did you vote for Democrats
or were you Bushwacked?

Barcodie loves bush
I can't really blame him though
I love to jab bush

A Free Haiku, All About You

Go to the polls today, vote the Democratic ticket, come back here and tell me about it and I'll write a free haiku, all about you.

VOTE FOR THE DEMOCRATS- WE NEED CONGRESSIONAL BALANCE NOW.
Just do it.

Rain Brain Drain

I am so sick of this rain in San Antonio, I'm about to scream.
It's the kind of chilly rain where you have to use the defroster in the car.
It's been relentless for as long as I can remember.
My house is damp inside from the constant drip, drip, drip, outside.
On Thursday, they are forecasting 72º and sunny skies here. That's the day I fly into rain and snow in Montreal.
Somehow the idea of rain and snow, or even hellfire and brimstone with her is appealing.
I'm here this week physically, but my heart and soul seem to have already migrated North.
Uh oh. I got it bad.
Next I'll start ending sentences with "eh."

Another Encounter

On Thursday I'll be flying up to Montreal to see Aviva again.
We've ironed out so many past wrinkles but our relationship is like linen, fine but not exactly maintenance free.
One must pay a price when mutual intelligence and intensity mix with passion, love, fear and caution.
Both of us are having to ante up, but so far the jackpot is worth the risk.

Share your thoughts:
When is it time to suspend doubt and leap into the void?
What are the keys to a healthy and happy relationship?
How or why did you and your lover/partner/spouse decide to make it official?
Marriage/living together: Is it worth it?

Diabetes Dinner

I think I may be getting the hang of my epicurian diabetes dilemma.
Tonight I am making my first official "I have diabetes" dinner.
-Broiled salmon with lime and ginger (I skipped the butter)
-Roasted tiny new potatoes with fresh rosemary (I used olive oil)
-Steamed asparagus with lemon
No bread, no butter, no dessert, but I will have a pear or apple later.

I think chocolate may be more addictive than cigarettes.

Snow in Montreal

Whenever I travel, people always tell me to pack something warm.
My body temp runs normal, but I always feel about 10 degrees hotter than everyone else, so usually I am fine in any climate with a shirt and maybe a sweater or light jacket.
It's 27ºF in Montreal right now and maybe snowing.
I think I may need a coat.
I have only seen snow maybe three times in my life. Come Thursday, looks like I will get a fourth chance.
I have learned that making snow angels is vastly overrated as a snow activity. So is throwing snowballs at people who don't like things thrown at them. I will just have to settle for sitting by a fire with a hot, unbuttered non-rum and a hot, buttery woman.
I think I can manage the sacrifice.

All Soul's Day

Today would have been my grandmother's 115th birthday.
It's All Soul's Day, or Dia de los Muertes for the Hispanically inclined.
It's the one day of the year when the veil between life and death is the thinnest.
It's the day when spirits and souls are celebrated.
It's the day cemeteries in San Antonio are festooned with flowers, mariachis and families offering goodies to the departed.
I'd like to go to the cemetery today and pay my propers to the ancestors.
Only trouble is, I feel a little chained to the house so I can do my feedings and bloodletting to try to force my glucose levels under 160.
Anyway, I might go and collect my 90-year-old mother and drag her to the cemetery in spite of the logistics. Or maybe I'll just light some candles at home.
Whatever I decide, today I'll ponder my dead relatives, friends and my soulmate who died in '89. I wish them well, wherever they are.
Since Halloween was on Survivor Thursday, I hid out in the back of my house instead of distributing the free AOL trial CDs I was planning to give out.
I used to hand out those really cool little chocolate bars, but I wasn't about to have those scattered around, whispering "eat me."
Halloween, being the high holy day of queerdom, used to be one of my favorite days of the year. It was a night of drunken merrymaking and untold indulgences.
Now a KitKat bar and a martini could put me in a coma.
Yep. This year I went as a hyperglycemic. Trick or Trick!

Tonight's Survivor Picks!

Suck Joy Tribe:
Gotta be Shii Ann.

ChewMeGuy Tribe:
Old geezer Jan, or if there's a God, Clay, the cross-eyed, hayseed, banjo strummin' Louisiana cracker S.O.B.

My luxury items tonight:
Water, one level teaspoon of peanut butter and 3 banana seeds. :(

Y'all Are Amazing

I have family, friends and now a woman who loves me, but I have to say I am very aware and grateful to my Bloggy World friends who have encouraged me and seen me through this shocking new development.
Thanks, everyone.
When I was diagnosed with endometrial cancer in 2001, I read enough to know it was likely a simple matter of a hysterectomy and I'd be cured. No chemo, no radiation, no after effects. And so it was.
Now with diabetes, I was scared. Shaking, shivering and crying scared.
It's incurable- so they say- and it flies in the face of my love for all things epicurean.
I was married to a chef, who died in 1989. Barry was cordon bleu trained and taught me so many things about wines, cuisines and cooking.
I've never been one to loll around eating Ding Dongs and junk food. I have very finicky tastes in foods and have had the luxury of indulging them over the last three decades.
Now the paradigm shifts.
I must relearn how to create and locate delicious foods without sugar and with far less fat. I must learn whatever this timing thing is that will allow me occasional chocolate or a dessert.
I must get off my ass and do more exercise. The more I do the more likely I can have that little chocolate thing now and then.
I absolutely can't smoke anymore. It's just lethal to a diabetic in terms of circulatory complications.
I'll have to pay attention to the fluttery feeling when I am hungry, and realize that the sinking feelings I've been having were not from impending old age, they were the diabetes talking.
Diabetes is a sneaky, insidious bitch.
Leave her alone and she'll make you blind, cut your feet off or shut your endocrine system down.
I'm not going to let that happen.
Anyway, thanks again for the support. I'll try to move off this topic asap. I hate health complaining, even my own.

Oh, Sweet Pee...

Yep. My chocolate chomping days are over.
I have Type II diabetes.
I came home from the hospital, armed with some meds, lancets, blood collecting doodads and a swell little glucose-o-meter for my 4x daily bloodletting.
Aviva tells me now I can refuse to eat anything, using my delicate condition as an excuse. I always used allergies as an excuse before. Now I can use the word 'coma' to dissuade people from forcing me to taste their fucking lentil loaf.
My best Friend Anna offered to swap my precious hoard of imported chocolates for "a bag of tofu." Bitch.
Aviva said I'd have to wear a medic alert bracelet. The wild maned vixen with the flashing eyes is a little on the nerdy side if she thinks I am adding a sickly gimp bracelet to my dubious fashion repertoire.
So.
Here's to no more red label Coke, no more Haagen Dazs coffee, no more Venezuelan El Rey chocolate, no more hand made truffles, no more warm, homemade cobblers, no more bread pudding, no more Stonewall Kitchens wild Maine blueberry preserves, no more hot cocoa, no more pumpkin and pecan pie, and no more Coffeemate Hazelnut creamer.
When runner Jim Fixx died years ago, I said it was because he used up all his exercise energy. I guess I have used up all my sugar chances.
No cigarettes, no sweets, that just leaves sex and rock n' roll.
The doctors said I needed to drop 35 pounds. With no sugar, that could be easy.
They said I had to exercise more. Know-it-all bastards.
But, I'll do it because I love this life I have.
So what? I have a chronic disease that's managed primarily by healthy eating and exercise. Sounds like a life sentence of common sense.
Gotta go, I have to go prick myself, eat my Lean Cuisine Hunan beef with three grains of rice and two broccoli buds, then ride that fucking bike for five miles.