Sunday Bloggy Sunday
I was thinking how much fun it would be if Laura Bush tried to run for president in 2008. With her newly acquired Botox face and a grin that rivals Jack Nicholson as The Joker, I can only imagine her Valium-fueled stump speeches. More like stumped speeches.
"Mommy Dearest" is on Bravo this morning. When it first came out back in 1981, Big Sis and I took Mama to see it on Mother's Day. Mama was impressed when her suspicions about Joan Crawford being a bitch all along were confirmed, but Big Sis and I were more perturbed because Faye Dunaway had ham-acted herself into such a believable portrayal, she was permanently thrown into our "actresses we no longer wanna fuck" category.
To this day I refuse to use wire hangers...
My new car has seven Bose speakers hidden all over the interior, but I was sort of disappointed when I couldn't get that thump thump thump bass sound at high volumes. Then I played, "My Hump" by the Black-eyed Peas and the sound rivaled that of any cholo's monster truck in the 'hood.
Did I mention the renters who moved in next door last autumn? The husband is a young greaseball who drives the loudest motorcycle in Texas. Their other vehicle is a big Dodge pick-up truck painted the color of pantyhose. Nobody in Texas drives Dodge trucks--they are considered the vehicular equivalent of Shasta brand soda.
Here in Texas, many alumni from the University of Texas put little chrome longhorn silhouettes on the backs of their vehicles. I had to laugh when I spotted one on the back of that Dodge truck. As if! He may as well put a Harvard Law decal on his back windshield.
The dude works for Budweiser, which is handy considering how much they drink and party every weekend. Their kids like to go outside and scream at a glass-breaking pitch for no apparent reason. The wife uses a Sharpie to draw in her eyebrows and her hair is peroxided sort of an orangutan orange.
They also have a mostly Beagle mutt who barks all night long.
When they first moved in, they had a party that was so huge and loud, the cops came three times. There must have been 300 people there. The next morning, my lawn was strewn with empty Styrofoam menudo bowls, beer cans, bottles, wadded up napkins and a used Pamper. They also trampled three of my sweet olive shrubs as they staggered across my lawn.
Needless to say, their landlord Pete (who used to live there until he shacked up with the whore across the street) has been deaf to my complaints. When the idiot next door recently woke me up one night at 11 by hammering on the fence between our houses, I called Pete to complain. He told me to go fuck myself.
Well, all I can say is I hope the renters like opera.
Every time I see them gathering outside for another beer bust, I move my 5,000 watt speakers to the windows, crack them open and blast them with Carmina Burana or Carmen. That's one nice thing about being older and richer than the punks next door---better speakers.
This spring I plan to landscape that side of my yard with the most vicious cacti I can find-- you know-- the kind that'll pop a football if it lands on the patch. I just hope moist cat manure helps them grow, because my boys have quite a manufacturing operation going on in their catbox.