My Travel Agent Is The Best

I was informed via email that a certain nameless travel agent of mine reads my blog. I didn't realize that when she was one of the defendants named in my indictment in my previous blog.  But I must say, she is a MASTER in the TRAVEL industry.

So, in order to restore my relationship with my travel agent (very important when one has an emergency) and to put the kibosh on the threat of her putting me on the "involved in terrorist activities" list and  "ordering a special Muslim meal" for me on my next flight, I have decided to extol the virtues of my unnamed travel agent and all travel agents in the world.

My special agent, who is travel agent to the stars (and those of us who ride on their coattails) has a thankless job.  Finicky travelers with special needs (and I don't mean physical handicaps, but some do have mental handicaps) call her and ask for incredibly impossible requests. She answers those requests with amazing aplomb and urgency. She does it with a smile in her voice and never, ever a snarky, sarcastic comment. I repeat, NEVER, EVER A SNARKY, SARCASTIC COMMENT.

So for her and all the unthanked and sometimes thoughtlessly blamed travel agents across the world, I say thank you. Thank you for all you do.

And what the hell do Muslims eat?

What would Betty say?  "I took snacks in my purse when Charles and I flew to Hawaii". (pronounced Ha-wha-ya)

That Blows

So, I came home from Virginia last night. Or should I say last night and this morning. It was a grueling experience, one that I will blame on Delta Airlines (Don't Ever Leave The Airport), my travel agent, Taco Bell, and a Down's Syndrome Child!

With about 4 hours of sleep and a slight case of the cocktail flu, I boarded my flight from Roanoke, VA to Detroit, MI at 5 p.m. (EDT)  Detroit, you ask?  Me, too. My travel agent (who shall remain nameless) got the cheapest rate for me and it involved Detroit. And let me tell you, nothing good ever happens in Detroit. Our flight to Detroit went with no problems. Got there in an hour. I walked across the airport to get to my gate where my DFW flight was to leave. I had an hour layover, so I bought the NY Times, so I could do the crossword puzzle on the 2 and a half hour flight home. (FYI: I finished the puzzle in INK!)  About 45 minutes into the layover, the gate attendant announced that the flight was going to be delayed due to another flight with our crew on it was late. "About 30 minutes", she said.  And then she said, "an hour". "Well, folks it looks like it will be a couple of hours".  Now, for a normal person, that would be a drag, but for a person that likes to imbibe in the tobacco, it is a serious problem!!!  But, I took some tylenol and some Skittles and tried not to think about it.

But, I was starving!  So, I look around the terminal and the only thing I see with food is Taco Hell. I knew that this might cause problems in a couple of hours, but I WAS STARVING. So, I ate a tasteless burrito and a stale taco and waited for the plane.

We finally boarded the plane. It's was a  full flight. It also was a very turbulent flight.  So, after about 7 hours without a nicotine kiss, 4 hours of sleep, a slight hangover and a bad burrito, I wasn't feeling too well.  And it was obvious that the little Down's Syndrome boy sitting behind me had eaten at Taco Hell, also (If you get my whiff drift.) Shoo-wee!!! All is going okay until suddenly I smell something...rancid and really bad!  The boy's father says something to his son, and all HELL BREAKS LOOSE!!!  The poor boy had an accident in his pants. And it was a big one. He starts screaming and crying, His father is desperately trying to calm him and get to his carry on to get some new clothes for the boy. It was a mess. (pun intended).

And it's not looking good for me, either. Now I am on the edge. With every breath I take, I get a little more nauseous. With every bump in the plane, I get a little more nauseous.  And when the little boy and his father return from the bathroom, it was all she wrote. Still not smelling completely fresh, the boy sits behind me and that was it. We hit a big turbulent bump and Pappy had to get to the bathroom!

I got to the bathroom and the door was blocked by the jump seat (we were about 15 minutes to landing) and I threw that jump seat back faster than a hooker unhooks her bra, and I get in that bathroom (still smelling a little rank) and THAR SHE BLOWS! Bye, bye burrito!

When I finally got home, I was greeted by Wylie (formerly Betty's dog, now my niece's dog). He was brought over earlier in the day for me to keep while my niece is on vacation. He was excited to see me. In fact he left me some "presents" right in front of the door.  Which I immediately stepped in and smashed into the carpet.

I got to bed at 2:00 a.m. (CDT)

What would Betty say? "Well my baby (Wylie) never did that with me!" And then she would complain about her bowels and about the little Down's Syndrome child that one of her friends had that died as a baby.

Yes, Virginia...

I am in the beautiful city of Roanoke, Virginia.  Why, you ask?  I am here to select the next Miss Virginia!
And did you know that Virginia is for lovers?  Who knew?

I have been asked to be a part of the judges panel that will select the next Miss Virginia to compete in the Miss America pageant.  (I believe I have explained my involvement in pageants, right?) Tonight, we all met the contestants for the first time. Or should I say, they met us.  Or should I say, they got a load of me.  The ladies were all dolled up in evening gowns and the 6 judges went around and met each one face to face and had a quick chit chat with them. I think I was too much for some of these girls.  I was throwing out some of my best sarcastic one liners and bless their hearts, some of them just didn't know how to react.  But then again, some of them did.

Tomorrow is a big day for the contestants... the all important personal interview competition. Each contestant will have 10 minutes for a grueling question and answer period. The questions can be about anything the judge wants to ask. (re: politics, social issues, personal opinions, etc.)  So, time for me to ratchet it down a bit and not be so sarcastic. And sardonic. And acerbic. And bitter.  I need a happy pill.

Here are some questions I am thinking about: 
Who is afraid of VIRGINIA Wolfe?
Where is VIRGINIA and why didn't she fix that ham that I have heard so much about?
VIRGINIA MADSEN or VIRGINIA MAYO?
VIRGINIA???  I don't even know ya!

What would Betty say?  "Charles and I drove through Virginia once." And then she would add: "Are they paying you for this?" And then she would chastise me for doing all these things that don't make me any money. Which would segue into "I told you to major in business, instead of that The-a-ter".

You Have To Be This Tall To Ride This Ride

As frequent readers might have noticed, I have not written much about my 79 year old daughter lately. I have tried but, quite honestly, the care of my 79 year old daughter is so "un-funny" that I haven't found ANYTHING that is witty or entertaining to say. And I can't guarantee that this will be any of those things either, but I just felt like talking about her today.

For those of you new readers (where have you been?), I have a 79 year old daughter who has serious memory issues.  As someone very close to me once said in a one-man show, "she don't know 'come here' from 'sic 'em".  I've sent her off to boarding school where she is still having adjustment issues. She's met a few friends (one is a man who thinks she's pretty!!) but still she wants to come home. Everyday she wants to come home.  Sometimes 4 or 5 times a day she wants to come home. She has lost cognitive abilities, but she HAS NOT lost the ability to dial the phone. Trust me, SHE CAN DIAL THE PHONE!

We are now on a new journey with her. We've been to the neurologist (Dr. Hwong) and he has sent us to a new amusement park. We've visited MRI land. We had a few hiccups but she made it through. We had a visit from the traveling EEG gang, but we couldn't make it through that and had to get off the ride before we were finished. We've been to Ophthalmology City. That was fun. There were lots of bright lights and shiny things there.  Next stop is Neuro Psychology Village. It's not in our neighborhood, so guess what?  Field trip!!!

Today as we were sitting at The Sonic Drive-In in between Ophthalmologist and Cardiologist appointments (that's a whole other issue, by the way) she was going on about how she could take care of herself at home now that her leg has heeled.  I said, "you know that I am not going to let you do that". She argued a bit and I said "I am going to win this one".  And she looked at me with the clearest eyes she has had in a long time, and said clearly, "I know".

Tomorrow morning I get on a plane and will be gone for a week.  I've enlisted my Aunt and Uncle, who we affectionately call "the circus", to come and be on call.  Between the three of them, they might have two thirds of a brain. No offense to them. Well, okay, yes, offense to them.  As I said goodbye to her today, she cried. And I tried not to.  Instead of  "good-bye", she said "thank you".  And then I cried.   Although the thought of being away from "the madness" is something I have been looking forward to, I will miss her.  And now I know, that she will miss me, too.

What would Betty's thoughts be on this? "I didn't have any trouble when I had my MRI. She has always been skiddish".  And then she would go on about how her glasses don't fit right.

A Man and His Meat

No, this is not a post about Anthony Weiner.

It's Father's Day, so I thought it would be appropriate to tell you a little story about Betty's other half, aka my Dad, Charles.

Charles was a very talented man. He had a beautifully trained singing voice, he was a wiz with electronics and he had an amazing gift of not listening to my mother, and yet, still answering her with the right answer.  Betty would go on and on with a story and Charles had the uncanny ability to insert an "uh-huh" or "oh" or "hmm" at exactly the correct time.  It was as acquired talent, but he mastered it in the almost 50 years that they were married.

But on a summer day in the late 80's, Charles' timing was off.  He was outside in the backyard grilling hamburgers. Betty was inside making the "fixings". I was over for a visit and was in the house helping mother.
Out of nowhere we hear sirens blaring.  We notice it, but didn't pay much attention.  But they kept getting louder and Betty went outside to take a look.  Much to Betty's shock, the siren's were headed down our alley. She started talking to Charles but he didn't respond,  and she came back in the house.  But not too much later, we heard a big ruckus. I am up to my elbows in potato salad, so Betty runs out to see what's going on. And in the shrillest, most annoying voice you can ever imagine, I hear: "Charles get in this house! CHARLES!! GET IN THIS HOUSE!!!! CHARLES!! CHARLES!!" He doesn't pay attention and does not notice anything until about 8 policemen with guns "encourage" him to get in the house as they focus their guns on him and a man lying underneath our sycamore tree.  By this time, I am on the patio, yelling at Dad to come in. In what could have been a scene from a Wyl E. Coyote cartoon, Charles' eyes  popped out of his head and ran in the house with us. I am sticking my head out trying to see and hear what's going, but I can't hear anything because Betty is berating Charles for not listening to her. She won't shut up, so I sneak out on the patio. It seems that this man raped a nurse up at the hospital about a mile away and had been chased by police into our neighborhood and they finally nailed him in our backyard while Charles was grilling burgers. 

So, Charles' timing was off that day. Pre-occupied with grilling, the cacophony of sirens and the shrill descant of Betty's voice, he missed his cue.  And Betty did not let him forget it.

So Happy Father's Day Dad. You were a man of few words, but many talents.

What would Betty say?  "That hospital caused us nothing but problems". And then she would remind me that we never had to lock our doors until that hospital was built. And then she would go on and on about the time a "hoodlum" broke into Dad's " party van" and left a steaming surprise pile of shit on the carpet.

The Ballcock and The Flapper

You probably think this post is about Anthony Weiner, don't you?  Get your mind out of the gutter. It's about plumbing, you ingrates.

It seems both of my bathrooms had toilet issues. One wouldn't flush and one wouldn't stop flushing. So, I called the plumber. He came and adjusted my ballcock and fiddled with my flapper.  It took about 15 minutes. And we both felt very satisfied with his work.

And not a buttcrack in sight. And I say that with "certitude".

What would Betty think?  "This house is just falling apart".  She then would describe her volatile bowel movements and wonder if she stopped up the toilet.

The Middle Easht

You all know I am a news junkie.  I've tried to kick the habit, but Rachel Maddow has a hold on me. And don't get me started on Anderson Cooper.

But in my daily deluge of news shows today, I had a realization. If you are a TV reporter in the Middle East (re: Libya, Syria, etc), you more than likely have a lisp.  A serious lisp.

The most prominent lisper is NBC's Richard Engel.  He's a hotty and could probably be a household name and anchor his own show, but the guy LISPS. He has what they call  "silibant S's". "Inshurgancesh shurpasshed the blockade and shuddenly shtarted shshooting."  I am fixated on it.  NBC not only has Lisping Richard, they have another reporter whose lisp is even worse than his.

And if that's not enough... tonight I was stalking watching Anderson Cooper on CNN and low and behold there was yet another Lisper.  I didn't catch her name because I was too flabbergasted to see another Middle Eashtern Lishping Correshpondent.

So, what's up with this?  No one else will go?  "Hey Bob, who do we have that can go to the war ravaged Middle East?"  "Well, let me think... hmmm... how about the lispers?"  "There's no one else?" "Nope".

What would Betty say?  "Why didn't they get that fixed?"  And then she would tell a story of a friend of her's son who has dyslexia. 

Master (De) Bate

Last night CNN sponsored the first major Republican Presidential Candidate Debate.  I, being one of the 1 million people in the country to actually watch it, figured I should catch you all up on the exciting television that ensued.

Moderated by CNN's John King, whose head is so long and narrow that by the time the show was over, I swear his chin grew 4 inches, the format was basically the same as every other presidential  debate. The candidates were introduced.  They did their best pageant wave, shook each others hands and stood there smiling,  trying their best to look warm, accessible and  fighting the "I am better than you" smirk.

It was 2 hours of Obama Bashing. The word "Obamacare" was used 28 times. The word "failure" was used approximately 18,000 times. (okay, that was an exaggeration) I read the other day on another blog (yes, I read) that the Republicans are "loud and mean" and the Democrats are "over politically correct and pussies".
And truly, tonight proved that for the Republicans.

I will break down for you  my overall impressions of each of the candidates:


Congresswoman,Michelle Bachman:  She is "cray-cray".   But she attracts the other "cray-crays" and she is loud and shouts out stuff that even she, I am sure, says, "wow, I know I just made that up, but dang, that sounded almost plausible". She's gunning for the VP spot and she might get it, cause about 30% of the country are "cray-cray".

Congressman, Ron Paul: I like this guy. He's an old coot, but I love that he totally believes what he says and has been saying it for the past 30 years. He's a libertarian. Which means he's a conservative, but absolutely abhors the government intervening in anything. ANYTHING.  Except, of course, anything but getting his paycheck, pension and insurance from the government.  He wants marijuana, heroin, and other illegal drugs legalized. So there's that.

Former Speaker of the House, Newt Gingrich:  If Barney Rubble and Phil Donahue had a love child... That Newt pontificates and pontificates and pontificates. He is so unlikeable that his campaign team, who he was paying, quit.  And there's the whole "I cheated on my second wife with my third wife while the second wife was in the hospital with cancer" thing.


Former Governor and J.C. Penney Model, Mitt Romney: He is slick. And, I have to say, he made no mistakes and was the most prepared. But the "cray-cray" Republicans hate him for his universal healthcare plan (re: RomneyCare) he enacted in Massachusetts. And the "cray-crays" are the majority of the Republican party now, so we'll see if he can make it through. (Interesting fact: Mitt and I have something in common. He has "flip-flopped" on just about every social issue there is, and I wear "flip-flops" with my swimsuit)

Former Governor, Tim Pawlenty:



Oh, I'm sorry, I just dozed off.

Former Senator, Rick Santorum:  Google his name. PLEASE.

Former Godfather's Pizza CEO, Herman Cain:  WHO???  All I know is that he hates Muslims.

It's very early in the campaign. VERY early. And you know what that means? We are stuck with these people for about 8 more months.  In exciting news: Former Utah Governor, John Huntsman (the other white mormon) and Texas Governor, Dick Perry are thinking about running.  So there's that.

What would Betty think? "Mitt Romney is so handsome. He looks like Rock Hudson."  (I am sure Mitt would prefer not to be mentioned with Rock Hudson)

Tried to Make Him Go to Rehab

And he said "yes, yes, yes".

It seems The Weiner won't wither. In the words of Effie in "Dreamgirls"..."And I am telling you I am not going!" Well, he's going to Rehab, but he is NOT going from the Congress.

Over the weekend The Weiner apparently checked into Rehab.  Who knew they had a rehab for narcissism?
Isn't that what he is addicted to.... himself?  Now, I have been around.  And I have known some narcissistic, arrogant people in my life.  I am in the business we call "show" after all. I have been around actors for almost 30 years, so I know some me some narcissists.  But this Weiner. Wow!  He's taking pictures of just about every part of his body(okay, EVERY body part of his body) and sending them to ANYONE who will look at them, whether they are wanting them or not.

Some would say that The Weiner is a sex addict.  I don't really think so. Surely he has issues with that, but I don't think that is the root of his problem.  Personally, I think the root of his problem started at conception when he was given that nose and that name.  I am sure he was ridiculed his whole life. Probably a smart brainy child, I am sure he had to fight to get attention amongst his peers. Generally speaking Jews are not known to be outstanding athletes. I am sure he had problems getting the girls as an adolescent.  So he had to try harder to be seen and heard. (I totally get that!) So, what happens?  He works hard and becomes a Congressman. And a media darling - yelling and fighting against the right wing idiots. And when he gets the attention - he loses control and sends pictures of " the wiener" to women that think he's "special".


He says he's not resigning from Congress. Everyone wants him to. I am conflicted about whether I think he should resign or not. He hasn't broken any laws (that we know of) unlike others in Congress who have slept with prostitutes and paid off mistresses and gotten their spouses illegal lobbying jobs.   But he lied.  A lot.
Will we ever trust anything he says again? Time will tell.  Should we kick him out because he is a narcissistic perv?  If that's the case then 87% of Congress would be gone.

So, Mr. Weiner, good luck with that Rehab Thingy.  Hope it works out well for you.  I am sure that we will hear all about it in a 45 minute press conference... or a book... or perhaps he will "tweet" us and tell us all about it! Hopefully with pictures!

What would Betty say about this?  "He got hit with an ugly stick. I don't know why they didn't fix his nose". And then she would segue into something about Bill Clinton and how she has no respect for Hillary for staying with him.  "I would have beaten him with a baseball bat and kicked him to the curb".

She's Bringing "Betty" Back

The new Miss Oklahoma is  22 year old, BETTY Thompson.

Some of you might not know about my involvement in pageants. No, not as a contestant, but as a volunteer that helps with contestants in the Miss America program. I started out as a local pageant volunteer and eventually produced and directed the Miss Texas Pageant for five years before I moved to Los Angeles.  I still keep up with the program across the country as I have accumulated many friends still involved. In fact, I will be traveling to Virginia next week (and to Kentucky in July) to judge their state pageants.

So, as I was perusing the Pageant message boards this weekend I was delighted to see a contestant named Betty competing in Oklahoma. There are Lindseys, Ambers, Jennifers, Christies, Heathers, Sarahs and Shannons galore. But only one Betty.  Betty, like Wanda, Gladys, Myrna and Agnes, is just not a name you hear for anyone under the age of 80.

The roads to success for Oklahoma's Betty and my Betty were not easy. My Betty was born to poor, poor parents and grew up on a farm during the Great Depression. Not a lot of food or clothing. She worked hard her whole life just to survive.  Oklahoma's Betty's success in pageants were a struggle as well. First of all, her name is Betty. Second she happens to be "vertically challenged". In pageantland, she is a midget. In reality she is probably 4' 9 if she's an inch and is more than likely 89 lbs soaking wet. She is so short that when she was standing there with the eventual first runner-up awaiting for the announcement, she looked like she could possibly be the first runner-up's ventriloquist dummy.  (if the first runner-up was a ventriloquist, which she wasn't, which really disappoints me.) So the odds were against Oklahoma Betty.  And to top it all off she's an Irish Step Dancer whose platform (her community service project) is "Milk: It Really Does A Body Good".

So my point is the odds were against Oklahoma Betty, but she beat out over 40 other amazing women to become the new Miss Oklahoma. Which proves my point that anyone named Betty must be extremely, extremely special.

To the new Miss Oklahoma, I say thank you. You are bringing 'Betty' back!! (Take it to the bridge!)

What would my Betty say?  "There were a lot of Bettys when I was growing up. The last "Betty" I heard of was when Dorothy Whitton named her girl Betty after Betty Byler who died of cancer."  "She was eat up with it!"

Writer's Block

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And Betty says:  "Can't you think of anything to write about??? I need to finish Charles' story before I die"
P.S.  She did.

WASPS are Stupid

I destroyed a wasp nest today.  And I enjoyed it.  Well, I did at first.

Did you know that wasps are stupid? (the insects, not White Anglo Saxon Protestants, however, some of them are really stupid, too.)  I don't know much about entomology, but I really can't imagine why they exist. I am sure they do something for the eco-system, but I can't imagine that it is really vital. I am sure that other insects could do what they do.

Today I noticed a wasp nest forming on the overhang above my garage door.  About an hour later I went outside and there were 5 wasps busily making the nest. So I opened the garage door and they did not move.
I grabbed a can of Raid and stood about 10 inches away from the nest and they did not move.  I sprayed the beJeezus out of them. Most insects are smart enough to scatter when a human approaches (i.e. flies and mosquitos), but not the dumbass wasps.  They succumbed to the repellant and flailed to the ground, writhing in a Raid induced seizure.

And therefore my bad feelings.  It was so easy. There was no satisfaction in destroying 5 hideous pests. It was like shooting fish in a barrel.  It was like stumping Half-Governor Sarah Palin with an American History question.

It's just too easy.

Betty's reaction: "Willie Lou (her sister) blows up when she gets stung by bees".  And once again she reminds me to not use dirty words.

Weiner, Weiner, Chicken Deener

Well, well, well.... I guess it is safe to say with "certitude",  that "the Weiner" is assuredly a dick!!
With today's acknowledgement that he is with "certitude" a liar, an arrogant douche and a perv, Congressman Anthony Weiner became yet another official member of the "Sex Scandals Ruined My Political Career and Possibly My Marriage" Hall of Shame. Congratulations?

"The Weiner" is now joining  his fellow inductees such as New Jersey Governor James McGreevy, South Carolina Governor Mark Sanford, Congressman Mark Foley, Senator Larry Craig, Senator Vitter, Senator What's-His-Name from Nevada, New York Governor Eliot Spitzer, California Governor Arnold Schwarzenegger and North Carolina Senator John Edwards. Weiner joins these esteemed members on a day that we, the American people, watched a scrawny little New York Jew with a large.....nose... completely implode on national television.  He so likes hearing the sound of his voice and is so sure that every word he says is interesting, that for 40 minutes he dug a grave so deep that he and all of his fellow "SSRMPCAPMM" members would fit in it.  [Interesting fact: the password to enter the SSRMPCAPMM headquarters is: "Damn you Bill Clinton! You made it out alive!"]

So, what do we take away from this kids?  A) if you are, say, a congressman, keep "the weiner" in your pants; B) do not take a picture of "the weiner"; C) do not send said picture of "the weiner" to random women you have met on the internet; and D) when you get caught and you will, SHUT THE "F" UP!

And the worse part of the story is that that right wing nominee for "Douche of the Year", Andrew Breitbart was right for the fist time...ever!

What would Betty say about "the weiner"? "He sure has a big nose".  And once again go on about how Bill Clinton had 'relations' with that fat girl.

I Am Great

I was always a good Uncle.  If I say so myself,and according to my nieces and nephews,  I am a very good Uncle.  But now, I am a GREAT Uncle. My nephew Dustan and his wife, Megan, had a freshly spawned little boy on Sunday. They named him Taydn Boyce Howard.  (I know, it sounds like something Sarah Palin would make up) Truth be told, I hear, my niece (Dustan's sister) made the name up. The middle name is Dustan's grandfather's (on his mother side) name, which I think is pretty sweet.

Fortunately, from the photos I have seen, Dustan IS the father. No need for a Maury Povich paternity test here. He looks exactly like Dustan who looks exactly like his father. (my brother) So, the Howard full lips, big ears and skinny legs will carry on for yet another generation. (Oh, Glory!)

Dustan and Megan (and now Baby Taydn) live in far northern California, which means the Howard relatives in Texas will rarely see the little "Tay Boy" (which is what I think I will call him). It's kind of sad to think we won't be able to see him grow and for him to not get to know us.  But, as I have always said, being an uncle is the greatest job in the world because.... you can always give them back!  You can play and bring presents and when you get that whiff of rancid English Peas whafting from their bottoms....you give them back! So with this little one, not so much play time and not so many presents and not so many stinky Pampers. So, in order for Great Uncle Pappy (which is what I think I want to be called, although I heard tonight that my brother wants to be called Pappy, and that might be a little confusing) to make an impact on this next generation of Howard, the play and gifts have to be quick and intense.  I'll have to work on that.

Uncle Pappy ain't as fun as he used to be!

What would Betty say about her first great grand baby? "Did they leave a vowel out of that name?"  And then she would go on about how Dustan and Megan don't "have a pot to pee in, but neither did Charles and I."

Tennis Anyone?

You know you are getting old when you plan your Saturday night so that you can get up early on Sunday to watch all the political shows on the air. I watch all of them... CNN's "State of the Union", NBC's "Meet the Press", ABC's "This Week With Christianne Amanpour".  I even watch FOXNews' show with Chris Wallace. I try to pay attention enough to CNN's "GPS with Fareed Zarakia", but that's a lot to ask of a person.

So imagine my dismay this morning when I turned on NBC to watch "Meet The Press" (the granddaddy of all the Sunday political shows) and see that it was preempted for coverage of The French Open Tennis Tournament. A tennis tournament, really? A tennis tournament, a French one at that, is more important than Former Governor and J.C. Penney model Mitt Romney's declaration of running for President? A tennis tournament is more important than coverage of Half-Governor Sarah Palin's "Family Vacation" highlighting America's liberty by enlightening us all with her knowledge of Paul Revere's "ringing bells" and pepperoni pizza? A tennis tournament is more important than coverage of Republican Presidential candidates Tim Pawlenty and Newt Gingrich? (Okay, there you have me, yes, it is.)  A tennis tournament is more important than the weakening economy and divisive political parties playing with our future.  And for gosh sakes, a tennis tournament is more important than Congressman Anthony Weiner's... well, okay, I'll say it... wiener!  More important than a wiener?  Really?

I really hate it when networks or local channel's preempt my programs.  During the finale of "Dancing With The Stars" I almost went all "paso doble" on my local channel because they had the audacity of warning me of a tornado over my head. I almost missed the awarding of the mirror ball trophy to Hines Ward because lives were in danger.  Where are the priorities?

So, today I am left with 4 shows to watch. Oh, wait, as scrolling through my TV guide I noticed that there is a political show on CBS.  CBS?  Is that still a network?

Betty's thoughts?  "That Sarah Palin has pretty hair".  And then she would go on about her program ("One Life to Live") and how silly Nora and Bo are acting.

A Good Haircut on A Bad Head of Hair is Still A Bad Hair Cut

I forgot to mention that today not only did I work in the yard (see post below), but I also gave myself a haircut. You all know that I am " follicly challenged".   As noted in an earlier post, I am grateful for the trend for bald persons to shear their hair close to their heads.

I have always been embarrassed to get my haircut.  I walk into the "Supercuts".  Hopefully, I have missed the Friday "I'm going out tonight and I need my fade trimmed" rush. I walk up to the counter and the receptionist asks if I want a shampoo and I always say "no".  I then take off my ballcap and I say to her/him, " Don't you think my haircut should be half the price?"  THEY NEVER LAUGH.  I set in the chair.  Awkward small talk with the hairstylist occurs. They ask how I want my hair cut.  Really?  You need to ask?  I say use the number 5 clipper all over and clean and blocked in the back. It takes approximately 2 minutes to get the clippers and peel my onion. I leave a 2 dollar tip and pay $18 for the haircut. And then I always put my ball cap on and leave.

It's been about 3 months since I have had a haircut.  My hair (what there is) grows slowly. But I was looking like a crazy person kind of like the love child of Don Knotts and Christopher Lloyd in "Back to the Future".  So, I decided today "why go to Supercuts when you can go to Walmarts and buy some clippers and do it yourself?" And that's what I did. I payed  $24 for a clipper set with multiple length clippers. And I did it.  I cut my own hair.   And it looks good.  Well, it looks okay.  As good as it can.

And Betty would say: "I don't know know why you are so bald...your brother has beautiful hair."

A Delicate Flower

Today I worked out in the yard. I have been working in the yard a lot lately. As some of you know I am living in my parents old house trying to fix it up for selling.  And as I have learned on HGTV (hello Monica), it's all about the "Curb Appeal". 

The front yard was a horror and completely grown over. For almost 2 years it has been completely neglected. If Betty could see it she would die (again).  Betty was an avid gardener. When she retired she went full-stop with 2 hobbies - quilt making and gardening.  She came about it naturally. Her father was a farmer and planted many of the trees on our property 50 years ago.  We always had a vegetable garden and Betty loved flowers. Betty was not only a gardener, she was a prize winning gardener. She won "yard of the month" and was in the Dallas Morning News twice. Once for her "yard art" and she won "honorable mention" (or as she would  say "I was honorably mentioned") for another contest. Just about every inch of dirt had something planted in it.  And if she could put an Iris bed somewhere, she would. 

Tackling the yard is not my favorite thing. I did not inherit Betty's love for tilling the soil.  I love flowers but I want someone else to grow them. And most of you know that manual labor is not my forte. I do "pretty", I don't dig and haul.   But because I am poor I have to do the work myself and as Betty would say, "no one helps me out around here!".  The job started with clean up.  46 bags of leaves later, I was ready to actually "work" in the yard.  I dug up a big overgrown flower bed and put in red bark mulch . I've pruned trees and bushes.  I've added bricks to the sidewalk to stave off the dirt from the bare spots in the yard. My brother (yes, Betty had another son) actually helped and planted some new sod for the bald spots (baldness is a family trait) from 2 years of leaves destroying the grass. I have also added mulch around the old trees for a "clean professional look".

Which leads me to today.  Today I dug up a random Iris bed that Betty had planted in the front yard.  I've been putting it off.  I knew I needed to dig it up, but I kept delaying it.  And today I realized why. As I was digging I couldn't help but think about Betty. Irises were her signature flower.  Some of the bulbs on our property are extremely old and came from her old home place where she grew up. I felt really bad because I know that I destroyed some of them. I thought- should I replant them?  Where?  Should I give them away? And then I looked around at the hundreds and hundreds of Iris bulbs around this house and I said to myself, "screw it!". And then I threw them in a trash bag and put them in the garbage.  And then I took them out.  But then I put them back.

Betty, I am sorry, but we're cleaning up and moving on.  You never threw anything away, but we've got to.  You were very practical and I am sure you understand.

And with that, Betty would say: "I know it's a lot work".  And then she would tell me that she is sure that the neighbors think we are lazy for having such a nasty yard. "Their gonna think you are trash!"

I Wish I Were A Congressman Weiner

There's a new sex scandal in town and it's name is Weiner.  It seems (allegedly) that Congressman Anthony Weiner twitted (tweeted? twatted?) a photo of his erect frankfurter in his underoos to a college girl in Washington State.  As with any sex scandal, it's not the actual act that gets you in trouble, it's the cover up!
He says that his Twitter account was hacked and that he did not send the photo to the young woman. BUT, he can not for sure say that it is or isn't a picture of his schlong.  You can't say for sure that it is or isn't YOUR penis?  Really?  You don't know that it is YOUR penis?

Okay,  let me explain something to you female readers. A man knows his own penis.  HE KNOWS HIS OWN PENIS.  I know my penis like the back of my hand, so to speak.  Any man knows in detail what his penis looks like.  Without going into every inch of details, although some men might not know a lot of things...he KNOWS his penis! So, to say that you can not for certain say that the photo of  your erection in grey underwear is yours or not...come on!  I've seen the photo and if it were me.... I have to say, I would be admitting that and showing it to any one that would be interested, if you know what I mean. This we know for sure:  He's Jewish.

Thank you God above that we didn't have twitter when I was in college.

What would Betty say?  "It's all Bill Clinton's fault". And then she would go on and on how much better Hillary looks in pant suits. "She has thick ankles".