Happy Birthday Sugar Britches!

Happy Birthday to the coolest guy in the world who I do my very best to live up to.

(He's the hot stuff 4 year old on the left, ladies...that's right, it's a red cardigan.)

Trick!

Not many know the true legend behind Halloween so I'd like to share it with you. The holiday was founded about three years ago to celebrate my racist neighbor.

This hothead would stand there, scowling on her porch in her too tight Lee jeans, menthol Salem burning softly in the twilight, unhappy with every single thing she'd every known, and scaring the crap out of all the children on the block.

So, to fete this dynamite lady, we knock on some doors and chew fun-sized Dots for a few days.

Feel free to spread this fable far and wide because, as Steven Seagal so beautifully stated last week, knowledge is power.

(This year I'm going as a stay-at-home writer.  I wear it everyday, people.)

That about covers it. Trick or Treat, my sweet candy corns.

Lo-Cal Fightin'

I'm just gonna throw this out on front street - I watch the Real Housewives. Every city. What I'd like to do right now, in case your tivo lamed out on you and didn't get a chance to see it, is recap this gem. Here goes:

A blond lady threw a party and invited all the other blond ladies, plus one brunette, to come.  They played charades and drank a lot of booze. The house they were in was enormous. After a while some of the ladies started drunkenly accusing each other of being drunks. The ladies who weren't yelling sipped their hooch and watched with red bloodshot eyes.

Nobody ate a bite.

Boy, this thing is really heavy...

And the Emmy goes to...me!

For the riveting portrayal of a girl who is hard at work while secretly not working at all but watching several episodes of the Rockford Files.

Job well done! Brava!

Finer Than Frog Hair

For many Yuletide seasons now, my family and I greedily await a Christmas letter from an unnamed (Aunt Shirley) family member.  This letter is something of a goldmine, talked about for days and marveled about the rest of the year. Curiously, Shirley mails it out in early October, so we're already buckled up for this year's gem.

The contents of Shirley's letter swings the pendulum from snooze-fest to shock-a-roonie although Shirley is in no way dynamic in real life. Squat in both body and mind, her letters belie her demeanor. But as the saying goes, "Holy shit, she belongs behind bars."

Last year's Christmas letter told of her struggle to get rid of rust stains and that she was an escort for a short while in the 60's. She shared her recipe for plum pudding and for what appears to be a roofie-laced cocktail. We heard about her check kiting and month long stay in a little known Alaskan penal colony, as well as handy tips on scuff mark removal and easy ways to hide a corpse.

So she'll swing by for a bit on Christmas day, sit in her favorite recliner, not saying much. But we all know what lies beneath that cat fur covered cardigan - a criminal mind finer than frog hair.

Art I Choke

I'm thinking about getting into art. In a big way. I'm also thinking that I'm going to capitalize the "a" in art to give it more cachet. Art. Or how about this - aRt.

I'm going to adopt a slightly Englishy accent and say things like, "As it currently stands, Koons is winning the war on banal." Or, "It's a cross between expressionism and hideous." Maybe even, "I shut my eyes in order to see." I may start smoking again.

Or I may just fashion another crochet tea cozy and call it a night.

Exactamundo!

I haven't posted something in several days and for those of you who may be worried that the reason for this is because I was attacked by a mountain lion - you're almost right.

Yes, I came face to face (or face to three-feet-away face) with a wildcat of sorts. Here's how the whole thing went down: I was hiking with our dog Ed (cool under pressure, I must say) and we decided to cut through the woods to a different trail when all of the sudden Ed stopped in his tracks and refused to budge. Now, this can happen from time to time with Ed because, as I've mentioned before, he's a little on the husky side, but this time I sensed he meant bidness. He lifted his nose to the sky and was breathing really heavily. Again, due to his plus size, I immediately thought he may be suffering a heart attack. As I knelt down next to him, out of the woods walked a mountain lion and here's what happens when you see a mountain lion in realsies - it blows your mind. Plus, you kind of want to pet it.

We stayed stock still and Ed pressed against me until I thought I would tip over.  All I could think of was Arthur Fonzerelli - just keep it cool, fool.  I did my best.  Ed and I spoke not a word.

As luck would have it, two Screaming Mimi's came around the bend and that caught the mountain lion's attention. They got an eyeful and started shrieking, I kid you not, "Run! Run! It's a cat! Run!"

I shouted at them, doing my best to keep my Fonzi-style cool, "Don't move! Stop screaming! Don't look it in the eye! Stay close together and shut up! It won't hurt you!" The mountain lion crept their way. I realized that this was the moment to make our getaway, but at the same time, I realized that if the Ranting Rita's were killed, I would lose a lot of beauty sleep that I simply can't afford to, so we were forced to stay.

Soon after the poor cat crept back into the woods and we all made our way safely down the trails, the two chicks yelling at me when I admitted I was just spouting nonsense and had no idea what to do when a mountain lion approached.

At the bottom of the trail, they met up with their fellas, describing at length (in their shockingly shrill voices) what had happened.

Ed and I continued to keep our cool, walked to the car, hopped in, cried a little, then went home.

Presented Without Comment

Just click below.

I can't avert my eyes!

Faithfully

There are certain people I can't help but adore and right now I am 100% adoring Mr. Tareq Salahi.

You see, his wife went missing (or skanking around with an 86 year old guitar player from Journey) for around 12 hours and my man Tareq immediately did what any concerned spouse would do: He held a press conference. He announced that his terrifyingly thin wife, Michaele, (are they just randomly throwing letters together and claiming it as their name?) had been kidnapped by ne'er do wells.  He offered no proof, just a gut feeling that she was being held against her will.  (And maybe she was, if you get what I'm sayin'.)

So I imagine she'll be pulled off the upper bunk of Journey's ancient tour bus, tearfully bid the fellas goodbye, then extend her bony thumb looking to hitch a ride back to D.C. or wherever those two dingbats reside.

I for one am eagerly awaiting the next dramatic move in this headline grabbing chess game. Stay tuned.

Submission

I'd like to share with you a rejection letter I received last week from a small literary magazine.

It read thusly: "Not quite."

They'd also included a generous offer to subscribe to their publication so I could spend some time reading works that were not mine and perhaps somehow more, "quite".

With us always.

Spoiler Alert!

I have just spent a luxurious evening watching one of tinsel town's greatest cinematic feats and I am truly shaken to my core. Rarely are you are so emotionally swept away by a film that it takes quite some time to come back to earth.

I'm speaking, of course, about 1979's, Roller Boogie. If you haven't seen it, (first of all, why not?!) the story revolves around two young outcasts from very different sides of the track. The poor little rich girl, (Linda "Awesome" Blair) and her misunderstood mop-top of a boyfriend, (portrayed winningly by Mr. James Bray) learn about the demise of their beloved disco roller rink.

Of course their emotional hair is set on fire by this disaster and they decide to join roller boogie forces and put an end to such nonsense. In doing so, they fall in (slow motion) love and showcase their bad ass romantic disco skating. I don't want to give away the ending (they win!) but it's a real thrill ride.

I guess the chin scratcher here is, why no Roller Boogie 2, Hollywood? Let's make some magic happen. And to wet your whistle, feel free to dig in to the clip below. Just prepare to have your mind blown.

Holy Roller Boogie

Cat Nap Fever

Now, I'm not going to name any names (me), but when someone (again, I'm referring to me) emotionally flips out because a black fly has entered their home, they may have to rethink their "sleep isn't all that important" stance. 

Forty winks, doesn't stink, cha cha pants.

Queen's Rule

After much soul searching, I've decided to run for Queen of America.

My platform is this: Sno-Cones for all! Televised roller derby! Eradication of whisker burn!

You're welcome.

Life at 5

When I was little, say around 5, I carried a house key in my purse. I would fake use it when I opened my bedroom door, pretending that I was walking into my Manhattan apartment.

Then I would sit on my blue toy box and smoke crayons for a while. Just minding my own business and drinking in the New York skyline.