Do You Know Me?

It's shockingly surprising to me that people don't mob me on the street wanting my autograph. I've been in some widely seen TV shows and news telecasts, and published in print, yet no one seems to recognize me. It's hard to fathom.  

Prior to my spectacular television career, I had a stint in print. I was featured in two local newspapers; one while I was in elementary school…doing charity work; and the other while I was in college, protesting for the local workers. One in New York, one in Ohio, marking my path to national success.

But my real rise to stardom started back when I was a contestant on the highly touted game show...the Liars Club. It had to be the worst game show to ever have aired on national television. There were 3 celebrities and 4 contestants. The celebrities were shown an object they had to tell a story about, and the contestants had to guess who was telling the truth. I was one of those contestants. There were 4 rounds, the last being the bonus round for the most points. I won the first 3 rounds, but because I lost the bonus round...I lost the whole game. And I'm pretty happy I did. The grand prize...a trip to Acapulco...AIRFARE NOT INCLUDED. Huh?? What? I'm sorry...what was that? Airfare NOT included? What kind of prize is THAT? So they pay for the hotel? And I pay for the airfare? Yeah...I don't think so.

Second place...again...they really went all out on the gifts. $25 worth of Hawaiian Tropic tanning oil, $25 worth of Eskimo Pies (ok...that was one gift I did absolutely enjoy), and $25 of the ugliest, gaudiest, worst fitting polyester apparel I had ever seen in my entire life. And just so you know how cheap the clothing was…there were approximately 15 items that totaled the $25! Even the Salvation Army said "no thanks" when I tried to donate them.

My next foray into the entertainment world was a bit on the local news in New York. WABC was thrilled to have me recite 'Twas the Night before Christmas' on a segment of the 6 o'clock news. They gave me one whole line to say..."that shook when he laughed like a bowlful of jelly." I was fabulous!  

My next big starring role was on the Richard Simmons Show back in the 70’s. I’ve already shared that with many of you so I won’t be redundant. However…that was probably my real breakout role.

I did try out for Wheel of Fortune and the Newlywed Game, but was turned down. I’m assuming it was because I was already well on my way to becoming a huge celebrity, and they didn’t want me to detract from the other ‘regular’ people who would be appearing on the shows with me. Oh well, their loss.

I’m sure by now you understand why I’m so puzzled that I’m not surrounded by paparazzi. I can leave my house and people don’t stop me to take pictures with them. I can shop, eat at restaurants, see a movie…and nothing. It’s mind boggling. I suppose I should appreciate my privacy…but sometimes I just miss the adoration.

Oh…the price of not being famous. I suppose I should take advantage of it while I can.

Terror in the Dark

It was a dark and stormy night...there I was, sleeping peacefully, no one else home, when suddenly...

Ok...not really. But do you ever hear strange sounds at night and your imagination just goes wild? Usually it's nothing, but unfortunately, sometimes, they turn out to be worse than you may have ever thought.

One night when my girls were sleeping at friends' houses and I was all alone in the house, my dog started barking uncontrollably. My dog never barks, so when she does, it's not a good sign. Of course, if there actually was someone in my house, she would immediately go prancing up to them and start jumping up and licking them, welcoming them into our home. Great watch dog. So the only help she is, is as a "noise alert" dog. Anyway...she woke me up barking and my heart jumped out of my throat. I didn't hear anything at first, so I grabbed the billy club under my bed, that I inherited from my ex, and stealthily crept out the bedroom door, crouching down so no one could see me. Really? Does crouching down 3 inches really make you less obvious to someone breaking in? I was just shorter, that's all. Maybe crawling on the floor would make me less visible, but that wasn't happening. I couldn't hold the baton and navigate the floor at the same time, nor did I want to pick up any dust bunnies that may be lurking and dirty my pj's. (Not that my house isn't spotless.)

I slowly made my way down the hallway listening for any signs and looking for any shadows, while holding the club in a batting position. As I entered each room, I started swinging uncontrollably, just in case the perpetrator was going to jump out at me in the dark. The problem is, even if I did happen upon someone, what could I do? Not sure if this 110 lb. body could hold up to some 200+ lb. monster. I guess if I didn't panic, which I can't imagine not doing, the billy club COULD come in handy, smacking him where it hurts and running for my life. But I really never want that opportunity to find out.

So...no one upstairs. I then made my way downstairs, still in batting position, looking in every room down there, swinging like a crazy person. Nothing. Whew! Went to the family room and looked out the back door, turning on the outside light. Nada. Again...Whew!

I felt a little better and went back to bed. I laid there for the next hour or so in panic mode. Every noise I heard was someone trying to get in. I did the whole house check again, and again, nothing. But I suddenly did hear some scratching. I thought maybe now it was my imagination, and it was nothing, so I tried to go to sleep. But there it was again. By now, Brutie had stopped barking, realizing whatever that noise was caused no imminent danger, so she was sleeping soundly. Bitch. But I figured if she wasn't alarmed, why should I be.

I finally fell asleep, and slept the rest of the night, no sounds to be heard. I woke up safely in my own bed, no scars from the night before. I went downstairs to get a cup of coffee, then out back to clean the pool. As I'm walking to get the net to skim the leaves off the water, something catches my eye. I did a double take and there it was! At the bottom of the pool...........A dead rat! I almost puked! I ran running into the house, gagging back my vomit...and called my ex to immediately come over and remove the varmint from the bottom of the pool. So there WAS an intruder. I wasn't nuts. And it was larger than life. And I am so happy I had no idea what it was the night before. I'm not sure what I would've done had I known there was a rat scratching but I do know I wouldn't have taken on THAT by myself. That's almost worse than a burgler. Ewwwwww. I had never been more grossed out in my life.

The moral of the story is....well...there is no frickin' moral. It's just a disgusting ending to a scary beginning that has left a number of questions in my head. For instance...why did she choose MY house? My very clean, spotless, immaculate house. And more importantly...did she leave any family behind? Needless to say, the next week or so I spooned the baton at night, getting very little sleep. I also had an exterminator crawl through the vents to be sure no little babies were building a planned community in my ventilation system. I will never again dismiss any noise as nothing. I will just move out.

This little piggy

I don’t know about other parents who have late teen/early 20 something girls, but I have raised two of the biggest slobs I have ever known.  Please understand, their dad and I are kind of what you would call…clean freaks, so I’m not quite sure where they got their obsessive, compulsive piglet behavior from…but it's a total 180 of what we are.

They are extremely clean when it comes to their own personal grooming and hygiene, thank god, but I wouldn’t take one step into their bedrooms or bathroom.  Their bathroom counter is disguised as Cousin Itt. I have never seen so much hair covering an inanimate object as is, in and around, their sinks. And they could care less.  Yet…they won’t clean the hair out of their brushes because it grosses them out. HUH?  Please explain that one to me?

Sometimes I will walk into one of their rooms to open a window and it’s like walking over hot coals or broken glass, hoping I will make it to the window and back, without stepping on something that will slice open the bottom of my feet. And that’s another thing, they sleep with their windows closed and the door closed, with no ventilation in the room. Every so often, I’ll go in, in the middle of the night, and put my finger under their noses to be sure they are breathing since there’s no chance of oxygen intake. Why they haven’t suffocated yet is beyond me.

I believe they are delusional, thinking there is a “catch-all” in every spot of the house where all their crap is supposed to land, because that’s where I find all their things.  They walk in the front door, off come the shoes in the middle of the floor, and as they advance from point A to point B, off come more and more things landing and remaining wherever they’re dropped.  I’ll come home and every item they’ve had on their person is strewn everywhere.  After years of picking up after them, I decided that if it’s left anywhere but their rooms…it’s thrown into the garage. You want it…search for it. And since they seem to have never learned the art of the search and seek, their stuff pretty much sits in the garage for weeks. “Mom, have you seen my _____?”  “Nope…sure haven’t “ [‘you little slob’, she says silently to herself]

I must say, they do put dirty dishes in the dishwasher, most of the time. But if it doesn’t belong in the dishwasher, it stays in the sink until it grows mold. God forbid they actually wash a dish by hand. So I now bring any dirty dish, glass or pan up to their rooms and strategically place them around their beds. Kitchen accessories do wonders for the bedroom décor. And you know what? They do not seem to be bothered at all…which incenses me even more! I then put it on their bed so they have to notice it, and the next day, it’s back on the floor. Seriously? Walking around their rooms is reminiscent of tire drills at boot camp. You have to jump up and over things.

I decided that at this stage in the game, since they are near the point of moving into their own places, I will bite my tongue and know that there will be an end to the chaos. My greatest revenge will be visiting their homes, and letting them wait on me.  And NEVER cleaning up after myself. The problem is, once they move out and my house is picture perfect…I’ll miss those little pigpens more than I’ll want to admit.

WARNING: Cupid Bashing

Gimme a bow and arrow. I'm gonna learn archery if it kills me...just so I can lunge that arrow into every stinkin' happy heart on Valentine’s Day. Who made up Valentine’s Day anyway? Obviously someone who was in a very happy, healthy relationship. But what about the miserable, lonely, single people. All Valentine’s Day does is make the misery magnified that much more one day a year. We are surrounded by happy, happy people making their plans for that happy, happy night. Isn't that just so wonderful?

How about making a happy single's day? Then all of you blissfully happy people will get to feel like we do on Valentine’s Day. You can sit home with your other half and wonder what we are doing to celebrate being single, which would probably be the same thing we were doing on Valentine’s Day because we're single. So that would be nothing, again, and we would realize we are miserable on a second holiday of the year. Ok...strike that plan.

Someone once told me Valentine’s Day was a Hallmark holiday. Just a way for them to make tons of money. I said "Who cares...make sure you get me gifts and take me out really nicely". That was when I was in a relationship. Now I have to say I think he was right. I think they should STOP the Hallmark holiday right now. I mean...everyone has a birthday, right? But not everyone has a sweetheart. How fair is that?

Don't get me wrong. I’ve had some incredible Valentine's Days. I got engaged on one, I conceived on another (yes...I know for a fact I did...don't ask), I have gotten beautiful jewelry, and have many other happy memories. But, as of late, I don't really like that day. I do like when it falls on a weekday so that when I'm sitting at home by myself...it's not so different than any other night. I can sit in front of the TV with my tub of ice cream and fall into that mindless, reality TV chasm that I do so many other nights when it's not Valentine’s Day.

So screw cupid. Screw the happy, little couples. And let's put a ban on Valentine's Day. At least until I'm back in a relationship.

*please note...any resemblance to psycho, angry person is for blogging purposes only

What's cookin'?

It’s tough when you can’t find your way around the kitchen. I mean, I know where the fridge is, but I do need to map quest my way from the fridge to the stove. Over the years I have attempted to cook a meal here and there. I had a few successes, but nothing I can call my own. My kids used to ask me who this Stouffer person was that made our meals every night.

I had a cookbook called 365 Ways to Cook Chicken.  That’s right – one entire year of eating chicken every single night. Who knew there could be that many ways to prepare little foghorn leghorn.  But there are, and I made them all. I decided to call it quits on the chicken frenzy when we all woke up one morning with an egg coming out of our asses.  

Some meals turned out pretty good, except for the time that one recipe called for a clove of garlic. Not being up on the cooking terms, I didn’t know that a clove was just a piece of the garlic thingy, so I threw in the entire bulby thing, or whatever it’s called. Wooooo…that was some smelly chicken when all was said and done. Needless to say, that meal went into the trash. Even our dog turned and walked away from the scraps we gave her.

One of my co-workers consistently comments on Facebook about his garden and what he is cooking for dinner. I have never heard of half the shit he is talking about. What the f**k is chard? He grows that. And he cooks with it. Or does something with it. I’m not quite sure but I am definitely impressed. Of course he could be making up half this crap and I would have no clue because all I pretty much know are ketchup and mustard and salt and pepper. I wait to read his posts just so I can gain a culinary vocabulary. I would have no idea how to use any of the words in a sentence, but what the hell. I feel like I’m gaining knowledge.

Years ago I was in the audience of the Richard Simmons show. Back in the 70’s, he had an exercise/health show. Being in advertising, we had access to a lot of free tickets to many TV shows and events. Some good, some not so good. I had two tickets to this one, which, believe it or not, was considered good at the time.  I decided to take my dad. We were sitting in the audience and I caught Richard’s eye. He asked if my dad and I wanted to be in the cooking segment of his show. Like I would say no to that! I didn’t let on that we were probably the two most cooking challenged people in his audience, let alone the world. Little did I know we had to actually help him prepare a meal.

So there I was, with my Rosanne Rosannadanna hair, my Dolphin shorts pulled up to my boobs, and my leg warmers, standing up in front of millions of people on a kitchen set on the Richard Simmons show. I was smokin’!

Then Richard asked me to peel a pear. What? Seriously? He handed me the peeler and the pear and I started peeling. Well…sort of. While he was talking about the meal and how healthy and nutritious it was, the pear slid out of my hand, onto the floor, and rolled off the stage. All while the cameras were focused on me! I was dying. All I wanted to do was hide behind his ‘fro. Richard proceeded to make total fun of me asking if I’ve ever been in a kitchen before and my answer was “absolutely…but I’ve never prepared anything in a kitchen before.”  Obviously, the nutrition segment of his show was cut short.

I can’t say I’ve gotten any better over the years…which is why I married men that could cook. Unfortunately, those didn’t last.  There’s a lot more to a marriage than a good meal, so I found out.

But I’ve gotten much better at seeking out a wider variety of frozen foods. And I make one hell of a salad! I may never be the next Rachel Ray, but I am up for the Better Homes & Gardens Cleanest Kitchen of the Year Award.

Driving me crazy

I have the pleasure of living near a place called Leisure Village. Leisure Village is a community of retired people. You have to be pretty old to live there.  And your driving skills have to be everything opposite of what the DMV driving test requires. At least…that’s what it appears to be.

Living near this community has been a true test of my patience. Their driving ability, or dis-ability, completely flabbergasts me. How they attain their licenses is beyond my capacity to comprehend. I guess because we are not required in California to take a driving test every few years, to assess our motor skills, allows them to keep their licenses they received when they still HAD motor skills. I’m sure there are many blue hairs out there who got their licenses in their 20’s, and have never had to retake the driving test. This is a tragedy! Every person over the age of 70 should have to retake the driving test, EVERY year, until they no longer can find their car.

Driving around town is a feat in itself. I think they are in a conspiracy to take their cars and emerge all at once onto our streets. If I see a Chrysler Town and Country, I quickly speed ahead to try to pass them. I know, for sure, it’s going to be an elderly person in there. And sure enough, the little old lady is two inches away from the steering wheel.  I’m not sure how they breathe when it’s digging into their stomachs, with their little heads poking thru the holes in the wheel. They can’t even see over the dashboard and their feet can’t reach the pedals, but miraculously the car moves. At a snail’s pace, but it moves nevertheless.

                                                                                  

If I end up not forging ahead, sitting behind them, I’m done. Forget it. What would take me 5 minutes to reach my destination, will now take me 25 minutes. In a 45 mph zone, we are now going 15, IF we’re lucky. We are not talking like we are in the Indy 500 here. I’m not asking them to drag race. It’s a Chevy Impala. C’mon grandma…speed it up to 30!

Just accelerating when the light turns green is another 3 minutes. Gertie is sitting there waiting…“Oh…the light turned green? Let me think about pressing my foot down on the gas pedal. There we go…I think I’m moving? Ah…yes…I am. Oops…maybe a little too fast. Let me let up a little. Much better. Oh wait…I’m driving??”

The parking lot. I don’t speed in parking lots because you never know who is walking where, who’s pulling out of a space, blah, blah, blah. But please…I may as well get out and PUSH my car at the rate I’m going. I’d probably get there faster. So they drive 20 mph on the street, and ONE mph in the lot. Really? zzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz. Wake me up when you’re in the space, gramps. You would think they would want to speed up to 10 mph to make it in time for the early bird special.

And in the supermarket…they push their carts the same way. And for some reason I always get stuck behind them…in the skinniest aisles so that I can’t pass them. And try doing a 180 in a food aisle. Not easy. And behind them at the checkout counter. Wow! They take their groceries out one… by one… by one… by one. I’m trying to make eye contact with the bagger, practically jerking my head off my neck, motioning him to help Mildred unload the cart.

Then we get to the coupons. They carry around their little “coupon purse” and wait to find the coupons once the cashier is done. Can’t they start just a little sooner so that we are not waiting there an extra 20 minutes while they sort through their 8000 coupons, only to find out most of them are expired? Then they write a check. I don’t know if they have heard of ATM’s yet, although the elderly do hang out in the banks because they serve free coffee and cookies, so you would think they would have inquired about those machines attached to the walls outside. But they don’t really like change. And they don’t really understand the new technology…so they still write checks. Which takes them just a little longer than the average person. So we have now tacked on an extra 7 minutes. What should have taken 15 minutes, has turned into a two hour excursion.

In all honesty, I love being around the elderly and do everything I can to help them when possible. We are all going to be there one day and should treat others as we would want others to treat us.

And I have to say, the great thing about living here?  I’m considered the youngster! How’s that for irony! 

                                                
 http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=xGdLDOXyWsg

Tongue Bashing

Can there be a more annoying habit then sucking the food out of one’s teeth? My ex-father-in-law (may he rest in peace) used to suck the life out of his teeth and it would drive me nuts. It was something I looked so forward to every time we would get together for a family meal. Without fail, after eating, that sucking noise would be heard near and far. I would look around and there he was. Mouth and moustache contorted in ways only a tongue sucking vampire could imagine. I tried it once to see if there was pleasure in it and I thought my incisors were being pulled from their roots and getting vacuumed down my throat only to be lodged in my esophagus. Get a frickin’ toothpick. That’s why they were invented. Dental floss maybe? I once handed out dental floss at a barbeque after serving corn on the cob so I didn’t have to listen to teeth sucking in stereo. Everyone was quite grateful. Wish we had youtube back then. It was quite a sight to see 30 people quietly flossing in unison….little kernels flying through the air.

My dog has a habit of constantly licking her chops. Again, drives me insane. Especially in the middle of the night when she keeps licking and licking. In fact, I’m writing this at 3AM because her disgusting lip licking woke me up and she is still doing it like the energizer bunny that keeps going and going. S-T-O-P!!! I WANNA SLEEP!

My grandmother (may she also rest in peace) used to have this awful habit of opening and closing her lips while her tongue would make some sucking noise on her palate. She would tend to really go at it in her sleep and one night, when I was little, my parents decided to grant me the pleasure of rooming with her. Big mistake! That, too, woke me in the middle of the night and kept me up. I was ready to stick my hand down her throat and rip out her tongue…but I thought she may choke and I loved her. So I didn’t. I just went over to her bed and gently held her lips together with both my hands til she stopped.  We had to revive her a few minutes later.

What is it about the tongue that causes these annoying, disgusting habits?  The tongue is supposed to be used for good things…like tasting, and kissing, and rolling your “R’s”, and being able to contort it in ways others can’t. I have the good fortune of being able to touch my nose. Something I’ve always been very proud of.

But my tongue betrayed me. Big time! And I was so angry at it. It was awful since all through my life I always took pride in my tongue since I could do all those things I listed above.  And then BAM…the biggest betrayal of all…I lost my taste. My buds were stolen. All 4 of them. Not just bitter, sour and salty. But it stole sweet, too! It couldn’t just leave sweet alone?  My sweet bud is my favorite bud. But noooooooo…sweet was gone.   

For four months, 4 taste buds were MIA.  It made no difference what I ate. It came to a point that I only ate because I thought living was kind of in my destiny at that point. A group of us were out to dinner one night and everyone was ordering all this delicious food. The waiter came over to take our order. He started at the other end of the table… “I’ll have the Osso Bucco”.  “I’ll have linguine with clams”.  “I’ll have the veal scallopini”. And then it was my turn…”I’ll have the shit on a stick, and a glass of urine on ice with a twist, please”.

The tongue is way underrated.