really Black Friday

Today is Black Friday. I had two choices. To get up late, lounge around the house til I felt up to cleaning my house from the chaos that ensues every Thanksgiving or pull out my wallet, warm up the credit card and go shopping. I opted early on to clean. The memories of a previous Black Friday where normally nice people became rude and normally rude people turned into wild animals. All this for a discounted flat screen or a talking Muppet.  No thanks. I would rather re-load my dishwasher (for the 4th time), vacuum the nut shells from the dining room rug and put away the ‘good china’ til Christmas Eve. It didn’t turn out that way. I fell asleep on the couch watching a DVR’d episode of Survivor that I could have missed since it was a cheap recap show. I woke up at 5:45 am to the sounds of my husband gathering the garbage and recycling we had amassed the day before. I had called 311 earlier and left him a note not to recycle since they wouldn’t be picking up til next week. But he has his routine, and so of course he gathered the recycling before looking at the note. As he noisily made his way from the kitchen, passed the couch I heard my dog pacing in the kitchen. Back and forth, back and forth. His nails on the hardwood floor are always annoying but this was something else. Before my husband actually left the house, I opened one eye and asked what the dog was doing? He said ’nothing, just smelling around cause I moved all the garbage around.’ Ok, I didn’t buy it for a minute, but I was too shot to even sit up. I yelled for the dog to stop, he did and I fell back asleep. I woke up later than I wanted, stiff and hurting from the crappy couch. But the plan was still on…a lazy morning and babysitting in the afternoon for my granddaughter. Coffee with some friends. How plans can change. I got up and made my way to the kitchen which still smelled like my beautifully roasted turkey. I switched on the light and my feet went completely out from under me. I grabbed for both the counter and the stove, reached none and smashed down on my knees. The good one, and the bad one. Now I am presuming both bad. Like something out of a three stooges routine I slipped and slid til was able to stand, bracing myself on the sink. The floor was slick and shiny. Mr. Recycling had taken the greasy aluminum pans and took them out to the recycling pail apparently without bagging or washing them. EVEN THOUGH I TOLD HIM THERE WAS NO RECYCLING! Grease and turkey giblets everywhere. I reached for the paper towels…NONE. I looked under the sink for degreaser…NONE. I grabbed for some dishtowels….NONE. I crept from my perch and got to the bathroom where I pulled the towel from the towel rack and degreased my feet. As I made my way back to the kitchen I could see there was grease from the back door through the dining room and straight through to the front door. I hate him! I was able to find Fantastik, a mop and some more towels before I fell again. I cleaned the floor several times but each time I walked in it was like an ice skating rink. And in a few hours I was going to have my granddaughter who falls normally on the slick floor. So I washed it again. And Again. And then I was ready to tackle the rugs with the rug cleaner. No rug cleaning liquid. So I used super hot water and dishwashing liquid. There is a reason they sell rug cleaner and there is a reason that they can charge a fortune for it. You cant use anything else! Not without dire consequences. There were so many bubbles coming out of the rug machine that I couldn’t tell if I had even gotten to all the grease drippings. I emptied the machine and tried again with no soap…but I guess there was just too much in it the first go around, so it made another zillion bubbles. My grandsons would have had a ball. I hate him!

I realized that I had promised to pick up the candy for our local police precinct’s holiday party. I left the kitchen floor to dry AGAIN, left the bubbles to burst on their own and got dressed as fast as I could. Not very good at rushing, I got to the store and realized I did not have my pocketbook with me. I shopped anyway and told the manager I would be back in fifteen minutes. On my way home to get my bag, which my daughter offered to bring to the Toys R Us parking lot, I realized I hadn’t had breakfast or even a cup of coffee and it was already noon. I went into the Burger King drive thru and ordered a coffee with milk. I got a scalding hot, burn your tongue, sear the flesh off your lips coffee with no milk. I held back tears as I drove to the parking lot to retrieve my bag. Back at the store, the manager had Jose waiting to load my car with the candy. $450 worth of candy. I paid and the non English speaking Jose and I walked to my car. Now if you have read any of my other blogs you will know that I am not a big fan of non-English speaking people living in America. But today, Jose was my hero and he can speak any damn language he wants. We get to my car and there is a disgusting dirty, smelly man (could have been a woman…) sitting on the bumper of my car with one shoe off picking something out from between his toes. I kid you not! I said, ‘excuse me get off my car’ to which he replied, “who the %#*^ do you think you are?” Jose stood waiting holding tons of chocolate Santas. “I asked you nicely to get off my car, I have to put something in the trunk”, I tried again. “Shut up fatso” and continued to pick his toes. Jose moved the Santas to the side and went up to the belligerent toe-picker and in his best broken English told him to get off the car. Toe-picker just smiled. Then Jose said something in Spanish. I have no idea what he said but my shoeless friend got up and walked off mumbling something about me being fat and Jose being short. I asked Jose what he said, but he didn’t understand me…or at least pretended not to. I tipped him after he loaded my car and in English better than mine said, Thank you, have a nice day. Jose, man of mystery!

Next year I am getting up at 3am…gearing up for the crowds and going sale shopping. Today exhausted me!

and speaking of......

I watched the 2009 American Music Awards on Sunday night. I watched it again on Monday night, I may even watch it again tonight…yes I thought it was that good! Not the awards themselves, because other than Taylor Swift (who has like one decent song) winning so many awards it was a typical awards show. But the musical acts were all great.

I love Rap music. Not all of it, but I love Eminem and I love Jay-Z and both performed. Jay-Z and Alicia Keys did their amazing Empire State of Mind, the same one they sang at the end of the Yankee parade with Bridget Kelly doing a pretty decent job of Alicia Keys part considering she was like thisclose to Derek Jeter and if it were me I probably wouldn’t even be able to speak let alone sing. I want to thank Jay-Z for wearing a tuxedo to the awards. Of course he can well afford to keep a couple of them hanging in his closet, but with the sloppy gangster look so common, it was refreshing to see a black man in a white tux. Ebony and Ivory…..and speaking of Ivory….

Eminem, (the only accepted white rapper…forget Vanilla Ice)…was as usual Eminem. All thugged out, baggy, hanging pants and grabbing his crotch. I just want to know, what’s up with all the grabbing anyway. Adam Lambert did it, Janet Jackson did it…is it a chafing issue? something fungal? I doubt the choreographer said, ‘and 1, and 2, step together, step together, turn, dip, dip, crotch grab, crotch grab’….but ya never know. And what’s with the pants ready to fall off. I know it’s the style, but why? Are they so proud of their underwear that they feel the need to show them off? Can you even do this with tighty whiteys? Seriously, what’s up with that? Is it a black thing? A solidarity thing for the beltless homies in prison? Ya can’t run, can hardly walk…..and speaking of walking…

Ya should’ve seen Paula Abdul trying to make her way across the stage in her Morticia Adams dress. Instead of sexy, sultry it looked like she had to pee. Paula, you have a great shape, but come on…it would have been hysterical if you had fallen on your ass….and speaking of asses….

J-Lo fell on her’s. A lot more cushioned than Paula however. Doing her best I-can-walk-on-the-backs-of-dancing-men routine, she jumped off only to find herself flat on her ass. As fast as it was that she recouped, I am sure it was even faster that the back up dancer was fired. Hold my hand til I land on my feet….ooops! And speaking of oops….what was up with A-Rod’s flavor of the month, Kate Hudson. The dress she wore, provocatively revealed NOTHING…she has nothing! But as she tugged at the top it was obvious she thought something was going to fall out….guess again Kate. And beside Ms. Jackson took care of that whole nipple in the wind thing long ago….maybe Kate should have had the dress tailored. Speaking of tailors….

Back to Taylor Swift. When Kanye did his thing and interrupted her acceptance speech we all sympathetically fell in line behind her. But Favorite Entertainer of the Year?….over Michael Jackson? Even a dead Jackson is hands down a better performer than Swift. And speaking of dead, why was Jermaine Jackson thanking Allah for Michael’s award. His “Allah” wasn’t much help when Michael was on the floor dying of a drug overdose. And speaking of drugs….

What was Lady Gaga on? Not during her routine, but when she chose her outfit for the evening? Bones that lit up? How festive? And there were flames and a piano….didn’t Billy Joel do that once/ (We didn’t start the fire…) She’s weirder than hell, but I love her….or is it him? She pushes the envelope. She is my idol. And speaking of idols…

There were four American Idol finalists on the AMA stage…Kelly Clarkson who, even though her voice is amazing, hasn’t had a decent song since Since You’ve Been Gone, Chris Daughtry who’s arrogant face when he was voted off before he thought he should be has always stayed with me, Carrie Underwood who is clearly the most talented and beautiful of Idol alumni, and Adam Lambert. Hmmm, what to say?…what to say? He screams a lot and knows how to apply eyeliner better than I’ve ever been able to. He likes boys, maybe girls too. But can he sing? This jury is still out. And speaking of out….

Out!

happy thanksgiving

With Thanksgiving just around the corner, it is with a sense of joy that I lower my head and give thanks for the many people and things in my life. (Ok so that may have been a little theatrical, but you get the point)

I am thankful for my husband of thirty- five years. Thankful for the privilege of cooking him dinner night after night, day after day, year after year, decade after friggin' decade. For the feeling of elation I have washing his work clothes and pride when the filth is gone. For the enjoyment I get when I have to repeat every sentence until he finally hears me. But I am most thankful for the gift of his rhythmic snoring throughout the night. Sometimes I lay awake just listening to him... breathe. And I am thankful to those who have promised me an alibi when I have him killed.

I am thankful for my three wonderful kids who, while they gave it their best shot, did not kill me during their adolescence. I am still thankful for the nights I laid awake waiting to hear they’d made it home alive when they went where they shouldn't have....with someone they shouldn't have. Thankful for the warnings gone unheeded and the resulting broken bones. My most thankful days have been refereeing sibling rivalry, repairing broken hearts and soothing bruised egos. I am so blessed that I am still being woken up to go the emergency room, only this time with grandchildren.

I am thankful that my new doctor is overweight. I don’t feel the need to starve for four days before a check-up and he can appreciate my swollen ankles. His blood pressure is higher than mine and so is his cholesterol. I am no longer told that if I wasn’t overweight I would be healthier. Now when I get a cold or virus I get a prescription without the lecture.

I am thankful to my vet who has figured out why my dog stinks. $354 and he is cured. Well almost and not yet, but we are on the road. He has allergies. You were right Mr. Gore, the greenhouse effect has finally come home to roost…this unseasonably warm weather has made his allergies so bad that he developed a skin condition. (think old men’s elbows and the smell of an old age home) His stinkiness is diminishing, thankfully.

I am thankful for my bosses and co-workers. I see them sixteen hours a week and it feels more like 40. I mean that in a good way. (I think) One is bi-polar, another is deaf, one talks about food all day and one is Irish. (Apologies to my Irish friends and family, but there was just no other way to explain him. Think every stereotypical Irish trait….that’s him!) Then there’s the one that burps (don’t ask), the one that is on Facebook all day, and last but not least the one who gets goat stew from a customer. But what I am most thankful for is that I don’t work on Fridays.

I am thankful for DVR’s. I do not think that I would ever be able to go back to watching TV when it is really on. I zip through commercials and lose track of what day it is since I am watching my Monday shows on Tuesday and on Tuesday I am watching something I DVR’d three weeks ago. I am equally thankful for Thursday nights. It is the best night on TV with Flash Forward, Survivor, Project Runway and so many more. Point, click, record. Thank you.

 

I am thankful for so many other things, I am more blessed than I realize at times.  Happy Thanksgiving to everyone!

cabbage soup

I have always known I wasn’t very politically correct. In fact I blame the woes of the world on political correctness. But this weekend proved to me that I definitely have to find a balance between correctness and ‘ok why don’t you just grow up’!     

I went upstate this weekend to meet up with my daughter who was already there with her family. It wasn’t a weekend I would have gone, the weather was bad and I had a lot to do with Thanksgiving around the corner and my husband annoys the hell out of me during the 3 hour car ride. But my grandsons asked me to come and soooo…I was there!

Before I was even packed I got a call from my daughter informing me that me house had been invaded by mice. There were signs of them in the kitchen, the living room, the laundry room and yes….one of the bedrooms. My bedroom, of course. By signs she meant shit. Lots of little tiny mouse poop. Before I put the For Sale sign up I regained my composure and told her to clean what she could, throw out anything that looked disposable and buy traps. And I didn’t mean the ‘oh let them live they are all Gods creatures’ kinda traps….I wanted her to get the snap the little bastard’s head off kind. The ‘gee this trap has my foot, let me gnaw it off trap.’ I wanted them gone and I wanted them to suffer on the way out. How dare they invade my house? Who do they think they are messing with? I am catwoman!

By the time we got up there….not a hint of a mouse and no mice poop. My daughter and her husband had cleaned up nicely and although the traps they bought were glue traps instead of snap the neck traps, I was glad that we were armed. I however would be sleeping with the lights on this night.

The hotel near my condo had a Scandinavian weekend. Or was it Swedish. No, Norwegian. Maybe Danish? Either way, there were lots of blonds. I tried my best not to call everyone Sven and Inga, but it was tempting. To distract myself from the mouse invasion and to placate my husband who has a incredulous need to see the show each and every time we are up there, we went to the Scandinavian show that night. Ula Oonga and Jaana Something-or-other were the headliners. While we sat and waited for the show to start, each remarking on how few people were in the nightclub so close to showtime, a blind couple were being helped in. They were escorted to the lower level by the stage and left there like floundering fish tapping their white canes. We couldn’t imagine why they hadn’t just sat down at any one of the vacant tables stage-side and enjoy the entertainment. When we saw the host come out and approach them we realized that they WERE the entertainment. He was the accordion player, she the piano. They bantered a bit first with each other than with the audience and then they began to play. We stayed for four songs, which was three songs too many, and when we realized they wouldn’t see us leave…..we left. Every song sounded like a polka and I only know the first two lines of Roll Out The Barrel. (which I am sure they weren’t actually playing) We left for the condo to battle the mice which seemed the lesser of two evils.

The night went well and no mice showed up but just in case my husband and I went to town and bought poison. Now poison is a tricky thing. You want it to kill the mice, hell you want them to down right suffer (well, I do) but we have a dog and 4 grandchildren, including one that would eat the mouse itself if she was able to catch it so we had to be careful where you put the poison. My husband wanted to put it in the cabinets. Nooooooooo….they hadn’t gotten in the cabinets and I was afraid the smell of the aromatic poison would draw them in. So he wanted to put it in the basement and garage. Noooooooooo…the kids play in the garage and the dog sometimes follows us into the basement when we go down to put on the water heater. He attempted to put it behind things, like the stove and the fridge. Noooooooooo…what if we move the stove one day and forget and the dog or the baby get it. My husband put the poison packets in his pocket and threatened to leave them there if I didn’t decide where I wanted them. Behind the appliances would be fine. I think.

That night we decided to treat the kids to dinner in the dining room at the hotel so that my daughter didn’t have to cook and we could spend way too much money on food that the kids wouldn’t eat and have to go home and make chicken nuggets anyway……..It’s the thought that counts! I called to see what the menu was. Seems that the Scandies like cabbage. There was stuffed cabbage, cabbage soup, cabbage slaw, and some kind of salmon and cabbage entrée that I couldn’t and didn’t want to pronounce. So we went to town to Michaelangelo’s where we could pronounce pretty much everything on the menu and the kids wouldn’t eat and we would still have to make chicken nuggets back at the condo. But at least we wouldn’t be farting all night from the cabbage.

This night we thought better about attempting the show since it too had names with double and triple A’s in them and if I cant pronounce you I am pretty sure I won’t like you. I did however see some cute little girls in cute little ethnic costumes go into to the nightclub, so either they were the entertainment or their mother dresses them funny. My daughter and I sat in the lobby attempting to steal a wireless internet connection without paying the $10 an hour they like to charge while my son in law frolicked throughout the hotel with my grandsons. The blind entertainment duo from the night before passed before us headed for the stairs. They seemed kind of lost so my daughter asked them if they needed help to which they said no. Then they made their way clicking and tapping over to the elevator bank. Thinking I was helping, I asked if they were looking for the elevators. Good job, I asked two blind people if they were looking for something. Why didn’t I just kick their dog while I was at it? Ok so there was no dog, but you get the analogy. An hour after that fiasco we saw them emerge from the coffee shop making their way across the expansive lobby. They were walking into couches, tables, doorways happily chatting as their coffee spilled and, I am ashamed to say, looked very much like the silver balls in a pin ball machine changing directions as they banged into things.

 

And then a thought came to me….if they had come to my condo they couldn’t have seen the mouse poop, they could easily have slept with the all the lights on, they wouldn’t be buying and fighting about where to place poison, or checking sticky glue traps for torn off rodent limbs.   How lucky are they?

.....whats right is right.....

There are times when things just feel out of whack. There are things happening in our world that just seem to get crazier and crazier. Yup, I read the newspaper, the way I do every morning and well….it just keeps getting worse. In addition to the fact that none of my lottery numbers hit, the news was very depressing to say the least.

An editor from the NY Post is suing because she says she was wrongfully fired after complaining about a cartoon which she thought was racist….cops shooting a monkey (who in life had just attacked a woman in Connecticut) and the caption read ‘they are going to get someone else to write the stimulus bill’ meaning that it was so bad a monkey could have written it. She along with others, thought the monkey was supposed to be Obama and it showed him getting shot. Only it wasn’t Obama it was a….MONKEY! A monkey that was in the headlines that whole week. In fact the lady that was mauled by that MONKEY was on Oprah today…poor thing. So who’s the racist? But she is suing and she will win because people who think everything is a racial slur have rights too!

Sesame Street turns 40. Wow…I guess I have been watching it since I am like 14...can that be? And why the hell was a 14 year old watching Sesame Street anyway? Rumors have been around for weeks that Cookie Monster is going green. Yup, like Oscar and Kermit. Veggie monster. Eats only vegetables instead of those bad, bad, fattening cookies he loves so much. Even poor Sesame Street is falling prey to this liberal shit that is taking down our country. Yes kids are fat, but I assure you it has nothing to do with Sesame Street or a blue puppet. Excuse me, Muppet! If they want to make cookies the villian then make cookie monster fat, not a vegan. But hey, even fat vegans have rights too!

The wife of a lieutenant has made available the contents of his suicide note. He killed himself after ordering the Tasering of a former mental patient…naked, raving and flailing a flourescent light bulb at officers. He fell to his death from the ledge he was perched on. The pictures of this man with his three children and wife make you realize that sometimes when you do a job like keeping the streets safe from both criminals as well as mental patients, sometimes things go wrong. Now, two families are devastated because the system that should have mandated the mental patient be contained failed and let him out. And now he is dead. Good job! Poor mental patients have rights too!

The recipient of some clothes that the murderous Muslim gave away before he shot up Fort Hood speaks out. He won’t wear the clothes, ‘its like touching evil,’ ‘I hope he rots‘….he will however sell them on Ebay and make some money. Did I miss something here? Throw them out. Give them to the poor. Tear them up for rags. But make money, no I think not….But opportunists have rights too!

Whack-a-do astronaut Lisa Novack who drove across country in diapers so that she could kill her lover’s lover…..no jail time. A year’s probation. When this orbital nutcase tries it again, and maybe succeeds I wonder if the judge will sleep good that night. Crazy astronauts have rights too!

Then there is the lawsuit filed against Target for selling a Halloween costume that had an alien head, an orange prison jumpsuit and a green card. Illegal Alien…Get it? Ha ha ha ha But Target will lose, and a law firm with cheap, tacky infomercials will win. Hellloooo…it’s a costume! Poking fun at felons. Yes entering the country illegally is a felony. I guess felons have rights too!

A Pennsylvania firefighter was suspended without pay for refusing to remove an American flag sticker from his locker. The issue started when a joke was posted on the outside of a locker which, of course, offended someone. To appease the offended party everyone was directed to remove everything from the outside of their lockers. Although several fireman protested, all complied….but one fireman did not believe that the one inch square American flag sticker he had left on his locker needed to be removed. He then refused to remove the sticker stating that if the flag offended anyone, they shouldn’t be working there. He was suspended. Last time I checked this was America…home of the free, the brave…etc etc and we were represented by an American flag. Have we all gone nuts? Don’t Americans have rights anymore?

thanks, but no thanks

Going through my mail today I realize just how much junk mail I actually get. I got two postcards, one for me and one for my husband, from Monticello Racino. (not a typo - that stands for Raceway and Casino - catchy, huh?) Whenever we go to our house upstate we go to the Racino and make a deposit. The slots there are the tightest I’ve seen anywhere. This time they are trying to entice us back with a free Pitcher and Glass Set. What the $%^! ? Give me some free plays, or $10 for gas…maybe even a free drink at the bar….but a pitcher set?? I’ll stay home, save the gas and toll money and buy my own pitcher set. Thanks, but no thanks.

I got 9 catalogues. Two of them want me back so bad they are offering me a pre-approved credit line. Silly boys! Equifax is a little on edge right about now. It’s recycling night so those two will just have to go in the bin before I take them up on their oh-so-generous offers. There were two Toy’s R Us catalogues (one with a generous $10 gift card offer) and since the grandchild count is up to four, I will be keeping those and perusing. The other five catalogues were from companies I am pretty sure I have never heard of before and have no idea how they got my name and address. I looked briefly through those and they had the most amazing and different items. I actually started folding pages with the thought that I may order some of the amazing and different stuff until I saw how amazing and different their shipping rate was. And the amazing and different return policy. Thanks, but no thanks.

I got my son’s student loan bill which should have come with a little gun pointing out of the envelope since it feels like extortion every time I send a check. I try to make sense out of the fact that no matter how many checks we send the balance either goes up or stays the same. When I called to have it explained to me for like the hundredth time, I hung up realizing that I will just never understand the whole interest/principal thing…..what I do know is, like a mini-mortgage I will own my son in 20 years. Can they repossess? Hmmmm……….thanks, but no thanks.

Somehow lost in the pack was yet another, albeit late, Vote for Bill Thompson postcard. Since Bloomberg is already driving the bus, I threw that one in the bin as well. A very definite, thanks, but no thanks.

Bill, bill, bill. Why do I have three phone bills? House, cell, condo. Just seems like such a waste of money. Maybe I will get rid of the phone at the upstate condo. Or not. Too scary up there at night to be phoneless. Maybe the house phone. Nah, that won’t work because I would have to use my cell and I never hear it when it is in my pocketbook and when I do I can’t find it in time to answer. Ok so, no….I need the house phone. Lose the cell phone? Forget that….I will just pay the bill, bill, bill. Thanks, but no thanks.

I got two magazines. Popular Science and Newsweek. Yeah right! I got People and the Star. I make no excuses for these. I am a gossip junkie and must know who is doing what with who or to whom. I like knowing who is cheating on who with who. I also like seeing who wore what and of course I always need a running head count from the Jolie-Pitt household. I pay good money to know which Gosslin is worse at parenting, who’s crystal meth problem is coming out of the closet and Oprah’s diet secrets….ummm thanks, but no thanks on that one.

My mail included a booklet with coupons for the local supermarket that I don’t shop at and a postcard heralding the sale of yet another house in my neighborhood by, of course, a local neighborhood real estate agent who used to be a housewife but the kids got big and they got bored. I also got two envelopes addressed to ‘resident’ which I just threw out with out opening and nine, yes I said ‘9’ credit card offers imploring me to sign up and save. Thanks, but no thanks I have enough credit cards and I assure you I don’t save a thing.

Gee I can’t wait to see what tomorrows mail will bring.

happy halloween

Halloween was this weekend. My feet still hurt from promenading the blocks in my neighborhood with my grandchildren. My ass is still frozen from sitting the next few hours on my stoop with my neighbors handing out goodies. Hey it was better than going up and down the stairs everytime a little ghoul rang the bell. This year Halloween fell on a Saturday so we geared up for the masses of vampires, witches and cartoon characters.


I had to buy my candy at the last minute since last year my husband ate most of the 'good' stuff before I got a chance to put it into the little bags with the skulls. As we navigated the streets we had carefully mapped out earlier, it was obvious how high tech we have become. Mothers on cell phones coordinating with kids and husbands....where they were, where they were going and more importantly, which houses were already out of candy. This year I was smart, I bought too much candy which turned out to be just enough candy. (It helped that I hid it.) Last year my neighbor and I were outside literally breaking up packs of gum to finish off the last few tricksters. I am happy to say Halloween is NOT a dying art even with the fear of razor blades in apples (who'd eat the apple anyway?) and tainted candy. The kids are taught not to eat anything without checking with mom or dad and I teach them to check with grandma first if it is covered in dark chocolate. I do not tell them why. They think I am so brave for taste-testing their candy.


The kids costumes were great. Super Mario’s, wrestlers, vampires, and witches. But the adult costumes were better. We had the Burger King (who looked like he ate a burger or fourteen too many), the woman attacked in The Birds (thankfully those annoying singing kids were not part of the costume…..ristle-tee, rostle-tee, hey donny dostle-tee, knickety-knackety, retro-quo-quality, willoby-wallaby, now, now, now), a gi-enormous ghoul (that scared all the kids except for my one year old granddaughter) and of course, Michael Myers (and his Jewish counterpart Michael Meyers who had a yarmulke).


When I came in after a long day, a little saddened by the fact that all I had left of my candy stash was three mini toostsie pops, I thought about trick or treating when I was a kid. Although for some reason I couldn’t remember a single costume I wore, I did remember the Smarties, Bit o’ Honey’s and red Licorice I had in my bag. I remember my mother and I sorting out the candy and pulling out the pennies we had collected. My brother and I always competed to see who had more pennies. He always won. He was allowed to go further and stay out later. But when he left to go back out, long after I was sidelined, I stole candy from his bag. Not much, just the good stuff.


I remember the big colored chalk that we used to put in old socks to mark the houses that didn’t answer their door. Hence the ‘trick’ portion of trick or treat. Kids today don’t do that but they will call you out on Facebook as cheapskates. I never used my chalk socks to mark people’s houses. I used my chalk to draw on the sidewalk. My brother called me names. I stole his Charleston Chews. He crushed my chalk. I stole his Turkish Taffy. He hit me with my own chalk sock. I stole his wax lips. Hey payback’s a bitch!


The night usually ended with us lighting our jack o lantern, which looked pretty shitty considering we weren’t allowed to use a real knife and had to do most of the carving with a butter knife. My brother carved most of the pumpkin because he had my father’s artistic skills. I had my mother’s smile. We lit it with the tall Sabbath candles the Jewish lady next door gave us every year. The seeds we fished from the guts of our pumpkin were always salted and roasted and we loved them almost as much as the candy we had worked so hard to collect earlier. And we always had the first of the season cup of hot chocolate. I remember going to bed with the scents of Halloween in the air….pumpkin seeds roasting in the oven, licorice and taffy, cocoa and milk, and of course the smell of burning pumpkin flesh.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=VlbYXISw3Ug

one more day

I will be back rambling soon enough....check back this weekend for sure.  Been sick...pneumonia so they say.  I think it is just exhaustion, from what I have no idea.??? 

just around the corner

I looked up the word ‘Jitney’ in the encyclopedia. It means ‘shared taxi’ and are used primarily in developing countries. It also says that they often are privately owned, have an anarchic operating style and lack central control or organization. It refers to them here in the US as the equivalent of dollar vans. Had I known all that a few days ago I would never have suggested we take the jitney from the Borgata in Atlantic City.

My husband and I went to the Borgata because I was invited to participate in a slots tournament. Me and 10,000 other people. But the oversized postcard that came proclaiming me as one of the ‘selected few’ convinced me to go. That and the free room they offered me. King sized bed, great view, comp breakfast….heaven. Or not!

We drove to AC on Thursday with a planned stop at the Corvette dealership where we bought my sons car two years ago. They have a little museum that my husband wanted to see and missed in 2007 when we bought my son’s Vette. The museum was there, I think my husband was just in sticker shock when we bought an atomic orange Corvette and he completely forgot to check out the museum before we drove off.

The Atlantic City Expressway…Exit 2.…right off the exit. Easy to get to. If the exit hadn’t been closed and the detour wasn’t ridiculously hard to follow. As we passed exit 2 and followed the detour off exit 1 I knew we would get lost. I am probably the last hold out for a navigation system. Even my new cell phone doesn’t have it. (or does it..?) Exit 1 took us under a tunnel over a bridge and passed windmills that harnessed….wind, I guess. The neighborhood was getting beachy and beautiful and clean. We certainly weren’t in the outskirts of Atlantic City any longer. The town was called Brigantine and it was beautiful. But it wasn’t where we looking to go. We drove for about a mile until we came to THE END sign and u-turned. We asked some guys fishing how to get to the Corvette dealership which we weren’t surprised they knew. Way off track, they explained how to get to where we had intended, passed the windmills, over the bridge and back under the tunnel….but from there they had no street names. Turn right at Angelino’s Italian restaurant, another right by the closed Lukoil gas station….then a left….maybe. We backtracked as instructed, looked for Angelino’s, gave up and headed for the Borgata valet parking area. The valet knew where we wanted to go and gave us perfect directions…we found the Vette dealership and in doing so we also found Angelino’s. Passed the windmills, under the tunnel but NOT over the bridge into Brigantine. The museum amounted to no more than old cars, older cars, new cars, used cars, red cars and blue cars but mainly over priced was-this-really-worth-it cars. For my husband it was, for me the slots were calling.

The slot tournament room was 200 degrees but since you only play for 6 minutes and they gave you free coffee, beverages, cookies and brownies…who cares? I could tell by my score that I wasn’t going to score in the top 22 prize spots, but the Yankees were playing that night and possibly clinching the ALCS. Life is good!

My husband came up with a good idea, let’s leave the beautiful all inclusive Borgata with it’s 5 star restaurants and renowned bars and go to an Irish Pub we ate at like 3 years ago on the Boardwalk. They have $1 beers….enough said.  I called the bar ahead of time to be sure they would have the game on to which they assured me they would. They never mentioned that there was only one TV, it was a 26 inch black and white, and they were all Phillies fans. But I am getting ahead of myself.

I remembered from my last trip to the Borgata that they have a jitney that takes you from the marina to the boardwalk hotels. I asked the bell services captain where to get it and when he didn’t know and had to look on a map I should have guessed this wasn’t gonna be a noteworthy experience. The jitney was just outside the parking entrance and there was one just about to leave when we got there. We got on thinking it was free, but the handful of dollars in the drivers hand prompted me to ask…how much? $2.50 each…so much for ‘dollar vans’. Before we even had time to sit down the driver peeled out, throwing us to our seats and we were on our way. It was probably the only time I truly wanted to wear a seat belt. The jitney bumped and bucked as it was maneuvered through the streets of AC. The first stop was Harrah’s and every one got off except for us. I asked the driver if he went to St James Place which is where the Irish Pub is. He assured us he did in a tone reminiscent of the Soup Nazi from Seinfeld. I sat down like a good passenger and awaited his direction. To me it seemed like we were going in the opposite direction of the area we needed to go, passing the hotels that our map said were next to the Pub, and it seemed like the neighborhood was getting worse and worse. There we were at night in a well lit mini bus, driving through a rather downtrodden neighborhood, basically screaming….WE HAVE MONEY, WE ARE HERE TO GAMBLE, WE HAVE MONEY. When the bus finally stopped at the corner of St James Place and Atlantic Avenue (so they really did name Monopoly after Atlantic City….cool!) the driver told us that the Irish Pub was around the corner. We got off, barely, before he peeled out of the stop and left us on our own. The people that milled around looked homeless and desperate. I could just feel the knife in my side, the gun muzzle to my head. I wanted to turn that corner and run to the Pub but my husband had to tie his shoe. As we turned the corner we could see the Irish Pub sign in the distance. The long, long block that we had to navigate was nothing more than empty lots, boarded up houses, hourly rate hotels, garbage and broken glass. I wanted to pick up the pace, but Chester had to tie his shoe AGAIN! I told him to double knot the damn thing and please walk faster. He said ‘calm down’ (pissing me off even more) I told him if we had just stayed at the Borgata we wouldn’t be in this mess….he walked a little faster reminding me that it was my idea to take the jitney that left us here. If anyone had contemplated killing us they would have waited first to see if we were going to kill each other. You and your $1 beers! You said the jitney was good! The game is starting and I am gonna miss Jeter! Calm down!

We arrived at the Pub. The game was on as promised, but the TV couldn’t be seen from anywhere other than the bar, where you couldn’t eat. We contemplated leaving but decided to have my daughter text message me the score as we ate and figured out how to get back to the Borgata without getting mugged or killing each other. I could tell the Yankees were losing early on since the people that could see the TV were clapping and hooting….Phillies fans. The food was fine and the beers were no longer a dollar but the waitress called us a cab that took us door to door back to the Borgata. We went to the bar located in the middle of the casino floor and amidst the clouds of throat closing cigar smoke and half dressed barmaids we drank $7 beers and watched the Yankees lose in one of the best games I have seen. 

buzz buzz buzz

I have a backache. I don’t think I slept wrong (if you know me, you know I hardly sleep), I didn’t lift anything heavier than my granddaughter, an open window didn’t give me a chill and I don’t remember bending wrong. My posture is good, I don’t have the flu, and certainly didn’t over exercise it. So why the hell do I feel like I got rapped by A-Rod’s bat in my lower back?

I Googled backache and found that the best remedy for lower back pain is wet heat so every day I virtually empty my water heater letting the shower run on my back. Clean and shriveled, but no relief. Stepping in and out of the bathtub was excruciating anyway. I heated wet dish towels in the microwave which worked for a while, but after one set caught fire I abandoned that idea. Then smell of smoldering terrycloth still hangs in the air. I dismissed the thought of hunting through the linen closet for the three heating pads I know I have in there as soon as I realized I would need to climb on a chair to reach the shelf I was pretty sure they were hiding on. The Ben-Gay pain patches and their much cheaper generic co-horts didn’t do too much but like any good placebo the fact that there was a horrible smelling patch adhered to the exact location of the pain made me temporarily feel better. At least until I moved. Or breathed.

My husband made me take pain relievers. Note that I did not say pain KILLERS which would have made more sense, but I took the little white pills he handed me in hopes of some relief. Nothing. Maybe even less than nothing. I checked the bottle. Excedrin Migraine…what part of backache didn’t he get? I laid on the floor. It was cold and hard and hurt. I had my grandson walk on my back. Scratch that, I asked my grandson to walk on my back…. he marched. One useless treatment after another. And then like a light bulb going off in the proverbial darkness….my son broke his toe! He has drugs. Pain KILLERS! I waited impatiently for him to get home from work. Vicodin…..Codeine….Oxy-whatever? Got any left? Please, please, please!

“One pill makes you larger, and one pill makes you small, and the one’s that children give you don’t do anything at all…” (not around in the 60’s ….you wont get it…) Nothing. Not even a buzz. I waited….they say 20 minutes to work. Waiting waiting waiting….Nothing! Not even a…………oooooh, what’s this? Buzz buzz buzz.

My back is still horrid. I moan when I walk, whimper when I bend and snivel when I sit. But when it gets really bad I take a pill, wait 20 minutes and I forget about the pain. I forget my name and where I am….and the fact that there are only two pills left. Uh-oh!

happy birthday

I went to the mall today to buy my son-in-law a birthday gift. Ordinarily I go nowhere near the mall but as I knew exactly what I was getting and which store I was getting it from I felt it was safe to venture in. As I drove up the ramp to the roof where I park for safety reasons, I noticed that the big slabs of concrete that held up the ramp were crumbling. I pressed on the accelerator as if driving faster would get me safely into the parking garage and off the ramp quicker. Although somewhat illogical, I hesitated to think how one gets out of the garage if the ramp collapses.

The roof was under repair. Someone other than me obviously saw the crumbling cement, and taped off a portion of the parking spots, of course the ones nearest the doors.  I parked, walked toward the entrance to Sears, around the caution tape and into Sears. The security guard mumbled something as I passed him which could have been ‘good afternoon’ or ‘stop I’ll shoot’….either way I kept going. It was 100 degrees in the store.  At least.   I broke a sweat as I made my way to the escalator that would take me to floor I needed to enter the mall from Sears. I had barely just finished putting up my Halloween decorations and the mall was decorated for Christmas. Holly, trees and I kid you not, fake snow. As the sweat dripped off my forehead I watched a mother attempt to stop her ADHD child from eating the plastic snowflakes that he was  now putting into places I am sure should not be embedded with plastic snow.

I found the directory with the map and the little YOU ARE HERE arrow and followed the chart to locate Modell’s. Passing the kiosks selling everything from unnecessary cell phone accessories to overpriced air brushed T-shirts I knew it was only a matter of time before I would have to pass the gauntlet of try-me’s. Try-me’s are those booths that offer everything from spa services to water massages. I dodged the spa guy, backtracked around the sea salt man and bullied my way passed the aqua spa stand and arrived at Modell’s. The store was adorned with everything Yankees to my hearts delight. I thankfully found what I wanted immediately as it was as stifling here as it was in Sears.  Perhaps the mall owners could lower the heat to a bearable temperature, save some fuel, save some money and pass the saving on to us. But that ain’t gonna happen!  I looked around and realized I was the only one sweating, probably because I was the only one who hadn’t recently immigrated from a Caribbean island.  No comment!

As I waited on  line I found another Yankees shirt I thought my daughter would like to wear for the playoffs. As the girl rang up my purchase she asked if I could get another shirt since the one I chose had no price tag. I looked, none of them had tags. She looked through a price book as she waited for someone to acknowledge her call for help. I jokingly said “it must be free”….she didn’t get it. And neither did I in the long run. She never found my item, no one ever came to help her and my daughter did not get her shirt since I was seconds away from heat stroke and had to leave it stranded at the counter. I took my bag and left the store full well knowing the sea salt man would be ready for me this time around and I prepared my excuse for not trying or buying today.

Me, my Modell’s purchase and my pocketbook (tucked pretty much into my armpit for safety) made our way uneventfully to the escalator in Sears. Before I got on the moving stairs I saw two things that caught my eye…. a section marked full-figured and a sign proclaiming 50% off.  Deadly combination. For 45 minutes I picked through rack after rack of clothes that looked more like island wear than autumn in New York, but I still managed to find three complete outfits. Two for work, and one for those slobby days that I love so much. I got on the line. 30 deep. 4 registers. I waited for 5 minutes. No one moved. One register closed. Another put the manager call light on.  Waiting. Sweating.  Ten minutes…still no movement. I counted to 100 and left. I hung the clothes on the closest rack.  I hold back tears….or is that sweat pouring into my eyes? I get to the escalator. It isn’t moving. This is a joke right? Twilight Zone? Punk’d? I made my way back passed the full figure section, the 50% off sign and the clothes I abandoned and found the elevator. Not that I wanted to use them, but I did wonder, where are the stairs? I got to the roof level and sprinted toward the door where I knew there would be refreshing lifesaving air. The security guard mumbled something that could have been ‘good afternoon’ or ‘stop I’ll shoot’…either way I kept going and didn’t stop til I got to my car.

....loser

I have decided to attempt yet another diet. The only one that ever worked for me, albeit a short lived triumph….is Weight Watchers. The one that they modify every few years because someone decides that the current plan is too hard to stick to. That someone is probably 115 pounds. Bitch! I joined Weight Watchers in the recent past, lost some weight, got a milestone key chain, a pin and a bookmark with star stickers representing every 5 pound loss. I gained back the weight, lost the key chain and the pin and the stars fell off the bookmark. I therefore am looking into other options before committing again. I saw an online version of Weight Watchers but I know that I would cheat. When the time came to enter my weight for that week, I know I would make sure I lost at least 5 pounds even though I pigged out on Swedish fish and Goldfish Crackers. (my personal favorites)

I then looked into Jenny Craig. Many years ago I joined Jenny Craig and never the optimist, I signed up and paid for a lifetime membership, just in case I failed. And I did. Several times. The experience was upsetting to say the least, to my ego and my wallet. After paying over $100 a week for what amounted to tasty but hummingbird portions, I lost 6 pounds. And I am sure I peed most of that out the first day. The next few weeks cost me a small fortune and my weight loss even smaller. I thought, this is not the plan for me and decided half-heartedly to move on. I looked into NutriSystem. Their plan involved picking a 28 day menu which is delivered by mail. It takes me 20 minutes to decide what I want for lunch on any given day, chosing 28 meals would take me more time than I was prepared to invest.
  

I went to Walgreens to price the Slim Fast products. They had shakes and bars. They had sugar free, carb free, lactose free and gluton free…the only thing not advertised was taste free. On to the Medifast Plan. This was kind of a combination of Slim Fast with bars and shakes, and NutriSystem because you order food in bulk and I would have been willing to give it a try except for one thing. The snack list….hyped as delicious healthy snacks they included soy crisps, vegetable crackers, celery, pickles and gum. Are they friggin kidding? Where are the Ho-Ho’s? The Yodels? The cookie dough? I know there is a diet out there for me….I just have to keep looking.

Atkins, Cabbage Soup, South Beach, Grapefruit Diet, the Zone, e-diet all great diets in their own right, all wrong for me. The one thing they all have in common is the fact that you need to couple the diet plan with an exercise plan. I have nothing against exercise, I even bought the Richard Simmons Sweatin’ To The Oldies tapes. Unfortunately by the time I got around to opening them my VHS player turned into a DVD player and the tapes are still….well, VHS tapes. Do they make these in disks?   I like to walk, just not fast, or uphill, or far, or in the summer, or the cold.  I bought an exercise ball.  Where did I put that thing anyway?  I even thought of getting a personal trainer like they have on the Biggest Loser, but I know the first time they made me work  hard enough to puke, the trainer would be officially pink slipped.  I could join a gym....if I had $500 to honor a contract I will use twice, at best,  after the intial signing.  I could do yoga if I didn't giggle everytime the instructor said to get into the downward dog or the extended puppy position.  These choices are exhausting....maybe I should just stay fat.  Twinkie, anyone?

 

duh?!

Its been a while since I’ve played a good board game. I remember playing board games a lot more often. Monopoly, Clue, Life….all the classics, but with the internet and it’s countless game sites, the Nintendo DS handhelds and the high def Wii gaming system the board game has all but disappeared. The other night I went with a friend to my sister in-law’s house and before we bored each other with mundane conversation we decided to play a game.

First mistake, Trivial Pursuit. We did have choices though including the 20th anniversary edition (which was 8 years old already), the 60’s or Music. We opted for the anniversary edition. Second mistake. I say ‘we’ opted when it was really me that opted since I thought the diverse topics would show off our all-around knowledge of the world. OK so I was wrong! The game was horribly hard. We spun, moved our little pie wheel piece around the board to a color we thought we had a shot at answering correctly, got it wrong and moved on. This is basically how it went for a while. Hey, what about the 60’s? We all lived through them, we gotta be better at that one. We exchanged the cards for the new edition and we started fresh. We spun, moved our little pie wheel piece around the board to a color we thought we had a shot at answering correctly, got it wrong and moved on. Ok been there, done that. After a while we caught on that the answers were going to be a Kennedy (pick one, any one), Janis Joplin, Woodstock, Jack Nicklaus or Charles Manson depending on the category. I guess the writers at Hasbro only remembered a few highlights of the ten years the 60‘s encompassed.….that or they figured that somewhere down the road some dopes (like us) would play this edition believing that because we survived the 60’s we would know the answers.

One by one we got pieces to wedge into our pie wheel game piece. Even with our new insight the game went on and on with unanswered questions. So we made up our own rules. You now got a choice. If you landed on, let’s say….green, which is Sports, you got to chose which of two questions you wanted to answer. And when that didn’t help much, we resorted to charades with me stabbing the air and slitting my own throat with a mock knife to get them to say OJ Simpson in response to a Heisman Trophy question. I know it seemed more like cheating and less like playing but it made the stupidness we were feeling dissipate somewhat. In the end, my sister in-law won, but I think she had an advantage. She plied us with sweet and sour ooze stuffed Twizzlers (I kid you not) that I am sure sent a mind- numbing sugar rush to our brains. Ok, so I asked for them, but she really should have refused after we polished off the better part of a dozen Dunkin Donuts which thankfully doesn’t have the calorie count printed on the box.  It was late, we were all tired, nauseous from the Twizzlers and humbled by our dumbness so we thought we would leave but not before vowing to play again and get more answers right then wrong without cheating. 

you say tomato......

I used to have a green thumb. I grew everything from flowering cacti to large hanging plants with even larger names. I even got, to my husband’s untenable joy, my Christmas poinsettia to flower at Easter time. I grew herbs in tiny pots on my kitchen windowsill. Yes the thumb was definitely green. Not so much anymore.

 

I planted tomatoes. I got four. Two plants, two tomatoes each. I also planted patio tomatoes. Remember when they were called cherry tomatoes? Little round tomatoes. Nothing’s changed, but now they are either patio tomatoes at 1.99 a pound, or cherry tomatoes at 2.49 or the newest addition to the tomato family, grape tomatoes at a ridiculous 2.99 a pound. I got a whopping 13 of those. Two salads full on harvest night.

Last year my son gave me two Topsy Turvy planters. Like me he probably couldn’t sleep one night and saw an infomercial convincing him that tomatoes should be grown hanging upside down because….well, just because. But last year didn’t work out so good. The upside down plants never really took to the whole reversed growing regime and simply laid there. Not one tomato. I blamed the bees for not pollinating correctly but I think it was probably the sporadic (at best) watering. This year I started them with big, healthy plants from Home Depot. (because where else would you buy big healthy plants?) I had my husband hook up a hose on my deck so I could water on a regular basis. The plants grew large and lush. The bees must have found their way to my deck and suddenly I had little yellow flowers turning into green tomatoes. And if we liked green tomatoes it would have been a success. But the tomatoes just hung there, staying green until they rotted. So I started picking them green, pre-rot, and allowed them to ripen on my kitchen counter. I even put some in brown paper bags which I heard expedites the ripening process. I still remained with hard green tomatoes until they turned into hard green tomatoes with mold. I threw them out. Hey, Beefsteaks are only .99 a pound in season.

I planted basil and oregano. The basil grew tall and thrived until I decided to start picking the leaves to use in my tomato gravy (yes I say gravy, not sauce) when it suddenly folded over and limply lost its great green color. I guess that was it’s way of expressing its discord at being violated. So, no pesto tonight either. The oregano never really looked like the dried flakes I buy at the supermarket so I just enjoyed the smell and harvested none.

The only other edible things I attempt to grow were peppers. Green Bell peppers, and as I had seen how well I did with the ‘green’ tomatoes I figured this to be a slam dunk. Wrong! The plant thrived the peppers did not. I got one pepper the size of a walnut which I watched carefully each day so as not to let it go from green bell to rotten produce. The pepper grew to almost fist size and was hours away from the big harvest when a squirrel brazenly scaled the deck, hung upside down from my Topsy Turvy planter and confiscated my single beautiful pepper and absconded with it into the tree.

Did I mention that Key Food has a lovely produce department?

what the #$@*!

I have to stop reading the paper. It upsets me. No, it more than upsets me, it causes me to….well, Ramble.

A writer for the Daily News is upset with the CDC for not making a bigger deal out of the fact that, according to him, statistics show that blacks and Hispanics are contracting the swine flu more often than the rest of us. Maybe we wash our hands more, maybe we cover our nose and mouth more when we sneeze, maybe we throw our used tissues away before the germs can make their way to another poor soul. Whatever the reason, what is his point? Would he feel better if the white Americans got the flu more? The Italians? Greeks? What the $#@*! He goes on to quote statistics from Boston, Chicago and Oklahoma where again, blacks and Hispanics (oh, and in Oklahoma, Native Americas as well) are coming down with swine flu more often. He claims it is because they are from low-income families who can’t afford health care and therefore can’t go to the doctor and therefore can’t get the care they need and therefore end up in cardiac arrest and therefore have to go to the emergency room for treatment. I have an idea, you get sick and fear you have the swine flu…..go to the emergency room. Don’t wait til you go into cardiac arrest….a low income doesn’t make you lose your common sense. A Brooklyn pediatrician attributes the high Hispanic numbers to the fact that so many Mexican immigrants (many of them illegals) have compromised immune systems due to a lack of Vitamin D. The news writer wants the CDC to waste valuable money that could be spent on preventing or curing the flu on a study to prove that blacks and Hispanics are the most likely candidates to get it.

Ahmed Khalfan Ghailani (say that three times fast) was the first Al Qaeda murderer to be brought to the United States from Guantanamo by President Obama. He is going to be tried in Manhattan’s Federal Court by 12 you-and-me New Yorker’s instead of a military tribunal. This bomb making one-time cook for Osama Bin Laden lucked out again when Attorney General Holder decided that the Manhattan U.S attorney could not ask for the death penalty. We are sending a terrible message to the nations that wish to do us harm….we are going soft. We will indict and prosecute, but we will do so with a weakened sympathetic and caring hand. When questioned why the death penalty was removed from the proverbial table, a unintelligible answer surfaced. Since earlier embassy bombers were spared the death penalty, then it would only be fair to keep it consistent. What the $#@*! The mastermind of the 9/11 attack, Khalid Shaikh Mohammed may also be sent to New York for prosecution. What then? Will Holder also allow him to escape the death penalty under his ‘consistency’ rule? Why is it again that President Obama wants Guantanamo closed?

David Letterman slept with several woman. Consensual sex. That would be where two adults agree to have sex. Good for him. But there are people that feel that he abused his employer status and therefore abused them. What the $#@*! The girl in the middle is 34, not 16. She knew what she was doing when she climbed between the sheets with Letterman, and then again with the producer Joe Halderman (the dumbest blackmailer in history). What she didn’t know was that when you cheat on your live-in with your boss you need to NOT take notes. Not write everything down. (Didn’t Monica’s stained blue dress teach her anything?) And if she wanted to write sexually explicit letters to Letterman she should have mailed them instead of leaving them laying around for her boyfriend to find and use as blackmail bait. She is not a victim, the others he dallied with are not victims, the network airing his now through-the-roof ratings show is certainly not a victim, so what the hell is anyone (including me) talking about this for?

thanks...

Thank you Gov. Paterson for shaving. Being blind I suppose you couldn’t see how hideous you looked, kinda like Stevie Wonder and his braids, but I would have thought your friends and family would have at least whispered in your ear…“lose the hair, Braille boy.”

Thank you to the NY Yankees for clinching the AL East and a big NAH NAH NAH NAH NAH to the Boston Red Sox and to the Daily News for putting Derek Jeter on the cover of the paper after the win.

Thank you to CBS for airing the 8th annual Tunnel to the Towers Run last Sunday morning. As I watched from my couch (hey I was sick) I never felt more proud to be a New Yorker and more importantly, an American.

Thank you Dr. Oz for putting on a shirt and tie for your new Oprah fueled TV show. I am sick of seeing you in scrubs, we already know you are a doctor!

Thank you to the Hershey’s company for making dark chocolate kisses. I get to fool myself into thinking they are ok indulge on since they have those heart healthy flavinoids.

Thank you to the powers that be, that there are no explicit videos of David Letterman’s sex romps. (so far) I don’t think I could watch that gap toothed old man having sex with anyone let alone women half his age.

Thank you to Disney & Pixar for giving us Toy Story 1 & 2 in the first place, but to revamp them into 3D is a gift.

Thank you to the creators of Suduko….It has single-handedly kept my mind from turning into the mush I know it wants to.

Thank you to Starbucks for introducing Via Ready Brew, an instant coffee packet for us instant-gratification junkies. Tastes like crap but ready in an instant and it’s Starbucks…what more could a coffee snob ask for?

Thank you to Continental airlines for not cutting out the in flight snacks. For the price of an airline ticket I would like something more than a seat two sizes too small and a carry-on restriction.

Thank you Whoopie Goldberg for finally showing your true colors. Polanski not a rapist? The girl was 13! I think your dreads have been in too long….

Thank you Rio for winning the right to host the 2012 Olympics. Of course we could use the revenue, but we have enough foreigners here already, athletes or not.

And a very sarcastic Gee Thanks…. to the Daily News and other media outlets for showing the world exactly where the surveillance cameras are and aren’t in Manhattan. So if I was a terrorist I would know exactly where to smile as I lit the fuse.