Friday, February 29, 2008

Rescue me!

Please rescue me from rescuing! I can't seem to help myself, but I dang sure know how to change everyone else's lives until they are happy, successful and well-rounded. I am not able to give any testimonials yet because those whom I have attempted to rescue have fallen off the wagon a time or two and tried to regain control of their own lives. Tsk, tsk, tsk.

Without coming out and actually telling them that because they didn't do EXACTLY what I told them to do, obviously their lives have not improved, I try to gently steer them back on course (my course, of course).

I had absolutely no idea where my talent in this area came from until I recently read about birth order in families. Well, now I KNOW that from simply being the last one out of the womb, I inherited the manipulative, controlling gene! In some ways, this is just not fair because trying to rescue others has caused ME some pain, for heaven's sake...let's get our sympathies in order here.

On the other hand, when I accidentally stumble onto a really great idea that my 'client' both likes, adheres to and SEES wonderful results, it just sucks me back into the game again. It's like golf that can hit 350 errant, shanky, shitty golf shots, but hit just ONE great shot and you think you're Tiger Woods again!

SalGal is so patient with me when I try to rescue her. She plays along, smiling and patient until after a martini or two tries to convince me that she has her own mind, can handle her own life and, insult upon insult...that maybe I could take a strong look at my OWN LIFE!

Pish Posh. That chapter is not in my playbook. Now, as I grow older I realize that those whom I have tried to rescue are continuing to try to live their own lives, which makes me giggle, but every now and then I see them succeeding in their own right, without my instruction or advice, and although I'm delighted for them, it unnerves me just a little bit.

I'm determined to overcome my birth order resume and give up control over people, things and situations that I really can NOT control, but I have withdrawals and pangs...very much like when I quit smoking. I just need to breathe deeply, make the sign of the cross (only because it seems appropriate, not because I even understand it) and take a quick walk around the block to shake it off.

I hope you're all okay out there because my rescue days are coming to an end. I might be able to slip in one or two mor..........NO! Nevermind, forget your own lives...........see if I care!



Well, I'm sorry but KK's rescue days are not coming to an end. It's ingrained. She can't help it and often does it without even knowing it. I have been rescued many times by KK's magnanimous gestures of help. She has helped me with a weight-loss plan, shown me how to tone down my jewelry choices and stopped me from killing a meter maid, the squirrel on the deck and the teller at Wells Fargo Bank. In that way she inadvertently rescued the above mentioned beings.

Let's face it we all need help every now and then and KK is just the one to give it. She enjoys telling people the truth. It's her gift. If you have a big mole on your face, KK will make sure you know it and give you the number for a great dermatologist. If your hair looks like a black widow's nest her hands will fly up around your face and with comb in hand, she will reshape it for you whether you want her to or not. If you are perfect and need and want no help for anything, she will create a really interesting problem for you and then convince you that you have it so that she can fix it. It's a need; a compulsion. Problems must exist so that she can be the hero and rescue you!!

KK should have an advice column. She can give anybody advice on anything. Especially men. She's had a lot of experience with relationships with men. Go ahead. Post a question. I dare you. But beware because if you rescue people you have to tell them the truth. You can't tell a person stuck in a well that everything will be alright if they don't have a rope. You have to say, 'You don't have a rope!' Too many people will tell you that you are fine and that they will go get a rope for you but then other things become more important and you are forgotten.

KK will have the rope in the trunk of her car, explain to you how to climb it as she lowers it down and then, as she pulls you up, tell you your shoes are not seasonal. Like I said, it's a gift.

Wednesday, February 27, 2008

My Birthday coming up!

You're lucky this notice is just on the blog. I used to stop people in the street to tell them that my birthday was coming up. This year there are only 6 more shopping days until the big day! My birthday falls on the only day in our calendar year that, along with being a number, is also a VERB! To March 4th!!! This will help you to always remember.

I'll be 56 on Tuesday which really means that I'll be starting my 57th year. You see, for those who don't follow this logic...when you're 1 year old, you've actually just spent your first year and are starting your second, so we're all a year older than we really think we are. Isn't that depressing at this age?

And, because this birthday starts my downward spiral toward 60, I'm having to brace myself for about five minutes of deep depression on March 4th. That's about as long as I can ever go on being depressed. Then I remember how short a trip our little bleep on earth really is, and kawhammy!, I'm back to gratitude, glee and laughter.

SalGal and I have planned the MOST fun day! She's given me a Segway Tour for my birthday! You know, Segways are those space-age-looking modes of transport that you see here. We'll toodle all around downtown Austin on these contraptions, then we'll take a tour of our state capital building, which I'm ashamed to say I've never done, then tea in the afternoon at the Four Seasons, capping off my day at a dinner with friends.

Oh, and when it's your birthday, you get to MAKE everyone do exactly what you want them to do. I like to try this every other day of the year, but people don't always cooperate, but on this day, that's it!

Happy birthday to me! I'll tell you all about it next week.



Oh, goody, goody...I love birthdays - anybody's birthday. You get to go shopping for presents and planning fun stuff to do and it's just a gas. I got KK the latest Ultimate Garth Brooks CD/DVD and some really cool Cole Haan spectators that she wanted. She already knows what she's getting because she not only tells you what she wants, she gives you the page from the catalogue, writes down her sizes and then brings up the gift on your desktop. She has some surprises coming too though but I can't tell you what until the day after her B-day.

If there is no one to be with you or give you a present on your birthday, you should go somewhere on your own and celebrate. Go somewhere where you've never been before that you always wanted to see or go to your favorite place and have a glass of wine and tell all the employees that it is your birthday. Celebrate it. Celebrate yourself.
Do a Segway Tour or go look at open houses in the Ritzy part of town. Buy yourself a useless, pretty object, make everybody you see wish you 'Happy Birthday' and make people buy you drinks until you are shitfaced.
If you're an alcoholic you can't do this but you can eat cake and ice cream until your belt pops open. Celebrate your life!

Monday, February 25, 2008


We just loved the Academy Awards and agreed with every choice except for the alien, Tilda Swinton, but don't get me started on THAT!

We produced a short homage to Oscar and our beloved Cate Blanchett who was completely IGNORED!

You may say that we have too much time on our hands after viewing the video that we posted on Oscar day, and we advise not sipping any type of hot liquid while viewing this video lest you accidentally spew it onto your keybaud with the residual dribbling onto your bathrobe!


Elizabeth and that bitch, Mary

Friday, February 22, 2008

Mmmmmm...Drug Stores

I love the smell of a good old drug store...inhaling a mixture of Vicks Vapo-rub, perfume, hairspray and all the chemicals they use to develop the film from my camera...ahhhh. I know I'm in a place where I can browse for hours. Dr. Scholl's Insoles, Ace bandages and paper clips were not on my list, but I might need these items in the future and well, now I'm stocked up.

Because I color my hair...that's right, I am NOT a natural redhead, I am overwhelmed when I see the hair color aisle. They have to use the entirety of aisle 3 just to accommodate the plethora of colors available to those of us who think of hair as a blank canvas. I've been blonde, brunette, auburn and strawberry blonde...and I say, "Why NOT?"

My drug store sells shampoos that are specially formulated for women who use hair color, so I've got that covered. I don't look at the ingredients because I wouldn't understand what a one of them were, and because I don't want to know that they are exactly the same ingredients as the shampoos that are NOT for women who color their hair even though I'm paying an extra two bucks for that.

I trust my pharmacist more than my doctor. They are taller than my doctor. Not really, and I've always been a bit confused by the fact that the floor of the pharmacy is higher than the floor of the drug store itself. Why do you suppose that is? So we will think they know what they're doing, that they have more power than we do or what? I even like that little opening in the pharmacy counter that is the "private counseling" opening where you can ask the pharmacist in a whisper about what you should use to get rid of the green hairs that grow from your nose. You wouldn't want just ANYone to hear that question. And, they always have the answer. Why, I've had a pharmacist actually tell me that the advice my doctor gave me for something was WRONG and to do what THEY tell me, and so that's what I do because I trust them more than my own doctor!

Second only to a book store is the collection of magazines at a drug store. They have everything from Popular Mechanics to Town and Country. Where else can you buy a birthday card AND a boardgame...a bar of handmilled soap and Glucosamine with Chondroitin?

And, in our town, we still have a drug store with a soda fountain. Their gigantic magazine rack is right next to the soda fountain and they actually allow anyone to pick up the mags and read them while they're waiting for their greasy cheeseburger. Of course, when you go to buy that particular magazine, it's so greasy it slides right out of your hands onto the floor, but it's there if you can handle it.

I don't go to the hippie, organic drug stores anymore because I prefer chemicals for whatever ails me. They work better and much faster, and evening primrose pills gave me HIVES! But, those drug stores serve their purpose and I was able to buy a neti pot there that would not be available through my regular old drug a matter of fact, they didn't even know what a neti pot was. The only reason I used it was to rid myself of a potential sinus infection, and it worked, but if I could have cured it with chemicals instead, I woulda.

I need some Claratin today because our cedar trees are causing me hay fever. I can't WAIT to go to the drug store. Need anything?



My favorite drug store in the whole world was in Santa Fe, New Mexico on the plaza. It was called Capital Pharmacy. It had a white, marble soda fountain counter all the way down the left side of the long room and the drugs at the very back. Why do they always put the drugs at the very back? You would think a pharmacy would put the drug part up at the front.

On a hot day in Santa Fe you could go to Capital Pharmacy and get a cherry-lime. It was basically a little 7-Up and grenadine with 6 limes squeezed into it and then poured over shaved ice. That's right. You heard me, SIX LIMES! Real limes I tell you, not that lime syrup shit. You could sit up at the counter and have a banana split or you could take your cherry-lime outside and sip it while sitting on an iron, garden bench by the fountain and watching the tourists go by. The very best thing though, was to go down to the other corner to Zook's Pharmacy and get a Frito pie. Zook's also made the best grilled, cheese sandwiches of any place in the whole world. Zook's also had a white, marble soda fountain counter that went all the way down the left side of the store too but they had cigarettes and pipes and tobacco and Zippo lighters.

Then you could go back to Capital Pharmacy and get some Pepto Bismal for the heartburn the Frito pie gave you, some coconut oil for the sunburn you got from sitting on the bench on the plaza and a fake, turquoise ring for 'a-buck-fifty' that looked strangely like the ones the Indians were selling on the plaza for seventy five dollars.

Those were the good ole days,

Wednesday, February 20, 2008

I had a Dream

No, not that kind of dream, unfortunately. I'm not that deep. I had a dream that we fucked up planet Earth so badly that we all had to jump ship and move to other planets. I love dreams like this because you get to literally make up your own reality. If it's a reflection on who I really am, however, I'm in a lot of trouble!

I chose to move to the planet Switcheroo because I was curious about the name. Turns out that upon landing on this planet, women take on the neurological characteristics of men and visee versee! Before my group of immigrants could even leave the spaceport, we had to attend an indoctrination class... for the women, a quick primer on how to act like a man, creating sample scenarios in front of the class. My scene involved a man pleading with me to pay more attention to him...that he felt neglected and he accused me of being emotionally disconnected. "Pish posh," I said, "Get over it and bring me a beer." Gawd, that felt so good in my dream. I was able to see how easy it could be to dismiss the opposite sex without feeling the least bit of guilt.

On the other hand, when the man began to cry, it made me feel awful. I felt protective and asked him not to cry. He looked so sweet and innocent and I was filled with remorse over having hurt his feelings. I realized how strong this man was, yet vulnerable at the same time. As I put my arm around him, I said, "Honey, if I give you a big, fat diamond ring, send you off to the best spa on the planet and give you whatever kinds of flowers they grow here every single day with a card telling you how much I adore you, will you stop crying?" He just looked up at me and smiled, and I knew that everything would be alright and that, although it would probably cost me a LOT to live in this new place, I would really dig being on the planet Switcheroo!

When I woke up, I giggled at how flawed we humans are, but with all of our flaws and foibles come DELICIOUS content for postings such as this!



I don't know KK, that seems like an awful lot of crap to do to keep the man happy. It seems to me that he should get a life or maybe a hobby or something so you could concentrate on bringing home the bacon. I mean if you are busy running the planet they need to just shut the hell up, make some macaroni & cheese and potty-train the kids.

Do the men on your planet actually get pregnant and have the kids? Because that seems only fair. But then that means the baby would come out of their penis...unless they have vaginas too. Can you imagine a baby coming out of a penis? OMG!! That would be like trying to force a watermelon through a garden hose. You could do it but then imagine what the watermelon would look like after it came out. It would take a few days for it to regain its shape of a nice plump baby from that of a wrinkled, one-month-old spaghetti squash.

But see, here's the thing...I like manly men. So, if I'm running the planet, I would want my man to be strong and wear jeans. I would wear dresses like Cate Blanchett in The Golden Age. I would look like a queen and act llike the bitch I always wished I could be. I would be able to say, 'Be gone with you!' and mean it. I would eat food shaped like swans, drive cars that fly and float on water, and create women's sports bars whose giant television screens show only the cooking channel, Dr. Phillippa and Flip This Man.


Sunday, February 17, 2008

Musta Notta Gotta Lotta...

Our Hungarian friend is going to struggle with this one! Joe Ely, from Lubbock, Texas, is just about my most favorite singer/songwriter. He wrote "Have you ever seen Dallas from a DC-9 at night?" Remember that one? What a great song. And the title of this posting comes from his song, "I Musta Notta gotta lotta sleep last night."

Shall we have some fun with THIS line?? I think yes. Let's see, "She musta notta gotta lotta sense to marry that old geezer!"

"I musta notta gotta lotta good advice at the bar last night or my head would'nt be hurtin so badly."

"I musta notta gotta lotta friends over the years or it's just my breath that's bad."

"I musta notta gotta lotta try in me or I woulda coulda shoulda done better."

"He musta notta gotta lotta responses from his online dating profile when he said that he was only interested in motorcycles and whores!" Or...maybe he did.

"We musta notta gotta lotta nurturing or we'd say sweeter things about The Ancient One!"

"They musta notta gotta lotta warning about how freakin HOT it gets in Texas or the first settlers woulda just kept on moving!"

"You all must notta gotta lotta things to do to be reading THIS!




Okay, my sister, KK has gone completely bonkers. How am I supposed to respond to this drivel? This is a woman with an incredible mind and this is what is occupying it today. She must be bored.

I happen to know that the guy who hangs out with whores and is only interested in motorcycles is a real guy whose profile KK saw on an online dating service. Perhaps she just needs to get laid but musta notta gotta lotta normal guys to answer her own profile that has a list of one hundred things she wants in a man, none of which includes a Harley or the matching truck stop harlot that occasionally comes with it.

One of KK's quirks is that she loves colloquialisms and takes great delight in making up long, involved stories just so she can use one at a cocktail party. She accuses people of lying just so she can say, 'Oh, that old dog won't hunt' and takes pride in bringing down arrogant men with a purposefully loud, 'Make him take off that Stetson he's all hat and no cattle!'.

I musta notta gotta lotta patience for this sort of thing but I do remember one of these from high school that made us laugh and you have to be a Texan to pull it off. Say this out loud:


Translated this means literally:

Them are pigs
Them are not pigs
Oh yes they are pigs
Well, I'll be, them are pigs

Hahahahaha I love that one,

Thursday, February 14, 2008

Contest Winners

I saw a story on television this morning about another deserving family who won a cruise vacation. They were deserving because their son has leukemia, the mother's father died this year, her husband was in a car accident and can't hear now and the dog ran away and never came back.

That got me thinking of course, and here's my conundrum about this...why don't they give away houses, trips, cars and cash to people who wake up each morning with everything they desire, a well-adjusted, happy and healthy family, a good business and hope a'plenty. Isn't this a deserving family?

I've had my share of tragedy with a daddy who died unexpectedly when I was a small child, etc...yada, yada, yada...I could go on, but shouldn't we be rewarded because we rise above any circumstance and feel happiness no matter what happens in our lives, thus producing success and creativity, an attitude that draws great things to us?

You might say, "Well, KK...the rich, happy person doesn't NEED a vacation or a car or house, especially a FREE one," to which I would reply, "Show me someone who doesn't want ANYthing for FREE, and I'll show you a liar!"

The winners-who-already-have-everything would maybe complain about the bath towels and thread count of the sheets more than the deserving-winning-family, and they would for sure want Dom Perignon champagne in their ship state room instead of Moet Chandon.

So, I suppose giving free stuff to someone who already has everything is perhaps an odd idea, but it sounded so good to me when I first thought it up this morning. Now that I see it on cyber paper, it appears somewhat selfish. So, I take it all back (kind of).

Never mind



Yeah, but we don't have everything. We have good senses of humors, cute clothes and cars that run, but we don't have limitless incomes, a big enough house or money for home care for The Ancient One. We're not bereft or pathetic but I say we deserve a few niceties. Someone should just give us a trip to Bali because we make people laugh, love all animals and can't afford Victoria's Secret silk, lace underwear. Okay, you're right we don't deserve a handout. We have more than most people in the world and we drink alcohol. We cuss and laugh too loud and support Heifer. We have our friends' backs, give money to bums and try to make wallflowers feel good about themselves. Every spring we take a road trip into the hill country to see the wild flowers. That doesn't cost anything. ...and neither does swimming in the Four Seasons pool in the summers. Well, hell, they don't know who is really staying there and they are too gracious to ask. They assume that we...uh, oh I mean uh ...I think I'll just stop here.

Jazzy Scooter Barrel Race!

Wednesday, February 13, 2008

Happy Valentine's Day!

I'm going to be optimistic on this romantic day even though I'm sweetheart-less today, so happy Valentine's Day to all of you bitches who have boyfriends or husbands.

For a Pisces who is in love with the mere IDEA of love, who's cried at every single wedding she's ever been to or in, including all three of her own, and who is still looking for her long-dead daddy out there in the form of the PERFECT man, I hope you all get laid tonight, I mean, I hope you gals get flowers, chocolates and/or diamonds and THEN get laid...but only if he works his ass off to make sure YOU have at least one .org (if you catch my drift).

I'm absolutely convinced that some poor schmuck is out there somewhere and has absolutely NO idea that this time next year, he'll be buying ME a Tiffany diamond bracelet and wondering how he ever got along in his life withOUT me. It makes me giggle to think of how he just won't know what hit him when we meet. On my list, he's rich, generous, kind, funny, handsome and tall...oh, and creative! Do you think I'm aiming high? Damn SKIPPY, I'm aiming high! When you get to be this age, if you haven't been married for 35 years and figured it all out, you've got a very CLEAR notion of what you don't want!

My last sweetheart tried to leave me one Valentine's Day. He was one of those assholes who thought that V-Day was invented by the Hallmark Card Co, and therefore needn't be paid attention to. He was like a caged animal on that one day, which I learned to live with and ignore as much as possible. Aside from the red flag on THAT point, I would just go out and buy MYSELF chocolates and flowers! We fought about it one night until he got so pissed off (because I was right) he went into the bedroom, packed a small bag and stormed out of the house with me yelling something like, "Happy fucking Valentine's Day you DICKHEAD!" What is really funny about this particular event is that he kept storming back INTO the house down the hall, all over the place looking for the keys to his car. He'd storm back out to the car to look again, with me sitting on the couch laughing silently at him. Finally, after he came back in the last time, I said, "If you're going to leave me motherfucker, then LEAVE me...GO AWAY!" When he shouted that he woulda been LONNNNNNG gone had he been able to find his keys, we both started laughing until we cried...and that was that. The next morning he found the keys inside one of his sneakers that he'd packed in his little'I'm-going-to-leave-you' bag in his haste to get away from me. Hehehe.

Oh, my new man has got to like both George Strait AND Placido Domingo. He can fall asleep at the opera if he doesn't snore or do that head bob thingy, but he's got to WANT to go with me. I'll go to the rodeos and fishing with him until the cows come's a trade off, right? Oh, and I'll be taking trips all over the world with him and withOUT him (just the girls, you know). He won't want to marry me or even live with me, but we'll date the rest of our lives. He'll be independent enough to enjoy his own life and living alone, so that won't be a problem. There's a companionship thing that comes with middle age, right. It's not so much about the 'boner' alarm in the middle of the night anymore.

I realize that I may be forced to compromise a bit, but if I can still wind up with 65% off my list then I'll be doing GREAT! And, please don't rain on my fantasy parade here. Remember (SalGal), it's Valentine's Day!



Happy Valentine's Day KK! I have to hurry because we are going out together as we don't have boyfriends at the moment. Maybe we will meet some nice men tonight. KK looks really pretty. She still has fantasies. I think I would just as soon drink up and enjoy the show and come home with KK. She doesn't snore, pays for the wine and doesn't have the long balls. See, that's the thing with men our age...the long balls. They are okay but I remember when I was in my twenties and the boys had balls like Egyptian figs. Ahhh...I remember. Now their balls are sort of like half-filled balloons hanging down there. Or maybe like light bulbs. It kinda depends on the man.

Gotta go KK is crooking her finger at me! More on this stuff later,

Tuesday, February 12, 2008

Midlife Mental Acuity

See? I had to look up the word acuity already because it began to look and sound funny, like an old acid flashback...melting, dripping, oops, sorry, I digress. Acuity means "keenness of perception" (is keeness a word??") Anyway, how's YOURS? Mine SUCKS.

The only reason The Ancient One still has all of her mental faculties is because she does our local paper's crossword puzzle every day, without fail. It's probably the mental image and memory I will have the most of her after she leaves for that blessed Bergdorf Goodman in the sky. She has old piles of puzzles under the coffee table in case she has to cheat and look up something. She tries not to cheat, but the answers to our local crosswords don't arrive until the next day's newspaper so it's not that easy. Sal and I try to help her sometimes, but she won't let us do an entire crossword puzzle ourselves because her hands get twitchy and she begins to perspire if she's not in control of it from beginning to end. AHA! THAT"S where my control issues come from!

The television show, Jeopardy, provides me with all the mental stimulus I need. It's like a final exam every Monday through Friday...with no essay questions. That clock thingy does make me a skosch nervous on the final question though. It's hard for a midlifer to have to form the answer as a question. This program forces me to stretch and I learn things at the same time, things that come in handy at cocktail parties when I'm trying to get a small group's attention. I simply walk up and say something like, "What is a marsupial?" I forget the answer, but it's fun to watch the group have to stop the conversation they were immersed in when I walked up, then see their reactions as at least one of them gets that confused thinking look. Try this at the next party where the people are snootier than they really should be. It's fun. Oh, but walk away before they catch on to the game...or start to say ugly things about you while you're still standing there.

My mental acuity tends to suffer a bit after only two martinis. Thinking becomes a dangerous luxury. Speaking out of turn and too loudly seems more appropriate at the time and the contest to see which fool can laugh more obnoxiously will always haunt me. I think my archived posting (September) on "Self Defense" will explain a lot where the devil whiskey is concerned.

So, keep me away from crosswords, cocktail parties, martinis and pepper spray and I'll be fine. I'll be boring, but I'll be fine.



'Keeness of perception', huh. I think I perceive things correctly but the question is how long can I remember what I just perceived. Is there a word for unkeeness of short term memory? I think it would be 'sixtiesshroomacuity'.

I forget simple, everyday words sometimes ever since I entered post menopause. It's very disconcerting because I have a high IQ. The other day I forgot the word, 'bathroom' in the middle of a sentence. I was yelling at KK down the hall, 'KK, can you get my book out of ...the room where the toilet is?' Does that ever happen to you? It's weird. It happens about every 8 months. KK yelled back, 'Which one?' and I replied, 'The Requisite Physics for the Mapping of the Genomes'! It's a conundrum. The real question is why was that book in the bathroom in the first place and the reason is because I had my cell phone plugged in next to the sink to charge the battery and when it rang I was reading my book and took it in there to answer the phone. Upon finishing the conversation I came into our magic room and promptly forgot it was in there.

To keep my left brain sparking I like to play Jewel Quest and Spider Solitaire on the puter. To keep my mental acuity sharp in my right brain I like to visualize my dream house, imagine traveling to Hawaii and put scotch tape on the bottoms of Buddy's paws.


Sunday, February 10, 2008

Hi! Ha'r'yyyyyyeeeeeeuuuuuuuuwwwwww?

If I had a nickel for every time I've either said that or heard some other Texan say it to me, I'd be "richer than dirt in an old cow pen." This quote comes from a WONDERFUL book called, "This Dog'll Really Hunt," by Wallace O. Chariton. When I wrote my novel, "A Texan Goes to Nirvana," I used these Texas words and sayings a'plenty which brings me to the reason for this blog.

The Midlife Gals have a precious female fan who lives in a tiny village in Hungary. Can you believe that? As tech-noidiots, we find this incredibly hard to grasp, but eeenyway...she allowed as how she loves our blog and is using it to learn English!! I tried to warn her that there are those who think that Texans do not SPEAK English and that she might be chastised were she to run into someone else who speaks the King's English there in Hungary. If they heard her speaking Texan, they might commit her for fear that she was speaking in tongues.

She assured me that our blog would be a humorous primer on English, but she needed the definition of "blue drivers." Bless her heart, what she meant to say was, "blue-haired drivers" from our blog on driving. Of course, we call The Ancient Ones also 'blue hairs" here in Texas so that would explain least in Dallas.

I had a sister-in-law once who could spew forth Texisms like breathing in and breathing out. My favorite one from her was when she described a skinny woman as being, "thin as mosquito milk."

Here are a few Texisms and phonetic spellings that I simply couldn't live without:

*mean as a snake in the hallway
*happy as a cow in belly-high clover
*funny as a clown on fire (or far)
*I'm guuuuuud, ha'r yyyyyyyeeeeuuuuuwww? This would be in answer to this blog's title
*older than Gawd
*full as a tick (only to be said at a fancy dinner party when you're offered dessert)
*tickled pink
*don't mess with Texas (an actual official state government proclamation about litter)
*pony up
*I'll be go to hell (Wow! in Texan)

Now I KNOW that I'll hear from you Texans out there because the above list is but a smattering of Texisms and it's early Sunday morning with my brain in idle mode till I've had my coffee!

baa baa,



Yeah, the Texan language is it's own morphism from the King's English into Davy Crockett/Lyle Lovitt speak. My favorite is when some guy calls me, 'Little darlin''. I like it better than babe, ma'am or whore bitch from hell.

I once heard a cowboy, upon learning that he was going to get a good part in 'Young Guns', say that he was 'nervous enough to catch a hummingbird'.

'Bless her heart' is one of every Texas woman's favorite expressions. We can get away with murder when skewering another woman or man who has raised our eyebrows. 'Well! That was rude and uncalled for. And she needs to take that wad of gum out of her mouth and get some couth lessons. Oooh...ugly as a three-legged armadillo upside down peeing on itself. Bless her heart.'

Hi, ya'll, how's yer mama and them?' That's Texas talk for, 'Dude! Sup!'. Other greetings to strangers and friends include the tip of a cowboy hat and a 'howdy, ma'am', 'did yer cat ever git over that liver disease?' and 'I'll see ya at Guero's if ahh kin still stand up bah theyen'.

So happy trails to you - till we meet agin....

Friday, February 8, 2008

Adult Child of an Ancient One

I know there are groups for people like us...ACAO's, but I'm not sure I would want to be an 'official' member of that club. I can just see the cookies, coffee urn and folding chairs in a circle. I would approach and everyone would say hello. I would then stand and say, "Hello, I'm KK and I'm the adult child of an ancient one. Everyone would say hello back to me. As each person stands up to tell a story about how horrible it is to be in this situation, I would feel guilty and quietly crawl away. I would feel guilty because our Ancient One is still in relatively good stead, owns a beautiful home where SalGal and I live, can still beat our asses at Scrabble and remembers her own name.

Humor is such a vital tool in the care and handling of an Ancient One. Let's face it, they know how to push every friggin button we have, and they've been doing it since we were born. You can't give them meal choices or they'll have you back'n forthing to the store three times a day. You just have to tell them what 'your' blue plate special is for that day and leave it at that. But, if they want salt, butter and chocolate in excess, you have to give it to them. Since they don't have much else left to feel giddy about, let 'em go out the way they want to...with chocolate all around their mouthes and a stick of butter in each hand. You can rest easy knowing that their exit was probably divine and they're floating up in the corner of the ceiling watching with a smile on their faces as you explain to the EMS guys why your mother is holding a stick of butter in each hand with a brown death smile on her face.

Does your Ancient One know how to apologize? Here's how our Ancient One does it, "Oh, well, you just misunderstood what I said...and I'm sorry that you didn't hear me correctly." Deep breathing is an essential exercise here accompanied with the 'fuming-walk-out.' If you have a loved one with whom you can then scream, "Is the woman INSANE? Did you hear what she just SAID?" That person's job is to then make you laugh. It's the only way to stop you from walking toward the scissor drawer. If you don't have a loved one nearby, I'm advising you to get the dog and go for an immediate walk! Fresh air brings the same kind of healing that a good guffaw can accomplish.

Alcohol may be necessary, but watch out here, because if you consume too much, you might then mistake the Ancient One for the dog, put a leash on her and drag her down the block while you get your fresh air. And, you'd probably forget the plastic bag for sure, so lock up the booze when you get a humor hotline or a total stranger and tell them a joke on the phone...anything to release the stress.

SalGal and I have our magic room where we can get away and find solace, humor and creativity, but we still would like to grease the tennis balls on the back of her walker every now and then!!!



I find that the 'fuming-walk-out' straight to the liquor cabinet works great. I take my cocktail to our magic room, turn on the radio to the country music channel and fantasize my marriage to Dr. Phil.

Actually, KK and I are usually grateful that our Ancient One is pretty easy to take care of and doesn't poop on the floor. I can deal with the fact that she doesn't want to put her teeth in her mouth, wash her hair or wear underwear as long as she behaves herself and lets us watch Survivor in the living room.

gotta go more later...

Okay it's the next day and I'm back. I had to take the Ancient One to the hair dresser. This is an all-day effort. In the end it's no more appealing that putting a huge dollup of whipped cream on a fourteen year old Basset Hound. I'm not sure why our mother even wants to go to the hair dresser since nobody sees her anyway. I think it's because our guy, Sal talks to her, the salon is walker-accessable and she can clepto the hundred dollar bottles of wrinkle cream. I know she does this because I found 20 bottles of the stuff in her tweezer drawer.

We do take her to brunch on Sundays sometimes. She usually looks kind of cute. I imagine people at the country club think she is darling and charming which she is with them. Little do they know that when we get home the teeth come out and the complaining starts. The Ancient One hates Sally Field. Whenever a Boniva commercial comes on she tries to mute the sound of Sally Fields' voice. However, since she moves like a sloth she can rarely get the mute button punched in time. She also hates Bush, any kind of soup that isn't Campbell's chicken noodle and Oprah.

Gotta go again as the Ancient One needs her daily pitcher of ice water, stolen hospital socks and Dragon's Breath room spray.

God knows we love em,

Wednesday, February 6, 2008

Give-It-Up Wednesday

All you people who celebrated Fat Tuesday yesterday should be ashamed of yourselves...for not taking at least three Ibuprophen before you went to bed last night so you wouldn't have a hang over this morning! And, if I were about 30 years younger and a LOT stupider, I woulda been on Bourbon Street yesterday, no question.

But, we pay the piper on THIS day, right? This Ash Wednesday is for you Catholics out there. We didn't have very many Catholics in west Texas in the fifties...and I'm not sure that the ones we DID have were into the whole Lent thingy either. As a matter of fact, the first time I ever saw someone with the Catholic ashes in the shape of a cross on their forehead took me in another direction, and being the type who is always trying to be helpful, I went up to the person and wiped away the ashes and said, "Bless your heart, you have some dirt on your forehead!"

Even though I'm not Catholic, I used to give something up for Lent every year. Everyone seemed to be doing it, so I piled on. And, I wasn't going to give up some piss-ant little bitty thing either. I used to give up JUDGMENT for Lent! Ambitious, you might say, and I have to agree, although it was such a fun exercise. Someone with whom I would normally play the judgment, gossip, finding fault game would suddenly become mute as I would proclaim on this Give-It-Up Wednesday, "Oops. I'll have to get back to you with my opinion on that after Easter." They would look agape at me then get kinda bitchy and walk away. I didn't lose any tacky friends over this however, because they all knew that the day after Easter, I'd be right back in that judgment saddle again...with SPURS!!!

So, this year, I'm just going to give up giving anything up, how's that? It's too debilitating and exhausting, and Gawd already has enough on me to put me away for (after)LIFE, so I just have to continue to keep my own teeny weeny corner clean and hope he's too busy to notice.



Okay, now let me get this straight. Catholics go to New Orleans on the Tuesday night before they know they have to give up something and they have ashes on their heads. They then proceed to get snot-slinging drunk and the young girls show their tits to anybody who walks by the balcony. Perhaps this helps them make the final decision on what it is they are going to give up. And you say they have to give this thing up until Easter? Jews at Mardi Gras? Or Muslims? It's really funny because I always thought it was 'lint' and they were giving up sweeping under the furniture or brushing the cats. It's much more dire than that, isn't it. I also always thought Baptists, Mormons and Athiests had to give up lint too but now I see how wrong I was.

Let's see...what would I give up... Does it have to be food or drink? Can it be something like...wearing red shoes or...taking a shower? Eewwww...that would be really gross. How long is it till Easter anyway? KK says March 23rd. Can you imagine not taking a shower or having alcohol or wearing red shoes for that long? I would rather give up doing something I don't want to do anyway. I've got it - I will give up plucking my eyebrows, drinking vinegar and cutting The Ancient One's toenails. Yeah, yeah...and KK is giving up giving up anything so that works out great. No, wait...then I would end up looking like Sasquatch's wife on Easter and The Ancient One would have slash-rips in her bedroom slippers.

It seems to me that all the Catholics would want to party on Easter instead of Fat Tuesday. That makes more sense. After abstaining from doing anything enjoyable for over a month - I think I might go a little crazy. I'm still not getting this 'give up something' thing. What is the purpose of that? We deprive ourselves and then we feel holy? Easter is the day Jesus rose so then all the Catholics get to partay on that day and celebrate that he is risen.

Well, that calls for a drink,

Monday, February 4, 2008

Two Week...Look Bettuh!

Our BFF, Pam, told us a story yesterday about an Asian hairdresser she used to go to who once got all caught up in a story she was telling Pam while she was cutting her hair. She put both hands on Pam's shoulders, one holding the scissors dangerously close to her ear and then looked into the mirror at Pam instead of looking directly at her. And, as she got more and more wound up telling Pam her story as she snipped and snipped, Pam watched in horror at the woman who was making a MOCKERY of the haircut Pam had walked in with...and, even though Pam was stupified, when she gently complained (as she wrote the check all women do), the woman's response was, "No Worry...two week...look bettuh!" Of course, I woke up this morning thinking about other circumstances where this might also be appropriate.

Although I've never been under the plastic surgery knife myself, I can imagine a non-certified doctor assuring his gobsmacked patient upon unwrapping the gauze, "No worry...two week...look bettuh. We've all seen photos of women who have paid large sums of money to have some quack erase the face they walked in with. Hair grows back, but the face...and those pumped-up lips??? I'm just sayin.

If you were a coward you could use this as you sped away from a fender-bender that was entirely YOUR fault, leaving the poor schmuck standing next to his Lexus with his arms spread wide as you rolled down the window and shouted, "NO WORRY...TWO WEEK...LOOK BETTUH!"

Here's a situation where this would absolutely not work. If you wanted three red hearts tattooed across your upper arm in honor of your faith and the holy trinity, only the tattoo artist misunderstood and put three 666's there instead, he would probably run before he would try the, "No worry...two week...look bettuh."

And, every nurse who puts the brand new sticky, gooey baby in the mother's arms right after it had spent nine months inside her body should always say, "No worry...two week...look bettuh!"



I actually had a cowboy wake up next to me in 1978 who said that exact same thing. He really did look better two weeks later but that was because it was 1AM in the morning at the bar at The Broken Spoke and I had had two shots of Cuervo and a Long Island Ice Tea.

I had to have a good talkin-to with my giant, red hydrangea named Fantasia. She has been looking very peekid ever since the freezes started happening in the early mornings. She doesn't like being cold, she's a Texan. I assured her, 'Don't worry...two'll look better'. She doesn't believe me though. Ever since her pet primrose died in the last freeze she thinks I lie to her. But I swear I never promised her that the primrose would make it through the winter. She just assumed...

The quote for the day is my cat Buddy's answer to everything, especially to our little calico cat, 'Odessa'. I heard them talking just the other day. "Yoo play too har! You scwatch my noze!!' Buddy's answer? 'No wowy...two wee..moo mettuh'. I admonished him for humping the white, fuzzy bath mat too but his answer was still the same.

What can I do..

Saturday, February 2, 2008

Opt Out

I've found another term that I "opt out." Recently, I took the 32 catalogs that the Ancient One decided she no longer wanted and went to a groovy website called, Catalog Choice They will stop any unwanted catalogs from coming to you in the mail and it's FREE! It's very user friendly and quick too. Can you BELIEVE I'm doing a public service announcement...ME?

Anyway, this term got me thinking like I often do, and I decided that it's apt under so many other circumstances. Sometimes don't you wish you could just opt out of uncomfortable could just look at the person with whom you are speaking and simply say, "I am going to opt out here...just carry on if you feel you must." You don't even have to walk away, just stand there and watch the look on the face of that person. It's deliciously awkward isn't it? I can't wait to do this!

We could all opt out of having to pay, that's not a good example,never mind, but we could opt out of ever having to serve on a jury. The simplest way to do this is to tell the lawyer when you're interviewed that you HATE LAWYERS and are involved in some nasty litigation at that very moment. You'll feel the wind in your face as they RUSH you out of the room. This really does work, trust me. Unless you ARE a lawyer, in which case, I don't feel sorry for you. Sorry.

When I was in my twenties, I found myself in more than one scenario where I had to decide whether to opt out of my clothes with a one-night stranger. Opting out under those circumstances was a LOT easier with a twenty-something bod and no conscience than it might be today. Thank Gawd for lighting, right?

I hate the game of opting out of one line that I'm standing in for another, shorter-looking line. Invariably, the line I was in becomes shorter as I opt out again and try sheepishly to slide back to my original line. This game can go on for a long time depending on the length of the line, but everyone plays it. It's a better game with two people except that it can be awkward when their line is winning and they won't let you come over. Even when you do go over, you've got to smile at the people behind your partner in line. They're never very happy about this.

After spending years using my anal retentive, obsessively organized and compulsive left brain to make a living, I have opted out of that world for the more fluid, creative, scary, unorganized, flowery right-brained schematic. I'm not sure I'll ever be able to opt out of this decision again since it's infinitely more fun, keeps the adrenalin flowing and carries even more potential than the other.

In these days of computer speak, I think the word, "unsubscribe" means the same thing. If I had a nickel for every time I've clicked that word. This word might work when dealing with your computer-literate children. Now, I don't have children, so here is just one more problem that I do not have, BUT...maybe you could say something like, "I"m going to unsubscribe to your argument here and opt out of ever hearing it AGAIN!"

Let me know how that works for ya!



I have opted out of trying to be normal. I have unsubscribed to the politically correct way of thinking and am opting to be who I am even if it scares the average Four Seasons restaurant diner. Seriously, all I ever wanted for forty five years was to be able to contain myself and stop from saying things that made people look at me like I belonged in the inane asylum (that is not a type-o). I could always see from the perplexed looks on the listener's faces that I had done it again. I could also tell from KK's snot-spitting laughter and inability to keep a straight face after such unintentional fopahs.

Actually, I can't say that I have unsubscribed to the politically correct way of thinking because I was never able to do it in the first place. It's just that magnificent compulsion again; the instincts and impulses of a born actor. If I hear an Elvis song I have a tendency to stand up and gyrate in an imitation of how The King would have performed that song. It doesn't matter that I'm jammed in an elevator like a sardine in the can with twelve 'suits' getting off ten floors early so as to get away from me. I don't give a shit. I'm dancin'!

Every once in a while KK will give me that wink of hers as we enter one of those flashy buildings downtown for a meeting. It's the, 'you can do this' look that means I must try to make it through the meeting without breaking into an imitation of Jerry Lewis (Hey, Lady!), accidentally laugh-spitting my raspberry/chamomile tea (so nicely provided by the office intern) all over the fake, burled wood, meeting table in the face of some pretentious-'I'm important and you're not' asshole who thinks we behave ourselves in public or dropping peppermint candies from the twelfth floor 'Women's Room' window to see what happens. KK was in on that so she can't wink me on that one.

So, I guess I must opt out of trying to be normal anymore but I'm a happier person for it. Every now and then it's just good for a person to step back and smell the TexMex tacos. And I think you can tell from our videos that my little sister is even crazier than I am. She thinks she's normal. I believe that's what bonafied crazy people think.