Porn dvd's you never, EVER want to see on the shelf...

OK, I'll admit it.  I'm addicted to porn.  Lord, I love the stuff!!!  Don't ever ask to use my computer.  You'll probably end up putting your brain in the dishwasher.  On the pot scrubber cycle.  With a couple of scrubbies and a bar of soap of two, just for good measure.  Yeah, my hard drive is...  well, shall we say, "hard".

I do have my limits, though.  Really, I'm not kidding.  OK, stop laughing....   The internet is awash in porn.  A tsunami of it, if you will.  And I love it.  It's like my own personal narcotic.  I'm all about endorphins and self medicating.  Anyway...  I have found some of the  weirdest porn on line imaginable.  Truly twisted shit.  Especially all of that stuff coming out of Russia and Eastern Europe.  WOW!!!  How bloody bad was 7 decades of communism and standing in line for just about everything that they now think incest and rape is warm and fuzzy???  Straight, gay, animals, on the hood of a Zil, hell even farm machinery.  And occasionally some bread dough.  WTF???  Then there's the kiddy porn thing...  I have managed to hit more links to this stuff than I can count.  Of course, I back out IMMEDIATELY and shut my computer off.  Then I go put my brain in the dishwasher.  I have actually found myself on a few sites that were labled as "NAMBLA approved".  Just a nano-second on those sites and it was pot scrubber cycle time.  TWICE!!!  How the hell can you be NAMBLA "approved"???   That's like a freaking thumbs up from Cthulu!!!  Yeah, Google that word, you'll be amazed.

Now, as primates with opposable thumbs and well developed frontal lobes I'm willing to cut all of us a little slack.  And when you couple those two traits  with stereoscopic  vision the inevitable  consequence is inventiveness.  It's just the nature of the beast, I guess.  But we have taken it a step further.  "Niche" porn.  Just how freaking twisted are we???   Apparently VERY much so.

So, here is my list of the scariest shit I have managed to find on line.

1.   "Grannies  Gone  Wild".   EWWW!!!   Not pretty!!!

2.  "Dude, Your Mom Is Hot!".   Again, EWWW!!!

3.  "Diaper Bioz".   I considered cutting off both of my thumbs!!!

4.  "Diaper Girlz".  I guess it only made sense to have an alternative...

5.  "Fun On the Farm".   OMG!!!  Shoot me out of a cannon!!!

6.  "Drunk Teenie Queenies".  Brain AND eyes, straight to pot scrubber!!!

7.  "Don't Tell Mommy".   I'm SO not taking that exit!!!

8.  "Daddy's Best Friend".  This has both gay and straight sites.  EWWW!!!

9.  "Felcher's Paradise".  I didn't even know what that meant.  EWWW!!!

10.  "Super Hung Trannies".   OK, that is just totally fucking wierd!!!

11.  "Chicks With Dicks".   Refer to # 10.

12.  "Blatinos Do Eastern European Sluts".   Wow, TOTALLY niche!!!

13.  "Dude, Your Dad Is Hot".  OK, I admit, I kind of liked that one....

14.  "It's OK, I'm Your Step-daddy".  TOTALLY DEER IN HEADLIGHTS!!!

15.  "Thia Lady Boys With Bulgarian Miners".   I swear to god, TRUE!!!

and my favorite...  drum roll, please...

16.  "Grandpa's Little Cream Pie Princess".  OFMTT!!!   Not only did my    brain and eyes  go into the dishwasher on this one, so did the computer, several pieces of furniture and some large floor plants!!!  As well as my desk chair.  And my underwear.  And the ceiling fan.

All of this has proven to me, beyond a shadow of a doubt, give any one species too much rope and they'll fuck it up!!!  Happily.  Gladly.  Smiling all the while.  As they decide just which hole they can stick that rope up.  You just gotta love opposable thumbs...

OK, it's recipe time.

I gotta tell you, this is something I rarely ever do.  I guard my recipes like a she-bear on the brown acid.  Ask anyone that knows me well.  Hell, it took my best friend 11 years to get the recipes for my baked beans and potato salad out of me.  And I like her.  A lot.  She only got them because I gave them to her at her baby shower.  And only after she let me write strange things on her belly with a Magic Marker...

Mexico.  Ah, Mexico...  This country owns me lock, stock and barrel.  And that means a  whole different thing down there.  It has for almost 2 decades.  The music, the people, the strange workability of it all.  But most of all the food.  OMG, the food!!!   It's nothing but corn, lard and lactose down there.   It's heaven to me.  My blood pressure and cholesterol  levels go through the roof while I'm down there and I relish every freaking fork full of it.  Early on I discovered an amazing treat that drew me in like a Siren towards the rocks.   Tres Leche Cake.   (BTW, that means three milks.)  Oh my fucking god!!!   This stuff makes flan look like Jenny Craig.  Bloody amazing stuff.  In it's truest form it is Mexican wedding cake.  Imagine an incredibly heavy, RICH pound cake, saturated with liquid lactose ambrosia, covered with birthday cake icing, parqueted  with a layer of fresh tropical fruits and then encased in the most tooth rotting transparent apricot glaze imaginable.  When they serve you a piece of this it is literally bleeding  from all sides and surrounded  by a lactose moat!!!  I would sell secrets to the Russians for this stuff!!!

So I figured if three milks are good then five just has to be better.   Right?  Yes, I have managed to work two more milks into this thing.  To you, my dear friends, I present CINCO  Leche Cake...  A bit "simplfied", sans apricot glaze but still just as good.  Trust me, would I lie to you about dessert???


                       Cinco de Leche Cake

Cake:
6 large eggs, separated  (otherwise they fight)
2 cups sugar
2 cups flour
3 tsp baking powder
Half cup of milk
3 tsp vanilla (the Mexican kind, it’s better y’know)

Sauce:
1 can (13 oz.) evaporated milk
1 can (14 oz.) sweetened condensed milk
1 can (225 grams) Crema Media
Half pint heavy whipping cream (oh yeah, baby!)
Some cinnamon sugar to taste.  Lots of it!

Frosting:
2 egg whites (don’t ask me what you do with the yolks)
Dash of salt
2 Tsp. white corn syrup (who really has this stuff????)
1 and a half cups sugar
Third of a cup of water (eyeball it)
2 tsp. vanilla (again, the Mexican stuff...)

Beat the egg whites until peaks start to form (just whail on
them cause you KNOW they’ve been fighting).  Gradually add the sugar as you continue to beat them.  Add all of the egg yolks at once and beat them for 3 full minutes as they have been taunting the rest of the ingredients on the counter.  Add in the vanilla.  Mix the flour with the baking powder (don’t worry, THEY get along fine) and add to the egg mixture alternately with the milk.  When mixed completely pour the mixture into a well greased 9 x 13 inch pan (DON’T believe this, put it into a REALLY big lasagna pan cause this cake expands exponentially as it bakes!)  Bake at 350 degrees (you did remember to preheat the oven, didn’t you????) for damn near an hour.   Or more.   You know the cake is done when the toothpick comes out clean.

Take the cake out of the oven and stab the bloody hell out of it with a large fork to totally perforate it across the entire surface (no, this is not to get back at the eggs, it’s to allow spaces for the sauce to seep into).  Pour all of the sauce ingredients into a blender and blend it into a consistent mixture.  Pour the mixture evenly over the cake surface and let it absorb in.   Toss the cake into the fridge to cool completely before frosting.

Totally ignore all of the ingredients for the frosting!  It’s a complete pain in the ass to make and calls for a double boiler and constant stirring.  NO FREAKING WAY!  Go to Woodman’s, get yourself some ready made Duncan Hines frosting in the little tubs and save yourself LOTS of heartache.  I recommend vanilla.  Trust me!

Frost the cake, cover with plastic wrap and keep it refrigerated until ready to serve.  You can decorate the top of the cake any way you want, just don’t use Jelly Belly’s or Gummi Bears, that’s just nasty.  Fruit is nice! Especially LOTS of sliced strawberries and mangos.  Or peaches.  Or kiwi.  Blue berries and raspberries work too.  Oh hell, just throw all of them on it and enjoy!

Be warned, this will “bleed” like crazy when you serve it.
And you might want to have a portable defibrillator handy cause this thing will stop your heart.  This is best enjoyed with a LARGE cup of coffee that has been enhanced with a bit of brandy, Kahlua, Frangelico and a floater of vodka and eaten under a palm tree while sitting in the sand.   Would I lie to you???  Yeah, probably.  But not about food...

OMG!  OMG!  OMG!   I have just had an epiphany!!!  I can put SIX milks in this puppy.  Oh yeah!!!  Fuck the Duncan Hines frosting.  Make it out of cream cheese , powdered sugar and a bit of Mexican vanilla.  Voila, Seis Leche!!!  This is a dessert that has just attained "Fabulousity"!!!   Hey,  Sea Squirt!!!  Get 911 on speed dial, 'cause we're gonna need them...

This one is just WAY too good to pass up!!!

I swear, you just can't make this kind of shit up.  Have you heard about this one yet?  It's too twisted for bail!!!

FORT LAUDERDALE, Fla. -- A Fort Lauderdale man awoke Tuesday night to find his clothes on fire and his girlfriend standing over him with a lighter, according to the Broward Sheriff's Office.

In a complaint affidavit, a BSO deputy said he went to the home of Berlinda Dixon Newbold, 38, at about 9:15 p.m. after police received an anonymous report of a domestic disturbance.  Police said Dixon-Newbold and her boyfriend, Sheldon Gonzales, had gotten into an argument. Gonzales told the deputy that he fell asleep after the argument and later awoke to "a burning sensation in the crotch of his pants," according to the affidavit.Gonzales told police he looked down and saw that the bottom of his shirt over his crotch area was on fire, and he looked up to see Dixon-Newbold holding a cigarette lighter.

Police said Gonzales put out the fire with his hands and tried to leave but Dixon-Newbold confronted him and they began arguing. A neighbor overheard and called police.

Dixon-Newbold was arrested on a charge of aggravated assault with intent to commit a felony.

And now, my commentary...

OUCH!!!

OMG, this made me laugh so hard I peed!!!  It brings a whole new meaning to the term "weenie roast" that I don't even want to envision.  Holy shit, Batman, she singed his sausage!!!   I can only imagine what the original argument was about but I'm sure the one that ensued after the flames were put out was a whole helluva lot more heated.  Sorry, bad pun I know...

I've been racking my  brain though.   Aggravated  assault with intent to commit a felony?   When the bloody hell did a bit of pre-holiday crotch arson become an attempted felony?   Frightening?  Yes.  Felony?  No.  Why the bloody hell did he decide to curl up on the sofa and take a nap after the first argument was "over"?   Dude, are out of your freaking mind???    How much alcohol was involved in this little mishap???   How long had he been fucking her sister??? 

Nothing says Happy Holidays to me more than a little tally-wacker torching.  Ho-Ho-Ho!!!   And to all a good night.  Just make sure that you sleep with one eye open...

The Night Of The Iguana

OMG!!!  This is my favorite film of all time.  Unless of course it's really late at night and TBS is doing a rerun of "Who's Afraid Of Virginia Woolf".   But that's a whole other post...

This film is so sordidly twisted it hurts.  It's celluloid madness on a grand scale.  It has my name written all over it.  I love it!!!  And amazingly, it doesn't have a god damned thing to do with the original Tennessee Williams short story it is allegedly "based" on.  Not a fucking thing!!!  Not a single character, plot line or even the location.  Why John Huston bothered to pay Tennessee Williams for the rights still amazes me to this day...

It came out in 1964 and I was too young to go see it.  In 1969 I managed to catch a rerun of it after the 11:30 news one Friday night.  I sat there, power eating popcorn, slamming Fresca, my eyes wide open and my jaw dropping.  This was cinematic excellence!!!   I was sixteen.  My little gay heart was afire at it's brilliance.  The sexual tension in every frame was amazing.  I giggled for two hours.  It was like porn lite...

This film doesn't just have an amazing cast it has a mind boggling pallet of characters.  And I do mean "characters".  A defrocked priest, an aging, widowed and horny hotel owner that is shagging a couple of maraca  shaking pinga boys named  Paco and Pepe on a regular basis, a closeted and latent (WTF does that actually mean???) lesbian vocal coach at a private girls school (can you say girls gym coach???), a pot smoking Chinese cook, a fifteen year old slut hormoned out of her mind, a virgin from New England, a demented grandfather writing a poem and a couple of old ladies with intestinal distress.  Oh, come on, what's not to love about this???  To me, this is a long lost home movie from my childhood...

I know every line in this film.  Every word, actually.  Ready for some trivia???

Eva Gardner later said that this was the most enjoyable role she ever did because John Huston let her be herself in the role of Maxine Faulk, the hotel owner.  She was, afterall, a South Carolina farm girl by birth and a bit "earthy".

The pot smoking Chinese cook was actually John Huston's private chef.  As a thank you for appearing in the movie and cooking for the main cast during filming he gave him the money to open his own restaurant in Vallarta.  It's called "Archie's Wok" and is still open to this day and being run by his grand-daughter.  She's gorgeous, the food is freaking wonderful and the restroom doors are the strangest things I've ever seen.  They involve massively heavy doors, a large carved stone fish and a length of ski rope.  Don't ask.  It's Mexico...

The hotel was purposely built from the ground up with a small village around it to house the crew during filming.  After filming was complete the village was torn down but the hotel was converted into a restaurant called "The Set" that featured wonderful food and bloody amazing views.  A couple of years ago it was finally torn down because it was collapsing under it's own weight and age.  I ate there twice.  Loved it!!!

Every day after filming was complete the whole main cast would congregate at John Huston's house about a mile down the road and drink there brains out for the rest of the night.  All except Deborah Kerr.  Who did not drink, smoke or get rowdy.  Oh, well...   there's one in every crowd.

Elizabeth Taylor was NOT in this movie!!!  Contrary to popular belief.

This movie was NOT, I repeat NOT filmed in Vallarta!!!  It was filmed in Mismaloya, a smaller village about 8 miles south.  The main cast stayed in one of two hotels in Vallarta at the time and traveled to the set each day by panga boats.  Travel time was about an hour if you they lucky.  It still takes that long today.   Been there, done that.

Cyril Delevanti, the actor who played the demented grand father writing a poem was 75 at the time of filming and was so overcome by the humidity down there that in between takes would literally sit on bags of ice to recoup for the next shot.  His role in the movie was eventually cut down to compensate for this.

Sue Lyon, the actress who played the underage, hormonally charged tart in the film actually was underage at the time of filming.  This caused a bit of a problem with  the censors  who only reneged after heavy petitioning from John Huston who argued that she was never shot nude or shown performing a sex act on screen.  Ah, yes, just leave it to the imagination...  You may remember her from her screen debut two years earlier.  The lead role in "Lolita".  She was 15 when she filmed that...

Grayson Hall, who played the frustrated lesbian voice coach got an Academy Award nomination for  best supporting actress for her role in this.  She is also remembered for a 5 year run on tv as MANY characters on the Gothic soap opera "Dark Shadows" in the late 60s.  She died in 1985 at the age of 62 from lung cancer.  About 3 to 4 packs a day from most accounts.  Oh well, shit happens...

Oh hell, rent this movie, it's more twisted than string.  It's too twisted for church.  Hell, it's more twisted than me and that should give you a clue!!!  Any movie with an iguana on a rope, a couple of hot Hispanic studs playing maraca's bare chested while swimming with Eva Gardner in the ocean and some under age nookie will do any one more good than they know what to do with.   Trust me.  Been there, done that...  Would I lie to you???

My Holiday gift to you all...

Yes, I'm a crotchety old fart, hard to deal with at the very best and at most times just a fucking bitch on wheels.  But it 'tis the Season as they say.  Yes, sometimes I mellow into something almost resembling human...

To all of you I give a great gift.  Precious in my opinion.  A box full of moonlight.  Yes, I said a box full of moonlight.  Don't ever open it or it will escape and be lost to you forever.  Guard it well, keep it close and treat it as something more valuable than gold.  If you do, it will serve you well and keep you safe, warm and full of laughter.

As a child I used to stare up into the night sky and see the moon.  (I still do.) It amazed me.  It changed shape.  It disappeared and reappeared.  I could even  see it during the day.  And the most amazing thing was that it would cast a shadow behind me when it was full at night.  A shadow!!!  In the middle of the night!!!  And I could almost read by it.  If that isn't magic then I don't know what is.  All of our human cultures have worshiped it in some way or another, assigned gods or goddesses  to it, built holidays around it or at the very least named a day of the week after it.  Hell, we've even BEEN there and put some foot prints on it..  It has a "face" that we recognize and have even given a name to.  It manages to keep us in our orbit around the sun.   It is powerful enough to give us tides.   And every 28 days it seems to make us go crazy in some way or another.  Check the police reports...  Or ask your wife/girlfriend what her "cycle" is.    Or talk to some grunion.  Yeah, it's got some serious influence...

When I found out that the shadow the full moon cast of me was reflected sunlight back to the dark side of the earth I was gobsmacked to say the least.  Pretty powerful shit in my opinion.   At first, I tried to capture it in empty mayonnaise jars at grandma's house but that didn't seem to work very well.  Those jars were best for fire-flies.  Which I would later let loose in her house.  Much to her dismay.  Oh, well, I was young...   I later learned I  could capture them in one of grandpa's old cigar boxes.  But only if I had some tape to keep the boxes closed very tightly.  And hid them under the bed.  Grandma understood me so when she would find the boxes she would always leaved them sealed.  She knew what I was saving.  God, I miss that woman so freaking badly.  She just knew that I was a "bit" different...

Moon light...  To all of you, a taste of magic.  A box of something so special, so dramatic  and so amazing it should bring you to your knees.  From 92, 000,000 miles away, with a 258,000 mile transit stop from the moon, to here.  Happily Holidays!!!  The Warmest Wishes To You All!!!

And don't you dare open that box.   Pass it on.  And tell them to keep it safe, sealed and close.  It's a box of moonlight afterall...  It just don't get much better than that...

Again, Happy Holidays to you all!  Stay safe and warm!  And keep smiling as you look up at the moon and under your bed...

OH FUCK ME TO TEARS!!!

I hate the northern latitudes.  Let me rephrase that, I FUCKING hate the northern latitudes!!!  I did an early morning run (well, for me an early morning run... 10:30 am) to the grocery store today to stock us up on essentials so we can survive the next five days without having to eat our own feet to survive.  Why?  Later tonight an enormous front is going to start slamming us into oblivion.  It's very cold here and we have snow on the ground already.  This thing is going to dump 6-9 inches of snow on us tomorrow.  Followed by predicted rain, sleet, more snow, way below zero temps and high winds on Sunday.  Yay!!!  Monday will be hell but we "may" get back up into single digits by Tuesday.  Sea Squirt and I should be in Mexico right now.  Drinking Margaritas.  And peeing on the iguanas from the roof..  And finding ourselves "stranded" there because none of the airports up here are open.  But NO, we're trapped up here!!!  Fuck this shit!!!

Sea Squirt is a victim of Light Deprivation Disorder on an order WAY beyond mine so he has been going all Johnny Depp on me since the whole Day Light Savings Time thing.  He stands out in the parking lot staring at the sun while I'm inside talking to the silverware.  I'm not kidding.  He knows the fork I refer to as "Marco" all too intimately .  God, I love that fork.  He's my anchor for damned near five months...  I sleep with him.  We become a truly weird threesome during the winter.

After unpacking all of the groceries and re-alphabetizing  the pantry I put myself on self imposed lock down for the rest of the afternoon.  With a glue gun.  I had to wrap my Christmas present for a six-year old.  Two full glue sticks, four hours and ELEVEN layers of paper, cellophane, ribbon layers, metallic curling ribbon and a butterfly later I was finally done.  It took four freaking hours to wrap this thing.  She's gonna need a bloody ax to unwrap this thing!!!  Am I the world's best aunt, or what???

Again, I am facing a LONG weekend up here that can only be imagined by members of a Chilean Antarctic outpost that are trapped on an ice flow.  With a Sea Squirt who is not at all happy about his impending 56th birthday tomorrow and me without anywhere near the amount of  pasta that I want to consume.  I ran to my favorite local Mexican bakery late this afternoon (during rush hour, a great sacrifice on my part I might add) and snagged some Tres Leche for him, some Mocha Tres Leche for me and some of the most amazing chocolate brownies imaginable for us to wrestle over tomorrow while the snow falls.

One of us may be dead by Tuesday.  But at least the survivor gets the last of the brownies....  Auntie Donn is SO going to win!!!

Comfort food...

Ah, I love that term.  Comfort food.  Just thinking about it makes me drool like a Basset Hound.  Yeah, I know, not pretty sight.  Me or the Basset hound.  Those of you who are close to me and the Bassets I have owned know all too well what "stealth drool" is.  Nasty shit...

My heritage is southern.  Or as I like to say "suth-ahn".  And yes, with a drawl.  Until I was in college I used to have a really thick one.  Really thick.  It actually took me FOUR very distinct syllables just to say "ice tea".  I used to say strange shit like "what all y'all doin' ".  I was a displaced southerner going to college in the north.  I was ridiculed down to a nub.  And yes, that is a southern term...

Anyway, back to comfort food.  From where I come from it comes in an infinite variety of  forms that will boggle the imagination.  And it all depended upon the situation.   Why did you need to be comforted?  Were you sick?  Did you just get a whoopin'?  Dog dead?  Daddy just back over your little sister?  Still blow up and take out half the house?   Just find out that your mom and dad are brother and sister?  OK, that one is not such a shocker in the south...

One of my grandmothers made the most amazing comfort food imaginable.  She turned me on to strange shit like mashed potato sandwiches on white bread.  Cold meat loaf sandwiches on white bread with ketchup as a "dipping sauce'.  Leftover cold, greasy bacon.  Torn up pieces of white bread (seeing a pattern here?  It was usually Butter-Nut brand bread because it was way cheaper than Wonder Bread) that you then drowned in left over gravy.  There was always left over gravy at her house.  She made the shit in stock pots!!!  Lard and radish sandwiches on white bread.  Yes, I actually said that.  Again, on white bread.  As well as the famous toasted butter and brown sugar sandwiches.  Why don't I weigh 400 pounds and why am I still alive???   But her most famous treat was mac and cheese.  OMG!!!  Grandma Flossie did mac and cheese proud.  And she took it to a level that was unbelievable.  I'm convinced this is what killed two of my uncles early on...

She taught me how to make this stuff when I was still young enough that I had to stand on a kitchen chair next to her so I could help her.  It was an OSHA and Family Services nightmare in the making.  I've tweaked her recipe over the years but I still hold true to her wonderous over indulgence.   She used a full box of regular macaroni shells, I use the jumbo size ones.   She used two full bricks of Velveeta, me too.   She saved left over ham for two weeks,  I go buy two pounds of Canadian bacon ends.  She used heavy whipping cream, me too.  She tossed in two sticks of butter, ditto me.  She'd mix it all up after the macaroni was cooked in a pan big enough to boil a tire in and threw it in the biggest lasagna pan I have ever seen (ditto here, I actually have a restaurant sized one that I bought just for this recipe) and then put a pound of asiago cheese and bread crumbs on the top and bake it on low for HOURS.  My god, this stuff came out like mortar.  It was beyond a building block, it was a true building material!!!  It was like cheese and pasta adobe.  It would stop your heart, bring you to your knees, summon the paramedics  and had enough fat in it to grease a pig through a BIC pen!!!

Between me and my grandma this recipe has been banned by the AMA in just about everyplace except my kitchen and Sierra Leone.  But there they do it with a version of native wild boar that they hunt down and dart.  Wrapped in banana leaves and buried in a pit of hot coals for several days.  Yes, Velveeta is available in Sierra Leon...  Only in much bigger blocks.  About the size of a camel from what I've heard.  Which I can only think needs a LOT more breadcrumbs  and a pan about the size of a Cadillac...  Wow, lucky people...

Lutefisk. WTF???

Allow me to establish a baseline here:  lutefisk is FUCKING abhorrent!!!  There, I've said it.  You don't like that?   Then go fuck yourself!!!

Being a west coaster I had never heard of lutefisk until I moved to Minneapolis in 1980 and was managing a restaurant there.  Shortly after Halloween we started taking reservations for the annual "Lutefisk Feast".  I innocently asked, "What the bloody hell is a 'Lutefisk Feast?' to one of my waiters.  And what he told me shocked my shorts off!!!  I swear to god, it sounded like two trains colliding, head on, over the middle of the Atlantic.  In a storm.  In the middle of a cataclysmic  meteor shower.  With sleet.  And Celine Dion singing in the back ground...

For those of you fortunate folks out there who don't know what lutefisk is, let me tell you that it is just plain nasty-ass shit.  With all of the wonderfully mind altering things we have outlawed we have somehow managed to keep this stuff not only alive and well but full blown sanctioned.  Now, in Minneapolis I found myself totally surrounded by what I called "Scanda-Hoovians".  An odd group of immigrants at best but apparently hell bent for leather on self punishment on a dietary level.  Yes, they have some wonderful stuff, ebelskivers being my favorite.  Think do-nut holes made from pancake batter swimming in  butter and fresh jam.  Those puppies could stop your heart.  But their coffee was so strong you needed to turn it over with a fork and they boiled every vegetable they ate for at least 3 days.  Their favorite "sauce" was Campbell's cream of mushroom soup.  And they called a casserole a hotdish.  Oh, yeah, and pepper was considered a dangerously "sharp" spice.  How fucking light-deprived was "Scanda-Hooooovia" to make them all this crazy???   I can only blame the New World.  And little Laura Ingles Wilder...  I actually have a book titled "Scandinavian  Humor And Other Myths".  It's so true it hurts...

OK, back to lutefisk...  I wouldn't poke this shit with a stick.  Yours or
mine.  The day before the "Feast" I walk in the front door of the hotel and smell something I can only describe as a chemical spill.  I go into the restaurant and it just gets stronger.  I walk into the kitchen and damned near puked.  Just to cover up the smell of the chemical spill.  I actually considered  calling in sick while I was at work!!!  My eyes were watering and I was gagging.  Lutefisk is cod that has been dried.  Into something resembling a very old cedar shake shingle.  At the holidays they then drag them out of storage and soak it in lye water (LYE WATER???   What are you loonies thing???  Isn't that shit poisonous???  Or at the very least unfit for human consumption???) before they steam it to death.  Into something that can only be described as  fish Jell-O.  It jiggles.  And not in a good way...  They then compliment this treat with potatoes that have been boiled to within an inch of surrender (drowning in butter with a sprinkle of parsley for "color" ), broccoli that has been boiling since last week, lefsa wedges and lingonberry sauce (truly, the worlds most sour berry prepared with enough sugar to rot your teeth) to cut the taste of the lefsa.  Oh yeah...  Happy Holidays!!!  When does the flogging start???

Over the next week I watched more than a thousand people come through the place every night and gorge on this crap  And ask for seconds.  Seconds???  This stuff gives a whole new meaning to the term "sloppy seconds".  As the wall paper peeled off and the stainless steel discolored and pitted.   By day three of of this insanity the stitching on my suit coat had completely dissolved  and both sleeves fell off as I seated a table of blue hairs one night.  And most of what was left of my tie tack committed suicide.  The rest had dissolved in quiet resignation...  I had no idea that gold could actually give up the ghost.

Now, I'm back in Wisconsin.  Eight miles south of here is town called Stoughton.  Pronounced "SsschtO-ton" because everyone there is from Norway.  And proud of it, too.  Norwegian flags on the light poles, the sidewalks are rosemaled into a stupor and the 17th of May makes the 4th of July look like a wake for a dead president.  SERIOUSLY Skanda-Hooooovian down there!!!  I swear to god, they have even hand embroiderded the manhole covers.  We have some wonderful friends down there.  Tonight they Twatter'd us and told they had just gotten back from Ole and Lena's (swear to god!!!) all-you-can-eat Lutefisk Luncheon (WTF???) and were properly satiated on the build your own lutefisk and  lefsa "taco" bar.  Again, WTF!!!  A lefsa taco???  With fish Jell-O???  I'd rather eat shit and die than eat lutefisk and watch the sun come tomorrow.  I shudder to  think what might come out of me...

Henry and Emma...

OMG, these two were a piece of work if I've ever seen one.  Henry and Emma were my great-grandparents on my father's side.  I had the wonderful privilege of knowing Henry until I was 17 and Emma until I was in my late 20's.  They gave me more insight into my family heritage than I care to think about today...

Henry was short, only 5-foot tall at the most, Emma was even shorter, even in those little old lady heels she loved to wear.  If you tried to hug either one of them you just ended up grabbing open air.  In profile he looked remarkably like Woody Woodpecker and face-on she bore a striking resemblance to a dried currant.  I swear, she had a face like a topographic map!!!  He "puttered" and she canned everything she could lay her hands on.  And they both gardened like crazy.  The stuff that they grew on that farm was amazing.

Henry was the more "ribald" one.  He loved to tell jokes, especially bad ones.  He loved a shot of whiskey to "keep him moving" and cigars.  Cheap ones.  REALLY cheap ones.  His workshop was mind-blowing, he loved to make lawn ornaments and he would paint absolutely anything he could lay a brush to.  He wore suspenders.  And a belt.  At the same time.  Apparently that 18 inch zipper in the old man pants he wore that came up to nipples must have been really heavy.  Up until the time he lost his corneas to cataract surgery he drove a 1957 Plymouth Savoy sedan.  Two-tone swimming pool blue.  Inside and out.  Three on the tree.  After that it was glasses with Coke bottle lenses.  Of course until the day he died he would go out to the garage once a month and fire that car up just to keep it in running condition.  With the garage doors closed.  The tires eventually gave up the ghost under the weight of that behemoth but he still kept her in "running condition".  Once every six months or so he would have my uncle bring him another 5 gallon can of gas so he could keep her "filled up and ready to go".

Emma was a bit more reserved.  She cooked.  She canned.  Oh god, did she can!!!  You name it and she could put it in a Mason jar and preserve it.  Her jams were amazing.  And everything was from the farm.  They grew so much stuff in that garden you could have fattened up Haiti.  Her blackberry preserves brought me to my knees and her apple-butter made be pray to a god I didn't even believe in.  I would sell what's left of my soul to have those recipes.  She taught me how to make homemade noodles and how to can.  In the summer kitchen.  While we kept an eye on the sheep in the front yard.  And shared slices of fresh apples from the trees in the back yard that we dipped in her fresh caramel.  Life was so good...  And she had a "thing" for salt and pepper shakers.  Over 1200 pairs of those things.  They were freaking everywhere.  Henry built her display cases all over that house.  She loved those things.  They were from  all over the world...

Emma found Henry dead in the workshop one afternoon in 1971.  With a paint brush laying next to him.  He died doing what he loved best, puttering.  I can't think of a better way to go.

Emma live for another 11 years and died in the house that she was born in and that she and Henry had expanded after they had gotten married.  The original house was actually a two "room" sod house that her parents had built when they homesteaded the forty acres they were given to develop.  She and her younger sister, great-great aunt Betty were born in that house.  As were grandpa Glenn and his younger brother Everett.  And my dad and his older sister Jeanne.  And Aunt Jeanne's three kids.  They tried desperately to have me born there too, but I just wasn't ready to have that happen I guess.  I came along 3 weeks later in Arkansas.  OK, stop laughing.  I'm a Southerner and I know it...

In 2000 grandpa Glen died and I went back for his funeral.  It was a much needed catch-up time for all of us.  At one point a cousin of mine mentioned that a lot of the framed pictures from Henry and Emma's house were upstairs in storage in the attic so we went to take a look.  I found amazing stuff and suggested that we should take these things into have copy negatives made of the originals so we could preserve them.  I started popping these things out of the frames to get a better look at them.  When I opened what they told me was Henry and Emma's wedding portrait I was amazed.  I actually found their wedding certificate!!!  What I saw next blew all of us away.

We had always known that there was an age difference between them.  But we finally discovered which way it went.  Henry wasn't Emma's senior, she was his.  She was 21 when they got married.  He was 14.  FOURTEEN!!!  FOURTEEN!!! My great-grandmother wasn't just "landed gentry" she was a freaking cradle robber!!!    With forty acres, a house and some grazing land.  And a boy-toy.  Wow!!!  How southern is that!!!

As my cousins, Debbie and Becky, lay up in the attic, on their backs, doing a deer in headlights thing I calmly walked downstairs and cracked open another half case of wine.  The family was gonna need it.  Fasten your seat belts, folks,  it's gonna be a bumpy night...  Great-grandma Emma was a MILF!!!  With a taste for veal...  Baby veal...

Oh, god, I am SO from the South...

I have found my calling!!!

Local cable access.  Yes, I said local cable access.  Hey, the air and studio time is free as well as all of the equipment use.  Free.  Let me say that again, FREE!!!  And you all know how I am about free stuff.  This has my name written all over it!!!

I have decided to give all of those pissy, self-important little panty wastes on the Food Network a run for their buns.  Bobby, Rachael, Paula...  watch your backs.  Mama Donn's kitchen is hitting the airwaves!!!

I have decided to call the program "Cooking With Beefcakes" and I'm now interviewing some of the hottest, ripped nibbly bits I can find to serve as my "assistants".  I want these guys to be smoking fine.  Of course, they will wear nothing but aprons.  Because I tend to deep fry way too many things.  And you know how I can be with bacon...  Bacon can be so unforgiving when you're at the stove naked.  Men tend to scream like little 5 year old girls when they've just been FULL frontally scared with a bacon grease splatter.  Trust me, it's true.  I sadly speak from experience.

I'm sure SubZero and Viking will get behind this for all of the top end major appliances that I will need.  I also hope to talk Menard's into donating all of the cabinets, counter tops and fixtures my little dream kitchen requires.  I have already emailed KitchenAid and Cuisinart about all the counter top electrics and cookware that I'll be needing.  From there it's just "lights, camera, action" and I'm on my way.  If all else fails I may have to film this thing "remote" in my own kitchen.  And considering that my kitchen is barely big enough for me and a postage stamp it could make for some very interesting moments.  What with three little studpuppies wearing nothing more than aprons, a smile on their faces and me armed with a bamboo spatula to keep them all in line.  

I'm already working on the recipes I want to bring to the world in a whole new light all my own.  Beanie-Weinies.  Hot crossed buns.  Stuffed rump roast. Bacon wrapped sausages. A glazed loin. Pigs in a blanket. Tongue.  LOTS of tongue.  Maybe I can even feature a foreign guest chef every so often.  I've always loved a little foreign tongue!!!

Yeah, I'm thinking it's probably best to air this program well after midnight...

He should have seen it coming...

Oh yeah, that sweet little sea squirt, my other half has finally realized that the post about me wanting to be a clown was actually true.  Totally, completely true.  He is so shocked it hurts.  Now, suddenly, I make sense to him.  He thought it was illness, or at the very least under medication.  Or perhaps over medication.  I'm known for that...  Now he realizes it is just clown madness.  Gone horridly array.  He has begun to count up those strange wigs in the closet, most of them rainbow colored, the odd clothing and those really BIG shoes....

Yes, after several hours of conversation he has finally began to accept the fact that he has married a clown without a county.  Yes,  I really was accepted at Ring-Ling  Brothers clown college.  Yes, Loretta was to be my new name.  And yes, Mom shot than one down.  It all makes sense to him now....  Scarey and strange as that seems.

Adios, "Bambi", happy trails to you..

To say that I am shocked is an understatement.  I have just seen online that one of Wisconsin's most famous folk heroines  has passed away today at a hospice in Portland, OR of liver and kidney failure.  I can't imagine a more piss poor horse shit ass way to die!!!  Laurie "Bambi" Bembenek.  OMG, this poor woman had enough baggage to move to Mars with.  And Wisconsin has seemed to have the weirdest love/hate relationship with her imaginable.  A former Playboy club waitress, former Milwaukee police officer that was fired under questionable circumstances, a twice convicted murderess, a prison escapee that accomplished international flight to Canada and the subject of two movies, she both enraptured and enraged the citizens of Wisconsin.

Shortly after being fired from the Milwaukee police department (and in the process of suing their shorts off) she was accused, arrested, charged and eventually convicted of murdering her husbands ex-wife.  On the hinkiest evidence imaginable.  With his police revolver.  Somehow disguised as man twice her size.  Her trial was like something out of a Quentin  Tarantino movie at best.  Milwaukee has a police department as corrupt as New Orleans.  And they played their part to a degree that would win an award at Sundance!!!!

As a model prisoner that was always vocally adamant in her innocence, she actually managed to escape from prison and live for short while in Canada, working as a waitress in a small roadside dinner in Thunder Bay, Ontario.  She was recognized by a traveler from the States, again arrested and brought back here.   Again, things got hinky.  Although out on bail pending appeals, three in total, the state of Wisconsin turning all of them down, she was moving onto the Supreme Court to reopen the case and hopefully clear her name.

And then  a couple of years ago she faced her biggest battle.   Her body declared war on her.   Multiple organ  failure.  Liver and kidneys.   Three strikes and you're out!!!   She died today at  the age of 52  while under  hospice care.   Her name still unredeemed,  her  charges still  unreversed, her case still pending  and  her  legacy still tainted.  I have never believed she was guilty of what she was convicted of and tried so hard to overcome.  What the hell happened to our "Kinder and Gentler Nation"???  We have pardoned some of the lowest forms of life imaginable in my memory.  For crimes of mind-boggling scope.  This is a travesty...

"Bambi", go quietly into that good night and know that many of us here are sorry for this injustice.  Y'know what is truly strange about this whole thing?  She died on the first day of deer hunting season here in Wisconsin.  Odd, yes.  But true...

So, I rang up the Pope today...

Seriously, I did.  We're really close.  He's German and I'm a Jew.  How much closer can you get than that without him being a Pharaoh with a huge desert and me being lost???  Fortunately, he was "in" so the call went straight through.  One ringy-dingy.  Two ringy-dingy.  Hello, is the Pope that I am speaking to???

"So, Benny," I say, "what's up with this condom thing you just issued?  Sounds a bit convoluted to me.  Revolutionary?  Yes!!!  But a bit  awkward as well.  By the way, do you even know what those things look like???"  And I meant, condoms, NOT gay prostitutes!!!  But that may be  a whole other Blog...  Of course with the way his Pope-ness dresses I may have to keep that one under the radar.

Benny responds in his wonderfully heavily German-accented Italian/ broken English and fills me in on the 411.  Condoms:  Bad.  Birth Control: Bad.  Male prostitutes using  condoms:  Good.  But only if they are HIV-positive. (WHAT???)  And have a gay clientele. (WHAT???)  It's a "moral" issue in his (Their) eyes.  OK, so  Benny just said male prostitute, HIV-positive, gay, condom use and moral in the same sentence.   I immediately put him on hold and go mix a pitcher of margaritas so I can steel myself up for the rest of this conversation and get my seatbelt securely fastened.  I know I'm going to need it.

"Hey, Benny," I say, "I'm back.  Continue..." .

He proceeds to tell me that since gay prostitutes with a gay clientele can't have babies (which are gods angels) they should do everything in their power to stop the spread of AIDS.  (OMG, Benny just said the 'A' word!!!).  Again, a "moral" thing which he (They) view as their duty.  Then he tells me that this announcement is limited  solely to HIV-infected gay prostitutes and NOT to straight married couples where one of the partners is HIV-infected (that would be birth control) which would prevent the birth of one of gods little angles and be completely immoral in his (Their) eyes.  WHAT???  I'm drinking out of the pitcher at this point...

"Benny, honey," I ask, "how much of that wine have you been drinking???  Is there an adult anywhere near you that I can speak to???  Anyone will do.  A maid?  That new junior Cardinal that changes your Nazi-sympathizing  diapers?  Anyone!!!  We have to loosen the tension on your miter!!!  You're starting to sound like Berniece Clifton  And you know what happened to her.  She actually wore a Christmas tree skirt as a FREAKING  skirt!!!"  Yes, great episode but she was full blown, bat shit fucking crazy!!!

Benny continues to ramble on about condoms (not a word I take lightly being said by the Pope for a number of reasons) and has apparently mistaken the Papal slipper as cell phone.  The connection got very weak at that point so I can only suppose what was going on...  Suddenly, I hear what I can only imagine is the College of Cardinals come rushing in and wrestle him down into submission.  I love cardinals.  They're very pretty birds.  And I love to hear them sing in the spring.  What a lovely call they have.  But, why do they need their own college???   Are they from out of state and pay higher tuitions???   Are they a gated community of some sort???  Or, are they Nazis too???  They're such pretty birds, how can they possibly be National Socialists???

But I digress....  By the time I got back form mixing up the second batch of margaritas I was hearing a recording that said all lines were currently busy and I should try to complete my call later.  When the hell has 1-800- IMA-POPE ever been busy???

Be a clown, be a clown, be a clown...

OK, it's time for an admission.  And perhaps a bit of absolution.  In my heart, I am a clown.  No, seriously, I mean it.  A clown...

Almost 4 decades ago, in my Senior year of high school I decided to shoot off in my own direction and find myself.  Instead of applying to "real" colleges like my parents suggested I decided to send off an application to Clown College.  Ringling Brothers to be exact.  I figured I had nothing to lose.  After all, I came from a frighteningly dysfunctional  family with enough baggage to move to Mars with so I figured I had lots of material to draw on .  Guess what???  I actually got accepted!!!  I came home from school one day to find the letter already opened, crumpled on the dining room table  and my mother already livid.  Cocktail in hand...  Yeah, I knew this wasn't going to be pretty.

I was immediately  informed that under no circumstances whatsoever was I going to allowed to become a clown.  Was I out of my bloody mind???  A clown???  Let me repeat that:  "A CLOWN!!!???!!!".  Obviously, my parents had no clue at all as to who I really was...  I loved really small cars with way too many people in them.  And polka dots.  And silly hats with an odd flower or two poking out from them.  And wigs.  Lord, did I love wigs!!!  I still do.  And flowers that squirted some sort of liquid.  Any liquid.  Just as long as it came out of a flower.  And baby pigs in strollers.  That were smoking cigars.

To be honest, I had been working on this idea since I was a Sophomore.  I had my character down pat.  She was to be wonderful, the best clown in the center ring in fact.  The center of attention.  Her name was Loretta and she was to be magnificent.   She was HUGE with lots of padding, enormous nay-nays and lots of "back" if you know what I mean.  Her dress was awash in polka dots, her stockings were striped, her shoes were the size of water skis, her purse was full of confetti and her wig was the size of a Volkswagen.  The hat I can't even describe, it would take too long...  The makeup?  Completely garish, even for a clown in drag.  Yet subtle in a center ring kind of way.  For those of you who have had the privilege of seeing me in a foam nose (think Halloween in Mexico) you may have an idea what exit I was planning on taking.  And Loretta was proper, almost elegant.  Up until the time her triplet pigs escaped from the stroller and ran amok amidst the elephants and that really whorey chick riding on the back of that horse wearing  WAY too many sequins for her own good.  Fuck her, she's a bitch.  And she only has that solo act because she's sleeping with the Ring Master.  I can't wait to tell her that he's really gay-er than me!!!  SO much gay-er than me.  Just a lot more closeted...

I was born to mix-match patterns, wear rainbow wigs, drive cars the size of peach pits , throw confetti in elevators, embarrass the shit out of you at every possible public opportunity and carry horns that go "AH-OOO-GAH"!!!  I want to run full blast through saw dust, throw buckets of dry water at you, squirt water out of my corsage, do pratfalls, sit on your lap, hug you and lick your face while my hat explodes.  THAT, my friends, is ENTERTAINMENT with my name written all over it!!!  Loretta wanted to juggle mangoes, chain saws and monkeys.   And the occasional grenade launcher.   Maybe  a small nuclear device as well.  My god, I could have been a contender!!!  Stella???

So, who has some money they don't need???

Yeah, I need some cash.  Preferably yours and not mine.  My business plan doesn't factor mine in.  You see, I am reopening my catering agency.  Or a soup kitchen.  Perhaps a portable lunch wagon that goes from construction site to construction site.  At the very least one of those highly dangerous/flammable bicycle based elote things with the 5-gallon vat of boiling water and corn balancing precariously on the handle bars that I see all over Mexico.  Lord knows, I have to do something...

Why, you ask?  My kitchen has just officially exploded.  I'm not kidding...  At last count (at least until yesterday) I had a set of cookware that numbered approximately 45 pieces.  Hard anodized, Calphalon, KitchenAid, Faberware, stainless steel, cast iron, Food Network  and some stolen shit.  It's wonderful.  I love it.  And that is just the "cookware".  Don't even get me started on the French White (enough to open my own store at an Outlet Mall), the Fiesta Ware (WAY too freaking much), the Bobby Flay terra cotta (hell, I don't even like him) or the Pyrex stuff (why do I have an antique 8 fucking cup measuring cup????).  For christ's sake, I only have 4 burners and stove the size of a Nigerian postage stamp!!!  Who do I think I'm cooking for here, the bloody last supper???  Then there is the "counter top electric" stuff.  Pannini  makers (yes, plural), the crock pots (again, plural),  the electric skillet (only one), the deep fryer and that damned toaster oven from a previous post.  Did I mention the multiple food processors???  How about the digital toaster...  God, I really do covet single use kitchen appliances.  Help me!!!

So.... what do I do?  I just got some more.  Yeah, what was I thinking...  I had a ton of travel miles that were about to expire so I had to do something with them quick.  I do a bit of online redemption and the next thing you  know I have myself a brand new, 19 piece set of Cuisinart Chef's Classic stainless steel cookware that just totally rocks.  It's gorgeous, it's quality, it's cool.  And I have absolutely nowhere to put the damned shit.  Some of this stuff is freaking immense.  Even if I hung this  from the ceiling I still  couldn't open some of the cupboards and my other half, a short little sea squirt at best, would still hit his head.  And he's short!!!   Really short.  C'mone, you know him...  One thing is a 4 gallon stock pot/steamer thing.  Three pieces.  My god, it's the size of my car!!!  What am I, a Mexican funeral???

Yes, this IS a sickness.  A support group is in order.  QUICKLY!!!  How about some medications???  LOTS of them!!!  A telethon???  Is Jerry Lewis still alive???  Perhaps electroshock therapy???  Hey, I kind of like the sound of that one...  Please, hold my hand while I go through that one, I just love sharing a good "buzz".

BTW, I am making baked macaroni and cheese at the moment.  In the new Cuisinart roaster.  About an acre of it.  I swear to god, there are countries in Eastern Europe that are smaller than this thing.  I have tripled the amount of Velveeta that it calls for, added two pounds of Canadian bacon and am baking the hell out of it.  This SOB has got to weigh about 50 pounds.    Hell, I hurt my back just trying to get it into the oven.  Monte's Blue Plate ain't got nothing on me.  What we don't eat tonight I am donating to something Mother Theresa has put her name behind!!!  Oh, hell, I think she may have actually weighed less that this thing...

So, PayPal is happily awaiting your generous "donations" to my new found adventure.  "Mama Donn's Kitchen" is here and weighting....

It has come to my attention...

...that some of you out there actually believe the shit that I post on this Blog.  Are you out of your minds???  Hell, I don't even believe this crap.  I don't put two-cents worth of believability into anything that comes out of my mouth so why should you???  Are you all having some sort of "Lasagna Moment"???

Ah, yes, a "lasagna moment".   I remember it well.  It was the best 5 year long prank I ever played.  I damned near got the stuffing kicked out of me when it all came to light.  It all began in 1980.  I grabbed my partner at the time in the kitchen and began to polka with him (yes, I know how to polka) and broke into a rousing song that went something like "Lasagna, lasagna, lasagna... In Polish it means I love you".  It was one of my sillier moments but he actually BELIEVED me.  And he was  Polish!!!  What a rube...

So, 5 years later he comes back from a family reunion in Pittsburgh and has discovered that lasagna doesn't really mean "I love you" in Polish.  He's devastated. And quite embarrassed.  It seems that Aunt Pierogi had informed him that he had been been duped.  By a Jew.  He walked off that plane and damned near wrestled me to the tiles at Gate 15 on Concourse B.  Holy shit, was he pissed!!!  We separated but eventually reestablished a cordial and somewhat workable friendship.  But my credibility with him was totally douched forever.  Oh well...  He eventually went on to become a Chicago based, ass kissing snob and I attained fabulosity,  so I guess it all worked out in the end.  I win!!!

But, again, people still believe me when I say something.  I can't imagine why.  Yes, some of it actually sounds believable (rarely) and some of it is so damned strange that even I don't believe I just said it.  I don't know where this shit comes from.  Head injury?  Blunt force trauma?  Dropped (or thrown) as a baby?  The deer that came through the windshield of dad's 1969 Chrysler Town & Country station wagon as I careened into the ditch and flipped it over?  The 70's???  Probably the 70's.  I don't remember a second of them so I know that I must have been having a REALLY good time.  I do however vaguely remember that Deep Purple concert.  Sort of.  I was on a half an ounce of VERY good mushrooms and didn't get most of my hearing back for almost a week and a half.  I can't believe I'm not on the no fly list.  What country in their right mind would keep renewing my passport???  OK, America.  But that's a whole other Blog...

That wonderful little sea squirt, my other half, actually has pictures of me dancing naked in the snow wearing nothing but a rainbow clown wig and a smile.  Hell, he's walked into the living rooming thinking we had a house full of guests only to find me there just talking to myself.  In different voices.   And genders.   All of you get the privilege of only having to read my tripe, that little dude actually has to LIVE with me.  Talk about the patience of Job!!!   I suspect he's been looking for a heavy, blunt object for years  just to put me out of his misery...

So, for those of you out there that for some unforeseen still give me a shred of cred... Yes, I take PayPal.  Your credit card numbers, personal information and especially your Social Security Numbers will all be held in the STRICTEST of confidence.  Please, call now, operators are waiting!!!  Two for two on Tuesday!!!  Almost free mi amigo!!!

Voyage of The Damned....

OK, nobody panic, we're fine.  And back on dry land again.  At last!!!  What the bloody hell was I thinking???  A cruise???  You know me and water.  It's just not a pretty combination.  I've been known to shower with a life preserver on.

So, last week I'm online a find a totally sweet deal on very last minute accommodations on a 7-day cruise to Mexico.  I figured what the hell.  All the lobsters I could eat for a week and a day to spend visiting with two good friends down in Bucerias.  This deal was so sweet we even got a free upgrade to a mini-suite so I just had to have it.  You know me and bargains.  The next thing you know, the other half and I are on a Greyhound to Long Beach to embark on our luxury, yet steeply discounted Carnival cruise.  On the brand new "Splendor".  Anything with a name like that has my name written all over it

The ship was pretty.  And BIG.  Hell, she dwarfed an aircraft carrier!!!  The suite was amazing and I had half a tray of Jell-O shots in me before we even left port.  Ah, life was good.  So, a bit after midnight I'm up the Lido deck knocking down lobsters and some more Jell-O shots when I smell smoke.  Hmm, I think to myself, are they firing up the grills for a 2 AM rib fest?  So I commandeered another tray of Jell-O shots and went looking for the baby backs.  About that time pandemonium broke out.  Smoke freaking everywhere and the ship felt like it had the hic-cups.  Then the lights went out.  Everywhere.  I'm on open water, 50 miles from shore and in the dark.  Jell-O shots be damned, I was totally screwed!!!  All I could think of was the Titanic.  And that did not have a happy ending in my opinion!!!

Shortly, the "Emergency Lights" came on.  Yes, we all took out our BIC lighters.  Then the panic started as the Captain announced over the intercom that the ship was on fire.  On fire???  Oh lovely, yet another one of my favorite things.  All I was thinking at that  point was Muster Station!!!  And that insane maritime tradition of  women and children first.  So I had the good sense to break into the first cabin I came to, rummage through the closet and find an evening gown in my size.  Within minutes I'm at the Muster Station, looking like Ginger Grant, with a couple of lobsters under my arm and a really cheap looking knock-off evening bag full of Jell-O shots.  As god is my witness, I was not about to go to watery grave hungry, sober or under dressed!!!  Cheap handbag be damned.  I was hoping with all of my heart that Kathy Gifford was on that damned ship somewhere because I was going to use her skinny little ass as a flotation device...

Then, in the darkness, we hear the Captain make another announcement.  Fortunately there would be no need to abandon ship.  Because they were flooding the engine compartment to put out the fire.  WHAT???  This is a ship, you stupid turd!!!  Even I know that you NEVER,  EVER willingly flood any part of one of these things!!!  Why the bloody hell are you letting that crazed bunch of illegal Pakistani's down in the engine room do this???  I just made my peace and drank my purse...

Morning finally came and we all began to realize the severity of the situation.  We were adrift at sea on a 1.2 billion dollar Edsel.  Nothing was working on this piece of crap.  No toilets, no water,  no AC, no elevators, no bars, no pools, no phones, no lights, no motorcars, not a single luxury!!!  Now I really was starting to feel like Ginger Grant.  And no food.  Luckily I stashed the lobsters I had into by purse after the Jell-O shots were gone.  So I at least had a few nibblies in case I started feeling a bit peckish.

OK, so for three days we're all living in the 5th ring of Hell.  It was like Dante on the brown acid.  The US Navy and Coast Guard eventually showed up and began to ferry over "supplies".   Yeah, yummy stuff like SPAM and canned crab meat.  That's a combination I just don't want to think about ever again.  On the second day, the kitchen managed to wrangle up some "sandwiches" for us.  Made of canned beets and the last of the cheese that had not liquified in the heat.  Again, yummy stuff.  But at least the beer was free.  And warm...  It got bad, I tell you, really bad.  I  witnessed a young boy who had such an aversion to beets that he actually ate his own foot to survive.  I suppose I should have offered him that last lobster claw I still had in my purse but had no idea how long this ordeal was going to continue...  The truly annoying part of the whole thing was that we had a convention of 250 magicians on board for the cruise so for 3 days they kept us "entertained".  If I see one more long string of colorful scarves or fake flowers being pulled out of gloved hand, another bloody rabbit in a hat or dove being pulled out of handkerchief so help me god, I'll arm myself to the teeth and take out a show room in Vegas!!!

They finally got a small armada of tug boats out to us and got us towed back in San Diego.  They initially told us we were going to port in Ensanada and they would bus us back to San Diego.  BUS US BACK TO SAN DIEGO???  That's when the mutiny started.  Luckily for the Captain, he had a change of heart (and fearing that we may cut his out) decided American soil made a bit more sense.  By the time we got back to land the ship was starting to smell just a bit gamey between the smell of 5,400 really sweaty passengers, all of the Black Angus filets rotting in the dead refrigerators and the toilets which had not been flushed in 3 days.  Let alone the algae blooms that had started to appear in the pools.

Of course, Carnival gave us full refunds and a voucher good for 25 percent off of our next cruise.  Sure, guys, just let us know when the S.S. Minnow is up and running again.  Can't wait to do this again!!!  They're also putting us up in a hotel here in San Diego for a few nights.  It's a lovely  place.  It's called the Hindenburg Resort and Spa.  We've got a room in the tower section...

Spam! Oh wonderful Spam!

There's no happy medium on this one.  You either love it or you wouldn't even consider feeding it to a starving dog.  OK, I admit, it's a bit hinky when you think about it but then so is most of the other food that we eat.  Think hot dogs, bologna (and can anyone give me a reasonable explanation why we pronounce it "ba-low-nee"?) and liverwurst.  All of which are American culinary icons.  Say Spam and most peoples' faces turn inside-out.  Say you like Spam and you'll likely be reduced to a public stoning.  And most of the folks casting the first stones will happily wake up in morning and pull their overweight asses up to the table for a platter of eggs, bacon and a big glass of milk...  What the fuck???  Yeah, think about what those three things are for a second...  Uh-huh...  A chickens reproductive cells that they shoot out of their ass, the underside of a pigs belly that has spent most of it's life covered in mud and shit and an incredibly fatty liquid that comes out of a cows tits.  OK, "teats".  Whatever!  If you'll eat that shit at 7:00 AM then you have no right whatsoever to turn your refined nose up at something as simple as "recycled" meat.

Yes, the thought of eating something that is clearly labeled with the first ingredient as being "mechanically separated pork" is a bit frightening.  I can only imagine that what the machines are given to separate is so totally gross that human hands and psyches  just refuse to do it.  Or they just can't pay someone enough money to take that exit.  I understand completely.  Yet, I still eat the stuff with abandon.  I grill it, I fry it, I bake it into stuff.  Hell, I've even eaten it cold out of the can.  FYI, I don't recommend that one.  That gelatinous goo that Spam is packed in IS a bit overpowering.  I think that may just be a marketing ploy for the homeless...  Although it might come in handy if you've managed to overdose your mouth on way too many chili peppers and are out of milk or butter to cut the burn.  Been there, done that...  Or for sinners trying to grease their way past the Pearly Gates.

I used to live in Minnesota, the "Birthplace of Spam".  And yes, they are proud of it.  I have been to the factory where they make Spam.  It's truly frightening.  It's like a theme park of heart attacks.  It has a museum.  Which I think is sort of odd because Spam really doesn't have an expiration date so how could any of it be "old"?  And it has a gift shop, of course you know I went nuts in that place.  I bought the Spam Cookbook.  That thing would put Paula Dean to shame!!!  The weirdness on those pages is completly mind-boggling.  Beer battered, deep fried Spam with a creme of mushroom soup consumme???  In a fondue??? Just how cold, dark and snowy is Minnesota???  Oh hell, they eat lutefisk.  Enough said...

Then, there is an alternative.  Treet.  I think of it as Spam Lite.  Or perhaps Spam-esque is a better term.  It's cheaper, a lot more salty and has "chicken" in the mix.  Also mechanically separated.  What the bloody hell is going on in THAT factory???  Again, I am ALL over that one too.  How can you not be???  "Recycled" meat and enough salt to start your own ocean!!!  I know it is nothing but feathers, beaks, bones and the occasional foot but by god, this stuff just floats my boat.  In my world, Spam is for company and Treet is for me.  Eating it off my chest.  Naked and in the dark.  While I watch porn.  OK, let's not take that exit...

My two favorite holidays, back to back. How cool is that???

Oh, yeah, this is a serious long holiday weekend for me.  I get to start out with Halloween and finish up with Dia de Muertos.  Nothing could be finer.  Except maybe to be in Caroliner.  Not really, Caroliner sucks rocks.  But these two holidays totally rock in my opinion.

Halloween.  Ah, candy from strangers.  As a small gay child I thought this was the most awesome thing in the world.  It was a concept that still serves me very well to this day.  When I was young, if you were a stranger I was more than happy to take your candy.  Now that I am old (and strange) I get to give you candy.  Especially if you are dressed up funny.  Or if I'm dressed up funny.  And that seems to happen a lot so I keep LOTS of candy on hand.  It's a win-win in my world...  I've been known to give out so much candy that two dentists actually sent me thank-you notes for their new Mercedes.  What can I say, I'm a giver.

But Dia de Muertos holds a place in my heart that is so special it hurts.  It's an amazing Mexican holiday when the dead get to come back into the  physical world and do a little living again.  And enjoy a feast of comfort foods.  The whole family spends a week cleaning, weeding and painting the graves of their dead relatives in preparation for a two day long tail gate party up in the cemetery.  They light enough candles to be seen from space, they build alters, they bring in enough marigolds to fill a stadium and cover the grave with all of grandma's favorite food and drink.  And then they start cooking.  Oh lord, do they cook.  Stereo's are blasting everywhere, cigars are being smoked and fresh decks of cards are broken open for poker games that give a whole new meaning to a "dead mans hand".  It's a party of  amazing proportion that goes on for two days, 24/7 and in their minds grandma REALLY is there.  That is the most single healthy concept of death I have ever heard in my life.  And the best part is this wonderful delicacy known as Pan de Muerto.  The Bread of the Dead.  In Mexico this is apparently like heroin to dead people.  Or crack.  Doesn't matter, this stuff totally rocks!!!

Pan de Muerto is a dense, SWEET bread, full of butter, Mexican vanilla, a touch of cinnamon and so totally glazed in egg yolks and sugar that it will stop your heart just by being near it.  It also has two "secret ingredients" that until last week I had no idea about.  A wonderful Mexican ex-pat who runs a local pasteleria  not too far from here took me into his confidence after seeing my Chiva's key ring and my Virgin de Guadalupe t-shirt as I stocked up on Pan de Muerto and skull candies like a sex addict in the red light district.  And I have to say, the two ingredients blew me away.  One I hate and the other I have never heard of.  The first is star anise (think the taste of black licorice---YUCK!!!) and the other is something called agua de azahar (orange blossom water) which according to him is totally unavailable in the States.  Even he smuggles it in.  From him I learned that when you mix those two things together you get something so totally different it confuses the hell out of your taste buds and you get the essence of Pan de Muerto.  A subtle yet multi-layered melange of  things that is both smell and taste.  In a word: Heaven!!!  It's fat, it's carbs, it's sugar, hell, it's everything but chocolate.  But... if you dip this stuff in hot chocolate...  Well, let's just say it's like the highway to hell.  In a Hemi.  Naked.  In reverse.  At 3 AM.  In the wrong lane.  Need I say more???

Here's to ghosts and goblins.  Here's to dead folks coming back for a night and having a tail gate party.  But most importantly, here's to PASTRY!!!  Can it get ANY better than that???  Pass the butter...

Poor cousin Bruce....

Oh yeah, that was a fateful day.  One that was to scar cousin Bruce for the rest of his life, both physically and psychologically.  I was all of five years old and he was three.  We we're all at grandma and grandpa's house for another one of our ever frightening family reunions.  Lord, those things were scary.  Grandpa and my uncles would raid the chicken house, capture about a dozen hens and systematically wring their heads off by hand while most of me and my cousins would have fun kicking their flopping bodies up and down the driveway until they finally went lifeless.  Then my aunts would gather around a large vat of boiling water that my grandma had put by the glider, throw them into it and then happily begin to pluck them before grandma began to gut them.  Oh yeah, lots of happy child hood memories in my past...  Now you know why I'm the way I am.

While all of this mayhem was going on cousin Bruce and I went down to the barn to pet the horses.  I took my new set of water color paints that grandma had bought me from Jesse George's General Store with me.  (Can you say Mayberry???)  Well, being the free spirited, Isadora Duncan kind of five year old that I was, I decided to create my first Impressionistic masterpiece.  On cousin Bruce's private parts.  Lord knows how I talked him into dropping his trousers but the next thing you know I was going all Monet on his nether regions.  I was mixing those colors like a man possessed.  I remember some vibrant yellows, some stunning greens but most of all, what I can only describe as a wonderfully brilliant cerulean blue of unimaginable beauty.  All on his little three year old tally-wacker.  As I recall, I went all out with that blue.  Yes, I really am that gay...

When I was done I was truly impressed.  To me it was the ceiling of the Sistine Chapel.  And I didn't even know what the freaking Sistine Chapel was then.  To this day, I still remember cousin Bruce, shorts around his ankles, horrid little plaid shirt held high above his head as he stood on the hay wagon, covered in water colors and me washing out my brushes in the watering trough.  A masterpiece if I do say so myself!!!  Worthy of the Lourve at least.

OK, so he hops off the hay wagon and wanders off as I put my water color set away.  And then I hear a scream from up the hill.  Quickly followed by an other scream.  It was aunt Betty and my mom.  I knew no good could come from this.  I poked my head out from around the door and saw Aunt Betty running down the hill.  With cousin Bruce, shorts around his ankles, hanging two feet in the air off of her arm being shaken wildly.  With my mother in equal pace.  All headed toward the barn.  Fucking shit, I thought to myself, I'm SO totally boned!!!

Needless to say, this drew a very large crowd of family members.  Cousins.  Grandparents.  And a large contingent  of aunts and uncles, all with chickens in various state of disarray clutched in their inbred hands.  Oh my god, it was so not pretty.  Aunt Betty was shaking poor Bruce like a rag doll (today that would so get her a serious prison term), mom was screaming about as wildly as she always did, Bruce was turning even bluer than I had painted him and I was quickly throwing everything in my hands up into the hayloft.  All to no avail, I might add.  I was so busted it hurt.

Now, in all honesty, I got off easy.  Mom just went totally full blown bat shit crazy on me but I was used to that.  Bruce, on the other hand, got the worst of the deal.  After Aunt Betty finally got finished hosing him off in the front yard Uncle Calvin actually made him go cut his own switch to be whipped with.  That's so fucking cold it just sucks rocks.  Who in their right mind gives a three year old a knife to go cut off tree branch so you can cane him with it???  Apparently just about everyone in my family...  Ah, the South.  I love it.

Now, let's jump ahead about 15 years to cousin Ann's wedding.  Bruce is in the wedding party and looking all spiffy in his tuxedo.  So, I walk up to him and say, "Hey, Bruce... BLUE!!!".  And he collapses to the floor, breaks into tears, pisses his pants and doesn't have a clue in the world why.  Wow, some shit just sticks with you forever...

Just exactly how far up our asses do we have our heads???

In the name of string!!!  This one pisses me off so badly I want to spit fire and shit nails.  Yes, I actually said that.  Apparently America has a new "enemy" to piss, moan and pull our hair out over.  You ready for this one?  Soup.  From Canada.  Campbell's soup to be exact.  Yes, soup.  From Canada for christ's sake.  Canada!!!  I thought we actually liked them.  Maybe it was just us Democrats that liked Canada.  It seems the rest of that rabid bunch of loonies down here doesn't anymore.  Y'know why?  It seems that Canada offers a selection of Campbell's soups up there that are god forbid (or should I say Allah forbid) Islamic halal dietary certified.  Which in my opinion is no different than Kosher or Hindu correct.  Like we have down here in the ethnic aisle in Woodman's.  Only this is Islamic.  And in Canada.  My god, kill them all.  The Muslims and the Canadians.  How dare they do this to us!!!  You ice hockey loving beaver worshiping  bastards!!!

How fucking reactionary are we???  It's a damned dietary restriction for christ's sake.  It's not a bomb on a jet.  It's not more than 3 ounces of liquid in my carry on.  IT'S FUCKING SOUP!  SOUP!!!

I remember the cute little Campbell's soup twins.  I remember the four note catch tune for Campbell's soup... "Soup is good food."  Now it is apparently some sort of rallying cry for nutty extremists.  And apparently ours more than theirs.  Whoever "theirs" is...  Again, it's soup.  And not even soup that is marketed down here.  But of course some of "us" have to get our undies in a knot and get overheated.   I'm sure that the TSA is all over this one.  Why wouldn't they be, they seem so be all over everything else!!!  This makes me want to fly up to Toronto for a short weekend  just to stock up on Campbell's soup, labeled in Farsi, fill my luggage full of it and try to make it through U.S. Customs on the way back home.  In a berka.

I am ashamed of the religious intolerance that we are exhibiting.  And our paranoia.  And especially our ignorance as a society.  When did we descend into this kind of insanity???  And make it a political agenda??? Yes, planes flew into buildings and thousands died.  Shit happened.  Extremists did unimaginable things.  But haven't "religious extremists" of ALL beliefs done that sort of things for centuries?  Including ours.  Remember the Crusades???  Oh yeah, that was two centuries of fun and games...  Right up there with being burnt at the stake for simply speaking your mind.

In the name of whatever god you do, or don't believe in (and we seem to have a shit load of them), America, get your head out of your ass and realize we truly are a nation of mutts, disenfranchised souls and religious malcontents that just came here for a better life and a little less persecution.   It's soup.  Just soup!!!  And remember when that was something that fed the soul and not a political debate???

The end is nye...

To borrow a phrase from G. W. Nethercott, "I'm in Hell...".   Seriously.  Why?  Easy...  I've actually run out of things to buy at Kohl's.  I'm not kidding.  You all know me, I'm a shopaholic.  It's my one true legal addiction.  The high of asking "How many colors does this come in?" is borderline narcotic to me.  Oh hell, I admit it, I will actually buy something just to keep someone else from having it.  It's not greed.  It's not hoarding.  It's just that I have it and YOU don't!!!  Yes, I am the queen of single-use kitchen appliances.  I have three citrus squeezers for christ's sake.  One for Key Limes, one for lemons and one for those ridiculous things gringos call limes...

I swear that half of the stuff I own is from Kohl's.  Bedding.  Pillows.  Towels.  Rugs.  More than half of my kitchen.  THIRTY-EIGHT FREAKING POLO SHIRTS!!!  So many pair of cargo shorts I refuse to count them.  My luggage (three sets.  four if you count the set I bought for my other half.).  Enough flip-flops to supply a cruise ship (some casual, some capable of attending a funeral.  I've done that.)  Personally, I don't actually care for Bobby Flay, Rachael Ray or Paula Dean (OK, I actually have a lot of respect for Paula for learning how to bread and deep fry macaroni and cheese) but when their products go on sale at Kohl's my ass is SO there!!!  Especially when it's 50 percent off and I have a 30 percent off store coupon in my pocket to add to the buzz.  And all of that Food Network stuff is like my own personal heroin.  I love that stuff.  If most of it weren't anodized I'm sure I'd be free basing it as I type.

So, today Kohl's has one of those "Early Bird" special sales going on.  Big sale.  Let me rephrase that, BIG FUCKING SALE!!!  Like up to 75 percent off.  And I have my 30 percent off coupon locked and loaded.  Most Valued Customer charge card and store coupon in hand I walk in ready to shop.  Totally ready to do some damage if you get my drift.  I didn't care if I wanted it, needed it, had a use for it or even if I had a place to put it I was not about to walk out empty handed.  Guess what?  Almost two hours later I'm still wandering around without a single thing in my hands.  Housewares.  Small kitchen electrics.  Linens.  Bedroom.  Bathroom.  Shoes.  Menswear.  Seasonal.  Clearance (and that one is almost always a score).  Hell, I even found myself in Misses for awhile.  Nothing.  Absolutely NOTHING!  OK, there was a really cute pair of taupe suede open-toed six inch spike high hells with a 3/4 inch cheater sole that caught my eye BIG time but they didn't have them in my size.  I even had the salesperson check the stock room.  I could have had those puppies for less than  $20 with the coupon.  Lord knows what I would have done with them.  Perhaps a funeral.  Perhaps a floral centerpiece.  Who cares, they could have been MINE!!!

I have just realized that my other half (Ricky, as I call him) has been looking over my shoulder (Lucy, as he calls me) as I have been writing this and has just threatened to shut off my "Charge-a-Card."  Has he been looking in the storage locker?  Under the bed?  Digging through the back of cupboards?  Looking under that pile of shoes I don't wear?  Has he actually managed to find stuff I have bought that even I have forgotten about???  Oh shit, he has discovered that we have three more panini makers than we can ever use!!!  Or have ever used.   Hell, I'm not even sure I know what a panini is but push come to shove I'm sure I could make a ton of them if I had to...  Hell, I bet I could cater a wedding full of them if I needed to.

At any rate, I left Kohl's empty handed.  Dejected and  a bit cold turkey'd if there is such a thing in the retail world..  God damn it, I wanted something.  Anything.  Even if if was another garlic press.  Hell, it was on sale and I had a coupon!!!

I'm so gay even my pubes have highlights!

I knew that would get your attention.  Seems to have the same effect when I say it in a crowded elevator as well.  If anyone questions me I just tell them that I have Tourette's  Syndrome and bark at them a couple of times.  Voila!  Elevator all to myself....

So, back to me being the biggest gay in the village.  Oh yeah, BIG time!!!  Once, as a young child at summer camp,  I spent an entire weekend rearranging the rocks in the river so the water fall was prettier.  I just thought it needed to be done.  Trust me, it looked a whole hell of a lot  better!!!  No merit badge for that accomplishment but at least I slept a bit easier in that tick infested thing they called Cabin Wannaseemypeehole.  Lord that was a hellish two weeks.   But at least the water fall was a bit more acceptable in my opinion...  Had I been able to boost the keys to one of the broken down vans in that nightmarish place I would have driven into town and gotten some water lilies and a koi or two and made that polluted little stream shine!!!  I was never really appreciated...

As a child I was so gay it hurt.  By the time I was in Junior High School I wanted to be a cheerleader.  By the time I was in Senior High School I WAS a cheerleader.  Head cheerleader as a matter of fact and I looked totally rocking hot in that little pleated skirt.  I put those other bitches to shame.  Wasn't any of them that could do the splits like I could.  And that ability served me very well up until my 40's.  Right up until my first hip replacement as I recall.  I remember teaching the rest of the squad all of those wonderful cheers.  Things like, "We're gonna rub your dingies in the dirt, make them squirt!  U-Rah-Rah!  BEAT OFF!" and "Try to make a touchdown, you gravy sucking pigs!".  OK, it was a short career but a very colorful one in my opinion ...

From there I was on to college.  Oh lord, what a waste of time and money!!!  I did learn how to party though.  Saw my first drag show when I was eighteen and I never looked back after that.  I even did a short stint as a cashier at Pure Pleasure, the local dirty book store, in my Junior year.  In less than a week I knew every queen within a 60 mile radius whether I wanted to or not.  Holy Moly, there was some stuff going on back in those movie booths!!!  It was amazing what a dollars worth of quarters could buy you back then...

After college I became one of the original Castro Street Clones in San Francisco.  I cringe at that legacy today but I'm sure I must have been TOTALLY smoking hot at the time.  Hell, I had a full head of hair, a fu manchu mustache, a flannel shirt, aviator sunglasses  and skin tight jeans.  And an ass that didn't need to be tucked into my socks like it does today. Ah, the good old daze...

From there I was into my 30's.  OK, let's not go there.  I honestly don't remember them and you truly don't want to hear about them...  I vaguely remember a pool table and a standing ovation at some point.

Ah, my 40's...  I genuinely hit my stride that decade.  I also hit on everything with three legs that decade too.  Let's just say a whole lot of leather, uniforms and someone calling me "Daddy" for the first time. Don't ask, don't tell...

Less than a month before I turned 50 my apartment building damned near burnt to the ground and I found myself living in a hotel for awhile.  I showed up at my 50th birthday party dressed as Sponge Bob Squarepants.  With a pineapple under my arm.  In saddle shoes.  How gay is that???  Thank god there was large drag queen in a dress made out of a shower curtain in attendance to distract attention from me or I may have caused a scene.  OK, I caused a scene anyway.  But nowhere near as big as I could have...

Now, I'm pushing 60.  Fast.  REALLY fast.  Holy shit, where did the time go???  I'm not sure where to go from here...  A one woman show like  Elaine Stritch (a wonderfully bitchy alcoholic), a cabaret act like Marlene Dietrich (so blind she fell off stage in Vegas one night and damned near killed herself) or just write my memoirs (all lies), move to Belize (not even sure where that is exactly) and take an imaginary mulatto lover named Twon (hung like a horse and less than half my age)???  These decisions can be so vexing.  Maybe I should email my BFF Cher and ask for her advice.  She always seems to know what to do in this kind of situation.  Hell, I figure if you can survive being married to Sonny and finding out that your only daughter is really a man then you must have some sort of insight!!!

Why the bloody hell is there an expiration date on a bottle of vinegar???

This one just riles the hell out of me.  I mean, it's vinegar.  VINEGAR!!!  It's like one of the world's best known preservatives  If you see vinegar listed as any of the first three ingredients on a bottle or can of anything that means it's good forever if you store it properly, refrigerated or not.  Hell, I have a bottle of Italian dressing in my fridge that expired during the Reagan administration.  I'm still using it and it hasn't killed me.  So why does a bottle of pure vinegar go "bad" in less than a year???

It's like that bottled water scam.  Expiration dates on bottled water pisses the shit out of me.  It's water for christ's sake.  There's a finite amount of it on this planet and we keep recycling it.  We always have.  By now I figure that at least half of the humans who have ever lived have managed to pee into my ice cube trays when I think about it.  It's like saying rain has an expiration date.  Or Lake Michigan.  It's water!!!  I just accept the fact that everytime I take a shower I'm doing it in my own waste.  And yours too.  ICK!!!

I once found a Twinkie under the front seat of a used car I bought when I was in college.  I ate it.  My ass is still here.  If those things have an expiration date it has to be measured in some sort of atomic half life scale.  Like strontium 90...

Then there's that "germ" thing.  Apparently we are surrounded by them.  They're everywhere from what I hear.  Especially in our bathrooms.  Then why is it that I could not pay my last two dogs enough to stop drinking out of my toilet?  And the only side effects they suffered was to get fatter???  My last dog was such a slave to that blue water that he almost drowned himself one day to get at it.  He'd even learned how to get the seat and the lid open to do it too.  And this was a dog that only had six inch legs!!!  I found him, head completely submerged, back legs totally off the ground like a teeter-totter and still drinking!!!  I'd have slapped the ears off of him were it not for the fact that it had the added benefit of making his breath ocean-y fresh for a couple of hours.

Don't even get me started on salt content.  I love salt.  No, really, I LOVE salt.  I figure the more the merrier.  Hell, look what it did for the Pharaoh's.   Put a dead Pharaoh under a couple of hundred pounds of table salt, close the door for few months, wrap him in a sheet and 5,000 years later we can still look at him in a museum.  That, my friends, is testimony to the power of salt!!!  I put salt on everything.  Watermelon, oranges, apples and even on chocolate ice cream.  Yeah, I'm kind of hard core...  My other half is on a "sodium free diet".  What the bloody hell is up with that shit?  How can you possibly be on dietary restrictions like that?  It's unfathomable to me.  Really.  But I figure that just leaves more for me to wallow in.  And lord knows,  I surely do.  I've been known to pull over on the side of the road and steal salt licks out of fields.  Fuck the deer.  I want that damned salt!!!

As for added "preservatives" I'm still open to debate.  As a Baby Boomer I have been up to my eyeballs in those things since before I was born. While she was pregnant with me my mother consumed things that glowed in the dark.  I'm surprised I wasn't born with two heads.  Or at the very least a conjoined twin.  Aspartame and BHT have always been two of my favorites.  One is an outlawed artificial sweetener and the other one is supposed to keep stuff from caking.  Neither of them has seemed to work.  I'm no sweeter and I'm caking faster than lead based paint.  Ask any one who knows me.  I look like Bette Davis.  After the stroke.  And on a double dose of the brown acid in REALLY bad lighting.  Guess what, those fuckers just don't seem to work worth a shit in my opinion.  If they did I would have been free basing them for decades...  And looking a hell of a lot younger and prettier than I do now.

Personally, I don't care if there's chemicals in it.  I just want my freaking lettuce to be crisp!!!

Oh god, I hope you dance...

There's a song out there called "I Hope You Dance".  It came out a couple of years ago and it totally blew me away when I first heard it.  It's one of those almost sappy country western things about being drop kicked, shut out, beat up and totally thrown to the floor.  And then picking yourself up, dusting yourself off, spitting the dirt and grass out of your mouth and going on.  To me though, it meant a lot more.  It was about learning to do all of those things before you got your teeth knocked out, t-boned and thrown out of the window.  The song has wonderful lines like "Whenever one door closes, I hope one door opens",  "I hope you still feel small when you stand beside the ocean" and "When you get the chance to sit it out or dance, I hope you dance."  That last line struck a particular chord in me.

My life sucks.  Your life sucks.  Life just sucks in general.  But as much as I have been tempted, I have never given up on it.  Even when it sucked so motherfucking bad I ended up putting my fists through walls and cursing a god I don't even believe in.  Through all of the shit, the emotional toxic waste, the assholes, the psychic vampires and all of the crap I can't even begin to comprehend I still somehow managed to never quite give up.  I count myself incredibly lucky.  Or, at the very least, properly medicated for the task.

I have been blessed with a universe of loonies in my life.  Some sane, some not so sane.  But all of them were welcomed with open arms.  I have been to more funerals than I care to recount.  Some were old, some were way too young.  Some by chance, some by choice.  Either way it was a funeral and they all sucked ass.  I have had humor, love, craziness and laughter breeze into my life with no warning and be taken away so quickly that it took my breath away.  I have thrown shovels full of dirt, flowers and coins into so many holes in the ground I could scream.  And I have.  Too many times.

Yet, I have found myself in the middle of the night, holding new borns in my hand, no bigger than baked potatoes, with tears in my eyes.  And happy as hell to see a new life come into the world.  To be their babysitter of choice and to hear them call me Auntie Donn has made my heart swell much more than the Grinch could ever hope to achieve.  Watching Sponge Bob videos, reading bed time stories, playing with crayons and coloring books and tucking them into bed is my equivalent of a Nobel Prize.  Let's not talk about that diaper changing thing....

Through all of this I have cursed, fought and broken things.  I have lost things, people, friends and some of my sanity.  But I have never lost that spark.  That spark that makes me feel alive.  That spark that makes me human.  That precious spark that keeps me wanting to keep breathing and waking up in the morning.   I will keep dancing until the cows come home, until the ship breaks in half and goes to the bottom and at least until they announce last call.  How about you???  Care to join me?  Naked?  In a busy intersection?  At rush hour?  C'mon, LET"S GO DANCE LIKE NOBODY'S WATCHING!!!