Real Estate Land is Better than Disney!!!!

I've been a little off of the radar lately. It's not that I haven't had anything to say, it's just that the Bulldog informed me that we will be moving. Again. This is something like the fifth time in ten years. This will be number three on how many houses we have bought in six years. If we didn't have to sell one we purchased when the market was sky-high, I'd be a little more excited about the prospects. The Bulldog and I are fairly practical people and we bought our current house because we had to have somewhere to live. Up until that point buying a house had always seemed to be a responsible investment to make in our future. Hell, I was raised on that proposition.

I've become somewhat addicted to searching for real estate online. It's sort of surprising how many people are still trying to scratch out an existence as real estate agents. They must be some serious optimists. Maybe they really do believe what they write in those online real estate ads. A whopping fifty percent of the homes listed in the area we are searching in Florida are either short sales or foreclosures, but Realtors are keeping their heads held high. Realtors are selling a dream:

"Nestled in a lovely cul-de-sac at the end of a peaceful tree-lined street is where you will find the home that you have been searching for. With a private pond view, an abundance of birds, squirrels and egrets, you will never believe that you are only walking distance away from all the conveniences .... [T]op this all off with a sparkling, in ground, screened pool and what more could you ask for? This home really has it all - 4 generous size bedrooms, 2 full baths, gorgeous wood floors, tile and newer carpet."

I WANT THAT HOUSE!!!! I love Real Estate Land, because in Real Estate Land that egret is never taking a dump in your driveway. Those squirrels aren't chewing holes through your screened-in pool, which not only jacked-up your homeowners insurance, but sent your water bill sky-rocketing. (Who knew a pool would cost so much to run?) No one in Real Estate Land will tell you that a "private pond" in Florida (probably a man-made retention pool) will at the very least be a breeding ground for mosquitoes, not to mention the occasional snakes and alligators.

Homes in Real Estate Land are never dinky and small, they are "cute and cozy". No home is ever a dump, instead it is "a fixer upper", "investment property", "has potential" or (when they get really desperate "...is in a desirable school district". (You do love your children, don't you????) Realtors truly believe in that old adage that if you can't say something nice, don't say anything at all. Never mind that the pictures of that "fixer-upper" showed what looked to be major flood damage as well as black mold; the "investment property" was a boarded-up crack house; and "has potential" would require razing the current construction and evicting the next door neighbors. In Real Estate Land, ALL property is valuable. It's like one of those kiddie contests where ALL the kids get a trophy.

Now I don't even want to look at a house that is "...gem in the rough", because in the picture that house has its windows boarded-up. It's not a "...gem in the rough", that's a dump. Ditto any "fixer-uppers", "AS-IS" (They always put that in big capital letters too, what's up with that?)or "...handyman's dream". I am not interested in any houses' future, I am strictly interested in the here and now. If the people who actually own the property aren't interested in fixing it, why should I be interested in fixing it?

One of my favorites:

This gorgeous home is truly one of a kind. This special home was built by a builder for his own personal use. The bedrooms in the main house are massive, easily the size of two normal bedrooms in a house of this age and large enough (and already designed) to be divided into two with separate entrances to the bedroom already in place. The home has a traditional bungalow style layout except for the fact that the rooms are huge in comparison. Also featured in this fantastic home is a stand up attic with stairs going up. This historic residence has patterned red oak hardwood floors which have just been refinished, loads of original built in… cabinets in almost every room and closet, many of the original elements of the kitchen including the original sink. The kitchen is also very large. The home has just received a makeover including paint and all the new landscaping, sod and well sprinkler system. Don't just drive by this home; you have to see the level of original detail in the interior that is still intact to truly appreciate this architectural gem.

It may be an "architectural gem" in Real Estate Land, but if you click on the Google satellite map for a street view to get a good look at the used car lot right next to this "historic residence". What? No "sparkling pool"???

Is Humor On the "Out" List?

I only watched the reports from the red carpet part of the "Golden Globes" this year. It's true, all I truly give a shit about are the clothes. I go that deep in my shallowness. As far as that goes, here is my take: Helena Bonham Carter: I love you for channeling your inner '80's Lauper and wearing two different color shoes.



Perhaps it is the advent of scripted reality shows that has made me truly bored with every freakin' overblown Hollywood scandal that makes its way down the pike. Every week they invent a new one and MOST of them are decidedly lacking in creativity. My problem is that most of these glambots on awards shows take themselves so freakin' seriously. Then some wannabe glambot in charge of production hires some "edgy" comedian to host the damn show. Then the glambots get all pissed off because the comedian makes fun of them at the expense of their over-inflated egos. Next thing you know, Tom Cruise is off suing somebody and Angelina Jolie is off adopting another kid and/or saving the world. Yawn. Yawn. So bored. Next.

Stupid controversy in a nutshell: Ricky Gervais told a joke at the Globes which for my money was actually funny and so obviously true. In case you missed it--like I did-- here it goes:

"Two heterosexual actors pretending to be gay – which is the exact opposite of some famous Scientologists ... probably." Gervais added, "My lawyers helped me with the wording of that joke." (Courtesy of TMZ and the television).

I think this was about "Phillip Morris" or "Broke-Back Mountain" or some other Hollywood tome that went for straight actors instead of gay actors, because as everyone knows: There is a HUGE shortage of homosexuals in Tinsel Town. Glambots have actually taken to hiring straight females (eg. Rachel Zoe) to do their shopping for them!!! This crisis situation has only been exacerbated by the deportation of what the locals in La-La Land refer to as "the help". To wit (because I just don't get to say that enough since I stopped working for attorneys):

Robert DeNiro (Or was it Al Pacino? I always get them confused.):

"I'm sorry more members of the foreign press aren't with us tonight, but many were deported right before the show along with most of the waiters. And Javier Bardem." (again courtesy of TMZ and the television.)

Get a freakin' grip. As a six-foot blonde woman it is a little difficult to pass myself off as Asian. People DO notice. The only people I can count on to be completely color-blind is airport security who express such equanimity towards my person that they are inclined to pat me down at every given opportunity. It's a wasted effort, but thank-goodness they aren't bigots!!! Like most of us: I HATE bigots. Especially at the airport, and isn't that what flying is all about?

In short, I am reminded of why I don't watch the stupid self-congratulatory award shows. Watching a bunch of over-indulged, over-paid, privileged people enjoying their privileges is just depressing. I only care about the shoes.

Has Anyone Ever Had Figgy Pudding?

Has anybody really ever had figgy pudding? If so, please fill us in on the whole figgy pudding experience. We (as in me) are dying to know. I have had chestnuts roasting on an open fire, but no figgy pudding. You know that line in the carol: "Now bring us some figgy pudding..." and "We won't go until we get some..." leads me to believe that people either don't mean what they sing -- or a hellava' lot more carolers would be camped out on one's front porch holding out for figgy pudding. Perhaps figgy pudding is far more prevalent than I thought, but in my fifty-some years of being dragged through this depressing forced march of seasonal giddiness, no on has EVER offered me a slice, bowl, cup or plate of figgy pudding.

That said: Could someone please fill me in on the whole just who is "Good King Wenslas", what is "the Feast of Stephen" and did the good king indeed only come to town on that day?

I want to know. I could just Google, but where would the fun be in that?

Viva La Ugly Christmas Sweater!!!!

Fashionistas, a notoriously cranky bunch (I blame the shoes. You try being nice in five-inch stilettos). Pick-up any fashionista handbook and you will find the same people who can say "jeggings" with a straight face bemoaning the proliferation of holiday sweaters like it's this year's new flu strain. Word-up you fashion facists: We know the Christmas sweater is bad. That is why we love it. I believe Coco Channel (or was it Diana Vreeland?) said it best: "No taste is worse than bad taste".



A new movement is afoot that promises to enshrine the "Ugly Christmas Sweater" right-up there with the other vestiges of the season, like mistletoe and trying to find parking place at the mall. It now seems so obvious, I still can't believe I didn't think of it myself: "The Ugly Christmas Sweater Party".




Instead of denigrating this beloved icon of the holiday season, we are donning our gay apparel and rocking around the Christmas tree. Hell, yeah!!! It's about time.



What makes a truly fabulous Ugly Christmas sweater? First of all it help if you received it from a relative you only pretend to like.



Donning some stupid headgear will kick-up the effect of your Ugly Christmas Sweater ten-fold. Something about an Ugly Christmas sweater just cries out for festive headgear.



Not finished "Decking the Halls" or the yard? Wrap a little instant festivity around a tree.



Of course, jingle bells, lights or anything you have to use a hot glue gun to adhere is even better. Tights and Christmas boxers??? Whoo-hoo and party-on!!!



So instead of pooh-poohing this fabulous "Fashion Don't", slap on a Santa hat or a mistletoe head-band: We're going caroling.

The Tooth Fairy is a Bitch

Let's get this out of the way right from the get-go so I don't have to listen to any one's inane advice about how to improve my oral hygiene. I brush. I floss. I have the high-speed toothbrush and a water pick. I see the dentist more than I see my own husband, but still I have crappy teeth. Up until Tuesday this week, I was on a roll since I hadn't had a dental crisis in two years. Then the whole house of cards came crashing down on me like a rotten molar on Laffy Taffy. Like a responsible adult I went in for my routine six month cleaning. Everything was fine. I left with a clean bill of health. My mouth was a little sore, but sometimes it is after a cleaning. Then, at 3:30 A.M. I awoke to a ragging, throbbing mother-of-all-toothaches. I would like to say I didn't know what it was, but I had been down this road before, sad to say, and I know a blown root-canal when I feel one. That's right all you happy people with decent teeth, that root-canal you had can GO BAD. The dentist assures me this is a rare thing -- 90% of root-canals are fine. Funny that this is the second one I have had explode on me, but I guess I AM JUST LUCKY!!! Most people think a root-canal is the end of the line for oral torture, but I am here to tell you it ISN'T. There is a WHOLE OTHER RELM OF HURT out there and it is called the endodontist.


Here is the short version of my history with endodontists: I had a root canal. The root canal failed. I had endodonic surgery (They drilled through my jaw! I had a bit of bone GO UP MY NOSE.) then THAT root canal failed. I got talked into a implant by an endodontist who should be the poster boy for medical malpractice, and wound-up with a major infection and bits of bone graft COMING UP THROUGH MY GUM. Did I mention that I have had heart surgery and endocarditis is a major health concern for me? Oral infection is like bad, bad, bad. Thousands of dollars later, I have a permanent bridge that spans one side of my mouth, which is what I was trying to avoid in the first place. Endodontists are all about saving your tooth. I swear sometimes they are more attached to my teeth than I am. That, and telling me, what my insurance covers and what it doesn't. Those people just love to quote the 60%, 40% co-pay crap. I KNOW it is going to cost me, I just don't want them to kill me, but I would still like to be able to chew.

So, if you happen to see the tooth fairy along side the road, flag that bitch down and tell her I want my old teeth back. I NEED THOSE BABY TEETH I SO FOOLISHLY SOLD FOR QUARTERS!!!!

P.S. If this makes no sense it is because they changed my pain medication -- as they no longer make Darvocet -- because apparently it causes heart problems. This does case me some concern that this is the drug they had me taking for pain after open-heart surgery for pain. BUT -- I suppose that it another blog for another time.

Black Friday Blues

There are two types of people: Those who love Black Friday and those who hate Black Friday. I don't think there are many people out there who are indifferent to the event. For some it is the thrill of the hunt, the big kick-off to the wonderful holiday season. Personally, I can't think of any item I want so badly that I would be willing to stand in a parking lot at three-o'clock in the morning waiting for some store to open. I love a bargain as much as the next girl, but Black Friday is pretty much my idea of hell. This year Black Friday is getting an even earlier kick-off with some stores starting on Thanksgiving day. You can actually pull an all-nighter of shopping at Walmart.

All the ads, all the deals, all the bru-ha-ha gives me an anxiety attack -- but the Target woman in the red jogging suit with high heels raises my blood pressure about five points every time I see her. Who came up with this ad? Shout out to Target: That woman makes me want to get as far away from the freakin' store as possible. In fact, she makes me want to hide under the bed AND NEVER GO SHOPPING AGAIN. I thought after last year we'd seen that last of Target woman, but like the Chia Pet, she is back for the holidays in yet another incarnation. She makes the Burger King mascot look loveable and that guy totally gives me the creeps. As if the holidays aren't annoying and stressful enough, we have to watch an endless barrage of ads featuring this completely irritating woman. I guess Target wants to convince us that the real meaning of Christmas is competing with other shoppers for the really great deals, but somehow I doubt snatching that last mark-down out of your neighbor's hands is the true meaning of Christmas. Seriously, it REALLY isn't how I want to spend my holidays.

I worked retail sales on many a Black Friday, I really don't remember that many customers showing-up at these weird hours of the morning. When they did, it was just for the one really great item, which the store was usually taking a loss on. Yet stores insist on these crazy hours. Maybe it is just all be for all of the free media attention because EVERY SINGLE FREAKIN' year, you can depend on the media to run a blitz of stories on holiday mob scenes and the ensuing traffic jams.

There is holiday habit I picked-up from working retail: I finish most of my shopping BEFORE Black Friday. It's not because I am efficient, it is because I hate the shopping lunacy that accompanies the holidays. So, when Black Friday rolls around, I ignore the ads, sit back with a cup of coffee and hope to hell Target isn't running THOSE commercials.

Angels We Have Heard Get High

At an early age I was typecast as an angel for the annual church Christmas pageant. Such is the curse of having naturally blonde hair. I wasn't just blonde, I was a total white blonde, tow-head. So angelic were my looks, I actually circumvented the pageant age qualification for my first stint as an angel. Mom got me in under the wire, but I am sure it was my cute factor that won the role. There is nothing inherently wrong with being an angel it's just I had no hope of being anything other than an angel. Christmas would roll around, they'd announce pageant plans, and I when they would announce angels, I knew was an angel. Oh, I imagine some of the little girls playing livestock or cross-dressing shepherds would have been happy to trade places with me. The truth be told I had received more than one bitter glance from a brown haired angel-wanna-be.

Who could blame them? With me in the room they had no hope of being an angel. Looking back the only costume with any sort of pizazz was the angel. I got to wear a wreath of tinsel on my head and foil wings. We were Congregationalists, so not even the Wise Men got very flashy in our pageant. Congregationalists are just not a very flashy bunch. I guess it was the predictability of it all that annoyed me so much. I longed to be Mary. Everybody knew that aside from the plastic baby-doll Jesus, Mary was the star of the show. I would put a towel over my head and practice looking serene and pious, but I knew it wasn't going to happen. To this day I can recite the whole angel speech. If an angel drops out of the Christmas pageant, I can pick-up the role in a heartbeat. Whether it was church aisle, steps, or even from the balcony, I can do my angel bit. Once I even sang "Silent Night" from the balcony AS an angel.

BUT -- I wanted to be Mary.

The TSA: Terminally Sucking Airports

Just when I thought flying couldn't get any worse, the TSA has managed to raise the bar on airport misery and passive-aggression. I am not sure what I did to make the airlines hate me so much (Whatdya' mean it's not about me?), but now the airlines have managed to make air travel EVEN worse. In order to fly you now have the choice of a full-body scan (provided the machine is working and the airlines are not short on staff that day) or a touchy-feelie pat down that promises to go further than your first boyfriend.

I already HATED flying and now I have serious concerns about ever flying again. In theory, I understand the pat-down and the scan thing. I understand that it is for my safety and blah-blah-blah, but I it kind of makes me want to take a shower. As usual, I fear the airport security's actual execution of the new policies. Although I am not thrilled about some stranger picking-up my boobs and having a look-see and what I could be hiding under there, and I really don't want to see my pubs on a body scan, but I have been hospitalized enough to have arrived at the point of shamelessness.

If the TSA cannot make flying more pleasant, at least maybe they could make it more efficient. Maybe they could combine the full body scan and/or pat down with my yearly physical so we could kill two birds with one stone and get that pesky PAP smear and mammogram out of the way at the airport, not to mention the complex records/ID exchange. I approach the doctor's office and flying with similar levels of dread, so I say we just streamline the whole damn thing.

It's just a thought. Rest assured: The airlines, like your doctor, are only concerned about your well-being. Let's just hope they don't start making us wear those funky backward robes, or the only people flying will be the terrorists. Then we could just solve the whole problem by getting all the terrorists into one place and one time, blowing themselves up, and just put the whole thing to rest. I don't know what the TSA would do then, but for now it seems to me that there is no place like home for the holidays.

I Was a Teenaged Christmas Tree

I am not a Christmas person. I am not sure why. Perhaps it was too, too many years of working retail and having the joy of the season sucked out of me by listening to Elvis on Muzak one too many times. Looking back, it began a long time before that. The very first Christmas that started getting on my nerves was in 1975. I was a senior in high school.

Long before "Glee", I was a "Gleek" - a dancing (not so good), singing (a little better) choir nerd. Little did we know it, but we were THE cutting edge on the whole show choir thing. They didn't have a name for this type of choir then, so we went by "swing choir", but I assure you we were fan-freakin'-tastic. Our official name was "The Modernaires", shortened to "Mods" (How cool were we?). Christmas was a busy time of year for the Mods. We entertained civic group after civic group throughout the Mid-West. If your group wanted us, they had better book us early. I have very little doubt that we set the standard for the show choir craze that now blazes across the nation. The highlight of our year was when we entertained at the Kiwanis Club and they gave EACH of us one of the best damn apples we'd ever had. Yup, we were THAT good!

One year the group did a tune from the musical "Mame" called "We Need a Little Christmas". Big damn dork that I was, I knew my sixties musicals backwards and forwards. To this day, if you need the lyrics to a sixties' musical, I am your girl. (Not surprisingly, I found this to be a completely under appreciated talent in adulthood. Go figure.) In case you spend the sixties listening to stuff like "The Doors" and "Rolling Stones", and completely missed the dazzling musicals of the period (For shame!), I shall provide a brief summary: In the musical, the song "We Need a Little Christmas" occurs sans tree, and instead a person (Agnes Gooch -- Mame's secretary) is decorated. It is one of the highlights of the play. Wishing to share my vast cultural knowledge with the rest of the Mods, I suggested we incorporate this into our own version. Guess who was tapped to portray a tree? Seriously, I am six feet tall -- who the hell else WOULD they have asked?

Of course, I was brilliant. The Mods wrapped garland around me, hung baubles and lights from my lofty boughs, and I daresay, the highlight of the show was when the Christmas lights blinking. It brought down the house. Many an actor is familiar with the acting school exercise of portraying a tree, but few are asked to actually BE A TREE in front of a live audience -- past the fourth grade, any way.

Despite some moron Modernaire consistently hanging ornaments on my ears which really itched, it was a fairly positive experience, but oddly coincides with the year I started hating the holidays. I have wracked my brain trying to find a psychological connection between the two, but have so far been unsuccessful. I do remember it being the year my distaste of the holidays began, as one of my band geek friends bought me a button that said "Bah Humbug". Still, I cannot quite connect the dots. Hopefully by exploring "Christmas Past" this season I can get to the bottom of this disdain.

Stay tuned for my fascinating (ENDLESS) tenure as THE Angel of Annunciation.

Gift Giving for Guys

I turned the television on this morning and not one, but two shopping channels were advertising their deal-of-the-day as a vacuum cleaner. Normally this would be a ho-hum experience for me, and I'd just change the channel. What I found so disturbing was how they were marketing the vacuum cleaners. Each channel had a female host telling EVERYBODY what a great Christmas gift this would make. For all of you guys reading this out there: Listen up and spare yourself from grief. I don't care how much you might like a shop vacuum or some other worthy item for your man cave as a gift, a vacuum is NEVER, EVER, EVER, EVER a good gift for a woman. Frankly, that you might be a man and you might be thinking this makes me just want to slap you square upside the head. I don't care how practical and thrifty your spouse is, she does not want a vacuum for Christmas because it is not about the vacuum. When she opens that top-of-the-line suck-o-matic, or whatever brand you got her, she may smile and tell you how much she likes it but take it from me she is lying out her ass because she loves you no matter what kind of dumb gift you give her.

Now there was a time when the Bulldog and I were so poor that a broken vacuum cleaner and a holiday occurring at the same time may have inspired me to say something like: "I know we don't have the money. Let's just buy a vacuum cleaner. I don't need a gift." This is what I would call a BIG LIE. As you may have noticed, I am a woman who says what I mean and does not expect the Bulldog to figure-out what I want without flat out telling him. However, for some reason unknown to humankind, this does not always extend to a financial crisis, a holiday and a broken piece of practicality. However, I am going to let you in on a little piece of information: No woman wants a freakin' vacuum cleaner for Christmas EVER. No matter what we say, do or anything else, we do not want a vacuum cleaner. I don't care WHAT kind of vacuum cleaner it is, we don't want to see it sitting under the tree with a damn bow on it. Make your life easier and happier and don't even think about it. You can thank me later.

Somewhere, in the "Gift Giving Hall of Shame" is a giant poster of the husband of a very dear friend of mine we shall call "Daisy". Even though he should be ashamed, I will spare using his name here and simply refer to him as "Zorro". Long before I had straightened Daisy out on the fact that many (if not most) men suck at gift-giving, and the ones who don't are usually NOT to be trusted, my dear friend had hopes of receiving an inspired anniversary gift from her husband. Imagine Daisy's surprise when he blindfolded her and walked her into their backyard to show her the gift. Imagine the look on Daisy's face when Zorro removed the blindfold and she beheld a goat. That's right: A goat. Zorro got Daisy a goat for their anniversary. Now, unless you live in a third world country, this is generally regarded as a terrible gift. In fact, aside from giving your spouse an STD, it is difficult to imagine a worse gift. Then what did Zorro do to make a bad situation worse? He went and announced that he had named the goat after her.

Yet, Zorro accomplished what many men before him could not accomplish: He made purchasing a vacuum as a gift for a woman look like not such a bad idea.

How I Saved Halloween. Again.

I know I took a poll and fully intended to be a "Zombie Prom Queen", but I was the victim of catastrophic costume failure, which is sort of like a wardrobe malfunction with no publicly displayed private parts. After the blood spray turned brown, I went with red fabric paint to simulate blood. Everyone kept going on about how trick-or-treaters were going to show-up on Saturday, and blah, blah, blah. I thought the least I could do was scare the bejeebus out of them with the zombie make-up. I was doing a dry run prior to Halloween with the special zombie make-up from Mehron, which also failed. The gelatin stuff is supposed to melt under hot water, but I could only get some of it to melt. If I'd actually gotten it hot enough to melt, it would have been to hot to put on my face. I put the little dribble-drabble on my face. The teeny amount I applied to my face immediately started itching. What was I thinking? I am allergic to the tetanus vaccine, and I thought this stuff wouldn't bother me??? I rinsed it off, while wearing my zombie dress andbecause how can you mess up a Zombie dress??? Red paint started coming off everywhere, and by everywhere, I do mean EVERYWHERE. This is supposed to be permanent fabric paint, applied DAYS prior, and it was getting red stuff all over me, the house, the sink, the cats, EVERYWHERE. I gave-up. It was obvious the fates were not going to cooperate with celebrating Halloween on the wrong damn day. So, I drove a stake through the heart of the zombie (or whatever it is you are supposed to do to kill them) and went with Plan B. Listen up: The secret to a successful Halloween is ALWAYS having a Plan B.



Plan B was a devil dress that required only street(walker) make-up and a bundle of sass. I was the hit of the neighborhood. So many parents had their children pose for pictures with me I felt like I was a character at Disney World. Once again the pumpkin hearse was a giant success. Even though it looks pretty much the same way it did last year.



I hauled my new favorite Halloween item, who I call "Broomhilda" out onto the front porch where she cackled and stirred her misting cauldron.






Not to be outdone by Broomhilda (although she kinda' was) also making her Kelleywood debut was the "Flying Witch with Flashing Eyes".



Now you may be thinking: "Wow! You REALLY did save Halloween!" But this is NOT how I saved Halloween. This is how I REALLY saved Halloween (again):

Nine-year old Livy from across the street was dressed as a witch. However, poor Livy was hatless having left her witch hat at school. Guess who just happened to have a witch hat laying around the house, even though she'd already loaned one out already? If you guessed moi, you would be oh-so-correct!!! And THAT is how I saved Halloween (again).

Everyone had a great time. Except for Mildred-the-skeleton, who rumor has it NEVER has a good time. Even when she does have a hat.



Mildred the purple skeleton who NEVER has a good time.

Halloween is STILL Sunday

Just a couple more Halloween related issues before finish setting-up for the holiday:

1. Enough already with one more stupid controversy. Of all the dumb-ass things to be worried about the people in this area are now all spun-up about Halloween being on a Sunday. I became aware of this about a month before Halloween LAST year. If you haven't made-up your minds about this matter yet, do us all a favor and DON'T freakin' celebrate it AT ALL. Rumor has it that locally children may be trick-or-treating TONIGHT -- SATURDAY -- which just chaps my ass. Look, I don't get dressed-up like Elvira and show-up at your church on Easter Sunday, so politely STAY HOME and keep the kids there with you. (They probably need to catch-up on some home schooling any way.) These kids show-up on my doorstep tonight and they will be getting the B-List candy. If I wasn't too lazy to run to the store -- AGAIN -- they'd be getting nothing but those sorry ass "Smarties". As it is, if they want a Snickers bar they can come by here on the right damn date. I'm not running the fog machine or strobe lights until tomorrow night, either. If you want "Halloween Lite" I will give you "Halloween Freakin' Lite."

2. You dentists and other spoil sports out there offering to trade in children's trick-or-treat candy for money, I have got a beef with you, too. We all know you are paying off the children, going into the back room stuffing your mouths full of Twizzlers and Baby Ruth bars. You aren't fooling anybody. Stop sucking the joy out of and be content to fill the subsequent fillings. Children will have to worry about calories and fat soon enough -- give them one night for a little fun. Nobody pulls this sort of business with Christmas. You want a nutritional nightmare -- pass the pecan pie and egg nog!!!

The Official Last Minute

In case you were wondering NOW is the official last minute before Halloween. Good-luck if you haven't planned your Halloween costume yet because you are pretty much screwed. I had to pick-up a pair of emergency devil horns yesterday and what is left in the stores is pretty awful. Retail establishments specializing in this holiday have, for some reason, decided that what women really want to be for Halloween is a skank. There are mountains of leftover skank costumes, but not much else. You might also find a few wigs that look fried because they have been tried on so many times and some busted-up stuff they STILL haven't put on sale because the stores can smell your desperation.

Speaking of which, I went to Wal-Mart yesterday. Lawd have mercy!!! I cannot buy candy until the last minute. The doctor has pretty much forbidden me from doing ANYTHING remotely fun and those Snickers bars curiously wind up in my mouth at an alarming rate. Wal-Mart was out-of-control and it was only Thursday. Wal-Mart employees were furiously unloading candy and couldn't possibly keep up with the volume of consumers furiously loading it into their carts. I can only imagine what that place will look like today and tomorrow. Good-luck you procrastinators!

No matter what I do there is only so much planning ahead I can do. After putting together a brilliant front yard display here at Kelleywood, the yard got whacked by two days of storms. To top it off, my damn camera is malfunctioning. I ordered stuff Kodak said would fix it -- and it didn't. What it did was waste even more of my precious Halloween prep time. I tried to get a camera sent express from Amazon. I missed the fine print when checking-out and discovered TOO LATE that their so-called express shipping is when their marketplace vendor says it is. Long story short, it isn't really express delivery but IS a big freakin' rip-off. I called Amazon, they referred me to the vendor. I called the vendor, they referred me to Amazon. The circle of blame. Disney needs to make a movie about this. I swear every one in customer service these days was raised by parents who were not hip to the "If Dad says no, ask Mom" routine practiced by cunning youth throughout the ages. Business schools must be teaching students that if you advertise enough that you provide good customer service, it absolves you from actually having to provide customer service.

Where was I? To add to all of this confusion, one of Atlanta's T.V. news stations is announcing that trick-of-treating is Saturday, the unofficial implication being that if you trick-or-treat on Sunday, you will be going to hell. You thought you had two days to get ready for Halloween -- hahaha! -- you only have ONE! Especially if you plan on getting into heaven. I am STILL celebrating Halloween on Sunday, because within my lifetime I have screwed-up so much stuff that the I figure the very least of my worries is celebrating Halloween on the wrong day. When I die, I plan on just BEGGING for forgiveness. I will be like a celebrity caught with his/her hand in the cookie jar:

"Yup. I did it. I celebrated Halloween on a Sunday. Forgive me. I signed-up for Halloween rehab at Betty Ford and will never eat a "Funsize Snickers" again. I promise."

In case you haven't figured it out already, there is no point to this post. I am avoiding paying bills.

Last Minute Halloween Rescues

Holy Moly! Halloween is almost here! Where has the time gone? I had a nasty run-in with some defective spray blood already this year, and when I went used fabric paint to style my Halloween dress the thing started looking like roadkill. In a knee-jerk response, I ordered a back-up costume for overnight delivery, but if I can be caught off-guard by Halloween, what about the rest of you with jobs and stuff? So here are a few Halloween ideas for you last minute revelers:

1. Dust Bunny: This requires a pair of bunny ears and a feather duster. With all the skanky costumes Halloween stores stock this time of year, you should be able to get these with no problem.

2. Spider Web: This is a take off on the classic ghost costume. Get a big piece of cheese cloth, rip, shread, and tear. Make sure you put some holes in it for your eyes. Glue plastic spiders to it. Allow it to dry. Toss it over your head.

3. Crazy Cat Lady: This may take a little more time to execute, but is damn fabulous. Get a pile of toy stuffed cats. Those Beanie things look like they might work well. Take an old bathrobe. Attach cats to the robe. You may want to put a few catsup claw marks on your legs for realism.

4. Jewelry Box: I stole this one from my mother-in-law. Go to your jewelry box. Pile on every piece of jewelry that you own. Viola!

5. Middle-of-the-road: Dress in solid black. Use duct tape to tape a centerline down your center.

6. Zombie-Anything: With a few simple tools you can pretty much Zombiefy any outfit. You should ALWAYS have these on hand. (Even when vacationing.) Go with a gray, green or whitish palor make-up base. Use black, brown or grey eyeshadow for that sunken eye, skeletal look. Go outside. Roll around in the dirt. Have sissors on hand to rip tear, and trash whatever you are wearing. Food-coloring, paint, catsup anthing red for blood -- apply liberally -- BINGO! You are a Zombie.

7. Bag-Lady: Take a pile of plastic grocery bags. Safety pin them to your clothes.

These are just a few of ideas. Please feel free to share any of your last minute costumes ideas. The world needs your input!

Yet Another Piece of Halloween Crap-O-La

In case you wonder where I have been I've been nursing a nasty kidney infection, while still trying to get the yard decorated for Halloween. This would be MUCH easier if vendors would STOP trying to selling such major CRAP-O-LA for Halloween decor.

This year with it started with the demise of Target as purveyor of cool, cheap Halloween goodness. I am not supposed to be shopping there for a whole bevy of political and personal reasons, but I'm sort of a sell-out when it comes to Halloween. This year they made it easy buy purchasing a bunch of crap and selling it at highly inflated prices. The first thing I purchased was a Zombie. On sale he was around eighty bucks. At one of those Halloween mega stores I would expect anything this large at this price point to be junk, but in years past Target has pulled through for me. Not this year. This Zombie was eight kinds of crap. It had shoes made out of that cheap Styrofoam that sort of sheds and crumble. The bastards that manufactured this thing wouldn't even spring for plastic. I felt like I'd been punked.

I carted the thing back to my local Target where upon I was met by a very pious clerk working the the returns counter. She glared at my purchase. I said: "I need to return this Zombie." The clerk gave me a look of extreme disapproval. She said: "I don't have to like it, but I guess I have to take it back." She scanned the item and I swear she harrumphed. She then peered over the top of her glasses and said: "You do realize Halloween is on a SUNDAY this year. What do you suppose they going to do about THAT?" Hell if I know. Not my call. If they want to stretch the holiday out for two days by some people celebrating on Saturday and some people on Sunday, fine by me. Just don't sell me junk at primo prices. O.K.???

Not having learned my lesson early on that Target was selling extreme Halloween crap this year, I got sucked into their web once again. It was a mummified cat. Oh, yes! I needed a mummified cat! Once again I took their bait, and once again they burned me. The cat arrived with not one, but two broken legs, but the real tragedy was that it had never been much to begin with. It was the most depressing piece of Halloween merchandise I'd ever seen. It made me sad. Is the economy THAT bad???

Halloween costumes are notoriously cheap and horrible, so I dodged that bullet by making my own this year -- or so I thought. I purchased some stuff called "Fake Spray Blood" to give my Zombie Prom dress that "died-in" look. Previously I had shredded and dirtied up the dress with brown ink for that dug-up look. What the dress needed was a little gore and I would be set. I sprayed the "Fake Spray Blood" on the dress and I must say it looked fabulous. I was so excited. Once again, my joy was dashed when I allowed the dress to dry overnight. When I looked at the dress this morning, all the fabulous red had turned brown. I couldn't tell the difference between the blood and the dirt. Now I am going to have to go with Plan "B" -- I just wish I had some idea what that was. MAJOR disappointment, once again.

Undaunted, I installed my cemetery this year and decided a grim reaper lurking in the shadowy background would add to the creep factor. Then I did something totally insane and ordered off of EBay. What was supposed to be an OUTDOOR, free-standing item, was stamped all over with "Indoor Only", and the skeleton head flopped around like a rag doll. The screws to attached the shoulders to the stand were missing, one arm were broken-off at the shoulders, and it can't be sold in California because of the lead and formaldehyde content. I hung the damn thing up in a tree and lodged a complaint with the seller, but the whole neighborhood has stepped-up the Halloween decor and I NEED that damn thing if I am going to compete.

I actually LIKE a little cheesiness at Halloween. But this year they have gone just too damn far with their brown blood, Styrofoam feet, busted-up cat mummies and defective skeletons. I'm tired of it and I am not taking it anymore. Who is with me?

Lights Out for Martha. Almost.

Back in freakin' August, I got my coveted "Grandin Road" Halloween issue. This is ALWAYS a very happy day for me. Martha's has a line of "good things" exclusive to Grandin Road. To a Halloween junkie like myself, it's the best damn thing since candy corn. Last year, in an effort to pace myself and depressed by the endless rain that turned my lawn to mush, I exercised some restraint in my lawn decor. I like Halloween, but I did not want to play out a live electrocution on the front lawn. (Although it would be a really fabulous, appropriate, yet tragic way to meet my demise.) The Grandin Road catalog had these FABULOUS flicker lights put out by none other than Martha Stewart. Apparently, these things are harder to get than Osama Bin Ladin, because I had to pre-ordered in August for delivery in mid-September. While gently stringing the lights across the porch here at Kelleywood, a slight gust of wind caught the dangling sting lights and smacked the bulbs against porch railing. One bulb smashed to bits. Crap. I looked in the box the lights came in. No extra bulb. I blamed Martha.

A few blogs ago (in case you haven't been tuning in and only view my blog when you want to complain about the music) I discussed how my rift with Martha had healed over the years. I even suggested how other celebrities (eh hem, Lilo, Paris) might aspire to Martha's example and start behaving like human beings. No whining and crying from Martha in the slammer, she took it like a champ and emerged a more admirable, humble human being. It was impressive. It helps that I am a complete sell-out when it comes to Halloween and NOBODY does Halloween quite as well as Martha.

Until this year. I was a lee...tle disappointed when the Fall issue of "Living" gave a lackluster rundown on this years Halloween. Instead, Martha had rehashed her Halloweens of Yore into a shiny book/magazine at twice the price of "Living". Martha is getting a little up there in years and probably has a lot on her plate with changing networks and all, so I was resolved to let her have one so-so year. I let it slide. This year. It is nice to have all the primo Halloween stuff of yore in one place. Then that light bulb smacked-up against the railing. True to form, the lights still lit (like Martha promised) even with a broken bulb, but one had to wonder if they presented a fire hazard. Especially on a porch swathed in cheesecloth like some sort of suburban mummy.

Cursing Martha under my breath, and trying to remember when I'd paid our last insurance premium, I tried to find a replacement bulb. Ever try to find a ONE watt, candelabra replacement flicker-bulb online? Who has ever heard of a ONE watt light bulb? Nobody. NOBODY. Not even the "1000 Light Bulbs Superstore". I gave-up and called customer service at Grandin Road in search of a replacement. Surely purveyors of such high quality Halloween stuff would know of a replacement. I felt sort of stupid contacting "tech support" for a friggin' light bulb, but I soon realized I was in over my head when I got the feeling NO ONE had ever requested a replacement bulb before. Surely I couldn't be the only person to smash a light bulb? Suddenly I felt very alone in the world with my singular smashed light bulb. Grandin Road was equally stumped. They told me they would "research the issue" and be back with me within 24-hours. Sure, right. I thought. I continued to search for the bulb online. After all, this was a Halloween emergency. Much to my surprise, less than an hour later, Grandin Road called and told me they would send me an entire new string, no charge on the fifteenth of October when their new shipment arrives.

A whole new string. Wow. I don't even have to send the old one back. It is a Halloween miracle. Martha and Grandin Road had come through for me. But, seriously, next year could you toss in an extra bulb? Please?

Welcome to the Halloween Edition!

Welcome to the Halloween Edition of "Joannafesto" which promises to be SPOOKtacular! I have put together a playlist of music to get you in the mood to haunt your 'hood which I believe may very well be definitive. Or not.

First, poll results are in on the hot topic of the "Snuggie". Only one person considers the "Snuggie" a friend and three of you think the "Snuggie" is a foe. The majority of my readership -- all eight of you -- have not been fooled by the clever marketing campaign and believe that the "Snuggie" is, after all, just a backwards robe. What this all means in the greater gestalt of things, I do not know, but when I figure it out I will let you know.

On to my next issue of business: I have been working on the genealogy of my family, which is a bit like hanging-out with dead people. Since this is a more than appropriate activity in preparation for the season which will soon be upon us, consider getting in the mood by taking a stroll through a virtual cemetery at my new favorite website: www.findagrave.com.

I do love an old cemetery. One of my favorites is the famous Bonaventure cemetery in Savannah, Georgia. It is one of the most breathtakingly beautiful places I have ever been. Haunted by a group of etheric revelers from a plantation home that long ago burned to the ground the place echoes with the sense that even after death, the party in Savannah goes on. Take a seat on the park bench that is poet Conrad Aikin's memorial. It reads: Give my love to the world. Cosmos Mariner -- Destination Unknown. If it is Friday, meet there for martinis and stroll past composer Johnny Mercer's grave, with your "traveler" in hand and maybe hum a few bars from "Moon River".

An Open Letter to Anonymous

Dear Anonymous:

I haven't felt much like writing lately. Some of it is because the Bulldog is deployed and Halloween will soon be here. I love the Bulldog. I love Halloween. But one without the other just seems sad. Like Alka-Seltzer with "plop" and no "fizz-fizz". I was going to be a Zombie Prom Queen this year for Halloween, but my enthusiasm has waned. Much like my enthusiasm for writing this blog. Lindsay's back in rehab, Paris can't tell the difference between coke and gum, two situations which would normally provide me with beau coup inspiration, yet I find myself somewhere between "ho-hum" and "who-gives-a-shit?". I haven't bothered with my blog in weeks, and when I do check on it, of course it is you, my dear Anonymous, bitching about the music. Again.

Here is the deal "Anonymous" (If that is your real name): I ran a poll about this very same issue months ago. My Festos spoke and the music stays. Find the goddamn mute button or find another fucking blog. SERIOUSLY: I DON'T GIVE A SHIT!!!! Something tells me you are just another tool with an agenda and an axe to grind, who has some problem with music on ANY blog. Bottom line: You don't REALLY read this blog -- or any other blog -- you just roam the Internet, looking for blogs with music -- so you can BITCH about it!!! You don't give a crap about what anybody has to say, you just want to flap your own yap about your own opinion and your stupid, fucking, pathetic AGENDA. If you enjoy your own music so much, please devote 100% of your attention to it and NEVER READ THIS BLOG AGAIN.

Writing this blog is nothing more than a hobby to me. My husband, the aforementioned Bulldog, is in a combat zone and HE likes to listen to my play list when he is online. So hell can freeze over and I will NOT remove the music from this blog. In fact, if things keep going the way they are going, this entire blog may soon be devoted to nothing BUT music. I am thinking of show tunes and punk. And just to make sure EVERYBODY can find something they don't like about this blog I may even bring in a few mimes! That should pretty much piss off EVERYBODY.

I get nothing, nada, zero, zip, squat out of this blog, but the pleasure of writing it, and the joy of annoying self-important douche bags, such as yourself, who have nothing better to do than whine about the play list.

Very truly yours,
Joannafesto

Idiot of the Week

Pastor Terry Jones is an idiot. This is the kind of turd-bucket that really chaps my behind. When I mention that I have some serious issues with building an "Islamic Cultural Center" (hereto for referred to as a "mosque") at or near Ground Zero I am written off as a right-wing nut-job because of fools like this ass-wipe.

Here is what I think in a nutshell: I would prefer that a mosque not be built anywhere near Ground Zero. Do I think that the Muslim community has a right to build a mosque where they want to? According to the U.S. Constitution, probably. Would I prefer they didn't build near Ground Zero? Yup. Does that mean I am a racist slob who hates Muslims? I would hope not. That said: I have a right NOT to like some body's religion -- even YOURS. I don't have a right to stop ANYBODY from PRACTICING their religion. That said, if the Muslim community REALLY wants to sell their image as a peaceful community, for the benefit of all, I would love to see them take the high road and move the mosque somewhere else. This could be seen a gesture of goodwill from the Muslim community to the United States, acknowledge the people who lost so much on September 11, 2001 (at the hands of Muslim extremists), and maybe even a express a little spiritual maturity.

Then along comes this idiot Pastor Terry Jones with his childish tit-for-tat behavior saying he will burn the Koran if they build this mosque. ARRRGH!!! It is this sort of moron that makes Americans look like idiots abroad. I don't know what Terry Jones' motives are, but I suspect he is all about self-promotion and self-aggrandisement. People who do these heavy-handed, thoughtless things usually are. The big problem with free speech is that people like this have a right to run their mouths. Maybe the way to get them to shut-up is to stop listening to them. Does Pastor Terry Jones have a right to burn the Koran? Yup. As much as Muslims have a right to build a mosque near Ground Zero. Would I prefer that neither of these things occur? Absolutely.

However, once again, it isn't up to me. Instead of a mature discussion about the pros and cons of this issue, the idiots are making their voices heard loud and clear. Terry Jones has done MORE to promote the cause of building a mosque at Ground Zero than he has done to prevent it. He has reminded us that we are a nation that has a responsibility to protect the right to worship as we please(or not). Instead of discussing the pragmatic issues of how this mosque will be a terrorist target and who is going to pay to protect it, the discussion has devolved into stupidity. Again.

So, Pastor Terry Jones, you are my official "Idiot of the Week".

New Poll: Snuggie/Slanket

This seems to be a "hot button topic", so I am announcing the official "Joannafesto" Snuggie/Slanket poll. Do not be confused with cheesy imitations.