Monday, October 29, 2007

NEW Video!

Today's blog is all about driving you to our new video on youtube. It's called, "Because You Never Know." It is 10 minutes long.

Either click on the word video above, or click on the right side of this blog.

This is the first in a series of KK and SalGal videos, so please pass this link on to EVERYone you know so we can become the next Martin and Lewis of youtube!!


Friday, October 26, 2007

Bugs and Rodents

How midlifers view creatures:

I don't know anyone who likes roaches. I suggest getting one or more cats for this problem. Whenever you see a roach, all you have to do is call the cats. Of course, they're cats so they may come when you call or they may look at you like, What? I'm busy here. I'm lying in the sun for my naptime, so this better be important. With our herd of cats, it's a matter of decision as to which cat gets the opportunity to pounce on the roach. I can almost see them doing a mental 'rock, paper, scissor' exercise with each other until the winner approaches the roach. I almost feel sorry for the slimy bug, but I also feel a sense of glee knowing that I won't have to smash its guts all over the kitchen floor.

You can leave the cats with the roach and go about your business knowing that when you return, all you will find will be itty bitty roach legs and whiskers. The corpse has been eaten and the cat with the biggest smile on its face is the obvious winner. One bug problem...done!

I have recently been hearing rats in the attic. I know they are rats and not mice because their footsteps sound heavy and mean. I hear them scratching and clawing their way around with great concentration. It was so creepy at first that I had to put a pillow over my ears to sleep. The cats would look up at the ceiling whenever they heard these noises, but it's hard to explain to a cat that there is no way for them to get at the rats due to the stucco and sheet rock of the ceiling. They seem so confused about this that it makes me slap my thigh with laughter.

The Ancient One called the exterminator who showed up yesterday with 12 traps! I don't care how they die, I just want my peaceful sleep back, but I did get a shiver when I saw the torture traps. Ronnie, the rat man, suggested that I might hear a few pops in the middle of the night, but not to worry about it. Don't worry about it? Right...just forget about the movie, Willard, and drift off to problem.

Those of you who believe in relocation rather then extermination of rats should skip reading from here.

Sure enough, not only did I hear a popping sound, but then the death rattle and the squirming of tiny rat feet trying to get out of the trap...then silence. I put my headphones on and listened to a meditation tape until I fell asleep (is this a spiritual oxymoron?). And, now all I can picture this morning are the bodies in the traps in the attic. Although I have a soul and believe that the dead rats have now gone to rat heaven, I know that there will be at least a hundred rats coming into the world to replace the few that Ronnie murdered with his traps.

This gives me comfort...?

I say, kill'em all!


I fuckin' hate bugs. I hate them more than anything. I hate them more than rats and bats and even snakes. Actually, snakes are kind of cool. I have poison ant powder for the back yard, wasp spray for the front porch and Buddy (my cat) for inside the house. I once saw him jump up into the air and catch a fly in mid flight across livingroom. He is awesome at times.

If someone tells me I have a bug on me at a party or something, my arms go flapping, my back arches and my head swings around 180 degrees. I look like some demented ostrich flapping its wings in terror and unable to fly. I'm yelling, ' Get it off, get it off!!' turning my head upside down and shaking my hair to make sure the bug is not there. It just freaks me out. And then I realize what I looked like as I simultaneously see that I am all the way across the yard or room or from wherever the bug was.

When we were young we threw tarantulas at each other and laughed and thought that was hysterical. Once KK chased me around my grandmother's yard with a cicada in her hand. I was traumatized for life. I used to like to sit and look at the praying mantis' in the back yard and I thought they were kind of pretty. Also, mother told me they were good for the garden so I didn't get any wierd feelings about them. Lady bugs are okay, especially the yellow ones. That's it. All other bugs are evil and deserve to die. Scorpions freak me out and so do those black and white boars that live in the big trees and any kind of beetle (except June bugs), cock roaches, termites, etc.

I'm worried about the bees. You know, they think the bees are all dying because they can't find their ways back to the hives any more because of the cell phone towers. The Queen then dies and that's the end of that. Over at the Hula Hut they have a problem with bees outside on the outdoor pier/patio. So they do what lots of people in Texas do and hang big plastic bags full of water from the rafters over the tables. The bees see themselves a thousand times in the water which is like a mirror to them and then they run away and don't bother the diners. If I see bees around I do the ostrich dance then too. They have a tendency to want to dive-bomb me for some reason.

Well, I could go on and on about bugs but that would probably give me nightmares so off I go to water the yard where I have to navigate the spider webs. People here in Austin go all out for Halloween and decorate their houses just like they would for Christmas except with orange and black instead of red and green. They put giant spiders on their front doors and bushes. That's kind of awesome.


Wednesday, October 24, 2007


How midlife dating differs:

After a year of being single again, I caved and signed on to an online matchmaking service. I thought the site might work for me because it appears to be for eharmony rejects, and that's a category that fits me like a glove. The five picks that they sent me through that site were really frightening. They either want to read poetry to me or have stomachs so big they haven't seen their toes in years.

I like the new one that I found because you have to be RICH to be a member. Right now, I'm far from rich, but they took me on as part of what they call their "resource database." I think that means that I'm deserving in principle if not pocketbook, so I paid a nominal fee to be one of the hoes in their stable. The rich men, at a 5-figure fee, will walk through the 'stable,' and pick out a thoroughbred...which would be me! The catch is that I don't get to pick them. That's fine too, because I'm way too spooked by this whole thing to click "choose." I figure I'll have better luck if the man decides that my high standards are not too scary for him.

I've tried everything else. SalGal and I have gotten all dolled up on several occasions and gone to bars and parties where we think attractive, middle-aged men might be hangin...with zero results. We either come off as a lesbyterian couple deeply in love with each other or two strong Texas sisters who would mame and torture any man who might be the least bit underqualified for our standards.

At these gatherings it's like we're invisible! I don't get it. Where are all the single, middle-aged, attractive, successful MEN? Are they playing poker with each other or playing polo with their friends? Are they all married? Do they not seek love in their middle-aged years? WHAT?

My matchmakers want to hook me up with a dentist. This is good because my teeth suck, so maybe I can get some good dental care if the love thingy doesn't work out. I'm just afraid he'll ask me to whip out my 'partial' at dinner, then keep my teeth and never call me again!

I'll let you know who comes to my 'stall,' and says, "YES, this is the thoroughbred I'm looking for."


********************************************************************************** you think KK needs a boyfriend or what. Sheesh. I had no idea. When we go out to the bar/restaurnts I'm usually happy to have a drink, talk to her and eat good food. I rarely think about whether men are going to approach us or not. I hope she finds someone good as none of the men she's lived with was good enough for her in my mind. One of them even looked like he had on a Groucho Marks mask. One of them now looks like Igor from 'Young Frankenstien' and one is probably drunk in a cowboy dive in Juarez.
I have had such bad luck with men that I see them as gorillas with dirty underwear, all dressed up and trying to fool me into thinking that they are civilized, but scratching their asses and then smelling their fingers when they get to know you better.
KK assures me that there are good men out there and I know there are. I take full responsibility for the bad choices I've made for men who turn into animals after I've been snared. When I fall in love I fall hard and will do anything including giving up my own personality to please them. That they took full advantage of that and my money is my fault completely and that's why I stay away from them. I like to look at handsome men from afar and imagine that they are loving and nurturing and inspiring and empowering and kind. But my subconscious mind knows that I will pick the gorilla in disguise who is searching for a woman just like I am who will stay with them even after it is revealed that he is grovelling before the porn sites while I'm out trying to generate income to pay the rent. I don't think I will choose him again but I also know you can't decide on with whom you fall in love. So...I play it safe and let KK do the prowl.

Monday, October 22, 2007

Midlife Caucusing

Ah...nothing like four days and nights spent with SEVEN of my favorite women who go all the way back with me to elementary school in west Texas! Granted, we look a little different now, but that's just more fodder for all-day conversations about more subjects than are in wikipedia.

Here are some of the topics we covered:

Why bloody marys at 10:15 am are not wrong.

The latest products to soften our feet, soothe our stomachs, hide our spider veins, help us sleep, calm our nerves, attract handsome, middle-aged men, move us toward success, keep our children out of jail, help us care for our ancient parents, smooth our crow's feet, lose our extra pounds, ease the ravages of chemotherapy and keep middle-aged sex fun and productive.

It's only in a group like this that we could laugh as we each try on the wigs that one of us has to use due to a recent diagnosis of breast cancer and a bald head from chemo. We're 'fort' strong in our attempts to comfort and support each other during crises such as illness, failed marriages, children who make us crazy or one who recently passed on to the loving arms of God in heaven. We have insights and wisdom to impart and we talk about things that we could never tell anyone else. We laugh until we cry and we cry until we can't help but laugh.

Our love for each other hurts it's so strong. We feel each other's pains and heartaches and we soar with each other's triumphs. We say ugly things about anyone who has hurt one of our tribe and we plot and scheme about how to get revenge, even as we pray for those who might have wronged us or our children.

When we get together twice a year, we never leave the hostesses house. We stay in our jammies until early afternoon...or all day in some cases. The outside world is not invited, but when you have eight women with eight cell phones, new stories evolve as our loved ones check in to tell us that they have totaled our car, gotten kicked out of their homecoming dance for drinking, had their wife of 6 months lie to them and cheat on them, ask us where the sugar is in the pantry or plead with us to come home and help them with their homework. We rise to these stories as one unit...The Band of Mothers...The Tribe Who Has Spoken. Our families on the outside know that we will not leave the table on the porch until our time together is over, so whatever problems they might have will have to work themselves out via phone calls.

I am honored beyond measure to be included in this group, and my life is enhanced by their warm embraces, their tender smiles and their deep, abiding friendship.

I'll return to my jaded, cynical self tomorrow, but today I am filled with too much love. I want the warm blanket of my friends to stay with me as long as possible before I return to cursing the cable person on the phone because they never showed up.



That's a really nice post up there, KK. I'm glad you had such a good time with the girls. You told me all of the stories and I believe you hit on all of them in the above blog. Things here were in control and all little problems were taken care of with the utmost maturity and aplomb. It wasn't my fault that I totalled mother's Jazzy Scooter. I was just wheeling down the street at one mile per hour, minding my own business when some asshole in a white pick-up almost ran me over. I had to swerve and it wasn't my fault that the bank of the creek was so steep and rocky. It's a good thing I jumped out of the scooter chair before it careened down the embankment and landed upside down in three feet of water. I tried to pull it out but my efforts only loosened it enough to start it tumbling down the creek and into a six foot deep channel. Do you know how heavy those chairs are? Anyway, I will figure out a way to get it up with a crane or something later. It won't be hard to find as the red light on the arm of the chair is still on and you can see it from the side of the creek.
Look, Buddy saw a squirrel on the deck and when he tried to jump through the sliding screen door it came out of its groove and that is definately not my fault. I figured I could fix it but when I tried to bang it back in with a hammer I accidentally pounded a hole in the screen and bent the frame. Don't worry, we can get a new screen door.
So feel free to go off wiith the girls any time as I am in control here.
I got your back, babe,

Saturday, October 20, 2007

Character Development on KK and SalGal

KK is still at some ranch in the middle of Texas with her highschool girlfriends, drinking and partying and having a good time, I hope. The Ancient One and I have commented that it feels like there is nothing happening here.

I miss her comtrails as she jets from kitchen to laundry room to livingroom to bedroom to office computer and back again. She is always a whirlwind of activity and 'chores' as she calls them. I am usually having my first cup of coffee as she finishes the laundry, her blog comments, one hour of meditation, feeding the cats, doing her morning affirmations and then bathroom time preening which generally takes her forever. Just as I'm ready to make mine and the Ancient One's breakfast and get another cup of coffee, KK is out the door to do her errands and looking like a movie star on her way to lunch at The Ivy. Mother just looks at the screen door as it shuts and goes, 'whew'. By then it's 8:30 in the morning and I'm exhausted just from trying to figure out where the hell she is going. She wakes up in the dark for God's sake.

I always try to get presentable before she gets back but that's only out of embarrassment. While KK is like a worker ant that can lift ten times her weight to take food back to the hill, I am the dung beetle trying to dig a nest into a pile of water buffalo shit so a lemur won't eat me.

I'm missing my sister and her sharp wit and willingness to call Time Warner and other such companies that have automated answering machines. I think the cats miss her but it's hard to tell with them. The Ancient one is happy as long as Fox News is on and 'Boston Legal' is recorded on the DVR.

I bet you miss her too,

Friday, October 19, 2007

My Audition

My agent called about two weeks ago and sent me to an audition for a $145 million dollar movie with two huge stars and a director who was nominated for an academy award about two years ago, very famous. I thought I did a good audition and I got to sing and cry and everything. For those of you who don't know how the audition thing works, if you are in the running for a role you get a 'callback'. For episodics on television it happens very quickly within days. For feature films it can go on for months. I got a callback and went to the second audition on Tuesday. I think I nailed it.

Can you imagine how excited I am? Well, I'm nervous enough to catch a hummingbird.

There have been times when I was in a commercial audition having to act like a chicken or yelling 'booya!' at a can of chili and thinking...'I go to my acting class every fucking week, teach actors and study my ass off constantly doing monologues and reading books on acting and mentoring actors in Hollywood and I'm standing here doing this shit? Jesus.' It's a wierd life, being an actor.

We love it though and we can't help it.

And by the way, I do a great chicken.

Thursday, October 18, 2007

KK's Absence

My sweet KK is off to another one of her girlfriend weekends and I'm alone with the ancient one. KK still has girlfriends from highschool and they get together for weekend partying regularly. This time they are all meeting at a ranch somewhere in the middle of Texas. They drink and cook and smoke and talk and talk and talk.

Leave dishes in the sink
Feed the cats too much (not on purpose)
Watch scary movies on TV
Wake up late
Take a nap on her bed
Try on her clothes
Wear her shoes with the white bows on them
Eat pork rhinds
Sing out loud while on the computer
Play Jewel Quest with the sound on
Let the cats play in the garage
Use her fancy soap
Let mother have everything with butter on it
Drink bourbon
Ride down the block in the ancient one's Jazzy Scooter

These are all things that KK cautions me about. Nyuck, nyuck. I will of course hide all of the evidence before she gets back on Sunday and all will look normal except mother and the cats will be fatter.

When the cat's away, the mice will play,

Wednesday, October 17, 2007

Keys (?)

Please raise your virtual hand if you have a container of some kind that is filled with old keys. And, keep your virtual hand up if you haven't a clue what they open. Aha! I thought so!

I know we share the same looks on our faces when we find these keys. We pick up each one and stare at it as if this will jar our memories. We cock our heads and muse over what treasures may lie within the turn of this key. If it's a hotel key, we smile at that one night stand we enjoyed twenty years ago while wondering whatever happened to John Haney. This key we kiss gently as we lovingly put it back into the container and smile again.

There is usually a very small key and this one looks like it might be important. It may have opened the jewelry box that we had in our youth, in which case we're keeping the key for sentimental reasons because the jewelry in our youth was fake, didn't cost much and is now completely out of style. It may go to a piece of furniture that held a secret drawer, but that piece of furniture went to Good Will when we moved from one house to the next for the fifth time and it probably only held old makeup, lint, rubber bands and paperclips. We'll keep this key just in case we run into the same piece of furniture that someone else is recycling at a garage sale. You never know.

The last key reminds us that we did indeed procure a safety-deposit box many years ago. We've totally forgotten what is in the box at the bank, but our adrenalin rises at the thought that we might have riches we'd forgotten about. When we arrive at the bank and sign all the documents necessary to enter the chamber, we tingle with excitement as we open the box. Voila...there they are...all the love letters we've ever received from any paramour, our first pair of glasses in their stylish case, a last will and testament that we wrote on a cocktail napkin during a drunken evening at a bar with our best friend...leaving her all of our wordly possessions, which were minimal in monetary value, but rich in sentiment....and the last item we find is another unidentifiable KEY. Fuck.

On the other hand, maybe it's the key to the kingdom!


I know what all the keys are for on my keychain. I have a keychain that is a little, plastic, red pepper spray thingy. It sort of looks like a small dildo. It makes me feel safer when I'm walking around town at night.

Pretty soon there won't be any more keys. People will have key cards like the ones at the hotels. That's sad because I think keys are pretty. Old, metal turnkeys are cool and I still have a big, brass key from the Sheraton Santa Fe that opened the door to a room where I spent the night with a young, guitar player. It was really fun... and safe because he was on the road with his band and I knew I would probably never see him again.

Women need big keychains because it makes it easier to find them in their purses. (See Midlife Purse Contents) I've had many in my life including these:

A big, diamond studded 'S"
A troll doll with purple hair
A 2 inch, round brass disc with '3' on it (from the key mentioned above)
A plastic cupcake
A laminated, oversized 'Screen Actors Guild' card
A wooden, six-inch 'Ladie's Room' board from a Stuckey's on old Route 66
A roach clip that looked like an alligator
A white and black saddle oxford shoe
A red, plastic lobster

Since I keep losing and missplacing my keys anyway I think my next keychain will be a telephone book or a bowling ball.

Saturday, October 13, 2007


I’ve made my decision on who to vote for in the next US presidential election. I’m going to vote for ClinBamaGiulCain. There…I’m committed. No turning back now!

I’m confessing, obsessing and thrilled with my choice. It’s a middle-of-the-road choice, I know, but that’s where I am at age 55. Here’s the deal…as a woman, how could I not vote for the potential first woman president? Why wouldn’t I support a possible first black president or the man who gave such comfort to New Yorkers on 9/11? And, who wouldn’t trust a man who spent years at the Hanoi Hilton and even gave up his turn for a fellow prisoner when it was time to be released?

The problem is this…how could I vote for a woman who didn’t have the courage and self respect to leave a cheating husband, one who cheated and lied all over the place and cozied up to every skirt he wanted underneath? And, why would I give my vote to an African American who looks like he’s a seventeen-year-old Eagle Scout with a bright future but who is so green behind the ears that I cringe at the notion of his high-level talks with a nutcase like Putin? With 9/11 a distant, horrible memory, how could I give my precious vote to a man whose son is supporting another candidate, for Criminy’s sake? What does he know that we don’t yet? And, the Vietnam vet is older than Gawd, so how long is he going to last?

I’m from west Texas where all the cowboys live, and they want a ball-bustin’, horse-ridin’ son-of-a-bitch who will do what they want him to. On the other hand, I live in the capital of Texas, an island in the desert sea that is often proclaimed, The People’s Republic of Austin.’ These constituents want every smoker hung, every non-recycler sent to prison and every conservative strung up by her toes. It’s tough around here for a middle-of-the-roader.

I have a confession to make, and I know that if we’re all honest at the end of the day, there are some out there who have sold their votes for love…been converted by a husband, wife, lover or the postal carrier. Yep, that’s happened to me. In my desperate cravings for love, I have been persuaded that my convictions can be switched for a large bottle of Chanel No. 5 or a hand to hold when fears arise, and I’ve sold my soul for a multiple orgasm. There, I’ve said it. I’m not proud, but I just love Chanel N. 5, okay?

When push comes to shove, here is my dilemma. I support every woman’s issue on the planet. I think stem cell research is the answer to all ailments of incurable dimensions. But, I like the way our American economy is going. I am totally on board in the ‘global’ war on terror and think that every terrorist should have to spend a few years in the Hanoi Hilton. On the other hand, I think the US health care system is a nightmare, but I don’t think Canada has the answer there either. I think that we should do away with health insurance all together…make the doctors have to compete with each other and give us service for pay…like whoever has to wait longer than 15 minutes in a waiting room gets their medical care for free.

I’ve worked for the daughter of a democratic President of the United States and that daughter is as much of a megalomaniac as her father. I’ve worked for a media guru who helped elect the same republican President not once, but twice. That person started his own political career as an anarchist, so who do I believe??

And, the television commercials haven’t even started yet! By the time they’re coming at us full speed, I hope there will be a law in place that blocks the ads from being projected on our TV screens the way they sent us all a number we could use to block all the harassing sales pitches on the phone at dinnertime. I’m such a middle-of-the-roader that I’ll believe each commercial which will further cement my decision to vote for ClinBamaGuilCain.

Go vote!


I'm gonna vote for Barak Obama. I already know that. Hilary Clinton is fake and I hate her. She does a fake southern accent when she is in the south. KK pointed that out to me and I have hated her ever since.

People say Obama is young and naive. Well, so was Kennedy. If I had been old enough to vote, I would have voted for Kennedy.

If George Clooney ran for president I might vote for him...or Tony Bennett. Maybe Chris Rock would be good because he can find the joke in anything and the State of the Nation speeches would be hilarious.

Ellen DeGeneras would be a great Vice President. We could send her to Iraq or France or anywhere and she would make them laugh.

I would like to be the US Ambassador to The Bahamas. Start a petition for me and I'll put you up for a week at Jake's on the south shore of the island.

Being President of the US would be a really hard job and I wouldn't want to do it. Would you?

Friday, October 12, 2007

Anger Management

I used to use Valium for my anger management, but then I would just fall asleep, so now that I've given up most drug-related vices and crutches, I have to figure out how to rid myself of momentary anger without drowsing off. Any ideas? If you're a control freak and share my frustrations about people not doing things that you want them to do then you understand. If, however, you don't mind people being able to live their own lives, you might want to skip this blog, goddamit!

I woke up mad this morning. I don't know why, and it's unusual for me, but I pity those who might wander into my anger zone today. I've got the jaw-clenching, 'don't fuck with me' attitude, and I am going to go to a movie this afternoon so as not to offend anyone too much. I already feel sorry for the pitiful, stupid teenager who will sell me my popcorn, because if he or she looks askance at me when I ask him/her to scoop the popcorn from the top instead of the bottom where all the unpopped kernels are, I can not be responsible for the withering response I will give him/her...with a little lecture about respecting your elders thrown in.

If The Ancient One tells me one more time to turn UP the volume on the television that already rests at level 35, I fear that the rat poison I sprinkle on top of her salad for lunch might take hold after my anger has phased out because then I might be filled with remorse and compassion even as I reluctantly dial 911.

And, if I see ONE more Geiko commercial on TV, that's IT! Keep the bricks and stones away from my grasp or there goes the new television on the table. That would take care of volume control too!

I've tried the three-part yoga breathing and my meditation tape already this morning and that shit just doesn't work when I get wound up like this. This would be the perfect day for me to run into the asshole who runs the company I used to work for because I've been wanting to tell him off for YEARS and now that I'm no longer with the company, I can 'let'er fly' with total impunity. I've been practicing what I would say to him, and it's good, it's really tight and pithy and FILLED with residual, pent up hostility.

Pray for me today to whichever entity you call God, if there IS one!



Here are things that piss me off:
O.J. Simpson
Children screaming for no reason in restaurants
Lindsay Lohan, Paris Hilton and Britany Spears
Rude sales people
Bluehair drivers
Barristers from Africa who keep telling me everyday that I just won $5,000,000.00
Fake online psychics
Teens who never say thank you any more and feel entitled to everything
Football star dog killers
Stupid answering machine messages where people play dumb music or do impressions
My turkey neck
The Ancient One's thinly veilled racism
Jury duty
People who cut in line
People who talk during movies
People who answer a cell phone when you're in the middle of a sentance
People on the other end of the telephone line who start talking to someone else in the room without telling you first
Waiting for someone who's late and that wants something from you
People who leave a message that says, 'I need to talk to you about something' and then you can't reach them/TELL ME WHAT YOU WANT TO TALK ABOUT IN THE fucking MESSAGE GODDAMMIT!
Full parking lots
Orange houses


Wednesday, October 10, 2007


If Merle Haggard had met me years ago when he and I were younger and better looking, he would have asked me to marry him, and because I have the "Yes, I will marry you" gene, I would be Mrs. Merle Haggard today! He only wrote and sang the most beautiful, pitifully sad country song ever written, "Misery and Gin." I get goose bumps whenever I hear any Haggard song on the radio. When his voice goes deep, I get that tingly feeling all the way down to my vajayjay!

Here's the conundrum. I feel exactly the same way about Placido Domingo. Opera and country music...I am in love with them both. When I saw Placido sing Nessun Dorma at the Metropolitan Opera in New York, I cried like a baby, lept up at the end screaming BRAVO until my voice was gone and lusted after him for years afterward...still do.

I'm suspect in my musical taste range as you can see. The first time I heard the Beatles on the radio, I thought they were young black men from Mississippi. I argued wtih my friend who told me they were British. I just didn't believe it.

Music brings up memories for me that are visceral. Whenver I hear Jethro Tull, I want to take LSD. The Doobie Brothers make me want to smoke some hash, and Elton John makes me want to Burn Down the friggin Mission on speed! Bonnie Raitt makes me cry and gnash my teeth because You Can't Make Him Love You if He Won't, and Joni Mitchell makes me want to don a black beret and live in Paris on the left bank.

I turned the radio dial when punk, hip-hop and gansta rap came along. Those musical styles just washed off me like water off a duck's back. Give me George Strait singing I'll Be Somewhere Down in Texas if You're Lookin for Me. And, if I weren't old enough to be John Mayer's mother's sister, I would marry him too. Mick Jagger didn't do a thing for me. He's so ugly, I mean, come on! But, James Taylor made me swoon.

So, I'll keep groovin to the Beach Boys, singing at the top of my lungs to Carly Simon and beeboppin to the Four Tops as I grow older. Give me the Three Tenors or give me death!


I'm an actor so it's only natural that I love show tunes. Often I will just break out into song for no reason.
KK and I were born in Lubbock, Texas and then raised in Midland. We hated it in west Texas. No trees, no mountains or hills, just vast expanses of sky and brown. So one of my favorite country songs is, 'Happiness is Lubbock Texas in my rear view window'. My second favorite is, 'Nobody wants to play the rythm guitar behind Jesus, Everybody wants to be the lead singer in the band'.
I like the blues, the kind that you hear old people play in little clubs in New Orleans. They always have a cigarette hanging out of their mouth as they play their guitar and you know they just smoked a joint out in the alley with a two dollar whore. Love that stuff.
I like 60's music. Johhny Crawford and Leslie Gore were my favorites. 'It's my Party and I'll Cry If I want to...' and Johnny sang 'I'm Mister Blue' and played the kid in 'Rifleman' which was one of my favorite TV shows. And speaking of that, 'Have gun will travel reads the card of a man. A knight without armour in a savage land, his fast gun for hire reached the calling wind...a soldier of fortune is the man called...Pallidin!' I don't think I spelled his name right. I know all the words to the theme song of 'Rawhide' and the movie (the first one with John Wayne), 'The Alamo'.
I had an audition for a big movie last week and the casting director asked me to sing a song so I broke out the one Paul Newman sang in 'Hud' or 'Cool Hand Luke' I can't remember which one but I still remember all the word after 40 years. "I don't care if it rains or freezes, long as I got my plastic Jesus....fastened to the dashboard of my car. Comes in colors pink and pleasant, glows in the dark cause it's irridescent-take it with you when you travel far."
Well, I could go on and on with the kind of music I like so I'll just leave you with another of the ones I sing all the time and especially when I'm doing the dishes and looking out at the garden.
Fogeye, piefoot, redbone, dragalong
Coof all night you can still hear his song.
Runnin with the moon on a blackfaced riverbank,
Flatfoot and fickly with a coon on the run.

Redbone hound...come and get your belly up,
Lyin on your tail... all day long.
The mist is risin in the Cripple Creek Holler,
Gonna run till the dew on the grass meets the sun.

Old fogeye been rackin through the beanfield,
Diggin up the cornseed, he can't do more.
Uncle Jack says he's goin for his shotgun
Gonna nail his hide to the chicken house door!

Redbone hound...come and get your belly up,
A lyin on your tail... all day long.
Mist is risin in the Cripple Creek Holler
Gonna run till the dew on the grass meets the sun.

Isn't that fun? When you sing it real low it's really pretty.

Happy trails to you, until we meet again. Happy trails to you, keep smilin until then..

Monday, October 8, 2007


My little Darlings:

Here is the list of pets I've had in my life by category:

Dogs -
Daddy Grace

Cats -
and Odessa

Whew! I've raised a passle of'em, but there was not one of them whom I had to send to college...nary a single teenager in the bunch who acted up or hated my guts. They all displayed blind devotion, unconditional love and heartfelt gratitude for my presence. My list shows that although I chose to be a childless woman at the age of 25, I've surrounded myself with little darlings who were so glad to see me at the end of the day, only needed food, water and love and never asked to use my car!

If I had a child, I'm afraid I would have been so overly protective that I would have seat-belted the poor thing to the couch from age two to age eighteen so I wouldn't have to worry about them. I would have produced a potential serial killer, manic-depressive, sociopath who wound up in prison and never spoke to me again.

Pets do get cranky on occasion. If you step on them by accident, it pisses them off and they try to bite and scratch you. I've known children like that too and they don't really understand the word, "accident." They look at you like you did it on purpose, but with pets, there's no retribution. They don't try to get back at you if you 'accidentally' kick them across the room. I think they curse me every now and when Odessa 'accidentally' got out the other evening and had to spend the night outdoors...her first night out. When I called for her on the porch the next morning, she did look at me as she came screaming to my feet as if to say, "You BITCH! How COULD you have left me outside with beasts like rats and possums and raccoons, and because you had the vet pull out my front FINGERNAILS, I had no defense against the creatures of the night!" I apologized profusely, which they also don't quite understand, but she got over it in about 15 minutes. I dare say that a child might have been scarred for life after a night left outside. I'm just sayin...

And, unlike children, I've had to put a few of them 'down.' I've spent many an hour cradling their tiny heads as they drifted off to cat or dog heaven after a full happy life. I would cry buckets, spend the rest of the day bereft in my bed and not answer my phone or go to work. But, unlike children, within 48 hours, I was at the pound again picking out my next precious, little darling. Pet's are so much easier. They last about a decade and then you get to pick out another one.

If you want unconditional love, get a dog or a cat!


My cat's name is Buddy because he is my little buddy. He's a Turkish Angora: long and elegant with long hair and fluffy tail. Beautiful black and white with a mischiefous glint in his kiwi green eyes. He thinks he is the king of the house and terrorizes Dammit daily. Odessa likes to play with him every day but they get excited and then Buddy tries to bite her on her ass and she has to hide under various and sundry chairs as he's too big to follow her under those tight places. Then she dashes out and chases Buddy and they tumble in a blurry ball of hair and hisses.
When I first got Buddy he was about 6 months old and some asshole had left him in a dumpster in a downtown loft building. The guy just left him there and Buddy was sitting quietly, waiting for him to come back and get him. Luckily, one of my acting students found him and guilted me into giving him a home in my fifth floor apartment in Hollywood. You could not touch him or he would try to bite you. I just left him alone but tried to play with him by throwing the ball from the kitchen to the bedroom or dangling and swishing my robe sash around the living room floor. My apartment was big compared to most but still a one bedroom and he was getting bigger every day.
I moved to Austin in March to take care of the ancient one and brought Buddy with me. That's not as easy as it sounds. I had to get him shots and buy an $80 dollar ticket for him on American Airlines. When he was at the vet to get his shots, he went crazy and turned into a Tasmanian Devil. He bit me, the vet and the guy with the blanket and huge leather gloves who said he had gone through this with wild, ferral cats. It took the three of us to get Buddy down for the two seconds it took to give him his rabbies shot while he made noises like a pissed off Bengal Tiger.
KK came to help me move out and we found a red-with-black mesh cat carrier at Target. The animal has to be able to stand up in the carrier or the airline won't let them fly. They can't weigh more than 10 pounds and can't have bitten anyone in the last ten days. I should have sent my vet some flowers cause he weighed in at 11 pounds and bit all three of us three days before the flight. She lied, bless her heart.
KK and I were enjoying our last cigarette on a bench just outside the Burbank airport when a securitiy guy passed by and commented on what a beautiful cat I had. Then he casually mentioned that I would have to take Buddy out of the carrier at the security gate to pass through. KK and I stared at each other straight-faced and in shock. We had given Buddy a tranquilizer but you don't know this cat. He's an alfa devil in an airport where the loudspeakers are blaring and people are everywhere and everything smells like white tile and feet. Luckily, it was all too much for him as I lifted him out of the carrier on the conveyor belt that goes into the x-ray machine and ran through the metal detector door hugging Buddy to me for dear life. He was dazed and terrified as I handed him to KK on the other side. She grabbed for him just as the carrier came out the other side of the machine and we slapped him back into the carrier just as he realized that it might be fun to run through this whole, big place.

Buddy slept like a baby from Burbank to Phoenix and then on to Austin. KK and I introduced him to the ancient one and turned him loose in this big house.

All he needed was some space and somebody fun to play with. He and Odessa can be found sleeping together between bouts of hysterical running and wrestling through the house. You can pet him now and he purrs and lets you hold him and carry him around. Odessa won't let him mess with her sexually as she is fixed, so Buddy has chosen the white, furry bath mat in KK's and my bathroom as a girlfriend. He has been neutered so I don't understand why he wants to screw the bathroom mat. We have to keep it folded up or he will go in there and knead on it and purr and eventually hump it until it is all bunched up and looking like some sort of demented volley ball that grew white fuzz. And he doesn't even care if we see him do this. Pervert.
KK is a cat-whisperer and one day she told me that Buddy has to be taught that I, Sally, am the alpha cat of the house and he has to mind me! So I held him up to my face and said sternly, 'I am the Alpha Cat!'. Right after that she went to get some alchohol and cotton swabs to wipe off the blood from the four-inch gashes left down the right side of my face.
So, Buddy is the king of the house and I pretty much do as he wishes and wait for the times when he is lovey and calm and then go mush his face and and pet him all I want.

Every cat I've had has lasted longer than any man I had and they are quieter and easier to feed. As three-dimensional expressions of awareness go, I'll take a Buddy over a Bubba any day.

Saturday, October 6, 2007

Cooking, Schmooking

I love to eat, as you know, but the cooking part escapes me. SalGal is a fabulous cook, so why should I bother? When I lived in New York, my husband and I went out for practically every meal because he didn't like to cook either. I had a saying taped to our icebox that read, "The modern wife is one who knows what her husband's favorite dishes are and the restaurants that serve them." That seemed logical to me.

When I found myself single again and with a smaller budget for sustanance, I realized that I would have to cook in order to survive. My hands have tiny scars all over them from knife usage. I can't seem to cut lettuce without cutting myself. Even when I'm slicing and dicing and thinking about how careful I need to be with my sharp knife...WHACK...blood, skin, tissue all mixes with the diced celery on the cutting board. I just can't be trusted in the kitchen. This is why the frozen food section at the grocery store is my second home. I know every frozen food dish ever prepared by any manufacturer. They should hire me to do television commercials for them, for God's sake.

Here's the conundrum...I LOVE the cooking channel. I know the Barefoot Contessa, Giada, Bobby Flay and Paula Dean as if they were members of my own family. I watch Top Chef, The Iron Chef and Hell's Kitchen. I am fascinated by cooks and chefs and bakers. I guess it's a vicarious pleasure that draws me to this medium...better THEY in the kitchen than I. I love it when they have all the ingredients that they need in those cute little dishes ready to just plop into their mixtures as they prepare their scrumptious meals. I'll bet the people off camera who have to do all that slicing and dicing have scars on their hands too.

My deal with SalGal is that she cooks, I clean up. That's my kitchen forte. I'm unbelievably talented at soaking, scrubbing, wiping and loading the dishwasher. I believe that the contribution I make in this regard, although unheralded to say the least, is just as valuable as making the mess in the first place. You cooks are all so messy! I know there's a timing thingy, but if you would just clean as you go along, it would make my job a hell of a lot easier. I'm not complaining...ok, maybe I am, but in our house, I am well fed and the kitchen is spotless!

Be kind to your clean-up crew!

Thursday, October 4, 2007

Technology III

I'm so fascinated by technology that I gotta write about it again. I don't even know how radio waves work, so this era of technology is rife with story ideas for 'Nancy the Navigator.' My friend, Bill has the GPS thingy in his fancy car. Since he gives everyone and everything a nickname, he calls the computer lady who guides him around town, Nancy the Navigator. I love it when people try to personalize these mechanical creatures.

I asked Bill to take me to the dentist the other day. I'm a dental phobic with problem teeth, so I have to take Valium whenever I have an appointment. I'm smart enough to know that I can't drive, so he offered to take me back and forth. When he came to collect me, he helped me shuffle slowly down the walk to the car, poured me into the passenger seat and off we went. He had entered the address into the GPS and he told me that Nancy the Navigator would get us there. I wanted to go a different way, however, because I don't like freeways. Well, he said, "Nancy is not going to like it, but we can try. She will have to adjust." Sure enough, when she said, "Turn right in 500 feet" and we turned left instead, she freaked out!

MAKE A U-TURN AS SOON AS POSSIBLE. TURN AROUND. YOU ARE TRAVELING EAST AND SHOULD BE GOING WEST. She was actually scolding us! And, because Valium makes me think that everything is pretty damn funny, I couldn't stop laughing. She tried to adjust after realizing that we were bucking her authroity (do these computer voices use deductive reasoning??). After Bill said, "Fuck you, Nancy," she then said, "No need to be testy with me, Bill." We looked at each other with mouths agape as she continued, "I have no patience with your disobedience. I am having to listen to Steve on another screen in his Mercedes huffing and puffing as he bangs away on some tart in the CostCo parking lot. MAKE A FUCKING U-TURN IN 500 FEET, DAMMIT! Nancy took over the map screen and displayed a giant emoticon of a hand shooting us the finger.

Don't mess with technology!

Drive on!

Wednesday, October 3, 2007

I am now published!!!

Friends of our blog...I am now published on the website, She Unlimited/The Daily Confection. This is an essay from the blog which I tweaked for maximum first column went live this morning. Check it out!

Yeehaw. I'm so excited to be a regular columnist for this groovy women's online magazine, and the photo next to my essay on beauty is's not of ME, but it's wonderful! Would that I looked like THAT!

Thanks for your support,



This calls for COCKTAILS!!!

Ask, Ask, Ask...

How midlife asking differs:

Asking is not for the faint-of-heart! But, it works wonders if you have the cojones. My grandaddy always told us that if you can't get the answer you want, go to the top brass, skip the middleman and assume that someone in power will welcome your query. The worst thing that can happen is that they say no, right? It just leaves you in the same position as you were before you asked. I've learned at this age that if they say "No," you just say, "Next?"

I've also learned that it's okay to 'embellish' the truth...okay, lie about the reasons for your request if you have to. When I asked for a raise, I got it. Granted, my mother was not really sick and I wasn't going to use the extra money for her care, I was going to use it for MY care...but I didn't think she would mind. As a matter of fact, she said, "Use me if you have to." so I got permission for that embellishment.

I've asked Nora Ephron to be my writing mentor. She's a famous playwright, movie producer and author of my favorite book, "I Feel Bad About My Neck." I thought I knew someone who was a few 'degrees' closer to her than I, so I sent her a letter suggesting that my friend said it was okay to use her name in trying to get to Nora. It was only after I received an email from my well-connected friend that I realized she didn't know Nora, but wished that she did. I'll do almost anything legal to receive the 'yes' I seek, because I just don't have time for 'no's' anymore.

I've also learned that you have to be careful about asking for what you want because you're likely to get it, so I pick and choose more carefully now. Like, when I asked to be married, I wasn't specific enough apparently. I should have asked the universe for one long, happy marriage, not three bad ones!

And, Nora, if you're reading this blog, please forgive me for my 'embellishment,' and say the word I want to hear...YES, YES, YES!

Ask on...


I would like to ask how they get the lead into pencils. I am also asking the universe to give me $6,000,000.00 dollars. That's good for a start and then I can build on that. I ask KK all the time what she is writing and I enjoy reading the answers. She's a good writer, don't you think? She will be published soon. Her novel is fabulous.
I ask my cat, Buddy what the fuck he thinks he's doing when he continually pushes things off of tables but he can't speak human so I don't get any answers. I ask my gas station attendant to please wipe the bird poop off the top of my car and he does! So, see, it works!!
Ask me anything, I'll give you the scoop and please respond if you know how they get the lead into pencils,

Monday, October 1, 2007

Boating and Water People

How drylanders view water people at middle age:

I grew up in west Texas. There is no water in west Texas. Well, there is water in the form of brown, man-made lakes created in the middle of nowhere and with no trees or greenery to surround the walk in from the desert to the brown water and then you walk back out onto the dirt. I tried it once. And, we had to drive hundreds of miles to reach the brown water. Good excuse for a road trip, but the destination was underwhelming, to say the least.

Therefore, I really don't understand lake people or coastal types and forget the ocean folks. I once dated a lake man who wanted to go boating all the time (is that how you say it, "go boating?). And, since there were only the two of us, when we got to the place where you back the boat into the water, he backed the car so far down the incline that the back tires were actually in the water. He would then direct me to get in the car and when he said, "Go," I was to drive the car back up the incline. These were the scariest moments of my life! I was so terrified that the car would slide down into the water that it gave me heart palpataions, literally. "GO," he said, and I pushed the gas pedal down ALL the way causing the car to lurch forward, spinning the back tires, which were in the water, forGawd'ssake, and splashing and spewing a mixture of gas and water on him from head to toe with the force of my forward progress. This is supposed to be a relaxing outdoor activity??

I went sailing once in my teens. My family and I traveled to San Diego, and I brought along my school chum, Kathy. First of all, I don't like salt water. I'd never seen so much salt water in my life, and decided early on that I much preferred the brown water filled with dirt over the water that you can't even swallow and that stings your eyes. So, I stayed on the beach, which is another thing that I don't gets into, food, drinks, eyes and other dark places that were not meant to have sand in them. My parents decided that Kathy and I should learn to sail. I thought, "Ok, anything to get away from the sand and I can be on the salt water as opposed to being under it, so what the hell, let's DO it!

We took preliminary sailing lessons from the hunkiest, tan, good-looking California boy you've ever seen, so we were paying much more attention to the way he looked than to what he said, but we were confident that we had the rudimentary directions down at the end of one lesson. He then put us in a teeny-weeny sail boat made for two and off we went into the bay to sail. Sounds good at the outset, doesn't it? We were actually pretty good at it as we managed to sail away from the shore and the prying eyes of our instructor and the loving arms of my family. There were lots of boats in the bay, and we all seemed to be heading the same direction, which I concluded, had something to do with the way the winds were blowing. After we had been sailing in the one direction for quite a while, we decided that sailing was ok, but not the cat's meow that we had been expecting, so we wanted to go back to shore. Neither one of us remembered how to get the sail to go to the other side of the boat. After arguing about it for half an hour, we accidentally managed to do it, and were then heading in the reverse direction.

Out of the blue, we were in the midst of hundreds of other sail boats that seemed to be coming right at us, but in a diagonal direction. They were all screaming at us with phrases like, "Get the FUCK out of the way!" and, "Tack, you ASSHOLES!" There were several near misses as they scrambled at high speed, to get out of our way. We hadn't a clue what to do or what the word, tack, meant so we then started screaming at each other with phrases like, "WHAT in the HELL do we do?!" and, "WHERE did all these fucking people COME from?!" We were helpless as we threw up our arms in distress to those who wished us harm, but managed to narrowly avert our teeny-weeny boat on their way to God-only-knew-where. Somehow, we managed to bumblefuck our way back to the shore, where we were informed that we had just sailed the wrong way through a regatta race!

Kathy and I hated each other so much after our terrifying ordeal that she flew home to west Texas the next day to get away from the water and me and everything associated with our nightmarish water sporting experience. Sailing, schmailing...I will NEVER understand what those water people like about THAT!

Give me a clear, clean, fresh swimming pool, where I can see the bottom and where there are no sharks, and I'm good to go. Or better yet, give me a horse in a high mountain meadow at a full gallop and then I can show you what I'm made of!

Tack on!

Wow, KK, that was a longass post. You got your hatred of the sea from mother. She has always said she liked everything about the beach except the sun, sand and water.
I am a mermaid stuck on land and that's a fact. When I was little my dream was to be one of the mermaids at Disney Land who lounged by the fake rivers in shiny fish tail costumes and then slithered into the water as the monorails passed over them. God, that would be the perfect job.
When I was in my teens and early twenties I wanted to be a mermaid at Wiki Washi which I think is in Florida. Girls in fishtails get to swim under water all day doing water dances and they don't have to come up for air because there are hidden air hoses that they can breath air from behind the rocks. People watch them from a glassed-in room that is submerged under the water. I even seriously looked into that job but I couldn't figure out a way to move to Florida and it just never happened.
I had to settle for being a national champion swimmer. I got to go to summer school in Hawaii during my highschool days and I became a stoked surfer and avid ocean swimmer.
These days, I'm happy with a margarita by the pool and KK and I do our laps and water aerobics. Then we stop for a hamburger while we light up our Winstons in the car as we go home to dress for cocktails. Exercise is so good for you.
Sal Gal