Friday, November 30, 2007

Home Ownership

I've tried it, and I don't like it one bit...home ownership. I'm a gypsy. I've lived in at least 20 houses over the course of my 55 years, moving 7 times in the 15 years I've lived in Texas alone! I like to be able to give my 30-day notice and hit the road or find a cuter house in a better neighborhood or get swept away by some man who moves me somewhere I've never been. I like the adventure of relocation. I'm not one to develop cobwebs in the ceiling corners or fill up a garage with 30 years' worth of memories. Too short a trip...time to move on, look, love, learn, then leave.

I think that this all stems from the fact that in 1972 my house burned to the ground one night when my first husband and I were out drunk with our friends at a bar. It was a rent-house...and we were young college students, so it wasn't filled with things we couldn't do without, but when we needed a change of clothes and a toothbrush the next morning, we didn't have it. The whole thing turned out to be one of the blessings in my life. It taught me just how illusive the idea of owning anything we care-take instead of actually owning things and how easy throwing things away or giving things away can be.

However, I did weaken and bought a little condo a few years ago. It was fun to realize that I didn't have to keep that dirty,vanilla-babyfood creamy color on the walls. You shoulda seen me at the paint store. I wound up with a yellow kitchen, two sky-blue bedrooms, a peach-colored living room and powder blue hallway. It was so great...kind of like living inside a painting. I was giddy for several months until the heating/air-conditioning unit broke and had to be replaced to the tune of $5000! Then, it seemed like every other thing needed to be replaced...water heater, oven, window frames.

One night the condo unit's plumbing line backed up and spewed liquid sewage up through my kitchen sink in the middle of the night, flooding the floor with a greasy, blackish, foul-smelling water mixture into which I stumbled with bare feet when the odor woke me up in the dark.

That was it! I put the condo on the market within a week. In rental-year's past, all I would have had to do was call the friggin landlord and have all those things fixed at no charge.

Now that SalGal and I live with The Ancient One, I figure that my caregiving fees are balanced out by not having to pay when the gutters need cleaning or that tree in the back needs to be chopped down. I'm just passing through...this house and a gypsy life.



I, on the other hand, am a nester. I like to move the furniture in, hang the paintings, put up the shower curtain and settle in for approximately five years. And by the way, KK, we are NOT chopping down Ceasar. He has been working as hard as he can to stay alive and I will climb up in him and refuse to come down if you call the tree choppers. Jesus, I have to hide anything I like so KK doesn't see it as trash and throw it away. She would throw away my cat if he wasn't so quick. But...he is useless (except for killing roaches) and he leaves white tufts of hair everywhere and sometimes hairballs which are disgusting to look at. In KK's mind that warrants a mess and that means he belongs in the trash. I literally have to guard my stuff from her. If I say, 'look, these pants have a wine spot on them', the next day I find them in the trash. Did you ever know anybody who throws clothes in the trash if something spills on them? She does that all the time. Did she never hear of the Dry Cleaners? I have to say her condo was really adorable. And boy was it neat. Even the trash was filed properly. The way she describes it sounds like a giant Easter egg but it was very charming. I had a condo in Santa Fe for a few years and I liked owning instead of renting. You don't have to answer to anybody and nobody can do anything about it if you stand nekked in the doorway while hanging your Christmas wreath. It's your damn doorway so screw them. Freedom.

Tuesday, November 27, 2007

Boxers or Briefs?

I saw something so shocking the other night that I have to pass this on! My sister, SalGal and I were watching the old movie, “White Christmas” last night. It’s one of my favorite holiday movies…you know the one…with Bing Crosby, Danny Kaye and Rosemary Clooney. In one scene, Danny and Bing are changing from their stage clothes into their street clothes in their dressing room…all the while carrying on this insanely quick and funny dialogue. There, standing behind an old steamer trunk, Bing took off his trousers and his white tee shirt rode up a bit too far to reveal his BRIEFS!

Now, this movie was made in 1944 and movie makers back then weren’t even allowed to show a married couple in the same bed much less show their UNDERWEAR! You coulda knocked me over with a feather when I saw that. And, then that got me thinking…boxers or briefs…I mean, when you think of Bing Crosby, would you ever wonder whether he wore boxers or briefs?

Personally, I think boxers are so much more manly and sophisticated, but I know that without any support, they can lead a man down the ‘long-ball’ path. Women are about as impressed with that as men are with women who haven’t worn a bra since they burned theirs in the sixties, for pity’s sake!

On the other hand, if the correct briefs are worn, and here I’m talking about men who actually buy sexy briefs to impress the ladies…it’s somewhat of a turn on…that upper thigh muscle and all.

I’m going to throw out some names here so you can imagine them in either boxers or briefs:

Brad Pitt
President George Bush
The Dalai Lama
Harry Potter
Hugo Chavez
Ellen Degeneres
George Clooney
Elton John
Al Gore
Jack Martin
Sean Connery

Hehehe…did you pause, close your eyes and try to picture each one in boxers or briefs? Those are shocking visuals, aren’t they? I should be ashamed of myself, shouldn’t I?

Which came first, do you suppose…boxers or briefs?



Ah, yes that is the question. But look at the other side of that. Does Meryl Streep wear granny panties or a thong? There is an inbetween and I guess they would be called 'step-ins'. At least that's what Pam's grandmother called her underwear which men in the service call 'skivvies'. But do women in the service call their undies that too? Or maybe they call them skivvettes'. There's the word we used growing up in the 60's in west Texas; 'undies'. My mother called her underwear, 'lingerie' which is much swankier and probably includes more thongs than granny panties which is what she wears now. She is the ancient one now so she doesn't wear lingerie anymore but the finer pieces are in a lingerie drawer with an Italian sachet that keeps it smelling pretty and those silken slips and bras and panties have been in that drawer for about thirty years. 'Panties', that's another word for undies and that covers everything but thongs. I wear panties. They are white and they are cotton crotched for breathing. I don't care about my underwear because I am not after a man. On the other hand, KK is on the market and keeps appropriate under garments in her lingerie drawer just in case a love connection should occur while out and about on the scene. She, of course, is not easy and the man will have to prove himself for quite a while before he will deserve the opening of the lingerie drawer but it will be worth it.
Picture this:
Paris Hilton in granny panties
Angela Landsbury in a thong
Rosie O'Donnell in pink, matching lace robe and nighty
Roseanne Barr in a yellow thong with matching brazier
George Clooney in a black, lace thong


Saturday, November 24, 2007


Shouldn’t Black Friday signify the death of someone important, or the celebration of some African American who did something of powerful note? Instead, it’s about ‘being in the commercial black.’ How shameless!

Taking another survey here…please raise your virtual hands if you got up early enough on Friday morning to be in line when the doors to several major department stores in America opened at 5 am. This is a tribe of people with whom I am wholly unfamiliar.

I have to be ‘in the mood’ for a shopping expedition, especially if I have to go to a mall. I try NEVER to go to a mall, but during the holiday season, sometimes it is just necessary, like having to have a colonoscopy. If I could drive from one location in a mall to another at the opposite end I would be a lot happier. That’s a LOT of walking from one end of a mall to the other, and when you’re done shopping and exhausted, you have to walk to your car which is only God knows where and way far away from where you are at ANY given moment. May I suggest that malls provide those little golf carts on which to ride or a miniature train with enough room for all of our packages?

I like to go to the itty bitty specialty stores and buy things for people that they will never use, can’t understand and end up re-gifting (sometimes back to me!). It’s just more fun, and the sales people are happier. The mall people have worked an 18-hour shift; they don’t care about Christmas or any other holiday and are only in it for enough cash to pay off the stores to which they still owe money from LAST Christmas.

Online shopping is now my favorite way to give strangers money in exchange for goods that I cannot see or feel. There’s a kind of excitement in that you’ve got a 50-50 chance that what you ordered actually winds up being something you’re happy with. If it’s a gift and you can’t see or feel it maybe, ever…you sheepishly ask the recipient of this gift, “Um, how’d you like the mittens and matching scarf?” Of course, they’ll be frightfully polite and tell you that they loved your gift…to which I often reply, “You DID…really? I mean, I’m so glad.”

Another show of hands from those who buy themSELVES one swanky, expensive holiday gift, leaving not so much money left over to spend lavishly or even frugally on loved ones. I must admit, some of the best gifts I’ve ever gotten, I gave to myself…I mean, who knows me better? Who really knows that I prefer cashmere over scratchy wools or Chanel No. 5 to ELizabeth Arden? Well, now YOU do, but don’t feel obligated…no pressure.


I hate shopping. It makes my back hurt and I hate trying things on. I would rather go to the dentist than to the mall. Maybe my problem is that I don't ever have a list or a clear idea of what it is I want. I just think, I need to buy a present for KK or for Pam or the Ancient One and then off I go. I figure I'll know it when I see it. And then I am overwhelmed by the abundance of ideas and gifts to the point where I am left standing stupefied in the middle of 'Bed, Bath & Beyond' staring at plastic, handsoap dispensers. Hmmmm....nah. So then I end up at 'Apologie' (my favorite store) where I end up buying little novelty books, two foot tall candles and garlic cat treats shaped like Jesus' face. What was I thinking? I cannot be trusted.
Once I went shopping in search of a very specific pair of black, cigarette pants and came home with t-shirt with a green, sequined picture of a marijuana leaf on the the front and the word, 'Smokin' on the back. I just couldn't resist it. Actually, I wore that to the 'Keep Austin Wierd' parade and about 80 people asked me where I got it.
Austin has a great outdoor event about once a week. It's the bats flying out from under the bridge at Sunset and the Bat Festival, wine tastings at the park or gypsy music at Laguna Gloria. But my favorite bazaar is the 'Armadillo Christmas Bizarre,' a yearly holiday sale and the booths are fantastic. There is everything from paintings and original blown glass to hand-made bongs and ceramic mushrooms that you stick in your garden. I got one of those. KK will go with me this year as usual to stop me from buying something queer like clown shoes or wind chimes with the state of Texas cut out of thin copper. I must have the voice of reason in my ear. I must get away from KK so that I can go back to that booth with the wine holder necklaces and get one for her for Christmas.

Thursday, November 22, 2007


I’m thankful around this time of year, but sometimes it’s for different things…like the space between my thoughts. I think God is in there. And, I’m grateful for the few times that I allow myself to listen to that God space.

I think sign language is about the coolest thing on the planet. I like different forms of communication, and the fact that someone figured out how to actually have conversations with their hands makes me thankful.

I’m grateful for windows that roll down with the press of a button. There are a lot of things about cars that I’m thankful for…like blinkers instead of reaching outside your window and having to use sign language to maneuver through traffic. I like the sound that my blinker makes too. I’m so grateful to have the car machine that takes me wherever I want or need to go in comfort, with music and climate control and paved roads on which to glide

I love my soap opera. I’m thankful every time I watch it because those poor people’s lives are just the worst, more troubles than you can shake a stick at which makes me so happy that my life is relatively mediocre and safe.

Even though I tend to bristle at positive criticism, I’m grateful for the feedback. It takes me a bit of time after my “Oh yeah? Well, bite me!” response to the feedback, but I most always come around to knowing that it was given in love, sent to help me be a better person and something I need to learn.

I’m thankful for room spray for so many reasons.

I’m always thankful for the time after I buy a lottery ticket…before they give out the winning numbers. I have just as much of a chance for the millions as everyone else, and my numbers just look like winning numbers. I have so many notions of how to spend my money and visualizations galore. Even when I don’t have six of six or even one of six, I’m grateful that there will be another chance at the next drawing.

I’m grateful for business cards. All you have to do with a stranger (especially one you don’t want to chat with at the moment) is hand them a card which tells them everything you want them to know…and no more. I like to receive business cards too. It makes me feel important.

Three-ring binders with dividers fill me with gratitude. I love organizational tools.

I’m immensely grateful to all the future readers of my first novel at the onset of its publication in the spring of ‘08. You’re all going to love it which makes me happy in advance.

And, finally, I don’t think anyone really knows WHO discovered America, and I don’t care because the Thanksgiving holiday is the perfect excuse to eat turkey, gravy, stuffing and pumpkin pie.


Ah...yes, there are so many things to be grateful for. I'm grateful for food. We get to eat pretty much anything we want and that is a very luxurious way to live. We are so lucky. Food is beautiful and there are so many wonderful colors; red radishes, aubergine eggplants, yellow squash, carrots, splinach, peaches and blueberries. When you put vegetables and fruits on the kitchen counter it looks so plush and rich. The colors make me grateful and remind me of how beautiful the earth is in its bounty. I love to cook so I am also grateful for cooking tools like cheese graters, lemon squeezers, spatulas, potato peelers, Cuisinarts and can openers. Here are some other miscellaneous things I am grateful for:
Bunion pads
Tooth brushes
Gucci scarves
Fingernail files
Chanel #5
Wax apples
Big trees
Down pillows
Cell phones
Kitty litter
Lady bugs

The world is great,

Tuesday, November 20, 2007


Have you ever sent an email to the wrong person? Or, a wrong email to the right person? Or maybe an email you forwarded to the one person who shouldn't read it?

Allow me to tell my story. Hopefully it's not too much worse than your own story, and I'll bet you have one.

I had a 'best' friend once who had a very mean sister. We would talk about the sister for hours and I was as fully supportive as any best friend could be on this topic.

One day while at work, my friend sent me an email that she had received from her mean sister (you're getting what's going to happen here, aren't you?), and it really was a vicious one, so I 'replied' to my friend saying what a bitch her sister was and how she just didn't understand my friend, yada, yada, yada...there was a lot more, but I've forgotten exactly what I said, thank Gawd!

After several minutes, my friend called me to see if I had gotten her email. I said, "Yes...and I emailed you back about it." She said, "I haven't gotten an email...maybe it's just taking longer because of email traffic." (spoken like the true computer incompetents that we were). As she was waiting for my email to find its way to her, and we were still on the phone with each other, it became clear to both of us almost simultaneously...that I had somehow sent the email to her sister instead of her.

"HOLY CRAP!" she said, to which I replied, "OH MY GOD!" Her next response was so priceless and pitiful; she said it with such passion and fear, "CLICK UNSEND, CLICK UNSEND!!"

We both knew there were no 'unsend' buttons on our keyboards, that the email had reached its unintended destination and that we were both screwed...she for having shared her sister's email with me, and of course, I for having responded at all.

My best friend then said to me, "Well, YOU have to fix this! You're the one who sent the email, so you HAVE to fix this." I said, "Got any ideas how I might do that?" She demanded that I send another email to her sister in apology for the first one. And, I must admit, since all of this was done in cyberspace and without any face-to-face confrontation, it was a skosh easier to bow to my friend's pressure and send an email apology:

Dear _______________,
Obviously, I am unbelievably sorry about the email that I inadvertently sent to you just a few minutes ago. And, obviously, that email was meant to go to your sister. I was trying to be supportive for her, and perhaps I took it a bit too far. My greatest hope is that you and your sister can work things out...without my help.


My best friend and I don't speak much anymore. Not because of this transgression (or maybe, now that I think about it...hmmmmm) but just because we went separate ways in our lives. Be careful before you send an email...or install an UNSEND button on your computer!


Wanting to press 'Unsend'...that is the equivalent of the 'post edit' after an audition. Every actor does it. You go into an audition and you do your very best and then you have to walk away. But that is not possible. Your mind races on the drive back home. Why did I say that that way and why didn't I do that line better and why can't I remember what I did? It's the post edit and all you want to do is press 'unsend!', punch 'rewind!' and get another chance to do it better. But you only get one chance to do it perfectly. And that's the way real life is too. If you don't do every moment the very best you can in any given situation, you can't press 'Unsend'.

I wish there was an 'ammend' button for my life. If I accidentally insult someone, which I tend to do occasionally, I would like to be able to press 'ammend' and have, 'Wow, your eye wrinkles are getting as deep as the Grand Canyon', change to 'Gee, you look great for your age!' And the person would have no memory of my first remark. See, that's the key. The 'ammend' button would also cause memory loss in the targetted friend. The button would be attached to my key chain so I could pull it out and use it instantly. Think of how this could change the world. No more misunderstandings and people would be walking around wondering why three hours out of every day of their lives keep disappearing. But I do go on, don't I?

I have no idea why you just lost 36 seconds while we were talking and gee, your hair looks great today!

Saturday, November 17, 2007


How Midlife pleasures may differ:

At my age, it's a pleasure to get up in the morning, after a full eight hours, and not feel like I've been run over by a truck. As you may know, SalGal and I finally quit smoking on October 28, 2007 at 11:59 pm CST. As a result, we are getting re-acquainted with the pleasures that lie therein. We can breathe again. We can make it all the way through a hearty guffaw without winding up at the end of one in a wheezing, coughing spasm of embarrassment, and we don't enter a room surrounded by an invisible cloak of tar and ash on our hands, in our hair and on our clothes. Talk about pleasures! Yes, thankyou, thankyou...we're very proud of ourselves.

I find pleasure in the tiniest things these days, like getting the combination of honey and cream just right in my morning cup of coffee. I like it when the temperature outside is exactly room temp...not too hot or too cold, just right. I'm happiest when I see strangers kissing. That's what I like about countries like Italy, Spain and France. They just make out with complete abandon all over the place. I'm a romantic so I love delicate PDAs.

I feel intense pleasure when I eat a fine cheeseburger...cooked to perfection, with a little grease on the bun and with all my favorite fixins. French fries are superfluous if you get the perfect's just overkill. I squeal with delight with the first bite theory...that no bite is as good as the very first a small spoonful of Beluga caviar that I let explode in my mouth as I then taste the accompanying goodies of toast points, Creme Fraiche and cold champagne.

I find pleasure in sports when a ball player hits a grand slam or when a golfer gets a hole in one. I scream when the basketball player throws the ball all the way across the court and makes the basket. I like a good endzone dance after the winning touchdown and I love to see a swimmer come up for air after a 100 meter freestyle race for the gold.

A pair of jeans that make me appear to have an ass are a pleasure to wear. It's a pleasure to hear a politician accidentally slip up and say something truthful. What a delight it is to hear Placido Domingo sing Nessun Dorma with that high 'C' at the end. The rush I get when I feel the bite of a fish on the line is beyond pleasurable. I am giddy when I see a cowboy stay on a bull for the full 8 seconds, and there is no greater pleasure than seeing the love between a Daddy and his little girl.

Frankly I could go on and on with pleasures. Hopefully, this makes you think back on some of your own pleasures. Here's hoping you find some new ones today!



I like guilty pleasures the best. Bourbon and coke. Pate Foie Gras. Regular Lays potato chips. Actors who give it all they've got. Acting class. Garth Brooks. I'm just doing that stream of consciousness thing right now. Life is full of so many varied pleasures it's hard to think of only a few. I like walking barefoot out in the yard and the way the grass and garden smells right after a rain. The sunlight shining through a cat's ear. Pretty shoes and beaded cocktail purses.

Lace pillows
Creme Brulee
Oil paints
Playing Cranium
Cutting flowers from other people's yards
America's Next Top Model
Wearing mother's gold bracelet without her knowing it
Giving Buddy tuna fish juice from the can
Starbuck's Mocca, 2% frappaccino with whipped cream
Watching cowboy Polo with KK in the hill country
Crispy oysters at Jeffry's
Flashy trash movies
Pictures of George Clooney
Pecan pie with vanilla icecream
Turning on the lights at sunset
Pimiento cheese on soda crackers
Peach colored flowers
Big dangly earrings
Hearing a secret
White cotton blouses
Looking at handsome, young men
Chanel #5 skin lotion
Other people's babies
Dog faces

Thursday, November 15, 2007

Point of View

KK: SalGal, remember that blonde woman at the party the other night...the one who had the long ear lobes?

SalGal: You mean the one with the dark hair and the green earrings?

KK: Did she have green earrings on? All I remember is that she talked for so long, I wanted to bitch slap her. Were those boobs real?

SalGal: If I was still in Hollywood I would guess no but I think they were real. She said she was married to the architect, didn't she? And she worked at the Four Seasons. That blue dress was sure low-cut, somewhat tacky.

KK: Dearie, she had on an orange turtleneck with black pants. Are you sure you were at the same party? And, she was a vet!

SalGal: Get out! An orange turtleneck not! What the fuck...this is that thing you always do that is so wrong. Your memory sucks after two margaritas and mine gets better. So I'm right and shut the fuck up.

KK: This is sooooo like you, Sal. Remember when you saw that midget at the store and thought he was a little boy...the one with the friggin beard?

SalGal: Well, hell, he had on a t-shirt with Big Bird on the back and I was distracted by the big yellow shape. Do you realize how UN politically correct the word 'midget' is? I think you're supposed to say stunted person or something.

KK: Oops! You're right...Vertically challenged is politically correct. I think it's safe to say that we see things a bit differently, the waiter who came to take our order that night at a bar and you thought he was a pervert and pepper-sprayed him. I rest my case. We had to leave him a REALLY big tip, remember?

SalGal: Wow...I thought that waiter was a bull dyke. Are you telling me that was a man?

KK: WhatEVER...

Tuesday, November 13, 2007


IS the term 'well-thought-out risk' an oxymoron? Doesn't risk inherently entail stupidity and LACK of thought? the time I went for a tour of the Metropolitan Opera in New York, and was told SEVERAL times that speaking to the opera singers, should we run across one, was VERBOTEN! But, they didn't tell me that I would run smack into my favorite opera singer at the time, Samuel Ramey, who was one of the world's best. And, our tour guide didn't know that it just happened to be my fortieth birthday that very day.

This won't surprise those readers who know me, but I realized that this was the chance of a lifetime for me, and I didn't want no stinkin' autograph either. So, was it a well-thought-out risk to approach him as he sat talking to nine other opera singers...and ask him to sing happy birthday to me? I didn't think so at the time...even as I walked toward him with our tour guide whispering and then shouting, ",no, NO! You can't do, no...come back here!"

Here's what sometimes happens when you take a risk...well-thought-out or not. Samuel Ramey looked at me, smiled and responded to my query..."How about we ALL sing happy birthday to you?" So, on my fortieth birthday, I was serenaded by 10 Metropolitan Opera singers with the silly happy birthday song. It never sounded so good!

I suggest taking both well-thought-out risks and then the ones that happen on the spur of the moment. You gotta have cojones for the spur-of-the-moment risks, but the rewards can be ten times sweeter because you don't have time to figure out what you want them to be.


Life itself is a risk everyday. You risk getting up in the morning but you have to. Anything could happen. You could stub your toe on the way to the kitchen to make coffee. You could spill the coffee grounds on the cat and singe your hand with the hot water from the sink as you fill the coffee pot and then you could drop the cup as you get it from the cabinet and then step on the shards of broken porcelain as you reach for the broom to sweep up the mess. The broom handle could falll forward and hit your head as you are pulling a piece of glass out of your foot and then it could land on the cat's water bowl and splash water all over the floor.

And all of that in the first 45 seconds after you dare to get out of bed on a normal, weekday morning. I'm not saying such things will really happen. You've got to trust that the world is plotting to do you good every day. That's what I do and please excuse me because I need to put a bandaid on my foot, butter on the burn on my hand and shake the grounds off the cat at the back door.


Sunday, November 11, 2007

My Favorite Things

My very most favorite animal on the planet is a horse. They are the most splendid of animals, and because I've always wanted one and never owned one, I consider myself a 'cowgirl without portfolio.' I like the smell of horses, the sounds they make, the smell of a tack room, the beauty of their shiny coats, the sounds of the birds in a barn and the whinnying of a horse who wants out to play. One of my favorite sounds is the sound of a horse walking on cement...that clippety clop sound makes me stop in my tracks and smile.

I like horses because they're so big and smart and because when you show them how to play a game...they love to play the game, like cutting cattle out of a herd or chasing down a steer so the rider can slip off the saddle to wrestle it to the ground. They have hearts that will not Seabiscuit and all the thoroughbreds who run because their riders ask them to...until they physically give out.

Horses love people who love horses. They don't suffer fools and they won't cooperate with people who don't like them or know how to 'speak' to them. For the ones who can 'speak' to them, they have a bond...a love that transcends many other kinds of love.

I've ridden western, English and bareback. I've had experiences with Arabians, cutting horses, Italian endurance horses from Maremma, polo ponies and old nags. I still want a horse. I'll always want a horse. And, the cowboys who ride the horses aren't bad either!


Can you believe how much KK loves horses? And I've probably been around them much more than she has because of all the western movies I worked on. Horses everywhere...and cowboys. I can take horses or leave them. I like to look in their big, ole eyes as I stroke them under their chins. On the set of 'Wyatt Earp' I was petting one of the horses on its face like most people do and Rusty, the head wrangler, came over and covered my face with the palm of his hand. He said, 'Do you like that? Cause horses don't like it either unless they really know you well.' I learned a lot about horses on movie sets and my favorite thing is when a stagecoach with a six-up comes barrelling down the street. It's pretty magnificent. The sound of the harnesses clanking and the hooves and the coach creaking, had to be there.

I don't love horses though. I hate the smell of their urine. It smells like apple juice and I can't drink apple juice because of years of horses taking a piss right next to me. I don't like the way they smell and they have bad breath. I have a toe that is bent from being stepped on when I was a little kid at summer camp. Horse snot is really yucky when they sneeze and fling it on you.


Thursday, November 8, 2007


I subscribe to Woody Allen and Groucho’s theory about clubs: “I'd never join a club that would allow a person like me to become a member.”

I've been a member of a book club, but dropped out recently because it required reading twelve books a year which is about six too many for me. That being said, I do miss all the wine we drank and the food we ate, but it was a club with rules and time lines. This makes me buck like a young bronch. I miss those women, but I just couldn’t keep up.

I’ve joined more than one health club, but they’re always trying to sell you something, and you have to pay to go do something that you can otherwise do naked on your living room floor…and I’m not talking about something you can do with the HUNK who is your trainer…well, maybe I am. That would involve an extra fee I would imagine.

I actually taught yoga in a health club once which didn’t work out too well because all the buff weight lifters and cross trainers could see us through a glass window. They would laugh and jeer, and some of my students would wonder whether or not the grass really was greener on the other side of the glass. It was difficult to lead the students in a deep, meditative relaxation at the end because my soft music was usually accompanied by the sounds of the weights clanging together and CNN on the television in front of the walking machines.

I grew up going to a country club that my parents belonged to, and this was fun for me because I always ended up befriending the help which would embarrass my parents. I lived to embarrass my parents during my revolutionary years. I’m warming to the idea of belonging to a country club in middle age because they’re full of other middle-aged people who are obviously successful enough to belong to a country club. Incentive for me… and a pool from which to draw in meeting successful men!

I was never invited to join the honors club at school or the debate club or even the not-popular club. I wouldn’t have joined even if I had been asked because I’m just not a very good club person. I did join the ‘Let’s Smoke Pot For the First Time’ club which then held entry for me to various associated clubs in that genre which I did join briefly until they too held no further interest for me.

I joined a spiritual club many years ago, but the initiation into this spiritual club was so freaky and weird that I dropped out the day after I joined. God or no God, I wasn’t keen on their idea of how to get God’s attention.

Now, I’m clubless and couldn’t be happier. No rules, no dates to mark in my calendar or places I have to be, no dress codes and no demands on my time. I understand the club people and sometimes wish I could be a member, but they’ll have to rope and hog-tie me first. Besides, I’m too strange. No club would want me!



On this point KK and I are in complete agreement. No clubs for me except the Country Club where we go swimming in the summer and take the Ancient One for Sunday brunch. There is a dress code for that but looking nice in public is fun.

I think KK and I ARE a club. In our club you have to make people laugh. You can't be in our club if you are rude to service people, eat at Luby's or wear Burkinstocks.

Our club's other rules:
Don't yell.
Love cats and dogs (even if you are allergic to them)
Know who the President of the US is.
Spend time on your hair.
Be willing to participate in our affirmation exercises even if it means you have to humiliate yourself in public on a regular basis.

Well, that's about it,

Tuesday, November 6, 2007


At our age, we really have nothing to lose, right? So, SalGal and I aren't the least bit afraid of embarrassing ourselves or anyone else.

Because I want to have a Mercedes C-Class four-door sedan, but haven't the resources YET, I got all dolled up, drove to the Mercedes dealership (because you can't do this affirmation in jeans and a tee shirt...the Mercedes people just won't believe you)... I introduced myself to the nice salesman who approached me as I was coveting the C-Class sedan in the showroom.

I simply said, "Hello. I am going to be in a position to purchase this car in about seven months, so I would like to sit in it and have you photograph me behind the wheel, please." He replied,"Well, problem. (This is the beauty of these affirmations, people love to play with you!)

So, now I have his business card, a brochure about the car and a photo of me IN the car. He may or may not be surprised when I do go back to purchase that car, but he'll be glad that he helped me with my affirmation!

I have written my first novel and it's sitting on my agent's desk awaiting word from her that she loves it and can sell it for lots of money. This will allow me to go buy my car. But in the an affirmation about the success of my book, I took SalGal to our local bookstore, BookPeople and found a gal in the store who looked like she might want to play with us. I told her that I had written my novel and wanted to do a 'mock' book signing. Well, she was thrilled for me about the novel. I had also done illustrations for the novel, including the cover which I had pasted over the cover of a book I was then I had a physical feel of what my book might look like.

Our gal at the bookstore...let's call her Shirley, showed us to an area where there was a big table and chair already set up for a book signing later that day...hmmmmm. She then ran around the area gathering up books to put in a stack on the table, a stand for my fake book and a pretty plant for the table. She was completely into the exercise, which made it that much more fun. SalGal would take a photo of me signing a book for a customer. So, we had to find a customer, which turned out to be a nice guy who was just sitting in a chair nearby, and we asked him if he wanted to play. He transformed himself into an eager reader and fan for the photo shoot, which is now stuck on our bulletin board as a fantastic affirmation and one that will come TRUE! After we were all done at the bookstore, there were hugs all around with well-wishes and good lucks to all.

I know that affirmations work and the more we play with them and actually set the stage for our dreams to come true, the more they will...the closer we're getting. So, think of something that you want...something that you want to do or a place you want to go and set up the shot of it to keep and look at every day and eventually accomplish!

Go play!


I have a picture of me in a red Lexus.

I rented a ball gown and wore my tiara to downtown Austin to the gorgeous, old Paramount Theater and actually stood outside and below the marquis. Friends of ours met KK and me there and KK took pictures of them holding up autograph books and begging me for autographs. Although it was a hundred degrees outside, it was fun and a real tourist was so impressed he asked me for an autograph too. In return for their participation in my affirmation I bought everybody Margaritas at the Driskill Bar and a good time was had by all.

I do my affirmations every day:

I deserve success.
Prosperity is circling around me.
I immediately and enthusiastically act towad my goals.
I am going backwards in time.
I look like Cindy Crawford.
Merle Streep envies me.
I give Wolfgang Puck pointers on how to do pizza.
My body makes Viet Nam vets take cold showers.

It could happen,
Sal Gal

Saturday, November 3, 2007


I love words. I love words on the page, words coming out of a mouth. I love words in a movie or play, and I love to hear people singing words.

Here are some of my favorite words:

Rascacielo (It means sky scraper in Spanish) I just like the way it sounds when I roll the 'r.' Try it...rrrrras..cas...sielo. Sweeet, huh?
Sky scraper (technically two words), but who ever thought of that word? I like it because of the visual.
Boulevard / The Ancient One pronounces this, Booolevard.
Present /Because it means so many things...a gift, to give a gift, time and space, to be accounted for, to show and tell, etc...that's an impressive word as I think about it, huh?

I will now write a story using all of these words in order:

KK Said, "SalGal, I'm going to title the book, 'Rascacielo.' It means 'sky scraper' in Spanish. I expect this novel to put me in the 'limelight' since my last novel just missed the NY Times Best Seller List by a 'whisker."

"I fully expect to see a billboard on Sunset 'Boulevard' advertising your latest," replied SalGal. "Then I'll buy you a very extravagant 'present' on Rodeo Drive."

"Good!" said KK, "Just as long as it's not a 'Whirlpool.' I'm boycotting the company because I've heard of their 'sinister' dealings with China. Their CEO is quite the 'prestidigitator' from what I've read. He purports to sell appliances, but is mining 'gold' in China using children!"

SalGal said, "That asshole. Well, he'll have 'hindsight' 'aplenty' when he sees the Wall Street Journal 'blog' posting about the 'catfish' full of gold nuggets that he tried to sneak out of China. What a friggin' 'boondoggle'!"

Hehehe...Send me your story with these words! Or not.



I am responding to this blog post even though I'm not sure what is going to happen. When I go into this to add/edit in my comments I get all kinds of wierd things. There are slants / and brackets > in front of all the main words in KK's post and it has stymied me and caused me to get total writer's block. So, I am making myself do this and here are my favorite words:

Froie Gras

I was sitting at my desk, late at night and wondering how I was going to pay the rent on the office. 'Special Investigations', private and secure. At $400 an hour all I needed was a four hour gig and I would be good for the next two months. I was just about to close it down when Tallywhacker, the office rat catcher and guard ran toward the door. My red, six-inch stilettos hit the floor just as he swung the door open and leaned his umbrella against the radiator. He was smooth as Froie Gras and handsome as a baseball player in the moonlight. His black raincoat crinkled as he took it off and threw it over the fake Bouganvilla in the corner. Rude. His whiskers told of three days of mornings with no desire to shave. There were more important things on his mind. I was calm enough to hold a butterfly. My heart went from stone cold to soft as a cheese souffle as he picked me up like I was a rag doll and swept me across the room while serenading me with, 'When the moon hits your eye like a big pizza pie, that's amore!' I looked out the second floor window at the promenade on Santa Monica Boulevard. The lights were coming on as my landlord walked across the street and under the streetlamp just below the building. Fuck. He looked down at me and smiled, 'I got the money honey - you got the looks'. It was then I knew that I had married the right man. Serendipity.


Thursday, November 1, 2007

Halloween Aftermath

Let's face it...The American Halloween holiday is based on blackmail by children. We give them candy so they won't burn our houses down...trick or treat. Having all been teenagers at one point in our lives, we sat around in groups discussing what terrible but lawful 'tricks' we could do if someone didn't give us 'treats.' And, we should have been ashamed of ourselves for going trick-or-treating in our teens!

SalGal and I hadn't been invited out on Halloween, so we were at home, armed and ready to dole out the candy to the little people in disguises. Now-a-days, the parents have to accompany the tots for fear that a registered sex offender will lure one into their dens. This is a sad commentary, isn't it? So, mom and dad come with, but they lurk in the dark street, looking somewhat unlawful themselves while the kids show their courage and approach the house.

We don't give them candy unless they actually say, "Trick or Treat." We like the really young ones who say, "Twick o Tweet." One of them said to us last night, "Trick or Treat...give me something good to eat!" We thought that was kind of pushy, but we applauded his courage. SalGal tried to teach a one-and-a-half year old to say Trick or Treat. The baby just kept looking at her like, "Hey, I don't even know how to speak yet. I can't even say Daddy or anything else in English." SalGal finally acquiesced and gave the frightened toddler some candy.

After the neighborhood children drained our block of confectionery delights, the cars began to arrive with kids from far away neighborhoods. They're older and less engaging...some almost threatening. The parents stay in their cars while the kids rake in the goodies, then they drive home. It's almost like a drive-by only for candy. We're good with that. We can just see all the little trick-or-treaters keeping their parents up half the night with sugar rushes as we finally drift off to a peaceful sleep. This is another reason to have cats instead of kids.



Yeah, that little one and a half year old was really cute in the monkey costume. His big sister in the pink, princess costume said she liked my mask and that's when I shut the door and turned out the lights. Next time I will wear a mask and scare the shit out of her.

Mother was never great with Halloween and costumes as she was too busy going to cocktail parties and assuming we would come up with something. So, I always went Trick or Treating as Tom Sawyer. I just put on some cutoff jeans, a summer camp shirt and went barefooted. I put some freckles on my nose and cheeks for further character development. I sometimes had to grovel for candy as I was 5'8" tall in sixth grade and got treated like I was a scammer by the candy givers in the neighborhood. If they were mean to me I pulled all the leaves off the bushes next to their porches when they closed their doors. How dare they treat me like a scammer.

I don't destroy little kids on purpose, you know. It's a gift. When that little girl dressed up like a peacock, with its tailfeathers all spread out around her, stopped on the sidewalk, it was the cutest thing I ever saw. I have a great laugh and I let it fly. How was I supposed to know that that little kid heard me laughing at her and felt humiliated? That little kid is too young to feel humiliated. Oh, jeez I have traumatized another toddler for the rest of its life.

I had a pumpkin on the porch, a black crow sticking out of the ivy and a skull lit with a candle in it in the urn next to the door and my intentions to scare innocent little children were completely honorable and innocent.