The Decadent Decline of Miss B

I am blogging from the comfort of my own bed. Granted, I am sharing it with a dog, but, be that as it may, I am blogging from bed and I feel absolutely decadent.

I've been to Amazon to post a review, read that Barbara Bush(jr) was robbed of her purse while under the protection of our Secret Service, which had be rolling with laughter and I pissed off the dog. Well, he sort of "fell" off of the bed. You know, they don't land on their feet near as often as cats do?

The Vatican has completed a study on condoms. That gave me the creeps wondering if the crash test dummy actually volunteered or are they future senators in the making. Republicans, no doubt.

Okay, that was uncalled for.

Ironically, I came to bed because of my back. Well, actually the ramifications of some medication for my back which causes constipation and diarrhea, (maybe they think we're schizophrenic) Note to selves: Find out if we're schizophrenic. Oh, and bleeding ulcers, no direct sunlight, take with crackers or bread. I decided it should go best with rainbow sherbet. So, I had that in bed.

Wait, my train of thought has been derailed again. Probably another side effect. Is it effect of affect? How the hell should I know? So, I'm in bed due to my back and I came across this study on back surgery. Which is evidence enough for me this is where I should be.

That's why I just love my new laptop (it's a Toshiba) and John brought in a breakfast-in-bed tray I bought for him a while back when he had his gallbladder removed and it's like a desk in bed. (The tray not his gallbladder) And I really see no good reason why I should ever get out of bed again.


Okay, whose up for Yahtzee?

Perhaps

I was a bit hasty to be so quick to judge Mother. Today is a good example of that. I went to Ventura to meet a friend at the Psychic Fair. First thing I did wrong was go to the Marriot. Why the Marriot you ask, when the Psychic Fair is at the Crown? Because I am delusional and am under the impression that I can still remember something ten minutes from now without writing it down. I can't and I have yet to accept that fact.

Now I'm at the Marriot and I asked the young man at the front desk where is the Psychic Fair? And he replied he didn't know, but there is a group of Neuroscientists in the banquet room discussing Alzheimers. If only psychics could help those that suffer from Alzheimers, I ponder and then I scurry off to the Crown Plaza after calling Sandy for directions because she has it WRITTEN DOWN.

I get to the Crown, pull off a ticket stub to park and the bar lowers behind me. I drive around and cannot find a place to park and the little yellow bar at the other end won't lift up to let me out. Fucking piece of shit. Probably runs off of a Delco Battery. I drive back to where I entered, backwards, and no one is there to help. I drive back to the gate and it still won't rise. If only I had Cheryl with me.

Now there are two elderly ladies (who should obviously be at the Marriot) sitting and staring at the gate. "Can you get out?" I ask. "No," they exclaim in unison. I then proceed to instruct them to back up because I am driving my truck through and I don't want debris to get on their car. They are quite excited to be in on the adventure and I tell them I will not be held hostage. And they shout, "Good for you" as they back up and wave me off. I then proceed to drive up and I give the gate one more chance to rise, it doesn't. Fucking impotent piece of shit. I back up, gun it and down the road I go.

While flying down the freeway it occurs to me.

I am my mother.

Dick and Bush produce a Boehner

Comedians are working overtime. We now have a Boehner in congress. I, personally can't stop laughing because a Bush doesn't need a Dick without a Boehner. It's just a moot subject.

But seriously, we have problems women. Bush, in his infinite wisdom has selected Erik Keroak to oversee the federal Office of Population Control.

While women in countries we once thought were backward, Pakistan, India are getting their voices heard and are moving forward we're just sitting around while ours or our daughtes voices are silenced by men of religion. Again!

Just because I'm past the age of bearing children, doesn't mean I'm going to ignore the issue at hand.

And if we are going to move backward, let's push their asses all the way to the Enlightened era.

Can I get a witness?

The Wrath of Jeri

I go in to work today, my day off, and the phone rings. Who would be calling me at work on my day off?

“Quality, this is Becky.” “Becky, this is your mother.” Oh god!

“Hi mom” I respond cheerfully. The sales manager laughs while pointing and walks out of my office. Even strangers fear the wrath of Jeri and he too has a mother that is aging.

“I am sick of this fucking Delco battery and I want a new one.”

My siblings and I have always joked about “The wrath of Jeri” which is when Mother gets on a kick like a dog with a bone and won’t give up on it no matter what. And this time it’s a battery. A fucking Delco battery! Her car is seven years old “with less that six thousand miles, don’t forget” I can hear her in my head and she cannot understand why her first battery lasted six years and the second only one.

Last Friday I called to check on her. I try to call my mother every day and yes, I’m a glutton for punishment. She is my mother after all. Last week she told me her anti locking device quit working. “Why do you think that mom?” “Well, I went out to unlock the car and it wouldn’t unlock with that thing on my key ring, the transmitter, so I had to use the key and the car won’t start. I think there is something wrong with my receiver." Receivers? Transmitters? Uh oh! Mother has been reading the owners manual. She goes on to tell me how she tried to put it in gear and it wouldn’t go into neutral. “That can’t be right mom. Let me come over, I’m here in Oxnard buying dog food.” So I drive to Port Hueneme, she greets me with “I hate that fucking car!” "Hello Mother." I get her keys, listen patiently as she reads to me from the Saturn Manual about synchronizing the anti-locking device, go out to the car and unlock it and the first thing I notice is the dome light is out. “You’re battery is dead mom.” “No,” she is quick to correct me. “I drove it home last night and it was just fine. There is something wrong with the Anti-locking device.” So I read the paragraph from the book where you hold two buttons down, stand on one leg while howling at the full moon until the horn honks and the horn never honks.

So, after I convince her not to call AAA to have that “piece of crap car” towed away we go back inside and I give Saturn a call, explain the situation, the service guy places me on hold thinking I’m an idiot, comes back and tells me “sounds like the battery is dead”. I tell mom “the Service Guy says the battery is probably dead”. “Well,” she says and she is miraculously satisfied. What the fuck? I tell her I will call my husband John and he can come charge it up for her the next day or get her a new one. So we go to the store so she can stock up on food in case I don’t return for days. I go home and the phone rings. “Hello?” “Becky this is your mother. I forgot to buy lottery tickets and if I don’t play my numbers I would just die it they get called tomorrow.” Okay mom, do we need to go now?” “No, tomorrow will be fine. What time is John coming over?” “Early” I say. “How early is early?” she asks. “Somewhere between 5:30 AM and 6:00 AM. Is that okay?” “Alright, you're sure he’s coming?” “He'll be there mother.” Suddenly, I need a nap.

Next morning, bright and early the phone rings, “Hello?” “I’ve been thinking.” Mother starts out. Oh god no! “I need a new car” What? “Well, now, just think about it. Your brother always says I think the worst, but listen. The car won’t go into gear with a dead battery. What if there were a fire in the building and I had to push my car out of the garage. It won’t go into gear. Why I couldn’t even get AAA to tow it because how would they fit into the garage? Then we decide (together) that perhaps she didn’t put her foot on the brake while attempting to put the car into gear.

Well, maybe that’s it.

So now a week after my husband has had the battery charged up and she now understand that before she had a maintenance free battery and this time she didn’t so the battery needed water she wants a new battery that doesn’t need water. And she wants to go to Saturn to buy it and she wants me to take her. “You don’t need to go to Saturn to buy a battery, mother. They sell them everywhere.” Well, I know that,” she says, “but, the button on the radio fell off and I want a new one. So I need you to drive me to Saturn to get a new one.” Somehow I manage to convince her that John should go along as he is mechanical. And she is appeased for awhile.

I call her later to let her know that John will be by tomorrow and she sounds upset over the phone. “Are you alright mom?” “I guess.” She says. “What’s the matter?” “Do you know what happened to me today?” “No mother, what happened today?” “Well, I went to the mailbox and got my mail and I opened a letter before I realized it wasn’t addressed to me, but it had my address on it (like that somehow makes it legal) and it’s a letter from the library with a check for $19.00 to a young man (how she knows this I have no idea) to reimburse him for a book they said he lost, but apparently they found it now. I called the library. Have you ever called the library?” “No mom, I don’t think I have”. “Well, let me tell you they have one of those machines where you don’t get to talk to a real live person and the first selection is English! Well, that’s ridiculous. All the books in the library are in English. So, I select English and I had to push about ten buttons before I got some woman’s answering machine and her last name sounded foreign, you know, and of course she’s not in due to a family emergency. On a Friday! Well for Pete’s sake. It said so right on her machine. I left a message and I told her they need to get their act together down there. I have lived here for 12 years and this man does not live here and now I have to spend .39 cents on a fucking stamp. I have a good mind to tear this letter up, but that poor man is out $19.00. Her last name sounded foreign, you know”. “Mom, why don’t you give the letter and the check to John tomorrow and I can mail it for you?” “Well, I can mail a letter, for Pete’s sake, but why should I be inconvenienced when they screwed up?”

“I don’t know mom.” I sigh.

Nor will my children when it is my turn. And it will be my turn, it's just a matter of time. Mother isn't going down without a fight and nor will I so they better start fucking napping.

The Wrath of Becky - a family tradition.

Dear Jessica (as narrated by William Shatner)

All is not well in our little hamlet. I regret to inform you that our dear beloved little Christina has been kidnapped by a band of roving German Bears wielding weapons of corn and she has been carried off into the dark of night (or perhaps to Seattle).




She put up a vailant fight, but the minute they challenged her to a math contest, all hope was lost. Oh, the irony. I pleaded to go in her place. Obsequiously I offered myself up as their sex slave, I'm ashamed to say.

A sacrificial lamb, so to speak. But regretably I have always sucked at felatio which is why my career as a televangelist never quite took off the ground like my buddy in Colorado, but alas, I digress.

If only I had thought to offer up the stuffed turkey roll, and the chocolate triffle, the cranberry salad and asparagus in a vinegette sauce. Oh god, and the garlic potatoes swimming in gravy with ham and Korean burgers. And the Corn, and cornbread, and buttered buns. The Better-than-sex cake. I needed a cigarette when I was done with that bad boy.



Scott me up, Beamy

















We miss you!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Hurry up and build that damn bridge in Cuba and come save us.

Dear PETA, no bears were harmed during the telling of this story and stop throwing paint on my husband. That's really his hair on his back.

Abstract Rantings

Andy Warhol's "Mao" sold for a whopping $17.4 million. And speaking of famous artists ya'll need to check out David Rivas' clip at you tube. I'm sure you are all familiar with him by now from my sidebar, but I can't wait to say I knew him way back when, when he sells his art for a couple million. And I feel so fortunate to have been able to watch his success grow and it has really been a great experience to see an artist be appreciated while they are alive. Heather, how is your movie coming along, by the way?

And for some stimulating dialogue, check out On Faith. It's a great website put together by The Washington Post and Newsweek to get people to engage in an open discussion on faith, religion, etc. Each week they will have a guest "poster" and than individuals can comment. I'm in there somewhere ranting about everthing from Eve getting a bad rap to religion being a business and what ever happend to truth in advertising?

We had our pre-Thanksgiving dinner at work today and tonight I'll be doing it again with the Knitster Sisters.

My weaving project is coming along and I will post a picture soon.

An Update from Elmo

Elmo called tonight and he wanted me to give the ladies in my "knitting circle" a big hello and a man hug for John.

He's in good spirits considering he's on another lockdown. This one is for the Norovirus outbreak in the prison. So, with the overcrowding and less than adequate plumbing, it's not a pretty picture. But he was upbeat because he got a letter from Heather and he was happy to hear that all the ladies carry a picture of him in their wallet. That just blew him away and really meant a lot to him, Julie.

The Prison Guard's contract has not yet been renewed, but here's some info for all you tax payers on where your money goes. Oh, and don't get me started on what we pay to guard the comatose. Unfucking believable. Sorry Marc.

Thanks again to the ladies for helping to keep Elmo sane. Oh, and man hugs to John whatever that might be.

Oh Oh Oh and I got a plate from my boss from Italy. It's a pasta plate and is presently holding candy on my desk at work, but I will post a picture soon.

Life's Little Ironies

Or "How I spent my Veterans Day".

I was on the internet getting cranky with Bush (the Draft Dodger)and Veteran's Day. The site of him saluting a soldier at Arlington Cemetary gave me the creeps. I love cemetaries and I don't like creeps in them. It's disrespectful to the dead.

So I left and went to the Coffee Bean for my morning coffe and there was this guy twisting his back, so naturally I stated, "I wished I could move like that." As my brother always says, "you'd talk to a serial killer if he stood next to you in line."

He asked if I had back problems. I told him my story and he has a herniated disc too, only worse, and is waiting for a new procedure performed by the Kaiser on Sunset Blvd. (I think). His name was Ronny and he was from Israel and had the coolest accent. We talked about everything from George W. Bush to Sai Baba.

Has anyone heard of Sai Baba? Note to self: Read up on Sai Baba.

Ronny had nice things to say about our country which was ironic considering I was just cranky about Bush (the draft dodger) and Veteran's Day.

If it weren't for my first weaving lesson I would have talked to him all day he was that fascinating. It was also cute to see him struggle with English.

So, I went to my weaving lesson, made a wrong turn and ended up at a turkey shoot, "what the fuck", turned around and made it to class in time by way of walking through this art studio with sculptures, ceramics, baskets and god knows what else I could ruin with this fricken loom flung over my shoulder like a bull in a china shop. The first question the instructor asks was "what made you want to learn to weave?" I told her about these garments I saw at the Santa Monica Fiber Arts Show and how beautiful they were and how I wanted to try it and I remember they were right across from the Cat's and Cobwebs booth and (did I mention I can talk forever?) and it was her stuff.

So, I got my first weaving lesson from the woman whose garments inspired me to weave.

All in all it was a good day and it took a foreigner to remind me I live in a good country, despite the draft dodger in the house. He'll be gone soon.


And that fact alone made me beam.

My Morning Drill

So I've been licking the cats butt, why won't you kiss me?


That's not the spot dammit! Don't make me cranky.


That't it! Oh god, that's the spot. Yes! Yes! Yes!


This is the part where Louis imagines he has a thumb and lights up a cigarette.

It's a Full Beaver Moon

Oh, Ward.

Nov. 5, 7:58 a.m. EST: The Full Beaver Moon. Time to set beaver traps before the swamps freeze to ensure a supply of warm winter furs. Another interpretation suggests that the name Beaver Full Moon comes from the fact that the beavers are now active in their preparation for winter. Also called the Frosty Moon.





And it burps. Which might explain why it appears bloated again.






The tiny dot on the face of the sun yesterday was Mercury crossing.

















The shining splendor of the Valkyries as they fly across the early morning sky as they gather the slain was believed what caused the Aurora Borealis.

Bad ass chicks.


Happy Freya's Day.

Lifes Little Lessons

Tonight our grandson Eli is sleeping over and after we watched "Over the Hedge" where the bear was quite scarry and ate peanut butter and jelly sandwiches (because sloppy joes are NOT like hamburgers) it was time for a snack.

So I gave him a chocolate chip cookie with a blue gatorade and he looked at me so confused as he innocently stated, "Grandma, you have milk with cookies!"

And so he did.

The War on Anxiety

Does anyone understand exactly what the "War on Terror" means? Isn't that like the War on Anxiety? Are they going to take away my Zanax? I personally cannot understand how you can have a metaphoric war, but then I've never been in the military, but apparently that doesn't matter because neither have our leaders who have lead us to this place. How about a War on Hypocrisy in Religion.? Sign me up.

The idea is too subjective for me to wrap my mind around. You might as well tell me we are having a war on philosophy because I wouldn't understand that either. Apparently we have had numerous metaphoric wars and we suck at them.

Does anyone remember who won the War on Poverty? I don't even remember the sit in. Or how about the War on Drugs? How about a war on laundry?

As you can see I'm not real happy with our situation, but as Emerson so eloquently phrased it, "The purpose of life is not to be happy. It is to be useful, to be honorable, to be compassionate, to have it make some difference that you have lived and lived well."

So, be useful, be honorable, be compassionate, make a difference and don't forget to vote.