New Motto

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Remember, girls, take your pills!

Birth Control pills, that is. If nothing else, Grandma Sarah Palin should be campaigning for safe sex practices, not the 2012 election. When daughter Bristol gave birth to a kid named Tripp, as in "I got tripped up by the idea of safe sex," there was no mention of how her life is a lesson for other teens: practice safe sex.

I once knew a woman who married a Catholic. He didn't believe in birth control. They practiced the rhythm method. That didn't work. She got pregnant. They had an abortion. Later, they got divorced, mainly because she thought he was stupid. 

This is what a lack of birth control gets you: unwanted pregnancies, unwanted abortions, and in at least one case, a much needed divorce! 

I know Gov. Palin has her hands full, being a new grandma, running for President in 2012 (she's like a serial killer who just got her first taste of blood with the last election) and trying to spin her in-laws incarceration, but seriously, wouldn't a public service announcement about birth control be timely about now? Maybe she can take her finger off the rifle trigger for a moment and do one.

5 Signs your job may be in jeopardy

I am amused by all the articles lately that boast giving "tell-tale signs your job is in jeopardy." As someone who thinks about the great unemployed, masses quite a bit, I have a few thoughts on the subject. Here are Binx's Five Signs You Are About to Get Laid Off:

1) You work for a company other than yourself.

2) You have survived a round of lay-offs. In fact, you've survived several rounds of layoffs. Don't fight the inevitable!

3) You work for anyone other than Obama, the only person who has some job security for the next four years as he has his work cut out for him.

4) You are the CEO of a financial institution or an automaker. Okay, you may actually be okay, but I wouldn't count on a bonus. I would count on bad PR.

5) You live in the USA. Actually, you live anywhere. Who's not at risk?

Sure, sure, we can't all get laid off, but when the hot new thing is Unemployment, you know the world is in a heap of trouble.

In a small victory for me, I would like to give an update to my quest that has been going on for the last four years. As you may have read before on this blog, I've been asking everyone who voted for George W. Bush to apologize to me for ruining this country. Just this week, I received another apology. That brings the total number of people who have apologized up to 2. What is the lesson learned? Evidently at least one group of people have a hard time taking responsibility.

Watch out, World

Madame Secretary is going to kick your butt if you misbehave!

I am nursing a cold today, or else I'd write more. But I decided that after months of lamenting Hillary not becoming President Hillary, I decided I should drag my rusty bones out of bed and say, Thank you, President Elect Obama. I can't wait for you guys to take over the world.

Okay, I'm going back to the couch now, but despite the aches and pains, and stuffy nose, there is a happy person in here somewhere.

Oh, and Bruce released his new video today, which in my drug-infused daze has something to do with "Lucky Day," which could sum up today. Hillary and Bruce news in one day. Be still my weak heart.

A Little Post-Holiday Musing

This Thanksgiving, I experienced detox. No, not that kind. Heaven forbid. I missed my transitional talk. What is Obama doing? He's like Waldo or Matt Lauer. Where in the world is he now, what's up? Have they gotten the pup? What are those kids doing? Did they eat too much turkey? Is it official about Hillary yet?

I was pissed at the terrorists for many reasons: they are assholes, they are bores, they are all going to burn in hell if there is a hell and since there is probably not one, big HA on you boys because there won't be any 71 virgins when you die. Much has been said on terrorism since 2001, and even before that, but no one has said it quite this way: terrorism is very passe. You did that, now move on. Think of fresher ways to be insidious without killing people. Put them in therapy after a good-long berating, or become the head of a financial institution and lay off a bunch of people and destroy EVERYONE'S retirement. Oh, and side note to the terrorist ASS who told us all over the holiday to just resort to Islam and our financial woes will go away: BITE ME. I'd rather be poor than religious ANYDAY. I'm not above shopping at Target, you wing-nut freak.

Anyway, as I was saying the terrorists pissed me off for many reasons, but mainly, I want my president-elect news to return. What the hell was Obama thinking two seconds ago? I wanna know. Oh, another side note: Can you not wait for Hillary to take over as Secretary of State? Listen up, Terrorists, you think she is going to put up with your acts of terrorism? Listen, she's a woman who has been cheated on, i.e, she's pissed. She's eternally pissed. And she takes it out on people. She's got a chip on her should the size of Islam and she is going to KICK YOUR ASS.

So next time you Islamic freaks run around killing innocent people, think about this: people in LA are shallow. We are too busy trying to get a parking spot at Barny's to care about your Jihad. And when we are not shopping, we are watching CNN because we want to know what Obama is up to now. We are dying for him to take over, and I'm, in particular, about to pee my pants for Hillary to take over her new role, because she is going to open a large can of WHOOP ASS on your freaky little heads.

Five Unimportant Things, and One That's Important.

Design Nomad (see link to the side) asked me to write about six things that seemed unimportant, but make me happy. Here's what I wrote:

1) Prada. I just love Prada, whether it is going into the store and just browsing, or a rare purchase of a product.

2) A big fat moon in the sky. Especially if it is orange.

3) A really well-written sentence, particularly if I wrote it.

4) Great wine.

5) This actually may be important, but seeing Bruce Springsteen perform.

Last, but not least---and this one is an important thing (far from unimportant, in fact).

6) Knowing that Hillary Clinton may be Madame Secretary. Imagine: Hillary, Biden and Obama in the top three posts. We Democrats have died and gone to heaven.

Hell May Freeze Over, but I have a Prayer

Dear God, Obama, or Bruce Springsteen, Santa Clause or whomever is listening:

Please, please, please, please, please let Hillary Clinton be Secretary of State. I wanted her to be President, you denied me that. I wanted her to be VP, you denied me that. Is this one little thing asking too much? Imagine, Hillary, dining with foreign leaders, telling them, "Play ball or I will kick your ass!" And meaning it, and succeeding!

Please God, Obama, Bruce, SC or whomever, please. It's been a tough year for me. I moved into an overpriced LA apartment where sparks fly every time I plug in a lamp, and everyone in LA thinks I'm a horrible driver and honks at me. I'm another year older, another year without realizing my Big Dream(s) and for crying out loud, I'm so short. Give me this one thing. Just this one thing. I swear I'll stop cussing, I swear I'll give up French wine, I swear I will not put anything else on my charge card, I swear I'll be nicer to Republicans, I swear, I swear, I swear I will simply behave. Just let her be Secretary of State.

Oh, and if it is not too much trouble, can you perform a miracle on my closet? When I open the closet door, please let it be full of wonderful Prada that fits me. 

Thanks a ton, err, Amen.

Van Halen meets Van Palin

The media has done a sufficient job in recent weeks completing exposing and blasting Sarah Palin. Today, the LA Times wrote  a story that, in my opinion, is Pulitzer worthy. The story was about Fly-Over bands: bands big in those states that those of us in California could care less about, except when they do something insane like help elect George W. Bush. These bands mingle Hard Rock, Christian Rock (a scary combo) and Country Pop.

Translation: this is very awful music that should be ignored. Nonetheless, a tidbit was revealed that has, for once an for all, put Sarah Palin's brain into perspective. She is a huge Van Halen fan, so much so, that she gave her son Trig the middle name of Van. Yep. Van Palin. 

Trig, by the way, was named after Trigger, the horse. 

Okay, that's not true about the horse. At least I think it's false. With her, who knows?

Forget Spin Doctors, Get Palin a Stylist!

The RNC spent $150K on clothing and accessories for Sarah Palin since late August. The bulk of this was spent at Neiman's ($75K) and the rest at Saks. She has spent close to $5K on her hair. Palin's spokesperson, Tracey Schmitt is appalled that so much energy from the press is being focused on "pantsuits and blouses."

I'm appalled, too. All that money and they STILL can't dress Palin any better? Much more has been said about how attractive she is. I've scratched my head on that one, because while she's attractive enough, she's the very definition of a frump--$5K on hair in two months and they can't give her a style that doesn't scream Pentecostal? As for her clothes, she looks like  a wolf (shot from a helicopter) in Republican clothes.  

This, for once and for all, proves what I've always said. Republicans are milk toast when it comes to style. Therefore, vote Democrat. We need Armani in the White House, not St. John. Besides, Nancy Regan did "that one" to death.

People Can't Be THAT Stupid

As an old marketing war horse, I'm crying foul. I know a play by my own kind when I see one.  I don't buy all these really, really, really stupid people at McCain rallies who are standing up and telling him, "Gee Senator McCain, I'm scared of that mean old Obama terrorist, he's an Arab! He's a Muslim, He's a terrorist." Those people are planted by the evil marketing geniuses of the RNC. God. Hat's off to you,evil RNC marketing geniuses. You guys are really over the top.

I know there are dumbasses out there. I see them everyday. But look at those people asking McCain these questions. They are perfect stereotypes of your average American redneck. That old lady with her hair, her barely-English hick talk, her clothes? She's was totally set up to ask that question. Notice how she stumbles with her words? She's not an  actress, but I'll bet money she was paid to get up and say that stuff.

I underestimate many things: mother nature, bad manners, hangovers --- but I NEVER underestimate Republicans with a marketing degree. Those people are more resourceful than a gold digger chasing a rich old geezer. They'll do anything to reach their goal. Including planting some crackers in an audience to make idiotic statements. 

A new twist on "Get out and Vote!"

Someone sent me this, and it took me a few seconds to figure out the yiddish. In case you are a hopeless gentile like me, it's an odd little plea to vote for Obama.

And it's a backhanded compliment at the same time. Kind of like, "Hey Binx, that lipstick makes your hips look smaller."

Caribou Barbie Goes to Court

I'm loving the buzz about the Sarah Palin clip that got cut from the televised interview with Katie Couric: she couldn't name a Supreme Court case other than Roe Vs. Wade. How about Gore Vs. Bush? Bowers Vs. Hardwick? Scott Vs. Sandford? Or the Exxon Valdez?

Hello, Gov. Palin? This is your own backyard calling. . .

I Never Liked Obama Until Today

When he rebuffed McCain for postponing the debate and said, "It's the president's job to deal with more than one thing at a time" (I paraphrase) I suddenly, finally almost liked him. God, McCain, grow some hair on those chicken nuggets, will you? You aren't going to solve our financial crisis this week so let's see some debatin' this Friday!

Thou Shall Not Covet thy Neighbor's Huntin' Gun

In the ABC interview, Sarah Palin proved what Democrats know: she's not ready to serve as President if she has to. But she also proved that Republicans know how to win a campaign--and winning is everything in an election. She uses words they want to hear: Morals and Hero. She speaks in sound bites. Her message is short, fiery and all about God and patriotism. How could the republicans not love her? Throw in a special needs baby and oh. my. God. John McCain made a brilliant choice.

So how does Obama and Biden counter this? They have to get more comfortable with the language of morality. They have to forget about their own base, or rather the base has to rally round them in this scary effort to appeal to the dumbasses out there who put morals above something like say, staying out of war.

The hypocrisy of it all is overwhelming. The Heartland is obsessed with morality, but who is living by the principles they covet? More so, they don't even know they aren't living the talk; or at least they won't admit it. They turn to the Bible for guidance, and they see those Ten Commandants and yeah, they aren't that interested in some of them like I Shall Not Lie, or I Shall Not Covet my Neighbor's Wife (if you saw my neighbor's wife, buddy, you wouldn't have a problem). Of course, the Bible has shortcomings. It left out some necessary commandants like, "Thou shall not honk at that petite Blond in West Hollywood because I think she is driving too slow," or, "Thou shall not dress like a complete slut and flirt with men who are taken," or, "Thou shall simply try to be more considerate of other people's feelings and not put 'me first.'" Me First, as I have mentioned before, is the True Republican mantra. 

The truth for Obama is that if he wants to win this election, he needs to pander to the hypocrites out there who act like complete assholes at work and run roughshod over their kids and co-workers, but who crow loudly about what a great gal that Palin woman is, she's a good woman, a fine patriot, and no one, I mean, no one, has more patriotism than John McCain. That may all be true. But they are also going to raise my taxes and lower the taxes on those that can actually afford to have their taxes raised. They are going to drill for more oil instead of aggressively pursuing alternatives, and, they'll keep shoving morality down our throats, while frankly, morality sounds nice, but have you ever tried to spend a Friday night with it? 

Banning the Wife of Bath

I don't know if this is true, but supposedly, Sarah Palin tried to ban Canterbury Tales from the Wasilla Library when she was mayor.

Okay,  so the  Snow Mobile wife of Wasilla tried to ban the Wife of Bath? What's wrong, did Chaucer go and write a strong female character?

Like I said, I don't know if it's true or not, but please. Banning Chaucer? Seriously? Chaucer?

What are you gonna do?

The economy is bad. You are afraid of losing your job. You are mad at Republicans and from where you sit today it looks like another four more years of them (yet you hold out for hope). You have a headache, you are short, getting old, and have PMS. What are you gonna do?

What are you gonna do?

You are going to post a photo of the Boss, take a deep breath, and remember that sometimes, there is magic in the world.

Sanity First

I am soooooooooo sick of hearing the Republicans chant USA! USA!. I was listening to a speech of Palin's and, I forget what exactly she said that stirred this, but the crowd erupted into, "USA, USA." God, they sounded like an overgrown Pep Squad. Then there is the whole, "Country First," thing that they have been throwing in our face. I assume this is in reference to the Democrats' signs at their convention touting Unity.

I'm sorry, Republicans, but you have to forgive the Democrats. They had two candidates that were vastly different from anything your party offered and the party lines were split basically 50/50. They wanted Unity so they could whip your whacakdoo asses.

By promoting Country First, are you solving our dependency on oil? I don't think Drill Now counts. Short term solutions don't solve the problem, but hey, it does put more money in the oil companies' pockets. And by McCain's promise to tax the middle-class (more), sure, that abates the fear of the wealthy 5% that they may have to let loose of their money on something like better roads, instead of say, a more expensive car for themselves. I don't see any of the promises that McCain has made to be about anything other than "Me First," fitting the goals of the wealthiest Republicans. 

Granted, Obama has a strategy seemingly based on "hope," but if I don't trust him, I at least trust the fundamentals of the Democratic party, which are not a Me First philosophy.

Biden vs. Palin

In my earlier post, I said that Biden could handle Palin and didn't need help from Hillary, or for that matter, any other female democrat. I heard him speak this morning on CNN. He really comes across as a warm, affable, COMPETENT leader. 

More importantly, there isn't all the media coverage about his misdoings. Sure, there was the plagiarism thing (okay, in college,  I called that getting an A) but he doesn't have any fired ex in-laws in his closet, nor has he oddly boasted of selling a plane on eBay. Evidently, Palin stretched the truth a little. She placed the plane on eBay. A broker sold it -- at a loss.

The bulldog with lipstick is going to be under a heck of a lot of scrutiny in the upcoming weeks, much, much, much more so than Biden or Obama put together.

I keep talking to all these people who think McCain is a sure winner with these election. I am constantly surprised. It's almost as if he wants to lose. I am still scratching my head over his pick of her. 

Also, I'm salivating till the debate between Palin and Biden. This is better than "Days of Our Lives."

Obama to Dispatch Hillary to Counter Palin

What? According to the latest news, Obama is sending Hillary out in to the Wilds of Florida to counter Palin. Okay, that is like sending Jesus out to counter a secretary in a governmental office. Yes, I just compared Hillary to Jesus. I told you I loved her, so get passed it. Seriously, though, does Obama really think that anyone who would potentially vote for him would need to be convinced that Palin is not someone we would want to potentially lead the free world?????? That's a big waste of quality Hillary time. It's insulting! I know Hillary is going to do it because she's a team player, but MY GOD, the insults to her do not stop. First she's not nominated because people think that, as a woman she can't beat Obama, then, they have to belittle her by basically equating her with this slug from Alaska? Hillary is a true leader. Palin has overactive ovaries. Please!

You want to counter Palin? Fine, send out Joe Biden. That's apples to apples, or VP to VP. It's his job and he can do it just fine, thank you.

Oh For God's Sakes

Seriously, the Republicans need to shut up. They need to stop drinking the same kool-aid. And they really need to stop chanting, "USA, USA," at their convention, and evoking God, and shoving signs in the camera that say, "Country First."

Kiss my ass. I hate Obama and now I'm gonna have to vote for him because you all are soooo out of control. Thanks. Thanks a lot. I was hoping to stay home and sit this one out, but no, you are all riled up and God knows when you nut bags will start burning books and crosses and getting us in another war.

As your buddy Rudy would say, "Look out." How prophetic.

Stop Honking Already

Dear West Hollywood Drivers,

I am terribly sorry that I do not turn right at red lights fast enough for you. It is rude of me to not pull out in front of that speeding car barreling down the street. You have a career that is going absolutely nowhere, and if only I would move, you would get nowhere sooner, wouldn't you?

I have been horrible to you. Putting my own safety in front of your busy schedule. When you honk, at no time do I ever think "What a moron. What a complete waste of skin. What an ass."

No, I think, "Oh dear, I'm keeping this important person from getting somewhere."

So forgive me. I will try to be as irresponsible and reckless as you are. I will speed up. I will charge in front of cars, making them slam on their brakes in an attempt to avoid hitting me, because it will help you get somewhere ten seconds faster.

Thank you for teaching me this valuable lesson.

Now kiss my slow ass.

When Republicans Pander

I have a phrase for female republicans: Dumb Whores.

So when I learned that McCain had picked a woman as his VP, this is what I heard: McCain picked a Dumb Whore as his running mate.

Okay, Dumb Whore is harsh. How about Not Thinking Things Through Clearly Female Who May or May Not Be  a Dumb Whore?

When I said I wouldn't vote for Obama, I never said I'd freaking vote for McCain. I think they are both terrible candidates. Awful. McCain is quickly proving to me that he can actually make Obama look slightly better just by being so patronizing to Hillary's staunch supporters. First, when he ran that ad about Obama having too much ego to select Hillary as his VP, I thought, okay, he's dead-on, but that was a bad move. We see through that. 

Then, when he ran the ad from the chicky (she doesn't get to be called a woman) who is casting her vote for McCain since Hillary isn't a choice, I thought, "Okay, I'm in marketing, and that is just stupid. No one will see through that."

Well, evidently, if the polls are right, 27% of Hillary supporters are voting for McCain. That's a lot of smart people hit upside the head with the dumb whore-stick. I think half of them are men, too, but as I said in one of my last posts, men (thank you John Edwards) get to be whores, too.

I just don't get why not voting for Obama means you have to vote for McCain. Ralph Nader is a good man, true to liberal ideals, in fact, much more true than Obama. I mean, if you don't want to do a write-in, fine, I understand, writing takes efforts. So check off Nader, or hell, do what 3/4 of my democrat pals are asking me to do and suck it up and vote for Obama, which at this rate I may be forced to do if McCain doesn't stop offending my marketing sensibility. Number one rule of political marketing: Connect with your audience. #2 Rule, Don't underestimate their intelligence.

So by picking a woman, McCain hasn't secured this girl's vote. McCain, you're horrible. You win today's Dumb Whore award. I had a sneaking feeling that despite the fact that I absolutely DEPLORE Obama and he bores me  beyond belief, and, and, I still don't know what he stands for other than a boring orator, you are clearly a worse  choice than him, simply because you are such a blatant panderer. Shame, McCain. Shame on you. And shame on the people on TV right now who are not calling a spade (or a dumb whore) a spade (or a dumb whore). I'm calling you out, old man.

The Rug Rats on Main Street Howl

In my post about my most recent religious experience, the Bruce show in Hershey, PA, I forgot to mention how many parents are bringing their kids to see Bruce. The kids, ranging from things no higher than my hips to teens, are really hard-core about Bruce, too. They know the words to the songs, and they do that OCD thing that kids do where they talk non-stop about something, in this case, Bruce. I actually thought it was too much Bruce talk, which is hard to do with me.

I also want to comment on the well-behaved East Coast female fans in the front row. Bruce did this thing where he knelt down in front of them, then leaned onto his back and sang. The ladies went wild. Crazy. They were rubbing their hands over his legs, but didn't go above the knees. They could have totally gotten a crotch shot, but refrained.

Our here in Whore Land, where the sluts and the buffalo roam, Bruce would have been felt up more than a choir boy. So ladies in Pa, my hat is off to you. Thank you for being respectable to our Rock God.

The Dogs on Main Street Howl

I saw Bruce Springsteen this week in Hershey, PA. He's God. Seriously. He's God. Big G and all. The man is almost 60 and he puts on a show that is just him and the band and all crazed energy and good times. No fancy lights, no dancers, no gimmicks. Just rock and roll. 

It's like having the perfect bar band experience, but in a stadium.

Why can't everything in life be as simple and great as a Springsteen show? Why can't Obama be Hillary? Why can't McCain be Hillary? Now that I think about it, why can't Hillary be Bruce? Why are we bothering with Obama and McCain as our presidential candidates? Let's put Slash and Bruce up there. We need Slash so I have someone to make fun of, and to be the bad guy to Bruce's good guy. Then Bruce would win come November 2 and we would have a great rock and roll president. Sure, he would be weak on foreign policy: though don't forget, during the Magic and Rising tours, fans overseas said that the only good thing about America was Bruce (only a true Bruce fan would get misty remembering that one). Yes, Bruce would probably suck on the economy, though he is rich and is one rock star that didn't piss his money away, so he must know a thing or two about making---and keeping---money.

So we would have a president who is weak on foreign policy and weak on the economy. Hey, we have that now. Bruce could at least write a killer song about how screwed up the country is. He could donate the proceeds to charity and save some poor children in some backwater area. He could clean up the alligators that are now roaming Florida streets (I swear, the news is down right Biblical these days. I'm on the verge of going Baptist).

Bruce, I love you. Seriously, you light up my life Debbie Gibson-style, you rock my world, and to paraphrase you, you're the one (allusion to a Bruce song here). Keep the tour going. Don't quit. I'll keep spending my money to see you. Thanks for a glimpse into the Promised Land (yep, another allusion to a song).

Giving fair time to men sluts

Yesterday, I posted about sluts, the female kind. John Edwards reminded me that it takes two to tango, and men can be sluts, too.

I use to like John Edwards, at least I did in the 2004 elections. I saw him at the Democratic debate in November in Vegas and I walked away thinking, "hmmm, he's a little slimy." Of course, after that night, I was a Hillary girl lock, stock and barrel. 

Then today, I was at the gym and on the treadmill, sweating in ways humans are not meant to sweat, when I looked up at the TV monitor and saw the headlines. For the next 45 minutes, while I lost water weight, I regained some of my memory: "Hey, I forgot how much I don't like this guy."

What kind of animal has an affair on his wife who has cancer? A sociopathic one who has no feelings.

I know a sociopath here in LA who is a huge narcissist. His partner is a lovely person through and through, yet this sociopath is not happy unless he's making that partner, and most everyone else, feel small. He cheats as easily as the rest of us breathe, and he thinks nothing of it. I thought he might be the world's most selfish person, until I learned this news about Edwards. Come on, your wife has cancer. This is how you show her you are there for her?

What Elizabeth Edwards does now is her business. Personally, if I were her, I'd grab him by the balls, twist hard and say, "F' her now, slimeball." But I've been there and done that.

We take vows in our lives to love and honor someone else. Even if we don't take vows the traditional way, our language is peppered with saying like, "I'm in a committed relationship." Those are words that are intended to mean something. But these days, relationships are evidently made of the same quality as Korean toilette paper.

A good man may be hard to find, but a hard man, well, he's in the voting booth right next to you.

A Note to the My Space Whore, and Sluts Everywhere

Hi,

It's been a while since I've blogged. Since Hillary is not the presidential candidate, I'm feeling unmotivated to write about big-ears Obama or that old guy who is such a dork. By the way, no one but me talks about W's cock-eyed eyes, are we gonna have the same situation with McCain and his teeth? Never mind. That's a whole other blog.

Anyway, a lot of strange stuff has happened to me in recent weeks. I stood in line for four hours for an iPhone. I feel stupid about that. I got laughed at by Jason Schwartzman, a movie star who is hot but no one ever knows his name except insiders. He lives on my block and saw me driving the Mini Cooper Loaner car that had a bull dog and the Hollywood sign printed on it. He's rich. He's a move star. So what does he do? Laugh at me. Yeah, that's the kind of life I lead.

What finally motivated me to update my blog is the My Space Whore who will not leave my adorable boyfriend alone on his My Space comments. She's Clairol-bottle blond (meaning, she's too poor for a good hair-dresser, she has to go to WALGREENS). She's either from Orange County or Georgia, what's the difference? She's a slut who thinks she is going to be an actress, though she's never even been in a play, oh, and by the way, she's thirty. Yeah, she's on her way. In her My Space profile, instead of saying she wants to make movies, she says she wants to make "Flicka's." Yeah, she put the apostrophe in there. You are getting the point. Flickas and all.

Before he met me, my boyfriend had fooled around with her a bit. He wasn't in to her enough for her to realize that if he liked her more, he'd have done the big monkey with her. Yeah, that's right. I said that.

Tonight, my adorable boyfriend  changed his My Space page Profile from "Single" to "In a Relationship." In the LA dating scene, that is  a huge deal. Then, he updated the part about Who I'm Looking to Meet from "girls" to general "people." Anyone who is his My Space friend, this slut being one of them, got an automatic Friend's update that read something like this: "Your friend, Binx's Adorable Boyfriend, has changed his profile." So what did that little blond whore, WHO WILL NEVER MAKE IT AS AN ACTRESS BECAUSE SHE IS THIRTY AND LOOKS SKANKY, do? She read his profile update, saw he had a girlfriend, and she left a slutty Comment. Again. She always leaves slutty Comments. This time, she did it to piss me off.

Slut, it worked. Was it fun? Because now you get to pay the price. Buckle up, Bottle-Blond with the bad bangs, it's going to be a bumpy ride. Do you get the allusion? Hint, it's from a "flicka." (Who says "Flickas" except rednecks????)

Listen up whores, you can't beat me; you've tried before, and you've lost. I've been fighting you off and getting the upper hand ever since that slut, Terry-what's-her-name tried to steal my (in retrospect) worthless boyfriend away from me in the 9th grade. I have a sharper tongue than any of you. I can out-write you tramps, I can out-diet you, out-dress you, out-Kiehls you, and so help me God, I'll out-slap you. Stop messing around with men that don't belong to you: mine or anyone else's. They ALWAYS tire of you because you are vanilla, you are boring and the best you can offer is vacuous flirtation. Let me ask you this: Who is Mrs. Dalloway? What is the Efficient Frontier? Explain the myth of the good-hearted whore? Can't answer those questions? Yeah, I thought so.

Okay, I've left the topic of just the My Space Slut. I'm tired of Sluts in general. Women are supposed to be the superior gender, yet sluts drag the gender down; they try to steal other women's men. I never did that. You know why? I'M NOT A SLUT.  Grandma and Mama raised me better than that! I have pride, I have Prada, I have a collection of Bruce Springsteen bootlegs which differentiates me from sluts! Sluts don't listen to Bruce--they listen to Bon Jovi---and if they do listen to Bruce, they don't get him. They think he's the guy who just did Born in the USA, and, and, and, they just want to screw him because he belongs to Patti Scialfa, a very, very good woman who is not  a slut. 

So I've had enough. The good girls finally get their revenge. Sluts, listen up: and this goes for you, you horse-faced whore who slept with my ex-husband (hah! now you are the one stuck with him! That is my revenge right there) sluts will be a main focus of my writing, along with Republicans and bad drivers, and abusive gay boyfriends (you know who you are). I will write about how screwed up you sluts are. I'll publish it, too, even if I have to self-publish, I will self-publish. 

Yeah. I said that. I'll freaking self-publish. That's how serious I am.

Back off Bottle-blond. You threw down the gauntlet, but I've got my eyes on you, and they are covered in Bobbi Brown.

Something to Wine About

When people ask me, "what don't you like about LA?" and oddly, I do get asked that question (people never ask me what I do like about LA, by the way) I always say, "no one drinks wine in this town." Or maybe I should say, "they don't drink wine like my friends in SF do."

Speaking of my friends in SF, shout out to Paul and Frankie, two fabulous wine drinkers. Good time, boys, good times.

The exception to the wine rule in LA is my wonderful friend, the fabulous Mrs. LL. I don't know if she wants her full name printed, so I will simply refer to her as that. Mrs. LL lives in Rancho Palace Verdes (hope I spelled it right, I'm still new to town) and is having a wine and food tasting this weekend, to which I'm invited. We are going to gorge ourselves on wine and food. Okay, to be precise, some will gorge themselves on food, me and Mrs. LL are going to gorge ourselves on wine. Red wine, white wine, maybe even some blush. I'm just so darn excited. I haven't been this excited about anything since April 6 and 7 when I got to see Bruce Springsteen live. And by the way, I'll be seeing him August 19 on the East Coast. I can't even think about that I'm too excited. I seriously may pee my pants if I think about it too much.

In a year marked with divorce, possible lay-offs, Hillary losing the nomination, recession (THERE IS A RECESSION. IT IS NOT MENTAL, but people who think there is no recession are mental, to be perfectly clear) and during a time when I felt compelled to buy and read, "How to Deal with Assholes in the workplace," Wine and Bruce are seriously all I have to be happy about. So Let the Dogs on Main Street Howl (Bruce reference) it's a wine lovers weekend thanks to Mrs. LL.

I can hear the corks popping now. Ahhhh.

Two Birthdays and a Funeral

Today is the birthday of two wonderful ladies, Denise and Diane. Diane is turning the big 5 0 today, and she and her hubby are celebrating for the next couple weeks in New Mexico. Diane is one of those rare people. She's, frankly, a saint. When I first met her, she taught specially challenged kids who were death and blind. Now, I wouldn't even consider teaching your average seven year-old anything (except to go to their room and leave me alone) but to teach a special needs person takes, well, a special person. That's Diane. She's got compassion, heart and a strength of character that is just unknown to most of us poor souls.

Diane and her husband, my good pal AC, came to see me when I was at a low point in my life, and though she didn't say anything in particular, or do anything in particular, just being around her made me happier, because she has such a good attitude. The only thing I ever held against her was that she switched her affiliation from my gal Hillary to Obama. So Diane, if Obama loses, you will be one of the people whose ass I will have to kick because I still believe that Hillary stands a better chance of whipping McCain. Having said that, I don't hold it against Diane too much, because she supported Obama for one reason: she wanted to see the democrats win. How can you be mad at someone for that?

So happy 50th birthday, Diane. I hope that 25 years from now when I turn fifty, I'll have your level of grace and maturity. I hope for it, but let's be realistic.

Then there is Denise. She is the HR manager at our office. If you knew our office, you would know that the fact that she is our HR manager and hasn't killed herself or anyone else yet says a lot about her character. You have to have an awful lot of patience to do that job, and you really have to like people to do it. Denise is not above joining me in making offhand remarks about our co-workers, we'd have to be angels to not give in to that temptation, but she does tend to see the good in (some) people that I think are a complete waste of skin. But what I love about her is that she enjoys a catty remark, and always has at least one good zinger handy. She also loves to party on a level that I, myself, have not enjoyed since college. She can stay out all night and just live it up. Sometimes she even makes it in to work the next day, but usually she has the foresight to request PTO up front. I love an HR Manager who says on Monday, "Hey, I won't be in tomorrow. I'm getting hammered tonight." If all HR Manager's had that attitude, corporate America would be considered fun. So Happy Birthday, Denise. You aren't turning fifty, but in about 20 years when I turn the same age, I hope I still am as much fun as you are.

Now for the funeral. Madame Marie died this week. Who is that? She was the star of one line in one Bruce Springsteen song, but it made her a legend. Aptly, in "4th of July, Independence Day" (Better known as "Sandy') Bruce wrote, "I hear the cops finally busted Madame Marie, for telling fortunes better than they do." Just a little line with little meaning, yet it is burned into the head of hard-core Bruce fans. He made her infamous, and I hope in the afterlife, she stays out of jail and sees only a happy future (though she's dead, so I'm not sure what she could see in terms of a happy future).

Oh, and yes, Jesse Helms died. What can I say? Good.

Happy Independence Day!

The 4th of July is a little bit like a political Christmas: you have to have good will toward Republicans, just for the day. I can work myself up to a full day, however, so at 2:00 p.m, after I have had a cocktail at my pals Michael and Steven's (who, by the way donated bus loads to Hillary's campaign) I am going to declare a moment of forgiveness and for exactly one minute, I will forgive every jackass who voted for George W. Bush, and thereby, ruined the country.  To further show my commitment to that Minute of Forgiveness, I'm going to encourage my dear pal Robby, who will also be at the party and is the most hard core democrat I know, to join me in my minute. If the two of us can forgive on that issue, even for just a minute, then there is hope in these hard time. 

As soon as that minute is up, however, I'm having another sip of my cocktail, and the grudge will return.

Get off the PA

As I write this, I am sitting in the Las Vegas airport. There are fat people everywhere eating pastries or hotdogs, while I sip on water and think about how much I'd love some damn fries. There are crying children aplenty. There are annoying people on cell phones talking loudly. There is the constant whir, ching and clang of slot machines. Mostly, though, there is the guy on the PA at Gate #4 who just LOVES to hear himself talk. He's been on three times in five minutes, and I swear, he's not saying anything useful. We know the flight from Phoenix is about to arrive any minute and when it deplanes, those of us going on to Burbank, the flight's next destination, can line up. We know the flight is leaving on time.

I'm hoping someone beside me tells this dumb-ass behind the counter to get off the speaker. This is not his crack at his own Fifteen Minutes of Fame. This is an airport, and worse, it's Southwest.

On the upside, there's free internet access at McLaren in Las Vegas. Of course, I can't hear myself think because the dumb-ass just came on the speakers again.

It's easy to hate people when you fly.

Christian Rock: one more reason to hate religion

Sin City needs redemption. The proof is in the radio dial. I lived here for five years and never knew that this town was full of Christian Rock stations. That’s because I had my own car, and blissfully listened to my CDs and the local classic jazz station. As soon as I moved away and started telecommuting, I had to rent cars, which often meant I had to listen to local radio channels. So imagine me, going West on the 215, listening to what I think is some alternative rock station when I suddenly notice a lyric: “And I get down on my knees before you.” At first, I’m thinking, “Porn Rock? Is there such a thing?” Then I realize it’s all about Jesus. So I change dials. I hear another piece of a song, “I will burn in the fire of your salvation.” I let out an alarmed gasp and change the channel. “I worship you, Oh God, blad de blah.” I change the channel again, more holy-roly lyrics disguised as Spoon or even more insidious, Snow Patrol. I change it again. Finally, I hear a Doobie Brothers song. I was never a fan of the Doobie Brothers, but I leave it there. It’s safe. I drive all over this desert town, the radio dial fixed to a classic rock station. I haven’t heard the Eagles this much since 1979.

Christian rock is freaky. Why not just listen to plain old satanic rock and roll, where the real rockers are? Okay, so the lyrics aren’t all, “I love Jesus, yeah, yeah, yeah,” but, it’s rock and roll; it is its own religion, all three chords is enough and less is more. The only fire in those lyrics is about passion, a rock and roll subject du jour, every du jour.

Do Christian rockers and the people who listen to them want to be bad while being good? I just don’t get it; and I find it freaky. I’ve said it before, religion is just freaky. It causes war, it is the originator of hypocrisy and fairy tales and evidently, it’s also the cause of some really horrible music. It’s also the originator of true dorks: who can sing, “I get down on my knees before you,” without the temptation to make a sexual joke? Who talks about getting down on their knees anyway except for hookers and a few gay guys that I know, and oh yeah, a lot of horny men?

The big question is, why does Vegas have so many Christian Rock stations? The better question is, why does Budget continue to give me rental cars without satellite even though I keep requesting satellite and pay through the nose to get a car that has one? Now that I think of it, the real question is, Why don’t I switch from Budget to Avis or Hertz? Well, the answer to that one is that I’m clearly a sucker for punishment. It’s like the W Times Square. Whenever I’m in NYC, I stay there, despite the fact that the hotel staff is rude and keeps trying to put me in rooms next to the elevator. My pal, CW, always asks, “why do you keep staying there,” and I keep saying, “because I like the beds.” I keep renting from Budget because I’m a Fastbreak customer of theirs and its just easier to stay with them and put up with a dial full of Christian Rock then switch over to Avis, for example, where I might actually get satellite radio and can listen to the Bruce Springsteen channel, the true savior of rock and roll. When Bruce sings of getting down on your knees, it’s because he’s telling the chick in the song to do some dirty business. And that’s a different kind of freaky altogether.

Note to self: on next trip to Vegas, bring a CD for the rental car.

Hmm, maybe I'm just a sore loser

That Obama can't win for losing. Now he has to offer a personal apology to the two women who were barred from sitting behind him on stage at a Detroit rally earlier this week. Campaign volunteers blocked two Muslim women from the seats because they worried the women would be seen on camera behind the candidate wearing headscarves.

I've never liked Obama (I LOVE YOU HILLARY!) but now I'm really annoyed. I don't know these women, but they owe him the apology, unless they are coming from the McCain campaign, which would explain a lot. What were those women thinking? Let's be brutally honest here: there are people in this country who will not vote for Obama because one of his parent's happened to be Muslim and some people out there are just not smart enough to figure out that being Muslim doesn't mean you are in Al Queda. Surely those two women know this, Obama knows it, the campaign volunteers knew it and the racists who voted for Hillary because she's white and not half/black with a Muslim parent know it. Do these women want him to win or not? I don't even like him and I want him to win because the alternative is McCain. 

Is it unfair that these women cannot sit behind Obama, wearing their headscarves? Here's my answer: Religion causes too many problems so who cares? It causes war, it causes prejudice, it is fabulous at creating social distinction, and it more often than not, encourages bad behavior (The meek shall inherit the Earth? How about those with balls?).

If these women want Obama to win, if anyone wants Obama to win, they have to realize that this is not a cute beauty pageant. McCain's camp is going to get downright dirty the closer election day comes, and just as the Rev. Wright thing won't go away, neither will the racists out there who won't vote for him because of his heritage, black, Muslim, abnormally large-eared and stick-like (I digress on those last two points. I said I didn't like him, but I'm voting for him. So give me a break).

If you look at the post ABC did on Obama apologizing, there is a comment from someone out there in Cyberspace. This person said. "Am not surprised for Obama apologizing to the Muslim women because he is still a Muslim and he is going to sell out to the Muslim world because it runs in his veins."

You know what that comment is? It's a vote for McCain. Granted, it's a vote for McCain by a stupid person, but there are a lot of scary people out there who think that way and they will all vote for McCain. Therefore, I'll say it again: Obama doesn't owe them an apology. They put his campaign workers in a bad situation. They put him in a lose/lose situation. 

I think what I'm most angry about is I have to defend him on this issue. Did I mention this earlier: I LOVE YOU HILLARY!

Happy Birthday, Robby

June 18 is my great pal Robby’s b-day. I blogged about his b-day two years ago; long-time readers may remember that one, but I’m too blogger-deficient to figure out how to do a link to that post. However, if you look in my archives under June 17, 2006, you’ll see that tribute to my fabulous friend---either I got his b-day wrong that year, or I posted a day early and didn’t edit carefully.

A lot of people deserve accolades on their birthday, especially this guy. So here’s what I think is great about Robby: He’s the type of guy EVERYONE loves. I mean everyone. Most people want to put a contract out on my head, but with Robby, they want to invite him over for dinner or have him baby-sit their kids. Well, the latter is taking advantage of him a bit, but you get the idea, they trust him; that or they are too cheap to hire a 14-year old.

How could you not help but love Robby? He’s scary smart (except in math, poor thing. We’ve totally bonded over that one), wickedly funny (if you need an acerbic quip, Robby is your guy), can cook like the second coming of Bruce Springsteen (technically, I’m not sure Bruce can cook, but the second-coming of Bruce has to be a good thing no matter what), and best of all, Robby makes fun of Republicans with a scathing sense of accuracy and humor. His specialty is George W. Bush, and recently-exposed, previously in-the-closet gay republicans. By the way, there was no pun intended with the use of the word “exposed.”

I wish I could be with Robby today, but instead, I’m stuck in Vegas. As I type this, I am looking out of my hotel window. I have a view of the Las Vegas Athletic Club’s parking lot across the street. Balding men and chunky girls get out of their cars and walk slowly inside as if they are walking to the scaffolds instead of a treadmill. On the other side of gym is the 215, with it’s limited options of going North into the new developments with their tiled terra-cotta roofs and just-like-next-door architect, or heading South past the lonely-looking strip malls and the build-it-and-they-will-come hopefulness of 24/7 off-strip casinos and countless retail clothing stores that stink of acrylic and deep discounts.

Watching this makes me miss Robby all the more, and I start thinking of West Hollywood, that lush town full of wonderful lushes, cute shops, and good restaurants. If I were in LA today, chances are I’d have lunch with Robby at Basix, the place we seem to go when we can’t think of where else to go, and besides, the food is so good and consistent why bother taking a chance on some new place that may disappoint? My favorite thing about West Hollywood is that Robby is four blocks away, and more often than not when we see each other, you’d think one of us would just walk over to the other one’s apartment, but NO, green-friendly people that we like to think we are, we get in the car and drive over. It’s one of those funny quirks about our friendship. Like when we start talking in July about what we will have for Thanksgiving dinner, or, when we hear a kid misbehaving in public, we turn to each other with slanted eyes and think the same evil thoughts. Before moving to LA, I hadn’t lived in the same town with Robby for over twenty years, but it felt like we were neighbors, even when the miles between us were long and many. We’d talk nearly every day, sometimes a few times a day, and I never felt like I missed a beat in his life. I knew who was pissing him off, what he made for dinner on Tuesday, what projects he was working on. It’s the same now, of course, except more often than not I get to sample Tuesday’s dinner or I get to see the play he is in and whoever is pissing him off is usually pissing me off, too.

It’s friends like Robby that make all the crap you have to deal with on a daily basis say, “huh, life isn’t that bad.” It’s looking forward to getting together with the Robby Williams of the world that gives you that burst of afternoon energy and makes you feel excited about what is coming up next, and afterwards, gives you warm memories to stockpile for all the cold-shoulder days we all get from time-to-time from perfect strangers or, say, my boss (yes, my boss in particular).

The only problem is, the world needs more Robby Williams.

So happy birthday, Robby, from a not-so-loveable old coot to a really loveable old coot. Cent’ anni!

It's Because I Love Al Gore So Much

My heart belongs to Hillary, but I said I’d support Obama, so damnit, to all you democratic non-Hillary supporters, fine, you win. If he loses, I’m personally gonna kick every single Obama supporter’s ass. And look, I’m short and have a ton of issues, so don’t think I won’t.

Except for Al Gore. Al, I would never kick his ass.

I love Al Gore, my true president from the 2000 election, and tonight when, while endoring Obama, he said that Americans needed to reject the Bush administration's legacy of "incompetence, negligence and failure,” I got all teary eyed and thought, "Well Hell, I still haven’t kicked the ass yet of all the morons who voted against Al in 2000.” I promised I would, that Valium ridden day when the Conservative Supreme Court screwed things up for ALL OF US.

So if you voted for Bush, and there is a knock on your door, and a short blonde is standing outside looking pissed, understand, it’s just because of a a promise I made to Al 8 years ago. And a lady always makes good on her promises . . . sooner or later as soon as the Valium wears off.

Big Brown and me

I love horse races. Really, I do, though I never watch them. I like the idea of them. People watching horses and short men compete, drinking (the fans, not the horses or presumably, the short men), women wearing big, stupid, floppy hats. Money being spent. Lots of money being spent . . .

When Big Brown lost the triple crown this past weekend and came in dead last, I felt a kinship to the poor animal. I know what's it like to lose, naturally, and I also know what it is like to lose in a huge way that surprises people so much they have you examined by a doctor, which is what Big Brown's owners did to him.

But something someone said, I think it was the trainer speculating on the horses loss, struck me as unintentionally philosophic. He said, "Maybe the track was just too deep for him and he didn't like it out there."

Yep. I think sometimes the world is too deep for me and I just don't like it out there. That's going to be my new excuse whenever I let anyone down. A friend, a boss, myself, the cashier at Bristol Farms. "Crap, man, it's just too deep and I don't like it out there."

It's the perfect excuse to be a shut-in, except I like to go to the grocery store and browse the wine aisles, and I like to go to Barney's and spend money I don't have, then I like to wear the clothes I bought in Barney's out in public and show off my new over-priced whatever. But other than that, the world is just too deep, and I don't like it out there.

Deep Sheets

When I got divorced, I became a dunce. Seriously, I felt like sticking a pointy cap on my head and sit in the corner with a drool cup. I had to learn how to do very basic things in life, like pump gas into my car. Once, I accidently splashed myself with gas and some got in my eyes and in my mouth (yes, I then swallowed because I'm a dunce), and than splashed it all over my car and the ground. You should have seen the looks on the faces of the other people pumping gas. Everyone got very still, very quiet. The woman in the car behind me shouted, "NOBODY SMOKE!" It was embarrassing. Another time, I had a check to deposit. I can't make money, but as it turns out, I can't deposit it. I had to call my friend Robby and say, "How do I deposit a check?" He said, "Serious? Are you serious?" Robby is used to me asking stupid questions. I've had to ask him how to boil water. I had to learn how to do laundry and fold clothes. My pal Carla taught me how to do that. She is the Martha Stewart of my life. She told me once, "you need an Allen wrench." Or maybe it's an "Alan Wrench." I can pronounce what she told me I needed, but not spell it. Anyway, my friends taught me how to do these really basic things that are ordinary stuff for other people, but somewhere along the way, no one remembered, and I was too ashamed to ask: how do I successfully change the sheets on my bed. Specifically, the fitted sheets?

I Googled it and didn't get a good answer. I read Real Simple backwards and forwards, and didn't get an answer. So I struggled with my sheets every time I had to change them. What may take you five minutes took me an hour. Sometimes, I lay on my bed, one end of the fitted sheet curled around my head, another end cuddling up to my foot, and I would just cry because I couldn't figure out a damn fitted sheet. I have written novels, I've launched marketing programs in Mumbai, Belgium and Hong Kong, I can write a zippy headline that makes you laugh, I can figure out how to budget a department annually, and, damnit, I can boil water. But I cannot put a damn fitted sheet on my bed.

So I spoke to my own personal Martha Stewart yesterday, my pal Carla, and I told her, "I haven't changed my sheets in six weeks. In the morning, I throw the cover off and open the windows and air out the bed." Carla said two words to me. Two simple words. "Deep Sheets."

Not only are great thinkers and oceans deep, but sheets can be deep, too. In fact, the sheets I had on my bed, I realized, were deep sheets. The reason I didn't change them was because I hadn't had to struggle to put them on. So I dug through my linen closet and found another pair of sheets that I had previously thought were King sheets that I accidentally ended up. They weren't. They were deep sheets! I put them on the bed, and it took less than five minutes.

Clean sheets smell good. They smell like joy. They smell like health. The smell bed bug free.

In a world where Hillary Clinton can't win the nomination, where Israel says a conflict with Iran is unavoidable (yeah, more war!), where people I know live in fear of eating dog food and living on the street because they are on the verge of getting unemployed, it's nice that fresh sheets can make my day. They won't put food on the table, they won't lower gas prices, and they won't keep the Middle East from blowing up, but for me, it's a small victory. Now I'm going to lie down.

Why Obama Should Pick Hillary as his VP

I am a fan of the number five. When I was contemplating my move to LA, I asked all my LA friends, "what are the five best things about LA, and what are the five worst things about LA?" For the record, everyone said "Traffic" was among the worst. All but one said that "the people" were among the worst things in LA, as well. The one who did not include "the people," said, "Well, most folks will tell you the people are bad, but I don't think that is true." For the record, I think people are bad everywhere, so I can't say they are any worse in LA, just different from the bad people in NYC, Vegas or SF, and certainly way different from the bad people I grew up with in Vicksburg, Miss. Good people are the same all over, bad people are different in their own way. Thank you, Tolstoy.

So already in my first paragraph, I digress from the topic at hand: why Obama should pick my gal as his running mate. I'll give you five reasons, and keep in mind, I don't have these reasons in my head, I'm speaking from my heart and the words are flying off my fingers as they come to mind:

1) She's smarter than he is. Don't argue with me on this. She really is. She knows her stuff. He knows big words and how to sound pretty.
2) Bill Clinton would be a better first Husband that Michelle would a first lady. Her damn purple dress that she wore yesterday just scares me. That woman can't wear a belted dress. Purple is for grapes, teenagers, Gay Pride Flags, and rockers---not first ladies. 'Nuff said.
3) I understand what Hillary means when she gives a speech. Obama just strings together nice sentences. There's no mistaken what she means; I have to keep going, "What? What? What?" when I hear him give a speech. Yes, this is related to reason #1 above, but still different.
4) She has smaller ears than he does. His ears are freaky, but, I'll give him this: nothing about him is as freaky as McCain. That's guy is a Super Freak. To vote for McCain is to embrace your Super Freak side, and I'm not talking sexual stuff here. I'm talking about that 30% base of Bush supporters who think the recession is caused by the media, or is not a recession at all, and that buy into fallacies that we could all be rich if only we worked harder. We could all be rich if our daddy was Dick Cheney or G.H.W Bush.
5) Hillary is a better leader than Obama is. She has experience, tons of gumption, doesn't give up no matter who is telling her to (my heroes Bruce Springsteen and Jimmy Carter, also known collectively as "Judas."). She also knows her way around the DC political scene, she knows her facts cold, she, believe it or not, is truly the leader you want to turn to in a crisis as 3:00 am. Didn't you see the SNL skit?

Okay, I just realized that I have just listed the reasons why I think she should be President over Obama, not the reason why she should be his VP. If I've learned anything, though, it's that the world is unfair, and there is no accounting for the way voters think. That's why Bush was elected in 2004. We all know why he was elected in 2000---and it had nothing to do with the voters.

I would like to finish this post by saying I've been on a veggie and fruit diet for a few days, and tonight I fell off the wagon by not only having pizza, but having 2 glasses of Domain Caneros Pinot Noir, 2003. That's some good stuff. I'm now going to wine.com to order a couple bottles. I will be drinking a lot over the next, what, five months? Who can count when they have been dieting and then drink wine? I can't count when I'm sober, much less tipsy. Counting is boring anyway. My point is that I am unhappy, still, to this day (one day after she suspended her campaign) that she is not going to be the nominee. BUT NOOOOOO, no one listened to me when I said, "hey, don't vote for Bush," so why the heck would anyone listen to me when I said, "Don't vote for Obama, vote for Hillary"?

Where's the aspirin? I need an Ambien to boot.

Hillary for VP!

Today was obviously a sad day for me, and for anyone who supported Hillary. My reaction to the news was, naturally, to stress eat and listen to massive amounts of Bruce Springsteen. I would have drank wine, but, being vain, I figured I had overeaten enough that I couldn't afford the wine calories. But believe me, it's a Xanax night at my place. 

Of course, Hillary is merely suspending her campaign, not dropping out. This means that the savvy one can keep her delegates, prompting everyone from Obama to people who've been dead for ten years to ask, "What does Hillary want?" It's the new, "Where's the beef?" question, or if you prefer, the "Where's the Weapons of Mass Destruction?" question of recent years.

Can we stop asking the Hillary question now? Hillary wants to be VP. We know, she knows it and Obama, big ears and all, knows it. I love Jimmy Carter as much as I love Hillary, but today, when he said that the worst thing Obama could do was have her be his running mate, he was just plain old wrong. Yes, there are crackers out there who would have a complete freak if a black man and a woman led the country, but, for the mainstream Clinton supporter, this just solidifies the fact that they will support Obama. And all those folks who said that if Hillary wasn't the nomination, they'd vote for McCain? Well, they probably will still vote for McCain because they are probably the racist faction of Hillary supporters who won't vote for Obama no matter what, not even if David Duke supported him. 

Last night, CNN was showing delegates from states that were borderline From the looks of it, if you combine her delegates and his delegates from those states, the Democrats will whip McCain. Of course, we don't know which Veep McCain will pull out of his hat. It could change the whole thing.

Going back to my pity party, though, more than myself, I feel sorry for Bill. If Hillary isn't the VP on Obama's ticket, what the heck is he going to do, besides stave off reports that he's having yet another affair. And good lord, wouldn't the SNL skits be great if Obama were elected and Hillary/Bill were the VP?

I've said all along that the Democrats can put a beer can up there and I'll vote for it. By the way, I hate beer, that's how serious I am about this. I'm a gal of my word, so it is with a heavy heart, but some audacious hope, that I write these words: Obama for President!

Reporters Gone Wild

Okay, I have to say it again: Poor Hillary. When I heard her remarks about RFK's assassination, I had no problem understanding the point she was trying to make: that her husband nor RFK had wrapped up the nomination till June. And listen, I don't ever understand anything right away. Just ask my 8th grade math teacher, who had to tutor me after work because I couldn't get fractions. To this day, I have a meltdown when I have to figure out fractions. 

OMG, the media is going nuts. Keith Oberman is about to have a stroke on live TV because of Hillary's comments. I thought at first, "okay, this is about ratings." But no, I think he's serious. And it's everywhere. CNN, Fox. Even the local news is going nuts. And forget about the Internet. I read some posts online and Holy Mother of Pearl, who needs hot dogs to roast this weekend, we got Hillary!

What she said was downright clunky, inarticulate, and unwise, but her meaning was clear: she was referring to historical (or in this case, hysterical) precedent that nominees hung in there till June. Now in the case of her husband, it turns out he had secured the nomination weeks earlier. So her point is mute. Nonetheless, her meaning was clear (heck, at least to me) and her apology that followed certainly seemed sincere. The Pundits won't us to spin this that she's saying, "if I stay in, one of my cracker supporters might assassinate Obama." That's better news isn't it then, "hey, we have history on our side when it comes to democrats who haven't secured the nomination by now." The news hounds are saying her campaign is clearly over, her apology was not one, and that this is the most evil thing this evil woman has done in her evil career. Oh for God's sakes. If she quits, all you folks are going to have to complain about are Obama being boring and McCain being old. Enjoy her while you can, pundits. These may, sadly, be your glory days of the 2008 campaign.

Flaming Liberals

A few years back, I had some minor surgery. It was nothing life threatening, but there was a 2 week recovery time that for me turned into 3 weeks because, who knew, I’m a slow healer. I know. I know, it sounds like a metaphor for my life. I’m a slow healer. Or would it be slow learner? I get them mixed up.

One of the things that brightened my recovery was all the well-wishers. My pal Carla sent me crossword puzzles and a little light reading, “The Fountainhead” (Carla, next time, think Beach book. I was heavily medicated). The girls in the office sent me a lovely fruit basket. My wonderful friend Kym came over everyday and made me drink Pom juice. Robby, always the caretaker, called daily, waking me sometimes from my drug-induced nap.

When you are recovering, well-wishers become part of the process, usually the good part, right behind the meds. When I learned of Senator Ted Kennedy’s seizure, I was concerned. He’s an icon in our country’s politics and has been responsible for not only important legislation, but some great stories that are now part of our history, no matter how notorious they are. This morning I cruised the Internet looking for updates on his recovery and I came across an article with a dozen comments left by readers, most bashing him. I tried to link the post to this story, but either blogger or user error failed to make it happen. Anyway, the comments ranged from, "that's what you get," to calling him Obama's puppet master, to, "you represent the worst of American politics." One nice lady from Michigan wrote in saying he was in her prayers.

Good God, what is wrong with people? Forget well-wishers, these folks can’t wait to see him burn in hell. The man is old and dying and no matter what you think of his politics, can’t you just keep quiet if you don’t like him, especially now? You don’t need to display how badly you behave in a forum like that. Go to one of the many “Democrats must die,” websites out there and bash away among your own kind.

I think flamers are a lot like arsonists. No pun intended. They just can’t help themselves. They have to throw that match on the dry brush and watch things burn. There was such relish in the tone of these folks flaming Kennedy. One could argue that if it were George W. Bush in the hospital there would be the same type of bashing going on, just from the liberal side. Yeah, well, I’ll give you that. And I even admit that I might not be motivated to blog about it, but, hmmm, okay, never mind. Flame on, jackasses. It’s embarrassing to watch you do it, but it’s inevitable.

Senator Kennedy, I hope you get better soon. You’re backing the wrong candidate (Yeah Hillary!) but get better and help your team kick some McCain butt.

Bad Blogging Practices

There's so much to blog about, that if I had time, I could sit at my desk all day and blog. Fortunately for my few readers, my time is limited so that I don't punish you too much with my bad attempt at humor. But, if I did have time to blog, here's a few bullet points that I'd blog about.

• I just started the above sentence with the word "but." It's okay to do that, and I keep telling the annoying Brit in our office (who proof reads stuff without anyone asking her to) that it is perfectly acceptable in this century to start a sentence with "and," "but," or "or," if you are trying to make a point, as in the following examples: "I hate wanna-be grammarians. And I really hate wanna-be grammarians who come to this country from England and tell me how to punctuate. But I don't tell them how to be less annoying. Or if I did, I'd be nice about it."
• Obama is going to win the nomination, despite the fact that Hillary is the better choice and stands a better chance of beating McCain. I'm actually rooting for that "dream team" scenario where Hillary is his VP. If nothing else, the SNL skits of Bill, Hil and OB in the White House would be fun.
• I love Bill Clinton. I can't help it. True love is unconditional, despite campaign-ruining antics and run-away displays of egomania. I love that crazy SOB. That's all there is to it.
• Now that I live in LA, I would like to give Xanax to everyone who is behind me on the road. Can't I just have one car behind me where the driver is not on his/her cell phone, or texting, or honking at me to turn left in front of the oncoming car that's barreling toward me?
  
• My eyesight is going. I used to have perfect eyesight and now I can't see letters in front of me. As I type this, my monitor is a good five feet away, clear across the room, in fact. So what am I doing complaining about the cars behind me when I can't see the cars in front of me?

Okay, there it is, the random thoughts that have been running through my head lately. Actually, there's many more, but I don't have the time to write them down, or the heart to bore you.  

Hillary and Me

I usually try to avoid blog posts that are rants, because it makes the blogger sound crazy, but today is a cold day in LA and I'm feeling cranky. As it's a primary day as well, there is no better way to vent than to rant, especially about politics. So guess what? I'm going to do a rant! 

Anyone who knows me, knows I love Hillary Clinton. I always have. It used to (and still does!) burn me up when other women, especially, criticized her.  She's a role model for God's sakes! She's a Yale Grad who put up with a cheating husband and became a state senator! She made the idea of universal health coverage mainstream when no one else succeeded. She bakes cookies! She has goals, and she sticks to them. I doubt I can even stick to the goal of ranting in this blog post because, what was I saying? . . . 

A gal once told me she thought Hillary was "stupid." I seriously thought I was going to have to kick her ass. She was bigger than me, though, and I'm a coward that way. I did say, "she must be smarter than us, look at this hell hole we work in." I had her there. Of course, today she's an Obama supporter.

I've rolled up my sleeves and threatened to take both ladies and gents down for messing with Hillary. I defend her the way a Texan defends Texas. According to early results in the primary, Obama has already won North Carolina (Hillary's lead in Indiana is narrowing. Cue me opening wine and taking Valium as I bite my nails and wait for her to hopefully wine). Anyway, not only has Obama won North Carolina, with this primary, he has officially now won the entire South. So to Southern Democrats I have one thing to say: I'm one of you, more or less. I'm Southern by birth and in case you haven't noticed, I'm a democrat. So now y'all stop supporting Obama and start supporting my gal, Hil. Let me put this in terms you can understand: if she loses this nomination, I wouldn't put it past her to come down South and one by one, open a can of whoop ass on OB supporters. And if she is the candidate, are you going to let McCain win because you can't tolerate a strong woman? Oh, and don't give me that Iraq crap. Yes, she voted for the war. As I recall, most Americans except for me and a few cranky comedians supported war back then. Most people drank the Bush/Cheney kool-aid.  We don't know how Obama would have voted because he wasn't in office. Even he has said he don't know how he would have voted. 

I've watched and listened, and two kinds of people hate Hillary: 1) Republicans, and there's nothing you can do about that, and, 2) people who don't like strong women, even if they say they do. I know Hillary is brash and annoying at times, but she's smart, she knows her stuff. Ask her a question and she'll give you an answer. You might not like the answer, but for the life of me, I have yet to figure out OB's message. Hope? Here's my hope: I hope Hillary is our next president.

The AP did a poll recently that showed that Hillary would beat McCain by 9 points, OB would beat him by 2. So Hillary can beat McCain by a bigger margin. Maybe it's all too close for comfort, but why are people still rooting for her to pull out? OB is beating her by a hair, and today that hair got shaved a bit more.

So this is all a long way of saying that I'm happy Hillary is still hanging in there, and if it goes to the convention, fine. All Democrats, myself included, need to just simply vote for whoever is the candidate in the end. The other choice is McCain, and seriously, a hissy fit over your democratic candidate losing is not worth another four years of a Republican. I mean, this last one has done such a good job. . . .hey, he's #1 in disapproval ratings! That reminds me of the time that Mississippi was named the fattest state in the country. I told my pal Robby, "Hey, we're #1!" Always spin to the positive.

So I'll conclude my rant by saying that if MCain wins, knowing that most people think she stands a better chance of beating him that OB, then I'm joining Hillary on her whoop ass trip. I Hope y'all are happy.

Lunch with Cokie

The other day, I had lunch with Cokie Roberts. Yes, it sounds like a lie, I know. But I did. Sort of. She spoke at a function, sponsored by a women's organization. She sat at the same table I did, because the president of the organization was there. I wish I could say that she was seated next to me, but, unfortunately I can't as the World's Freakiest Woman was my dining partner.

Her name was Gabrielle. She was short, really short, like under 5'0 and she was one of those negative sized women. She looked as if someone has hosed her down in large, chunky gold jewelery. The conversation started innocently enough when she asked if anyone knew the average sized diamond bought for engagement rings. I happened to have the answer.

"Two carats these days," I said.

"I would have thought it would be more like ten carats," she said.

"Oh God, the average person can't afford that."

"My friends can." I looked at my friend Ela, seated on the other side of me. She raised an eyebrow.

"I even have one friend who just bought a 64 carat solitaire ring from Cartier."

Ela and I shook our heads. "You must mean a pendant," I said.

"A diamond that large is very rare," Ela told her. "And it's the size of a small egg. She can't possibly wear it on her finger."

"Well, she does. Another friend has a 45 carat ring. All my friends have very large diamonds."

"Okay . . ." I said, looking over at Cokie Roberts as if she could save me. She was in the throes of her own misery, sandwiched between two women who were chatting to her about their grand kids. She concentrated on her asparagus salad for relief.

Then Gabrielle tells me that her husband is in real estate, and she starts sizing up the neighborhoods for me as I'm new in town. "Beverly Hills is where you go when you have a little money, Bel Aire is where you go when you have more money, and Holmby Hills is where you go when you have the most money."

"Where's West Hollywood fit in," I quipped. She was not amused.

"I don't know why people say there is a problem with the economy," Gabrielle told me. "My husband just sold a 25 million dollar home. He bought me this as a gift." She shoved her South Sea Pearl ring in my face.

"I don't think the high end market is hurting, it's the low-end."

She looked at me as if she had no idea what I meant by "Low end."

I asked her how long she'd been married. 25 years. I asked how she met her husband. "I was a teacher's aide and he was in the 6th grade."

That pretty much stopped all the conversation at the table. Even Cokie Roberts was listening now.

All I could think was, "Why did I get placed next to the freak at the table? All these women and Cokie Roberts and I'm stuck next to the pedophile?"

I left shortly after that. It's hard to think of anything else to add to a conversation when you learn that the woman sitting next to you trolled grade school kids for marital material. On my way out the door, I realized I never asked her which neighborhood she lived in. Wherever it is, I hope they have that Neighborhood Alert thing going.

There's something about baby

Put me next to a baby and the first word out of my mouth is "F#$." It never fails. I don't mean to do it, it's not a reaction. It's almost like sudden onset tourettes. I had lunch with my friend and her baby yesterday, and somehow the topic turned to politics. I was pretty good, keeping my mouth shut until that monster-under-the-bed topic, religion, came up and then all of a sudden, the profanities started flying. I could see her baby, pudgy and perfect-skin cuteness, shaping his little mouth into an F sound and I flashed forward to the future where my friend called me screaming, “his first word should have been Mommy. Not mother-f@#$%!”

She would not have been the first mother who has gotten upset with me. This past Christmas Eve, I gave my pal CW’s step-children a special treat when, as we were opening gifts, I commented on a very “unique” gift by saying, “what the F#$!” I knew when the kids mouths flew open, their eyes went wide and their hair stood straight up that they had never heard that word before, except maybe at the movies.

On airplanes, I am the poor soul who gets stuck next to the crying baby. It is karma for all the F words I’ve lobbed in my life around children. Just the other day on a flight back from Vegas, I said to a mother who was trying to console her crying child, “well, you know, it’s gotta be the f#$%*@^g turbulence that has her upset.” Wow. Can that mom shoot a nasty look..

I have a personal relationship with the F word. Some people find it prosaic and lament that people could come up with something more unique. What the F@#$ is up with that? The F word is descriptive of the emotion you are feeling. Something can be “F’ing brilliant” and the person you are talking to knows you love it. “F that,” means you hate something and “I f’ing hate you,” means you really, really hate something, as in “I f’ing hate you, Dick Cheney.”

So to any mothers reading this, if I’m coming ‘round, lock up your babies or at least get them earmuffs. I sincerely mean no disrespect, but man oh man, I can’t seem to keep my f!@#$%& mouth shut.

Hey mister, did I ask your opinion?

I went to see Bill Maher and Tony Snow with my friend E.D. last night. Despite the fact that he comes across as a misogynist, and despite the fact that he likes Obama better than Hillary, I still like Maher. I don’t know much about Tony Snow, other than I disagreed with almost everything he said. He did look well, though, despite his battles with cancer.

I could write at length at the funny, pithy lines from Maher----“Gas prices are up 200% and our president just happens to be an oilman” for instance---but, instead, I want to take a moment to say something to all the people who had to shout out their disapproval every-time either Snow or Maher said something they did not like.

“Oh for God’s sake, shut the f$%! up.”

Yes, I’m talking to you, to that man in front of me who kept saying, “You’re stupid, Snow!” I may not be a fan of Tony Snow, but he was on that stage as a featured guest, while meanwhile, you buddy, are stuck in the rafters with me. Or to the other guy down the aisle from us who kept jeering Bill Maher. I got a look at you, mister. I wouldn’t be jeering anyone. Then there was the woman behind me who kept hissing. I don’t know. This is LA. Maybe her breasts had sprung a leak.

We paid $85 to go see Bill Maher. We didn’t pay $85 so angry audience members could express themselves. The event promotional material didn’t say anything about group therapy.

Of all the one-liners and pithy zingers levied last night, something Maher said really struck me, and it was nothing provocative. He mentioned that the election is six months away. We don’t even have a candidate yet, but it doesn’t matter, because what is important is that McCain is defeated, and no matter what the polls show, I think an awful lot of people feel the same way. Yet it’s clear there’s also an awful lot of people that don’t; they say they want change, but for some reason think McCain is that change. It’s going to be an ugly six months ahead. Friends are going to start fighting and jeering and hissing each other, and I'm not talking about leaky breasts or snakes gone wild. Everyone has an opinion, even if they don't have facts. And in the end, we are all going to be united over one thing: what's up with undecided voters? How can they not have an opinion one way or the other?

If I were Bill Maher, I'd have a funny way of closing this post. I'd say something provocative and biting, and you would get a belly laugh out of it. Unfortunately for you, I'm not Bill. So cue the hissing lady already.

Fa la la la la la L.A.

Being new in town is a little like being the new kid in school in the middle of the semester. Not only are you a stranger among friends and neighbors, but there’s already subtext going on that you don’t know about.

When I first told my friends that I was leaving Las Vegas and moving to Los Angeles, nearly everyone had the same response. “Why?” They asked, horrified. And that was the people from LA. My friends from San Francisco and New York just looked at me with great empathy and said things like, “Oh Honey, maybe you don’t have the best judgment. Think about that decision for a while. Like a year.”

But I knew, I knew in one instant when I made the decision to leave Vegas that the place I wanted to go was Los Angeles. And I can honestly say that since I acted on that decision, there hasn’t been one moment where I have regretted my decision. On the other hand, I have really, really bad judgment.

I’ve lived in the South, in San Francisco, and in the South West. I have traveled all over the country, and I can honestly say that I have friends in three-quarters of the states thanks to my day job. I know people in Sweetwater and El Paso, Lincoln, Boise, Royersford (PA) not to mention the bigger cities. On the surface, people in LA look like the rest of America, except maybe a bit thinner (‘except for the ‘burb people. They are chunky like the rest of the country.) Everyone usually plays by the same rules, but here in LA, there are different rules. When someone says, “I’ll see you at 6:00,” they mean 6:30 or 7:00, or, like some people I’ve met, 8:00. People don’t date, they “hang” which gets confusing because friends “hang” as well. “Let’s hang,” is an often used phrased. It can mean anything from “Let’s have sex,” to “Come on over and let’s watch ‘Gossip Girl.’”

Another difference: no one drinks in LA. They either smoke pot or are in a 12-step program. When I first moved here, I kept thinking my block was infested with skunks, My friend Robby gave me that sympathetic look that people give me a lot these days and said, “Oh honey, have you already forgotten your college days?” As far as the wine goes, for the first time in my life, I feel like the Episcopal at the Baptist pancake supper. I’m ordering wine while everyone else is smirking at me, drinking water, and then going outside to take hits, or, worse, 12-stepping me. That’s an actual phrase, “12-stepping” someone. I learned that shortly after I moved here and it’s a nice way of saying, “stop treating me like a drunk.” Another often used phrase is, “stop 12-stepping me, Lindsey.”

I keep telling myself that people are the same everywhere, but they really aren’t, not here. And I think that’s the beauty of a town like LA for a girl who wants a new life. Reinvention just isn’t a term for marketing flaks, it’s a personal process here. It’s a town charged with creativity where people spin their own story and everyone’s working on either a labor of love project or they are simply trying to get their big break. There are a million writers, directors, actors, etc all with day jobs, just trying to get by until they find the act that will suffice, as Wallace Stevens would say. And that’s the good thing, they are keeping hope alive.

Oh God. I hope all those people aren’t Obama supporters.

Where bloggers go when the economy turns blue

Last week I blogged for the first time in months, and as I do, made a huge deal out of it. Then, in an accidental attempt to make myself look silly, I didn't blog for over a week. A blogger blogs, that’s the rule. But a girl gets busy. A girl goes to Vegas. A girl has to sit by the TV and wait for Hillary to win Pennsylvania. Tonight, this girl went for a drive in her Mini. For reasons I can't even explain, I had yet to take a drive out to the ocean, except for that one time when I turned left on Santa Monica when I should have turned right. Forty-five minutes later, ocean, and I was late for an appointment.

As I was driving tonight, I listened to Ryan Adams, "When the Stars Go Blue." The chorus refrain is "Where do you go when the stars go blue." While he's not talking about the economy and our recession, it made me think of that, nonetheless. It's like when my boss talks about ROI and I start thinking about lunch, or when George W. Bush talks about Iraq and I think about this girl I knew in college who was a cutter. Everyone I know is afraid of losing their job these days, especially the people I work with. Our revenues are, at last count, 30% off. One could blame marketing, but then one would have to blame me, so when I'm not thinking about lunch, I blame our sales guy who says things like, "do you want to get something to nosh on while we have a dialogue?" He can't just say something straightforward and simple, unlike George W. who can only only utter one syllable words, unless he's butchering those large words like "terrorists" or "nuclear," or "apology," as in, "I owe this country an apology for my arrogant ways."

Instead of thinking how lovely the sun looked at it set tonight, all fat and orange at the end of the ocean, or how the jackass in the BMW was tailing me too close, I was thinking about how this Ryan Adams song could be a metaphor for the economy---granted, only another Ryan Adams fan might feel that way (and no, he is not the one who did, “Cuts Like a Knife.”). People are hunkering down, hoarding rice, staying home and watching TV in the dark. Instead of summer coming, it feels like winter. Earlier today, I spoke to a friend who had been laid off and I asked what he was doing to get by. “I don’t spend money,” he said. “I walk instead of drive, I eat pancakes three times a day [the new rice] and I watch a lot of TV for entertainment.”

All this makes me think of another Ryan Adams song, albeit from his “Whiskeytown” days. “The situation has me drinking every day and night. . . The situation ain’t so right. So excuse me if I break my own heart tonight. After all it is mine. . .”

Okay, actually, for a lot of homeowners, their heart belongs to the bank that just foreclosed on their house.

Say it ain't so, Bruce!

I'm sure you all have heard the terrible news. No, Lindsey is not back in rehab (well, maybe she is, I'm not keeping up.) My hero, my own personal Jesus, my rock god, and the man I was meant to marry from the time I was thirteen, Bruce Springsteen, endorsed Obama for president Wednesday, saying "he speaks to the America I've envisioned in my music for the past 35 years." In a letter addressed to friends and fans posted to his Web site, Bruce said he believes Obama is the best candidate to undo "the terrible damage done over the past eight years."

Bruce, why? Hillary is the better candidate! Ask her a question, she'll give you an answer. And best of all, men are afraid of her: think about how she'll have those world leaders running for cover.

Look, the democrats can put a beer can up there and I'll vote for it if that's my only choice---hey, I've just started a new breed of democrat. Forget the Yellow Dog Dem, I'm the Beer Can Dem.

The irony is that if Obama speaks to the America Bruce envisioned in his music, then Hillary speaks to the America I've envisioned in Bruce's music. Bruce's musical landscape is about hope, redemption and always searching for that act that will suffice. Except for "57 Channels and Nothing On." I'm not sure what that mess was about. Hillary is a no-nonsense girl who wants to give health care coverage to everyone (hope), get us out of Iraq (more or less redemption as she helped put us there, which she's had to answer for time and again) and the mere fact that her own personal quest is to be the first female president speaks to her holy grail, i.e, that act that will suffice. Yes, you can say all the above about Obama, as they really aren't that far apart on issues, it's just how they discuss the issues. I never know what Obama is saying. Some people call that eloquent, I call it over-the-top writing.

What disturbs me about Bruce's endorsement, is, like John Edwards, he could have waited. Why not just support the final winner, be it Hillary, Obama, or a bottle of Miller Lite (this country needs to lose weight).

Of course, now that I evoke Edwards, watch, he'll come out in support of Obama. Oh Hillary, I love you even if no one else does. Course that could be your problem right there . .

It's been awhile

You haven't heard from me in some time. La Blogda is all about people behaving badly, and I've lived that the last few months. I was even one of them, but then again, I always was.

Last time I posted---back in October---I had flown to LA from Vegas and saw Springsteen at the Sports Arena. Now I live in LA, and last week I saw Springsteen again, this time in Anaheim at the Honda Center. My life is completely different from that October night. I used to live in a nice house in Las Vegas. In the evenings, I sat by the pool drinking wine and listening to music. I worked hard all day (more or less), and then I came home. I wrote a lot more than I do now. I didn't really like living in Vegas, but I have to admit, I liked the comfort of my life. I didn't have to do those daily, mundane things like take out the trash, pump gas into my car, write checks to pay bills, or even wash dishes by hand.

But that all changed. The great thing about Nevada is that it is easy and cheap to get a divorce. But the thing about divorce is that you don't just divorce a person. You divorce a life.

So I now live in West Hollywood in an apartment that was built in 1939. My landlord is an ancient little man who likes to vacation in Key West. He's so cheap he insists on doing all repairs himself: from wiring to plumbing to unfortunately, painting the walls. There are paint drippings in the oddest places, and don't even get me started on the caulking he did. Poor man, every time he climbs my stairs, huffing and panting, I have my fingers poised on speed dial for 911 in case he has a stroke.

A famous actor lives down the street from me. He walks his French Bulldog and he looks scared every time we pass each other, like I'm stalking him Really, I'm just trying to get to the gym. My street is lined with large, shady trees that remind me of any town in the Deep South, except when I look up the block, I see the Hollywood Hills and its 50s style homes. Betty Davis lived across the street from my apartment in her younger, er, more alive, days. In my Vegas home you could plug in appliances and sparks would not fly from the socket. In my LA apartment, every time I plug in my phone recharger I cross my fingers that I won't end up like a Texas inmate on Death Row.

I think that pretty much sums up my life. It used to be that sparks didn't fly and I felt safe. Now, sparks fly and I know I'm not safe. Some days I like that. Some days I feel like Gary Gilmore. One thing hasn't changed, though. I may not sit by the pool, drink wine and listen to music---scratch that, I don't sit by the pool. The rest remains the same.

Oh, and for a touch of the old La Blogda: Hillary should be the next president and I still hate W.