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!