How’s It Going, Suzette?

Last evening a bird pooped on my head while I was outside enjoying my post-workday beverage. (A post-workday  beverage, I wish to inform my non-Instagram followers,  which can no longer be served in my favorite vintage glassware.)

This morning, I was out in the backyard in my leopard bedroom slippers and I stepped in dog poop.

So how’s it going? Pretty poopy.

Saturday Morning Live

It was 8 am when I started this post. Just the start of Saturday, the point when all things are possible.  I am the master of my own destiny and there’s so much to choose from! I have time to vacuum up the dog hair, scrub the filthy kitchen, pull weeds or just go hog wild and leave the house all together and just roam around. Freedom!

I can do anything big or small. I can just spin this chair around 180 degrees and take a crack at the pile of folded laundry on the daybed and that the things that came out of my suitcase when I emptied it from my last trip. I could go downstairs and make myself a liverwurst and onion sandwich for breakfast. I can do anything.

But we’ve been here before and you know how this goes. I’m just going to sit here and read blogs and cruise around eBay and then it will be time for my customary Saturday nap.

Here is something. It’s a then and now look at my new flowerbed.

then

The dream and the beginning. May 26, 2014

unnamed

Three months later: the lush fulfillment. August 23, 2014

It’s been wildly successful which surprises me no end. When I started this project in late spring, the bed was filled with the crappiest, sandiest dirt imaginable. But I planned and planted and then used PlantTone, an organic fertilizer apparently made from feathers but which has attracted earthworms for me before. I mulched everything with a thick layer of shredded pine bark and kept it watered. And it worked!

Also I had a really great new hose nozzle from Kmart that allowed me to stand inside the backyard fence and give this bed as much water as it needed without exposing my nightgowned early-morning self to the paperboy and productive neighbors going off to work.

There’s more good news in this current photo. You’ll note a limp and dying portulaca draped over the brick edging in the lower right hand corner. It is dying because it got tromped during a visit from the local gang of adolescent deer. Which tells me that every flowering plant that I selected for this bed is of no interest to hungry deer. If they were, they’d be chewed down to the roots.

So I’ve got the right elements there – I just need to dial it back a bit and make some layout adjustments for next year. That little resin pigeon obviously cannot hold its own against such abundant vegetation so I might replace it with one of my chicken planters in the spring.

And there we are. It’s 9:30 now. Still plenty of time to vacuum. As if.

 

Reflection

It’s early morning and I’m watching a recording of The Late Late Show on the DVR while I wait for the coffee to finish perking or whatever a modern brewer does to produce coffee. Drip, I guess. Waiting for the coffee to stop dripping. Craig Ferguson and Garrison Keillor are yukking it up and I just caught myself making my father’s face.

My father was self-contained if that’s how you want to put it. He was the Silent Commander type and kept quiet except to criticize or to holler. But once in a while when something amusing was on the TV, you’d look over at him and he’d be grinning like a jack o’lantern.

I say “the” tv because this was back in the day when households had one tv and watching it was a family activity. Even if he wasn’t sitting down for a whole show, the laughter would attract him and he’d stand in the doorway as if under a spell with the widest possible smile, his eyes shining  with the reflection of the televised images. In that moment, he was enjoying himself. If anybody spoke even to say <em>oh boy wasn’t that funny? </em>the spell would be broken and he’s put his regular buzzard face on again and leave the room.

Sometimes I do that now. I catch myself with my mouth stretched wide and my eyebrows lifted up. Maybe I’ve always done it but I’m only occasionally aware of it. It’s a solitary exercise.

And The Winner Is …

poll results

I was really hoping to discuss gin but w/e the people have spoken.

The reason I don’t blog about World Famous Fashion Icon And Busy Mom™ Michelle Obama anymore is because … well, there are actually three reasons:

  1. We are no longer subjected to the daily media fest declaring her to be beautiful and stylish and so I no longer feel the need to correct the false narrative.
  2. More and more people are starting to realize on their own that she’s not exactly beautiful inside or out.

…but the main reason I don’t blog about her anymore is …

3.  She is so predictable that she’s actually boring.

At this point, I don’t think there’s a soul in the world who doesn’t expect her to show up 90% of the time dressed like an oversized clown and dressed for the other 10%  in fabulous and expensive couture. And there’s no doubt at all who’s will predominated for which outfit selection:  MOO herself or or her handlers.

Is there anyone who is surprised that her choice if she could be anyone else in the world is the overpainted underdressed overtressed  product of lifelong focused marketing efforts that panders to the lowest common denominator. I can totally imagine MOO lost in contemplative reverie, wishing that she had a sister that would pummel old Barry in a private elevator.

And yes she is going to eat all the grease while preaching the opposite, she is going to vacation in luxury settings for extended periods on the tax payer’s dime; she is going to look bored or irritated at official photo-ops. It’s all her standard behavior. It might be newsworthy if she made extemporaneous remarks that weren’t filled with slang, grammatical errors or snide swipes at her husband. But, if history is any indicator, that’s not going to happen. I do notice that she’s not constantly lip-licking anymore so they must have changed her meds and that is only mildly interesting to me.

Nope. She is an awful specimen as First Ladies go. You want to occupy yourself with a fascinating First Lady? Here your most fascinating First Lady: Jacqueline Kennedy. And her lover Rudolph Nureyev! (note: “Bobby Kennedy and Rudi kissing each other passionately in a booth”. The mind boggles!)

Old Jackie was no shy flower. While America as a whole considered her to be the nation’s symbolic Madonna, she was hiding away in her White House bedroom to smoke cigarettes , drink vodka and produce piles of correspondence to her friends complaining that she didn’t want to see ” fat little women hopping around in the same dresses” as hers.

If we must talk about First Ladies who are products of main stream media fantasy and entirely different in reality, the let’s talk about Jackie. At least she had style. For real, not trumped up adoration for questionable wardrobe choices. Despite Jackie’s wishes to be unique, every female age 12 and up no matter their race or creed swarmed the streets of America wearing a pillbox hat as soon as they possibly could. And when Jackie showed up for Mass in a lace mantilla, that was the beginning of the end for the American millinery business. I have yet to see in any airport or major gathering a single female sporting a boob belt. There was, I will admit,  a brief fascination with big 3-D fabric flowers on cardigans, but that ended quickly once the ladies realized that it looked like shit for the birds.

This is how we were then:

jackie-kennedy-had-a-signature-style

My guess is two double vodkas went down PDQ after this.

This is how we are now: 

My guess is it took two vodka martinis before this event.

My guess is it took two vodka martinis went down before this. And then some champagne after, with a little bit of lobster to snack on.

 

 

Let’s Ask Suzette A Question

The question with the most votes by 9am Saturday morning will be answered in full on this blog.

I Tried To Deny My Gift

Ok, look. I’ve been a little depressed about the whole Hillary situation.

Why is she acting so dumb and ruining her own chances to be a presidential candidate in the next go-round? It’s almost like it’s purposeful and she really doesn’t want to do it. Or that she knows she is unfit* and does not want her lack to get onto the historic record of her public career? I was really looking forward to getting back into analysis of the political messages contained in her wardrobe as she moved herself back into he national spotlight. But the way things were going – the stupid dead broke comment, the bad reviews of the latest book, the connecting the dots of her performance as SoS and the resulting disaster in the Mideast -it just looked like none of us were going to have the pleasure of having her as the candidate.

It was too sad to bear. Never mind the subtle-to-wicked progression of calculated swipes at the Obmamas – we were also to be denied Grandma Hillary trotting out Chelsea’s offspring. No play dates -yea, no betrothal! – with her grandchild and her godchild, no clever references to her status as loyal but  publicly wronged wife, no ChelseaCare which would be some rehashed thing related to maternal health and would wipe the goddam Obama right out of ObamaCare. What a world that would have been.

And then …. just as I was losing my last hope … she comes along and does this:

Chelsea Clinton Graduates From Oxford University, Britain - 10 May 2014

BOOM bah BOOM bah BOOM bah BOOM bah BOOM

Here she is dressed in a full length leather coat , coincidentally the color of a tank, IN AUGUST as she practically plows forward. Look at the strained cords of her instep and tell me that’s not a firm purposeful stride meant to strike fear into the hearts of those one the sidelines and to propel her forward towards an endpoint of her own choosing. Hillary, you magnificent bastard. Even with your brain damage, all the tanks in Patton’s army put together were  not as fearsome as you are now.

She is the master of keeping people off balance. I can see now that her present strategy is “a little bit of this/a little bit of that”. In the same week that she criticized Obama for his Mideast mess – a mess that so obviously reveals the heavy hand of Hillary herself stirring up the couscous but let’s not mention that – she gets all dolled up and goes out to strut her stuff in this get up:

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yoiky ploiky!

The internet is positively creaking under the load of the many remarks that have been made  about this event, mostly centering on that muu muu or the brazen flaunting of her cankles, and people – this is exactly why you need me to get back in the game. The guys might not have landed on it but every lady who sees this image zeros in on the main message and that is that she’s not going to run. Evidence? No bra.

Going out in public with no bra is a very clear indicator of a woman’s state of mind. You don’t see  nancy Pelosi running around without a bra. Running around, yes. Running around without a bra, no. And you’re not going to catch World Famous Fashion Icon And Busy Mom Michelle Obama™ as God made her (= no falsies), either.  But here Hillary is telling us that she doesn’t care and she  is giving up.

But is she really? Look at that frock again. She’s wearing owning! a frock which is assumed to be of Hawaiian origin (message: Aloha to your legacy, Barry, once I take over.)  Now look again. The neckline trim is not muumuu-ish at all. In fact, it’s quite galabeya- like (message: Not to worry, habibis. Jiddah’s got your back.)

Oh gawd, isn’t she wonderful? She’s running, she’s not running, she’s bullying, she’s reassuring – all in one modest garment. And she’s doing it without make up, coiffure or accessories!

* Assignment: Discuss in what ways Hillary Rodham Clinton is unfit for the Presidency of the United States.