I'm Not Kiddin'

I've been brain deep in my malingering manuscript so I haven't blogged in a while. Well, that's one reason. The other is I can't think of anything to blog about.

I don't know how daily bloggers do it. I'm not that clever. 

Anyway...my mind has been taken over by most things dark and usually when I blog it's about things that annoy me. Or, things I'm trying to figure out. 

I decided to shake it up and write about things I love. Like, really love. Like, couldn't live another day if I didn't have them, love. Things I love so much they put that weird expression on my face. 

Besides, I can't think of anything better.

The Bad Seed.

If you've never seen this, your life is not what it could be.

Originally a book, then a play, then a movie...which was made even better because the theater cast played their roles in the movie so their performances are over the top to say the least. Their dramatic, back of the house, approach to acting only adds to the creepy campiness of this fantastic film.

Rhoda, Rhoda, Rhoda. What to do about Rhoda. 

One of the first, if not the first, fictional work to explore the nature vs. nurture theory. Are psychos born or made? Is there a serial killer gene? If your mother was a serial killer are you destined to make lampshades and door knob covers out of your neighbors, or perhaps enjoy them with some fava beans and a little Chianti?

According to The Bad Seed - of course you are. 

Rhoda is an 8 year old force of bad genetic nature. She kills those who don't give her what she wants. Clearly, it's not her fault. If that brat Claude Dagle would've given her the award that he won, but she obviously deserved, he'd still be alive today and not floating on the rocks in the lake with tap shoe marks on his forehead.

Only Rhoda could make "If I give you a basket of kisses will you give me a basket of hugs?" sound like, "Don't turn your back on me bitch or you're next."

It's worth seeing if only to watch two mothers', one the killer's and the other the murdered boy's, mutual meltdown. Mesmerizing.

Every year I try to make this a Christmas tradition (aren't we sick of Elf already?) but it never takes. Usually hubby is the only one I can corral to sit through it annually. The egg nog helps.

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So, I saw the original of this in the LA Times. 

As you'd expect, I had to have it and I tracked down a copy.

This is hanging on my wall, in my house. I don't know what I love about it more...the fact that it's hilarious and tacky, or that everyone who sees it looks at it, then quickly away. 

Once, the pizza delivery guy asked if he could take a picture of it. 

If the pizza delivery guy loves it...what more do I need?

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Presents.

I wouldn't want to spend another day in a place with no presents. 

I'm not one of those "it's the thought that counts," kinda gals. Especially if it's "the lack of thought that counts" sorta presents.

I make a list, including website and item number information so hubby can SURPRISE me. Although, he gets surprised too...when he sees the price. But, he's a sport. Or, he's so relieved not to have to come up with something that he'll absolutely know I'll love that he goes with it.

This list comes in particularly handy at birthday time. And no, I don't celebrate my birthday week. What kind of chump do you think I am?

I celebrate my birthday trimester. No, that is not a typo.

It's 3 months of fun and games at our house. We (and by that I mean hubby) do it up right. For 3 months it's all about me and my presents. 

I don't make him watch the Bad Seed for nothin'.

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I Love Lucy.

For real. 

If there's a heaven it's at 623 East 68th Street and Lucy and Ricky still live there and Fred and Ethel come in without knocking and mayhem ensues.

Whenever I'm in a jam, I think...What would Lucy do? Then I usually don't do it to avoid an even bigger jam.

I own all zillion episodes and never tire of them. I laugh like I've never seen them before every time. I can recite dialogue. I have my favorite episode (no, not the candy making one). It's the Ethel Goes to Her Hometown one. Look it up and watch it. You won't be sorry. 

I love Lucy not just because she makes me laugh, but because Lucy was gangsta. She had creative control over her show (unheard of for a woman in the 50's) and she was the first woman studio owner (RKO became Desilu Studios).

Not to mention Desi Arnaz, who originated the concept of re-runs,  who gave up salary at the front end to own the show outright and got all the residuals, and created the 3 camera method that is still used today to film TV shows. 

Yet, he couldn't recognize his own wife in a moustache and a sombrero. 

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Home Town Buffet.

Any restaurant with "All You Can Eat" on their sign is my kinda place. Especially if there's 37 tables groaning with every kind of preservative loaded, calorie laden, and artery plugging food imaginable. 

I love to eat the fried chicken, pasta, tacos, mashed potatoes and corn dogs all on one plate. Some call it gluttony. I call it carb loading. After all I am in physical therapy. 

I love it that I'm usually one of the only one's there under 400 pounds. I love the old ladies that take huge bags and sneak everything they can out. Including the sugar packets on the tables. I love it that people come at lunch and are still there at dinner. I've heard. 

Word to the wise: Try to avoid going on crab leg day. It's a life risking proposition. You know you're in deep shit when a brigade shows up wearing headsets so they can put out the call when they find the seafood table. And those big MOFO's can move fast.

Run for your life. If you can get your pants buttoned back up.

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Tasteless Religious Chotchkes.

This is Sock Monkey Jesus.

Although, Woodstock Sock Monkey Jesus is more apt. Love the Jesus Christ Superstar 'do and the beads.

This was a gift from our son. 

He knows how to get on his mama's good side.

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Action Figure Jesus.

He has wheels on his sandals. If you run him up and down a flat surface really fast and let go of him, he takes off.

It looks like he's walking on water. 

Another gift from our son.

He's in the will now.

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Saint Joseph.

I don't even have to hunt any of this down. It comes to me.

This guy was found by our gardener. Buried in the yard, in a plastic bag, upside down.

If you're up on your Saints (which I am) you'll know that Saint Joseph is the patron saint of property, more specifically houses. If you want to buy or sell a house, you bury him upside down in the lawn of said property.

This find was enough to make me take up gardening. Or, give the gardener a tip. Whatever.

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Freida Kahlo cross.

Those are coke bottle caps painted with her image.

Including her mustache. And unibrow.

Need I embellish?

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I don't know if Voo Doo counts as a religion.

I don't know why not.

This was a gift from our daughter, Kristen. Another one in the will.

At any rate, whenever I see this I say, "Oh MY GOD! I LOVE this thing!"  So that makes it religious.

This is an hors d'ouerves platter. The pins are to stick the finger food with.

I've used this at countless dinner parties.

Not one person has ever taken the stick out of his crotch.

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And finally, this photo, even though it's not very focused.

This is me and my mom at my book signing, two months before she died.

That's her. Holding one of the book marks that were made by my good friend Mary Beth in honor of my book.

There's something so perfect about my nearly 80 year old mother holding a 13 inch Rob Rhino dick book mark.

She said she'd seen better. My mom was the last of the old school broads. 

I loved that about her.

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