Doctor, we've had our Phil.

Well, If you had nothing to do, you might have read my blog a few days ago, where I predicted that Dr. Phil would be the first of the talk show Titans to interview Octomom, Nadya Suleman. I hate to blow my own horn but--how did I know? I have even surprised myself. I mean, it is obvious that for an hour long interview, either Oprah or Dr. Phil would claim her. But, given the fact that Oprah got Dr. Phil his start, how did she wind up getting second hand details from Nadya's father? (who oddly, has a different last name-Doud).

Did, Psychology student, Nadya feel an affinity for Dr. Phil? I do wonder. But, anyone who saw the interview had to be struck by what a motor mouth Nadya was. Given her inablility to control her desire for large numbers of children, it seems likely that she suffers from a form of obsessive compulsive disorder. It would go a long way to explain her preoccupation with having children and other patterns of thinking. I am not a doctor, but, Dr. Phil doesn't suggest this possibility. He told his audience that Nadya was "chatty." He said his only goal is his concern for the children. I am pretty sure that somewhere down the road, there will be a tie with some facility or commercial consideration.

I am sure he is concerned for the kids, as any normal person would be, but, why does he have to make two television episodes out of it? Does he really think that there hasn't been enough media coverage to her plight? Might someone who just got out of a coma two days ago, not know about it?

I especially loved the part of the interview, where Nadya's mother jokingly told Nadya to ask for a house. Nadya, chastised her and said they shouldn't ask for such things. Lord no. Don't ask. It is pretty much a done deal that someone will either donate a home, so they can get some advertising, or build one for the same reason. It is just too big an opportunity. Nadya is probably filtering through the offers right now. She is defiantly a piece of work.

Everything about this story is strange. Nadya's father told Oprah that his ex-wife is his best friend. Yet, he claims total ignorance of almost everything-including that his ex might lose her home. He said he has to go back to his country overseas, but is very mysterious about were that is. I can't get a handle on this family at all. I don't think her on camera interviews or squabbles with her mother are helping her image much. Not that it matters. One good thing may come out of this. The medical community might think twice before treating embryos like they are pumpkin seeds. The "What the hell--plant em all and see what grows." philosophy seems like a bad idea.

If Nadya wants a job, she should look into becoming spoke woman for Baby's R Us if they are still in business.

Warped View

I never watch the View. You know, the talk show that lets five women--each more annoying than the last, babble for and hour.
Whoopie, "the intellectual," Joy, the "loud mouth," Sherry Shepperd the "ditz" who didn't keven know that the earth was round (I am not making it up), Elizebeth Hasselbeck , the token "conservative," and of course--Barbara Walters, the "self promoter." But, I happened to have it on when I was doing some exercises. I could not belive what I was hearing. The ladies were appalled that the New York Post published cartoon showing police shooting a Chimpanzee (obviously the one that tried to kill his owner's friend this week)

They thought it was unfair to president Obama. Talk about totally missing the point. Whoopee and the gals are upset because it might hurt the president‘s feelings? They are indignant because the cartoonist was insensitive to racism? Where was the outrage for the actual victim herself? The woman had her face torn off. His owner tried to stab the animal to get it off of her. She said is was like stabbing herself, because the monkey was such a beloved part of her life. The victim is in critical condition at a hospital. None of the ladies were the slightest bit concerned about how she or her family might feel as a result of this cartoon being published.

I kept waiting for one of them to bring her up at all. They never did. They mentioned that the cartoon was too violent. It was not sensitive to the cause of stamping out racism. Really? That’s it? There is a dead Chimpanzee with blood oozing out in the cartoon-- A Chimp, that for some unknown reason, went berserk and tried to rip his owner's friend apart. She loved this animal. Her friend is now trying to survive and her family and friends are obviously beside themselves with worry and grief. But, they are outraged at the New York Post because the cartoon seemed insensitive to racism. The New York Post was not sensitive to anything or anyone ladies. It was a stupid cartoon and totally uncalled for on every level. And it wasn’t even what a cartoon is supposed to be--funny. What was funny about it?

Come on ladies, get in touch with the real world where everything is not about politics or President Obama. We peons out here in America, can decide what is outrageous and what isn’t. But, unfortunately, there are some who can’t think for themselves and actually look to you to tell them what is wrong with things.

New York Post--You should be ashamed of yourself. Freedom of speech is one thing--but, you have crossed every line of decency and good taste with that cartoon. And I am speaking as a human being and animal lover--not as someone with a political agenda to push. Ladies on The View--your view is askew.

Barney and Me

I miss my dog. I wonder how many people said that today. With the success of movies like Marley and me, and Hotel for Dogs, I am betting that it is a lot. I didn’t think I would be able to write about my dog. It seemed too soon—too sad. But, then I realized that I don’t have to talk about his death. His life in proportion to his death was so much more. I know I won’t shed any new light on the subject of animal love, but that is not enough to shut me up.

Everyone thinks that his or her dog is the best dog that ever slobbered. And it is true. We each have a unique bond with our dog that makes him or her best dog. We may not bring out the best in some people we know, but we make our dog happy as hell. And he brings out our best in return. How can you beat that deal?

I could meet ten dogs and think they were all great. The percentage of people from that same number would be quite low. They will have an agenda, some pretense—an angle. We’re people, after all—not dogs. I hate to insult us in this way, but it is true. Alas, if we could all get along by offering each other a raw hide chewy—wouldn’t it be a fine world? If people we meet would just shake their asses, we’d walk away happy too. I mean, if you like me --roll around in dead bird carcasses a little, will ya? Tell me how you feel man.

My dog Barney was sort of like Marley, but without the attitude. Don’t get me wrong. He could be immensely disgusting (like when he ate the kid’s diapers like they were filled with fillet mignon). And he could be shockingly destructive (like the time he chewed most of the door frames in the house. He suffered from the same fear of storms as Marley.) And he could be willful and undisciplined (like the time he jumped in a park lake to chase a duck). But, most of the time, he was just a sweet guy. A guy you’d like to hang out with.

He got increasingly grumpy in his old age, but that was because he did not feel well. And as a Fibromyalgia person-- I get that. I wish that I had known that he was sick. Of course, that is the worst part for us, and as feelings go, it’s about as bad as it gets.

But, I said I wasn’t going to talk about that. Now that I think about it, if you own or have owned a dog, there really isn’t anything I can say that you don’t already know. I just wanted to tell you a little bit about Barney and to say that I really miss him. And if we ever happen to meet—shake your ass a little. I’d appreciate it.

Eight is enough already

Nadya Suleman. Will someone give this woman a shoe to live in? Better yet, make it a knee high Ugg Boot. This could be accomplished through her web site, where the “octomom” allows you to make a donation. It is sort of akin to helping out a small, nation.

While nobody can be sure what Miss Suleman was thinking, the fact that she is Miss. Suleman, is very interesting. She decided to skip the part where the husband gets sick of all the chaos of raising kids and the lack of attention from the wife, and leaves. Who needs it, right? There are so many things wrong with this picture, that it could be one of those pages in Highlights magazine.

Of course there has been a lot of speculation and condemnation, and outrage, and shock, and disgust, and amazement voiced through the media. They love stuff like this--can’t get enough of it. It will probably set Nancy Grace up for an entire season. But, does it really matter? Would anything have deterred this woman from her obsession? Well, one thing definatly would have. Her idiot doctor could have said:

“Gee, I am sorry, Miss Suleman, I can’t, in good conscience, implant multiple embryos into you because you already have 6 children, no job, and live with your parents. Oh, and I see that you are having cosmetic procedures to look like Angelina Jolie” Hmmmmmmm.

No alarm bells went of for this guy? He is as nutty as she is. They managed to find each other in this big world. Wow.

I think,that instead of you and me, (the tax payers) picking up a lot of the bill that will come out of this whole thing--the good doctor should spring for part of it. After all--he has a job. I don’t think we will be seeing a whole lot of employment out of Nadya.

When your own mother comes out on T.V. and puts you down (and you are living with her) you have some problems.

While the majority of people are rather disgusted with her, we all feel bad for these kids--obviously. It is like being born into a Barnum and Bailey show . And, they are starting out life with a mother, who is not capable of making rational decisions, by any stretch of the imagination. She wouldn’t care about the truth if it was water and she were on fire.

I think that the best thing to do is to give her as little media exposure as possible- She has already had her 15 minutes. Then, some reliable social service (if there is one to be found) should check into who can actually take care of these kids. Psychological counseling is in order for Nadya before Dr. Phil gets his hands on her and feeds the media frenzy even more. Other than the media-the only one benefiting from this mess is the makers of Pampers.

Snapped cable

Do you own a cell phone? If you are breathing, I am sure you answered, “Yes. “ Today’s obsession with cell phones is the latest bump on the long, never ending, road of technology.

Back when I was growing up--Television was our drug of choice. It was the center of our universe. When I got home from grade school (and on into Junior High) my normal routine was to come home, plant my ass in the sofa, and hunker down until the news hour. I would be staring at a medium sized T.V. inside a Volkswagen sized wooden cabinet. I’d start with reruns of Gilligan’s Island, and then move ont o Get Smart, Petticoat Junction, and Please don’t eat the Daisies. My mom might come in around during Batman (circa: nutty Adam West) with some sustenance. I’d eat it right there. There would come a point, somewhere between Hawaii 5 O and Mannix, where, I might have had to turn my upper body slightly clockwise to turn on the light. That was when the day faded into night. I might feel like giving my numbed brain a work-out and switch to ZooM, for a few minutes. Then it was right back to the excitement of Medical Center with hunky Chad Everett. Ooolala.

Then, in the seventies, our world changed. We were no longer hostage to the three network channels + educational UHF. There were new horizons. Cable, let us into a portal to commercial free pleasures, we had only dared dream about. And, with the recent development of VHS, we could now record and watch them again and again. What a dream/nightmare.
Yes, there were only a handful of channels--HBO, Cinema and Nickelodeon, (which back then consisted of children’s variety shows) but, it was something new and exciting. How could we have foretold of the future of cable: Flavor of Love, Taxi Cab confessions, Beavis and Butthead? Did we have crystal ball to warn us of these atrocities? Did we know that there would someday be 100+ channels of nothing to watch, save a few? No, we had faith. We trusted that technology would take us to a better place. We rode shotgun all the way down that road and got let off here-- in Cable wasteland--which, by way is not commercial free at all, except for Turner Classic movies.

Television was king. Cellphones? We didn't need no stinkging cell phones. Now, we can't go to the bathroom without one attatched somewhere to our bodies. We are more obsessed with them , than any other technology to have dome down the pike. It used to be that when I was in the grocery store, I would step back a bit from a guy talking to himself. Now, I just assume he has a Blue tooth strapped to his ear. Technology has kind of helped me out there though. It has done for me what Cable T.v. never could. I don’t have a Blue Tooth-- but, tend to talk to myself when shopping. Thanks to technology people rarely take notice anymore.

Leave it to Beaver's friends.

There's somthing to be said about Eddie Haskell. He might have been a weasle--but at least he was a polite weasle. I realize that that might appear like a random statement, in light of my continued postponement of the mice story conclusion, but, just think about it. Eddie was always coming around the Beave's house, brown nosing Mr. and Mrs. Cleaver. And , they were fully away of his phony persona, yet, they could say nothing about it. They were helpless to put an end to the pretense. What could they do? They couldn't smack Eddie and tell him to knock it off. Although, back then, DCFS probably wouldn't have faulted them if they did. But, no, they had to smile and take it.

Every day when Walley would bring Ole' Eddie by--The Cleaver's knew the drill.

"Hi, Mr. Cleaver, Mrs Cleaver. How are you today?"

"Fine, thank you Eddie." Mrs Cleaver would respond, in an unappreciative tone, slightly dripping of sarcasm.

Hey, I was right with you in wanting to throw Eddie up agains the wall and rubbing that smug smile off of his face, but, I will tell you this-- I would take ten Eddie Haskell's greetings to one greeting of the present generation. These days, when kid comes over to my house, I am lucky if I am even acknowledged, let alone greeted. And, it is almost a given that I will be addressed by my first name. Can you imagine Eddie calling Wally's mom, June? She was probably waiting for that, so she could call Ward in to throw him out. But, that day never came. And it never would, because kids back then were taught manners.

I don't know what happened to that concept. I have seen kids that I have known for 10 years, and who have been at my home, many times, walk right passed me on the sidewalk, without so much as a glint of recognition. It seems odd to me. Do I have invisible powers that I was not aware of?

I am sure that my own kids fall short in the manners department on many occasions. But, I know that they are not calling adults by their first name. So, I have succeeded on some small level. I think it would be nice, if we tried a little harder to get our kids to be polite as often as possible. Don't they say that manners are the lubricant of society? I am afraid that in the coming generations, society is going to be very dry indeed.

Jeepers, I wasn't trying to give you guys the business, I know the truth stinks. But, if we all try really hard to be more polite--think how keen it would be.

No Christian Bale out

Well, before I continue with the saga of the mice, I feel the need to weigh in on all of the celebrity hullabaloo currently flooding the T.V. Mind you this is just the perspective of a simple, gal from Nebraska, who is far removed from the glitz of Tinsel town. Yet, opinions--I have.

This Christian Bale thing--what’s that? I heard excerpts of his tirade, while I was driving in my car. I found it interesting that the Dark Knight could be so, for lack of a better term--rude. I mean, most British men might have handled the situation thusly:

“Oh, my, my dear chap, would you be so kind, as to not distract me on the set? Jolly good show, Govner” instead of:

"What the #*$! are you doing you #$*!ing ass*#*!"

Hmmmm, He’s a rather impatient fellow, isn’t he? He would be a lot of fun to stand behind at the post office or the DMV. I don’t ever remember hearing a recording of Cary Grant of Gary Cooper behaving that way. What happened to class? What used to be scandalous is now regarded as typical behavior. Flattering publicity--unflattering publicity--it's all good.

That got me to thinking about other people in the public eye that are elevated to beyond mortal status. Michael Phelps for example-- Here is a person who has just made a gazillion dollars in endorsements for being an uber athlete, who is stupid enough to let himself be photographed smoking Marijuana. It is bad enough that he actually feels the need to smoke it. I mean, I would think that all of the fame and mega millions would make a person content to the point that they would not need to alter their reality. But, No, he has to smoke it around other people who have photo capturing devices. I guess being a good athlete doesn’t necessarily make you smart.

Why does society feel the need to focus on these pseudo icons? Most Actors and athletes are spoiled, self centered, people, who really shouldn’t receive our attention. In fact, on Oprah’s show today, she had Jenny McCarthy plugging some new book about “women warriors“. She had to say the word “warriors” 50 times if she said it once. Then, after Jenny’s self indulgent spot, Oprah brought out a woman who had to have her arms and legs amputated after giving birth . While in the hospital, a Bacterial infection wreaked havoc throughout her body. Yet, she never gave up and returned home to her loving husband and family. This was a strong women who deserved our respect and compassion. Why did we need big mouth, Jenny McCarthy sitting next to her, telling us how she was a “warrior?” Because it tied into her book. Do we need to be lectured on who to admire by Jenny? It would have been much better, if Oprah had the inspirational woman on in her own right.

I have news for you Jenny--you are not a warrior. You are an (often vulgar) comedian/actress/playboy centerfold. Maybe you should look up the definition of warrior sometime. In fact, it would be nice if a lot of celebrities and celebrity news show looked up the meaning of words. “Amazing” is the new “awesome.” HLN’s Showbiz tonight uses the word “provocative” 5-10 times a show. Very few things are actually “amazing” or awesome. Oprah's inspiring guest was actually deserving of the word. But, not Jenny. She should have been on a differnet show.

And the last thing I want to say on the subject is how annoying it is to hear celebrities wine and cry about all of the publicity and paparazzi they have to contend with. Give me a break. It must be horrible to have people idolize you. It must be devastating to make 25 million dollars a movie and have to sign autographs and smile for photographs. Man, these poor, oppressed people. I wonder what they say when the cameras STOP following them.

What would be nice, is, if more people would lay their admiration at the feet of those who deserve it. I remember how much press Mother Theresa’s death garnered compared to Princess Diana. Diana was a likable person--but, she was no Mother Theresa. This warped way of idolizing stars won’t be changing any time soon--not with the internet and glut of celebrity show, and reality T.V. But, maybe some day, it will burn itself out enough that we can celebrate some real heroes like, generations before us did. I wonder....if Harriet Tubman were alive, and went on the Oprah show--would Tina Turner be in the seat next to her?

I'm a bad housekeeper and a bad mousekeeper

Just wanted to mention that I hit my other elbow on the corner of a cabinet today. So I have decided that I have some type of magnet in both elbows that attract the corners of objects. I’m glad that that mystery is solved.

Anyway, just a little info on the Deer mouse situation I described many bogs ago. After finding the chocolate coin foils in the basement suitcases, (refer to "micecapades) but not actually seeing any perpetrators, I started to suspect that the whole thing might be the work of the small people who live in my house and tend to do despicable things and then pretend that they didn’t.

So, I sort of forgot about the whole thing. Then, one day, many weeks later, my younger son claimed he had actually seen a little mouse run across the den floor. There were two other people there at the time (a larger son and even larger husband) who did not see the intruder. Was my son trying to throw me off his scent? Who knew?

A week later, the same kid yells that he has just seen the mouse again, and he ran under the refrigerator. (the mouse-not the kid) Well, I don’t want to bore you with the many unsubstantiated sightings, but they tended to be very similar. They took place in the kitchen/den, and the same imaginative boy was the only witness. I was skeptical. It had been over a year since the coin incident. Why would these little guys be upstairs all of a sudden? Why indeed.

Then, one evening, as I was alone, watching T.V. I heard a distinct munching sound from the kitchen, several feet behind me. There in the dim kitchen near the cabinet , (on the floor, of course) was a tiny black/grey mouse, going to town on a cheerio or something he found on the floor. (When I say you can eat off of my floors--I am not kidding.) With my recent shoulder injury, a mouse could probably find the all-you-can-eat buffet there. Needless to say my broom and I had not spent much time together over the previous months.

Oddly, I was not startled at all. I guess all of the previous inklings of the little guys presence prepared me for such a meeting. I thought him a little brazen though. I mean, to sit right there, in the open, and chow down in front of the house owner, is probably not in the “How to be a smart mouse” book of rules. When I got up, he had the presence of mind to scurry away. Not that I was going to hurt him--I just wanted to get a good look at the chocolate coin bandit. I tried to ferret him out, but he went behind the oven. A while latter, I could here him rattling around in the oven drawer, He or she, was a gutsy mouse. I knew no matter how cute it was, where there was one mouse there was more somewhere else.

Later, I'll tell you more about how and why they finally came upstairs after staying out of site, in the basement for so long . I found the whole experience very interesting and entertaining. Yet, sad and anxiety filled. If you love animals as much as I do--you are pretty much screwed in that situation.

Life's a trip

I am definitely going to get the Deer mice conclusion tomorrow. Trust me--it’s coming. And wackiness will ensue.

But, after just falling half way down my stairs, I got to wondering why these things keep happening to me. People have called me clumsy. I wish that I were clumsy, because that would be desirable improvement to what I am. I have, in the past year alone, broken my collar bone, fractured ribs, collapsed a lung, fractured a toe, whacked my elbow on a wall corner, requiring a cortisone injection, hit my head on the corner of the refrigerator door, slipped on the ice, tripped on the stairs, hit my hip on the corner of a half wall, choked on a pill, bit into a piece of plastic in a Subway sandwich, bit into a rock in a Burger King hamburger, hammered my finger, and the list continues. To sum it up--I hurt myself a lot.
I have tried to figure out why I am so prone to these injuries. I have pondered it. I have considered the following possibilities:

1. I am distracted.
2. I have kids
3. I have a middle ear problem.
4. I have kids.
5. There is too much stuff in my house.
6. There is too much stuff everywhere outside of my house.
7. I have kids.

But, aside from having kids, none of these things really explain it. I know there are people out there just like me. I know they have to put up with the slings and arrows of the “graceful” clique who tease and make fun. Those smug ones that walk in a straight line, never catch a toe on uneven sidewalks, or get a finger caught in a car door. The “coordinated” ones.

Then I got to thinking, I am prone because I am always moving? I don’t like to stay in one place too long. I feel lazy if I do. And, perhaps those people who never get hurt, spend a lot of time laying around. I don’t recall any of my injuries taking place in front of the T.V. eating Cheetos or taking a nap. Maybe the graceful are just slothful. Maybe, they don’t take the same risks as I or my fellow stumblers. Maybe they choose the safe routes when we take the less path less traveled. Maybe , just maybe we get hurt because we dare to venture.

Then again--we might just have really bad vision and are uncoordinated. But, I like to think we are special. Yes, we have fallen, choked, been sliced up, fractured, broken, skinned, scarred, bruised, contused, bumped, ended up with one "itis" or another--but, we are still here. We managed to trip and fall .... have live to fall again. That's right world--look out.

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Vagina mono blogs

I really want to finish my story about the Deer mice, but I keep getting side tracked by a new rant. As a woman with many questions about mid-life, I have been researching the changes our bodies will go through. One of the things I have learned is that, after menopause, and without estrogen replacement, a woman’s vagina may (now get this) atrophy. The hell, you say.

I just don’t understand how I could have gone in excess of 40 years and never have gotten wind of this information. How is it that nobody-- not a parent, not a teacher, not a doctor, nobody-- ever related this, or came right out and said, “Hey, by the way, you should know, that someday your vagina is going to atrophy.” Is it because I might have said, “Excuse me? Come again.? No way.”

“Way.” they would say.
“ But, how can that be?”
“Oh, it be.” they would assure me.

They might go on to add that it could become very dry and painful too. It will shorten and lose its elasticity. Well, that conversation never took place. So. I have to start wondering what else is going to happen that no one ever warned us about. What else? Is my ass going to fall off? My nipples turn to stone? What? Just how bad is this thing going to get?

It would have been nice to know about this a long time ago so I could have gotten all the use out of the thing before the end came-before the withering. I could have taken advantage of all the moisture before I had to dust my underwear.

Things do make a lot more sense now though. I used to wonder why old women didn’t seem to have much interest in sex. (not with me of course) It wasn’t because they didn’t want to have it--it was because there was a Rest In Peace marker over their vaginas.

Drug companies are ecstatic about our dilapidating mid-life bodies. Estrogen is the number two selling drug in America. It seems that a lot of women are not content to have atrophied vaginas or hot flashes for that matter. Even the threat of horomone side effects is not enough to make some suffer through the lousy consequences of aging. They refuse to mourn a dead vajayjay. Now that I think about it, maybe it would be better not to try to be so informed of things to come. Why mourne prematurely? I think I'll research the origins of chocolate.