Bobservations

So, our exciting lives this past month took us into new gutters for the casa, followed by the slow painful death of our heating and air conditioning system. It was well past its prime when it left us so we had a local company come out, give us an estimate and then come back out two days later to do the work.

On the first day they were still working when I came home and so I had to pull off the driveway under the trees to park. Needless to say mama wasn’t happy and I sulked and skulked down the driveway past the workers truck when I saw what I will say to my dying day was the world’s most epic ass.

I instantly perked up and spent a couple of minutes talking to the caretaker of the ass who told me that they would be out the first thing the next morning to finish the work.

In the house I told Carlos of that ass, and was at the back door when the ass came to say they were leaving; I stood at the door watching until they’d walked away and, had I been more subtle, I might have been able to snap a photo.

I am not subtle, but then you already know that.

The next day I was up and showered and shaved and waiting for my soon-to-be-new husband and when the truck arrived I ran outside like a giddy schoolgirl, or schoolboy who swings that way, and was told Mr. Epic Ass wasn’t coming. I slithered back to the house, crawled up on a chaise and spent the day in mourning.

Now, you may ask, why is this a Carlos story? Well, it’s because he couldn’t see that epic ass and had to endure my description of it for several days and then talk me out of breaking something on the new unit so they’d have to return.

This Tuxedo Tale is from November 7 and 14 2019 and is entitled ‘Tuxedo went to the vet.’

I noticed he had licked the fur off the back of his front leg and so, after Carlos did a quick check, we took him to the vet to see what was what. Turns out it may have been a bug bite that he scratched and then cut into his skin, so he began licking to clean it and the fur came off; or it is the result of a play fight with either Max or Consuelo. Either way, it’s nothing bad and he’s on anti-biotics—which he hates—and a twice daily cleanse of the area.

But this isn’t about that, it’s about the joy of Tuxedo. See, he was a bit of an abused cat when we rescued him; he’d been adopted out several times and always returned to the vet’s office in Miami as “mean.” Then we took him in and let him acclimate to our house and the five other cats we had at the time, and Tuxedo became the sweetest, friendliest cat ever and that leads us to the vet’s office in Smallville.

While he cried in the car on the ride, once there he was calm. When we got in with the vet tech, as she was weighing him and checking him out, he was easy-going. Then came the thermometer up the butt; and he was calm and handled it like any bottom at any gay bar anywhere … or something. But … as she finished with him, Tuxedo stood on his hind legs and put his paws on my chest and rested his head against me. The vet tech squeeed with delight about the hug he was giving me.

When the doctor came in the vet tech was holding Tuxedo for the exam and he stood on his hind legs to give the vet tech a hug, too. The doctor loved that and asked if Tuxedo would give her a hug and, yes, he did. And then they took his picture while hugging the doctor.

Long story a little shorter … as we left with his medications we stopped to pay at the desk and were asked our pet’s name.

“Tuxedo.”

“The one who hugged the doctor?”

“Um, yeah. Do you want one?”

“Can I?”

And she could.

Then at home came the task of giving him his meds and cleaning the wound. The wipes were easy, but the medication had to be given orally through a dropper orally, which meant holding Tuxedo down and shoving the dropper in his mouth and feeding him the medication.

Twice a day for seven days I would take a towel and wrap it around Tuxedo, keeping his paws from grabbing at me, and then Carlos would force the medication into his mouth. After the first dose, as soon as he saw the towel, Tuxedo knew what was coming; he didn’t run, but he wrapped his front paws around my neck and tried to climb me to get away. It was quite the struggle, but we finally finished his round of antibiotics.

And I will give Tuxedo props for not holding a grudge; as soon as he had the meds, he got a treat and then would crawl into my lap and go to sleep.

He really is a good boy … and thrilled to be “off the dropper.”

I have always had a crush on Mark Consuelos. I think he’s a beautiful man, so I was pleased to see him modeling … shoes? I guess?

And The Felon’s Regime wonders why no one who has a brain firing on all-cylinders would trust these ignorant criminals as far as we could throw them.

In a perfect world, Pam Bondi would be in in an El Salvadoran Gulag.

While complaining about the backlash over her multimillion-dollar space ride that was nothing more than an ego trip, Gayle King explained that the negative feedback following the stunt hurt her feelings. She said that it was totally important space stuff for the morning talk show crowd though she doesn’t consider herself an “astronaut”.

‘Cuz y’aren’t, Blanche, y’aren’t.

PS Gayle compared herself to Alan Shepard and said it was sexist to call her trip a space ride.

Gayle? Honey? Pull your head out. Shepard was an astronaut, you were a passenger; I mean, do you call yourself a pilot when you ride in an airplane? And I don’t think Shepard had a hair and makeup crew standing by when he returned to Earth.

Department of Homeland Security Secretary and dog killer Kristi Noem robbed last weekend at a DC restaurant. Security footage shows an unknown white male wearing a medical mask steal her bag and leave the restaurant with Noem’s driver’s license, medication, apartment keys, passport, DHS access badge, makeup bag, blank checks, and about $3,000 in cash.

She can’t protect a handbag, how is she supposed to protect the border?

Call me crazy, but all this time I thought it was drag queens and gay men that had the best tea …

Giorgio Ramondetta is an Italian model, surfer, and student and begs the question: Would You Hit It?

Sing Out Louise

So, before I get myself all situated to watch President Obama take over, and not a moment too soon, I thought I'd do a bit of ranting, raving, storytelling; just a few things to get off my chest and out my mouth. Here we go..........................

We're sitting in the kitchen this morning, watching the snow fall, and it's so pretty, so peaceful. I'm reminded of when I lived in California and I would drive into the Sierras to visit my parents, and it would snow at their house--we have a little more than an inch, they would get a lot more than that....like ten to twelve feet or more. It's so quiet and serene, and we have these Cardinals that flock to a couple of birdfeeders that we put up; their brilliant red feathers against the snow fall is just breathtaking; I'm feeling all relaxed and then he says it,
Look at the water freeze up on the edge of the table. It's making popsicles.
What?
On the edge. Popsicles.
You mean icicles.
Whatever.
Luuuuuuuuuuuuuucy!
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Carlos likes to consider himself Mr. Gadget, although he calls all his electronic toys by a more scientific name: jiggy-mah-giggy. As in: Have you seen my jiggy-mah-giggy? Then I have to decipher exactly what toy he needs.
Now, I am not a cell phone person; I don't like them; I don't need one. I'm, as I've said before, old school. You wanna talk? Call my house. If I don't answer, hmmmmm, what to do what to do. Call back! Sheesh!
But when we first came to Smallville, Carlos decided to get a new phone for him and one for me--in case, he says, you're out driving around country-town--his word for Smallville--and get lost or something. So I took a cell phone and put it in my car and have used it only a few times. It is good for emergencies; and I do use it when I travel so I can call home without those pesky long distance charges. But I am not a cell phone person; it isn't attached to my head 24/7.
Anyway. Carlos loves the jiggy-mah-giggy, and he realized his phone has 'Voice Recognition' so he decided to set it up so he can talk to it, and tell it who to call. This morning he's trying to call his boss and see if they are working or not, since the blizzard hit last night and dumped almost an inch of snow. He's holding the phone up and saying his boss's name. No response. He says it louder. Warlow. Warlow.
I say, Maybe you should try saying his real name. Wardlaw. Maybe that will work.
Wardlow. Wardlow.
Law. Not low.
Wardlaw. Still no response. I ask to try it, and he hands me the phone. I hit a button, scroll down, find Wardlaw, hit a button and hand him the phone.
Done. It's called Finger Recognition.
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Oprah and her husband Gayle King--I stole that from La Griffin--are trying my last nerve.
First up: Oprah. The other day I'm watching her show, I don't know why, I'm a glutton for punishment. She's doing some sort of round table with her husband Gayle, some blond chick who's sort of funny, and my boyfriend Mark Consuelos, who, oddly enough, is married to my girlfriend Kelly Ripa. Awkward!
Anyway, they're talking about Barack. Barack this Barack that. It sounded like a herd, or a covey, or a pride, or something of parrots. And then Oprah tells us that it shows how much we identify with Obama because we feel so comfortable calling him by his first name and we don't usually do that.
Hello Oprah? This is reality calling. Remember Bill, as in Clinton, Ronnie, as in Reagan, Jimmy as in Carter, Gerry as in Ford, Tricky Dick as in Nixon? Honest Abe? We've called a lot of presidents by their first name, honey. Except the last one......George Dumbass Bush.
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Now for Gayle Something-or-other: Oprah's husband Gayle has been doing some talking for Oprah, because we all know Oprah hates to talk about herself.........faint.......I'm up! I'm okay. Where was I? Oh yeah, Gayle Winfrey, or whatever her name is, because she'd be Who? without Oprah.

Gayle is talking about Oprah and Holocaust survivor Herman Rosenblat who wrote a book about finding his true love in a concentration Camp and now it's revealed to be a James Frey--which is another way of saying big fat book of lies.

So Gayle Winfrey......Who?.... says, "I was very disappointed because when the story first broke, the big headline was `Oprah Duped Again." I called Oprah and I said, `I'm so tired of you being the whipping boy for this hoax because he didn't just dupe you — he duped a lot of people.'"

No, Gayle, honey, the Oprah show duped us, because they didn't bother to check him out after being James Freyed--see, that's how it works. If the O people had checked then we wouldn't have been duped. Get it? The O's should do their job! Gawd!

Quit trying to protect Oprah. Seriously. Haven't you got better things to do, whomever you are?
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A show called True Beauty. it's like a Top Model-ly kind of show, but they also look to see who's beautiful--and they all think they're beautiful--and who's beautiful on the inside. Every week there are all kinds model-ly tests and inner beauty kinds of tests. And the two who fail at the tests are taken to a place called the Hall Of Beauty, which looks like an airport somewhere, only it's lined with big pictures of the so-called beautiful people. There, the two lowest beauties are asked why they should stay and it becomes almost Miss America like.....I should stay because I know I'm beautiful, more beautiful than anyone else,and I have a lot to prove blah blah blah....where's my gun so I can go all Elvis on the TV?

They pick the ugliest person to kick off, and send the pretty one back to the house. Then they tell the ugly one about 'The Secret.' That they are also looking for inner beauty and they show them video of Ugly acting ugly. You know, they don't pick up litter; they didn't donate to someone collecting money on the street; they're just bitches. You know, ugly stuff.

Then the Ugly One has to leave and do their Exit Interview, where, like W, they try to tell us that they're nice, that they do have Inner Beauty, that they did respond in a timely manner to Hurricane Katrina.

The kicker? The last shot of the show they have a cleaning crew come by and take down the latest Ugly castoff portrait, and throw it in the trash!

True.
Beauty.

Check your local listings under Trainwreck!!
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In South Korea, to promote his latest movie, where he's basically playing himself, except in this one he has an eye-patch--Quick! Someone call the academy, this is brilliant acting. He's. Wearing. An. Eye. Patch--Tom Cruise said: "I've always wanted to kill Hitler. As a child, I used to wonder why someone didn't stand up and kill him."
As a child I wondered where babies come from, and how does the Tooth Fairy slip a quarter under my pillow and take my tooth without waking me up, and what will I be when I grow up, a fireman, a doctor, a homosexual, or an actor who wears an eye patch.
Tom Cruise wondered about killing someone.
Precious.