I'm not posting because I am sitting here reeling over the news that Fergie, not Fergie of the
unfortunate face and Black Eyed Peas, but Fergie the Duchess? Or perhaps the Countess? Or
maybe a Lady? Oh, you know, the redhead who was married to Prince Andrew, the only one of Britain's Royal Family that doesn''t look like an inbred. That Fergie tried to sell handsome Prince Andrew out to the press. They've got her on tape shoveling the fistfuls of cash into her briefcase,
so there's no denying it.
When the royal family is taking bribes from the tabloids, what is wrong with the world?
Elegance is learned, my friends.
And speaking of, I am also not posting today because this vile song has embedded itself in my brain
and like a mutant computer virus, I can't get rid of it. I tossed and turned all night trying to banish
the ghastly echos of Countess Luann's, "Oh Yeah's" out of my ears.
And if you don't know what I'm talking about, here's a little sample.
But, I'm warning you, please tread carefully.
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I am also not posting today because my hubby's 85-year old uncle paid us a visit last night.
We call him Uncle. Just plain Uncle. He's my Hubby's only uncle, so I guess the family just found
it too much work to have to actually pronounce 2 names. So, he's just Uncle.
He brought some arm candy and some chocolate candy.
The box of chocolates was for me. And after returning from dinner, my hubby ripped the box
open and my family including yours truly, pounced upon that chocolate and proceeded to devour the
The entire box.
I can feel those chocolates making themselves at home on my thighs as we speak. So, I don't have
time to post because I will be doubling up on my workout today.
I am also not posting today, because the arm candy on Uncle's arm has caused me some serious
Uncle is a Playah in his senior citizen community because he can be. He's a man. I think he's one of
the 3 still standing in his town of golf carts and support hose for both men and women.
He recently broke up with his girlfriend of 40 years.
I am not making this up.
And he has discovered the heady pleasure of escorting the unlimited bevy of single ladies about the town.
Last night he had, let's call her Heather, upon his arm. Because, Heather just seems to work for a
Over cocktails, Heather told me she had recently broken up with her boyfriend of 7 years. Her story astounded me. She was scheduled for open heart surgery and she'd told her boyfriend that under no circumstances was he to come visit her while she was in recovery.
You see, he'd never seen her without her teeth.
I could not make this up if I tried.
But, when her eyes fluttered open, she saw him standing over her. She yelled through her drug-
addled haze for him to get out of the room. Over and over, "GET OUT!"
Well, he did alright.
As she recovered in her hospital bed, she got reports from all the single ladies that the very next
night he was at the square dancing dance swinging another partner round and round.
Heather said she thinks he must have mistook her "Get out of my room so you don't see my
flappy gums!" with a "Get out of my life and find yourself another square dance partner."
She was taking it pretty good, though. She said she didn't need a man who was going to up and
leave her at the sight of a prune mouth. After all, there were 2 other men to pursue.
That story weighed stonily in my heart and as I drifted off to sleep last night, the thought came to me:
So, this is what it will come to.
Perhaps, now my Hubby will stop getting so annoyed with my penchant for flossing constantly.
Perhaps he will now see the wisdom in the cases of dental floss strewn about my car.
But, there's a chance all the flossing in the world won't help. The tooth fairy might come for all my
teeth, if she's in a bitchy mood.
As I ran my tongue over my teeth, drifting in between wake and sleep, I could only pray that my
Hubby is not a tooth man.
I have no idea. I've never asked him.
But, Heather put some serious doubts in my soul.
And then, there is the tingling that is also keeping me from posting.
Last night, as our guests spruced up the conversation with talk of who died this week and who is
still kicking it, in their land of shuffle board tournaments and sliced beets, they spoke of Gus who
had just died from . . .
No one could remember.
As Heather so eloquently put it, "We can't even have pets anymore because we'll forget them in
the car and they'll boil to death. It happens all the time, you know."
The disease was eluding them as they went through the litany of most common diseases in their
And then the conversation took a turn like no other. It's best if I just replay it for you.
Uncle: "It's the baseball disease."
Heather, "Yes! That Louis Gossett, Jr. one."
Uncle: "No Louis Gossett, Jr. has the prostate, like I do."
From what I understand, in their swinging, square dancing colony, all prostate trouble is classified
under the umbrella title of, The Prostate.
Heather: "Oh, right. For the life of me, I just can't remember . . . "
Me: (Because I am a hypochondriacal expert on all diseases) "You mean, Lou Gehrig's disease?"
Both of them, pointing liver spotted fingers at me, excitedly. "That's the one!"
And then there was the usual patter of who else in Depends Land had befallen this malady and
the characteristics of this disease, which I will state in all seriousness— Lou Gehrig's Disease is a
beast of an illness and it is a horrific way to die.
I then asked, because I have to, because every hypochondriac fiber of my being always has to
know, "What were his initial symptoms? What did he notice going wrong."
And Uncle said, "He had a tingling in his tongue."
You know, my tongue tingled like I had a mouthful of Pop Rocks throughout the eternal hours of
Perhaps, it was the fact that I was running my tongue over and over my teeth, whispering a silent
plea to my choppers to please stay in my mouth.
I don't know. All I know is between the Countess's campy, "Oh yeah's" ringing through my brain,
the pounds of chocolate trying to find its home in my flesh, my nightmares of crumbling teeth and
my tingly tongue, I am very tired.
So, I'm not posting today for all those reasons.
And one more.
I'm on high Google alert awaiting news of the B man.
No news is scary news. And there has been no news.
Today, there was a 2-line article in the Irish Times saying he'd fallen during rehearsal and injured
his back and he is now resting after spinal surgery.
What the hell kind of fall requires spinal surgery? It's not like he was mountain climbing and fell
off the side of a cliff.
Did Larry push him off the stage?
I mean there's got to be some built up resentment there. Larry was the one who started the band by putting a notice up on the bulletin board at school recruiting musicians for the Larry Mullen Band.
A few dudes showed up at Larry's house including The Edge and Adam Clayton. Larry had appointed himself the singer when as Larry put it, "It was the Larry Mullen Band for about 10 minutes. Then
Bono walked in and blew any chance I had of being in charge."
Larry has said that he suffers from back problems for years since being relegated to the drummer.
I could definitely see him. "You want to know what it feels like to be the drummer in U2? The Mr. Nobody behind Bono? I'll show you!"
Just a scenario. I don't know the reality, because NO ONE IS TALKING and so the best I can do
is keep up the Google vigil and keep a constant prayer upon my lips.
Bono, get well, soon.
And until I hear anything further, all of my downloads will be U2 music. Cause, it's my blog and I
can do that, ahem, Larry.
Today's Definite Download: "Who's Gonna Ride Your Wild Horses" one of my favorites.
You're dangerous 'cause you're honest
You're dangerous, you don't know what you want
You left my heart empty as a vacant lot
For any spirit to haunt . . .
You're an accident waiting to happen
You're a piece of glass left on a beach
Well, you tell me things I know you're not supposed to
Then you leave me just out of reach . . .
Who's gonna ride your wild horses?
Who's gonna drown in your blue sea?
Who's gonna taste your salt water kisses?
Who's gonna take the place of me?
Nobody, Bono. Nobody can ever take your place, so heal that damn back.