There was only one thing on my to-do list today: "Post something in blog." Sounds simple, doesn't it? But today is one of those increasingly frequent times when I have nothing to say. I am SICK OF POLITICS. My libido is undetectable. I am not angry with anyone except politicians, but I'm SICK OF POLITICS, so that anger is not eligible for venting. I am not particularly happy about anything, either. So...what should I do?

I can hear Hubby laughing, in the other room. He is listening to Howard Stern, on the radio. Oh my. Howie must be really, really funny. Hubby is laughing more than I've heard him for a long time. The only thing that I find amusing about Howie is his hair. How can a grown man be seen in public with those silly little curls hanging down in his face like that? If I were to see him in person, I would hit him with a tranquilizing dart and shave his head. Okay, okay, I wouldn't really. But I would have a good time fantasizing about it.
Let's see...where was I? I could write about my aches and pains. That should keep vast numbers of readers on the edge of their seats. I went to the gym today and beat myself up for 1 1/2 hours. Now everything hurts, especially my left arm and shoulder, because I just HAD TO increase the weights by 10% and add reps too, just to show myself how tough I am. FUCK THAT! I'm not tough, I'm stupid. No, not stupid...foolish. Maybe I should do brain exercises.

Wow! I have completed 3 scintillating paragraphs! So - picture me happily crossing off that chore on my list, dancing around the room and singing "Hava Nagila."

Don't worry, children, the Chinese people will loan us money for you to spend on trinkets (many of which will have been imported from China).

That's how I feel about the CRAZY,STUPID, IRRESPONSIBLE ECONOMIC STINKULUS PLAN the idiots in Washington have dreamed up. They are acting like the country is in the middle of a full-fledged economic meltdown. IT IS NOT! It is simply in a "as you sow, so shall you reap" slowdown. A lot of people borrowed more than they should have, banks LOANED those people more than they should have, home prices rose higher than was reasonable, because for a while demand was outstripping supply, and now it's time to pay the piper. In my opinion, we should learn our lessons, limp a little, and recover naturally.

But NOOOOOOO! It's an election year. The politicians must assign blame! They must "remedy" the situation! Too bad that their to-do list does not include taking a crash course in Economics. How can anyone possibly think that our economy will be helped by the government playing Santa Claus and handing out $1,200 checks to every couple with annual income up to $150,000. I'm simplifying the formula, but you can look up the details on line, if you have the stomach for it. Do they really think that couples with an annual income of $150,000 (or even $100,000) are going to rush right out to K-Mart and spend their $1,200 for more crap, which most of us have too much of anyway? I would have been happy to go along with the proposals to extend UC benefits and food stamps for the people who are struggling to get by. But those ideas were dead in the water, thanks to Republican opposition. I'd also be supportive of job training programs or even public works projects, if they were well thought out and needed (think crumbling infrastructure).

I wouldn't be so incensed if the federal government were running a budget surplus. But we are in hock up to Uncle Sam's hat brim! We're going to have to borrow the money for those rebates. And so much of the U.S. borrowing is from foreigners (think China and Japan). What kind of example does that set for our overcharged, underinformed citizenry?

Okay. I'm done.

GOGO, MINI SHOWERS

One of my favorite apes, Dr. Zaius, mentioned that he is intrigued by stories about women showering, and if the story involves mini-skirts and go-go boots, that would be even better. Well, Dr. Z, this is your lucky day. I just happen to have such a story, just for you.

>One New Year's Eve, about umpty years ago, I was invited to a costume party. I decided to go, dressed as Nancy Sinatra. Since I never throw anything away, I knew I still had some of my 70's clothing tucked away. After a trip to the attic which led to a walk down Memory Lane, I managed to find my old, white go-go boots (still quite shiny!) and a couple of mini-skirts (still very short). I chose the red one, and then managed to come up with a tight (tighter than it used to be...) red and white striped blouse. I was plotzing! I squeezed into the skirt and blouse, pulled on those cool boots, unfurled my red mane, applied a lot of mascara and lipstick and was ready to rock and roll! Notice that I did not mention squeezing into any underwear. Now it's hard to imagine how I could have forgotten such an important garment, especially since I was wearing a goddamned MINI-SKIRT, but I did.

>So...I got to the party, the host, Jerry (masquerading as Tom Jones), greeted me with a "Hi Nancy!" Then, "Hey everybody, Nancy Sinatra is here!" All the cats, clowns, cowboys and one large condom came to check me out. There was a chorus of "Hey Nancy, are those boots made for walking?"

>"No way," sez I. "These boots are made for rocking!" In no time, the music (good ol' rock 'n' roll, of course) was turned up loud and Tom Jones and I led the crowd onto the dance floor. I was feeling like a "wild and crazy" gal and was giving those boots a real workout. Then, all of a sudden, one of the buckles on the left boot came loose. I BENT OVER to fix it. The music stopped, there was a hush, then gasps, then laughter. I stood up quickly. "What? What's wrong?"

>My friend Sally stopped laughing long enough to say, "Nancy, I believe you have a wardrobe malfunction." She pointed to my hips.

>I reached down and felt my naked rear. "OH MY GOD!" Tears sprang to my eyes, making my mascara run, everyone was laughing, Sally came over to me and pushed a drink into my hand, I chugged it down, asked for another, the music started up again and I felt much better. We all started dancing again. Someone shouted, "Red Rover, Red Rover, why don't you bend over!" I said, "Give me another drink, and maybe I will!" Another drink, another dance, and then I heard myself say, "These boots are made for walking and this SKIRT IS MADE FOR HIKING!" And I hiked it up, just a bit. Oh my, the hoots and hollers.

Then it was midnight and the champagne came out. Corks were popping, wine was squirting, and spirits were soaring. It was hot and humid in the room, and I was sweating like a racehorse. "You need a shower," Tom Jones declared, and grabbed a bottle of champagne. He shook it up, pulled out the cork and aimed the mouth of the bottle at me. A spray of tiny bubbles, cool, wet and delicious, engulfed me. I shrieked, then laughed, then licked my lips and grabbed the bottle from him. I drank a few swigs and poured the last few drops down the front of my blouse. The cold liquid made my nipples stand out like a couple of marbles. I rubbed my breasts and gyrated to the music. I felt Tom close behind me, his Dick was hard, and he wrapped his Hairy arms around me. Several other merrymakers decided they needed showers too, and before long we had all popped our corks.

Sigh. Good times.

Lady Not Waiting

Yesterday, I read a post in some male's blog (I have tried to remember whose, but I just can't, dammit) that described him being in a men's bathroom when a woman walked in, looked neither to the right nor the left, entered a stall, did her business, and walked out again. The blogger could understand what made the woman do this, because the line outside the WOMAN'S restroom was about a mile long, and the interloper didn't have the time or the bladder capacity to wait.

Being a woman myself, I could certainly sympathize with all the women in that line. And this story reminded me of the one time in my life when I decided to say, "Fuck the line! I'm going in!" This happened about ten summers ago, when I was attending an outdoor music festival in upper NY state. I don't remember where, but it was in some meadow somewhere and it was not Woodstock. A couple girlfriends and I were sharing a tent and a campfire, but all restroom activities depended on a row of outdoor, unisex johns, and for bathing purposes there were two trailer-type structures, one for each gender, with showers and dressing areas inside. The men's trailer never had a line, but the women's ALWAYS had a long line. For the first two days, I was able to hold off on the showering, telling myself, I'm here for the music and the dancing, not to wait in line for an hour. But after two days of dancing, in very hot, humid weather, it was clear that if I expected to get any kind of dance partner, I would have to take the plunge. My favorite band, Skylines, was going to take the stage at 1:oo pm, so I headed for the shower trailers at 11:45. As usual, the women's had a line from here to Timbuktu, and the men's had none. I stood in that goddamned line, clutching my soap, towel and change of clothes, for an hour, as the line inched up at a snail's pace. In the meantime, dozens of men darted in and out of their showers, as though they were on greased skids! There was never a line, because all men have to do is slip off their clothes, jump in the shower, soap quickly, rinse quickly, dry barely, throw on their clothes and leave. The whole process takes about 45 seconds.

Women, on the other manicured hand, screw around washing their hair, putting conditioner on their hair, shave everything south of their chin, use different kinds of soap for each part of their bodies, rinse everything for several minutes, trim their toenails, irrigate their sinuses, contemplate their navels and THEN, when they finally get out of the shower, they have to dry every crevice of their bodies, while STILL STANDING IN THE SHOWER STALL, then finally get out and spend another 1/2 hour in front of the fucking mirrors, drying their hair, putting on makeup and who knows what else. In the meantime, I had started talking to the woman ahead of me in the line, and we managed to work ourselves up to a fever pitch of indignation over the unfairness of the situation. We were angry with the women ahead of us, for their lack of consideration for their sweaty sisters still in line, and we were angry with the men for being so lucky as to be men. Then...with time running out, and fueled with anxiety about the possiblility of missing my favorite band, I got the brilliant idea that we (my new friend and I) could just run over to the men's trailer, which seemed to be empty at the moment, take a quick, man-style shower, and run out again, taking care of any details back at our tents. She would stand guard while I went in, and I would do the same for her. So, we dashed over, I entered the door, ran to a stall and started showering. I heard a commotion outside, so got out of the shower, just as my friend was yelling, "You can't go in. Zelda is in there." Then a male voice said, "Like hell I can't! This is the men's shower." Then more male voices, "We're coming in, ready or not!"

So there I was, naked as a jaybird, while four burly young men stormed the gate, and looked me up and down as I tried to pull my clothes over my still-wet body, while apologizing profusely for my rash behaviour. It did occur to me that they might wish to detain me, so I was frightened, as well as embarrassed. I dashed for the exit, and saw my "lookout" skittering back to the now-even-longer women's line. As I was hurrying to the pavillion, I saw some friends coming toward me. One of them said, "Oh Zelda! You missed the Skylines! Where were you?"

Where, indeed.

Can you stand one more meme? I'm sorry, but it's SO much easier than coming up with my own ideas. And I like this one that editorjdc dropped on me, because in spite of the brazen declaration in my profile, I do have a few Regrets. And a whole lot of Non-Regrets. Let's see if I can come up with five of each.

1R: I regret getting married when I was barely 18 years old and getting pregnant immediately.

1NR: I do not, however, regret having given birth to the two loving, smart, sweet, talented, beautiful children who resulted from that union.

2R: I regret having had to drop out of college after only one year, because of that early marriage.

2NR: I do not regret defying my husband and returning to school when I was in my 30's and graduating magna cum laude.

>3R: I regret that I allowed myself to be bullied and oppressed by my husband for 20 years.
3NR: I do not regret having finally worked up the nerve to leave him and make my own way.

4R: I regret that I was so lonely and naive when I was making my own way, because I was victimized by unscrupulous, predatory men, more than once.

4NR: I do not regret exacting my revenge on some of them.

5R: I regret that I didn't meet my sweet second hubby sooner.

5NR: I do not regret that we have been happily married for seven lovely years.

Tag, I'm It! (or one of several "its")

The lovely Randall at the inappropriately named L'ennui mélodieux (ennui has no place in his place) has suggested that I resurrect 5 old posts on these subjects:

Family Okay, so this isn't exactly warm and fuzzy, but it's exemplery.

Friendship Some of my best friends are bananas...

Self This covers everything.

Love This is as good as it gets nowadays.

Anything Now I know better.

The thoughtful and talented Randall also suggested that I (and other tagees) tag 5 of our other "friends," with the same request, so I, his dutiful minion, will happily oblige.

Katie? Kevin? Kelso? Captain? Miss Smack?

I have been inspired by "Pissed off Patricia" to make some predictions for the fledgling year, 2008.

Okay, I have dug my genuine, Madam Z crystal ball out of the ash heap and dusted it off with the tattered hem of my genuine, Madam Z gypsy skirt. It is sitting on my dusty old desk, right next to the computer. I am stroking it with one hand, while I type with the other.

Something is coming into focus...it looks like a calendar...AH-HA! I predict that February will have 29 days! Now...some kind of almanac? Yes! I predict it will be cold in Canada for most of those 29 days. Okay, now some simian-like features are forming...here it is...I predict that GWB will say something REALLY STUPID practically every single day in 2008 and every day after that, as long as he lives.

What?? You knew that already? What are you, Kreskin or somethin'? Well, what about this?

1. Next year at this time, we all will be another year older and many of us will be deeper in debt.

2. China's athletes will outshine all other competitors in the 2008 Olympics, because they have developed a tolerance for their heavily polluted air.

3. Home prices in the U.S. will continue to fall, until they reach the point that people can AFFORD TO BUY THEM with the wages they earn, WHICH DID NOT INCREASE AT THE SAME CRAZY RATE that housing prices increased!

4. Someone will discover that flatulence is primarily responsible for global warming.

5. Bloggers and other comedians will finally tire of making fun of GWB. Oh wait...that's a little fuzzy...maybe that'll happen in 2010.

6. A Chinese cargo ship carrying lead-covered toys to the U.S. will sink, because of the extra weight.

7. "Illegal immigrants" currently working their butts off in the fields and factories of the U.S. will get tired of being persecuted and say "Fuck you!" and go back home, leaving Americans wondering how the hell the work's going to get done now.

8. As American armed forces become more stressed and stretched, there will be talk in Bushville about renewing the draft.

Okay, this is too depressing. The crystal ball just went black.