Bushy and the Desperate Housewives

Alright, alright! It's one thing to bomb innocent countries, it's one thing to illegally tap America's phone lines, I'll even let it slide that our President left thousands of Americans stranded on their rooftop after a massive hurricane we saw coming days before, but you do NOT interrupt Desperate Housewives! Talk about bad timing! And this is from a president with low ratings. He just picked up his shovel from his hole and dug deeper.

You can disrupt our phone lines and eavesdrop all you want, I don't care, but you don't screw with Prime Time. Especially a top rated show with his blinky blinky Bushy Bushy. He looks like a rat and blinks more than a lizard. I knew he was a shifty one years ago when he first ran for office, not because of his politics, but based on his blinking alone. I called it first! And, now his shifty actions are coming out. I'm sure when he gets out of office, that's when the juicy little driblets of his shady regime will unfold. Mooo-haah-haaah-haaaa! (That's my evil dictator laugh.)

Anyway, if you are going to interrupt America's television programming with a "Special Report" you damn well better have something special to report! You better have actual facts to report. That's why they call it the news is because you're supposed to have NEWS!

When you interrupt a show, it better be something good like "We're ending the War" or "We're Going to War" or "Oprah just got in an Hermes store" or "Nick and Jessica are back together." But you don't interrupt our relaxing time on the sofa to talk about your "consequences" and stories of people who "believed in the mission." Hell, I have an aunt that believes she had sex with an alien, but no one interrupts TV to talk about it...and for the record, her stories are a lot more interesting.

This annoying interruption gives me a chance to ponder his tactics. He reminds me of that kid in class with "the dog ate my homework" excuses when he whines "the war was more difficult than expected." It's war! He expected it to be easy?

Okay, I'll stop my political rant, as I get most of my news from the Daily Show or second-hand from my husband. But, no matter how little of the facts I know, I do know that no matter who you are, when someone is on TV saying "Light that reaches the darkest corners" and "God is not dead, nor does he sleep" it isn't exactly breaking news.

Then the journalists have to debate if the speech is good or bad. Anything that interrupts national TV without new information is bad, bad, bad! I don’t care how the speech was written. It was bad. The best thing that knucklehead said was "thank you and Good night."

Oh, and don't think all is forgiven just because Desperate Housewives was a re-run!

Kiss the Summer Goodbye, the sweetness of the Autumn...

Today was the second snow of the year. Yesterday was the first. Tonight, as I walked home on the dark snowy streets, hands full from the grocery store, I saw someone walking towards me the in shadows. Could be a punk kid or... a killer! I picked up the pace cut a fast left and darted down my street, raced up the steps, then sillyly fumbled for keys. But at the top step, I was safe.

From this height, I could have nailed him in the chest with a box of Clementine’s and sent him toppling backwards down the steps and into the street. And if he survived that wanting more, I would have pegged him in the face with apples while screaming for help.

As I plotted my fictitious retaliation on my imaginary attacker, I wondered why I was so edgy tonight? Had it been too much Starbucks? Too little sleep? Just minutes before I strategized how to turn my produce into weapons, I was picking them out in the store, singing out loud to Christmas songs while trying to keep my dancing to a minimum and dreaming of sipping soy egg nog and decorating. How had I become so neurotic? Then it dawned on me. Charles.

Yes, it was Charles that kept the streets safe. I guess I had been so busy in the Fall, I didn’t noticed that with the weather turning colder and daylight being rationed, Charles was out less and less. Charles could be 70, or he could be 100, it's hard to tell. Charles, the strong defender of Garden Street was no longer out. No longer on the corner talking to his buddies. No longer waving from across the street. No longer watching the cars go by or playing with his grand-daughter.

Charles was the one who raced over after the terrifying mail incident where I had called the cops in September. By 'raced' I mean that he made it across the street in less than ten minutes. Oh, okay, so maybe someone stealing our mail isn't that terrifying and the cop looked at me like I was insane. But not Charles, he asked the tough questions, "Everything okay?"

As I write this, I realize that Charles might not be able to fight his way out of a wet paper bag, much less protect me from anything, but he gives the illusion of safety. He would be a witness. No one wants to do anything wrong with a witness around. When you're up to no good, you want an accomplice nearby, not a witness. But now, hot summer nights are gone and Charles is inside, bundled up somewhere.

At home, I began working and had forgotten about my brush with death. All of a sudden, I heard something that sounded like a gunshot outside. Then again, bam bam! It could have been a car back firing, but I didn’t want to risk getting hit by a stray bullet, so I did the soldiers belly crawl across the living room floor. Shaking, I peered out the window and saw Charles.

He looked very authoritative as he looked both ways out the front door. I smiled because even in the cold days of winter, he watches out for us! Put your produce down, the world is safe again.