Can you guess who this is?

I was going to simply post the cheese-cake picture but I figured you would need a close up of her face to have a decent chance to figure out who this hot chick is. I would be amazed if anyone can figure out the name of this lovely lady.

I'll give you a few hints in case you need them...but I'll post them one at a time. Before I go to bed tonight, I'll post her name but until then, I'll post hints about once every half hour. Here is the first hint:

1. She played a main character on one of the most successful TV shows of all time.

And...

2. She won an Emmy for portraying that character.

3. Shockingly, she was actually a bitch to work with.

4. Her character put up some hideous pickles.

5. She drove her beloved classic 1966 Daytona two-door Sports Sedan until the end of her life.

6. She never married, not as her Emmy award winning character nor as herself in real life.

7. She starred opposite Henry Fonda on Broadway.

8. She began her career in vaudeville.

9. One of her character's closest friends was named Clara.

10. Her character cared for her widowed nephew and his son.

You know her better as Aunt Bee, Sheriff Andy Taylor's aunt. You probably remember her when she looked something like this:

I'm trying!

I had fun this weekend...

...in a "What the heck else am I going to do with my stupid ass?" sort of way. I haven't been to the beach in a good while so I decided to visit one before I head north (after, hopefully, I'll head south for a minute and check out Miami and Key West. I'm not sure but I think it's illegal to come to Florida for any length of time and them leave without seeing Miami OR Key West. If I left without seeing Miami, I'd feel guilty every time I heard Jackie Gleason's named mentioned. I'd toture myself with flashbacks of Miami coming really close and really fast right over the water. If I didn't go to Key West, I'd feel REALLY guilty very time I heard a Jimmy Buffet song and since, for some odd reason, I only hear Jimmey Buffet songs when I'm drinking, that is never a good situation. Alcohol and guilt don't mix well. So, just to be on the safe side, I should take a quick trip to the south quickly before I head north.

At my age, I have to think in terms of seeing places for the last time. When I visited Jersey with my father last spring, I thought about seeing places for the last time. I said good-bye to my grandparents' restaurant and the upstairs which they owned as well. They also had apartments up there to rent out. My dad took me right past the house in which I was conceived. My mother was supposed to be baby-sitting for my cousins that night. Dad's sister thought she could trust them not to have sex. I've never been THAT stupid. Dad and I also visited my sister's grave in Keansburg. That entire trip had me thinking in terms of "last times".

Anyway, back to the beach...I really did enjoy that. I was wearing a tie-died dress...pink with purples and blue, I love it. I have to admit that I caught a glimpse of myself in the mirror wearing the dress and I looked fat. Well, maybe not so much fat as much as an "I'm just gonna cover EVERYTHING UP!" sort of attitude. I only notice it when I'm looking in the mirror so I just don't do that. It's absolutely a comfortable dress and I was very comfortable in it. Actually, the only UNcomfortable part of my beach-drobe was my bathing suit. As I lie there on the beach, I thought, "My comfort level would be perfect if I could lose this bathing suit and replace it with some nice white granny panties."

I tried to read a book while I was out there but between the wind and the sun, mother nature wasn't going to share my attention with anything else. It was actually a bit too cold to go in the water. Actually, getting in isn't the problem...getting OUT is. If it isn't at least a tad warm, you might be able to pull it off but this past weekend it got a bit chilly around here so most visitors to the beach were like me, enjoying the beach and relaxing next to the Gulf's gentle surf.

Anyway, it was a relatively quiet weekend and I pretty much enjoyed it. I didn't die but it would have been OK, I wouldn't have died doing something stupid. Oops, I have to go and actually open the door...it's for me and that rarely ever happens.

Are You Aware...

...that there is actually a show that consists almost entirely of men moving dirt? That sentence doesn't impart the sheer idiocy of such programming, you actually have to think about it for a bit. The show is called Gold Rush and the men on it are "mining" for gold. Apparently, gold bits are in dirt so a bunch of men are trying to get the gold out of the dirt. And that simply entails moving dirt. The guys on the show don't even try to embellish their task, they call it was it is when they say, "We have to move a lot of dirt today."

Television today reminds me of the screen Montags' wife stares at for hours a day in Bradbury's Fahrenheit 451.

If You Think Getting Your Hands On Obama's Birth Certificate...

...was a bitch, you should try to get MINE. The last time I needed my birth certificate was when I needed a passport. All I did was go to New Jersey's Department of Vital Statistics website, pay 8 bucks with a credit card and give information that no one else would have besides me (with the possible exception of Donald Trump). That was it, and if memory serves, it was easier to get my birth certificate than it is to order a PaPa John's pizza online.

I still don't think I actually NEED my birth certificate but is seems as though getting a driver's license in the state of Florida is almost as tough as it is to get a New Jersey birth certificate. The last time I got a license in a new state, all I needed was my old license from the state from which I had moved. But, in this crazy post 9-11 world, you need a birth certificate to get a driver's license in Florida. That didn't really bother me too much until New Jersey informed me that I would require a current state-issued ID to get my birth certificate. My old ID wouildn't do because New Jersey demands that the ADDRESS on the ID be current. My Georgia ID is so UN-current that I've lived in Chicago and LA since I left the address on my driver's license.

And, what the hell is Georgia doing with my stupid thumb-print? When Georgia passed a law requiring a thumb-print in exchange for a driver's license, they said that it was for us...the citizens of Georgia. To make identification easier and identity theft more difficult, the state of Georgia now has my thumb-print. But it does ME no good now that I need it to prove who I am!

Ironically, according to New Jersey state law, if I were a convicted felon, the identification thing would be waved in lieu of a letter from my prison case-manager. I'd have to rob a bank, get convicted AND be sentenced to prison time and then Jersey will bend the rules for me. But, as long as I continue to obey most laws, I do not stand to benefit from that particular loophole.

My son tried to get it for me and they asked for HIS birth certificate. He sent it to them, but it did no good. I think it would have helped if I had been an unwed mother, but since I was married to the father of my kids, the name on their birth certificate is my married name, not my maiden name. Since I wasn't born married, my birth certificate has my maiden name on it and that is one name that isn't on the birth certificates of my children. So, although they have "standing" to request my birth certificate, they don't have proof of who I am.

While I've been wrestling with the state of New Jersey, my Georgia driver's license expired. Now I have absoluetly NO state issued identification. Luckily, I don't really drink so I don't get carded and the seizures pretty much keep me afraid to drive so I haven't had much of a problem. But I'm pretty sure being without identification is a crime so maybe I'll just turn myself in, go to prison and ask my prison case-manager to handle it for me. 

As I was eating my breakfast...

...I remembered some of the fun things that happened while I was in the Cuckoo's Nest. I was chowing down on a bag of gummy bears when I thought about the lean days. They were lean because, apparently, gunny bears are dangerous. Therefore, they were confiscated upon admission to the Cuckoo's Nest. The powers that be took away my gummy bears, along with my shoes, the belt to my bathrobe and my under wire bra. I got there in a foul mood so I didn't argue or ask any questions, mainly because I hate it when people say to me, "We can do this the hard way or we can do it the easy way." I've seen enough reality cop shows to know that the only wise move is to choose to do things "the easy way".

Eventually, I saw people wearing shoes and I hate getting my socks dirty. Apparently, my shoes were mistakenly confiscated because they were Velcro so I got them back. That made me happy. Add that happiness to the chilly nature of the Cuckoo's Nest and I was becoming rather emboldened. So, on one particularly chilly morning, I gave the staff of choice of their own when I said, "You guys are either going to have to turn the heat on or give me my bra back." They chose to give it back to me...minus the under wire that I count on for support. It was a compromise I was willing to make because I count on the cups to tame my wild nipples.

They even took the pictures of my kids that I had been grasping since before my suicide attempt. I understood why they took the frames and the glass, but I didn't know why I couldn't have the pictures. I could have done more damage to myself with one of the year old People magazines they offered as reading material. The pictures wouldn't have caused a paper cut but Lord knows that a page out of People could. Reading about engagements between people who have since divorced was sad. Really, really sad. I hate old People magazines.

Excuse me now, I need to finish my breakfast. I save the red ones for last so I'm down to only red gummy bears. This meal will be great!

I could be a socialist...

...if I had to. I could move to one of those oil-rich Scandinavian countries and live off of their cash. If the economy there took a Grecian nose-dive, I wouldn't even bitch because I'd be so grateful for the help that I do get.

It occurred to me that I could be in this exact same situation in any city of the world. I could put a map of the world on the wall and toss a dart onto the map and head for the city closest to where the dart lands. That's the silver lining in my situation, I could relocate to any place on the planet without worrying that my standard of living might take a tumble.

Once as I was walking down the beach at Santa Monica, I saw 4 beautiful palm trees spaced in a square. I thought to myself, "Hell, if I were homeless this is EXACTLY where I'd settle down." That can't be the absolute BEST place on the planet so I could travel around looking for a better place.

I could go to places that would annoy others...just to be a bitch. Or I could choose places based on the sheer beauty of them, like southern Utah or anywhere in Scotland or Ireland. Wherever I choose, I could have more fun just wandering around on my way to where I decide to go. For example, before I exit Florida, I'd love to be able to check out Key West. If any of you has an idea for a final destination or a great place to visit, I'd love to hear them.

I'd love to get one of those backpacks that carries a tent, among other things a camper might be able to use. Of course, I might need to get a gun although I'd prefer a English mastiff.

Other ideas I've come up with include moving to Chimp Eden and working with the rescued chimpanzees, joining a nunnery, going to Ethiopia and caring for starving children and/or heading to New Orleans to help the pit bulls and parolees. I don't have hair extensions, hot pants or a parole officer, but maybe my passion for animals will be enough.

So, this week I've applied for SSI/Disability, one of those phones the state gives you if you meet certain criteria and I took all the cash I had to Amscot and got myself a cash card with a MasterCard logo. They gave me a temporary card to use until the permanent card comes in the mail. The phone should show up any day now and the MasterCard should come in 7 to10 business days. Lord knows how long the SSI will take. So, I'll certainly be here long enough to get the phone and card, after that, who knows? I seem to have plenty of time to think about it!

It just occurred to me that...

...I finally have a safe address to give you online without having to worry about stalkers. I meet enough of them OFFLINE. I heard that a woman asked for birthday cards online and she was inundated with them. It's not my birthday (but, in case you're taking notes, mine is June 29th), but I would certainly appreciate greetings of another sort...emotional support So, if you have the time and the inclination, you can send me a post card or a short note to:

Meg Kelso
6220 N. Nebraska Av.
Box 629
Tampa, Florida
33604

That's a place that helps the homeless population who also suffer from mental illness. I go there occasionally to use their computer and telephone and when I do, I always end up setting up an email address for one of the older gentlemen (they just don't have many women there at all). I've heard so many of the old men saying that they were computer illiterate so I've decided to put up flyer's mentioning a free in-service for the those guys. They'll leave the in-service with an email address and the ability to access that email. If that helps a bunch of people, I might considering doing it more or even offering another in-service on basic computer skills. It's amazing how many things are available online and these men are missing out on so much assistance simply because they can't figure out how to do the very basic things that we all take for granted. Think about it...who would even think to help these men with something so vital to todays' way of life and access to information..?

Anyway, I'm doing well right now and I hope that when I go back to the place, I'll have another good reason to smile!

Before I started feeling like crap...

...from this hideous flu bug, I felt like getting my mind off of my problems. This past Friday I asked some people if there was a place to shoot pool anywhere around the area I was in. Two people mentioned a place called The Sore Elbow so I hiked over to that place to just sit there and not think.

I got to the place pretty early, around lunch time, and ordered an iced tea. (Not Long Island, simply real iced tea.) I racked the balls and played alone for a while. Usually I need a buzz of some sort to play pool well but I wasn't in a drinking mood and I had nothing green to use to prop up my game. On top of being totally sober, I didn't have my glasses so I wasn't really thinking that I would accomplish anything more than a clearing of my brain.

But, thank God for young sexist men who think that a woman old enough to be their mother's mother can't shoot pool. If you add that attitude to a bunch of beer, you have a stupid kid just waiting to be stripped of his cash. Ordinarily, playing pool for money means playing for 2 to 5 bucks  a game. But, young stupid dudes think that a 20 dollar a game wager is a good idea so when he made the offer, I was only too pleased to be backed up by a nice older gentleman who realized that a set of tits doesn't automatically make one a poor pool shooter.

I let the guy keep the first 40 that I won so he doubled his money. He split it with me so I had another 20 to bet when the stupid young dude continued to think that he could beat me.

Important hint when playing pool for 20 bucks a game...if you lose 9 games in a row, do NOT try to get your money back by saying, "Double or nothing!"

So, I don't have enough money to stay at the Marriott, but I was able to get a room without cockroaches for a week.

:)

Well, ain't this a bitch...

...I woke up with a sore throat yesterday and I thought it was just the start of a cold with a cough. Today, the headache, body aches, fever and the extreme sore throat were kicking in as I listened to the news. They were reporting a "rampant flu" that seems to be going around. I had every single one of the symptoms. (I didn't mention the fatigue, I just assumed that was from my new meds.)

I'd rather have 2 broken legs than a flu. Pain above the neck is the worst...the sore throat and headache are kicking my ass. This is so bad that it would be worth the trip to Montana to cough in my ex's face. But, once I did that, I'd be stuck in a state that doesn't really do anything for me so I guess I'll just let him off the hook this time.

If one more person tells me this is from being outside while it was cold and raining, I'll blow viri straight at them. You don't get sick from being wet and cold, you get sick from a micro-organism. I don't know who gave this flu to me but if anyone in Florida irritates me, I'll stand my ground and cough at them.

Before I got sick, I had a good day that I want to tell you about but right now I have to go to an appointment so I'll have to save it for later.

For now, just know that I'm safe...contagious...but safe.

Lord, I hate cockroaches...

...but last night I met 4. By the time I got to where I was going, the place was closed so I had to take my last 30 bucks and rent a hideous room in the hood. The vermin came in the form of two big ones and two little ones and those little bastards made me keep the light on all night in a room with no heat. I would've thought that the cockroaches could find a better place to hang...but NOOOOO...they liked the nasty little place that I just left.

Right now I'm at a place that lets you use their computer, phone and laundry facilities. They also have some strong ass coffee that I'm sucking down right now. I can't hang here too long because there are other people waiting to use the computer.

I'm giving this chutzpah thing of mine a little more chance to see if something works out well for me and if I can't, I only have one other place to go and no one wants that. It's all good, I'm a big girl and I have faith in me...even if no one else does.

I suppose I knew it wouldn't be easy...

...but I didn't think it would be this hard. I called the women's shelter where I had been staying and it turns out that I can't go back. Apparently, I am no longer in a "crisis" so unless I go back to my abuser and wait for a new 911 incident and further contusions, I no longer qualify for the emergency housing upon which I had been counting. On top of that, I have 72 hours in which I need to pick up my stuff or they'll get rid of it.

I have no way to get around and I certainly have no way to pick up my stuff and no place to put it. The easy thing to do would be to go back to my abuser's place and stay there but I won't do that. So, I'm about to pick up the 2 little bags I have and along with the clothes on my back, I am about to start walking into a new life. I have no clue what to do or where to go but my plan is to put one foot in front of the other and hope for something good to happen.

They tell me that if I help myself, good things will happen. Stay tuned, I'm curious to check out that concept. That's all I have and it's my first step. The next step will take me away from this computer so I have to take it now.

Good thoughts are hereby requested.

There's no delicate way to put this...

...but my dog just farted. Jeez, I hate that. I thought that all the nasty farting left with Vex. Oh well, at least I KNOW the dog doesn’t have enough sense to go into the restroom for such things. There has always been a farting man in my life. When I was a little girl, my grandfather, a very successful businessman, would read the paper in his recliner at night and literally lift his leg and fart with no shame or “Excuse Me.” Of course, when I got a little older, my brothers got a thrill out of farting. I left home and got married so I immediately had a farter of my own. Then, without missing a beat, I married again and had another farter. I swear to God, I had him convinced that woman just don’t fart. Next, I was single for a few years but I was working as a nurse so I saw a lot of stuff much worse than farts. Then, I met the fartmaster. (My spellchecker REALLY didn’t like that one.) When my oldest son attained a certain age, he developed a facsination with farting that he pretty much still has. He laughs so hard at his own farts, but you can truly annoy him by farting back at him.When he and Vex where both living with me, it was one great big fart-a-rama. A few years ago, I was in New York and I had this great beef sandwich with peppers...three kinds. I went into the restroom and noticed what a hideous bouquet that sandwich had summoned. I smiled. I began developing my stratagem.It was so marvelously brilliant and the timing couldn’t have been better. They were both in the living room watching television. I went back into the living room and sat down as though all was right with the world. Serenely secure in my evil scheme, I withheld the pressure that was my vengeance for the years of anguish to which I had been subjected by the fartmaster and his little partner in crime. I smiled cunningly as I remembered the silence that preceeded the appalling stench. I knew that there would be no forewarning for my victims. I waited until just the right moment and unleashed what was the most foul, repugnant, revolting “silent but deadly” that I had ever had the misfortune of suffering. And then I sat back and watched the consequences of my reprisal ensue. It was breathtaking...literally.When the effects of my opus first touched their noses, they immediately glanced at each other. Then, they inhaled again. Oh, it was magnificent. I laughed so hard that I instantaneously gave myself away. They both actually got up off of their chairs. The looks on their faces were identical and said the same thing, “How can I leave the presence of this gruesome entity?” Their eyes went back and forth as though they were looking for an exit. You would have thought that they were a couple of mice in the presence of a lion. Such a sense of contentment, I have never felt. I assure you, that one fart made up for the years of olfactory assaults that these two yahoos had released upon me. I have tried, in vain, to duplicate it but haven’t found the proper combination of weapons with which to do so.OK, enough fart talk, the dog just farted again. I guess I asked for that one. Well, I have to clean my kitchen so I can mess it up again by making dinner.






Late Christmas afternoon I tried to kill myself. It wasn't a spur of the moment type thing, I had been thinking about it for quite some time...I just gave it until Christmas to see if ANYTHING would get any better. It didn't so I tried (really hard) to commit suicide when my allotted time had come. It wasn't a cry for attention, I never mentioned it to anyone and even the doctors referred to it  as a "sincere attempt". I didn't do anything easy like eat my Xanax except for the one I took to make the whole process less stressful. I swallowed a bottle of heart pills along with a bottle of my blood pressure medicine. The only role the Xanax played was to help me fall asleep so that I could drift off and never wake up.
As you've probably surmised, once I entered the hospital, I wasn't allowed to exit. After a couple days they decided that I no longer required acute medical attention so they sent me to a place that I shall refer to as the Cuckoo's Nest. The nice people at the Cuckoo's Nest were as hesitant to allow me to walk away as were the nice people at the hospital. Of course, the Cuckoo's Nest was somewhat more confining than the acute care hospital...down to the barbed wire and window fencing. I appreciate the need for such prohibitive measures but I would have stayed regardless. When a person Baker Acts one, the wise thing to do is to abide by all rules that the people in charge require of one. Nevertheless, the claustrophobia was maddening for me. I kept my cool by distracting myself from the visible restraints.

I  arrived at the Cuckoo's Nest quite irritated, disgusted and angry that I had was still amongst the living. I thought to myself, "Shit, I should have been cremated by now." I was in no mood to adhere to stupid rules, especially when I was already locked up...if I disobeyed a rule did I really REALLY have to stay? When I awoke after my first night there, I was already developing Plan two. Plan two consisted of a gun, one bullet and an open mouth. Later on in the day I met with the doctor who offered to change all of my meds. I did NOT expect it to do any good but as I told the doc, "I'll give you and your drugs one shot."

Long story short, the new cocktail of anti-depressants worked swiftly and effectively. I was shocked, stunned and pleased. Much to my surprise, I felt better than I've felt in a very long time. I had long ago resigned myself to spending the rest of my life, no matter how long or short, in painful depression. I'm still amazed at how well I feel. Once the meds began to work, I began to see the humor that was all around me and I began to take notes...for all of you.

The first chuckle came when a man said to me, "It's one thing to commit suicide, but these people are just plain nuts." Next, as I sat  in the dining room, I noticed a man pacing near me. I didn't really pay any attention to him, I just noticed him. Then, without warning, the dude took a header into the garbage chute. Some staff grabbed him by the feet to pull his skinny ass back into the dining room but his head was in the trash and he was too far down the chute so they ran to the kitchen to catch him as he crawled out of the garbage can with peas in one ear and instant mashed potatoes in the other. Now, that was amusing, to be sure. But, the truly ridiculous thing is that the following morning, I was called to the nurses station as I was sitting in the common area writing so I asked Garbage Chute dude to watch my stuff. Yes I did. And then, I was shocked when he took the freshly sharpened pencil that I had been writing with. When pushed, he admitted to his crime and pulled the pencil out of his pocket and returned it to me. I don't know what he planned on doing with it but he also made a shank out of a toothbrush given to him by the staff.

I wake relatively early as do the long term patients. At 5 AM, it was pretty much just me, the staff and a few long timers. One morning one of them had his hand behind him, fanning away his own farts. I appreciated the visual warning although I could have gone all day NOT knowing who was farting and when they were doing it.

Next, at one morning med call, I was behind a male patient and as he stood at the window taking his meds from the male nurse I heard the male nurse make the following statement (with glee) to the dude in front of me: "Your tongue looks really good today!" When my turn came to get my meds, I had to bite my tongue rather harshly to avoid saying any of the numerous smart ass comments that were popping into my head one right after the other.

There was another young man who was brought in because after a fight, his girlfriend called the cops and said that he threatened to blow his head off with any one of his guns and he had quite a few. (I spoke with him at length and I absolutely believe him that he never said that.) But the ironic part of his story is that on Monday morning, the man wasn't allowed to shave himself because he was deemed too dangerous to handle a razor blade. But, by Monday afternoon he had been discharged and he went straight from the Cuckoo's Nest to the police department to pick up all of his guns. The cops didn't give him back his ammo but one of them told him that, "Wal-Mart sells hollow points, you could just go there and get more."

I have SO much more to tell you about my flight through the Cuckoo's Nest, but I'm hungry and my shoulders hurt from sitting at this computer so long. Before I go I had to say one thing...I KNOW that what I did was selfish and stupid so please don't try to enlighten me further regarding those two facts.

See ya soon!

When you're in the throes of a deep, deep depression...

...and I chose the word "throes" quite thoughtfully, purposefully and economically (verbally speaking), it is precisely the word that describes the level of depression that I was experiencing...you sort of lose your perspective. I don't know why, I can't explain it and I don't even want to, just take my word for it...I totally lost my perspective.

Because of that phenomenon, I missed a few clues that should have told me that I had more support than I thought I had. I think the problem was that I wasn't getting the support I needed from the sources upon which I had depended and counted. Because of that, I missed the support being offered from others who do care about me. I haven't been online much lately (I'll explain that later) but when I signed on today I saw that after I had made some comments on Facebook, quite a few people direct messaged me their phone numbers. Since I was seeking support from elsewhere, I didn't even notice, appreciate or acknowledge the support being offered to me. The simple act of sending me the their numbers was actually an offer of friendship, assistance and comfort. It may sound silly and selfish (perhaps it is) but those offerings totally went over my head.

To the people who sent me numbers, emailed me or otherwise made attempts to buttress my psyche, thank you. I'm sorry that I didn't call but, as I said, my perspective has been rather askew as of late. I'll be in touch soon. Right now I'm going to kick back for a bit then I'll be spilling my guts about something. I hope to be able to do it tonight but if not, I'll do it tomorrow. I have to be somewhere at 9 AM but if I don't get to it tonight, I'll make the next post a top priority because it is rather important.

:):):)




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