Old Lady

A little more than a year ago, I was having some trouble with some of the people over there at CBS. Now, that's been my favorite of the three networks since I'm a little girl when Daddy and I used to watch the Ed Sullivan program and Jack Benny, too. I said some things I didn't mean, but after I had a glass of some of the rosato that I keep around for when the preacher comes over, I called the local affiliate and had some choice words for the young man on the other end. Turns out there was a bit of a scheduling mix-up, and corporate headquarters decided to move my show to a new night, but I called the bridge club, and we moved things around a bit, and pretty soon life was back to just about as normal as it can be. I also sent off a letter to New York City expressing my disappointment with the new scheduling choices, but they calmed me down a bit when they sent a kind letter and a hat that Ed liked to wear when he sat out on the porch.

Ed died, just about four months ago now. Happened in the night, peaceful, just like he would've wanted to go. Well, truth be told, he always said that when he went out, he wanted to go out with a whole gunboat full of Japs, but that was just the whiskey and the memories talking. Sometimes late at night, he and Jack Daniels would rondayvoo and he'd say things he didn't mean about some of the things he saw in Korea.

It's been different for me since his passing. I moved out to by where Sharon lives, and she was able to find me a little place with a sundeck and not too much noise maybe five minutes drive from her house. It's smaller than I'm used to, but what with the housing bubble I was able to collect a handsome price on my house. I'm not much comfortable talking about these matters, but I'll say that Ed built that house with his own two hands for three thousand dollars and a lot of sweat, and I sold it for enough to keep me warm for the rest of my days and to leave a little bit for Hudson's college fund, too. So I can't complain much about that. The day that I moved, Ricky Sanchez came by with a balloon and a slice of cake and said I'd be missed around the neighborhood, and I thanked him as best I could but I didn't let him into my late husband's house, and I popped the balloon and threw that cake away. There used to be some cats that would come around at night, and I liked to put a saucer of milk out, but I hadn't seen the cats for a week, and here comes Ricky with a strange-looking cake. I'm not accusing him of anything, you understand. If his people eat cat-cake, that's their own business as long as they keep it south of San Diego. But not having seen him make the cake, I thought it was best to be careful.

I get to see Sharon and her husband more often, after the move. It's good to spend time with Hudson, even if I disapprove of the name, and I get to spoil him now as much as I always wanted to. Whenever I see him, I like to give him a dollar or two and tell him to go buy one of his movie-games. He likes to play the X-Station, and he even let me try it once, but it was like trying to read the Chinese signs they're starting to put up around now. I couldn't tell left from right, and there were too many buttons, and I didn't know what to do anyway. After he goes to bed, I try to tell Sharon that they should call him by his middle name--which his middle name is named after Ed--since it's much more solid, and respectful to his elders, and isn't quite so gay sounding, but she just asks me not to bring it up anymore, since his name's his name. Hudson. I just don't know.

So, life's pretty much the same. Grocery store around here's a little nicer, but a little more expensive. Guess I can't complain. They always have the whipped cream I like, so, well, life is good.

This last weekend, I was looking forward to watching the Golden Globe awards, just so I could see my guys finally take home that Best in Show award, and what in the sweet fuck? What the fuck is 30 Rock, and why the fuck is everybody on stage a Black or a fucking British? I'm here to watch Two and Half Men win the fucking awards it deserves. Who the fuck is Zach Braff and where the fuck is Charlie Sheen? Charlie Sheen could act circles around that Jew. And what the fuck is Alec Baldwin, that troop-hating piece of a bastard, doing getting a best acting award? After the things he said about our President? I will go to Hollywood with a pair of scissors in my left hand, a fire-poker in my right, and Ed's cowboy spurs a-janglin' on my boots and I will make people listen to me. Two and a Half Men is the best motherfucking show on television. I wouldn't watch Ugly Betty or Grey's Anatomy with Hillary Clinton's commie eyes. This is not a fucking joke. I've killed people for less. Ed didn't die in his sleep, I choked him when he wouldn't change the channel when it was time for Two and a Half Men. I even stopped choking him for a second just so's I could change the channel so I wouldn't miss anything, and then I went back to the task at hand. I don't give a fuck if it's the goddamn championship. I killed a group of stray cats just for mewing during one of the best jokes. Oh, I get it. The Golden Fucking Globes thinks they're too good for Two and Half Men. You sleep with one eye open tonight, you Hollywood Foreign Fuckers Association. I've got a ticket on the Greyhound bus, leaving at 0600 hours. Quick reminder: they don't screen baggage for firearms on the bus, you sons of whores.

My bus arrives on Tuesday afternoon. Expect to see me Tuesday night.