happy 50, barb

behind the velvet rope

Well, as I've said before...we laughed, we cried and now we need dialysis. Our golden fete was one to behold. Laughter and cheer were in abundance at our 4th Annual Oscars in the Ozarks with just a tiny speck of bitterness thrown in. Hey, a girl can't be nice all of the time. Especially when she's turning another year older this weekend. And Oscar-less, mind you. I don't feel the need to publish the number that I will be waking up to..suffice to say- it ain't pretty. I have made it clear in all of my mid-fortiness, that I would like a birthday bedside breakfast of 2 eggs scrambled, a crispy strip of turkey bacon, dry rye toast, a cold mimosa, a red rose and a shot of Botox. If I'm lucky, I may get the nosh...but the rest, who knows? You can't expect much from two dwarves under the age of five and an old, tired daddy who has a closing shift tonight.

But getting back to our festivities last Sunday, dah-lings...The gold dust was strewn top to bottom all over our humble abode and we had a very nice time. An old highschool pal filled my goozle up with Goose and Mama was tucked in like a helmet-haired sausage, all cozy, in her Johnny Cash black for the evening. And this year, we movie-loving hillbillies had the great gift of welcoming a brand spanking new, shiny, j'adorable little Oscar into our midst...two month old Baby E. I could have just put him on a chain and hung him around my neck, he was so gosh darn cute.

My opinion, not that it matters-

Hugh did a decent job (just a little too metro for this girl though).

Beyonce/Baz number. Awful with a capitol A.

Sean Penn was fab and seeing him win for a beyond fine-tuned performance made me blissful (and his wife, Ms. Wright, is twice the age of all the young starlets and twice as beautiful!)

Kate looked very old movie star, from head to classy toe. Word up to her stylist. And the whistling Pappy thing...just terrific! (although in a perfect world, Ms. Leo would have carried home the golden man).

I dropped off into a Goosian slumber with T. in my arms and missed Boyle's Slumdog win. Thank goodness, for You Tube! It helps us old lushes..er, I mean, ladies out from time to time.

My Trivia answers are posted on my Oscar google page .


Th-th-that's it, folks. The golden boy has come and gone for another year and it's curtains for Oscars in the Ozarks- Four. Due to the effects of a third martini, my camera was not clicked on the proper setting, so all my indoor shots bit the gold dust, as it were. I was very bummed, but besides hiring a pro, what's a washed-up actress to do? If you are so inclined, feel free to view the hazy, golden, blurry mess below.

No, not me. The photographs.

ampas cuties

golden gab

Well, I'm trying not to be too bitter this evening as I slave over scrubbing my toilets while Anne Hathaway's having pecan crusted halibut. Nope, there's no time for what ifs and why nots as it has been an amazing season for Oscar this year, friends! Mama has been in heaven with all the crying and carrying on. May I just say that Melissa Leo was brilliant in Frozen River and should win? Man, oh, man. I will italicize the should part because the voters won't let her have it. Such a shame, too. Oh, well, she got to strut her stuff tonight on the Independent Spirit Awards. I love that show...tables full of artistos, booze, normal looking mugs, dirty language and for the night...small films reign as king! Some guy from Austin won with a budget of 500 grand (on his MasterCard). Ya gotta love it! Anyhoo, Sean Penn simply must pull it off tomorrow and carry the golden man away by his little bald head or the world just isn't right. He was amazing as Harvey Milk. It was my fave picture of the year, folks. I thought Slumdog Millionaire was really terrific but Milk's screenplay (written by a guy that looks about 17) was sharp, perfectly structured and as lean and mean as Rocky used to be before he got into a dead-end marriage with Adrian and turned old and chunky! Gus shot a good one all the way around. The Reader, I thought was very good. It is always a pleasure to see the incomparable Lena Olin...both beautiful as a craftsman and on the outside as well. Her scene with Mr. Fiennes was lovely and the film's story, very moving. Kate's brown contacts distracted me though and the age make-up didn't work. I have a problem with the old-age/actor thing. It is generally not very convincing; the exception being Benjamin Button though...more about that later.

I liked all the flicks this year..except I didn't get a chance to catch Frost/Nixon..but am looking forward to seeing what appears to be Langella's evil twin as the biggest creep in showbiz and politics..ole Dick! He won the Tony for it and I can see why! Oh, yeah..and how lucky does an actor (Michael Sheen) get when he not only happens to look like Tony Blair (he was fab in The Queen, great flick..btw) and David Frost? In not one but two Oscar nom'd flicks! Good grief. Some thespians have all the luck. Danny Boyle's Slumdog was really good but difficult for this mama to watch. The children were lovely and heartbreaking in it and that girl was absolutely gorgeous. My hubby and I agree that she is the only one that rivals ole Angie in the looks department.

Oh...I could just blog on and on for an ice age, people...Benjamin Button was a nice film, I thought..very Gump-ish and the special effects nowadays..Jeesh. Can ya believe it? I was stunned at how seamless it was done. As I said before, I am very picky when it comes to make-up. Don't even get me going on Pitt's 20 year old self. Listen, if I had the dough, I'd find who it was (he, she or p.c.) that can youth-ify a mug like that and I would lay down that green to strut that young me all over this town! It reminded me of what he looked like in Thelma and Louise..his break-out role way back when. But even without the tugs and computer tweeks, in his-off-the-red-carpet, daily life w/ his 12 kids...he still looks mighty good. Yep, he's Mama's age..a contemporary..but what makes the crows feet and lines look good on the mid-forty guys and not so much on the gals? Aw, hell, one of life's great ironies, I guess. Like I said, I could just ramble away about more films but I'll attempt to close my yapper and get busy putting our par-tay together for tomorrow and turning my living room into Trader Vics. (And we all know that no Oscar year would be the same if you didn't have the really scary movies. Not Friday the 13th...Last Chance Harvey. That frightens the bejesus right outta me, kids. And all I saw was the trailer! Whoever thought Emma and Dustin go together, should be fired immediately and sent back to McDonalds to scorch up some fries).

Yep, from Jenkins' introspective beauty to Heath's ferocity..well, this ole drama queen got her money's worth this year! I'm going to be blubbering like a newborn baby when Ledger's peeps go up on that stage to accept. He will win and I'll be damn happy about it. And while I'm pretending to be Siskel....he absolutely, unequivocally, should have won for Brokeback. End of story. His Ennis was a quiet storm that kept me riveted from beginning to end. The Dark Knight performance was also outstanding...giving us a new and improved Joker like never before. It is an ultimate shame to lose all these kids...so talented and with the world by the tail. I just don't get it. But after losing a brother to addiction, I know how insidious it can be. Very sad...he gifted the screen only for a short while and I thank him for that. Sometimes the demons are just too tough to wrangle. Sleep well, Heath...tonight your star will shine.

the reader, 2008

What we feel isn't important..it's utterly unimportant. The only question is what we do. If people like you don't learn from what happened to people like me, then what the hell is the point of anything?

a retrospective

Thanks, local pals, for making my golden day so much fun through the years. It wouldn't have been the same without ya! Here's clinking a glass to our 4Th Annual Oscars in the Ozarks coming up this Sunday!

balderdash blockbusters

Now that Joachin's gone off the deep end and Ryan Seacrest may very well be taking over the world..Hollywood is becoming a scary place, ladies and germs! Maybe it's time we little people take the reins. Mama is definately not a sports fan but this..now this is something I can play!

Fantasy Oscar!

a texas rose

origin of the feces

Well, Valentines Day was heating up to be a fine one. Not in the sex dept. as my husband works all holidays, but when it came to sugar and scandal. it was fab. On my right side were a hot cup of joe and a box of Ferrero Rocher. On my left- the highly anticipated annual February Hollywood edition, Oscar loving Vanity Fair, of course. Hey, when you're a mom in the Ozarks and can't zip your jeans, it's the little things in life that can make you absolutely blissful. And blissful, I was...all cushed up in my soft, fluffy robe, elastic free jammie bottoms, size XL. Yep, I was headed toward a delicious morning. Then noon came, the fantasy ended, hubby took off to work and the kids began bouncing off the walls. I had to think of something quick. So one hour later, we were poolside..indoor poolside, of course. I thought it advantageous for the girls to have some time in the water. in keeping up with their swimming skills for all of the summer hell..er, I mean summer fun that we'll be having before too long. Besides, rug rats have a right to enjoy Heart Day, too, ya know. They completely possess my ole ticker, so it was only fitting the rest of the day would belong to them.

Everything was going pretty good as I kicked back in the chair watching them perform their splashy games and....oh, yeah, Mama is NOT about to get in a swimsuit. No way, Jose. I simply can not go there. I figure that Hillary Duff will most likely win an Academy Award before I ever have the guts to let any of it hang out again. Sadly, I think those days are over. Unless, Big Daddy's bonus check next month can cover about ten grand worth of body sculpting. Yes, even though this was a retirement community pool with no one under the age of 70, a gal's gotta have a little self respect...so I chose to stay fully engulfed in my sweats, cap and henley. As you're reading this, I am sure it is becoming quite apparent that although I've written and complained on this blog about the extra pounds I've been toting around for four months now....the sidewalks and barbells are still calling Mama's name...but she's letting it go straight to voicemail. I hope, eventually, that I'm inspired to do something as my Levi's are very close to stopping mid-thigh on the big tug...much less getting around to the zipping part of the nightmare.

I absolutely do not know what it is about my youngest, but for some odd reason when she gets in the water, her colon kicks into high gear. It's weird. Of course, coupled with her fascination of using every bathroom in town (much to my germ obsessed dismay) we found ourselves, like always, going through the whole spiel of shoes back on, toys put off to the side, towels around shoulders..etc. No sooner had we got back into the pool just minutes later, my little T. hollers from her flaming pink noodle, "Mom-mom, I have to poop again". Before I could swear under my breath and begin the whole song and dance one more time..all the while making a futile attempt to explain to W. why she can not stay alone in the pool while I busy myself with her sissy....T. was standing on the side, having pulled herself up from the ladder, both hands over her rump, grimacing. I quickly gathered the flip-flops, readying all to visit the john a second time when...wham. Or should I say splat. Actually, splat times three. Yep, my wee one couldn't hold back and there ya have it. Not one but three piles of it. Right there. Poolside. With approximately..I dunno..about 25 peeps watching it all unfold. Yes, I was having my Slumdog moment. Except minus the Oscar. Oy triple vey. I announced to the swimmers, that "We have a bio-hazard here, folks"...and then ran like a bat outta hell with the girls to the potty to suds, rinse and raid the joint of all cleaning supplies. I'm sure they probably thought I was going to get in my car and put the pedal to the metal (don't think it didn't occur to me)...but return, we did, in about five minutes or so, to three steaming piles of third-world glop and a stranger who looked a little like Bea Arthur, holding a jumbo can of spray disinfectant in her hand. "Accidents happen", I say. "Yes, they do", she said, shoving the can and about 28 paper towels in my arms.

So it was there I scrubbed. For roughly twenty minutes..on my hands and knees.. while jerking my head up and down like a turkey trying to keep an eye on my two mermaids while also performing an intricate nauseating tango with the swimming mats. They had recently replaced the squarely interwoven, easy to clean kind, with these super tiny slitted ones. A Q-tip and a jet-fueled, high powered spray blower would have been nice but I had to do it the old fashioned way- with elbow grease and utter humiliation. The good news was that everyone was more than happy to accommodate me by using the other ladder on the far side of the pool. T. begged me to go into the hot tub at the end of our Jaws nightmare, but 'uh-uh, no way', I said. 'Let's not bring any heat onto the subject'. Needless to say, I used a water glass for my wine that night after tucking my little love bugs into bed.

Yes, many say Valentines Day is just a commercialized tool for retailers. I say it is definitely all about love...no ifs, ands or butts about it.

i'd like to thank...

Oh, get over yourself. You know you want it. And you know you've done it. In the shower, in front of the bathroom mirror, on the sofa..drunk..after everyone's left your party. Oh, yeah. You dream of holding that bald dude in your hot, sweaty little palms.

And with this recession. Who wouldn't?

the knob

A woman visited a plastic surgeon who told her about a new procedure called 'The Knob,' where a small knob is placed at the top of the woman's head and could be turned to tighten up her skin and produce the effect of a brand new face-lift. Of course, the woman wanted 'The Knob.'

Over the next few years, the woman continued tightening the knob, and the effects were wonderful...she remained young looking and vibrant.

After about fifteen years, the woman returned to the surgeon with two problems.

"Dr., all this time, everything has been working just fine. I've had to turn the knob many times and I've always loved the results. But now I've developed two annoying problems: First, I have these terrible bags under my eyes and the knob won't get rid of them."

The doctor looked at her closely and said, "Those aren't bags, those are your breasts."

"Oh', she said, 'Well, I guess there's no point in asking about the goatee."

thespis and the golden curl

Well, we lost another goodie. I thought it fitting since February is the month o' the Oscar that I would mourn a little bit over the recent passing of one of our finest actors, James Whitmore. At least one of mine anyway. What a wonderful career..a life of 87 years that worked up until the very, very end. IMDb the dude if ya wanna see a nice resume. He inspired me when my young actor self was emerging and he still does while I sit in the hills of them thar Ozarks, nary a klieg in sight.

Speaking of sitting in the hills, they were ice-covered recently...for almost a week! I guess my pals up North would say, 'wa-wa cry me a river' but, oy, what slippery madness. W. was elated as she got four whole snow days, right at the same time her daddy was off for three...the lucky recipient of an extra day thrown in as the restaurant had to close up shop. Then to make it even cozier, you fold me and a certain corkscrew-topped three year old human/ferret into the mix, and before you know it, you have yourself a family drama that souffles itself right on into a too-close-for-comfort situation. Listen, I love my brood, (and I did get a chance to squeeze in an Oscar nom'd flick or two), but after several days of dwindling fridge contents, sore hip flexors that can't endure the biting cold, a DC 10 indoor decibel level and the booze running dry by day two...well, you get the idea. There's only so much Monopoly and Potato Buds a gal can take. This mama almost went a little hairy-'carrie' with her Piper Laurie self. And the picture couldn't get any more epic for two reasons- my T. cut a huge wad out of her fantastically beautiful, ethereal locks...just above her right ear, exclaiming, "I have short hair now, Mommy!" and then the only thing my pathetic ex-Californian maternal self could provide for my little caged bald bird to sled on, was a lid to one of my plastic storage bins holding 15 years of old tax returns. Yes, no matter how loud you squeal and how hard you try to pretzel yourself atop it, a square edge just doesn't cut it in the aerodynamics department.

But we made it. We survived. No one was murdered. And thanks to global warming, had a nice park day on Friday. In the '60's. Go figure. But getting back to what's really important- acting (at least for this month anyway). Mr. Whitmore....proud possessor of a globe, an Emmy, a Tony and a Academy Award nom, without an icicle among 'em. And he could still go into a restaurant, sit down, and have some nosh in peace. There aren't many peeps who have the luscious karma and career opportunities of pulling off a Truman, a Will Rogers and a Teddy Roosevelt and even get to play in the sandbox of my fave T.V. show ever- Twilight Zone! Once you throw in some Planet of the Apes, a cowboy-booted Western or two and four wives...you have yourself a pretty interesting life and career. And it's always nice, of course, when you can pad the will for your youngins with some Miracle Gro. I can't help but mist up just thinking about him in Shawshank Redemption. That movie slays me. I loved it and he was wonderful in it. I think that quiet, contemplative, sweet performance is what I will remember most about him. Rest well, Mr. W. Come back around and see us again soon. We need craftsman like you. As most days, it seems like we're lost in the plains of Hannah Montana.

They are never too young to train.

red, white and bruce

When it comes to digging on pig skin and tailgates, I didn't get a gene for either one. And, hell, I don't even like chicken wings but for twelve minutes last night, I couldn't have imagined spending my time any better. Somewhere between the apple pie and Chevrolet is a little guy from Jersey who's big sound helps to define our nation....a hodge podge of color, smarts and chutzpah with the pining of a broken heart and an empty wallet or two thrown in whether we like it or not. That's America, baby. Springsteen proves time and time again why he is The Boss. When you have the big phallic fireworks blowing up behind ya and you can twirl a guitar like that around your 59 year old hip on the downbeat..well, you are da man and there is just nothin' nobody can do about it. Someone who was born to run it, rock it and lift us when we need it most....he's the mascot we can all use right now and a great way to start off the new year with our new leader toward new beginnings. My kids aren't quite there yet, but that will change. Right now, if Belle isn't on the stage, twirling in yellow, then it just doesn't cut it. Besides, boys are stinky, Mom. For this old gal though, that mini-set was exactly what I wanted. And along with my Big Gulp of Merlot, just what I needed. Yessir, between that and our historic election, I may just pull myself out of this seasonal depression yet.