The Adam

I’ve told you of my father’s love of serial westerns and told you all about how I thought Miss Kitty was the most beautiful woman in the world when I was a little girl.

Another of my father’s favorites on TV was Bonanza. All women who were girls in the 70s remember Bonanza.

Every little girl was in love with Little Joe played by Michael Landon. He was just so young and cute. He gave Shaun Cassidy a run for his money back in those days. He had one thing on Shaun though…he rode a horse. My God…we women were attracted to cowboys well before the song “Save a Horse Ride a Cowboy” was ever written.

Then there was Hoss. No one had the hots for Hoss. He was big and bald and wore an 87 gallon hat. Always funny but far from attractive to an 8 year old. He was more like the embarrassing uncle who gave you piggy back rides and everyone made fun of...he was the epitome of an oaf.

My personal favorite was Adam. He was so gorgeous in those black pants, black shirt, and black hair. Ahhhh…in my little girl heart he was heaven in the form of a man. I would spend hours daydreaming that I was living on the Ponderosa with the Cartwrights and I was Adam’s special girl. I was 8 years old…he was probably in his 40s at the time (In fact, I know he was…I looked him up and he was born in 1928!!! This just gets sicker and sicker.) What was I thinking? I wasn’t thinking…I was in love…in love with Adam Cartwright. Not in a book-chicka-wow-wow sort of love. I was only 8 years old and this was back when 8 year olds were still innocent and naive.

I imagined that I was his was cowgirl girlfriend who helped him lasso cows or have gun fights with rustlers and whatever the hell else went on at the Ponderosa. In my mind, I ate dinners prepared by Hop Sing while I sat at the dinner table with Ben and the other boys discussing cattle branding and what-not. I laugh now just thinking about it. Good God…I had an over-the-top imagination!!!

Fast forward about 15 years and there was a show on TV about a doctor named Trapper John McIntyre (the character from MASH). I soon found out that the same actor that played the handsome and dashing cowboy Adam Cartwright played this decrepitly, old, bald-headed doctor. No way!!! Adam Cartwright had thick, lush hair the color of boot black. This guy was old and yucky and old and bald as a friggin’ egg and old.

Guess what else I found out just a couple years ago….just guess. The actor, Pernell Roberts, wore a toupee when he played Adam on Bonanza. When I learned that fact I screamed inside my head.

In that instant, my heart broke for the little 8 year old single gal that lived inside me because she found out that Adam Cartwright was a fucking imposter.

Chick out…

Oh, Archie....

You remember Archie, right? The poor guy who is batting .000 with the ladies?

If not, you might want to go back and refresh your memory because yesterday I was stuck at work late with a couple of the guys who went on the fateful trip to the Atlantic City strip club and they started reminiscing again. This time Archie wasn't around so they could divulge a little more about his antics at the club.

What they told me was too good not to share. One of them described him this way, while the other emhnatically nodded his head in agreement:

He was really angry looking. He was sitting at the bar and no strippers were paying attention to him. He was pounding his fist on the bar with an I-can’t-believe-this look on his face and looking back at us mouthing “really…really”.

He looked like a starving man who was sitting down to a buffet of…*thinking of the correct word*…shit! (At this point the guy starting acting out spreading shit on bread with an angry look on his face and said “I’m not happy but I’ll eat it because I’m starving!!”)

I’ve never heard such a perfect description of sheer frustration…a starving man sitting down to a shit buffet!! I love it!!!

I had to share it with my 3.5 followers because I thought it was so funny.

By the way...Archie is still womanless. Imagine that...

Chick out…

Gimme 228 steps...gimme 228 steps, mista...gimme 228 steps towards the door

I have a fairly new friend that was brought into the single gal “fold” a year or so ago. Willow works with this crazy lady named Gia. Gia is not a single gal…she is more of a single gal emeritus. She’s married with kids and just recently became a grandmother. A very young grandmother, I might add. I have to say that because she’s only a couple years older than me…not because I’m afraid I’ll offend her by telling the 3.5 people that follow this blog that she’s a “granny”. My point is that she’s not a “blue hair” who frequents the podiatrist to have her corns trimmed and eats every meal at a cafeteria. She’s YOUNG…just like me…

Okay now that we have that straight…

Somehow Gia and I get along well. I’m not sure how because we’re both alpha females who are anal retentive, control freaks. You would think after 5 minutes in the same room we would devolve into a mass of hysterical, hair pulling women but we don’t. I think it’s because Gia is more of an alpha, anal retentive, control freak than I could ever dream to be. I literally have to bow to her like she’s the queen of alpha, anal retentive, control freak women.

So Willow and Gia plan a trip to Baltimore to visit me this past summer. I had no idea what was in store. Normally, Willow and Talullah show up and we laze around like princesses for a few days and I pretty much tell them what we’re going to do. I’m an alpha…I’m anal retentive…I’m a control freak…they go with my flow.

When I heard that Gia had concocted a homemade travel guide I was brought to my knees. Finally, someone who would keep me on my toes!!!! She made a travel guide!! Who in the hell does that???? Gia does…

She researched the area through every reference she could find. She wrote everthing in a spiral notebook. She told me what she wanted to see. She was pulling things out of her ass that I had never even considered!

One thing she wanted to see was the Washington Monument in Baltimore. Yes, we do have a monument to our first president right here in the Mount Vernon area of Baltimore. A quiet picturesque area far from the madding crowd of barrel-of monkey tourists at the Inner Harbor. She knew everything about it. When it was started…when it was completed…how many steps to the top. By the way…there are 228 steps to the top. Know how I know? Well first of all, Gia told us. Then we went in and a very effervescently happy man working there told us again. Then...we...climbed...them.

Now 228 steps doesn’t sound too awfully bad but let me paint you a picture. It’s July in Baltimore. It was a fairly hot and humid day. We were climbing up a tall, skinny monument that has no air conditioning not windows. The steps are steep, short, and narrow. You have to walk single file because there’s only that much room. None of us was “in shape”. Pretty, huh????

We should have at least done some stretching, deep knee bends, or bong hits before we tackled those stairs. After about 50 steps I thought I would die. At around 100 steps we met someone coming back down. WTF?? There is no room to pass unless you become part of the wall. On top of that I was carrying a purse the size of China. What was I thinking? Three quarter of the way up I had decided that we were clinically insane. Why would we choose to do this? We were covered in sweat, breathing like a herd of antelope, and miserable. Finally, we reached the top!!!! Hallalulah!!!!! I cleared the sweat from my eyes, looked out the windows, rejoiced.

Then I realized….we had to go back down…228 steps. Fuck my life!!

We made it back down. The effervescently happy man heard us coming. He was cheering us on as we literally slithered down those last steps. He even gave us high fives as we finished up. You would have thought we had just finished the Boston Marathon.

We had climbed to the top of the Washington Monument and back down and lived to tell about it. We were the queens of the monument. We wanted to lay in the floor and drown in our own sweat.

So if you’re ever in Baltimore, stop by the Washington Monument. Give it a long, hard look and take a couple pictures. Then jump in your car and drive the hell away before you get rooked into climbing it. Believe me…my booty still screams in pain every time it sees a set of steps. I'm convinced my ass is suffering from post traumatic stress disorder.

Chick out…

Miss Kitty

Mine was an old fashioned family. My father brought home the bacon and my mother fried it up in a pan. My mother watched her “stories” during the day and my father chose what we watched at night. The man sure did love his westerns and one of his favorite shows was ….*drum roll please*…Gunsmoke.

I’ll always remember the people of Dodge City. Marshal Matt Dillon…the man who put the fear of God in any criminal that came through town. He kicked asses and took names later. He also had a nose that seemed to grow every single week. By the time the series was over he was all nose and six shooters!!

Then there was Festus…the gimpy, dumbass that was the butt of every joke. Somehow he became deputy. I’m not sure how he achieved that. I mean I’m fairly certain that Dodge City wasn’t an equal opportunity employer. Maybe everyone else in town was afraid of Dillon’s humongous nose to be a deputy??

And finally there was Miss Kitty. Oh my God…I thought she was the most lovely woman in the world. Her clothes were absolutely beautiful and her makeup rivaled modern day makeup artists such as Bobbi Brown. I would just stare at her every week behind the bar of that saloon thinking to myself…I wish my mother was that beautiful. My mother was and still is beautiful but Miss Kitty was just resplendent.

Imagine my horror years later when I discovered that Miss Kitty was…….a……whore!!!!! W-T-F??? She was a whore?? Worse that that, I wanted my mother to look like a whore??? How ridiculous. Here I thought Miss Kitty was just a beautiful and popular barmaid. I had no idea that Matt Dillon, every other man in town, and every man coming through town was snaking her upstairs during commercial breaks.

My childhood memories was shattered...forever.

Chick out…

A quick thought...

The only cold beverage in my fridge is a bottle of my favorite white wine. What in the world does that say about me???

Chick out...