The Divine Sarah!

Lambs, there have been some terrible things said about Sarah Palin recently, and I simply won't stand by and not come to her defense! What things? Just things. Wicked things. Well, for example, I heard Mable Van Deusen snickering that Sarah buys her scarves at K-Mart. It simply isn't true! I happen to know that she hires a pilot, and hunts overpopulated herds of fashion models from a helicopter. If she didn't, they would only end up having to wear last year's fashions anyway. Then she has Glenn Beck scurry around on the ground, collecting all the dropped scarves, except the orange ones, of course. Who looks good in orange?

What's that, Lambs? What happens to Glenn Beck after that? Why, Sarah has him crouch near the front door, so that people can use his head to scrape the mud off their boots! Alaska has no paved roads, you know.

I honestly do not understand why some people make such a big deal that it took Sarah a little while to formulate a reading list. Who has time to read? I have the help do that. Right now they're reading "Moby Dick" for me. Apparently it's about a great white shark who gets caught by an old Cuban fisherman who turns out to really be Sandra Bullock, and they have a big Hollywood wedding and then she gets tired of him always whining about having to be in the water and so she divorces him and does five more movies playing that same character she always plays, and she's rich and he ends up on a plate at a trendy Miami restaurant. It's wonderful!

Now listen to this, Darlings! Sarah is coming here to sign her new book! I can't wait to buy it and have her sign it! What's that, Lambs? Read it? Well, I don't think it is really intended for reading. That would be like eating the plastic fruit from that bowl that's been on Bitsy Henderson's dining room table since 1979. But I want to meet this great woman and find out if she really keeps Geraldo Rivera on a dog leash at her side like they say that she does! Bitsy says that she plies him with Milk Bones and makes him take paternity tests every time her daughter is within fifty feet. I'm betting it's true!

Oh, look at the time. I've got to go, I've got a tea party to go to! Pardon me, Darlings? Oh no, it has nothing to do with taxes. What ever gave you that idea? Do you really think that I would be caught dead waving a homemade sign and shouting inanities in a public place? That's just the sort of thing Sarah Palin wants to put a stop to! Oh yes! I know, because when RRRRamon went to the soccer game waving a sign that said something in Venezaguan, she nearly had him deported! I had to run down there and have sex wit--I meant, reason with the customs agent in order to get poor RRRRRRRamon released! Nonetheless, I firmly believe that Sarah Palin is the greatest American woman since Benazir Bhutto! Oh hush, Darlings, it becomes so tiring when you disagree and nit pick. I'm just trying to give you an example to look up to! Besides Avril Lavigne, I mean.

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The War On Thanksgiving

Lambs, you are coming for Thanksgiving dinner this year, aren't you? Judith is already going mad with all the details. Do you know, she actually suggested that we roast a pig, rather than having a turkey! Can you imagine? I'm not having a cookout. And I'm not about to eat anything that still has its head, even if it does have a Faberge egg stuffed in its mouth. Lambs, do you remember the furs that Mother used to wear, with the little minks biting their own tails? Those furs of hers told a story, all about the family dating back to 1665! They were like wampum! Of course I gave them all to the homeless, in one of my saintly moods.

But about Thanksgiving. I was so upset with Judith for even suggesting anything other than turkey. I'm telling you, Lambs, it's all part of the liberal-inspired War On Thanksgiving! They want to come in, take our guns away, train them on us, and force us to eat hummus. I saw it on Bill O'Reilly.

At my house, Darlings of mine, everything will be traditional! Do you know the story of the first Thanksgiving? It's wonderful! A group of European aristocrats came over on the Concord. No Germans, of course. Don't tell Mabel. And no English. If the English had come, we'd be having steak and kidney pies and pints of dark beer for dinner. I'm not eating anything that's on people's organ donor cards. And anyway, do you know what dark beer does to kidneys? They end up like rotten walnuts. NOT elegant!

But I digress.

So these delightful people came over and landed at Logan and hired cars. Then they went out into the countryside to see the Native help. They were served the most droll little primitive dinner; corn, wild game, and the like. All of it served by muscular, nearly naked Native Americans. The women must have been on cloud nine! Oh yes. Gobble gobble indeed.

Then the Native help got Democrats elected, and were given casinos to run. Everything lost its rustic authenticity! But you see, Lambs, one lovely tradition survives from that pristine chapter of American history. Turkey! It's our national bird, you know. What's that, Darlings? Eagles? I don't think they play today. I think it's always our wonderful Lions! Pardon me? Well, I don't care whether they win! Any team that is stylish enough to wear Honolulu Blue uniforms, is elegant in my book!

So, come for dinner, won't you? It wouldn't be Thanksgiving without you! In fact, if the War On Thanksgiving goes any further, it will probably be Ramadan instead. And bring a dish! Oh no, not with anything on it...we'll use it for target practice out on the lawn! We'll have a little sharpshooting contest! The winner gets Sarah Palin's eyeglasses. It will be so much fun! See you on Thanksgiving, then. But Darlings...don't bring that terrible boy you've been dating, hmm? I don't care how many humanitarian awards he's won, he looks disheveled. I know! I'll have RRRRamon take Safe-T-Man out of the RRRRRRolls and I'll have the help set him in the seat next to yours! He's neat as a pin, and doesn't even eat! All right, now that that's settled, I've got to go hover, er, I meant help Judith with the preparations! See you on Thanksgiving!

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Dear Daphne, Hope Of Humanity, Pt. 2!

Lambs! I've been waiting until you got here to read the answer to yesterday's Dear Daphne letter from New Love In Chattanooga. Let's Find out what she says!

"Dear Daphne"

Dear New Love,

Ah, the giddy rush of new love! Many a woman has been caught in that sweet snare. But, you can't lead with your heart, darling. Put that silly thing away and think!

1. He's an artist. Wonderful! Scrape together a poet and a musician to go with him, and you might have enough for a Happy Meal. If you go dutch, that is.

2. You know it was last year's bag. I know it was last year's bag. But how does he know? Remember to think! A man/artist with an educated eye for accessories? Sounds too good to be truly heterosexual to me.

3. He tied you to a tree. And yet, you were able to take pen in hand (lovely penmanship, by the way) and write a letter to me. I see issues of competence. After all, if a man can't tie you securely to a tree, what can he do for you?

Darling, new love is like a snuggie. When you first step into its warm embrace, you feel completely enveloped in softness and comfort. It takes only a short time, however, to realize that your bare ass is hanging out in back. Think!

Best wishes!

Daphne

Oh Lambs, Daphne is even more brilliant than Sarah Palin, don't you agree? But, I can see the tennis club from here, and I must be on my way! God bless America! And tax shelters, and Revlon!

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Answers for "Dear Daphne" are written by M. Zen, head staff writer at Baby Puppy Productions. All other materials created by Barbara "Babs" St. Argent, the most elegant woman on the planet.

Dear Daphne, Hope of Humanity!

Darling Lambs of mine, it's a wonderful day today! My paperboy, who drives a beautiful Lamborghini, simply made my day! What's that, Lambs? Well yes, he does. In this neighborhood, everyone has worked hard to earn the privilege of being here! Pillow queens like Bitsy Henderson have to live on the cul de sac down the way. But when you snarf vicodin like popcorn, you're not at the top of your form, are you, Dears? Well of course you wouldn't know.

Anyway, my newspaper arrived, and in it was my favorite columnist ever, Dear Daphne! Well, no, she wasn't physically in it of course. You have to get the platinum subscription for that, and you know me, Lambs, always thrifty, always watching every penny. Why, wild horses couldn't make me waste money!

Have I introduced you to Olga, my new help? I hired her to keep a sharp watch to make sure that no one installs venetian blinds while I am off playing tennis. I was going to give her my sainted late husband's old elephant gun, but they say you should never arm the staff, and so I didn't.

Now where was I? Oh yes! Dear Daphne! Just listen to this letter she received!

Dear Daphne,

I am a single woman who has an ok job, my health is good, things are all right, I guess...but I can't help but wish I could meet that special someone! Well, I met a man while in line at the bank and we clicked immediately. He even let me go ahead of him. So gallant! Well, you can imagine how excited I was when I was headed to my car, and this very same (and very handsome!) man explained to me that his car had broken down and could I possibly give him a lift. I hesitated only a moment before telling him yes!

Well, he got in and we started out, and I'm telling you, Daphne, it was a good thing that we had completed our banking when we did, because as we drove by, alarms were going off and I could hear police sirens in the distance. Can you imagine? We could have been caught in the middle of a hold up!

Anyway, as I drove and we talked, it just felt to me as if we had known each other for years. Could it have been fate that brought us together? Was this love at last?

He was carrying a gym bag, so I know he works out. Daphne, I know that a person's body isn't everything, but it doesn't hurt if he's fit does it? Thought not! Then I noticed that his arms and hands were colored a bright red. I asked him what it was, and do you know what he said? You'll die. He's an artist! He said that he had gotten so wrapped up in his latest canvas, that he had completely forgotten to clean up before going to the bank. His smile was so shy and charming!

Just when I was about to suggest we have lunch together--would that have been too forward?--my new man grabbed the steering wheel and abruptly caused the car to crash into a tree near the State Forest. It may not be very modern of me, but I do love a man who can take charge, don't you? Before I knew it, he had taken me by the hand and we were off and into the woods.

I felt so lucky! He loves nature just as I do, and even though our little impromptu nature walk was a little faster-paced than I might have done usually, I like to consider myself to be someone who is open to new ways of doing things. And besides, he made it all seem so exciting and devilish!

So, you must be wondering where my question is, in all of this. Well, Daphne, I am writing this by moonlight, having worked out of the ropes he tied me to a tree with while the silly police called after him with bullhorns. They actually thought that my new guy had done something wrong. Did we jaywalk when we entered the park?

Daphne, my question is this: I am excited and thrilled that such a sensitive, creative (and buff!) man has taken such a strong interest in me that he feels he wants to secure our future together by restraining me; and yet a girl has to be careful these days, and I can't help having just the tiniest feeling of nervousness about it all. Everything happened so quickly! Daphne, am I just being foolish? Should I really have questioned him more when he went rooting through my purse, removed the money and credit cards, and then tossed it into the overgrowth? It was last year's bag. I like to think he wants more for me! What do you think?

New Love In Chattanooga

Oh Lambs, I have to run and ask my Brian Williams PEZ dispenser what he thinks, before I read Daphne's answer! This is so exciting!

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Infatuation

Lambs, I'm so amused. Fireblossom, my mousy little shadow over at Word Garden, has developed a schoolgirl crush. Oh, I know, she's been through all the usual suspects; Joan Jett, who last had a hit record during the great hair spray crisis of 1983, Gina Gershon, who appeared in the movies "Bound" and "Guinivere" as a lesbian and so Fireblossom thinks that people who aren't being paid to do so actually act that way, and even Marlene Dietrich, who put on a man's tuxedo and lit some woman's cigarette in a movie that was made before anybody was born. Plus, hello, there's the whole she's-dead part. So sad.

Well, now she spends her Monday nights sitting on that horrid bargain sofa of hers, shoveling microwave popcorn into her mouth (Judith, I'm sorry you had to read this) and swooning over CSI: Miami. Oh, you'll say, she must like Eric, the one who has someone step on his face the day before each episode is filmed, in order to get his lips to look like that. Eric, who seems to be conducting his own unauthorized investigation into the beds of every female co-worker who doesn't have a beaker smooshed down over her head 24 hours a day.

But no.

The one who makes Fireblossom forget all about that morning's broadcast of "Ellen" is Eva Larue, who plays the part of trace investigator Natalia Boa Vista. Fireblossom, honey, she's a "thespian", not a...well, you know. Lambs, can you imagine if this woman were really an investigator? Her interview would have gone something like this:

"What is your work history, Miss Larue?"

(leaning forward) "I was a model for Frederick's Of Hollywood."

"You're hired!"

Besides that, what better experience to equip her to do delicate and complicated work, with people's lives and freedom hanging in the balance, than that she appeared for years on the soap opera "All My Children"? Ohmygod, like obviously, this suspect is SO guilty!!!" No doubt, dear.

Poor Fireblossom. Lambs, we must try to understand her, falling sideways on the couch the way she does, gasping, "Natalia, you're soooooo perfect!" I once behaved this way myself, over a pair of Italian boots. But then I rushed out and bought something even more TDF later the same afternoon, and just got over it! I'm afraid it may not be so easy for our crushed-out little poetess. I haven't seen her this way since she saw Jordana Brewster in D.E.B.S. and was unable to function for a week. I had to use her for a doorstopper, she was useless beyond that.

Lambs, I'm so glad I prefer men! They're so easy, like big, hairy children! Oh, except for your sainted father of course. Whoever he was. Does it really matter? I'm here, Darlings! To guide your every move with tender concern! Now, about that depressing hair style...

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The Misfortunes of Others

Lambs. Mabel Van Deusen broke a heel while we were being shown to our table at Chez Andre. She lurched sideways into someone's romaine salad, and Andre's celebrated house dressing got all over the arm of her cashmere sweater.

The poor thing.

*titter*

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We Need To Talk...

Lambs. Won't you please tear yourselves away from "One Life To Live" or whatever it is that's so crucial and fascinating, and talk with me for a moment? Oh. I'm sorry. Talk "with" was just a nice euphemism I picked up. What I meant was, I'll do the talking. You take notes.

I've noticed that Objets D'art only has thirty followers. Well, Darlings, a little joke is fine, but thirty? Are you serious? Bitsy Henderson's blog has 350 followers and she writes exclusively about how to make little outfits for that cement goose she thinks you have perched on your front step. I have heads of state perched on mine, wearing formal wear that isn't rented, and I have thirty followers? Is this meant to be funny?

No no, Cherubs, don't speak yet. This is like one of those late night television ads for Sham Wow. Wait! There's more! Have you been to Mabel Van Deusen's blog? Oh, of course you haven't. Let me just open the French windows so that your expensively recontructed little noses can have room to grow, as you LIE LIKE RUGS. Mabel's blog is so very elegant. All she ever talks about is how hot she thinks Drago, from that old "Rocky" movie, is. Do you know how many entranced little souls follow Mabel's blog? Thirty-ONE. Imagine, if you can, how painful this is for me.

Oh but, Lambs, let's play Let's Pretend for a moment, just like I used to have the help do with you when you were younger. Let's Pretend that thirty followers is even enough for a small dinner party. I can have Judith prepare just enough food as can fit in the front closet. So there you are, my precious thirty. Um...I can't help but notice that there are only seven comments on my last post. This means that twenty-three of you have some explaining to do.

Welllllllll? I'm waiting.

You were all golfing in the Buick Open and got caught in an electrical storm? No lappy or iphone under that tree where you were cowering? Well, Lambs, they make kites and keys don't they? It seems to me that you could all have found a way, had you wanted to badly enough.

Or...the pool boy or the Molly Maid needed you to inspect their work, and you were in your Happy Place? How tawdry. I'm telling you, they would have understood, if you had just excused yourself for one teensy-weensy moment to come read Objets D'art. And anyway, you're paying them for their time, they should be willing to wait until Joel Osteen votes a straight Democratic ticket, if need be.

Darlings, where does this leave us, hmmm? Do I even have to say how disappointed I am? How an ungrateful child stings worse than a serpent's tooth? When the bible starts talking orthodonture, you know it's serious. I hope you'll try to do better next time. Oh, remember the silver service of Mother's that you like so well? I've been thinking of giving it to RRRRRamon's sister. Anyway, where were we? Oh yes! Hen's teeth, or serpent's claws or something. Well, I'm tired, Lambs of mine. Let's leave it here for now. But next time I come look, I want to see that number going up!

Oh dear. I sound like my sainted late husband! Sniff...give me a minute to compose myself...perhaps I should do what he did, in times like these. I know! I'll just buy Blogger and require everyone who uses it to follow Objets D'art! Oh, life is so simple, really! Who was it that said, "Money cannot buy happiness"? Where do they get this stuff? Of course it can!

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