Parade of Lights 2008

Tonight, Jeff and I went to the annual Fort Worth Parade of Lights. This parade, a tradition for almost 30 years, is always held the day after Thanksgiving and culminates in the lighting of the big Christmas Tree downtown. We had planned to meet my friend Francie, who had flown in from Georgia for Thanksgiving, but I wasn't able to reach her via cellphone to let her know where we were in the huge crowd. Anyway, we stayed for the whole parade, and it was nice to be downtown. Once we found a parking space (we paid $10 for it) and walked a short distance to the parade route, we had a pretty good view of what was going on. One thing the parade did teach me is that I can seriously suck as a digital photographer. Very few of the photos actually turned out okay. My camera has face recognition technology, so I got a lot of clear images of the backs of people's heads and blurry pictures of floats. Night time shots aren't my specialty either, so obviously I have some practicing to do.

After the parade, Jeff and I headed uptown towards the Stockyards to El Rancho Grande for some seriously good Mexican food. It was just the ticket after all the turkey and dressing from yesterday. I may be reaching for the Tagamet now, but I enjoyed my beef enchiladas with chili con carne!

Anyway, here's what I was able to capture. I hope you enjoy them!

Jeff at the parade. I got him to smile for a nice picture for once. :)

This was a cool float from the school of Performing Arts, I think. Performing Arts was in the name somewhere -- that's all I remember.

The float from Wells Fargo. I think my credit card bill helped fund it.

I don't remember whose float this was, but the picture turned out halfway decently, so I kept it.

This float was from a series of classic cars all decked out in lights.

Finally, the big Christmas Tree was lit about 10 minutes ahead of schedule. This tree is in Sundance Square on Main Street and will remain there through Christmas. Drivers will need to find an alternate route.

Moving Towards the Sunset

Last night, Jeff and I went on an adventure. We planned to meet my dear friend Cristy, her husband Daniel, their three kids, Cristy's four nieces, Cristy's mother Mary, and Mary's husband Jessie out at their new country place in Sunset, Texas. Between Mary's directions and Google Maps, we managed to get there in the dark! Sunset is about 67 miles northwest of Lewisville and is a tiny, tiny little country town with dirt roads and very little in the way of nighttime illumination. We did spend more of our time on dirt roads than I had anticipated, and our black car is almost white now. Fortunately, it's supposed to rain tomorrow, so maybe some of the dirt will get washed away. But we did make it with a carload of pizza and soda and had a delightful evening. We laughed, reminisced, told stories on people we knew, and had a ton of fun.

When we got there, the first thing we noticed was the silence. You didn't hear a thing except the drone of a water pump and the occasional cow rustling through the grass. Our host came out to greet us with a flashlight so we could safely make it to the house. It was that dark! When we left around 2:00 AM, Cristy and Daniel walked us back out with the flashlight. We marveled at the stars. I couldn't remember when I had last seen so many stars. Yet over the hill, I could see the flashing lights of a cellular telephone tower. So, technology still wasn't all that far away. Daniel made some howling noises and got an entire pack of coyotes barking. They sounded pretty close by, but at least the sound wasn't getting any nearer to us.

We got home around 3:30 AM and staggered into bed. And then we got up in time to go have Thanksgiving lunch at my aunt and uncle's house.

All Right!

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Weekend Update

Alas, another week is upon us.

We had nationwide protests this weekend in cities all over the United States (and in other parts of the world) protesting the passage of Proposition 8 in California. We did not make it to the Dallas rally as I had hoped. I got my times mixed up and before I knew it, we had completely missed it. For the next protest, I'll be more on the ball. The Dallas turnout had about 1,000 people show up, which was one of the largest LGBT rallies since back in the 1980s. I'll be on the lookout for the next protest; I've told Jeff I want to go to the next one. I hope our parents aren't surprised to see us on the news. :) I'll keep my ears to the ground about the next one. Jeff said that there was an informal gathering on campus that loudly debated gay marriage. A well-dressed woman walked by and said, "Well, of course gay marriage didn't pass. It goes against tradition." A young guy with multiple piercings looked at her and said, "Well, if we're going for traditions, shouldn't you be at home instead of being on a college campus?" I don't think her response was recorded for posterity.

The weather is lovely now, and Jeff and I actually ventured out of the house to have a nice lunch on Saturday and run some errands. We had company Saturday night. The assistant manager (who helped us get this fabulous apartment with a lake view) is moving to Chicago, so we had her over for a final home-cooked meal. We'll miss Amanda terribly and we wish her the best of luck in the Windy City.

School is a bit trying right now. We're trying to do a group project, but it's splitting into factions, making a difficult project even more difficult. I'm one of the project managers and my main responsibility seems to involve running interference between our groups and the instructor, so I've sent off a desperate email for clarification and direction. My other class is relatively trouble-free; I just have to keep up with weekly postings and finish my final paper by Dec 12.

I've got to work out tomorrow. I'm already losing some muscle tone in my arms, and I had just gotten some of it back! We have a pretty decent little gym here at the apartment. I've used it several times and I'm always by myself, so it's nice and peaceful. Last time, I was really butch and watched the football game while I pumped some iron. So, after work, it's gym time for me. And it's good to go there to work out, since I can focus on it. When I work out at home, I get distracted too easily.

Next week is Thanksgiving, thank goodness, and with that comes some much, much, much needed time off from work. I will be off on Tuesday and Wednesday, and the corporate office is closed on Friday, so I'll have a nice six-day weekend. We will be seeing Cristy at some point over the holiday (we've tentatively agreed on Tuesday) and I may see Francie at the Friday night Parade of Lights in Fort Worth. Thanksgiving day, we will be at my aunt and uncle's house in River Oaks, stuffing ourselves silly.

And once we get back from Thanksgiving, we will have just two weeks left in the fall semester!

Fall Shots

Ah, fall! The weather has turned a bit crisp here in Texas this weekend, with highs in the very low 60s. I felt inspired to go out and capture these shots from our balcony. We live on something that is a cross between a lake and a pond, so I don't know what you would call that. A tarn? Anyway, we've had a noisy flock of geese land in our body of water and when we have the windows open, we hear them honking at each other and skimming across the water. No geese in these pics, unfortunately, but I'll get some soon.

Have a great day! :)

Going Slap Happy

Here's another story, from 2003. I hope you like it.

Going Slap Happy

Driving to work last week, I witnessed one of the most peculiar sights I had ever seen. I rarely drive more than 10 miles over the speed limit, and I slow it down a bit in my local community because our police officers hand out the speeding tickets left and right. I was driving on a residential road that was a 45-mph zone, so I was cruising around 52 when I noticed a silver Ford Mustang convertible in my rear-view mirror. She had quickly changed from a shiny blip in the distance to an angry aggressive driver right on my rear bumper. With an angry grimace, she abruptly switched lanes and passed me on the left, throwing me an angry look and the middle finger.

“What an asshole,” I thought, and returned to my driving.

However, when she made this abrupt lane change, she cut off a driver in a Lincoln Continental. He roared his V-8 engine to life and caught up with her fairly quickly. Since I had picked up some speed, I was fairly close to the driver of the Mustang and was startled to see the Lincoln Continental abruptly swerve in front of her, squeal on his brakes, and jump out of his car. I hit my brakes quickly too so I wouldn’t run into the car, and I wondered if I might need to stick around as a witness. The man looked to be in his early sixties and he was royally pissed. The girl tried to back up the car but she was sandwiched in, and she quickly put on an angry front.

“What the hell do you want, old man?”

His face red with anger, he stomped around to her door. As a point of note, I must tell you that the convertible top was down and she didn’t have time to raise it.

“You stupid bitch – you cut me off! What the hell is wrong with you?”

“Look, asshole, I’m in a hurry. Now get away from me!”

I knew this was about to get very ugly, so I reached for my cell phone. Privately, I wished he would really tell her off, since I really hate drivers who are dangerously aggressive and always in far too much of a hurry. No wonder our insurance rates are so high. I didn’t like the look of the situation brewing in front of me… but I was curious to see what would happen next. Fortunately, neither of them saw me at first. I eased down my window.

“I’m not going to take this from you!” And much to my startled surprise – not to mention that of the girl in the car – he drew back his hand and slapped her soundly on the left side of the face. Her blond head swiveled sharply to one side and she let out a sharp yelp. She then spun back around and started screaming at him.

“You bastard – I’m going to sue your ass! You can’t get away with this! See this – I’m calling the cops!”

He smiled at her.

“Oh, but yes. See this?” He held up a small card.

She looked at it and groaned. “Don’t tell me you have one of those. This is so unfair.”

“No one ever said that life is fair, Toots. Now hurry up and get the cops on the phone so I can cash in this card and we can both get on our way.”

“Do I have to stay?” She was plaintive now. “I really need to get going and I really don’t want a ticket.”

“Well…” His voice trailed off. He looked up for the first time and saw me.

“You there!” I thought he was going to slap me next, so I quickly rolled up the window. He rushed over to me.

“No, I’m not going to hit you. If you’re not in a hurry, I’d appreciate your staying. I take it you saw the whole thing.”

The girl took a chance and gunned her engine, leaving us in a cloud of dust. I rolled down my window.

“No problem – I was late a long time ago. Sorry to pry, but I had to see what was going to happen. What kind of card is that?”

He showed it to me. It was a small laminated card with the words, “YOU’VE EARNED A FREE SLAP” printed across the top. I had never seen one of these before nor heard of the program. I asked him for more details.

“I’m not sure how you get them. It’s for doing good deeds, I guess. I turned in a wallet at WalMart and I got it in the mail within a few days. It’s a new pilot program to see if they can curb the rudeness of society. At least, that’s what the letter said. Here – I have it in my wallet if you’d like to read it.” Eagerly, I took the wrinkled and creased piece of paper from his hand. Here’s what it said:

July 2, 2003

Mr. (name deleted to protect the innocent)
9999 Something
Anytown, TX 00000

Dear Mr. (name deleted):

Because of your good deed, the store manager at Wal-Mart
recommended you for the “Free Slap” program. This card
entitles you to one free slap. There are some rules:

• You may not slap anyone over 70 or younger than 12 years of age.
• You are only allowed one slap, so make it count. Severe damage may not be caused, so don’t slap too hard.
• You must administer the slap in public so witnesses can verify your actions.
• If police and/or security guards approach, you must surrender the card immediately.
• This card does not expire.
• The slapping can only take place within the city boundaries of (name deleted to protect the innocent).
• Violation of any of these rules will result in arrest, fines, and possible jail time.
• You must slap because of an injustice or rude treatment. You can’t just slap someone based on appearance, race, religion, sexual orientation, or build.

We hope you enjoy your “Free Slap” card and use it appropriately. This program is a new program instituted by the city of (name deleted to protect the innocent) to curb the general rudeness and inconsiderate nature of today’s society.

Happy slapping!

Warmest regards,

(Name deleted to protect the innocent)
WalMart SuperCenter
9999 Something
Anytown, TX 00000

Noticing that I was still holding my cellphone, I called the police and told them that I had witnessed a slap. Since I was kind enough to take time out of my day and help the city with this program, I was given the man’s “free slap” card. The officer took my personal information and notated it on a pad, along with the card’s number. I asked the officer if he had noticed a rise in courtesy and politeness, and he said that he had seen some isolated spots where things were getting “a little nicer,” but everyone else was still pretty crabby.

I drove on to work with my “Free Slap” card and my letter tucked into my wallet. I told my boss because I had to explain why I was late, and she was astonished that such a program existed. I took a lot of ribbing about it at our staff meeting. “Don’t disagree with Scott – he’ll slap you and it’s legal.”

In a way, I felt empowered. I’m usually a very nice person and I usually let the typical rudeness of society roll off my back. However, I now felt confident enough to deal with any rude store clerk or person-at-large because I could now do something about it. My partner was dumbfounded and convinced that I would never use it. He said as much to our friends.

Well, now the gauntlet had been thrown. Sometime in the near future, someone was going to get a good slap.

Over the next few days, I saw more than my usual share of slapping. It almost looked like a Three Stooges reunion. I don’t know where these cards came from, but people were slapping each other left and right. I was in the grocery store one night and the checker accidentally entered the wrong code for zucchini for the sweet elderly woman in front of me. Her face suddenly darkened as she spit out, “That’s not the correct price!” Before I could do anything, she reached up and smacked the poor guy, tossed her card at the security guard who immediately approached, and huffed out of the store. The guy was still stunned when he asked me for my Rewards card. He had to smile as he said that he got to use his “Free Slap” card the day before when a customer got irate because he wouldn’t triple her coupons. “Sometimes, people overreact, but I’m glad she was older and didn’t hit me too hard.” I went through the Taco Bell drive-through recently with a close friend and after we got home to eat, she discovered they had forgotten her Burrito Supreme. She herded us all back into the car and drove us back to Taco Bell toot sweet. She marched up to the drive-through window and the clerk leaned out just in time to get a hearty smack. My friend got her Burrito Supreme right away. An off-duty police officer took care of the slap card details.

Naturally, this program made some headlines. I read endless editorials and heard newscasters issuing reports where slappings had taken place, and the mayor was considering stopping the program. (Rumor had it that he had been slapped at an out-of-control City Council meeting.) Our fair city had gotten the reputation of a wild, lawless town where citizens just slapped each other willy-nilly. However, they also noted that everyone seemed more relaxed. Stress was at an all-time low. I guess you could say that overall reaction to the program was mixed. It seemed like Tough Love for the masses. Teenagers were no longer talking back to their parents in stores, because they never knew who might be packing a “Free Slap” card. Service was always prompt and delivered with a smile. Drivers became more courteous. More people said "Please" and "Thank you." Common courtesy had begun to return to our world.

With all of the unfavorable publicity, I was beginning to think that I would miss out on my chance to slap if the program was canceled. The card was burning a hole in my pocket and my right hand itched. Sure, I received occasionally rude treatment, but nothing that seemed, in my mind, worthy of a slap.

Finally, one afternoon, I had my chance. My partner and I were waiting in a busy line at Sears and the clerk was stranded by herself. The line of customers wound out of the department and the poor girl at the cash register was doing her best to be polite, professional, and efficient. We had been waiting a while and I was surprised to see that no one else approached. The entire store seemed to get swamped at once and the store was obviously not staffed for it. We really had no choice but to wait patiently.

The woman in front of me had her head held high in self-righteous indignation and was starting to mutter under her breath. As a point of note, she appeared to be around 50 years old. She finally turned to me and said, “Can you believe this?” I stared at her blankly and she turned back around in a huff. When she got to the counter, she slammed her hand down on the counter and began giving the poor girl hell for poor service. The girl was apologetic, but the woman wasn’t having any of it.

“I can’t believe this! Why have you taken so long to get to me?”

“Ma’am, I’m very sorry, but we had a big rush and everyone else went to lunch. I’ll help you as soon as I can.” She handed her customer his receipt and gave him a smile as he quickly left.

“This is an outrage. I demand to speak to someone about this NOW.”

“Ma’am, I’m sorry, but the Manager is out right now. I’ll be glad to give you his card if you want to call –"

“No, I want to talk to someone now. If he’s not here, I guess I’ll have to talk to you about it.”

To my surprise, I heard someone’s icy voice call out.

“Madam, I’m sure you heard what she said. Why don’t you just take the card and finish your business so we can go on with ours?” That icy voice was mine, and my partner looked at me in amazement.

She spun around on her heel, her large polyester print dress billowing around her. She stumbled slightly and I thought she was about to fall.

“Why don’t you shut up? I’m going to say what I have to say. Mind your own business!” Small droplets of spittle flew out of her infuriated magenta lips.

Again, my voice called out, strong and clear, and icier than a blue northern wind.

“Why don’t you leave her alone? She’s obviously doing her best and there’s no one else to help her."

“That’s not my problem.”

“It’s our problem, since we’ve all been waiting in line, and you're not making it any easier by making an unpleasant scene.”

Other voices in the crowd began to murmur. I heard an occasional “Yeah, shut the hell up, lady!”
The woman looked at me with narrowed eyes and noticed my partner standing close to me. He had moved closer during the confrontation in case I needed backup. Her face turned from pink to a light shade of purple.

“Ah-ha! I should have known you were one of those no-good fag…" But she didn’t get to finish what I knew she was about to say. Before I knew what had happened, my right hand flew up and struck her hard on her left cheek. The crowd gasped. She did stumble that time. Eagerly, I reached into my wallet and grabbed my “Free Slap” card while the woman sputtered with shock and disbelief while some of the gathering crowd applauded. People started pulling out their free slap cards and I was a bit concerned there would be a riot.

In the meantime, the hapless slappee was now out of control. She had gone from purple to an angry color not known on any color wheel. “I can’t believe you would strike me! Security! Security! You’re in so much trouble, missy.” She was spitting for real now. A security guard stepped out of the gathering crowd and approached us. The woman’s face fell as she got a better look at the card while I handed it over to the guard.

The woman got a bit hysterical, and the security guard escorted her away. I hoped the slap would ultimately do her good. Since we had moved up closer in line, I got a better look at our cashier. It was the same girl who had driven the Silver Mustang last week. She gave us a big smile and gave us tremendous service. We even got some kind of a discount on our purchase.

It’s funny how life can turn on itself, isn’t it?

Diary of a Queen

***Beware, gentle readers -- long post. I decided to post a story that I wrote several years ago. A friend asked me to write her a story for Christmas one year, and this is what happened. I've always been fascinated with Queen Elizabeth II. Any serious student of royalty will find that I have played a bit loose with some of the facts, but this is a work of fiction, after all. Besides, it's my blog and I'll do what I want! :-)***

For reasons that are too complex to explain at this juncture, I woke up one morning to find myself inhabiting the body and mind (the very essence) of her royal majesty, Queen Elizabeth II. Since I was also essentially myself, I decided to preserve my adventures for posterity, even though no one in their right mind would ever believe my story. I had a grand time as the Queen – no wonder she’s been hanging on to that crown for so long. I would too, if I were in her Prada shoes.

Sunday, December 14 – 7:00 AM, London Time

You won’t believe this. I woke up this morning and immediately felt strange. Well, that you can possibly believe, but this was stranger than I’ve ever felt or thought about being. The bed where I was sleeping was plusher and more luxurious than I was accustomed to, and my partner was no longer sleeping beside me. My first thought was that he had already left for work. A cold, grey morning light filtered through the curtains. My vision was much more blurred than usual, so I decided to roll over and get my glasses so I could see what time it was. This was no easy task, because the bed was huge. I had to roll over at least three or four times before I reached the other side. The glasses weren’t mine at all, but round, plastic-framed things that looked distinctly feminine (and to be quite honest, a bit dowdy). The room was enormous and very richly decorated. Where the hell was I? I looked down at myself. I was a bit plumper than usual. My hands looked a bit old, too. Oh God… what has happened? The bed was high, so I looked down and found a small plush stepstool. I finally reached the carpet and my feet immediately sank in. The room was a bit cold, so I slipped my feet into some pink houseshoes and found a robe thoughtfully laid out on the corner of the bed. Wherever I was, someone was taking really good care of me. I saw a dressing table and a mirror, so I sat down, took a quick look and my mouth fell open in shock. I saw an older woman, probably in her 70s who looked very familiar. My hair was steel grey and sticking up all over the place. As I slowly closed my mouth, I recognized myself. I was Liz herself… better known as Queen Elizabeth II, the titular monarch of England. I had been astrally promoted from a queen to The Queen. “Oh, damn…” I said, but I stopped. The words didn’t come out in my somewhat-Southern accent, but in a round, melodious English accent. I sat there for a few moments with my chin in my hands, not knowing what to do next, when there was a discreet knock at the door. A maid stepped into the room. “Good morning, your Majesty.” She curtsied demurely. I said “Oh, hello…”

Sunday, December 14 – 9:00 AM

What a delight – I’ve just had the most delicious English breakfast, with a full pot of tea. My maid’s name is Janet (fortunately, she introduced herself, since she’s new), and surprisingly, I felt comfortable issuing regal commands in my lovely royal voice. I found myself using the vowel sound “o” as much as possible. At all times, I was gracious and kind. I smiled benevolently at Janet and thanked her for her help when she took the tea dishes away. After tea, I stepped into a hot shower and hit a high note during “Row, Row, Row Your Boat” that would make Ella envious. Honestly, I think I put a small crack in the ceiling plaster. My singing echoed nicely through the royal chambers. I felt a bit guilty looking at myself in the shower, so I kept my eyes averted as I showered with fragrant soap that I would try to find when I was back in the States.

Sunday, December 14 – 1:30 PM

I haven’t had a chance to write until now. The morning has been so busy. Who knew that a Queen was so busy on a Sunday morning? (In America, that’s when most queens are resting after a busy Saturday night, or at least meeting for a lovely brunch around 11:00-ish.) After my shower, I chose a lovely Sunday morning ensemble and tried to make myself look as nice as possible. I’m not used to applying makeup in my personal life, so I’m afraid I looked more like Her Royal Majesty, Betty the Clown. I do want to get a rinse in my hair – that blueish gray look will just have to go. I’ll have to practice with the makeup this evening if I can get a little peace. I was escorted to a church service that was a bit long, but theatrical and ultimately fascinating. I remembered that I had a husband in this new role, so I asked where Philip was. The equerry informed me that HRH would not be joining us this morning, and he would join me for dinner. I was asked if I wanted to go back home (to me, I guess, Buckingham Palace is home) and have lunch or if I wanted to visit with Princess Anne for a late afternoon tea. I decided to go home and had them send my regrets to Annie.

Sunday, December 14 – 4:30 PM

Finally, a chance to rest a bit. I came back, expecting a quiet royal lunch, but instead I had to lunch with some dignitaries. I couldn’t remember their names to save my life, so I just smiled at them. I did recognize Mr. Blair, so I paid a bit more attention to him and his wife Cherie. In fact, I escorted them out and they were a bit puzzled by my hearty good manners and friendliness. When he left, he said, “Goodbye, your Majesty.” Letting the informality of the moment overtake me, I said to him, “Oh, Tony, just call me Queenie” and trilled a high, royal laugh. He looked up in shock, laughed nervously, and bowed. Cherie curtsied and gave me a nervous smile. Lord, I thought, they’ll probably tell the media that I’ve been drinking or something. After they left, I announced that I would be taking a short nap. Since I had no idea where my chambers were, I clapped my hands and crisply asked for someone to escort me. An official looking person agreed, a person who seemed to know my schedule (pronounced shedule, as I came to find out). This person reminded me that I had a dinner appointment with Prince Philip at 8:00. I will now retire for a lovely nap and leave myself plenty of time to practice with the makeup. I caught a glance in the mirror and my makeup had disintegrated. From the looks of it, the Queen had had a hard day indeed and I’m glad there were no photographers present.

Sunday, December 14, 10:00 PM

What a lovely full-course dinner, even though I was unpleasantly surprised to find the beef a bit tough. After all, it wasn’t as though I had ordered it from the Waffle House; this is Buckingham Palace for goodness’ sake. The rest of the meal more than compensated, though.

Philip looked a bit more decrepit than I remembered him in photos, but he still had that twinkle in his eye. I fancy that he was a bit surprised to find me so youthful-looking. My makeup was expertly applied and my hair was set just right. I had chosen a lovely gown that was perhaps a bit more revealing than Liz would normally wear, but I wanted to have some fun. Phil and I chatted amiably and I realized that we were strangers to each other. I didn’t know what to say to him, so I kept it to standard small-talk. He didn’t let on that anything was amiss, so perhaps they don’t talk much. We finished dinner with a lovely dessert, and I then decided to retire. He kissed my cheek and we went our separate ways, since he had some reading to do. After several dry runs, I’ve finally learned the way to my chambers. I’m so tired, I’m going to go to bed as soon as I take my makeup off and finish some light reading.

Monday, December 15, 9:00 AM

I awoke to find myself still inhabiting the body of Queen Elizabeth, so I was excited to think about what adventures I had to face today. I swung my feet out of bed and began my day with another full English breakfast and a hot shower. My assistant arrived and she had my schedule for the week. I remember offhandedly asking her if I had some time to fit in some time with a hairdresser. She said that she would contact Maxine immediately. Fortunately, today is a light day, with a visit to a local school to present an award and then a luncheon with a prominent woman’s group. I would have to make a short speech, but it has been prepared for me. Now… what to wear?

Monday, December 15, 3:00 PM

I apologize for the gap in time, but I just arrived back at the Palace. You know, that little shack that I keep in London?  The school presentation was lovely in a small town just outside of the city, and I’m glad I was the Queen because everyone else seemed to know the perfect protocol. I just had to smile and be gracious. And look stunning, I might add – I found a designer ensemble further back in the closet and it turned out to be perfect. The colors were most flattering. My assistant smiled her approval and said Maxine would be ready for me at 4:00. Anyway, the school presentation -- a young boy was receiving a scholastic award and his eyes shined with tears when I presented it to him. Touched, I took his hand and posed for a picture with him. His parents (I assume that’s who they were) were crying quietly. I told him (my voice never fails to thrill me, but I tried to lower the register a bit so I wouldn’t peel the paint off the ceiling) how proud I was of him and to continue working hard, since he still had a long way to go. Then, amidst a large round of applause, I was whisked away back to London for the luncheon. We were taken to a large hall and my assistant (her name, apparently, is Shirley) handed me my speech. She said that she would introduce me and sit in the crowd. Amidst applause, I took the dais with confidence and read my speech as though it were the greatest piece of oratorical fire that had ever been written. The ladies seemed a bit stunned at my gusto, but laughed at my small jokes. Afterwards, I posed for some photos and was whisked back to the Palace. Oops, there’s Shirley. I’d better get ready for Maxine. I needed to get out of my designer wardrobe and into something simple. But, what does the Queen wear for her hairdresser?

Monday, December 15, 5:30 PM

What began like a nightmare ultimately turned out to be a triumph. I couldn’t make Maxine or Shirley listen to me and I thought I was going to have to throw a royal tantrum. I wanted to soften my look a bit and tone down the steel-gray helmet that the Queen seemed destined to wear. Finally, we settled on a slight trim that took out some of the domed look and a darker rinse to soften the color. The effect was miraculous – I looked at least 10 years younger. I thanked them both and gave Maxine an impulsive hug. She was thrilled and moved to tears. I’ve been making everyone cry today. Ah, the majesty of my position.

Monday, December 15, 9:00 PM

A small, quiet dinner at the Palace seemed made to order after our slightly busy day today. I didn’t think I had the option of taking my dinner upstairs in my chambers (I’d never call this a room), but that’s exactly what they did. Sort of like royal room service, in a way. I plan to take a long hot bath afterwards and slip beneath the covers early.

Tuesday, December 16, 10:30 AM

Apparently, I’m still the Queen, so I’m soldiering on. Shirley came by early this morning after I had finished my breakfast, and said that I had some meetings to attend after lunch. One was to discuss my annual Christmas broadcast to my loyal subjects. Another was to plan my Christmas vacation. I was a bit mystified – did I have to get approval to take a vacation? After all, I am the Queen. But I guess I just can’t log on to Travelocity and point and click to make plane reservations, can I? I’m sure I have a royal something for transport and I have to announce it to the world, which means I won’t have a bit of privacy. (That word sounds lovely in proper English, with a short i sound.) Finally, I have a meeting with one of the members of Parliament. That should be a short meeting, Shirley said. It certainly will be, since I don’t know what in the world we will talk about.

Tuesday, December 16, 3:30 PM

The script for my Christmas broadcast was sent to my chambers, and frankly, I was disappointed. It was far too dry for my tastes. I’d like to make it a bit more informal, so I’ll touch it up here and there. Perhaps I could wind it up with “Merry Christmas, from your ever-loving Liz and Phil.” That might be too informal. The vacation plans were decided quickly enough – I told them that I would love to go to Scotland. My staff asked me if I wanted to go to Balmoral and, not knowing where that is and not wanting to look like a stupid Queen, I said, “Of course.” I then gave a small regal wave that left them all a bit mystified. All the arrangements will be made. If I’m still here by Saturday, I’ll be up to my royal bottom in royal family members for the better part of a fortnight. I just hope someone gets there before we do and lights the furnace, but I’m sure there is someone to take care of that.

Tuesday, December 16, 6:00 PM

I’m not quite sure why, but I’m feeling a bit cranky this evening. I may throw a royal tantrum and see where that gets me. Do people think that heads will roll? They may ship me off to a royal home for the bewildered, so I’d better behave myself. I’m going to a state dinner soon and it will be lovely to show off my new look, but I’d rather stay home. Maybe I’m getting a bit homesick. I miss my partner and my family, but I can’t really call them up without causing a lot of global confusion. Ah, there’s a knock at the door and I’m not quite finished dressing.

Tuesday, December 16, 10:45 PM

Good heavens, I’m exhausted. If I had to smile one more time, I think my royal face would have cracked. Even though I looked stunning and radiated a regal elegance that kept the cameras clicking, I secretly wanted to be at home. Phil escorted me and at one point, held my hand. He caught me looking a bit down and he said “Cheer up, sausage.” I begged his royal pardon and asked him to repeat it. He said “Cheer up, sausage.” Thinking this was some sort of bizarre ritual between the Queen and her consort, I told him to “Lighten up, bratwurst.” He laughed heartily, and then I trilled a high Queen-like laugh that cracked a nearby champagne flute, and the cameras clicked again. Apparently, we don’t laugh much in public. We must not be amused very often. The dinner went on and on; I listened to more speeches, and yet I didn’t really seem to listen, so I can’t tell you what they were about. It’s like I used to do in church growing up. As soon as the pastor would open his mouth, I would start mentally reviewing a book I had recently read, or a favorite movie I had watched on television. By the time the credits rolled or the heroine died, he asked us to pray and we all knew the service was almost over. Anyway, there was no closing prayer for this interminable dinner, but we left shortly after dessert was served and eaten. I met some people, but I’m so terrible with names that I couldn’t tell you who they were. George someone-or-other, and his wife Laura (I think that was her name – she looked nice, but I’m afraid I outshone her). He bored me to tears during his speech and I didn’t want to talk to him anymore, but he was very insistent. Trying to maintain my regal poise was difficult, but I smiled and thanked him for coming to England when I finally managed to wriggle away. Again, I got that blank look… they must think the Queen is dotty.

After we got back to the Palace, Phil kissed me on the cheek and I went upstairs to get ready for bed. I’m having some delicious decaf tea as I write these notes. To be honest, even though I’m living in the lap of luxury, I’d rather be home and be myself again. We’ll see what tomorrow brings.

Wednesday, December 17, 10:30 AM

A sharp beeping sound awoke me at 6:00 this morning. I found myself in a very familiar bed, with a very familiar person snoring beside me. The alarm kept going and going, and finally I jumped out of bed to silence it. I couldn’t make out much of the room in the semi-darkness, so I flipped on the overhead light. My partner squinted up at me, irritated that I had blinded him, and said okay, okay, he was getting up. I was back home! I got up, made some breakfast, and kissed him goodbye. He seemed very glad to see me, as though he knew I had been gone for a few days.

At work, I started thinking… did the Queen inhabit my body for the past few days? What did she think of our small pied-a-terre in Texas? Was she disappointed that there weren’t any servants? I couldn’t wait to ask Jeff when he came home.

Wednesday, December 17, 9:30 PM

Apparently, that’s exactly what happened. Jeff was a bit surprised when “I” spoke of servants and vacations in various parts of the world. He was even more surprised when I came home with matching handbags to match every outfit. I hope it wasn’t too disconcerting for him – I’m sure that Liz tried his patience at times. I asked him if I had been to work the past few days and he said, of course you have, but they didn’t quite know what to make of you. My boss felt that I was ill and sent me home early. He said that he had cursed on Monday and I got quite upset with him, and that I didn’t always answer when he called me by name. He really must think I’ve been in a Xanax-induced trance or something. I told him that everything was back to normal now.

I hope that her Majesty had a good time knowing how the common folk live, because I had a great time as a royal presence. I just hope that I didn’t do any long-term damage to the Queen. I hope she likes her new hair-do. She didn’t do much for mine, I’ll tell you that.

President Obama!

I had some grandiose plans to work on homework, but who was I kidding? I wanted to stay glued to the Internet (since we don't have TV) to see the returns. It's all over now but the shouting. I can't predict what kind of President that Barack Obama will be, but I am more optimistic now than I have been in a very long time. I'm touched that not only was I able to witness this historic election take place, but so many African-Americans who may have thought they would never see an African-American taking the oath of office. I'm kicking myself for missing Obama's victory speech, but I did get to read the transcript and it was very moving. I'll be scouring the Internet tomorrow to get a full clip of it. John McCain's concession speech was very dignified and gracious.

But this goes far beyond the issue of race. I may be going out on a limb, but I see Barack Obama as slightly similar to JFK. He's a dashing, charismatic man coming in after eight years of Republican majorities, and he's five years older than JFK was when he took office. Obama will be facing much worse struggles than JFK faced. The economy is wobbly, to say the least, we have two wars going on, and there are so many other issues that if I were to write them out, I'd be too depressed to go to sleep. He'll have to step in and immediately wade into the shark tank, I think, and try to get the country back on its feet.

The evening isn't all good news. Gay marriage bans made it into the constitutions of Arizona, Florida, and Arkansas, and I just saw that the LA Times is reporting that with 46% of the polls reporting, Proposition 8 looks like it might very well pass in California. The Prop 8 fight in California turned especially vicious, since the 'Yes for Prop 8' group spent almost $80 million (!!!) in this campaign. The Mormons invested $22 million dollars alone. I just don't get it. How does gay marriage threaten the so-called sanctity of traditional marriage? Aren't divorce rates well over 50%? I'm disappointed, but I'm not defeated. Crazy amendments can be written into Constitutions, but they can be taken out or replaced with something else. It has happened before and it can happen again. It may be 20 or 30 years from now, but I think it will ultimately happen and people will wonder what all the fuss was about. It may be my antidepressants talking, but I think there is still reason to be optimistic about this issue. And on a purely monetary note... how much good could have been done with that $80 million dollars?

In a Hairspray kind of mood...

I loved the original John Waters movie "Hairspray" and I loved the recent version of the stage musical. However, I've found some delightful clips from one of the Broadway productions. These clips don't star Harvey Fierstein as Edna. I believe it's Blake Hammond playing Edna, and I think the clips are a scream. The top clip is "You're Timeless to Me", which is Edna and Wilbur's love song, and the bottom one is the more famous "You Can't Stop the Beat."

Better late than never!

OK, here's the only picture I could find of me when I dressed up as a nun several years ago. Here's Sister Mary Scott, ready to rid the world of evil! This was probably taken about 6 years ago.

I hope everyone had a safe and happy Halloween!