Beware Of Those Who Know Jack Shit

Well, Bristol Palin and Levi Johnston are engaged and Mel Gibson DESERVES A BLOW JOB! and the woman with the world's biggest breast implants is having health problems.

Oh my.

The illegal immigrants are being persecuted and the oil is still vomiting up from the Gulf.
It is so much easier to think about Mel Gibson and his poor, ignored pee-pee than it is to think about human rights and the desecration of the Constitution, much less the desecration of our planet.

I actually saw an advertisement for Scientology on the TV. It was very professional (of course! it is the Official Religion of Hollywood, isn't it?) and reassured all of us watching it that Scientology can explain ourselves to us, AND life. All of it.

Now that right there tells me it's bullshit.

The Mormons advertise on TV too. I guess Jesus would advertise on TV if he could have. I don't know.

I don't know shit.

In fact, when I was talking to May this morning, I told her that the name of my blog should be, "I Don't Know Shit." I think I've said that before but I don't know for sure. Because- hey- I DON'T SHIT!" Or even Jack Shit. I wonder if you can look him up in the phone book. I should give him a call. See if he wants to go to lunch. Then I could say that I DO know Jack Shit. And what a relief that would be.

Here's what I do know:
It's hot and getting hotter. It's humid and getting more so. The guinea hens from next door are walking around rattling their rusty cluck. My dogs become less and less house-trained every day.

This is a ridiculous post.
That I know for sure.

I should be writing about the grandparents of my two oldest kids and how Hank and May won the lottery when their parents got divorced and remarried because the new spouses had some of the very best parents in the world and took my babies in as grandchildren without any hesitation and were some of the most loving, positive influences in their lives. Mr. Moon's parents and my ex's wife's parents. So very different. One grandpa never made it past eighth grade, one went to West Point but let me tell you something- one was as smart as the other and both had so much to teach and to share and they both loved my kids like crazy. The grandmothers were just as different but were both loving and nurturing and the kind of women you'd want as a grandmother. And the last one died yesterday. Grandma Dot, and Hank and May are both so sad.
I should write about that but I'm just too hot already and my brain is boiling and my banana spiders keep disappearing and I'm waiting on a phone call to determine what my day is going to look like and Pottery Barn has over Five HUNDRED new items with which to update my house! and I am not going to buy one damn one of them.
My house needs updating like I need false eyelashes.
I do need a new mattress pad though and I believe I will go buy one.

And I wish Bristol and Levi all the best and plenty of happiness in their marriage (should they actually make it down an aisle) and Mel Gibson, as I said in a comment on a post about him yesterday, should join a brotherhood of monks which practices silence AND celibacy, and about the rest? I have no idea.

Bless my heart, I don't know shit.

But I know that a good woman and mother and grandmother died yesterday and I extend my love and sympathy to her children, her grandchildren and to all who loved her and I know I am grateful for the love she gave my children and that sort of love is what it's all about and I would wish it for all of us, both to receive and to give because that, I think, is what it's all about.