Look For The Girl With The Sun In Her Eyes And She's Gone

Kimberly and I just got back from dropping Chloe and her parents at the airport. I don't know if I mentioned that she has quite an appetite. Actually, if she were an appliance, she would be a disposal.

She eats like she thinks Hitler is driving a tank up Cleveland Terrace looking for half Jewish children. And to boot, Chloe has taken a fancy to mince meat pies, a bakery item here chock full of goodness if consumed twice a day.

At the airport today, we had her try a sausage roll. Even though it was her first one, she proclaimed it to be more preferable than the meat pie. When she heard the call to board, there was a moment of panic. Then she stuffed the remains into her maw, stored them in the cheek pouches and waddled to the gate.

During her stay, I had my nose twisted and abused more than sinus surgery. Chasing her around, I crawled through obstacles more than a WWI dough boy. Somehow I was able to extend my record of not changing a diaper to 40 years and counting.

But I was excellent at detection.

As a consequence, I was made to clean up the kiddie pool after a mountainous shit was released therein. It looked like pureed meat pie and I don't know if it was really good for the garden or not.

When we got back to the house, we decided it would be a good idea to tidy up the old digs. 2 weeks with a baby in the home can put fingerprints on everything including the couch.

I got out the friendly cleaning products and micro fibre and went to it. The tools and elbow grease got the tiny footprints off the wood floors and the hand marks off the glass.

But this little girl left a much deeper impression on us than can be rubbed away with glass cleaner and towels.

Thanks to Brandon and Vanessa for dropping by and making our summer the sunniest yet.

I'm Getting Hungry, Peel Me A Grape

Hello there. Normally, my grandpa writes these posts. But since I am visiting this week, I insisted that I write a little something about myself. This is my first time working with a computer, but I am sure it will turn out fine. Popi is helping me download the pictures.

My name is Chloe Whitney Bortnick, but for some reason, Popi calls me Chloepatra. That's because I am an independent gal who likes to get her way. Hey, it's 2008 and we may almost get a woman president. You all better get used to us.

The first and only thing you should know about me is that I like to get my way. I know I already said that, but I want no lack of communication here. When I want something, I want it now! I expect those around me to anticipate my needs before they become urgent. And my needs could become urgent in a microsecond. If you understand this, we will get along just fine. If you don't understand this simple fact, I don't even want to look at you.

My dining choices vary. I like all the healthy food groups from sweet to salty, crunchy to mushy. Finger foods are my favorite. But if the snacks do not please my palate at the moment, expect to find them strewn around the floor. And don't look at me when it is time to clean up. I don't do windows, senor.

As far as my beverage of choice, I like my drinks like I like my men, white and warm. And I am not the dainty type, I drink right from the bottle. I'm a sucker for soy, I never pay and keep 'em coming.

I am not one for conversation, I speak a language of my own. However, I expect you to be able to read my mind and know what I want. If you try to hand me some meal or plaything I don't feel like at the moment, expect to see me turn my head away from you completely.

In other words, "talk to my neck".

As a busy supermodel, I get very tired and cranky after having hundreds of photos taken of me. So I like to take naps. But again, I decide where and when...not you. And there better be a cozy blanket and some oral gratification nearby or you will soon hear about it.

Because I am an Aquarius, I like fast boats and the feel of the wind in my face. But I don't enjoy romantic walks on the beach. That is so last year. The sand and my precious feet do not agree. So I expect to be carried.

And I prefer to be carried on a litter by a slave.

I am famous for my luxurious tresses so like to be pampered and spend a lot of my spare time at the hairdressers. No Supercuts for me... only the finest beauty salons, thank you. and again, I don't pay.

Currently, I have a quaint 3 bedroom "crib" in the San Francisco area, where I enjoy daily walks by the bay with my pet pooch, Marley. As you can see, I love dogs. Here is one I found in New Zealand.

Unfortunetly, back home, I have to allow the 'rents to stay in the spare bedroom. But at least I have convinced them to take care of my every need. They are especially good at keeping me clean in my "private areas". Too bad for them my other Roman nickname is Poopus Maximus. Oh, well, at least I keep them on their toes and holding their nose. Can you think of a better way to get a warm bath?

Hopefully, they will find a place of their own soon. There is getting to be less and less room for my stuff. I certainly could use the extra closet space for my growing wardrobe. Did I mention my favorite color is pink? (Hint, hint)

My favorite song is by Diana Krall. If you want to be on my good side, you best learn the words:

http://www.azlyrics.com/lyrics/dianakrall/peelmeagrape.html

But enough talking about myself... now you tell what you think of me.

'Cause Thinking And Drinking Are all I Have Today

On those rare occasions when I find myself on an airliner, I choose to sip a certain drink...Ginger Ale. I like Ginger Ale more than Coke or Sprite but for some psychological reason, I only drink it on airplanes. Maybe I believe it is some sort of elixer that will keep me from harm in the air. Maybe I am just trying to be different. Kimberly always has her usual water. She is so regimented in her ways that when the non-alcolholic drinks are on the house, she still prefers water. Typical non-jew activity.

Good on her, she will piss on my grave...and the piss will be nice and clear. So I got that going for me, which is nice.

Here on the ground, I have been drinking quite a bit of water myself. Especially since we had a filtered tap installed. The guy who put it in was great. We met him at Saturday market and he came over and did everything involving installation. The only problem was, he tried to sell us a lot of the other crap in his bag. There was a knife sharpener, and of course, a litle thing called Christianity. But he was a nice guy, so I didn't insult him. And I think the water that comes out of the tap is now holy. So I got that going for me also.

But water is not a drink for blokes in a pub. And if I try too much booze, I get sleepy and headachey. Rarely, I have a local beer like Mac's Gold. But recently I have discovered Australian Ginger Beer.

It is a very popular beverage and totally acceptable. It also tastes like my airline drink, but with less carbonation.

here is the website of my favorite brand;

http://www.bundaberg-brew.com.au/

So at pubs and restaurants, I ask for Ginger Beer. Kimberly likes it too and it has made an appearance in the new refrigerator in the form of glass bottles in a 6 pack. Then the plastic liter bottle. Then 3 of them. Then we found they also have a diet version that tastes the same.

The only problem is that I now need to find a new airplane drink.

Oops! I Did It Again

In New Zealand, of course, we get the news of the world and therefore, The US and A. We are following the debates and all that they imply. But we miss a lot of the follow up and analysis. As a result, we don't know who to vote for. Fox Noise at least reminds us that The Clintons would return the country to undesirable peace and strong economy. But there will be plenty of lying and sex. At least with Bush, we didn't have to suffer through all that sex, leaving more time for lying.

But I digress. We also don't get very much info on this Brittany Spears deal. Sure, we know she is a pop singer from the Ozarks or some such place. She probably lived in a trailer or near one. She got discovered and made heaps of money as a clean cut singer.

Then, she completely turned tramp and screwed, smoked, drank, hung out with other rich debutarts, married, had babies, got fat and stupider...went to hospitals.

Should anyone be surprised???

But what we get from the American TV channels is a tremendous amount of pity. It's the "She needs help...We don't want her to turn out like Anna Nicole (remember her?)...I pity those children...We pray for her."

The truth is that everyone loves to oogle at a train wreck. I know I do and I know you do. And the media know we do too.

Today, much time was spent on Brit's latest trip to the hospital. They needed it, because Heath Ledger has been dead a week already. Another fine young actor leaving the stage prematurely due to drugs. He better grab that set next to River Phoenix before Christian Brando tries to sneak into it. No offense, but a actor who no longer exists is less interesting than an ambulance ride from an semi breathing hillbilly.

But the problem is that she goes to the hospital a little too much, don't you think? How about some artistic economy? The first time or two got my notice. She was driving around with the kid on her lap all the time and that was cool for a while. Then she upped the ante with the hospital stays. Good for her, we're all back to the oolging.

If I pity anyone in the circus, it might be Brit's agent, (likely a Jew) This person has to keep her name in the press. But as the Rev. Jessie Jackson might say, "after today's intervention, I am losing my attention"

So what's next? We gotta keep her alive but she needs to raise the bet to have us stay at the table until her kids are old enough to go off and get their own reality shows.

That's a good 7 years from now!

Some thoughts:

She gets a fatal disease, fights it like Lance Armstrong and wins. Then she competes in the Tour de France wearing day-glow crotchless bike pants.


Her own cooking show featuring possum and squirrel. Brit wears a low cut apron. Adds 10 High Whisky to all dishes. Manages to slur through dessert.

She runs for public office, say Mayor of her home town, McComb, Mississippi. She wins after promising to lower the drinking age and create a nudist colony near the US highway 55 exit ramp. The only rule is that the women must be completely shaved.

Goes back to school, gets her GED, applies to college, gets a Masters in Economics, goes on to teach at the university level. On casual Fridays, she shows up nude.



Becomes the spokesperson for Pringles. Gains a tremendous amount of weight. Goes on to win "The Biggest Loser". Uses prize money to buy new double wide mobile home.






You get the idea, Brit.

I'm bored.

Enough with the hospitals already, Girlfriend.

You're way slightly better than that.