I’ve been told by my two wonderful assistants that I have to write a “happy” blog and not talk about all of the people I hate and despise, so here it goes. This is my happy blog.

I am happy, happy, happy, happy, happy, happy, happy, happy, happy, happy, happy, happy, happy, happy, happy, happy, happy, happy, happy, happy, happy, happy, happy, happy, happy, happy, happy, happy, happy, happy, happy, happy, happy, happy, happy, HAPPY!

I hope all of you are happy, happy, happy, happy, happy, happy, happy, happy, happy, happy, happy, happy, happy, happy, happy, happy, happy, happy, happy, happy, happy, happy, happy, happy, happy, happy, happy, happy, happy, happy, happy, happy, happy, HAPPY!

Okay, that’s my happy blog.    

Back to reality tomorrow with more about whom I hate and despise.

And one more thing… 

There are now going to be lactating sit-ins all over our country. Can you imagine that these women have nothing better to do than sit around airports publicly breastfeeding when they should be home cleaning their trailers?

And speaking of airlines – again, call me stupid – I don’t want to sit next to you if you are breastfeeding your baby.

 I think that Delta Airlines is absolutely right to ask the woman to cover herself and her baby while she was nursing. Between slurps the lactating mother objected vehemently and now this incident has become a protest.

Do what you want in your private life, but not next to me. I am a passenger and I have rights too. If indeed the airlines no longer have control and women are allowed to do whatever they feel like doing, then I am in favor of being able to douche in public. After all, it’s a natural and beautiful act.

What have I got to be thankful for? 

Being woken up at 6 o’clock in the morning by a five year old child who has flown through the night to be with me on this holiday and who rushes in screaming, “Grandma! Grandma! Grandma! Grandma! Look, I’m losing my two front teeth!” 

What have I got to be thankful for? 

A daughter who is wonderful, happy, successful in her career and in a good relationship with a lovely man and, most importantly, has a healthy child. 

What have I got to be thankful for? 

Two terrific dogs who are sitting here looking at me and saying, “Why are we up?” But now that they are getting their treats they’re not so upset.         

What have I got to be thankful for? 

A long career, fans, friends, a wonderful house that I love in Connecticut, an apartment in New York that saved my life after my husband committed suicide. 

What have I got to be thankful for? 

How about EVERYTHING.

Why do I think that Mel Gibson will be forgiven

                    and Michael Richards won’t? You figure out why.

Just to remind all of you, I’m answering the Today Show’s “Butterball Hotline” on Thanksgiving morning at 8:20am and I pray that Meredith will ask, “How can you tell when a turkey is done?”

“Easily,” I will say with a twinkle in my good, right eye, “a turkey is done when it stops banging its head against the oven door window.”

I am proud to say that I came in FIRST in my category at God’s Love We Deliver’s “Race to Deliver” on Sunday in Central Park.

I was in the “Seniors Over 110 Crawl” and I’m pleased to report that my time was a record breaking 27 hours, 14 minutes and 8 seconds and that was with me cheating and taking the subway!

My inner-thighs are chapped, but it was well worth it.

Some photos from my participation in yesterday's Race to Deliver in Central Park. 

It was a 4 mile fundraising run/walk to celebrate the 20th anniversary of God's Love We Deliver, the organization that provides free meals to people living with HIV/AIDS, cancer and other serious illnesses throughout New York City and nearby Hudson County, New Jersey.

The 13th Annual Race to Deliver has been run but our race to deliver food is never done!
Please continue to support us by making a donation at www.racetodeliver.org

   Judith Regan, who is the woman behind the new and disgusting O.J. Simpson book If I Did It, is saying that the reason she got O.J. the deal to do this book is because she herself was battered and she wanted O.J. to say out loud what he had done. Judith feels that this will vindicate battered women by having an abusive man publicly confess. Judith spent a full page and a half in the New York Post and a visit to the "Today" Show on Friday discussing this and ended with the following quote, “For the girl who was left in the gutter, I wanted to make it right.” This is such f*#*ing bullshit that I can’t stand it! I am running around my house screaming.

According to the papers, O.J. is making at least three and half million dollars on the book deal, the money for which has been put into a Bahamian bank. He is also being paid by Fox for a two-part interview. Judith Regan negotiated these deals. Agents, from what I know after 40 years in the business, do not negotiate for F-R-E-E. If Judith Regan truly wants to make this “right” somewhere in her heart and this is why she has brokered this deal, then there is a very simple way to prove it: give the profits from this book to an organization that helps battered women.

Miss Regan, I’m sorry that you went through such hell with domestic abuse, but I thought O.J. was trash in a class by himself. You are just as bad finding a way to profit handsomely from his crimes, making O.J. rich and hurting the poor Goldman family even more. If what you claim you want to accomplish with this book is to help battered women then put your money where your mouth is and give it to battered women. Let’s see you do that one. Ha!

And – let me add – anyone who buys the book is helping to spit in the eye of what is left of our pathetic justice system. Don’t do it. Don’t watch the Fox interviews. That will send a message.

I will be answering the “Butterball Line” on the Today Show on Thanksgiving morning. That’s going to be something, huh?

I’ve never been a great cook. As a matter of fact; I think all of my recipes stink and I’m happy about this. I don’t want my food to taste good because I can’t stand all of the sucking and lip smacking noises that people make when the food they are eating is delicious. I want to say to them, “Stop it! Calm down. You’re eating candied yams, not a vibrator.”

Thanksgiving is just around the corner and I’m getting very scared as I am having 32 people to dinner and I haven’t got a clue in hell as to how many turkeys I should order.

In the old days in Los Angeles it was easy. No matter how many people I invited, I only had to order one turkey as they were all anorexics.

I had a long discussion today with a single and still fertile female friend of mine about the Morning After Pill. My friend was worried about what this pill will do to society’s morals.

First of all, I told her that I didn’t understand all the fuss over it. The Morning After Pill isn’t new. It’s been around for a long time. It just used to be called “throwing yourself down the stairs” – so morals won’t change.

But what does worry me about the Morning After Pill is how it will affect people like Kate Moss. Someone is going to have to tell her that this pill is not a recreational drug (I’m scared she’ll eat them by the fistful until her uterus drops out).

Women of the world, beware. I am watching Stewart Granger be strong, handsome, loyal, courageous and unafraid to die for his love of Jean Simmons and England in that great old movie "Young Bess."

In real life I met Stewart Granger and he was a drunk, a womanizer, and a potty mouth…oh, if only the world were Turner Classic Movies.

I think that it is pretty pathetic when the one highlight of one’s weekend is an hour of reflexology.

On Thursday I went to the opening night of Les Miserables.  It was just revived, which I find hilarious, since it only closed a year and a half ago.

It was terrific, the sets were amazing, and the songs are wonderful. But perhaps, as it was my fifth time seeing it – once in London, twice in Australia and twice in New York – I found it a wee bit long. You want to say, “Oh, come on. Let’s cut 10 minutes out of this so we can all go home.”

But the music is thrilling and stirring and the first night audience was sooo excited. On a scale of 0 - 4 Spikes, I give this production 3 Spikes.

Has anyone heard anything about my mother’s handbag? (see November 1 Blog Entry)

 Everybody has fantasies. My biggest fantasy is that if my doctor came to me and told me I only had one week to live, what would I do?

Answer:  To stay with my daughter and grandson and be as good as I could be to them and then go on Howard Stern, The View, the Today Show, Live! with Regis and Kelly and any other show I could possibly get on and tell the truth and nothing but the truth about certain celebrities that I hate because they are hypocritical and disgusting.

Tell the truth about what I really think about my former mother-in-law, ex son-in-law, and little Rhona Weinstein who was a real BITCH in the 3rd grade! 

I would tell the truth about what I think about everything and then just quietly die. It’s a stupid fantasy, but I bet lots of other people share something similar. What’s yours?

I did this difficult private club date last Monday night for an audience that was made up of 90% men (an audience which I am really not suited for….well unless they’re gay, of course). It went okay, not great, which is the way most of my private dates go.

One of the people handling me was a woman who was very formal, very reserved and of very few words. In the dressing room, after a long silence, she turned to me and asked, “Were you in Las Vegas in the late 70’s?” I said, “Yes.” She asked, “Did you know so and so? He went with Debbie Reynolds.”  As a matter of fact, I had known him. Before my very eyes she turned into a totally different person - talkative, vulnerable and girlish. “He was the love of my life,” she said, “He was older than I was. I was in my 20’s and he was in his 50’s at the time. He was wonderful. He was terrific. He was a gentleman. He was charming. He was funny.” She didn’t stop. I asked her if she’d dated him for a long time and she said, “Yes.” Then I asked her if she’d ended up marrying him and she said, “No,” and her eyes dropped.

For the rest of the night, every time she’d come into the dressing room, she would go through the same thing, “Did you really know him? Did you like him? Wasn’t he wonderful? He’s dead now, you know.” It was so sad. In one second I got it all. He’d been the love of her life, that one big unrequited love. And, sorry to tell all of you reading this out there, we don’t get over The Big One…EVER – even after they’re six feet under. 

  I arrived home at 2:00am on Saturday night/Sunday morning from performing for four glorious days at Mohegan Sun gambling casino in Connecticut.

I was very worried because my act has gotten so wild and so out there that I was scared that these typical, middle-aged, semi-conservative, Yankees wouldn’t understand what I had to say. It turned out to be sensational. I don’t know if this is because the climate is changing due to the fact that Borat – God bless him – has come onto the scene or it’s just my age and they’ve decided to let the Old Bitch rant and rave. Whatever it is, it’s so great that things I thought I could only say at the Cutting Room (which is a little club where I perform every Wednesday night in New York City) can now be said to mass audiences.

It is so much fun to take them down paths they have never gone down before and to make them think about things in an entirely different way. And to laugh at them. I am high. I am exhilarated. I am dancing around my room. And this is why I’ve never needed drugs.

If any of you read the New York Post’s Page Six today you’ll see that it says that I’ve lost an antique, petit-point pocketbook that was owned by my mother. She bought it years ago in Vienna, Austria.
 
I was at a charity event on Monday night for the New York Society for the Prevention of Cruelty to Children. Rosie O’Donnell, among others, was being honored. I went alone, as I was sitting at Deborah Norville’s table and felt very secure. Being a woman alone is always very difficult when you’re in a long dress, high heels, carrying a stole, a cell phone, my mother’s purse and a big bag of meat that I had collected from everybody sitting at the table to bring home to my dogs.

I stopped to pick up my goodie bag and was about to leave the Pierre Hotel to go home when someone asked for another photo with Rosie and Deborah. I put my mother’s purse into my goodie bag and turned around to take the pictures. When the pictures were over I turned back, picked up the wrong goodie bag and left. It wasn’t until I was in the car and looked into the bag for my mother’s purse and realized, “Oh my God. Wrong bag. Wrong bag. Wrong bag.”

Meanwhile, some lady left the dinner that night, went home with her goodie bag, opened it and said, “Wow! Look at this, Honey. Not only did they give us books, a lovely piece of jewelry and a Martha Stewart Apron, but also an antique, needlepoint bag. And Wow!… there is a compact, a hankie, Altoids, money and a lip gloss. Uck!...the lip gloss is used. This is disgusting. Let’s throw the whole thing out.”

I am sick about loosing my mother’s bag and I’m hoping that some good Samaritan will actually turn it in and give it back to me. I am trying to think of an adequate reward. A piece of Joan Rivers’ Jewelry once a month for life? An evening for four, my compliments, at the Cutting Room? Whatever it is, I am very upset and am enclosing a photograph so you can see the bag. Maybe, maybe, just maybe we’ll see it coming up on Ebay. I wouldn’t care so much about losing it, although it is beautiful and expensive - but the fact that it was my mother’s really kills me.