It’s our ninth day out and everyone hates each other.

Why did I ask these people? Only one brought me a Hostess gift, but I don’t like Twinkies.

F*#k them, they’re all jealous because I have the best cabin.

It’s our eighth day out and the natives are restless.

F*#k them, their seashell jewelry is ugly and the sound of those pathetic steel drums is driving me nutso…uh-oh, the drums just stopped.

   It’s our seventh day out and the four star chef I hired (at great expense) seems to think that a   seven course meal consists of a six-pack and a bag of Cheetos.

 F*#k him, I’ll ruin his reputation so he won’t even be able to get a job catering the Donner Party.

 It’s our sixth day out and it seems my clicking joints are attracting dolphins.

F*#k them.  If they’re so intelligent why does Miami suck so bad this season?

It’s our fifth day out and I have just gotten into my bathing suit for the first time.

Our boat is now being followed by a herd of male whales that I’ve obviously turned on.

F*#k them, I hate men whose eyes are further apart than Jackie Onassis’ and, by the way, if you’re not at least as famous as Shamu, I’m not interested.

It’s our fourth day out and the Galley Slaves are complaining.

It’s Christmas Day and our third day out.   I asked the Captain if I can take a turn keeping watch.

The crew is now referring to the lookout post as the “Old Crow’s Nest.”

F*#k them, they’re just jealous of my beauty.

It’s our second day out and they just showed us Castaway and asked us to take notes.

F*#k Wilson, he was a sh*#y friend to Tom Hanks, besides, I’m jealous of volleyballs because they’re athletic and they have no thighs.

It’s our first day out and the Captain has just shown us how to strap ourselves down to the planks during the predicted bad weather.

F*#k him, he gets seasick in the bathtub.

I am off on my annual Christmas/Hanukkah holiday with Melissa, Cooper and a few close friends.

We leave from St Maarten and go directly to the Bermuda Triangle (a trip that many people I know have suggested).

True, there have been tsunami warnings, flash flood alerts, hurricane sightings and typhoon predictions, but I call all these weather people Spoil Sports…f*#k them, they’re just jealous.

I’m off with 4 suitcases full of badly fitting Ralph Lauren pants.

Friends of mine came to New York and made some very bad Broadway choices, so I want to post some ideas of what I would recommend (IN NO PARTICULAR ORDER):

Musicals:

Company – anything by Sondheim

The Apple Tree – adorable and charming. Kristin Chenoweth is brilliantly funny.

Drowsy Chaperone – can’t go wrong

A Chorus Line – a revival that is as good as the original

Spamalot – still hilarious after all these years

Grey Gardens – serious and sensational. Christine Ebersole is sublime.

Non-Musicals:                                          

The Little Dog Laughed  - terrific satire

The Vertical Hour – Bill Nighy’s performance is worth the price

Holiday parties are in full swing and I have found a great way to give a hostess gift without having to face the holiday crowds to shop for something.

Write out a warm and wonderful card to your hostess and, when you pass the table of hostess gifts, substitute your card for the one on the best gift in the pile. This works very well as no one ever writes a thank you note for a hostess gift.

 A friend of mine who is a typical New York matron, bumped into an old friend of her deceased mother’s on Madison Avenue. She invited the lady, who is 83, to tea. As they sat sipping their tea and eating their scones they began to talk about her late mother. My friend’s mother had been an artist, a philanthropist and a good church lady who lived a quiet family life. “Tell me something about my mother,” my friend asked the old dowager sitting opposite her. “Oh, your mother,” the woman said, smiled softly, “She was a slut. She was totally promiscuous and none of us trusted her. She was a man eater all her life. When she died I said that God wouldn’t trust her alone with St. Peter.”

My friend rushed home to call me. She was terribly upset, “I can’t believe it! I can’t believe it! My mother slept with everyone!”

After I hung up I tried to figure out how I felt about this. Frankly, I think it’s wonderful. Good that her mother had a life. Good that her mother had fun. Life goes very fast and we will all be pushing daisies much too soon.

How do you feel? Would it upset you if you found out that your mother had been a slut?

Last night I went to the BEST OFFICE PARTY EVER…mine!

I give a party every year for all the people who work for Joan Rivers’ Classics Collection, all the people that work at my house, all of the manufacturers of our jewelry, the people who make our packaging, the people who help us with our computers, our website, etc., etc.

This year we decided to do a blow out affair, so we had a Joan Rivers look a-like, named Gary Dee, greeting everyone (he was absolutely, as the English say, “spot on”). We set up a dance floor and everyone danced to a terrific DJ named Ed Gaynor. We were served lots of wonderful food by our caterer, Jay Jordan. There was enough wine and liquor to get everyone happy, but no one drunk. And to top it off, we had a psychic named Farusha who read everyone’s tarot cards and her line was so long that she never got to me. It was so much fun that I hated to leave

The nicest part of the whole party?

It is wonderful to see people you work with every day all dressed up.
It is wonderful to see people who used to work for you come back with their husbands and their children. It is wonderful to see that everyone in the office really likes one another.

Getting to meet everyone’s husbands, babies, boyfriends and friends is everything that the holiday spirit should be.

A friend of mine was saying the other day how she would love to go back and relive her teen years. I got home and started to think about the pros and cons of this:

Pro:

I’d love to go back if only to spend just one more day with my first face.

Con:

I wouldn’t like to go back to being a teenager because I wasn’t popular. Kids at school used to laugh at my acne, so I had to stop wearing a bikini.

Pro:

I would love to go back and be a teenager again so that this time I could lose my virginity to a non-relative.

Con:

It was all too much being a teenager. I had my first date, my first kiss, my first sex, my first drugs…that was some afternoon.

Anyhow, I think my friend is crazy. Who would want to be a teenager again? Your skin breaks out. You haven’t any money. You can’t get a date…come to think of it, that’s me now!

On my trips down to QVC (by the way I will be there selling jewelry tonight from 8:00-10:00pm and Saturday morning (pre-dawn) from 1:00-3:00am) I always watch DVDs of movies I haven’t seen or that weren’t really worth “going to the theatre to see.”

Going down on Monday I watched "The Interpreter" with Sean Penn and Nichole Kidman. It’s not a bad movie and perfect for a rainy afternoon, however, they have NO chemistry between them and she is twice his size. At first you don’t really notice because they must have done the old Tom Cruise/Katie Holmes trick of making him stand on a box for their close-ups, but when Nichole is lying in Sean’s arms it is hilarious because she is next to him and, I swear to God, his feet are resting gently on her belt. My assistant and I were discussing this when he said, “Of course, it wasn’t originally going to be called 'The Interpreter', it was going to be called 'The Ventriloquist'.”

Lesson to be learned? Dig a little deeper and suddenly everything somehow seems to make sense.

What is the worst way to be woken up?

                                       
 
1. The sound of waves crashing over your airplane window.
 
2. The sound of your parents having group sex in the next room.
 
3. The sound of dirt hitting the top of your coffin.
 
4. Your lover asking, "Was that good for you too?"

5.  Hearing your plastic surgeon say, “Oops.”

6.  The sound of a Peeping Tom puking outside your window.

I am starting a diet and I am going to annoy all of you with it every single day. Here is what I ate today (and why I'm going on this diet).

      A bacon & egg sandwich on a baguette.

                                                                                           6 ginger cookies.

                                     1 cheese plate.

        A full English tea.

     A MAJOR lunch on a flight from London to Vancouver.  (Why diet, we may crash.)

                       6 salmon tea sandwiches.

                  All washed down with 2 chicken sandwiches.

Divorce is a bitch, but maybe it’s not SO terrible when it comes to birthdays.

My little grandson, Cooper, has two birthday parties, two cakes, two adoring sets of parents and grandparents who are thinking, “He’s the best! He’s the best! He’s the best!”

It was wonderful to see him last weekend. Cooper is at that amazing age of six where things are still adorable and wondrous.

(Oh, to freeze them there until they are twenty-one! Wouldn’t it be nice to have a little girl or boy stay six and then fifteen years later to have them turn into a voting, responsible citizen? No teenage muss. No teenage fuss)

A friend of mine’s granddaughter was performing in her first school Christmas pageant this week and my friend asked me to go along with her. I had just come from a school Christmas pageant that my grandson, Cooper, had been in and was so filled with holiday cheer, the sweetness of the children, and the warmth and the smell of holly and evergreen that I said, “Yes!” It was the worst school Christmas pageant I’d ever seen.

 So here are some school Christmas pageant rules:

1. A child’s school Christmas pageant should not be held in an auditorium big enough to stage an Elton John concert.  If the children can’t see who is out there in the audience and the parents can’t see which one is their child on a stage the size of the entire Northern Hemisphere…this is wrong!

2. A child’s school Christmas pageant should not be made up of 5,000 obscure Christmas songs. Call me stupid, but even I – as a Jew – still want to hear "We Three Kings," "Good King Wenceslas" and "It Came Upon a Midnight Clear."

3. A child’s school Christmas pageant should not have dance numbers for the third and fourth grade children led by two big, lumpy dance teachers in tutus who stand in front of the children, blocking them, and dancing solos!!

4. A child’s school Christmas pageant should not call itself a Christmas pageant and then do songs for Buddhists, Atheists, Agnostics, Hindus, Voodoo Priests, Shitoists and Muslims. These people do not celebrate Christmas and to see children singing their songs in front of a creche is ABSOLUTELY INSANE!

5. A child’s school Christmas pageant should have one – repeat one – Hanukkah song. This is a Christmas pageant, guys. Remember, if we want to go to a Hanukkah pageant, fine, let’s have Hanukkah songs there, but I don’t want to see the three Wise Men, the sheep, Mary and Joseph singing "Spin the Dreidel."

Am I wrong? Probably…but this is my blog…so tough.

As you cross the Atlantic, doctors forget to wash their hands.

 Now I understand the cholera epidemic of 1853!   

I am off to London to sell my amazing jewelry on QVC UK and to appear on the hot, new British game show “8 Out of 10 Cats”.

For any British fans looking at my blog, “8 Out of 10 Cats” will air this Saturday night.  

Why is it that you always get Christmas gifts from people you don’t send any to and you don’t get any Christmas gifts from the people you do send them to?

This always confuses me and makes me feel guilty. I just received my first Christmas gift and it is from Marylou Whitney and her husband, John.

Every year they remember me and every year I forget them. Why is this?