I fly a lot and sometimes I even use a plane (bar ump bum).

I find traveling these days to be beyond stressful. First of all, the approaches to airports are so inadequate that I have two friends who have missed their flights while sitting in traffic outside the terminal. 

And then those stupid e tickets. You wouldn't buy a house without a deed of ownership or close a business deal without documentation, but we are expected to travel the world on good faith and the hope that some stupid computer didn't crash.  And then there are the people at the ticket desk. I find the idea of having sullen, non-English speaking people behind the counter insane.

This was just what I had yesterday at the check in counter at Air Canada at six am.  I was trying to get to a concert date in Toronto and, as I had been visiting Melissa and Cooper in L.A., I was traveling alone and needed help.  Ordinarily, I am an in- control, take charge kind of person, but when it come to travel I turn into a blithering nervous wreck and, like Blanche Dubois, I depend on the kindness of strangers.

This miserable girl at the counter was offering nothing - jokes didn't work and begging for her help brought nothing. The idea that my passport works under two names, Joan Rivers a.k.a. Joan Rosenberg, was a concept that, when her mother was teaching her how to wrap a sari, went right by her.

I tried everything to reach her, but either she was as dumb as the bowl of chili that was on her chin or years of watching snake charmers had permanently crossed her dull eyes making it impossible for her to focus.

In any event, she was rude, unhelpful and hostile to the point that I SERIOUSLY don’t think I will ever fly Air Canada from LAX again.

{Note: A computer glitch was responsible for the temporary disappearance of this blog.}

For those of you who are golf lovers, here's a joke that made my golf-mad assistant, Jocelyn, and me laugh.

Golfing Nun

A nun walks into Mother Superior's office and plunks down into a chair. She lets out a sigh heavy with frustration.

"What troubles you, Sister?" asks the Mother Superior. "I thought this was the day you spent with your family."

"It was," sighed the Sister. "And I went to play golf with my brother.  We try to play golf as often as we can. You know I was quite a talented golfer before I devoted my life to Christ."

"I seem to recall that," the Mother Superior agreed. "So I take it your day of recreation was not relaxing?"

"Far from it," snorted the Sister. "In fact, I even took the Lord's name in vain today!"

"Goodness, Sister!" gasped the Mother Superior, astonished. "You must tell me all about it!"

"Well, we were on the fifth tee...and this hole is a monster, Mother - 540 yard Par 5, with a nasty dogleg left and a hidden green...and I hit the drive of my life. I creamed it. The sweetest swing I ever made. And it's flying straight and true, right along the line I wanted...and it hits a bird in mid-flight not 100 yards off the tee!"

"Oh my!" commiserated the Mother. "How unfortunate! But surely that didn't make you blaspheme, Sister!"

"No, that wasn't it," admitted Sister. "While I was still trying to fathom what had happened, this squirrel runs out of the woods, grabs my ball and runs off down the fairway!"

"Oh, that would have made me blaspheme!" sympathized Mother.

"But I didn't, Mother Superior!" sobbed the Sister. "And I was so proud of myself! And while I was pondering whether this was a sign from God, this hawk swoops out of the sky and grabs the squirrel and flies off, with my ball still clutched in his paws!"

"So that's when you cursed," said the Mother with a knowing smile.

"Nope, that wasn't it either," cried the Sister, anguished, "because as the hawk started to fly out of sight, the squirrel started struggling, and the hawk dropped him right there on the green, and the ball popped out of his paws and rolled to about 18 inches from the cup!"

Mother Superior sat back in her chair, folded her arms across her chest, fixed the Sister with a baleful stare and said... "You missed the f*#*ing putt, didn't you."

As some of you may know, I did "The View" on Monday and while I was backstage in the makeup room (drool-proof lipsticks are very hard to find) Rosie rumors were flying. She’s leaving. She’s not leaving. They’re giving her a lot of money. They’re not giving her enough money. She and Barbara love each other. She and Barbara hate each other, etc, etc, etc.

Today I came home to find two urgent phone messages from producer friends of mine telling me that Rosie was going to announce her decision on "The View."  As many of you know, she said that she was leaving. How sad for "The View"!

I think Rosie added something so rare in daytime – and night time – talk shows…she told the TRUTH. Like it or not, you always know where she stands on every issue.

I’m a big Rosie O’Donnell fan and it makes me sad that there will be one less loud voice shouting out opinions, even opinions I don’t agree with. Barbara Walters is a good friend and a very smart woman and a true icon and I’m sure that she’ll fill the gap brilliantly. I think that "The View" will go on and on and on, but I’m still sad.   

Some parents do hate their children.

I’m not mentioning any names, but it was just that my parents didn’t want me to be spoiled, which is why they made me sleep in the freezer.

Perhaps my father was hoping I would say, “No,” when I asked him to pierce my ears and he did it with a shot gun or when they tested my baby bottle on my forehead or when I asked for a dog and they said, “Look in the mirror” or when I said, “Mommy, Daddy, am I adopted?” and they said, “God no, who would want to adopt a kid like you!?!” or when they used to make me hold their hands before crossing the street and then swing me in front of passing cars or when they cut my bangs with an axe.

And, probably the cruelest thing they ever did…when my picture appeared on the milk carton and my mother drew a moustache on it.            

Poor Alec Baldwin.  If you read the full transcript of his phone message all he was being was a very angry parent yelling at a pre-pubescent daughter. Is there anyone out there with a child who hasn’t, at one point or another, lost it with their kid?

I can remember two instances when I was ready to kill Melissa.

One was after a birthday party.  She never sent her thank you notes, even though she told me she had.  The second was the time when she had a terrible argument with her father and me over what college to go to and, literally, ran away from home.

Did I not love her? Was I a bad parent? I don’t think so. A child needs discipline and a child should be expected to be waiting by a phone for a pre-arranged call with her father. Someone needed to tell a certain little pig that.

xoxoxo – Joan

 I watched bits of the Boston Marathon last Monday and was very impressed because I am in semi training for the New York City Marathon in November.

I know, I know, you’re going to say Jewish women don’t run marathons and that the only time they break a sweat is when someone says, “retail,” but I am determined to try it one more time.

I have run in the last four New York City Marathons. True, I didn’t win. The winners, if you check you local papers, are always foreigners from weird places like Uganda, Nepal and Reykjavik and the reason that these people win is because they are not running for prizes like the rest of us; they’re running to get away from the I.N.S.

Two years ago, I’m proud to say, out of 2,000 runners, I came in 1,334th (I should have come in 2,000th, but being the shopper that I am, I always get a third off).

 What a thrill it was to walk home wrapped in my Mylar blanket. Several people made remarks about me looking like a baked potato or a pig in a blanket, but I figured they were just jealous. I was very proud because the Marathon is 26 miles and I usually can’t ride in a limo for 26 miles without taking a rest.

How did I do it? Everyone knows that I’m not a natural athlete. I was always the last one to be picked for the team, the one the coach didn’t turn to in times of trouble. I was so bad, I was worse than Lou Gehrig after he died of Lou Gehrig’s Disease. It’s all about diet and exercise.

I have my own trainer, Frances, who is amazing. Every morning she yells at me, “Come on, Joan, you’re not too old! Bend over and touch your toe tag!” She makes me eat healthy foods with only good fats and insists that I cut down on eating meat. I can’t lie to you; this really annoys me because I think God wants us to eat meat. Why else would he have made animals so delicious?

As some of you may have read, Melissa and I will no longer be associated with TV Guide after August 1st.

I will tell you my true feelings and experiences as soon as we finalize our new deal. All I’d like to say is that we are very proud that we received the highest ratings ever on the TV Guide Channel.

What a Gynecologist Should Not Do:

When a patient is in the stirrups, do not rip off your shirt and show her how many pushups you can do.

What a Gynecologist Should Not Say:

When she’s in the stirrups, don’t look at a woman and say, “Ooo, there are my car keys.”

What an Internist Should Not Do:

He should not finish examining you and say, “Drink a lot of water and stay off your hooves.”

What a Radiologist Should Not Say:                         

After a mammogram he should not say, “You are utterly charming.”

What a Urologist Should Not Say:

When you hand him your specimen bottle he should not shriek, “Bitch, you drowned my genie.”

What a Proctologist Should Not Say:

“I wonder how many miners died in that gas explosion!?!”

This morning I was looking over some old income tax forms (because it is income tax time, my darlings) and I noticed that eight years ago I had deducted $160,000 for cosmetics. The I.R.S. called me down, took one look at me and…approved it!

This depressed me so much that I began my own line of cosmetics which I now sell on both QVC and, starting this week, in the Ulta stores.

Do you have any idea how exciting this is for me, a woman who, in the old days, used magic marker as an eye liner?

As I did with my jewelry brand on QVC, I am out to make every woman in America beautiful with my line of cosmetics.

Never, ever, as long as I can make great cosmetics, will an Avon lady ring someone’s bell, take a look and say, “Avon calling…and boy, is this going to be a challenge!”

(This should have been posted on Friday, the 13th, but my computer screwed up.  Well, in the better-late-than-never belief...here it is.)

Off to Connecticut for the weekend with my two city dogs kicking and screaming. They HATE the great outdoors, the wind in their faces and the sun on their backs. Too  much vegetation makes them sick. Give them a decaying homeless person, lying on urine stained cement and their tails start a waggin’.

What makes me laugh the most is that, although my country house is a quarter of the size of my New York apartment, it costs me double (this does not amuse my accountant, Michael).

I have major plumbing trouble. Last year alone I had plumbing bills larger than Zimbabwe’s G.N.P. But I should have realized that I’d have leaking pipes because I bought the house from June Allyson.

And just now my caretaker called to say that my f*#king birdhouse needs a new roof and insulation to the tune of $2,700 because Little Tweety is cold and tired of being rained on.

I’m thinking seriously of preparing a Bluebird of Happiness dinner and calling it a day. I’d love to serve this and watch my guest’s faces when they ask, “What is in this pot pie?” And I say, “Bluebird of Happiness. Eat up, it’s good luck. Save the feathers for a hat.”

The rumor around town is that Don Imus' wife Deirdre      has left him

 because the publicity has died down.

                                    She's taken up with a bigger publicity draw--today's storm!

Comments and responses excerpted from my March 24th blog... "Weight of My World."

Dee wrote: Joan....It is so hard to feel bad for you....you are so skinny and me big as a house....I am the one who needs to diet.. not you

     I have volunteered my right thigh to help feed the tsunami victims. Have you heard of Habitat for Humanity? I have a charity called Have a Thigh for Humanity. The Argentinean soccer team insists that I am on every flight they take over the Andes. --xxx Joan

Mother Says wrote: Oh Joan, you need to put rocks in your pockets when your in the wind now! Diet! You? My mother always said you get wrinkles in your face first when you diet - a long way from where we all want to lose!

     I have so many wrinkles that my grandson uses my face as an Advent calendar, which is even funnier because we’re Jewish. --xxx Joan

CarolR wrote: and even the ozone layer lies about how thin it's getting!!

     Does this cloud make me look fat? --xxx Joan

Sharon Hecker wrote: I tried the 90 day wonder diet. For 90 days, I wondered when the hell I was gonna lose some weight. Our problem isn't that we're too fat, we're just too short!

      Try the Olsen Twin diet. Only eat what you can spell…thank God CAT is delicious, once you’ve de-furred it. --xxx Joan

Here is my recipe for rabbit:

1. Kill the little f*#ker.

2. Skin him.

3. Boil him.

4. Set his fur aside for wonderful, warm bunny slippers.

5. Season well and serve to a blind neighbor,  saying, “Mmmmm…wait until you try the beef.

6. Clear the table quickly as the high carrot content in the rabbit will cause blind neighbor to regain his sight.                                                                                                                                                                                                

This past week has been a very holy one for Jews and Christians alike. In the spirit of forgiveness and rebirth I’ve been thinking a lot about chicken fights. Who I would pit against whom and who would win. For example:

Ray Charles vs. Stevie Wonder:

I think it would end in a draw when they knocked themselves out walking into poles.

With Kathy Bates and the late Mama Cass I’d would toss a ham in the middle and see who comes out alive.

Tom Cruise and Mini Me. They could have a fight under a table and no one would be the wiser.

Britney Spears vs. Telly Savalas: their rules would be “No Sucker Punches” “No Biting” and “No Hair Pulling.”

Anna Nicole Smith vs. Jayne Mansfield: It wouldn’t matter who won because they are both blousy, busty and D-E-A-D.

Sandy Duncan vs. Sammy Davis, Jr. they could blind side each other and then sing a duet of “I’ve Only Eye for You.”

Katie Couric vs. Jane Pauley, and the winner is… no one cares!

Dick Clark vs. Kirk Douglas they can announce the winner together by saying, “Weysyezeynkksptis.”           

Joan Collins is so old, she has pre-Columbian art that she painted herself.

This morning, as I left my apartment building, it really felt like spring was coming. The roses on my terrace are starting to bud and the tulips are sticking their little leaves up from under the earth and saying, “We’ll be here soon.” I felt chipper and happy and young, young, young.

Then I walked past a building that was built 15 years after I was born that had a sign on it that said, “Condemned” and I felt old, old, old.                        

There is nothing good about being old. Even the good old days suck. The only good thing about the good old days is that they happened so long ago I can’t remember how bad they really were.

What makes a great New York evening? Getting to go to the opening of a play on Broadway that everyone is beyond excited about and where every celebrity, actor, producer and playwright is killing themselves to get a ticket.

Last Thursday night I went to see Vanessa Redgrave play Joan Didion in The Year of Magical Thinking. You name the Broadway star – or movie star – and, if they were in town and not working, THEY WERE THERE.

I must have walked up and down the aisle 30 times staring at people, such as: Lynn Redgrave, Bill Nighy, Pierce Brosnan, Marian Seldes, Marissa Tomei, Paul Rudnick, George C. Wolfe, Jane Fonda, Jenna Elfman, Rosie O’Donnell, Cynthia Nixon, Eve Ensler, Dominick Dunne, Griffin Dunne, Jane Krakowski, Mike Wallace, Linda Dano, Anna Deavere Smith, Claire Daines, Jolie Richardson, Dana Delany, Stockard Channing and on and on. 

Then we sat down in the wonderful, cozy Booth Theatre and waited for the magic to begin…and waited and waited and waited. I walked out saying to myself, “Am I crazy? It starred Vanessa Redgrave, who is one of the great actresses of our generation – as well as a Jew hater. It was directed by David Hare, who is one of the great directors and playwrights of the English and American theatres – and is not a Jew hater, even though he speaks to Mel Gibson occasionally. It was written by Joan Didion, one of the greatest writers of our generation – who looks like a Jew hater, even though she isn’t.

So what the f*#k happened?

On Friday morning I picked up the papers. The New York Times’ Ben Bradley said just about what I thought, BUT the review that read like it came from inside my head was from The Wall Street Journal’s Terry Teachout. If you are at all interested, please go to www.terryteachout.comThe English have an expression, “Spot on,” and that is exactly what his review was.

I went to Barnard, Class of None-of-Your-F*#king-Business. Thursday, they asked me to participate in a documentary that they are making about what Barnard means to its graduates.

I dutifully went up to 117th Street and Broadway and was interviewed by two very smart Barnard graduates. They asked me some very smart questions that only very smart Barnard graduates would ask. However, wouldn’t you love to tell the truth when people ask you questions? Below are some of the questions that they asked and the answers I DID NOT give.

Q: Tell us how attending Barnard helped to shape you as a person?

A: It taught me that there are a lot more important things in life than clothes. There are also shoes, handbags and jewelry.

Q: Finish this sentence, “Barnard College is…”

A: A good place to hide out from the law.

Q: Give us three words that describe a Barnard woman?

A: Charged out the max.

Q: What is the most important thing you learned at Barnard?

A: That Louisiana is NOT in Canada.

Q: Why is it important to support financial aid for Barnard?

A: Because it is tax deductible.

Q: What are some of the advantages of being a Barnard graduate?

A: You get to ridicule students who went to lesser schools.