Moose Sheets

I would have never believed these things existed until I read Bony Mike's tribute to his. In Mike's comments, he praises "moose sheets" that are 100% cotton.

Michael said that these sheets were on sale and he bought them. What he did not say is if the sheets were for himself or for one of his children or perhaps for a "friend" or a simple person of his acquaintance.

When Nicky (We Work For Cheese) showed her passionate interest in these sheets and how to acquire them, Mike offered very generously to send her his set. Nicky, my pristine little love child, declined his offer which she called "sweet and a little creepy". I think that Mike was offering to give Nicky the very sheets off his bed is rather astounding, but not in an unpleasant way.

Now, I ask you, what are these two people talking about? Moose are marvelous creatures, I agree. But, what is the true charm of them except for the pleasure they give your mouth when you repeat the word "moose" forty times fast? Far be it for me to denigrate my dear friends idea of beauty, but moose? Moose are strong, resilient and plentiful and make great burgers but are they aesthetically pleasing? I submit that the answer is not particularly.

What is it about these beasts that make Mike and Nicky want to be covered with them when they sleep? I really can't get a straight answer out of either of them when I've posed the question.

Ziva, our Finnish goddess, seems to have more interest in acquiring reindeer sheets, but she's an intellectual. I do understand the siren call of the reindeer but not the moose. Judge for yourself.

Personally, I don't really like animal prints on my white Egyptian cotton 1000 thread count sheets. But that's me. I am neither an intellectual nor a moose advocate. Still of the two, I would have to vote with Ziva on this one.

My choice was shown in the post prior to this called "Guilty Pleasures" so I guess you know where I'm coming from.

Guilty Pleasures

My favorite thing in the world is beautiful sheets. (Okay, make that 2nd favorite but I'm not getting into that now.)

There is nothing like brand new sheets that have that wonderful "been washed two hundred times" feel when you touch them! The softness, the sheen, the comfort, the sensual pleasure, I could go on and on about my love for these luxury cotton sheets.

I have spent a lot of money on sheets over the years. I cannot stand to sleep in a bed on anything except 100% white cotton sheets with a very high thread count. In fact, I've been known to pack sheets and a pillow case when I travel if I'm unsure of the hotel.

I have a fetish for luxury sheets, and today I can afford them. But not being able to afford luxury sheets in the past didn't stop me from buying them. From the time I was about 25, I have pretty much refused to sleep on anything else.

When I was a child, I had no idea that there were regular sheets and luxurious sheets that actually whispered against your skin and made wearing pajamas feel like a mortal sin. I grew up sleeping on regular sheets and lived with them for many years before discovering there was a world of difference between the two.

I was getting to the end of my first full year as a recently divorced woman, and I got a surprise magical gift of a credit card from Macy's Department Store. It came in the mail about a month before Christmas and I had never been so thrilled in my life to open an envelope!

I had experienced a year of financial hardship far beyond what I had expected, and here came this wonderful plastic card that I could only view as a gift from the gods!

I decided to go purchase a few necessities and Christmas gifts for my children, and some "little thing" for myself. I crossed into Macy's with a feeling of reverence! I quickly found shoes, socks, clothing and toys for my kids and then wandered through the shoe department but tuned out the siren call of gorgeous new shoes for me because I realized I was on a quest for something different.

I found the linens department and began to run my hands over the finest sheets I had ever felt in my life. These were sheets for royalty. No tacky satin sheets for me to slide off the bed; no poly-mix sheets for me to get too hot on. I wanted fine white cotton sheets.

I purchased four sets of sheets. They were the most luxurious things I had ever owned, (or maybe the word is "charged" not "owned" since until you pay for them, I gather the repo man could come and take them back).

Once home, I put a set on my bed and wallowed for a while. My children joined me in joyous wallowing which we did while listening to the Rolling Stones "Sticky Fingers" album playing over and over on the turntable. It was a happy afternoon.

Far less joyful was the the arrival of the credit card bill at the end of the month which showed that I had maxed out my Macy's card in that one day. A painful lesson was learned when I had difficulty paying that bill.

But a more lasting lesson was also learned. Life is short. Buy great sheets!

Inception, A Review of the Movie

Review: I didn't get it.

I have friends who have told me this is the best thing they have seen in a long time. The critics seem to like it or even love it in some cases. I sat for what seemed like 9 hours suffering from acute boredom, stuck butt-itis, restless leg syndrome, and the beginnings of a headache.

I have seen films I disliked more than this one, but not many of them because usually I turn off the straight to DVD stuff (like any movie starring Jessica Simpson). In this case, I had some expectations. Why do I do that?

The movie made no sense whatsoever to me. This guy, Leonardo DiCaprio, is going to insert some influential things (concepts/ideas) into dreams of unsuspecting other people. Okay. Then a bunch of people shoot and kill each other to wake up them from dreams. Then a bunch of people shoot and kill each other for some other reason but it really kills them forever.

Then gravity is defied. Then buildings collapse and storms happen and other stuff. All the things that happen are very loud. Everyone in the movie hooks up to some kind of a machine that either gives them drugs or electrical charges to make them dream. Then you have dreams within a dream. And then dreams within a dream within a dream. (Yeah, levels.)

Despite a good cast, the phrase "who's on first" kept coming to mind. And the ending does not tie any of it up for me. So for those of you who love it, now you know the truth that I am shallow and dumb and didn't understand the theme of the film at all. I really don't care.

After 9 hours, it ends. I'm not really sure how long the movie lasted, but I think it was very very long. And very very stupid.

End of Review.

The Girl On The Red Velvet Swing

On June 19, 1964, something of great note took place in San Francisco. In a North Beach nightclub called the "Condor" a young cocktail waitress and dancer, Carol Doda, donned a monokini (topless swimsuit) designed by Rudi Gernreich and danced atop a piano. Within weeks, every nightclub in San Francisco was featuring topless entertainment. The topless craze was officially born and soon swept across the nation.

Carol began with modest assets, (34 inch breasts) but soon had silicone injections to enhance her breasts to a breathtaking 44 inches. People flocked to San Francisco from around the country and around the world to see this amazing new form of entertainment.

I was 18 in the summer of 64 and doing clerical work at an insurance company. I shared an apartment with two other young women including a redhead coworker named Mardi. Far from being a wild environment, our apartment was fairly like a convent during the week since everyone worked.

Mardi actually worked two jobs, a day job at the insurance company and a night job three nights a week at a North Beach club. She donned a long red wig for her job, and swung back and forth above the customers on a red velvet swing. Oh, and did I mention Mardi did this topless?

In any case, this was a time when any young woman who was willing to show her bosoms could make pretty good money for doing so. Since I wasn't old enough to go into the club, I didn't get to see Mardi perform. I've regretted that.


On weekends, I sometimes went home to do laundry at Mom's. Or if I stayed at the apartment, we would find some party or event to attend. Mardi and I went to a party one night and she came up to me telling me that she had a couple of Navy pilots for us. We left the party with these guys and went back to the apartment.

Mardi and her guy went into the bedroom and closed the door. I sat with Jim, the other pilot, and made small talk for about an hour. I was really not sure what was going on in that bedroom because I knew Mardi was wearing a wig. And lord knows, you wouldn't take off a wig in front of a beau.

When Mardi walked out wearing a kimono with flat squished little hair, I got a better sense of what had been going on. (I'm quick like that.) Jim and I lay back on the couch and slept. I was wearing a "Merry Widow" under my cocktail dress and it pinched something fierce.

Jim was actually a very nice guy. He was stationed in Texas, but could catch a flight out to visit me pretty often. We went to dinner or a movie but the relationship didn't last that long. Jim was 28 and I was shocked when he wanted to take me to the Holiday Inn Motel at Fisherman's Wharf. I mean, God! That was not on my agenda at all! (Hotels and Motels were for grown ups for God's sake!) Now, if he had been smart enough just to do it in the car, that would have been fine.