Just in case Rovey and I are too tipsy from prune brandy to remember to post this tomorrow night...
Happy New Year, RoveHos!
One of the things I like best about Rovey (other than his ginormous wang, of course) is his dedication to whatever might be the task at hand. Whether it's working on his novelty restroom sign collection, teasin' and pleasin' his baby, or getting himse…I mean, his boss re-selected as President, Rovey will stop at nothing to see the task through to completion. Problem is, this means that sometimes Rovey has to bring his work home with him.
Now I don't mind not knowing if I'll be powdering my nose in the "buoys/gulls", "chief/squaw" or "bucks/does" room, and so long as I've done the exercises the therapist recommended, I've got no problem tucking my ankle into my underarm for upward of 45 minutes while Rovey perfects his angle for Sacred Squatting Turtle of the Sticky Half Moon (We've been playing with a book Jocelyn Elders left behind!). But lately, I just cannot get my Cuddlenumpkins to stop fussing about that silly election! I mean for heck's sake - it's almost a whole year away, and he doesn't even know in which one of the Democrats' hedges he's going to be planting the special safety cameras yet. (Isn't that sweet of him? Even though some of these people are his opponents and say really crummy things about him, Rovey cares enough about them and their families to make sure that they're being watched all the time so nothing bad happens to them! Heck - sometimes he's even so kind as to keep an eye on people they worked with, their ex-girlfriends, old teachers, maids…)
Still, I think he's a little fussed about that cranky ol' Howard Dean, who just doesn't seem to appreciate the attention my Rovey is giving him. And I could tell Rovey didn't leave that thundercloud at the office, 'cause it sure rained on his parade when we were trying out Flexible Mongoose and Hooded Cobra after Pudding Time last night. His Grand Marshal stopped marching before it even reached the town garden, so I told him it was okay if we just flipped on Carson Daly and snuggled. Well, Rovey started making his cute little sleep-toots pretty quickly, but it wasn't long before I heard him start to mumble something. At first I thought he'd mixed his nighttime Kaopectate and Gold Bond regimen with fuzzy food from the back of the icebox again, 'cause I remember him saying that had been "pretty trippy". But then I made out "caucus", "blog", and something that sounded like "assroots", and I realized he was saying "Joe Trippi". He's the guy who has my Rovey's job over on Dr. Howard Meanie's side, and while I don't want Rovey knowing I said this (Shhhhh! RoveHos' honor!), I almost hope that he's as good at his job as Rovey is. Why? 'Cause while I love that my Rovey is such a Mr. PowerPants in politics, it just takes up soooo much of his time. If Mr. Dean wins the election, I'll have much more time with Rovey's erection! And he won't have to worry about finding a job anytime soon - I've got quite a nest egg built up from selling my hair and used undies on eBay (not to mention from the RoveHos who are willing to pay a pretty penny for Rovey's worn-out Speedos - extra if I haven't put 'em through the laundry first). And besides, Rovey and I are sooooo happy, we can just live on LOVE!
Still, I hate to see my baby all knotted up like that - last time was when he couldn't stop craving yellow cake. I know it sounds silly, but he was sleep muttering about it all the time, and he didn't feel better about it until he called an old friend of his. But now I think that silly Rovey must have misplaced the recipe Mr. Novak gave him. Oh, here's hoping Mr. Novak will be able to help him out with this kerfuffle, too!
You know, I do my meager best to help out Rovey where and when I can, and I just have to say that this mad cow scare is all a useless bunch of bull! I mean, if there *really* were something to beef about, would he still be serving me up his Texas Hot Link so often? Not to mention a bounteous buffet of bologna, blood sausage, knockwurst, bockwurst and meat balls! Why in fact, he's demanded I start referring to him as Sir Loin! Yummy - make mine a double with an extra squirt of special sauce, please! I'll hold the buns.
Oooh - must get mooooving. Rovey says he's gone and squeezed out a big, creamy glass of milk just for me. I'll tell you, it sure does *this* body good!
Have an udderly great day, RoveHos!
Silly me - I was so addled last time I posted, that I forgot to mention the super-sweet thing my l'il Doodybear did for me! Even though December 25th is his special day, Rovey still thought to give me a pearl necklace and leave a great big Yule log under my bush as well! Plus, how totally darling is this? When he heard I was hoping for a white Christmas, he surprised me with a whirlwind trip all the way up and down his North Pole. Hope all you Rove Hos got packages just as swell!
Ohhhh…my aching noggin'. My recollections of last night's RoveDay fete are a l'il bit hazy, but from the particular buzzing frequency of this headache, the shade of stain on the bathroom carpet and the baleful way in which our little tabby is glaring at Rovey (that cranky pussy can just be *so* territorial about her litter box sometimes!), I'm guessing that naughty Ari once again managed to sweet-spin the bartender at the Hawk & Dove into blending up a batch of his lethal Roveocoladas. They may taste like sweet, sweet candy going down, but once you get enough sliding around inside ya…oooh! Hang onto your chads, kiddies, 'cause you're in for one long humpy, bumpy ride.
I'm wondering if anyone thought to bring along a camera 'cause I'd reeeaaallly like to know if my memory of frenching Ann Coulter during a wee-hours back-room round of Truth or Dare actually happened or was just part of a Kaluha-induced nightmare. Second thought, maybe I really *don't* want to know…
1 pint heavy whipping cream
1 15.5 oz bottle Double Fudge Yoo-hoo
6 long shots DeKuyper Buttershots Schnaaps
6 oz Kaluha
6 oz Bailey's Irish Cream
3 oz Coconut Cream
3 oz Crème de Cacao
3 oz 99 Bananas
4 tsp Milk of Magnesia
1 pint Everclear
Colored granulated sugar
Red Hots (crushed)
Whip cream until stiff peaks form (mmmmrrrooow!). Fold in Yoo-hoo, Buttershots, Kaluha, Bailey's, Coconut Cream, Crème de Cacao, 99 Bananas, Milk of Magnesia and Everclear, and blend with ice to milkshake consistency. Moisten lips of 6 hurricane glasses with chocolate syrup, and roll in dish of sugar and crushed Red Hots to coat. Pour in equal portions of blended mixture. Float 151 on top of each glass and light with match. Once flame is extinguished, garnish with drinking straw and small American flag.
Heidy ho, RoveHos! Just sneaking some online time while Rovey's in the little boys' room (I saw him grab the new Hickory Farms catalog off the credenza, so I think he'll be in there for a little while). Well we've had one heck of a RoveDay celebration thus far. A boy only turns 53 once, so I've made sure that Rovey's gotten to partake in all his very favorite things on this special ocasion.
We got up super early, 'cause Rovey needed me to take a poll about the really urgent caucus he was having that morning. Once we'd come to a quorum on that, Rovey went back to napping for a little while, and I scuttled to the kitchen to make a tray of all the morning yummies he loves on his birthday. After I tickled him awake, I hand-fed my baby breakfast in bed. I served, let's see - raspberry pudding shots, creamed ham on pumpernickel, oleo strudel, tater-olive muffins, a feta & mayo omelette, oh golly...I'm sure I must be forgetting something, but there was lots of prune cocktail to wash it all down. That part I remember, 'cause there were a heck of a lot of sticky purple prints left on the bedclothes after Rovey decided he wanted to use my belly button as a juice tumbler! Well, I cleaned up while Rovey changed into his suede lounging pajamas, and then I joined him in a snuggle on the couch while we watched Mystic Pizza and then Erin Brockovich (I tell you, that man can just *not* get enough of Conchata Ferrell!).
Then Rovey's tummy was rumbling (from hunger this time - not from the prune cocktail like it had been), so we called up Joyce and Donny Rumsfeld from our book club, and met them at our local P.F. Chang's. Now, my Snugglebum knows that Rummy can get a little piggy with the orange peel shrimp, so he made sure to keep feeding me bites - what a sweetie!
Anyhow, I thought the Great Wall of Chocolate we split for dessert was going to finish me off entirely, but we *still* have Rovey's birthday dinner at Hamburger Mary's tonight! I don't know *how* I'm going to manage, but after Rovey gets back from the potty, maybe we can "work off" a few of those dumplings with a little horizontal exercise session. Until later, RoveHos!
Merry RoveDay, everyone! Have you had your schnaaps and pudding yet?
Oh, oh, oh, RoveHos, did you watch? DID YOU WATCH!?! In case you're unaware of the gift bestowed upon all the RoveHos, of the world, click on this, and come back after you've suckled from the holiday teat, hanging low, laden so heavily with free-flowing JOY!
Yes, yes, I know that it *appears* as if he's spinning some kiddie pap about Santa and sniffly reindeer and how a bunch of cranky donkeys saved the baby Jesus. But if you're a RoveHo well versed in decoding the semaphoric sways of his mobile chins, you know what he was *really* trying to telegraph across the circuitry of the interweb. Oh, yes, YES! Did you catch the extra wobble - the giddy hula as his precious lips formed the words "harnesses" and "special collars" and "chubby legs"? And when he bl…bl…bllleeeeaaaated like a sheep! Swooooon! It's as if the NIH had finally perfected its long-worked-upon ray that can penetrate my tinfoil chapeau and sensuously chuck the bathing suit areas of my very mind! Truly - the party behind the literary selection must have had some sort of secret access to the moistest of my desires (note to self - ask Rovey if the boys in the lab have actually completed work on Project PuddlePants), because if not, why in the world would they have chosen a holiday story where Rovey was made to say Ho, Ho, Ho, I ask you?
Mmm…that would be plenty present for me, did I not know for sure that when Rovey gets home, I'm gonna get an even BIGGER package stuffed down my chute!
"Karl Rove, Secretary Veneman to Read Holiday Bedtime Stories Tonight
More Holiday Bedtime Stories Released on White House Web Site This Week
WASHINGTON, DC Tonight at 8:00 p.m. (ET) Senior Advisor Karl Rove will read "Santa's New Reindeer"
The bedtime story videos are just part of the White House holiday section. Other features which can be found at www.whitehouse.gov/holiday include the new Barney Cam video, "Barney Cam II: Barney Reloaded," the 2003 White House holiday book, 360 degree views of the decorated state rooms, historic photos of holidays at the White House and Presidential holiday cards dating back to the Roosevelt administration. "
I...I...I...oh dear...will post more as soon as I stop hyperventilating...It's like Santa himself listened to my holiday wishes!
Oh RoveHos, I love this time of year! Today, Rovey and I slipped on our gloves and hoodies and goodness, how merrily we frolicked. I'd imagine there are going to be more than a few eyebrows raised about some curious snow angel formations on the South Lawn when my pudgy-wudgy cherub trundles into work tomorrow, but what can I say? We just can't resist playing around with the white stuff! Good thing we remembered to wear our rubbers, 'cause the last thing anyone wants at this time of year is to get all sick and sticky. But we were careful, and had such a blast rolling together big, wet, heavy balls to birth ourselves...a Roveman!
Everybody, sing along!
"On the South Lawn we can build a Roveman,
Then pretend that he is President
Shrub says: Am I fired?
We'll say: No man,
Karl will do the job -
you'll stay Resident..."
Just in the very nick of time for RoveDay (12/25, so get crackin'!), it's the all new I Love Karl Rove Rove-o-grams!
No stamp needed, and delivery is lickety-split! (Mmmm...I love when Rovey licketies MY split...) Just click the link below and start posting.
Sigh…oh RoveHos, I'm so sorry to have been a neglectful little Ginny with the website lately, but there's just sooooo much going on right now, what with the holidays fast approaching (have you sent out YOUR RoveDay cards yet?), and chatting away on the phone with those nice boys from the Treasury Department! Still, I wanna make sure that all the RoveHos out there have a chance to get all their shopping done in time for our baby's B-Day, so, without further ado, here's the makings for one of my most favoritest traditional RoveDay yum yums!
Traditional RoveDay One-Bowl Creamy Jerky Salad
ACTIVE TIME 25 MIN
MAKES ABOUT 2 SERVINGS
1 large head of white cabbage - diced
1 1/4 cups Miracle Whip (In a pinch, mayo can be subbed, but my Rovey just can't do without the tangy zip! And if you're Tony Blair, or John Kerry, then Heinz Salad Cream is an acceptable swap.)
1 8oz pack of Kraft Singles (unwrapped and cut into strips)
2lbs of your favorite jerky - chunked or sliced (Rovey's a fan of the New Beef King, but has been known on occasion to snap into a Slim Jim.)
1/4 cup white sugar
1/2 tsp celery salt
1/4 tsp paprika
Assorted, colorful mix-ins - pickle chunks, canned corn niblets, pimentos, frozen peas 'n carrots - use your imagination!
1. In large, oiled, plastic bowl, stir together Miracle Whip, sugar, salt and paprika until color is a uniform orange. Add mix-ins to appearance and taste, and stir until thoroughly coated.
2. With a spatula, fold in 1/2 cup of cabbage at a time, taking care to coat all surfaces with wet mixture. Repeat procedure with jerky (and try not to go snackin' on it too much - you've gotta save some for Rovey!) until mixture is of a uniform consistency and creamy orangey color, with mix-ins winking through like yummy little jewels. Cover bowl with cling-wrap or tight fitting lid and shake.
3. Remove cover, and arrange cheese strips in criss-cross or lattice fashion on top. For added RoveDay festivity, spoon additional Miracle Whip into a squeeze bottle or pastry bag and draw a picture of or message to Rovey!
4. Grab two spoons (or just one if you're feeling all romantical!) and share with your favorite Senior Presidential Domestic Policy Advisor!
Variation: For other fun colors, swap out the paprika for a spoonful of your favorite Jell-O flavor! There's always room for Rovey!
Oh golly golly golly - while those nice US Secret Service agents are really glamorous and exotic on TV and at the picture show with their wrist-talkie gadgets and electric shoes, it's pretty goshdarned scary when one of 'em calls you on the tellyophone and says they wanna talk with you! So, if you're one of those sassy suit-wearin' guys, take a l'il peek at this, and it might answer some questions.
Danke schoen, RoveHos! Now back to the FUN!
I'm such an addled l'il RoveHo sometimes! Maybe it's all that thorazine still tickling away at my brain from after The Incident my sophomore year, or the funny, numb-y headaches I get from the glowing thing in the basement that Rovey tells me not to touch, but from time to time, wee chunks of the day go missing, It makes me so sad - not just because I all of a sudden wonder where I am and just KNOW I'll never be able to get all of that marmalade out of my hair and leotard, but also because I treasure ever single precious moment with my Rovey and don't want to miss them. Lucky for me, he's set up cameras in every room of the house, and all the places I like to eat and shop! What a sentimental little hedgehog my Roveykins is - wanting to be with me all the time like that - even if I'm just having a boring old lunch with friends of mine he can't stand. I'm sure it wasn't especially scintillating for him to watch me have silly girl talk time with Donna Brazile and Tipper, but he takes time out of his busy schedule just to check in on me and take an interest in MY life. It's just so nice to have someone so involved as my pudgy possum.
It sure came in handy this afternoon, when we were spooning in the backyard hammock, occasionally peeling apart so I could use my nails to erupt a little Vesuvius from the cluster on his back. We were giggling and singing, and I suddenly noticed that there was quite an interested little circle of our fine feathered friends milling about. I'm really only used to that happening whenever we go over to visit with his friends Nancy and Ronnie (though those birds are MUCH bigger and scarier than these and fly in a circle over the house), so I warbled out (with apologies to The Carpenters and sooo painfully off-key - Rovey's the musical one in the family - very few people know that he actually got into the University of Utah on a skin flute scholarship) "Why do birds suddenly appear, every tiiiiiime, Rovey's neeeaaar? Just like meeeee, they long to beeee, close to him…." But then Rovey chuckled no, it was probably the suet. I was pretty confused until he showed me the tape from that day's mid-morning snack, which had involved his ordering me to take the leftovers, and trace small, greasy portraits of the Bush Twins all over the pallid tundra of his tummy, until he announced he was about to serve a juicy protein snack he'd made just for his Virginia. I suppose I was so busy slurping all that up, that I'd not noticed when he'd stashed an extra dab of the suet in his navel just in case he got peckish later. That's my Rovey - always prepared!
Despite what you might think, Rovey isn't always sunshine and puppydogs. Sometimes, he gets downright MIFFED with me, but what he doesn't know is that sometimes I'm poking his crankybone on purpose. See, if I know that some sensitive issue is dangling in front of him, I'll agitate and tease and rub at it until he explodes all over me.
This photo above was snapped last week when we were in Vegas, and Rovey was all a-flutter because he'd nabbed up tickets to see Sha Na Na that night. Well I was dawdling in the ladies lounge at Caesar's Palace, fussing with my lip gloss, when I felt the Device go off in my nether regions, and I decided to be a very naughty RoveHo and ignore it. Wouldn't you know it - a minute later my Rovey came storming into the powder room, knickers in a knot, yelling "Darn it, Virginia! You KNOW that when I buzz you with the Device, it means you're supposed to come to me!" and I was all, "Well, I *did* come, Rovey - just not TO you." And then for the cherry on top of that big ol' mound of whipped-up cream, I giggled. Ooooh - I just *knew* that would froth Rovey up to the point of spilling over. And just as I'd hoped, he took me into one of the stalls and served me up enough nuts and sprinkles for a whole month of sundaes. It sure pays to get saucy with my Rovey sometimes!
Plus, we ended up getting to the show in plenty of time for the band to sign the spare pair of Fruit of the Looms Rovey had brought along, (He'd learned the hard way last time that Jocko won't put pen to delicates if you're actually *wearing* them.) so, I guess Lady Luck really was blowing on both our dice that night! Viva!
Well *finally* someone in the White House is giving us RoveHos some good old fashioned morale-building pin-up propaganda. Yummy, yummy, yummy - I want some ROVEY in my tummy!
(click pic to see it BIGGER)
Well I'm one RoveHo breathing a heck of a lot easier tonight, what with no longer having to cower in the scruffy face of terror. Let me tell you - the events of the past few months have simply scrambled my nerves. But nonetheless, I love my Rovey, and just because his family is a little bit nutty doesn't mean I have to hold that against my little piggly wiggly cuddle lumpkins. It just makes me feel closer to him and want to hold him close until everything is better.
See, it all started a few months ago when that cranky ol' Mr. Rumsfeld showed up in the middle of the night. I answered the door 'cause Rovey wasn't wearing any jammies (the elastic waistband chafes his tummy, and we're all out of his special rash salve), and Rummy barked at me to go tell him that he and Mr. Wolfowitz had run into his Uncle Saddy, and that he needed somewhere to stay for a little while. Well, any relative of Rovey's is welcome in our home of course, but when I caught a whiff of this fellow…whoooo! He reeked like he'd been rolling around in the donkey pen at a petting zoo, and it was obvious he hadn't shaved in months - it was like he'd been living in a cave or someplace they didn't have mirrors, let alone reruns of Queer Eye! Rummy and Wolfie must have grabbed him when he about to step into the shower, because he still had a towel wrapped around his head, and what looked to be a robe and flip-flops in serious need of some All-Tempa-Cheer. I sure wasn't happy that he was tracking dirty sand all over the kitchen floor. I'd just spent HOURS on my knees in one of the First Lady's old lavender pantsuits (She's so wasteful! Sometimes Rovey brings me home clothes of hers that she was going to toss just because the crotch was frayed out!) waxing the linoleum until Rovey could see his handsome Grade-A grin in it. But I was an obedient girl (just like the First Lady!) and just smiled.
I was offering to make up a guest room for Uncle Saddy, but right then, Rovey came bolting down the stairs in his Aquaman Underoos and said no, no - Uncle Saddy had been veeeery bad, and would have to spend the night down in the basement. Of course I understood, because sometimes when I've been super-naughty, and forgotten to use the cents-off Go-GURT® coupon at the Sam's Club, or left the cap off the Astroglide, Rovey sends me down there to sit in the Special Chair until he's good and ready to let me make it up to him, but I was also kind of disappointed, because there was a 7th Heaven marathon on PAX the next afternoon, and I'd had all of the toys and furniture downstairs simonized and recharged in anticipation of how pleased he'd be. But again, I plastered on my very bestest First Lady grin and went to the basement to hitch up our strongest set of guest shackles like Rovey asked. Rummy and Wolfie must have been ribbing Rovey about how generous he is, because Rovey was bright, piggy pink when I got back upstairs. Still, that didn't stop them from seeing awfully happy to lead Uncle Saddy downstairs and lock him right up.
Now you know what they say about fish and relatives - that they both need their water changed every week or so. Well even though Rovey quite strictly told me not to, every few days, I'd bring down a fresh Brita pitcher and some lard soap, but it was clear Uncle S. wasn't scrubbing behind his ears (or anywhere else for that matter), because his skin stayed all grimy brown, and not smooth, Pilsbury white like his nephew Rovey's. He also just kept refusing to eat the snacks I brought him - even when I made dishes Rovey loves best, like Creamy Pork Cracklin' Pie or Rum Jell-O Salad. The nerve! I even brought the portable TV down from Rovey's bathroom so Uncle S. could watch Rich Girls and Baywatch (all boys LOVE "Babewatch"!) and my stories with me, but that Grumpy Gus just kept rattling his chains and trying to squirm down and kneel on the floor. Well, I guess that custom-cured, hand-quilted pig leather furniture just isn't FANCY enough for SOME people, but it suits Rovey and me just fine, thank you very much! And I tried and tried to ask him just what WOULD suit his highness (and I don't mean to be rude) but with that thick New Jersey accent (Rovey said Uncle Saddy was from somewhere in the middle East, so I assume that's it, but I couldn't guess specifically which Turnpike exit) I couldn't understand a word of what he said!
Aaaaaanyhow, the weeks just dragged on and on and on, and while of course any relative of Rovey's is welcome in our home, I just wanted our lives to go back to normal. I mean, it's not like I could hear him - Rovey and I had paid extra to get the basement professionally soundproofed (Silly neighbors kept thinking we were mad at each other instead of having greasy-chaps fun time!), but I just knew he was down there. It also kept us from having our high-chair and strappy-swing sessions and I swear, I could just feel all the toys drying out and rusting. And ohhh…I get sooooo cranky when Rovey and I don't get our weekly game of Crooked C.E.O. and Federal Prose-Cutie On The Take. Mmmm…stocks 'n bondage! But I dared not nag him about when Uncle Saddy would be leaving because he'd already explained to me that Uncle S. couldn't be brought out in public until everything was positioned just right. I guess he meant the cameras and the klieg lights, because boy, were there a lot of those pointed at him when they brought him out today! I'm such a silly girl for not knowing about these things - he must be a pop star or something, because I swear, his face was on every single channel I flipped past today on my way to Animal Planet. I guess he's one of those socially conscious musicians like Bono, because I heard all these mentions of his "human rights record", and there were all these pictures of people screaming in the streets and things exploding. Personally, I don't see why performers have to spend so much money on dangerous stage shows like that instead of just singing - did all those people dying at the nightclub in Rhode Island teach us nothing?
I'm just glad that horror is over, and sure hope that Rovey doesn't have any more unexpected guests dropping by in the near future - though he did mention that his boss's pal Oscar-Ben Larden was wearing out his welcome over at Lynne and Dick's. Sheesh! You'd think they'd have an extra room or two at the White House for treasured old family friends, wouldn't you? Aw well - never mind that - he said it probably wouldn't happen until late October, maybe early November, and by then, the campaign will be in such full swing that who will have time to fuss about ol' Oscar showing up?
Oh golly - where has the time gone? Rovey's gonna be home soon, and he's warned me that if I don't have the Special Chair all greased up and ready, he's just going to have to turn it all the way up to TEN! Wish me luck, RoveHos!
Always a l'il disconcerting to wake up in a hotel room and have a few moments of complete befuddlement as to one's whereabouts. I was just grabbing a bitty disco nap before tonight's romp out on the town, and when the alarm cawed, I reached over for my Rovey. But instead of my fingers sinking into his moist, pillowy flesh, they brushed against…sigh…an empty pillow. A bleepin' shame since I'd been hoping to tell him about the funny dream I just had. Seamy details are slipping away as I sit here, but in the bit I can recall, I was charged with the task of nibbling open several hundred packets of duck sauce for use as lubrication in a steel-cage wrasslin' match twixt Howie Dean and my Rovey. No holds barred, and filthy below-the-navel tricks solidly encouraged. So far as I can remember, I was toting around Rovey's spit bucket (resisting the urge to swipe little sips because in the dream, for some reason instead of saliva, his lips and tongue were dampened by rich, chocolatey Yoo-hoo), and the match was a winner-take-all bout for the Oval Office. Loser had to back-wax George Stephanopouolos. Oh - and Tucker Carlson made for a rather dashing ring boy with matching red, white & blue sequined swim trunks and bow tie.
Gol dang it all - the details are fading now, but I must dash anyhow, as I now see Rovey's left a lipstick message on the mirror telling me I can find him pumping nickels into the Louie Anderson-themed machines at Slots-A-Fun. If I'm not quick like a bunny, I just know he'll gorge his delicate tum-tum on a couple dozen 99-cent shrimp cocktails, and having shared a hotel room potty with my baby after a few such incidents, I assure you, that's a royal flush best left unplayed.
Here's hoping I get an inside straight from my baby tonight…
Gentle readers, I beg your forgiveness for what I'm about to do, but I can't be the only Roveotee who's weathered this particular affliction. You know when you've got a particular ditty careening around your cranium for hours and hours, but you're not even sure you've got the words right, so you start subbing in ones of your own? The lyrics might spin themselves around what you're doing at the moment - cleaning out the ferret hutch, smelting pig iron, getting a toe wax, etc. Anyhow, no matter how fragrant the hutch, or painful the depilation, there's one subject (betcha can't guess!) on the tippity-top of my l'il noggin for the past, oh, week or so. And as for the tune - oh Barry Manilow, I curse the day you excreted "Mandy" into the celestial musical cesspool...
Well you caaaaame and you gaaaave meee some puuuudding
Just to fiiiillll up myyyy tummy, oh Rovey
Didn't giiiiive it tooooo Ashcroft or Ruuuummyyyy
Snack from myyy buffet, ohhhh Rooooveyyyyy
Well you caaaaame and you won theeeeee eeelection
I'll tend toooo your erection, oh Rooooveeeey
Eeeeeven if you're all sweaty and meanie,
Watch you wrestle with Deanie, oh Roooooveeeeeyyyy…
And so on.
Oh golly - must dash 'cause Rovey's poking at me to get in the Gremlin. He just looooves him a l'il bit of the old In-N-Out Burger when we're off in Sin City, and I'm not about to thwart his acquisition of some double-double animal style joy. Me? I just need a protein-style Roveyshake, and mmm….I'm sated.
Aside from the obvious, there sure are some special perks that go with being elected First RoveHo. Take today - Rovey is such a naughty little nabob that when we woke up to twelve cold, wet inches (well, I'm used to waking up to something that size, but it's pretty throbbing hot!) of snow, Rovey decided that not much governmenting was gonna get done on the East coast, so he gave a quick jingle to Andrews, and within the hour, we were renewing our membership in the Mile High Club up somewhere over the Pittsburgh metro area.
Now I know the Rough Rider bedroom is technically in the East Wing, but methinks it's not unlikely that after this last jaunt, the main bedchamber on Air Force One will pick up the moniker "Karl's Kinky Cabin". Mmmmrrroooow! You'll never hear me bellyache about turbulence again!
See, when you travel as Rovey's vouched-for guest, you don't have to fret about any pesky security checks before boarding, so once we're sky high, he orders me to thoroughly inspect HIS package for any massive weapons of destruction. Ooohhh, I assure you I am VERY thorough in my investigation - going over and over every inch (and there are a lot of them) meticulously to see if anything is set to explode. Oh sometimes it takes quite a while, but something always ends up going off - especially if I have to perform a special gloved-finger search. Rovey's such a cunning l'il smuggler.
As it turned out, I was so wrapped up in keeping my baby in his full upright & locked position, that I was utterly gobsmacked to feel the wheels touch the tarmac. The whole way, I tried to cajole Rovey to give me a hint as to our destination, but he was such a stubborn imp that he even had his aides sneak in and pack the costumes he wanted me to wear. Well, once I scrambled over to the window and yanked up the shade to reveal a big ol' Sphinx staring me in the face, I knew for sure there was gonna be a steamy round of "keno runner and pit boss" in Sin City tonight.
Anyhow, we've just checked into Rovey's (or, as he likes to sign into the guest register, "Lenny Larouche") specially equipped private suite here at the Luxor, and he's on the phone with room service, ordering up some Kaluha, onion dip, mixed nuts and an "intimacy kit" so we can have some giggle time before tonight's reservation at Excalibur Casino's Tournament of Kings. It's a dinner show with the slogan "Lances and Swords, but no forks and knives." Thing is, it doesn't sound all that different from a dinner and "jousting match" right here in the room with Rovey!
Ooops - he's off the phone and strolling on over with his hip flask of canola oil. Until later - Viva Rove Vegas, fellow RoveHos!
Goodness gracious - RoveHos came out of the woodwork last week after my little mention of a yummy supper Rovey and I were feeding each other with (he just loves to play mommy birdie/baby bird when he's actually got time to sit down with me for a home-cooked meal) when his boss showed up to try to drag him off to dusty ol' Iraq. I wrote "some leftover pot pie, creamed onions and schnaaps (his favorite!)", and absosmurfly everyone wanted to know, "Virginia, what are some other things Rovey loves?" Well naturally I like it best when he snacks on a nice, moist slice of Virginia Ham, but my Rovey's got a whole cabinet full of treats that make him squeal like a prize-winning piggie. F'rinstance…
Food: I know I mentioned the pot pie, creamed onions & schnaaps (Dekuyper Buttershots, by the way - and his birthday is 12/25 - wink wink!), but he also sure loves to strap on a feedbag full of oh, gosh, there's mayo-nutter-raisin sandwiches on Wonderbread, Texas Corndog 'N Kraut Pie (his Nana's super-secret special recipe), hearts of lamb, Gerber Apples 'N Ham Simple Recipe™ Dinner (an important man like him doesn't always have time for chewing!), and absolutely ANYTHING that comes from the SnackMaster or the Fry Daddy (I swear he'd eat a cow chip if you breaded it and cooked it up in bacon fat! And I know for sure that's true 'cause James Carville tried it as a funny joke once when we were staying with him and Mary.), but I'm trying to get him to lay off the late-night raw garlic bulbs and Funyons 'cause they make him all burpy. Oh golly, my Rovey likes to get his nosh on!
Drinks: If it's a school night, I won't let Rovey have anything stronger than a nice, warm Strawberry Yoo-hoo, 'cause he's just a terror to get up in the morning (well luckily for me, not ALL of him has that problem…), but if he doesn't have any governmenting to do the next day, in addition to the schnaaps, he also just adores Cran-Prune Daiquiris (he calls it a Stromsmopolitan), Alizé Sours and half & half with Captain Morgan's heated up all toasty in the microwave. He calls that his Colin Colada, but I'm not quite sure why.
TV: Nothing, and I mean NOTHING makes my Rovey giddier than a TiVo stuffed to bursting with episodes of Designing Women. On the precious rare occasions he's got a free Saturday afternoon, he just loves to peel down to his Jockey shorts and hunker on the davenport with one paw on the slow-mo button, and the other wrist-deep in a mixing bowl chock full of Franken Berry cereal. Rovey's hardly ever cross with me, but believe me, I learned a red-bottomed lesson about what happens if I bug Rovey in the middle of his special "Delta time". Ouch! I just skedaddle out of Rovey's way while he's "busy". But I know now from experience that I sure better be ready and waiting for him when TV time is over. There's just something about those ladies' Dixie-fried accents that make Rovey hungry for a trip Down South. Yeeeehaaaa! Oh, and he also gets quite a hankering for my very special Clam Chowder after watching a Murder She Wrote marathon. Something about Angela Lansbury's stiff Maine diction never fails to turn my Rovey into a right l'il Jessica Fletcher letcher!
Oh golly - Full House is about to start, and Rovey just loves to watch that all cuddled on the couch with me, so I must sign off. More next time 'bout my baby's fave tunes, movies and reading materials (in AND out of the powder room!).
I don’t mean to toot my own trombone or anything (plus I hear you can go blind from doing that too much), but in some circles, I've earned a pretty swell reputation for sussing out political pulchritude. Hence, it was no great shock when the e-mails began flooding in, all with the gist of "Virginia, you've obviously got a keen eye for the GOP hotties, but who among the Dem. POTUS hopefuls would be your A#1 humpbunny?" Well obviously none of them could possibly dislodge Rovey's haunches from twixt my slick and limber thighs, but in the spirit of bipartisanship, I give you…
Virginia Wade's Guide to Democratic Candidate Humpability
Senator John Kerry - Remember in high school when your best friend's parents separated, and their Dad moved into the apartment complex the next town over and tried to get all your friends to call him by his first name, and got his ear pierced and you could totally tell that after he got out of the shower, he'd flex in the mirror with a towel around his waist and think to himself, "Heh, heh, heh - the Old Man's still got it"? The minute he rode the motorcycle onto Jay Leno's set, Kerry nixed any chance of nabbing red-hot, under-35 poontang again in this lifetime. Gas up the Suburban, and godspeed to the local T.G.I. Friday's for Mudslide Nite, Senator - 'cause soccer mom snatch is the only cocktail left on your menu.
Senator John Edwards - I'd be so totally freaked out that in the middle of it, he'd channel my dead Grandma and she'd yell at me for being a dirty, dirty girl, because now she's seen what I do to myself under the afghan after a new issue of NewsMax comes through my slot. And while I'm more than delighted to have Rovey take me to task for that sort of behavior while I'm decked out in my Immaculate Heart of the Bleeding Virgin High regulation jumper and saddle shoes, a bare-bottomed rosary flogging from Nana would make my thighs sweaty in kinda the wrong way. And besides, W. has shown us that presidenting is super-hard work that takes up whole afternoons sometimes. What with that and his Sci-Fi Channel show, when would Edwards ever be able to squeeze his l'il Virginia in?
Reverend Al Sharpton - Al, baby - I don't know why you stopped calling me, and it burned me all the way down to my creamy center - I will not deny that. I understand that a man can get palate fatigue from snacking on the same flavor day after day, but it hurts me bad that my vanilla lost its thrilla for you. As you know, I'm someone else's Ho-Ho now, but I can't help hoping that every once in a while, you sniff your sexy 'stache and can still catch a hot l'il whiff o' Ginny.
General Wesley Clark - Once you've developed a taste for K-Rations, you're not gonna go opening up your cakehole for just any old mess the Army slings your way. While it might be amusing to while away an afternoon bouncing pocket change off The General's combat-toned hindquarters, there's something about his ultra-stiff posture that makes me suspect that in his off-duty hours, he's fond of taking orders to suit up like Corporal Ramon Sassypants of the 69th Poolside Division and drop to give twenty to any buck private who issues forth a command.
Congressman Dennis Kucinich - No doubt the ladies love Cool Denny, what with his elegant bearing and rakish, rugged good looks, but I'm troubled by his veganism. If he won't eat meat, will he still eat ME? Rovey knows just how I like my oeufs whipped up - scrambled and shirred and over easy, and I just don't reckon I could go without now. Once you've had Rovey's bacon, fakin' just won't do.
Ambassador Carol Moseley Braun - Well, I can't really comment, because I've never surrendered to the sweet strains of Sappho (at least not without a few shots of Jaegermeister and a Delta Kappa Epsilon running a video camera, and The Chipster swore to me that he destroyed every copy of those tapes so you can't prove ANYTHING!), but I'm sure with a couple of roofies and a Phranc album on the turntable, I'd likely pick her over Hadassah Lieberman.
Representative Dick Gephardt - You know how some dogs, like Irish Setters, and sometimes Yellow Labs look like they have eyebrows? Dickie totally doesn't. I'm not saying that my knickers would be knottier if he was a little more like our four-legged friends (and again - no matter what you've heard, all the tapes are GONE and, uh, Chipper - if you're reading this, could you, like, call me?), but if he was all "Is that a Milk Bone in your pocket, or are you just happy to see me?" I'd have to be all, "Um, no, Dude. The Mary Kay lady just left me this brow pencil, and oh my word, it happens to be an Autumn! Here - lean in for juuust a sec and try not to blink…"
Senator Joseph Lieberman - Hadassah comes up tops in this match-up. Why? Well isn't it obvious? It really is possible to be TOO handsome. Ooohhh…if I was stumping for Joe, I'd just be constantly flustered by his Muppety good looks, but I promised Rovey that his back office was the only door I'd knock on, so it's really best I keep my hand out of things.
Governor Howard Dean - Tee hee! My Rovey's got a little crush on Dr. Dean. For gosh sakes, he talks about him ALL the time - when we're in the car, at the store, splashing around in the backyard pudding vat, etc. It got to the point where I said Rovey, Honey, would you just like me to go on the interweb and print out a Howard Dean mask for myself so you can flush it out of your system? Little did I know how that would lead to nights upon nights of "Turn your head and cough, Mr. Rove", or role-playing Benedict Arnold and the Green Mountain Boys with a computer printout taped to my face, but heck, if it gets me more time to civilly unite with him, the Doctor is in, sweet Rovey, WAY in.
(Pssst! If you want your inbox tickled whenever I stick up a new entry on this site, gimmie a holler at virginia at i love karl rove dot com, and I'll add you to my list, 'kay?)