I'd like to meet Hugh Heftner and chat about the girls next door.  I'd also like to give all of them some advice.  I'm sure they've all heard what I have to say, but it bears repeating.

First, Kendra, get thee to an elocution coach and enroll in (and actually take the time to attend) several college courses that involve reading and writing.  The reason for my suggestion?  Isn't it obvious?  Kendra has a very limited vocabulary. So limited, in fact, I find it difficult to listen to her, much less understand what she's saying most of the time.  And it's not just because she's using that oh, so, quaint, and popular hip hop/street jargon that young white girls seem to have adopted these days.  I can't understand her because she doesn't know a damn thing about sentence structure.  Plus, she's just so annoying to listen when I can understand her, that I fast forward my TIVO past any of her segments.  Yes, I know - Puffin doesn't keep Kendra around for great conversations!  And yes, I know, Kendra is only 21, so you can't expect too much from her at this point, but I do hope the girl realizes looks fade and she needs to have something else going for her, something else to fall back on besides her backside and nine months' worth of massage therapy.  (I can't help laughing as I wrote that last sentence!)  Unfortunately, I don't see Kendra bettering herself anytime soon since she demonstrates a self-centeredness and selfishness that's probably more a part of her personality than a reflection of her age.  Some bitterness comes across too, in those precious few moments when Kendra's not studying her booty in the closest mirror.   And that's just a shame.  It's sad.  And it probably stems from not having a relationship with her dad.  Kendra's quite guarded, playing hard at her sports while keeping everyone at an emotional distance.  I think she acts tough because she's deeply hurt inside.  On the other hand, what 21-year old doesn't have an axe to grind?

Bridget and Holly seem significantly more intelligent than Kendra, but the one to watch is Bridget. She's the sharp one, the one with definite plans. Bridget's going places in the years to come, and she'll have more success at achieving her dreams than the other two.  My only suggestion for her is to get her lower eyelids done.  She's coming across so much older than the other two, and I can't help but make comparisons as the show flips from one female to the next.  Bridget's body is to die for plus she has real, genuine beauty.  If she weren't trying to have a career in front of the camera, I wouldn't make the comment about her eyes, but, in the words of Kendra - I'm just trying to keep it real.   I know a great plastic surgeon in Newport Beach.  Girl, get those eyes fixed! 

Holly needs to cozy up to a younger man fairly soon if her main goal is to have kids.  She needs to get some young, successful, virile man to fall madly in love with her, and then keep him around in the background as her fallback position; especially if she wants her future babies to have a dad who's alive.  Plus, there won't be much money left for Holly when Hef bites it.  I'm sure there are trusts set up for kids, and Marston and Cooper will probably end up slipping into dad's role at Playboy.  I hear the older son David is gay so readers probably won't accept him taking over for Hef though I understand he does attend parties at the Mansion.  I have a feeling the magazine will still be around in the decades to come because Christie runs Playboy Enterprises.  Holly will be lucky if the company keeps her on as a photo editor. 

I'm all for keeping things real with Holly too.  Mr. Silk Pajamas is already living on borrowed time.  Face the law of probabilities, Holly.  Puffin's probably got four more years left before he makes that last bounce up to the big bunny hutch in the sky... That is, if the self-righteous republicans let him in.

"Oh, my God!" I said to my husband in the car today.  "We've known Mr. H for over 20 years."  We had just returned from seeing the latest Bourne movie and I commented that the only movie I could remember seeing with Mr. H. was Good morning, Vietnam starring Robin Williams.  Since my son's now 30, (he was ten years old at the time), that means I've known Mr. H for more than 20 years!  My son was with us at that movie, and though I can't recall any scene in the film, what I do remember is accidentally locking my keys in the car after we had just pulled into the theater parking lot, AND that wasn't the problem.  The main issue at the time was the fact that the motor was still running.  Mr. H immediately went into panic mode, but I insisted the practical thing to do, since my car had a full tank of gas and was in pretty good working condition, was to go inside and see the flick and worry about the car later.  The car wasn't going anywhere.  It was just running, and if anyone had paid the slightest attention to this fact, they probably would have thought someone or some COUPLE were in the backseat doing SOMETHING the average movie-goer might not want to witness.  Who'd want to spoil the anticipation of seeing a Robin Williams movie with the up-close-and-personal view of two teenagers making out? 

Where did the time go?  Why don't I feel as old as I am?  Does the brain have a special mechanism whereby we're made to think we're not aging?  Does Mr. H feel this way too?

My favorite photo of him and my son involves sixteen pounds of collected Halloween candy spread out on a coffee table while two crazed guys hover above it, ready to pounce at any second.  I inspected the goods for pins and poison, all the usual inedible objects du jour that we're warned about on the local news, while simultaneously trying to hold back a 10-year old kid and a 30-something young man.  Mentally patting myself on the back right now, I'm proud to say they were prevented from touching not so much as a single candy bar, not one piece of bubble gum slipped through my hands and into one of their mouths until I had sifted through every bit of that haul.  I'm also happy to report that 20 years ago, I didn't find anything suspicious in my son's Halloween loot.  I wonder if the same thing can be said by the moms of ten-year old kids today?

The Real Estate Pros should be called The Real Estate Woes because that's what Richard Davis encounters time and time again on this show about professional real estate flippers in the Carolinas.  Rough-talking owner of Trademark Realty, Richard Davis is the executive producer of this reality-based show so I'm even more skeptical of the image(s) he is attempting to depict as they schizophrenically flip-flop each week from being an old softy to an S.O.B. nightmare of a boss who believes housecleaning involves busting out window glass, dropping air conditioners out of second-story windows while pool cleaning requires nothing more than kicking box after box of powdered chlorine into a backyard cesspool of green slimy pool water. 

Previously called The Real Deal, the name of this show was changed presumably because channel surfers wouldn't be able to tell that real estate was even involved in the show's plot.  I'm still not convinced that real estate has anything to do with this show other than to provide the arena for this motley cast of characters.  For example, Richard Davis introduces a new employee to Trademark in the form of an old school buddy who had (?) a drinking problem.  Richard's idea of reaching out to his friend and bringing him sobriety was to drop him off in the country to train dogs.  Jeez, if that's all it takes to remain sober, Promises and Betty Ford beware! 

It seems dear Richard has a soft spot for alcoholics because the next show involves a deadbeat alcoholic renter who is also given chance after chance to do good (or maybe just better) but surprise, surprise, he prefers his beers to paying rent.  The previous year Richard had fixed up the house our alcoholic friend resides in gratis, and even totally decked out the man's classic automobile.  This gift was supposed to motivate the guy into clean up his act.  An episode on last year's incarnation of The Real Estate Pros depicted the home and car refurbishments.  Even if Richard couldn't see these gifts were a complete waste of time and effort if done solely to motivate the drinker, the rest of us could spot a loser when we saw one.  This latest episode was highly satisfying in an "I told you so" kind of way.  I found myself screaming an old Dr. Phil line at the TV screen:  "Richard, you know how to tell if Gus is lying?  His lips are moving."  Between that and constantly forming the letter L with my thumb and forefinger, (said behaviors my dog Charlie found quite puzzling), the show still tallied up the bottom line as Richard "digs himself out of this mess" by selling the house in question for $90,000 more than he would have made had he simply sold the house last year instead of giving Gus a year's free rent. 

Whoever says there's no God hasn't watched this show.  The meek might not inherit the Earth but some get a year's free rent while others sure can flip its real estate.

I'm currently wallpapering my kitchen in a cream and medium red checked pattern.  It's actually much cooler looking than it sounds.  It's got sort of a Pottery Barn meets Italian farmhouse look to it.  Half of the eating area is done, and I need to get my butt back in there to finish it.  Afterwards, I'll paint the main part of the kitchen a yellowish gold color, install new taller baseboards, window and door trim, and put down a new rug I bought on Ebay that has a lot of red in it to match the wallpaper.  Decorating and even talking about decorating is like porn to me - can't get enough of it!