Why, Oh Why, Do I Watch All My Children?

I need to make a correction.

The show on which Anna Nicole Smith appeared wasn't the VH1 Music Awards but VH1's Best of '04, an end-of-year wrap-up. I watched the broadcast last night. As was reported on the news, a "guard" flew out after Anna, while cooing into the mic, slid off her shoulder straps. The whole thing looked staged.

Let me tell you about my weekend. Peter dropped me off at Sloan-Kettering to visit Mommy and then headed off to drop the children at Mrs. M's in Queens. I was already dressed for dinner in a black velvet top and a black satin skirt. I'd planned to wear chandelier earrings, too, but thought they might be much under the fluorescent lights of the hospital. I kept my coat on as I wandered the floor in search of a sink where I could wash Mom's apple. My neckline was too low for a hospital visit.

Mommy was in great spirits but eager to have her hair washed. She made a couple of jokes about Dad dating after she goes, which Sibling 2, who was in attendance, did not find funny. I thought it was hilarious.

She said, "You know what R. says? When you're young you marry for love. When you're old you marry for money."

And I replied, "Oh, don't you worry about Daddy's money."

And she said, "It's not his money I'm worried about!"

Everybody, including Daddy, had a good laugh over that one. Well, except Sibling 2.

My feeling is, the woman is content, she's not in any pain, she has her sense of humor. She's been in the hospital for two weeks, and no, it's not an ideal situation, but it could be a lot worse.

I gave her the CD player Peter bought so that she could listen to The Nutcracker. Mommy loves The Nutcracker, and since she's too tired to keep her eyes on the television (and television is brain-deadening, anyway), she might enjoy some music. When we were little, she took us to see The Nutcracker just about every single year. Finally, Dad couldn't take it anymore and stopped going.

Peter drove back into Manhattan and came up to see Mom for a little while, and then we went off to meet our friends for dinner. It was the first weekend since the tree was lit, so I wanted to keep the car as far East as possible and walk up to Fifth. Peter was feeling more adventurous and made a right on Park, which was gorgeously lit for Christmas but glutted by jaywalking shoppers trying to outsmart Volvo and Mercedes drivers. Oh, and taxis! I convinced him to take the car back to Lex, where we found a cheap enough parking garage.

B.Z. called me on the cell to say that he and the rest would meet us in bar around the corner from the appointed restaurant. They managed to find the most depressing bar in the neighborhood, a fake Mexican place with beer spills on the tables. They didn't sell Guinness or Bass, so I had a couple of Dos Equis on draft and hoped to God that the pipes had been cleaned out. I once had an unfortunate experience after drinking a few Killian's in a place where I later learned the owner neglected to sanitize the pipes. Can you say roiling digestive organs?

Then we went around the corner to the restaurant. Excellent choice! We had a reservation, so the wait wasn't too bad. The area was teeming with citizens who'd come into see the tree, which we avoided. I'm hungry. Feed me!

I had the most amazing homemade gnocchi. I can't tell you how many times I've ordered homemade gnocchi in a restaurant, only to be served that stuff you get in the plastic bag in the supermarket. But this was superb. So good I scarfed every last speck of it, which after 3 glasses of wine, left me feeling sleepy. I couldn't think about eating dessert.

After picking up the girls (Mrs. M, pointing to Child 2, said, "That one is very energetic." You don't say!) we drove home. I thought they would fall asleep as soon as the car moved, but they were full of stories of the fun they had. Mrs. M took them for pizza and then they went to Walgreen's and bought an assortment of Christmas items for 99 cents with the ten dollars Peter had given them. They watched some show about girls who want to be models, for which Mrs. M offered commentary. She calls it like she sees it, so it must have been hilarious.

Will somebody tell me why I still watch All My Children? Will Bianca ever find out that Bess is really her presumed-dead baby, Miranda, or will they drag this storyline out until the kid goes to med school? They took a good plotline and wrung all all the juice out of it. This show is retarded.

Just now, Anita to Aidan: You had me at the first jelly bean.

It is officially time to turn off the TV.