Ellen's Thoughts

This is a great time of year, isn’t it? The sun is shining, the birds are singing and you can smell summer just around the corner... it’s either summer or Aunt Bee is cooling a rhubarb pie on the windowsill. “Andyyyy?” It’s not summer yet... and I have a confession to make; I’ve been wearing my shorts. I know you’re saying, “Ellen, it’s only May! Are you Loco?” And to that Isay, “Un poquito.”

I love shorts. I find that shorts are the most underrated article of clothing. They’re cool and breezy. Most shorts have pockets, so there’s always a place to put your hands. And when you’re wearing shorts, you’re really saying, “I feel casual AND confident... I’d like to introduce you to my legs.” I actually like to wear longer shorts. Shorts are so long now, they’re pants. And that’s fine with me, but they need to be baggy. If they’re tight, then they’re Capri pants, the cousin of the short. I say the baggier the better, because if you’re like me, your weight fluctuates and you have clothes ranging from size 8 to 12. These can go right in the middle. When you’re a size 8, they sit a little lower. When you’re a size 12, they’re a little higher. Either way, you’re good to go.

There are so many types of shorts. There’re culottes, gauchos, Bermuda shorts… those come with a camera you can hang around your neck and a fanny pack. I have one tip for you if you’re putting on shorts for the first time in a long time: moisturize! We neglect our legs all winter long, and if you put shorts on before you moisturize, it looks like you’re standing on two, long HoneyBaked Hams. And Easter’s over.

I live high up on a hill. Not at the top. That's where the castle is. I'm right below. The streets are very narrow, winding and long… they're long and winding roads. I'm going to stop quoting songs in just a minute. I noticed that people drive like crazy on these streets. Sometimes cars are parked on both sides of street, which makes it extra narrow and dangerous. Normal people say, "I should go slower, in case a car is coming," but I guess I don’t live around normal people. When I’m driving and I approach someone coming the other way, I slow down, pull over as far as I can and give them that head nod that means, "You go ahead." Usually they just stay there. It's like a four-way stop where nobody makes the first move. So finally, you say, "You had your chance, sucker!" Then you gun it. Then they decide, "Well, maybe I’ll go."

The same thing happens with carts at the liquor store… I mean, the grocery store. There’s always somebody who leaves their cart in middle of the aisle. I just move it out of the way, but I'll be very casual about it. For some reason, moving someone else's cart seems illegal. I don't know why. It's not even their food yet. They haven't bought it. Technically, you should be able to shop out of their cart if you see something you want. "Oh, these bananas look riper than mine." I think the rule should be: If your shopping cart is blocking the aisle and you’re not around to move it, people should be allowed to shop from your cart… or put extra stuff in. So, if you’re ever at the grocery store checkout line and the guy in front of you says, “These aren’t my bananas!” and then pulls out a five gallon tub of Marshmallow Fluff and says, “I didn’t put this in here!” -- you’ll know I’m somewhere close by.

I went to the grocery store this weekend to buy some sundries, and something horrific happened. I got caught in line behind a woman who paid with a check. That's pure torture. I thought I was on "Punk'd." Who pays with a check anymore? I never do. I only use my American Express card. (wink) Writing out a check could not take longer. First of all, they don't even get the checkbook out until everything's bagged. Then they have to look at the driver's license, get a manager's approval, stamp it, put it in the special drawer... sacrifice a goat. It takes forever. Then they take out their register and balance their checkbook before they leave. "Let's see, carry the one, take away the nine, add the four..." Even when I used checks, I didn't record them. I just waited for them to bounce and then I knew how much I spent. And if you make a mistake, then you have to void it and start over, or put your initials on it to make it "legal." Is that really legal? How do they know who wrote the initials? It's just two capital letters. Unless you're Prince. Then it's just the one; "P." Maybe that's why he changed his name to that symbol for a while. Harder to forge. I'll bet he has purple checks... with rain on them. Purple Rain checks. Some people take the time to write in the "memo" line. That's so when they get their canceled checks back, they can remember what they were for. "To the LAPD. LAPD? What's this for? (look down to memo line) Ah, yes... bail. Lucky there's that memo line. I thought it was a reminder section. Like, if you write a check to your plumber. In the memo section you can put, "Remember to wear a belt next time you fix my sink."

This is what I’ve learned about driving, and I know a thing or two… maybe even three things about it. The most incredible thing is: No one thinks they’re a bad driver -- especially bad drivers! “I happen to be an excellent driver, officer!” I know what you’re thinking… is she really a good driver or is she a bad driver in denial? It’s a fair question. You’re just gonna have to trust me on this. I’m an excellent driver. So, I’d like to share my tips for driving… I call them: “Ellen’s Tips for Driving.”

* Do not continually step on the brake. The brake is not there so you can tone your calf muscles. It’s not a bass drum, it’s a brake. If you like to stop that often, take the bus. They stop all the time.

* If I’m your passenger, don’t hug the curb. If the side mirror is hitting garbage cans and mailboxes, and I’m flinching uncontrollably – I’m not having fun.

* Please go AT LEAST the speed limit! Nothing is worse than being behind a slow driver! …maybe a paper cut is worse, but after that, it’s slow drivers. It’s annoying even if you don’t want to get where you’re going. “C’MON! I need to get to my root canal!”

* Finally, some people find tailgating intimidating. I agree. And I will keep on intimidating you until you go the speed limit.

Happy Memorial Day, everybody! No work. No school. No bra! It’s the unofficial beginning of SUMMER!!! Can you believe it? When I was a kid, summer seemed like it lasted a lifetime. A million things happened over one summer. Then you get older and time goes by so fast. You get one leg into your thong bikini and suddenly it’s Labor Day. This summer I’m gonna make a list of all the things I want to do. I think it’s good to make lists and set goals. Plus, now that I’m over 50, I’m having trouble remembering things. Here’s my list for summer:

#1) I’m gonna write up more lists. It really helps you set goals. Plus, it keeps your penmanship in shipshape.

#2) I’m gonna remember to tan the sides of my body. Sure, you lie on your back and tan your front, then you turn over and tan your back. But I’m not gonna neglect my sides anymore. Like I always say, “Love your whole body -- Love yourself.”

#3) This summer, I’m gonna do something I’ve always wanted to do. I’m gonna bite the bullet and get myself an itsy bitsy teeny weeny yellow polka dot bikini. I’ve wanted one since I was a little girl -– and this year –- it’s mine!

#4) I’m gonna build myself a screened-in porch -– in the south -– I don’t have a house there, but at least I’ll have a porch. I want to drink mint juleps and that’s the only way to do it.

#5) Two words: Boogie Board! Although that’s often followed by two other words: Emergency Room.

Can you feel it in the air? It's spring! And I just took my temperature. I've got spring fever. Anybody else feeling feverish? Oh, I'm restless. It's either spring or that 5th mocha-choca-latte I had. Or the Pop Rocks and Red Bull I had for breakfast.

It always happens to me around this time of year. It's getting warmer, the sun is shining, my winter coat is shedding, I'm in heat... I'm sorry. I'm thinking of my cat. Anyway, I love the spring, and I love doing springy things. Here's what I'm talking about...

These are the Top 5 Springiest Things You Can Do:

#1) Break out the espadrilles and tube tops!

#2) Run through a field of daisies. If you can't find daisies, daffodils will do ya. If you live in an urban area just run through the middle of the street... but do it naked. Trust me, that's very spring-y.

#3) Daydream. I've got a recurring daydream going on lately. I can't tell you all of it, but I will say it involves me, Ryan Gosling and Tootie from

"Facts of Life" in a very intense game of Boggle.

#4) Walk with a parasol. Nothing says it's spring like a parasol! Am I right, ladies of the 1800s? And, if you don't have a parasol, you can use an umbrella, but people will think it's raining just where you are... or just that you're cuckoo.

#5) Fall in love. And if you're not in love right now, I have three words of advice for you: Lower your standards.

Whispering is not quiet. Not talking is quiet. When you’re looking for a quiet moment, a whisper can be more disturbing than a voice talking at normal volume. Whispering forces you to pay attention because you know that whatever is being said has got to be juicy. When you gossip about someone, you naturally go into a whisper. I guess that people think that if they gossip in a lower voice, it makes it all right. “Did you see Sally? She’s really let herself go.”

Some people think they can direct a whisper. They cover up their mouth with their hand or a menu. Doing that just draws attention to the fact that they’re whispering. Maybe I’m just paranoid, but when I’m in a restaurant and I see someone talk behind their menu, I think they’re talking about me. When they’re probably just whispering, “The crab cakes are horrible.” Some people have perfected the art of whispering without moving their lips. I think that’s how ventriloquism was invented. “Did I hear you say that I’ve really let myself go?” “No Sally, it was that little wooden man sitting in the corner.”

It seems like being nice is making a comeback. It used to be uncool to act nice. Remember the brooding ‘90s? Everybody was so sullen. “Look at me, I have a nose ring and I’m cranky!” “Look at my big black boots. They make it easier for me to kick dirt when I’m mad.”

I saw an old clip of Ashton Kutcher modeling on the runway -- and he was so angry. “Why did God make me so ridiculously good looking? I’ve never been madder!” Models rarely smile. Mostly because they don’t eat bread. If you ever see a model smile, it’s because they just had a bagel. I think being cool started out in the ‘50s with leather jackets, jeans, slicked back hair, and smoking. Like James Dean. That’s not that cool anymore. Now when you see a guy that looks like that, it’s because they’re replacing the drummer in Sha Na Na.

A lot of things used to be cool until they found out they were bad for us. Like cocktails. Everybody drank all the time. Everybody had a full bar in their house. Bloody Marys in the morning... martinis at lunch... a highball at five... wine with dinner... brandy for dessert. Oh, how I long for the old days. That big, dumb Surgeon General.

The one thing that remains cool is a pair of sunglasses. If you have on a great pair of sunglasses, it doesn’t matter what else you’re wearing. You could be wearing floods and a headband and a Members Only jacket, but if your sunglasses are cool, you're all set. I guess what I'm saying is, I think cool is about being yourself.

I love to shop. I like to buy trinkets and whatnots. Once, I bought a doodad. So, I'm in this store and I saw an adorable little hat. It was perfect for me because my head is so tiny. At that point, the saleslady came over and said, "Oh... that's not a hat. It's a cashmere baby poncho." So I said, "Yeah. No duh. I know it's a baby poncho. I know that very well."

I wear all kinds of things on my head that aren't hats. One time it rained and I wore a dog bowl. People loved it! The poncho looked like a hat to me... either that or a cashmere dickie. It had a little hole in it. I thought it was breathing room for the top of the head... like a visor. I didn't even know babies needed ponchos... you never see them riding donkeys. I think the saleslady should've just gone with it to make the sale. "Well, well, well... that hat fits you perfect." Then, as soon as I left, she could tell everybody in the store, "I just sold some nutcase a baby poncho for a hat!"

I say, why can't you wear a poncho for a hat? This is America, isn't it? You can use lots of things for other things. Did you know that some people use pantyhose to strain fruit when they make jam? It's true. I saw it on Martha Stewart. Pantyhose are actually good for lots of things, like... robbing banks... what else? ...robbing convenience stores. ...Let's see, what else? ...just robbing, I guess... and jam.

I watch Animal Planet a lot. I get up very early and start my day watching, “Animal Miracles.” They tell true stories of animals doing amazing things. Usually it’s a story about a dog who rescues its owners. I’ve noticed a trend. They only save their owners. They’re selfish. “Oh no, if he goes, so do the bacon strips!” Everyone thinks of dogs saving people, but cats save people too. Why don’t they have more cats on the police force? “Whiskers, pat ‘em down.” That’s gotta hurt. Fish don’t really save anybody. Those are tragic stories. They jump out of their bowl... get to the phone… their fin dials “9” ...and that’s it. They can’t do any more. That ends badly for both owner and fish. I usually TiVo through those stories.

I heard a story about dolphins in Australia surrounding a swimmer in the ocean because there was a great white shark in the area. Isn’t that amazing? They were protecting the swimmer. Or, maybe they were playing a dolphin game called, “Guard Your Man.” I don’t know why more people don’t have dolphins as pets. I’d like that. Of course, the bowl would have to be really big. Then there’s that amazing story about the ape that raised the baby. ...Oh wait, that’s Tarzan.

Whenever I see a little kid, I think that each one is more beautiful than the
next. The fact is, I like to think of each of you website readers out there as m’little babies. I’m the mama and you’re the chickies. And I’ll lead you to the comedy pond, and if you get cold I’m gonna sit on ya. You’re welcome, quack.

I love kids. It’s so cute when they lose their teeth. They can fall asleep anywhere. They don’t have to pay for anything. Now that I think about it, kids are basically tiny hobos. But I think we can learn a lot from kids. They are so honest. If they think you look fat, they’ll tell you, “You look fat.” If you want to know about your neighbor’s marriage, you should ask their kid. “Really, Davy? You say ‘loveless?’ Here’s a quarter… keep your ears open.”

I love that kids can turn any chore into a game. I know because my housekeeper is 8. I taught her a game called “Ring around the Tubby.” She gets in that tub and scrubs and scrubs and never complains! Her tiny little hands can get in all the cracks. Then, when she’s done, she gets a fruit roll-up. Well, that’s enough blogging for today, kids. Why don’t you go out and play for a little while?

There’s always that person that knows everything. “Know-it-alls,” they’re called. Sometimes they come in handy, like when your carburetor is broken or your garbage disposal won’t work. For either of those problems, by the way, a wooden spoon will help. But “know-it-alls” will never let you tell them a fact without going, “Yeah, I know.” To me, that’s a conversation stopper. When somebody answers me with “I know,” or even worse, “I already know that.” I’m done talking. They can just look at me and keep saying, “I know… I know… I know.” If you tell them anything, they always try to top you. “George Washington was our first president.” “Yeah. And he played the violin with his feet.” Then they do a little “I’m so smart” dance with their eyes. Not only do they know it all, they want you to know it all. Personally, I am a “know-it-some.” I know some things that usually aren’t much help. For instance, did you know that on average, 4-year-olds ask 400 questions a day? It’s true, and 399 of those questions are, “Why?”

Sometimes it’s dangerous when I can’t sleep late at night. I’ll stumble on an infomercial, and out of curiosity, I’ll watch a little. Next thing I know, I’ve been watching for an hour and I’m convinced I need a Salad Spinner. Granted, I was drunk... and craving salad... and I was sitting there with a head of soaking wet lettuce. How I got the TV in the pool, I have no idea.

Anyway, infomercials are a 4 billion dollar a year industry. Clearly they did studies and they know our judgment is at its worst at 2 in the morning. I don’t know why they call them infomercials. It’s not actual information. I’ve watched tons of them and I still don’t know what caused the French Revolution. Although I believe it had something to do with cheese.

The way infomercials get you is; they tell you that it’s a special price and it’s only for a limited time. So you feel like you have to ACT NOW. There’s a little clock on the screen telling you how much time you have left. It’s like an episode of “24.” “Listen to me Rhonda, I need that food dehydrator! I need sun dried tomatoes! I need sun-dried tomatoes, now!!” And the way they price things is tricky. It seems reasonable at first. “Oh it’s just $19.99.” Then they tell you it’s 89 easy payments of $19.99. And you realize you just spent 39 thousand dollars on a Native American doll.

Our skin is very important. It’s the largest organ in our body. The average adult has 21 square feet of skin, which weighs 7 pounds, which is the same weight as a small Chihuahua… or 15 bananas… or 7-pound weights. There are all kinds of skin products. All the skin product companies give out free samples so you can try them. People love free samples. They like to grab a bunch of them and put them in their purse. When they finally get around to trying them, they have no idea what they're putting on. "Whoops, that's mustard! ... but my skin is glowing!"

Skin care is a 12-billion-dollar a year industry. There's 300 million people in America… so if you do the math, that means we spend about a hundred million dollars per person. You didn't know you made that much money, did you? A lot of people ask me, they say, "Ellen, what are your skin care secrets?" What I do is… now try to follow this; I wash my face and then I moisturizer it. They say these are the best things you can do for your skin; stay out of the sun, don’t smoke. Keep hydrated and stay away from alcohol and caffeine. That's why the people with the best skin are Mormons. Have you seen Donny and Marie lately? No. Nobody has. They're indoors looking young, drinking water and scrapbooking.

Happy Mother’s Day to all you mothers out there! We only give you one day a year. It should really be the opposite. We should celebrate you every day. Except for one day, so you don’t get a big head. Where would we be without mothers? We wouldn’t be anywhere because no one would be born. Even mothers wouldn’t be here because their mothers wouldn’t be here. And their mothers and their mothers... it would just be a world filled with sea horses.

One day a year, we give our moms flowers and a card to show we understand how much they do for us, but most of the time we take them for granted. Being a mom is a lot of sacrifice and pain from the get-go. The moment you enter the world, you cause her pain. Agony, really. I have trouble getting my i-Pod earphones out of my ears… I can’t even imagine childbirth. You come out screaming and crying. Then you’re crawling around and putting things in your mouth. Then you learn the word, “NO.” And you become rebellious. Soon you’re hanging out with wrong crowd and start smoking Pall Malls. You hop on the rail cars and live the life of the hobo... then I turned 15. OH MAMA! I’M SORRY YOUR BABY’S SO BAD, MAMA!

Moms put up with so much. And all they do is love you unconditionally. They’re always there for you. And they love you for who you are. Even if they do wish you’d wear a dress once in a while.

I still can’t get over how much fun I had in Chicago. You can tell that everybody there has a huge amount of pride in their hometown. Hometowns are fantastic places. I recommend that you get one if you don’t already have one. One thing that most of us all have in common is that we come from somewhere. I’m from New Orleans. It’s my hometown. You can tell I’m from New Orleans when I say things like, “All y’all.” That means “all of you.” If I used it in a sentence it would be, “When are all y’all comin’ by for beignets and a sleepover?” We’re friendly in the south.

Whenever you meet someone new from the same hometown, you instantly have a connection. Suddenly, you’re best friends with a complete stranger, but you still won’t speak to your next-door neighbor after that whole key-party thing. The ‘70s ruined a lot of friendships. You always think people from the same place know each other. “You’re from Saskatchewan? Do you know Kathy Stevens? She’s from Saskatchewan too.” It can be anywhere. “Oh, you’re from earth? Do you know Bob?”

I have a big brother. Not “big brother” like, “big brother is watching.” He might be watching. He’d better be watching. I’m talking about Vance. It’s so comforting to have a big brother. ‘Cause no matter how much older I get, he’ll always be older. Because he’s the eldest, Vance got to break-in my parents for me. He did it the way you break-in a baseball mitt. He oiled them up, wrapped a rubber band around them and ran them over with the car. My parents only had two kids, so I’m the youngest. I’m glad I’m not the middle child. I don’t have anything against middle children… except for Jan from “The Brady Brunch.” She was whiny.

When I was growing up, I always wanted a sister, or a puppy, or a really good stereo. And I think having a twin would be really cool. Twins amaze me. I think they're the most magical, supernatural, spooky things in the world -- besides leprechauns and twin leprechauns. I think if I had an identical twin, it would never stop freaking me out. I'd come down to the kitchen every morning and see myself making coffee… and I'd think, "I don't remember getting up this early." And I'd think, "Hmm. She's pretty." And I'd think, "What's going on? If I'm making coffee, then who am I?" And I'd think, "She's 50 years old, when is she gonna get her own place?" Then I'd say in our secret twin language: "Tiki tiki whoop dee whoop!" Which means, "Come on, we're late for our Doublemint audition!"

One of the best ways to stay cool this summer is to go to the movies. There’s lots to keep in mind when you’re going to the movies. First, you’ve got to find the perfect seat. I like to find a seat that’s somewhere in the middle. Once you’re seated, your eyes will be busy watching the movie. Your hands will be busy eating the popcorn. This leaves your legs out and looking for trouble. Do not let them bounce the person in front of you. No one deserves being kicked in their seat… except for tall people who sit in front of you. I think that tall people should be forced by law to sit in the last row. They can hang out back there with the people who bring in their own candy with the extra loud wrappers. There’s a reason that milk duds aren’t individually wrapped.

Then there are the people on dates at the movies. It’s very sweet. But when they’re sitting in front of you, and they get snuggly and they lean their heads in, they create a great wall that you cannot see around. It’s a love shield. And all you can do is hope their necks get tired, or they break up mid-movie. People on dates should sit in the back just in front of the tall people. Finally, people who talk back at the screen to warn the actors should sit in the lobby. Instead of yelling at the screen “Don’t go in there! There's a murderer behind the door,” they can warn people who can actually hear them: “Don’t buy that popcorn! It has 10,000 calories and costs 50 bucks! Don't do it!"

Hola! Como estas?! Happy Cinco de Mayo. If you’re home-schooling or just curious by nature, Cinco de Mayo means the 5th of May… and soup du jour means soup of the day. I did some research about the holiday because I don’t like to write about things I don’t know about. That’s why I hardly ever write about nuclear fission. Most Americans think that Cinco de Mayo is Mexico’s Independence Day. But no, their Independence Day is on September 16th. Cinco de Mayo actually celebrates an outnumbered Mexican army that defeated the French army in 1862… and who doesn’t like celebrating that? I don’t know what the French were doing in Mexico. I think they may have been there for spring break. If I remember correctly, the French tried to get the Mexicans to wear Speedos and the next thing you know, a war broke out. I think that little troublemaker Napoleon had something to do with it. I think the reason he always had his hand in his coat was he was hiding a taco and he didn’t want to share. And who can blame him? They are simply delicious. Sure, sometimes the taco shells can be sharp and you can tear up the roof of your mouth, but that’s okay because the tequila will sterilize the cut. Once again, if you are home-schooling, don’t tell your parents where you learned this history. It’s just between you and me. Okay kids?

It’s time to do something about waiting rooms. They’re so excruciatingly boring and dreary. At least when people wait at my show, they can dance. Although I suppose you can dance in any waiting room, as long as you’re not in there for hip replacement surgery. The nurses in waiting rooms hide behind a frosted glass window. They want no part of a waiting room. They open the window just a crack to hand you a pen and a form. It always sounds like a party back there. You can hear chatting and laughing and clinking of glasses. Meanwhile, you’re in a room that’s so crowded, you have to sit really close to people who are probably contagious. They’re always looking over your shoulder to try and read all your personal information. “What a coincidence, Ellen, I have trouble doing that first thing in the morning too!”

The magazines are always way out of date. You know the magazines are old when Charlie Chaplin is on the cover of “People’s Sexiest Man Alive” and Popular Science is celebrating the invention of the cotton gin. But old magazines are better than no magazines. After a few hours of waiting, you’ll read anything. I ended up reading, “Your Pancreas and You: Friends for Life,” cover to cover. ...And yes, I’ll admit it. I cried at the end.