I’m thankful to be a housebound old broad in an air-conditioned mansion.

It’s nearly 2 p.m. on a hot and steamy Saturday afternoon … nearly 94° with 50% humidity. You may or may not realize this, but Texas is a fucking SWAMP in the summer, especially when the temperature reaches triple digits … and we have a lot of triple-digit days here, sometimes for weeks on end, and the air gets so heavy you almost can’t breathe.

I’m thankful to be a housebound old broad in an air-conditioned mansion with plenty of refrigerated beverages. Woo-hoo!

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Sam is conked out on the sofa for his afternoon nap — ahh, retirement! — and we’re watching Captain Blood (1935) starring Errol Flynn and Olivia de Havilland. This is one of the best swashbuckling adventures EVER … especially the pirate battles at sea and the swordfight scene with Basil Rathbone.

Errol Flynn and Olivia de Havilland in “Captain Blood.”

Glancing at Sam over there on the sofa, sound asleep, I have to admit that I’m quite comfortable, too. I have no pain whatsoever today, not even in my usually-shitty feet and knees … therefore it’s my plan to get off the chaise later today, in time for dinner, so I can eat and type and enjoy being upright for a change.

If you’re wondering what’s on the menu tonight at Le Hospice Gourmet, I’m still wondering, too … because I haven’t decided yet! It would either be a fish fillet sandwich on a bun with excellent tartar sauce OR egg foo young from China City. Stay tuned for additional information but please feel free to resume your normal activities in the meantime. Thank you.

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Once again the Orange Menace (pictured below) began his weekend with a couple of moronic tweets in an effort to deflect yesterday’s devastating news about his former campaign chairman, Paul Manafort, who was thrown in prison yesterday to wait for his trial to begin in September. And Trump, and all of Trump’s pals, will face an identical fate … and Trump knows it.

The Manhattan orangutan, joyfully pondering where he’ll spend his life in prison.

So back to those Saturday morning tweet. Trump’s first tweet throws a blanket of praise on his loyal supporters as the “smartest … in our countries history,” although we certainly hope a few of them have a better grasp of English and sentence structure than HE does (“countries history” should read “country’s history”). And what the fuck is “Best numbers ever!” supposed to mean? Is Donald still ranting about crowd size?

Trump’s next moronic tweet blamed — as usual — Democrats for “forced family breakups” at the border and suggested that we learn how to work with Republicans on new legislation. This is a pathetic comedy of errors, as Republicans own the House, the Senate, the Supreme Court and the White House … how the fuck did the Democrats ever manage to pass a “forced family breakup” law?!

We need to take our country back from these lying sacks of shit. That’s all I can say tonight.

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No kidding, people … tonight’s dinner feast was incomparable! Sam suggested it and I agreed … we had a big bowl of saucy Mandarin Orange Chicken from Costco and I enjoyed a side order of leftover white sticky rice. For dessert I had a cup of Luigi’s Strawberry Italian Ice. (Lemon is the better flavor.)

Mandarin Orange Chicken from Costco is a tasty faux Chinese dinner from your own oven.

I know I mentioned earlier in this post that I wanted a fish fillet sandwich for dinner or maybe Egg Foo Young from China City. I didn’t have a chance to suggest either of them … Sam popped up with his idea first and I’m always happy to accommodate him. Sam isn’t a foodie and rarely wants anything for dinner except a fistful of raw baby carrots, which explains why he wears the same size pants as he did at 20 years old and why he prefers a few raisins to a top sirloin. He’s a string bean. An adorable 6'5" string bean!

I almost didn’t make it to my bench to eat dinner upright tonight. I tried get off the chaise and stand up … AND I COULDN’T DO IT. The muscles in my thighs didn’t work. I didn’t have any pain, but my legs were LIMP … like a rag doll. Fortunately I sat up for another 15 minutes and tried to stand again, and this time it worked fine. I hate getting scared like that. Jesus!

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Tonight Sam and I are watching Hollywood Ending (2002) starring Woody Allen, George Hamilton, Téa Leoni and Debra Messing. It’s cute. A typical nerdy Woody Allen comedy about a down-on-his-luck director named Val Waxman who finally gets hired to direct a big movie … except the day before he starts filming, he goes blind. It’s temporary and psychosomatic due to fear and paranoia, but he’s still TOTALLY BLIND and can’t tell anybody about it except his agent because he doesn’t want the producers to fire him. So the agent shows up every day on the set with Val to hold his arm and be his “eyes.” It’s hilarious. Woody has no idea what the fuck he’s doing … or what the fuck it looks like on film. I loved the scenes when he’s at a Hollywood party looking at the wrong person when he’s talking, when he pretends to see the “dailies” with the producers, and when he helps an assistant choose the background color of a set.

Téa Leoni and Woody Allen in “Hollywood Ending.”

I’m a Woody Allen fan, especially when he stars in his own movies, and I think it’s high time he got his star on the Hollywood Walk of Fame for television, the Cecil B. DeMille Award, the National Medal of the Arts and a Kennedy Center Honor. He’s been rebuffed by his own industry far too long and it’s time for all those self-righteous critics to stop “disapproving” of his lifestyle. Who gives a crap about his private life. It’s time to reward Woody Allen! And the Howdygram is pleased to award Hollywood Ending with its coveted five-star ★★★★★ rating.

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And now I have to wake Sam so he can help me transition from my bench back to the chaise lounge. Mostly he repositions my catheter bag so I won’t step on the cord or do something stupid ... like trip. Please take care of yourself, thank you for reading this and take a peek at the Alamo next time you’re in the neighborhood. It’s at 300 Alamo Plaza, San Antonio, Texas 78205.