It’s freezing here is Southern California, literally below zero at night. So when my hands get cold, I look for the warmest place to warm them up. That would be Denis’ armpits.

It’s the perfect combination: two warm pits, two cold hands. If he’s wearing a flannel shirt, it’s gotta be over a hundred in there! The downside for him is he can’t really move, unless we walk in one direction together since he’s free to drink some water or answer the phone. It only takes 5 minutes to warm up and then he’s free to go.  I told you I had a good man.

p.s. It doesn’t work as well when he’s naked.

Back in August, I had an episode of arrhythmia (I could feel my heart beating in my throat) and wound up seeing to a cardiologist who had me wear a heart monitor to see if I had heart disease or if I might need a pacemaker. At the time, I was cleared and in fact, the arrhythmia disappeared in a few weeks. I never imagined I would have a cardiologist but I sure was glad everything was okay. —- Fast forward to last week: I went to my regular long-time doctor for an annual physical including a blood test. He called me today with the results and I was surprised he was calling on a Saturday of a long weekend. He had never called on a weekend before so it made me anxious. He told me my total cholesterol, which had been elevated, was good and so was my LDL. I said that was good news. “But I have some bad news,” he said. “I’m sorry to have to tell you this,” he went on to say, “but you are going to find out anyway.” I could feel a knot in the pit of my stomach and I started to sweat. “It was just 3 months since you saw your cardiologist,” he said as I tried to remember what was on my bucket list. My heart was pounding! Give it to me straight, doc! What have I got – six months? But I’m still working on my cookbook. Why is he taking so long?? I can handle the truth – just tell me. “Your cardiologist died.”

What? That’s great! … NO! Not great! … But good news! … No, it’s not! Not good news, not for him, but good for me. That’s wrong too. Not good for anybody. How can I feel sad for him when I was just pulled back from the long dirt nap. No doctor should ever say, “I have bad news,” unless you’re the one who’s dying! Now I hate myself for being glad, and the stress of this is making my blood pressure rise and my heart is beating in my throat. OMG, I think my arrhythmia is back!

The first season of the Jenny Jones Show  was a lot different from the last.  So was my appearance.  I can best illustrate the difference with this old clip I found of a little segment called “Bimbo School.”  I played the Bimbo (I still had the boobs!).  The Academy Award Nominating Committee did not call but we sure had some fun.

Enjoy some old school Jenny.

http://www.jennyjones.com/bt_video_highlights.shtml

I had my first pomegranate today and I’ve never had one so sweet and crisp and ruby red inside. It took patience not to pick them off my tree but I waited until one was cracked and I could see the inside. Last year I grew two and this year, almost twenty! This picture is not photoshopped – that’s exactly what it looked like (it’s gone now).  

Here’s a picture of it after I cut it open:

I needed a treat today after my mini meltdown yesterday but I guess that had to come out. I had been holding that pain for years and it actually felt good to let it go. I’m feeling much better now thanks to the loving support and kind words sent by my blog buddies. Thank you all for caring enough to write.  I wish I could send you all a pomegranate, but I can send you a big thank you hug. (((H)))

I’ve received a number of emails asking why I wasn’t on the Oprah Show that featured other talk show hosts including Montel Williams and Ricki Lake. To put it simply, I was not invited. I guess she was not a fan. Oprah tapes her show in Chicago and in 1990, when I came to town with my show, I never felt welcome there. From the very beginning, the local press was brutal, calling me a prima donna, saying I demanded limos everywhere when in fact I rode my bike to work, or drove my Saturn. Chicago Magazine blindsided me with a scathing article titled “Talking Trash” about what a horrible person I was and to this day I don’t know why. I even contacted the editor and invited him to lunch, asking that he invite the reporter who wrote the lies in the hopes that once they met me, things would change.  The reporter had a previous engagement.  The press was so brutal, I even drove to the Sun-Times to ask their most vicious columnist, Bob Feder, face-to-face why he was doing this to me. His answer was, “You came to my city and I can write whatever I choose.”

It didn’t end when I left. I recently did a phone interview with a Chicago radio station looking for people who needed money from Jenny’s Heroes and this is what they posted on their website: “A lot of people will remember the Jenny Jones show for an episode that never aired — the one about same-sex crushes; The show that led to one guest killing another. A court found the Jenny Jones Show not liable for the safety of its guests. The show nosedived afterwards. That said, Jenny Jones is giving away $2 million, in relatively small increments, to people she calls “Jenny’s Heroes.” It seemed that even after I left, the local media still hated me.

I met Oprah once at a prime time special taping for Phil Donahue, in fact we shared the same elevator, and I spoke to her, trying to get her up to speed since she missed rehearsal, but she just ignored me and stared straight ahead. I still don’t know why. It can’t be that my show was bad because she has hired several of my former staff members, including my executive assistant. I was never going to write about this but once I started this post, I couldn’t stop.  I suppose I needed to vent and I’m sorry to be so negative.  The truth is it’s painful to be vilified the way I was (and still am) by a city I grew to love and called my second home. So the Oprah snub is just one more rejection. Life goes on.

Part Two: I was just told that Entertainment Weekly’s Popwatch posted this poll of who was missing from the Oprah photo.  But who’s missing from the list?  It sucks to not matter. Writer Kerrie Mitchell must be from Chicago.

Hair wasn’t the only thing that was big in the 80s – so were earrings!  The bigger and brighter the better. And I had some of the best and biggest, in fact some were so big & heavy they had to be clip-ons to provide ballast and stability. But they also had history: I wore one of them on my first date with Denis, one when I presented on the People’s Choice Awards, and another pair on Star Search, so I found a way I could enjoy them every day. I went to a craft store and bought a cardboard heart and some glue and I made this recycled art to hang on my wall. It’s full of sparkle and color but mostly beautiful memories.

While in Vegas, Denis and I had dinner at a nice Italian restaurant in Summerlin. Our waitress (is that PC?  maybe it’s “server” but she didn’t serve the food, somebody else did…anyway…her name was Michelle) was very nice but she was looking at me kind of funny.  It wasn’t my first time being looked at funny but she finally said, “I don’t mean to stare but you look so familiar. Are you on TV?”  I said that I had been on TV and she jumped in and said, “Wait! Don’t tell me!  Are you on the news?” No. “Wait, wait! Don’t tell me, are you an actress?” No.  This went on until our soup got cold so I decided to give her a hint.  My hint was ‘daytime television.’ She stared even harder, trying hard to figure out who I was. “Don’t tell me, I know this,” she said.  My hair was in a pony tail so I told her I had shoulder length, blond hair. Our staring contest continued.  Finally I said, “I’ll just tell you I’m…”  “No, don’t tell me – give me another hint.”  Okay, I told her my first and last name start with the same letter – that should do it.  Nothing.  I was getting hungry so I told her those letters were ‘J.’  She had to get it now.  Still nothing. Desperation finally set in and she called the hostess over, saying, “Do you know who this is?” “Sure,” she said, “it’s Jenny Jones.” Michelle almost dropped her bread basket! She was so excited and said she was a huge fan and watched my show all the time. Have I changed that much? I’m waiting for the day I’m asked the same question: “Were you on TV?” “Yes, I was.  I’m Jenny Jones.” “No, you’re not.”

Denis and I made two round trips to Las Vegas in two weeks and it’s about a 4-hour drive (5 if I’m driving!). But since Denis was driving, I entertained myself by looking for out-of-state license plates and I could not believe how many I saw just between Los Angeles and Las Vegas.  Here’s my list: New Mexico, New Jersey, Virginia, Tennessee, Illinois, Maine, South Dakota, Florida, Mississippi, Nebraska, Iowa, Indiana, Michigan, Pennsylvania, Missouri, Minnesota, Wisconsin, Montana, Arizona, Texas, Washington, Idaho, Oregon, Oklahoma, Utah, South Carolina, Kansas, North Carolina, and guess what? Alaska and Hawaii!  I saw TWO cars with Hawaii plates!  Wait, there’s more: Ontario, Alberta, Manitoba, British Columbia, and Quebec! Oh, Canada… My peeps! 

I didn’t mind the drive but I still don’t like staying in hotels, even nice ones. Who knows what went on in that room before we got there? There was a stain on the floor looked suspicious but I guess a stain is better than a chalk outline of a body, huh? I wondered about bedbugs but opted not to look.  There were no bite marks in the morning so I guess they weren’t there… or else they were still full from the last guy.

We are back home after Victor’s memorial service and burial in Las Vegas.  The service was held in the Greek Orthodox church with their ancient traditions including song, prayer, candles, and incense.  The incense is carried by the priest in a beautiful metal censer, which also contains charcoal, and is suspended by chains and twelve bells symbolizing the twelve apostles. The censer is swung by the priest during prayer.  

There will now be 40 days of mourning during which time his widow will wear black and then at 40 days, there is another memorial, and again in 6 months and one year. Victor had a lot of old friends who came and I heard many of them say, “I’ve know Victor for 48 years…. 29 years….,” etc. And Victor’s entire family was there, flying in from all over.  His sister from Pennsylvania, a daughter and granddaughter from Ohio, a daughter, her husband, and three grandchildren from Switzerland, and my stepmom, Roula’s family came too: her two brothers and sister-in-law came from Canada.  It was a beautiful sendoff for a man who was loved by many. Later, we all had dinner together at the home of a family friend. 

My stepmom’s husband, Victor, passed away over the weekend. Denis and I are going back Wednesday for the funeral.

“Live as if you were to die tomorrow. Learn as if you were to live forever.” ~Mahatma Gandhi