Queenie Blows Back To MySweetCharity


The MySweetCharity global headquarters was shaken this morning. One of the elves scampered through the compound like Paul Revere: “She’s here! She’s here! She’s here!” There was just a way that the word “she” was shouted that there was no doubt who was indeed here.

As Queenie waddled her way to her throne room, Elder Elf pulled himself together to broach the old dowager.

Like “The Tudors’” Sam Neill, he bowed and gingerly asked, “We have missed your wonderfulness. Pray tell? Have we done something that has prevented your splendor from being with us?”

Snorting into a super-super-strength Puffs like a whale blowing through its blowhole, she looked at Elder through her kryptonite sunglasses.

“I had a fabulous winter. Visited a friend who was building a floating palace in the Mediterranean. Comforted another gal who was shedding her starter husband. Watched another lady who overdosed on plastic surgery. Had no idea that eyebrows could reach to the back of your neck.”

Despite his hunger for more delicious details about the world outside, Elder still noted how none would have warranted Queenie’s cheaters and terribly obvious sniffs.

“But, Ma’am, why do I sense your being not gloriously happy yourself?” Elder asked. He’s a smart old elf.

Queenie pulled off the shades and glowered at Elder saying, “It is a problem that faces only the very special amongst us. Some call it the flu; other say it’s a ‘nasty head cold;’ and still some swear it off as allergies due to the wanton ways of the season. Doesn’t matter. From my shoulders up, I have become the Trevi Fountain. I have been forced to replace my Cristal with NyQuil. How I shudder at that very admission! You and the elves are so fortunate to be so common that you’re not afflicted with this condition.”

With that, Queenie clutched her case of designer-made tissues and her crystal jug of NyQuil and settled into a state of sneezing, wheezing, and overall grumpiness.

Hey! There are times when it ain’t so great to be Queenie.

MySweetCharity’s Queenie Discovers Wondrous Things On Thanksgiving

Opening the doors to the main brain room of MySweetCharity headquarters, Queenie was filled with lifted nose and closed eyes this morning. For just a moment, she looked like Julie Andrews on top of the mountain. To the amazement of old and new, Queenie was happy.

Elder Elf approached her trying not to break the moment saying, “Your wondrous one, what has pleased you on this day?”

He was a tad bit worried since the elf staffing was on a holiday schedule and she might have noticed a shortage of short ones.

Like Scarlett O’Hara charming the Tarlton twins, she sashayed her way to her throne adjusting her newest tiara. Looking at Elder, she said, “I must confess today didn’t start out as I had planned. A distant, health-conscious cousin invited me to something called ‘The Turkey Trot,’ and you know how passionate I am about animals. Well, it turned out to be masses of people in T-shirts, shorts and running shoes. There wasn’t a gobbler in sight.”

Elder asked, “Did you take part in the run?”

Narrowing her overly-surgically-enhanced eyes Queenie said, “Heavens, no! I found my way back to MySweetCharity headquarters and took a wrong way down a hallway I had never seen. At the end of the passage, I discovered the most amazing site since Howard Carter discovered King Tut’s tomb. There was this room with so many wondrous things. And as if that wasn’t enough, there were the most amazing aromas arising from this room.”

As Queenie went into one of her mind-wandering periods, Elder and the vet elves gave each other the slinky eye.

Elder asked, “What was so amazing about this room?”

Queenie with closed eyes reliving the moment and head tilted to sky above recalled, “There were cabinets in which you could put bowls and they would come out in seconds with the most aromatic scents. When you plunged your spoon into the containers, the results were tantalizing. There was another shelf that produced buttery croissants and succulent delicacies like apple lattice and sweet potato pies that bubbled. Across the room was this huge cupboard. When I opened it, there were all types of frozen custards!”

No one had the heart to tell Queenie that she had discovered the MySweetCharity kitchen with its microwaves, ovens and Sub-Zero.

Have a happy and safe food-fest with friends, families and favorite critters.

A Christmas Day Feast Lost And Found Thanks To The MySweetCharity Duchess Of Great Acts Of Kindness

Christmas Day was rather chaotic around MySweetCharity headquarters. The MSC elves had planned a true feast at the end of the day for the Clauses and their North Pole elves. Unfortunately, while we were out untethering the reindeer from Santa’s sleigh, the MSC pandas snuck in and ate everything. To make things even worse, the electricity went out, so there would be no movie watching nor video game playing as planned.

We were all in tears and fears. Whatever would we do? And what would Queenie do when she woke from her holiday nap?

But she surprised us. . . even Santa’s elves, who knew well of Queenie’s temperament.

As she entered the Great Room with lantern in hand, she had tears running down her old, fat cheeks. Was it because of the disaster that had struck our celebration? No, it seems that she had just been notified by carrier pigeon that the Duchess of Great Acts of Kindness had made an “extremely generous donation” to buy toys for extremely needy children on behalf of MSC.

Looking around the room, Queenie asked why everyone else was crying, too. When we told her of the loss of our Christmas dinner and electricity, she told one and all to “dry up and get over it.” Immediately she sent elves scurrying for scented candles. Next she told the pixies to scrounge up board games and jigsaw puzzles. Then she turned to the brownies in from Santa Fe and told them to light up the mammoth fireplaces with pinon wood. Grabbing the sugar plum fairies, she hauled them into the kitchen. That in itself was amazing, because most of us didn’t think she knew where it was. A half hour later, the entire headquarters was smelling wonderfully and glowing. Just then Queenie and fairies emerged with all types of fixin’s — peppermint cocoa topped with marshmallows, homemade eggnog shooters, frosted cinnamon rolls, a 2’ tall smore, vanilla sundaes with peanut-brittle sprinkles and a sea-salt covered caramel cake.

The rest of the evening games and puzzles were played by candlelight and the burning logs. Everyone seemed to look so much better in the glow of the flickering lights. And conversations and giggles flowed as the games and puzzles were underway. A sugar high was achieved by all.

As the last of the other elves fell asleep in their trundle beds, Queenie waddled back to her hibernation chamber with a smile. I asked her if the reason was the fact that she had saved the day for MSC’s holiday celebration? No. She said the party had been fun, but it was the Duchess, who had inspired Queenie to appreciate what MSC had, and not what they lacked.

Queenie Recalls The Night That A Portly Chap Souped It Up Much To The Chagrin Of The Serving Staff

It’s not often, but occasionally Queenie will join the elves in the cocoa-sipping room for their afternoon break. At these times the old gal will recall something from her past days of yore.

Today was one of those recollection days.

As she settled into her overly cushy throne, she told of attending a débutante presentation dinner decades ago. The debs were all in voluptuous white ball gowns looking like porcelain dolls engulfed in delicious meringue. The men’s club members were so elegant in white ties and tails. Each of the young gentlemen had a “junior” or a number following his name on his place card. These guests were the cream of Dallas society. Why, someone claimed that one portly chap was the descendant of a man who helped John Neely Bryan build his cabin.

All the waiting staff seemed to be tall with perfect posture as each course was served with the precision of the Kilgore Rangerettes.

It was during the serving of one of the courses that Queenie remembered like a kitten who had just snagged her first bird. After the entrée had been removed, beautiful bowls with lemon slices floating in clear liquid were perfectly placed before each guest. Portly Chap picked up the remaining spoon at his place, dipped it into his bowl and proceeded to slurp it up. All but Queenie followed suit. When her table companion asked her why she wasn’t interested in her “soup,” she smiled holding back a wave of giggles and said she was simply too full.

Another guest consoled her saying, “Don’t worry. It’s pretty bland.” Over the shoulder of Portly Chap, the senior server grimaced.

As Senior Server and the other staff member removed the now partially empty bowls, they quickly placed dessert in front of the guests and poured coffee. Portly Chap made a pouty face. He called over Senior Server.

“We don’t have spoons for our coffee!” Portly said, obviously not please.

Without missing a beat, Senior Server apologized and provided spoons.

Labor Day Launches The Fundraising Season, The Changing Of Queenie’s Closets And New Slippers With Bells For The Elves

It’s Labor Day, one of the MySweetCharity elves’ favorite days. On this day Queenie’s spring/summer closet is replaced by her fall/winter closet. It’s such a happening.

This afternoon the elves all lined the boulevard leading to MSC headquarters as two towering cranes arrived. Like a skilled surgeon, the first crane placed hooks on the vast complex of closets with islands topped with marble, cedar closets, shoe racks and walls of mirrors. After it was hoisted and driven away, the second crane carefully replaced it with its winter counterpart just busting with all types of tiaras, couture gowns with elongated trains and her collection of Ming Dynasty silk robes enhanced by the forbidden stitch.

While all of that was going on, the MSC elves were being fitted by the shoemaker’s elves for their cooler temperature slippers with their cashmere lining and bells on the curved toes that play “Hallelujah Chorus” when a child is born.

As Queenie looked on from her fall/winter throne, the elves celebrated with pancakes. Unlike past years when only risotto pancakes stuffed with Italian White Alba truffles were served, Queenie arranged for s’mores pancakes to be offered for those with a sweet tooth or two.

With regal posture, Queenie looked over the sea of elves and announced, “This year will be the most remarkable in history for fundraising. Let us show respect, honesty and compassion in our coverage. Our goal continues to be to provide ‘a conversation for the good of Dallas.’”

As if planned, the sound of “Hallelujah” jingled throughout. Somewhere a baby had just been born.

UPDATE: MySweetCharity’s Local Social Empress Post

Not since her cousin Pandora opened her box of mischief has Queenie stirred up such a clatter of chatter. Evidently, her tea break with Local Social Empress created quite an uproar. She even had one gal declare herself as a “Local Social Peon!” to avoid damnation.

No, it’s not who you thought it was. It was the other one. Don’t ask; Queenie won’t tell.

But regardless of who LSE is, the message is still the same — when you’re a guest of a generous host/hostess, don’t think your presence is the present. If you haven’t got the ca-ching to donate, you’ve got the time to volunteer. It will take less time than to have your nails gelled!

It’s sorta like dating. You remember that. First, there’s an eye-lock and attraction. Then you try a second encounter and you discover that there is an intimate embrace that only can be appreciated by you two. Think the 1960’s “The Thomas Crown Affair”.  [Warning: This link is slightly R-rated, so don’t play it at work or in front of the kids unless they’ve have had that talk with you.]

Ah, that’s what LSE was trying to get across. You have an “opportunity” to have a relationship that will not only benefit the supposed recipient, but you as well.

Queenie Blows A Gasket Over Email Inquiry

Today started off so nicely. Sure, it was a bit warm, but the solar-powered A/C was cranked up. The elves had just finished posting the latest batch of events on the MySweetCharity calendar. To celebrate, one of the Scottish elves brought in some homemade scones with rich butter and jams.

Queenie was sipping her Da Hong Pao tea and reading her emails. Everything was fine until she got to one. It was amazing to see the old girl’s face become a rich Tyrian purple, as she prepared to blow.

As the elves hid in their favorite hiding places, Queenie stood up shouting, “No! Never! Not ever!”

Elder Elf asked, “What won’t happen, Oh One Who Is The Brightest Star In the Universe?” (The old fellow knows how to phrase a question, don’t you know?)

Queenie swooned and fell back on her Lila Jang canapé. Two MSC pet ostriches fanned her. All she could do was wave the email that had sent her into apoplexy. Elder put on his specs and read it — “Do you ever ‘share’ or ‘sell’ the MSC subscriber list?”

Elder shuddered. Elves collapsed and wailed throughout the MSC queen-dom.

Until MSC can return to norm, take heart. When you subscribe to MSC, you are only signing up to receive a roundup of the MSC posts from the day before. That’s it. No one else has access to the list. Never has, never will.

Queenie Banishes F-words And Builds Ponds

Queenie arrived at the MySweetCharity international headquarters after a world tour of fundraising and champagne toasting. What she discovered was a cluster of elves in tears and pulling their itty-bitty hairs out of their heads.

“Pray tell,” said Queenie reviewing her freshly gel-led nails, “what is the problem?’

Chief Elf edged through the elves to her and reported as honestly as possible, “Last week was pretty rough. Everyone has been frantic, frazzled, frenetic and fed-up*.”

Raising her freshly plucked arched left eyebrow, Queenie inquired, “What has caused this situation?

With all the other elves still shaking and quaking, Chief Elf reported that it seems that the IT elves had not been in sync. Seems one had splurged and gotten a new state-of-the-art router, another had upgraded to super-duper turbo and still another had switched servers. And then there was the tsunami of activities that had had the elves splitting in two to cover the sudden surge of activities. The results: total MSC chaos.

Queenie took a deep breath, closed her eyes and calmly screamed, “Wait a fricking minute.”

After the elves covered themselves with Teflon blankets, Queenie said she was banishing any and all F-words. Then she gathered all the elves and told them not to touch their keyboards or mouse and to close their eyes. The elves were to take a deep breath and visualize a pond. . . a perfect pond. She then asked, “Does your pond have a weeping willow? A swan floating by? A slight breeze?”

After a minute, Queenie told them to open their eyes. “That pond is yours and yours alone. In the days ahead when you start having those moments of confusion, frustration and anxiety, take a deep breath, close your eyes and go to your pond. It’s uniquely yours. Embrace it and enjoy it, for the pond is yours and yours alone.”

As the elves went back to their duties, the Chief Elf suggested, “I wouldn’t suggest ‘going to your pond’ while driving a car, riding a unicorn or anything that requires motion.”

Editor’s note: If your pond does not resolve your frustrations, anxieties and worries, then consider seeking advice from a greater and smarter source. Seeking help is not wrong. Denying you need help is.  

* Oh, you were thinking of some other F-word?

Call To Action For MySweetCharity Elves

“Harrumph!” was the greeting that Queenie e-blasted the MySweetCharity elves this morning. It seems that the promised January-month off was just that  — “Off!”

Since returning from her whirlwind tour of friends’ castles, Queenie discovered a tsunami of events were taking place within days and she was nary with assistance. Shoot! The old gal didn’t even know how to work the Keurig.

Immediately, she demanded all elves return to headquarters.

It wasn’t pretty. The elves that had been playing in the Caribbean were the worst. It seems that elves do not tan like “normal folk.” When they’re out in the sun, their skin looks more like a Graham Cracker.

Then there were the elves who had taken off with Santa Claus’s staff. They had been ho-ho-ing so much their toes had uncurled and couldn’t fit in their shoes.

Luckily, the elves that had fed the church mice were fine as fiddles and ready to take on any task.

Queenie, on the other hand, suffered the vapors. Luckily, her doctor was on hand and prescribed double doses of smores, dark chocolate caramels and a foot massage daily.

OMG! If you thought 2012 was something, wait til you see 2013.

Queenie Takes To Her Bed

Queenie showed up this morning in her flannel granny nightgown. It’s the one with the gold epaulets and the numerous ribbons from past conquests. An elf intern, who really should have known better, asked, “Are those bags under your eyes?”

Glowering at the little elf, Queenie sneered, “Royals do not have bags. They have luggage.”

Then someone noticed that in her hand was a half-full bottle of NyQuil. Oh, dear. With that the room emptied. Queenie evidently had picked up a bug and shown up at the royal workshop anyhow.

Donning a surgical mask, one of the elder elves approached Queenie and sternly admonished her, “You know better than to be here. When we say share, we certainly don’t mean ‘bugs.’ Now get yourself home and back to bed. . . your most supreme and serene highness.”

She left and a Hazmat team was called in to sanitize the area where she had been.

In her absence, MSC elf “Happy Hour” will commence earlier than usual.

MySweetCharity Elves Hit The Root Cellar As Queenie Blows Her Royal Stack

OMG, the elves are currently unavailable. They’re all hiding in the root cellar. Queenie just returned from a night on the town and was she . . . er, “upset.” Evidently it started earlier in the day, when a MySweetCharity post about the NasherSalon was made. Seems a couple of comments came in that were “not constructive.” As any old timer in the MSC universe knows, all commenters are vetted on their first post. When Queenie, her supreme self, sent an email asking for verification of their email address and proof of authorship, no response came. She was. . . shall we say. . . upset. . . we’re not allowed to use words that would adequately describe her attitude. One of the newbie elves suggested that perhaps the comments had been made by people with “fake email addresses.” Holy St. Augustine grass! The poor little newbie was shot through and through with laser-like looks. Didn’t the newest kid in MSC know that fake email addresses don’t fly in this kingdom?

Then someone mentioned an incident about the alleged misconduct of an adult with an underage person. Well, this shoved old Queenie over the edge and into the Grand Canyon. As she fell into the depths of anger, she screamed at the top of her lungs that “children are children. They were meant to be protected and nurtured by adults, whether the adult is 18 or 100. Equally the accused is entitled to protection until a court decides otherwise.”  

Blowing hot air out of all orifices like a humpback whale, Queenie took to her bed with her bed warmer, a linen hankie and a box of dark chocolate caramels. By that time the elves were safely ensconced in the cellar.

It has not been a good day in the MSC universe. Tomorrow offers great promise to be better.

PR Person Pushes The Wrong Button And The MSC Elves Head For Cover

Yipes! The MSC elves have been quivering in the cubbyholes and the root cellar. Queenie was up before the crack of dawn to attend the la-di-da arrival of the Emirates inaugural flight from Dubai

Emirates arrival participants

to DFW International. Due to a lack of caffeine and bulldozer media, she was in a very bad place of mind. Then it happened — the call that pushed our beloved Queenie into what we refer to as the “guillotine-state-of-mind.”

A pr person called. OK, so that didn’t push the old broad over the edge. It was the pr person’s question, “So I hear that you’re writing about one of my clients in the People Newspapers. What are you going to write?”

The elves who were with Q immediately swore they were victims of Taco Bell Salmonella and tried to make a quick “excuse me.” The vision of the hundreds wounded in the rail yard of “Gone With The Wind” suddenly seemed like Six Flags Over Texas. Elves scampered in all directions.

“You need to buy an issue of the paper when it comes out,” Q said trying to maintain some type of regal decorum.

(Elves’ note: Our beloved Queenie is a real journalistic groupie going to sleep at night with the AP Stylebook and Strunk and White’s “The Elements of Style” on her bed table.)

“So you’re not going to tell me what you’re going to be writing about my client?” the pr novice said with a nervous giggle in her voice realizing that all you-know-what was about to break loose.

In unison the shaking of elves’ heads looked like a wave at the Super Bowl.

“Excuse me, what did you say?” Queenie said as we all heard her teeth gnashing, saw her eyes bulging from their sockets and scrambled to find her a fresh cup of blood.

Luckily, the MSC headquarters has a bomb shelter and the elves have decided to hunker down there for the storm.