Don't call me on the telephone!

Well, one cosmo turned into two, and then Drew convinced me that you have to chase cosmos with cheap margaritas, and so we went for greasey quesadillas at this little hole in the wall that hasn't seen the patronage of a health inspector since Ronnie was the Governor of California. Can I tell you? Before it was all over, Cameryn had me in a corner trying to convince me to be in her next movie -- she's directing a re-make of "Year of Living Dangerously," and she thinks I would be great in the Linda Hunt role -- not sure how to take that, but boy is Cameryn aggressive!

Anyway, my brain hasn't felt this achey since the summer of 1978, the morning after I went to a party at Tom Selleck's house. Everyone was there, of course -- the Hustons, Lucille Ball, Chuck Woolery, Diane Keaton, one of the Kennedys, Princess Margaret, Maureen O'Hara, Althea Gibbs, Omar, Wayne Newton, Donna Summer, Betty Ford (not Gerald), Eva Gabor, Zsa Zsa, Sammy Davis, Henry Kissinger, etc., etc. -- you know, the crowd. And there were little cubes of jello, and it was just incredibly hot that summer, and I thought, well isn't this the most refreshing idea I've ever heard of! And so I just kept popping them into my mouth, trying to cool off, and before I knew it I was waking up in John Wayne's bungalow on the Paramount lot. That was the year before he died.

And for those of you with dirty minds, don't even go there! I woke up next to Florence Henderson, Anne B. Davis and Charles Nelson Reilly. How Charles Nelson Reilly had a key to John Wayne's bungalow, I will never know. But let me tell you, Florence can make an omlette! Over omlettes, they told me horrifying stories about my behaviour the night before, something having to do with Tom Selleck's luggage and Linda Blaire's brazier. God, Hollywood isn't what it used to be.

Last Woman Standing

You know, I'm not going to write about Michael anymore. I was thinking about it yesterday, and I realized that Michael, Ronnie and I were the three 1980's icons who really mattered. And now there's only one of us left. And you know, it makes me lonely.

But I'm a Hollywood person, so I don't just sit and stew in my grief. I get out there and mix it up! That's why this afternoon, I'm going to go out with some young show business people. Drew Berrymore and Cameryn Manheim are on their way over right now and we're going to go see that new movie, Away With Me, and then go get cosmos!

Black People Loved Michael

At the public pool where I swim my laps, Michael's music was playing this morning and because it's a public pool most of the people there are black and a lot of them are children. And even though these children probably didn't grow up with Michael's music -- they probably grew up with rap and roll, not rock and roll like Michael sang -- the music seemed to mean so much to them -- they danced and sang along, and they seemed like such happy black children, which you don't always see, although you see it more nowadays thanks in small part to my Stop the Madness Say No To Drugs Campaign -- I'm sorry, I hate to brag, but all the studies say it's true.

Now, of course, the music meant a lot to me, but that's because I'm a famous person so I knew Michael. But that's not true for all white poeple, and it made me wonder. It really made me wonder.

(PS: a commenter asked if that picture of me with Michael was real. Of course it was real! I know I make a lot of collages, but I'm not that good! Michael came to the White House in 1984. . . I think Michael Deaver invited him so the young people would vote for Ronnie. It must have worked, because we won! Maybe Barbara Bush should have thought of something like that!)

(PPS: In case you are wondering, the photo in this post is real, too!)

Michael

Well, I guess you were all waiting for me to write something about Michael Jackson.

At first I didn't want to pile on, but. . . well, I did know Michael, and I'm also a Hollywood person, so I think I know a little bit about who he really was behind all of his celebrity.

I always thought of Michael as a mix of Judy Garland, Liberace and Sidney Poitier. Judy because they were both vulnerable and damaged, Liberace because they both wore such fabulous outfits, and Sidney because they were both black. But then Michael became less like Sidney Poitier and more like Omar Sharif. Sort of like a person who you look at and say, Oh, I remember you being browner than you are. I always said that about Omar, because I knew he was an Arab. I would go to dinner parties, thinking of Omar as probably three or four shades darker than he was, and I'd get there and he'd be white, just like Michael.

Anyway, Michael came to visit Ronnie and I in the White House. He was so nice and friendly, and we had lots of things in common. For instance, we were all Hollywood people, so we could talk about being famous stars. And Michael and Ronnie talked about monkeys, because after all Ronnie had been in a movie with a monkey, and Michael was already thinking about getting a monkey for a pet. Ronnie told him to go with it, because Bonzo had been such wonderful company, certainly a better co-star than Doris Day ever was*. It was only a year later that Michael adopted Bubbles.

I was always glad that Ronnie started getting forgetful around the same time when Michael was being accused of all those terrible things -- Ronnie would have been so angry, just like he got angry when the world made Mickey Rooney fat.

Well, goodbye Michael. Now I'm going to have to call my dear friend Liz Taylor. She is devastated I'm sure and probably knee deep in a gallon of ice cream.

* Doris was just about as smart as you would have thought! Let's put it this way, you never had to paint a line on the floor from the dressing room to the set so Bonzo could find his way around the studio!

(PS: I was going to make another photo collage because there are so many pictures of me and Michael, but then this one seemed appropriate because it's just the two of us and we both sort of look wistful and sort of like we're thinking, "We're both mega-celebrities I wonder what the future holds for us both?" I guess they're right, less can be more.)

Grocery Shopping

Well, Trader Joe's was hell, once again.

When this place used to be the Southern California that I romped all over with Ginger Rogers, whom we all used to call Troll before she gained all that weight and it became not so funny. . . anyway, during the golden years of Hollywood, big magical grapefruits and ham sandwiches so luscious you could use them to bribe a sultan just carpeted the tables and you could eat like a Maharani without even thinking twice about it. Of course, I never ate anything but the grapefruits, but even they were just as glorious and glamorous and red and sweet as anything you could ever hope would pass over your tongue. I remember a party at Mr. Mayer's house -- he had hired 75 young Oriental girls in Geisha dress to stand behind our chairs and spoon feed us the most incredible meal -- wild duck soup, imported Elephant steaks, something that Clark Gable told me was made of monkey -- all of it served on china that once belonged to a Tsar.

And now we have to just fight our way through the aisles of dirty little specialty groceries for a tiny crock of Greek yoghurt and a bag of turkey jurkey.

Of course, I blame myself, and I blame Ronnie. I think that when we left for Washington in 1980, we just up and took all the glamour with us, and it didn't survive in Washington, try as we might to keep it going.

(PS: That's a picture of me with the China I bought for the White House. They gave me hell for the expense even though what I found when I got there was a bunch of ticky-tacky-mismatch, and that'll give you an idea of how hard it was to live glamourously in Washington. It was like being given all the orchids in the hot house and being told to use them to decorate the ice-skating pond and keep them alive out there! I just thought of that metaphor, and boy, it is apt!)

Why Ronnie Never Slept Around

Well, I should think the answer is obvious! I never let myself get fat! We were Hollywood people, and so self-discipline was second nature to us. There was an unspoken agreement -- I didn't turn into a blimp like my dear friend Debbie Reynolds, and he didn't wander sexually. Sure, this meant that I've lived hungry for more than half my life, but Ronnie was worth every minute of it! I bet you Debbie would trade all those lonely nights snuggled up with a pint of Hagen Daz for the experience of having been first lady for the most stunningly attractive President this country has ever had!

I wish I could find the wife of this Governor Sanders and tell her what Billie Holiday once told me: "Lose some weight! You're a white woman, for God's sakes!"

(ps: look how BIG Debbie is!!!)

It was good being queen!

Well, Michelle Obama must be taking my advice! Here's a lovely story about her becoming friends with Queen Elizabeth. Now, Ronnie was always such good friends with Margaret Thatcher. Well, I thought Margaret Thatcher was about as charming as a mouthfull of Shirley McClain's bathwater, but it didn't really matter, because when we would go to England, I would just spend my time with her Majesty. I told Michelle that she had better do the same, because let me tell you, the Queen has been there and done that! She can tell you everything you need to know about being first lady, because let's face it, the first lady is the Queen of America. I've always thought that, but it's only now that no one pays attention to me that I can actually say it. Queen queen queen, I was the queen! If I could peel you like a grape, god himself would call it just -- that's from a movie about Eleanor of Aquataine. . . she wasn't a queen, but Katherine Hepburn played here in the film, and Katherine Hepburn was every bit as much of a queen as anyone else I ever knew. You know, I'm just a show biz person at heart!

So anyway, good job, Michelle!

(By the way, I made another collage! That's not really Ronnie and it's not really Mrs. Thatcher -- I found a picture of their wax statues! Isn't that a stitch!)

Going to a Hollywood Party

Well, tonight I'm going to a Hollywood party. You know, with people like Milton Berle, although he's dead. So he won't be there, But people like him will be. The person hosting it is Meg Ryan. I vaguely remember her from some frothy little film where she falls in and out of love with that nice Jewish comedian -- Billy something. I couldn't really follow the movie because it was the first year after Ronnie's presidency and I was absolutely obsessed with co-authoring my memoirs, "My Turn: The Memoirs of Nancy Reagan." Everything in every movie that I saw just made me think of something else I didn't want to leave out! Like when Meg Ryan did that scene where she pretended to have the orgasm in the ethnic deli, all I could think was, "Oh, Nancy, don't forget to write about the air traffic controllers' strike.

That's a picture of me with Cher. Maybe she'll be at the Party!

Ronnie Knew How to Pick Them!

Here's a wonderful article about how crabby Supreme Court justices can be! Oh, how true that can be. . . I'm a show biz person, so I guess I naturally gravitated to the show biz guests at our parties, like John Travolta and Princess Diana -- oh, if she hadn't crashed into that tunnel wall in Paris and he hadn't been so homosexual, I really think they might have hit it off and become a lovely couple!

Anyway, all of the justices would just stand in the corner at our parties, giving everyone else dirty looks. And I was always so proud of Ronnie for picking Sandra O'Connor, because even though she was a bit rough around the edges -- she once told Ron Jr. that he should man up and work a ranch for a while -- she knew how to have a good time. She once told me her hand felt empty without a glass of scotch!

I couldn't find a picture of the three of us, so I just sort of made a collage!

Just Say No To Smoking

Well, this is lovely. So many of my Hollywood friends died from lung diseases. And of course, my dear friend and clothier Bill Blass died of throat cancer. How many more dress makers have to die before we take smoking prevention seriously?

You're Right, Maureen!

Maureen Dowd is a former burlesque performer who now writes witty little flourishes for the New York Times. Ronnie would always complain about the New York Times, and said that it didn't like us. But I always said, if it weren't for the New York Times, where would Bill Blass be, and if it weren't for Bill Blass, I would be naked!

Anyway, here is Maureen writing about President Obama and his going to Broadway plays and museums in Paris. It looks like all these people are upset because they think that it's too expensive for the President to do things like take his wife to a depressing August Wilson play (I met August Wilson once -- he was lovely, not at all like Tennessee Williams).

Well, you know, I think that's just silly, and I agree with Maureen. We're America, and first of all when I was in the White House it cost taxpayers a small mint if I sneezed in the wrong direction, so it really can't be avoided. And secondly, what is our president supposed to do? Sit at home and watch reruns of "Highway to Heaven?"

Of course, I did know Michael Landon rather well -- I thought he was about as attractive as you could be when he was on Bonanza -- but apparently the fame went to his head, which is something you've got to really guard against.

And they said Ronnie was dumb!

Apparently, people are still interested in this woman. You know, she reminds me of all those young women the studio would take under contract, and you would just think to yourself, you can break her jaw, you can give her posture lessons, you can shove pills down her throat until she's as skinny as an inch worm. . . . she's still just a dumb girl from Osh-Kosh trying to scrub the farm dirt out from between her legs!

Angela in Blithe Spirit

My dear friend Angela Lansbury, who we nicknamed "Old Hag" back in our studio days, won the Tony Award for best supporting actress for her role in Blithe Spirit. I couldn't be happier for her! It's always gratifying to see people who didn't have the opportunity to be first ladies still manage to make something out of themselves!

Blithe Spirit makes me think of Noel Coward. I went on several dates with him, but then I realized he was madly homosexual. You can't make a silk purse out of a silk ascot!

Still Auditioning!

Look at this: three young men won the Tony award for best actor, all of them sharing the role in that movie turned musical about gay boy from Scotland who dances. My goodness, can you imagine if Elizabeth Taylor had to share an award with Lauren Bacall and Debbie Reynolds! Of course, they're all so fat now, maybe they would be happy just to have someone love them.

I still read all the new scripts that are being considered for Broadway, hoping there will be a role for me so I can finally win my Tony. Unfortunately, I don't play hookers or exotic dancers, so it's really slim pickings!

I'm awake now!

You may have seen me in some of the recent news reels, visiting the White House and having lunch with Michelle Obama, and maybe you wondered, why hasn't Nancy been blogging?!?

Well, the truth is, in order to get ready for a big public appearance like that, I have to do several months of Sweedish sleep therapy, which is nearly as restful and restorative as some of the comas I have had!

But now I'm awake!

Isn't that Michelle Obama something? She's exactly like me but black and physically imposing!

Peggy Noonan was also there! She used to hide behind the pillars the White House when she heard me coming! I liked that Peggy!