muffy bolding

goat beach!

muffybolding — Wed, 30 May 2012 02:07:08 +0000

Gregory and I spent the long holiday weekend in a U-Haul, driving between Los Angeles and San Diego, moving The Baby Goat home for the summer, until she starts school at Cal State Long Beach in the fall. We spent all day Saturday packing up all of her precious and treasured things and saying goodbye to her best friends, Chelsi and Linze, with whom she shared a house near San Diego State.

When we were all loaded up and ready to drive off into the next exciting chapter of this amazing young woman’s life, I stopped for a moment to get this shot of the wall above their cozy, little dining room — and pondered for a moment the house-proud mama who long ago went and bought paint and dragged a step ladder over to lovingly enshrine this sweet sentiment over the sacred space where her little family once gathered to share food and the events of their days…and how it couldn’t POSSIBLY have occurred to her at that moment that some wretched, irreverent, HILARIOUS, Jackalian college students would come along one day and make it their very own.

Welcome home, Beautiful Baby Goat! You are adored and we are SO proud of you.

tits and titters

muffybolding — Thu, 03 May 2012 22:52:41 +0000

Oh, my stars. Here is the latest Frontiers column from my Darling Gusband, Miss Jackie Beat — where she once again takes names, kicks ass, and, this time out, gives MAJOR LOVE to all the funny broads in her glittering world…and even sweetly includes a certain scoundrelous, foulmouthed, diminutive Sicilian hooker from the provinces amongst their astonishing names. Knock my fatass over with a feather! Thank you, Jinxie! I LOVE YOU!

“Trust Me, Women Are Funny”

I’M IN

muffybolding — Thu, 03 May 2012 04:11:55 +0000

“The worst thing that can happen for people who don’t want women to be strong is that we help each other and become a force.” – Sarah Silverman

80s

muffybolding — Tue, 01 May 2012 00:09:47 +0000

My children are obsessed with the 80s.

OBSESSED.

Recently, one of my daughters came to me, lamenting the fact that she was born too late to have experienced the utter magnificence that was my lost and awesome youth. She asked me, “What were the 80s really like, Mommy? What did the 80s feel like?”

I smiled, and told her to sit down and close her eyes.

“This. THIS is what the 80s felt like, little sister.”

truth

muffybolding — Mon, 30 Apr 2012 17:01:15 +0000

“Remember that you own what happened to you. If your childhood was less than ideal, you may have been raised thinking that if you told the truth about what really went on in your family, a long bony white finger would emerge from a cloud and point to you, while a chilling voice thundered, ‘We *told* you not to tell.’ But that was then. Just put down on paper everything you can remember now about your parents and siblings and relatives and neighbors, and we will deal with libel later on. [Just change their height and hair color. No one ever once has recognized him or herself in my fiction. If people wanted you to write warmly about them, they should've behaved better.]” — Anne Lamott

baby betty

muffybolding — Sat, 28 Apr 2012 00:20:49 +0000

The best part about living in Los Angeles?

The interesting, eclectic people and cultures in which you are constantly soaking. The perpetual, electric, neverending flow of creativity and collaboration. The awesome, bonding, “WE’RE ALL IN THIS TOGETHER” attitude that pervades the entire place. The notion of supporting each other, helping each other, building community, building family, and getting your foot in the fucking door SO THAT ALL YOUR BRILLIANT FRIENDS CAN BUM-RUSH IN RIGHT ALONGSIDE YOU.

The WORST part about living in Los Angeles?

The fact that your TALENTED, LUMINOUS, HILARIOUS, DROP-DREAD GORGEOUS, PLATINUM & PURPLE-HAIRED HIPSTER CHILD KEEPS GETTING FUCKING HIT ON HARD BY A BESOTTED, ENCHANTED [insert name of VERY famous 90s rock musician who is old enough to be her goddamned father here] AT NEARLY EVERY EVENT THAT SHE ATTENDS. You better BACK THE FUCK OFF, son.

MAMA DON’T PLAY.

boy

muffybolding — Fri, 27 Apr 2012 23:58:26 +0000

I just this second hit “send” and placed the order for the high school graduation announcements of my last child. We will take him in tomorrow to be fitted for a classic black tux for his Senior Prom, to which he will go in two weeks. As I type this, I can hear his handsome, lanky self in the other room, sprawled out on the couch, playing a loud, fuzzy, awesome “Godzilla” by Blue Oyster Cult on his Gibson electric guitar. It was just five seconds ago that I held his 4 pound, premature self for the very first time in the ICU at Valley Children’s Hospital in Fresno, California, he and I sitting in a rocking chair together, rocking and watching live as OJ slowly made his way down the 405 in his white Bronco. True crime. True love. I was in utter and complete bliss.

Now that serious little cerebral bean in my arms drives, devours science fiction, argues politics (AND HOW), has a gorgeous ballerina girlfriend, and wants to make films. My first and only son. My last baby. The beautiful boy that I love above all others. Now he is a man.

Goddamn, it doesn’t take long to live a life.

And now…his truly begins.

slut

muffybolding — Fri, 27 Apr 2012 23:21:44 +0000

I am a slut.

In fact, I come from a long line of sluts — USO dance hostesses, carnival gypsies, gangster’s molls, and straight-up trollops — broads who would cut your throat just as soon as look at your fucking face. With each beat, my heart pumps their scoundrelous, scandalous blood through my veins every moment of every day of my life, fueling my every thought, desire, and action, and in so many ways defining who and what I am. I move through this world like a man — and I don’t waste time apologizing for it. I take what I want…because it’s all mine. Women like us live life on our own terms, and we can’t be bothered with the petty minutiae of those who would dare attempt to subdue us. We are the Boudicas and the Betty Rizzos of the world, forged in the fierce, felonious fires of discord and want. Tell us we can’t do something, have something, be something…and you got a war on your hands, brother. You cross broads like me and my ancestors and my sisters and my friends at your own peril.

DON’T FUCK WITH US, BITCHES.

WE VOTE.

miss crawford

muffybolding — Fri, 06 Apr 2012 00:53:56 +0000

“I have known Joan Crawford for more than 35 years. I still don’t know her at all. She is the only star I know who manufactured herself. She drew up a blueprint for herself and outlined a beautiful package of skin, bones, and character and then set about to put life into the outline. She succeeded, and so Joan Crawford came into existence at the same time an overweight Charleston dancer, born Lucile LeSueur, disappeared from the world. It took me a long time to realize this. I believed, for some time, that Lucille existed under the skin. She does not.” – Louella Parsons on Miss Joan Crawford

THIS

muffybolding — Tue, 03 Apr 2012 00:21:55 +0000

“A writer’s job is to get naked, to hide nothing, to look away from nothing, to look at it. To not blink, to not be embarrassed by it or ashamed of it. Strip it down and let’s get to where the blood is, where the bone is.” – Harry Crews