“A woman who writes has power and a woman with power is feared.” — Gloria Anzaldua, Chicana writer, scholar, and feminist, 1942 – 2004
Inane Muff Fact #722: I’ve always found the most effective way to deal with adversaries is to make them my friends. As a ruthless, lifelong forger of alliances, there is something endlessly satisfying about it to me. The drawing close of those who would subdue you: The ULTIMATE Seduction. In fact, some of my best friends today first started out as my sworn enemies — and, ironically, some of my most malevolent enemies…began as my treasured friends.
“I’m not funny. What I am is brave.” – Lucille Ball
Well, here we are. Just like last year on the first day of motherfucking Summer. Just like EVERY YEAR on the first day of motherfucking Summer. That’s right, Mein Poppets. It’s time once again for Muffy’s Annual Hot Weather Whine!
SAME AS IT EVER WAS.
Honestly? Just looking at this screen grab of the current temp and weather forecast in Palm Springs makes me want to kill myself.
No. Really. Kill myself. Dead. As in Death. Valley. Palm. Springs. Los. Angeles. At this point, it’s ALL just down the buckling, melting, sizzling street from me and it’s ALL the fucking same.
For those who don’t know, I grew up in Fresno and have an infamous, lifelong case of Seasonal Affective Disorder (SAD) and, in contrast to what usually triggers others who are afflicted by this ruthless mental health condition, it is Summer that destroys my soul. I find the heat torturous and the scorching, sunny, desolate months between June and September as something merely to be endured. FML.
Consequently, I currently have the A/C crankin’ WHITE HOT and the goddamned Jean Nate on ice…and with today’s high temp of motherloving 107 here in fabulous Altadena, California, I am now settling into my usual Summertime routine:
1) Get on phone and obsessively check the 7 and 10 day forecast, desperately scanning the numbers for any semblance of hope. Read it and weep.
2) Plot own death by nasty means.
3) Raise fist to the heavens and curse god, even though I am an atheist.
4) Strip off all clothing except white, 100% cotton Target Granny Panties.
5) Drag my fatass to refrigerator.
6) Angrily snatch INDUSTRIAL-SIZED bottle of Jean Nate out of freezer.
7) Savagely remove Grannies. Unleash GUNT. Liberally spritz undercarriage with great abandon.
9) Execute motherfucking Bolshoi-worthy Grand Plié over industrial fan.
10) Weep with relief.
11) Repeat until either the smack or the rat poison kicks in — and trust me, at that point it don’t matter which one. It’s all about the sweet oblivion.
12) FUCK SUMMER.
13) Now, bring me that GOTTDAMNED OCTOBER, BITCHES.
That is all.
“Margaret Atwood, the Canadian novelist, once asked a group of women at a university why they felt threatened by men. The women said they were afraid of being beaten, raped, or killed by men. She then asked a group of men why they felt threatened by women. They said they were afraid women would laugh at them.”
― The FIERCE, INIMITABLE Miss Molly Ivins
“Life is too short to spend hoping that the perfectly arched eyebrow or hottest new lip shade will mask an ugly heart.” — Kevyn Aucoin
“The telling of jokes is an art of its own, and it always rises from some emotional threat. The best jokes are dangerous, and dangerous because they are in some way truthful.” — Kurt Vonnegut
SO COMPLETELY WHERE I’M HEADED.