“I saw some dark parts of America … an ugly side of America … a side of America that rarely sees the light of day. I refer, of course, to the anus and testicles of my costar Ken Davitian. Ken, when I was in that scene and I stared down at your two wrinkled Golden Globes on my chin, I thought to myself, I better win a bloody award for this.”
-– Sacha Baron Cohen, accepting his best actor award for Borat
Like I tell my babies, god isn’t necessarily in some tissuey book or intimidating building — but just as sure as I live and breathe…god is definitely right here among us. Watching this fills me with more wonder, awe, and joy than every single bible verse I’ve ever heard combined.
Fuck all that tired, moldy, irrelevant Old Testament horseshit; this is the presence of god, my friends:
Robert Anton Wilson leaves his body on binary date 01/11.
Thank you for opening my mind, Sir Bob. I would quite literally not be the same person without all that I learned from you. Oh, and I assure you…being the charmed recipient of one of the most delightful passes ever directed at me was one of the high points of my life. The pleasure was all mine.
Sleep well, you extraordinary bastard. You twinkling smirk. You Holy Fool. Your likes will not soon be forgotten.
All Hail Discordia! Operation Mindfuck was a rousing success.
Self-repudiated and patently denied or not, she was, in fact, born on this day…therefore, I would like to wish a most Happy Birthday to Miss .
Gregory and I and the babies miss you like mad. Forget London! Come back and visit us, and we’ll take you for a yummy meal at the best gottdamned Mexican restaurant in Southern California; warm, homemade tortillas and salsa so fresh it’ll knock those boss hooters for a loop.
Have a delightful day, Miss Bee! We love you!
Well, we are here. CES 2007 in beautiful downtown Lost Wages, Nevada! It annoys Gregory like mad everytime I call it Lost Wages, so I have to try and fit it in as much as I possibly can, gottddamnit.
People who seriously refer to this town as “Lost Wages” — aside from those of us who are merely taking great delight in annoying their cute spouses — are the same people who call Montgomery Wards, “Monkey Wards”.
The same ones, when you ask them the time, answer, “Half past a monkey’s ass, a quarter to his balls.”
The same ones who, when you ask them, “Is today Saturday?”, always oh, so cleverly respond with, “Yes. All day.”
God, I hate those bastards.
So, here we are — at the greatest technology showcase on the planet…in Lost Wages, the city that is the greatest spectacle on earth. And Gregory looks extra adorable right now. And there is nary a kid in sight. And I am ovulating.
Let the debauchery begin!
It seems our own delightful Fruitcake Lady was not only just the belly laugh of the gottdamned century — she was Truman Capote’s aunt.
1. My just younger sister, Mo, very nearly died this week. Her periods have always been extreme, but I guess this time was the Grandaddy of All Bloodlettings. By the time my brother-in-law got her to her doctor’s office, she was pale, nearly unconscious, freezing cold to the touch, and hemorrhaging. Her doctor took one look at her and called an ambulance. She was taken to the hospital and given a blood transfusion of biblical proportions. After running some tests, it was discovered that her uterus was profoundly enlarged, misshapen, and filled with fibroid tumors. After a rather quick discussion with her doctor — who told her in very gentle but succinct terms that even if she wanted to have another baby (she has three) with the current state of her uterus, she could never carry to term — she was scheduled for an immediate emergency hysterectomy. She came through with flying colors and is back to her fabulous old Type-A self. I talked to her yesterday, and she told me they are releasing her today. I told her, who needs a nasty old uterus, anyway? She sounds like a million bucks. Thank you, baby jesus or whoever is watching over my family right now; thank you.
2. Gregory and I went eyeglass shopping yesterday — which is always a traumatizing experience for me. We went to an extraordinary shop in Pasadena that specializes in vintage frames, and the second we walked in we knew we had hit the ocular motherlode of all time. My current glasses are vintage French bejeweled cat-eyes that are just gorgeous — I’ve had them for forever and love them like you cannot believe, mainly because they look exactly like the glasses my Sicilian Great Grandma used to wear. Gregory, however, wanted me to change it up because he thinks the whole cat-eye thing has been played out and is now the sole domain of 18 year old Silver Lake hipster girls. I, of course, disagreed. If they were good enough for Grandma Mary, goddamnit, they are good enough for me. The subsequent pose appropriation “discussion” we had in front of the guy who owned the place will be forever epic — even in hell. We had him belly laughing and even engaged him in a discussion about poseurs, the timeless style of Jack Kennedy, and the modern archetypes put forth by Joseph Campbell.
Luckily, I found a new (old) pair that are very Peter Sellers — and they fit me like a glove. The best part? While I was trying them on, an adorable 20 year old hipster boy told me that they went perfect with my bob and that I “looked hot in them”! And, as if that wasn’t enough to make my granny panties moist, I discovered the greatest pair of $100+ white vintage sunglasses (think Kurt) — and our boy the owner, who clearly had been highly entertained by our affectionate and vitriolic in-store combat, gave them to me gratis! I, of course, immediately told him I would blow him for the difference — which made him belly laugh even harder. Afterwards, I sashayed Colorado Blvd. in style, motherfuckers — with my darling hubby by my side.
3. Speaking of Colorado Blvd., we are actually toying with the idea of getting our fatasses up on New Year’s Day and venturing out to watch the Rose Parade, which is like 5 seconds from our house. It’s our first new year’s living here, so we have absolutely no idea what to do or what to expect. Has anybody ever been? If so, is it a nightmare or is it ALL-talent? All I can say is that those floats had better be good, gottddamnit, seeing that when I ordered flowers for my suffering sister, who lives up in Fresno, they told me there wasn’t an ivory-colored rose available in the entire state because of the selfish ways of those Rose Parade bastards.
4. For New Year’s Eve, we are planning on staying in, popping popcorn, sipping Newcastle, and partaking of the Entourage marathon on HBO. That show is brilliant and a belly laugher and so perfectly captures the essence of Los Angeles. Jeremy Piven is a GOD.
5. We had Christmas with the beasties on Thursday morning (they got home from The ‘Berg on Wednesday and we made them wait so we could have a virtual Christmas morning re-creation!) and it was fun and wonderful and everybody loved their loot. I got a new red Kitchen-aid blender — beautiful! — two place settings of Fiestaware, Mary Poppins on DVD, gorgeous wooden salad tongs that look like bear paws, some books, a light blue ol’ school UCLA t-shirt, and some really interesting miniature Chinese statuary that is profoundly meaningful to me. And, best of all, I get 4 days in Las Vegas with Gregory next week. I can hardly wait. Let the buffet-hopping and power-schtupping begin!
Off to the farmer’s market with my hot old honey and my hot new sunglasses. More later.
January: The best part is, in high school I was voted (more than once) “The Girl Most Likely To Have An Affair With Her Poetry Professor.”
February: Okay, first things first: Nashville is motherfucking COLD.
March: Oscar Review:/ I absolutely KNOW that I cannot be the only motherfucker who died about a million deaths when Lauren Bacall came out there slurring and staggering through that intro.
April: The only good part about this bastard cold from which I am currently suffering, is that when I speak…I sound exactly like Bea Arthur.
May: Okay, you know you have officially become an Angeleno when, after seeing a Del Shores play at The Zephyr, you duck over into Canter’s Deli…and eat a late supper of a Reuben and matzoh soup whilst sitting five feet away from Rodney Bingenheimer.
June: Sometimes a good public shaming is all that’s needed to break it down for a motherfucker.
July: Last night we purchased a new work laptop for me and it should be zinging its little self to my tender little meathooks even as we speak.
August: Gosh, I have to tell you that I am completely bowled over by all of the generous and amazing responses to last week’s incident involving our daughter.
September: I saw Little Miss Sunshine last week, and please allow me to tell you that you absolutely cannot get your fatasses to that theatre fast enough, my friends.
October: Prepare to BELLY LAUGH like you’ve never belly laughed before, my friends. I am literally pissing my granny panties: (insert Little Superstar video here)
November: I had a big scrapbook when I was a teenager — one into which I would lovingly paste concert ticket stubs, pictures, letters, notes, hospital bracelets, friendship bracelets, pressed flowers, report cards, dance bids, fast food napkins, and other assorted and ridiculous teenaged girl treasures that I wished to preserve for forever.
December: Ted Hughes and Sylvia Plath saved my life.
muffy bolding 
