muffy bolding

Oh, hey. That one time I was on film location and my fatass got bent over an ancient butcher’s block like an ancient Sicilian whore and had a screeching REAL chainsaw held above my Florida Evans Neck by an AWESOME, HILARIOUS, BUTCH MOTHERFUCKER named Enzo in the authentically rustic kitchen of a 900 year old castle in the Italian countryside two hours outside of Rome.

Yeah.

The single best word to describe my life?

IMPROBABLE.

FINALLY!

Even though my fatass has been HOWLING wildly about this for several years now, the UTTER FRUSTRATION of getting it JUST RIGHT and accommodating EVERYFUCKINGBODY’S SPECIFIC FEMINIST AGENDA in EVERY single legitimate and powerful statement in support of Feminism has at last hit the mainstream cultural zeitgeist.

Perhaps now, some motherfuckers will finally get that by ruthlessly accusing, parsing, cornering, attacking, shaming, and “calling out” even those who are genuinely trying to ally with us in our fight — no matter how well-intentioned we may be — we are, in fact, WORKING AGAINST OURSELVES.

And, even more inexplicable and self-sabotaging, if something is not expressed JUST RIGHT…WE ARE EVEN ATTACKING EACH OTHER. I have seen it time and time again. What the fuck is up with THAT? And worse, how UNFEMINIST is THAT?

People just need to calm the fuck down and accept ALL offers of alliance…even if those attempting to express their support don’t speak the tiresome, exclusionary, lofty, academic language of “patriarchal problematic privilege triggering reductive non-intersectional micro-aggressions”.

And, let me get this straight. People are eagerly marching right up and knocking on our Clubhouse door — a Club which we have been fighting to get them to join SINCE THE BEGINNING OF GOTTDAMNED TIME — and we are turning them away BECAUSE THEY DON’T HAVE THE RIGHT PASSWORD?

That is some SERIOUS BULLSHIT.

For Maude’s sake, people are TRYING, people — but they are being scared away from the cause by constant, aggressive, swarming, rabid language police. If someone is legitimately trying and they stand with us in their hearts…even if they don’t yet “talk the talk” — they are trying their very best to “walk the walk” in the linguistic minefield that is modern Feminism.

So, quit tripping them up in their tentative, admirable baby steps, just accept the love that is being offered, and LET IT RIDE, Bitches.

We can do better.

We are on our way.

We’ll get there.

We’ll KILL IT.

That is all.

ALL GIRLS TO THE FRONT.

For me, the most interesting thing about Jewel is that she always looks like she’s got a mouth full of popcorn — and coming from the trashy, working class myself, I can totally respect a broad with fucked-up teeth.

Christ, just give me something — ANYTHING — that is REAL.

Now that I am back quick jump strut into the thick of it, I have a fast query for all my writer/author/penner/pecker/typer/scrawler/wordsmith friends out there in The Great Somewhere:

Tell me true…where do you do it?

Myself…I like to write at the MARVELOUS, evocative, cozy, Mid-Century Altadena library…or ensconced in my bed — pillows and blankets and schmatas and chihuahuas and books and papers and coffee and knitting nearby.

I am spending this gorgeous Los Angeles day raking lizards off the trees and building complicated constructions out of forks and knives.

“The very things that hold you down are going to lift you up.” – Walt Disney’s, “Dumbo”

Now that the holidays are done and once again lovingly stowed away in their special red and green plastic bins in the underworld, and the calendar on my iPhone has clicked over to the new year, I have a moment to just sit, knit, breathe, and reflect – and I’ll be goddamned if 2015 wasn’t pretty extraordinary.

My marriage to My One True Love, Gregory, is still a wondrous great adventure after what will be 14 years on Bloomsday; our three beautiful babies are KILLIN’ IT; my poochies are FAB; my glorious gusband, Miss Jackie Beat, is as BRILLIANT and CUNTY as ever; my health is holding fast; and my genius writing partner and BFF, Doug, and I created, developed, and sold a motherloving television pilot to NBC.

Yes, THAT NBC, and yes, I am fully aware that our AWESOME SQUAD over at The Peacock shall soon enough figure out that I am an utter fraud with her bob up her ass who needs to be sent packin’ back to Fresno to once again clean houses and give handjobs. However, until that undoubted day of reckoning and revelation, I shall enjoy each and every notes call, rewrite, meeting, and motherfuck. Believe me when I tell you, I am WELL AWARE that I am one SERIOUSLY Lucky Slut – a little morsel of a phrase which brings me to my next point.

You see, after the long process of getting the TV stuff set in motion and moving along, I am now FINALLY back to the work of writing my memoir – “Lucky Slut” — and that means I once again find myself surrounded by pages and pages of intense, shocking, amusing, detailed notes, some entered carefully in right proper notebooks, some hastily scrawled on the back of Del Taco receipts whilst pulling out of the drive-thru in a state of giddy grace and hunger.

Either way, my fatass currently dwells in the very midst of wist and memory. Like any life, some of it is lovely, some of it is horrific, and yet, somehow, looking back now from the crepey, saggy peak of middle age, ALL OF IT is hilarious. I’ll be goddamned if the very worst things that ever happened to me as a human, have not been the very BEST things that ever happened to me as a writer. Honestly.

So, here I sit at my beloved perch at my beloved library…and I am just doin’ it — NO FEAR, OVARIES TO THE WALL. In the end, no matter what people are going to say or what people are going to think — and trust me when I tell you, they are going to say and think A WHOLE LOT — I lived it. I survived it. It is MY story to tell. There is no underlying revenge agenda, no notion of somehow punishing those who were less than kind or cordial to me.

It all just IS.

What I feel now is overwhelming gratitude and compassion for all those in my life who were doing the very best they could do at any given moment. I know that now. Any agony or shame that my colorful upbringing may have inflicted onto my spirit when I was younger is now a thing of the distant past. All is forgiven. All is embraced. There is no rage or regret. There is only awe and delight that I am still standing — surrounded by the people who I love and who love me back — standing and BELLY LAUGHING…and ready to tell what is one UNFUCKINGBELIEVABLE STORY, filled with UNFUCKINGBELIEVABLE EVENTS, and peopled by UNFUCKINGBELIEVABLE CHARACTERS:

My FABULOUS, TRAGIC, MAGICAL KIN.

When I think back to the sensitive, young girl I was then — raised in chaos, crime, violence, and scandal — I fully realize that it was certainly a harrowing way to come up. But when I think now of the FIERCE, ruthless, bemused, old broad that I AM TODAY — I also fully realize that, as a writer, I HIT THE MOTHERFUCKING MOTHERLODE WITH THIS LIFE. All of the difficulties of the past have made me who and what I am today. I was forged in the fires of discord and want. I was tumbled smooth and cool by sharp edges and even sharper words. This life is a goddamned blessing. This story is a goddamned gift. It is a privilege to have lived it, it is a privilege to have survived it, and it is now a privilege to tell it.

All of it.

I can’t wait to gather round the fire with all of you…all of us under the stars, gazing amazed at the moon like children, huddled together against the dark, sitting at the edge of the endless, black, eternal sea, its constant, comforting rumble reminding us where we came from, beckoning us home.

We will tell our stories. We will tell our truths. I can’t wait to tell you mine. I can’t wait to listen to yours. There will be no judgement — only honor, recognition, communion, and, best of all, BELLY LAUGHTER. Even at the hard stuff. ESPECIALLY at the hard stuff. The chips in our china and the dents in our cans are what make us interesting. They are what make us beautiful.

So, grab a blanket and grab a brew. Don’t cost nothin’.

We are all here, sitting in an endless circle, bound one to the other by starlight and beer.

We survived.

We thrived.

We lived to tell the tale.

So, at long last, let’s tell it.

I’ll start.

DEAD FUCKING ON.

Also, THIS.

DEAD ON.

All these 19 year old college students marching into the administration office and demanding trigger warnings in a class studying Classical Greek Mythology because there is a TWO THOUSAND YEAR OLD FAIRYTALE SWAN RAPE in the reading assignments.

Truth Coming Out of Her Well to Shame Mankind, 1896 by Jean-Léon Gérôme

Me and my most favorite person in the whole wide world…at my most favorite place in the whole wide world.

#disneyland

#myonetruelove

#luckyslut