muffy bolding

Way back in the 80s at Fresno City College — where we spent our days ditching class, smoking cigs, learning lines, and acting cool — my Theatre-Geek friends and I would hold court in the cafeteria, talkin’ shit and making grand teenage pronouncements about who and what “HAD TO GO.” (Yes, I’m looking at YOU, Tally Duke Floyd and Miss Rhonda Jones. Ha!) There we would sit for hours, sipping Diet Coke, smoking cloves, POSING HARD, passing judgement, and proudly making statements like, “Have you seen Patty Smythe in that new ‘Warrior’ video? That fucking tired hair HAS GOT TO GO.”

So, starting today, in honor of that youthful, pretentious, hilarious, ridiculous, and eternally-running list from all those many years ago, I would like to reinstate the tradition as an ongoing feature here on my blog.

Things That HAVE GOT TO GO #1:

When people of A Certain Age (aka, MY ANCIENT FATASS) are asking after an old, long-lost friend from the past who just happens to be gay…that moment when we are inevitably forced to ask that most painful, yet necessary, of questions:

“Did he…make it through?“

My kind-hearted, eccentric, interesting son…the screenwriter, producer, director, actor, editor, set-designer, prop-master, cinematographer, make-up artist, wardrobe dude, location scout, visionary, and FEARLESS MONEY-MAN.

My son, Hunter…the FILMMAKER.

HOLY SHIT. This boy just burst forth from my vagine like five minutes ago. When the FUCK did THIS happen?

“It’s not our job to toughen our children up to face a cruel and heartless world. It’s our job to raise children who will make the world a little less cruel and heartless.” ― L.R. Knost

Without question, the highest form of Earthling…is the dog.

Miss Pearlie Mae, perched atop my ancient Target Schmata-covered GUNT. The noblest creature in ALL of litrature. (That last sentence, of course, said with a delightful Euphegenia Doubtfire accent.)

This wee, but mighty, creature is my heart.

She OWNS ME.

My husband, Gregory’s, most favorite photos of me are ALWAYS the ones where he catches my fatass unawares.

This is one such photograph. Me and My Gunt at The Getty — no doubt pondering art, beauty, age, youth, wisdom, the highest aspirations of humankind…and some DEL FUCKIN’ TACO.

PS) That’s right. Even unawares…MY BOY KNOWS THE GOTTDAMNED ANGLE. 

As a former RABID, HYSTERICAL, BAY CITY ROLLER-OBSESSED ADOLESCENT, this just made me BELLY LAUGH OUT LOUD.

The suffering of these loving, indulgent, devoted fathers is SO complete and SO exquisite, that it’s actually a thing of great beauty.

Humans. We are VAST, ALL-POWERFUL, and INFINITE.

Humans. We are MINISCULE, INCIDENTAL, and NOTHING AT ALL.

We are The Masters of The Universe — and we are its BITCHES, as well.

Watch this newly-discovered video, My Fellow Human — 20 minutes of the most terrifying, riveting, awe-some (in the literal sense of the word) footage I have ever seen…and KNOW THY PLACE.

HA! HOLY SHIT.

This just MADE MY FUCKING DAY.

That I am, laddie.

THAT I AM.

Sitting here in our dusky, still quiet house…drinking a delicious cup of coffee delivered up by my BELOVED French Press, and getting some early morning writing in before the delightful daily stampede of husband, grown-up children, and chihuahuas stormtroop the stillness that currently surrounds me. Oh, Normal Day…I KNOW, WITH ALL MY HEART, what a TREASURE YOU ARE.

Anyway, I woke up thinking about how fucking lucky and thankful I am for all the extraordinary writers, artists, performers, creators, and creatives that I am privileged to call my friends…starting with THIS BRILLIANT BROAD RIGHT HERE. If you are not yet familiar with the astonishing writing of Miss Spike Gillespie, you need to read her shit, follow her blog, stalk her Facebook, procure her books, and rectify that travesty now.

NOW.

This post from today made me cry…in the BEST POSSIBLE way that one human can make another cry. I ADORE YOU, Miss Spike. Keep truth tellin’ and honey drippin’, sister.