muffy bolding

Even though I am actually just PLAIN’ OL’ SCANDALOUS TRASH from Fresno and the VERY GODDAMNED ANTITHESIS of NOBLE — I take the old concept of “Artistic Noblesse Oblige” very seriously. VERY. In fact, it is one of the major guiding principles of my life. If there is some way — no matter how small or seemingly insignificant — that I can offer up who I know, what I know, and all that I am to help someone else who is passionate, visionary, hard-working, and worthy…to make their own dreams come true and their own artistic destinies manifest…I’M FUCKIN’ DOIN’ IT.

And this is why I love Michelle Obama SO. MOTHERLOVING. MUCH.

THIS IS HOW YOU FUCKING DO IT.

TELL IT, Sister!

“When you’ve worked hard, and done well, and walked through that doorway of opportunity, you do not slam it shut behind you. You reach back, and you give other folks the same chances that helped you succeed.” — The SERIOUSLY FIERCE FLOTUS Michelle Obama

I am SO EXCITED right now that I could honestly piss in my 100% white cotton Target Granny Panties. Tonight? GUSBAND (Gay Husband)/SLUSBAND (Straight Lady Husband) Date Night with MY TWO TRUE LOVE! DELICIOUS vegan dinner and a dance show and HEAVY PETTING UNDER PROTEST and PSYCHOLOGICAL DURESS afterward. I shall let YOU guess which traumatized, tormented party is putting up the fight.

CAN’T WAIT!

Attention All Desperate Frantic Grasping-At-Straws Logic-Challenged Truth-Denying Dumbfuck Racist Fascist Patriot Pricks:

Hillary is going to KICK YOUR ROTTEN HEADS IN IN 2016.

It is a MATHEMATICAL CERTAINTY.

There is NOTHING YOU CAN DO, NO EMAIL YOU CAN ALTER, and NO LIE YOU CAN TELL TO STOP IT.

So…quit embarrassing yourselves and just sit back and

SHUT.

THE FUCK.

UP.

Love always —
Muff
xoxo

This whole latest Right Wing UMBRELLAGATE horseshit reminds of a few years back when I received an email from some Dangerously Imbalanced Fascist Family Members of mine back in Fresno…in which they had forwarded a photograph of Barack Obama with his feet kicked up on the desk in the Oval Office — along with some nauseating, ignorant diatribe about how he was desecrating history, how disrespectful he was, how arrogant, how trashy. All the fucking loons who were CCd on it chimed in — shooting dozens of emails back and forth about how disgusted they were that this man didn’t exist to serve the people because he, in fact, thought he was THE KING.

I threw back my head, belly laughed out loud, and then with a single Google search immediately found exactly what I was looking for — and shot it back across the ethers…accompanied by the following humble, yet meaningful comment:

“FUCK OFF, LADIES.”

There was, of course, not another word spoken. Crickets.

Ultra-Conservative Drunken Goddamned Crickets.

With spray tans, toe rings, gold crosses, key parties, frosted ombre bouffants, and bottomless glasses of Pinot Grigio.

Hail to the Chief.

I am so sad.

Today the world has lost an extraordinary woman, wife, mother, grandmother, mother-in-law, and friend — and one of the most wise, decent, kind, generous, gentle, thoughtful, gracious human beings I have ever had the distinct privilege of knowing.

If you are familiar with my work, you know that I often bluster on and about how I don’t care what anybody thinks of me…that the only thing that matters is what I think of me — but that is not the actual truth. I cared very deeply about what this woman thought of me and respected her opinion…because, every single day that I knew her, she EARNED that respect and admiration. Through her acts of kindness, understanding, patience, and compassion, I learned so much from her about being both a good person and a good mother. When I married her son, we were still just two stupid kids in Fresno, California, with NO idea what we were doing…but she welcomed me into her family with open arms — and never shut me out, even when that teenage marriage eventually ended 16 years and three gorgeous babies later.

When her amazing son first brought me home to meet them all those years ago, I can’t even imagine what she must have thought. I was nothing more than a lost girl from a shattered, scandalous family, looking for peace and normalcy and a quiet place away from the chaos, discord, abuse, and violence in which I had been raised — traumatized and ashamed of who I was, and where and what I came from. Despite all that, she and her husband saw the good in me and the potential in me…and loved me anyway. They believed in me BEFORE I BELIEVED IN MYSELF. I will miss her always…and it is him and his unspeakable loss for whom I grieve most today. They were married for 50 years.

My children’s hearts are broken into a million pieces right now — but all three know that they had the great fortune to have something that some people will NEVER KNOW. They know they were lucky enough to have had one of the most EPIC, AWESOME GRANDMOTHERS EVER…and that the buttery love (and DELICIOUS cooking!) she showered them with every day of her life will surely carry and uplift them until the ends of their very own.

Please rest in peace, Woman Who Mothered Me — and know that you will live on always through the love you gave my children every day of their lives…and that they, in turn, will pass that love onto their own babies. And on and on it will carry…like a shimmering, silver thread both back and forward into time. There is no greater legacy a person can leave the world than that:

LOVE.

Rest In Peace, BELOVED Grandmother…Bonnie Bolding.

“If we value what we’ve inherited for free — from other women — surely it’s right morally and ethically for us to wake up and say, ‘I’m a feminist. ‘” — Annie Lennox

Though you might find it a rather surprising fact about a SHAMELESS OLD TART like myself, there are, in fact, only two places on the planet where I can comfortably poop away from home:

1) At my writing partner, Doug’s, house — but ONLY in the upstairs, climb-to-the-rafters, upper-most-reaches, shithouse-of-the-hinterlands that belongs to his 5 year old son, Enzo (aka, THE JACKAL.) According to his honest father, the inhuman atrocities that occur in this bathroom on a regular basis could NEVER be equaled by my diminutive, vegetarian self. This notion gives me the confidence to carry on. And, I DO.

And though I realize this is going to sound like pure horseshit, it is, I assure you, NOT.

2) The restroom just to the right of the entrance to Tomorrowland at The Magic Fucking Kingdom. It has all the hallmarks of a perfect place to LET LOOSE LUNCH: LOUD music (“Whistle While You Work” is a PERFECT sound-proofing anthem to makin’ a cawcuh), as well as A QUICK, HIGH TURNOVER RATE, i.e., people and their sniveling, sticky children are in and out SO FAST that by the time you are done leisurely checking Facebook on your phone, playing a round of Words With Friends, digging out the zip-lock bag of baby wipes from the bottom of your purse, and — OH, YEAH — TAKING A FUCKING DUMP…there is not a soul left in the place who actually watched you enter, made careful note of your shoes, and can therefore JUDGE. It really is perfect. A safe-house of sorts for those who prefer doin’ their DOODY DUTY locked in the sweet metal solitude of an Iron Maiden on a Desert Island. Like me.

Poop in a bathroom in the place where you work?

NEVER.

Good afternoon, Mein Delightful Poppets! I have a small, but meaningful, query and thought I’d start here first — amongst my own fierce, degenerate pipples — before going the standard route.

Though I already have BRILLIANT management for the film and tv stuff, I am currently in the market for a literary agent or editor — someone FAB who gets the fucking joke and isn’t afraid of a little vulgariansim, debauchery, scandal, and skullduggery…an esteemed list which is, of course, my GODDAMNED RESUME.

I am working on a memoiry-type book — lots of filth and flotsam, lots of hideousness and hilarity, lots of profundity and profanity — and want to partner up with a really marvelous agent or editor who will get it and get me and get my work, which, trust me…I FULLY realize is an acquired taste. Sort of like FISTING.

At any rate, if you read me here, if you read me there, if you know my work, if you appreciate the disgraceful nature of my being, if you are a literary agent or editor, if you work with a literary agent or editor, if you SLEEP WITH a literary agent or editor…HIT A TUBBY TROLLOP UP.

Thank you in advance…and I will blow you for the difference.

In honor of Mother’s Day…a photo of the beautiful, luminous, fierce, fabulous, purple girl who made me a Mama all those many years ago.

I love you, Betty Sue!

In a perfect goddamned world…ALL LOLLIPOPS WOULD BE RED.