muffy bolding

With my favorite person (Gregory!) in my favorite weather (blustery!) at my favorite place (Disneyland!).

Alright, listen up, motherfuckers. I CANNOT stop listening to this and dancin’ my fatass off.

I am a GAY MAN…and THIS IS MY NEW JAM.

This dainty demon’s most favorite way to spend a gorgeous, cold, grey, rainy afternoon in The City of Angels. BOIL THAT DUSTSPECK.

Miss Betsy and Miss Frances: My beautiful baby with HER beautiful baby. Betty Sue and Frannie Doo — WE LOVE YOU!

Inane Muff Fact #1712: As I go through past essays — sorting and gathering and editing and pondering — I realize that most of the very best writing I’ve done in my life has been during periods of serious crazy…and I’m not talkin’ just your common, run-of-the-mill crazy — I’m talkin’ EXTRAORDINARY crazy. FANCY crazy. As Dorothy Parker once put it…CRAZY “WITH RAISINS.”

Sigh.

I suppose it’s time.

So, tell me true, Mein Poppets: Would you ever consider reading a book written by a fucking scandalous-shameless-vulgarian-lunatic-hooker-of-a-certain-age-with-a-foul-mouth-a-glorious-gunt-and-the-best-gottdamned-shampoo-antlers-in-the-asylum?

And speaking of Hanukkah and the holidays…even though I am blissfully married to the CUTEST LITTLE JEW BOY EVER, this will be the first year that I actually get to light the menorah and celebrate The Festival of Lights AS A LEGIT JEWESS MYSELF. That’s right, Mein Poppets…ancient family records have been unearthed that unequivocally verify the mysterious, old family lore that was whispered to me since infancy by my Sicilian Granny Rose: That this SCANDALOUS POUND-PUPPY-MON
GREL DESCENDED FROM WHORES, SHITKICKERS, AND THIEVES you see before you — i.e., part Italian, part Greek, part Spanish, part Metseecan, part English, part Filipina, part Irish old tart — is now an OFFICIAL CARD-CARRYING YENTA.

This recent revelation certainly helps explain why I am obsessed with ALL THINGS JEWISH and have been for my entire life — even when I was a little working-class girl growing up in Fresno, California, where, with a population of over half a million goddamned people, there are still only like 5 Jews (and of course, I was MADLY in love with one of them from afar when I was 12: HELLO, BRET LEVY.) With my new ethnic identity firmly established alongside the countless others (What can I say? My family likes to FUCK. A LOT. OF DIFFERENT PEOPLE. A LOT.), Gregory immediately welcomed me to The Tribe — though we are, of course, from DIFFERENT tribes; he’s a fancy, legit, Ashkenazi Jew, while my pipples are, of course sketchy, renegade, Sephardic Jews, i.e., MUD PEOPLE. YET AGAIN.) He hugged me and said, “Just think, Mouse…you’re the same person you were yesterday…except now you just have MORE MATERIAL.”

Indeed.

So…MAZEL TOV, MOTHERFUCKERS!

And, Happy Hanukkah!

And, yes…I am a GODDAMNED DISGRACE.

Oh and for those who are wondering, the delightful photo you see here was taken by the uber-famous, world-renowned photographer, Austin Young. He takes BRILLIANT celebrity portraits — though that is, unfortunately, NOT what you see here. To be shot by him, you gotta be a FABULOUS CELEBRITY…so, if you are merely a low-rent hooker like me, you just gotta take what you can get. Anyway, I just happened to be at Mario Diaz’ AMAZING, GLITTERING birthday party last summer…you know, wearing a knock-off Pucci-print dress and breastfeeding a stuffed bear…and Austin, who just happened to be standing there holding an iPhone, saw a fat, shameless, middle-aged woman with her left tit in her hand and her dignity nowhere to be found. The rest is history — as, too, I shall undoubtedly be for posting this on Facebook. Those who follow me there? It’s been nice knowing you.

Oh, and festive Heeb Pasty thoughtfully ‘shopped by My One True Love.

If any ONE SINGLE IMAGE ever captured the very special relationship between myself and my beloved gusband, Miss Jackie Beat, better than this one…I’ve never seen it.

DEAD. FUCKING. ON.

This tiny, delightful creature — who will be THREE on Saturday — is the love of my life. The fact that she gets swaddled in a soft, sweet-smelling receiving blanket and held and sniffed and kissed for several hours a day, just like someone who emerged from my very own vagina, means two things:

1) SHE’S A LITTLE BABY, and

2) There is something SERIOUSLY FUCKING WRONG WITH ME.

Many years from now, as per my wishes, her ashes will be mixed in with mine and Gregory’s…and we will all be together forever — lounging on a cloud, knitting, playing Weboggle, and watching Antiques Roadshow until the end of time.

Mama loves you, Pearlie Mae!