muffy bolding

If you look closely at this photo — taken two weeks ago at his 18th birthday dinner — you can see the dog bite scar on my son’s right cheek, which he got when he was 2, from a beloved family pet he and about a thousand young cousins were all trying to ride at the same time. She had had enough and turned around and snapped — and it was Hunter’s beautiful pink face that she caught. It went almost all the way through to the inside of his mouth and required emergency plastic surgery. Throughout the entire traumatic ordeal, he never cried nor flinched even ONCE — and to this day, he remains the most stoic, self-possessed person I know.

From the get-go, every year I would ask him if he wanted it to be ‘shopped out of his annual school photo…and every year he would tell me no. He has fiercely owned that scar from the very beginning and it is a part of who he is — an amazing young man of whom we are SO proud.

When he was a baby, I used to carry him EVERYWHERE on my left hip, going about my day and my duties, leaning in every five seconds to kiss that same spot on that same cheek — long before Katie the Golden Retriever got her turn at it — infusing him with creamy, buttery love.

The scar looks like a kiss to me now — and I always tell him that it is a gift from the gods, a divine tattoo, to remind him, every day of his life, how very much he is loved.

“It’s really too bad people only live for less-than-or-equal-to a century. We should be more like the earth. Geology not biology. Think about the awe-inspiring things we would become if only we could get a millennium or eighty under our belts. The Grand Canyon was once a sad, wet, little groove in some otherwise uneventful dirt. All these breaks in us, all these fissures and cracks and seams would grow and change and blend and become. Our imperfections could strike some future person dumb with their beauty, inventing art right there in his virgin heart.

Instead, we have our tax-shrunk C-note of a life to live and then we’re done. Barely leaves time to learn how to speak, let alone say anything worthwhile. Fucking Universe.”

— Roy Coughlin

Judi Dench is a hero of mine — an older woman who does it with style, grace, fearlessness, sass, and elegance. She is a beacon of golden light that illuminates the path for all of us broads who follow her. You wanna know how to age gracefully? THIS IS HOW YOU AGE GRACEFULLY:

You don’t run from it — you fucking LEAN INTO IT.

“One of the benefits of being a mature, well-educated woman is that you are not afraid of expletives. And you have no fear to put a fool in his place. That’s the power of language and experience. You learn a lot from Shakespeare.” — Dame Judi Dench

Attention Mein Poppets: The next WICKED ANNOYING TRENDFUCK who uses the HORSESHIT term, “OMBRE” either in my presence or on my Facebook feed — or, even worse, pays $300 to get their hair dyed TO LOOK LIKE THEY NEED TO GET THEIR HAIR DYED — GETS KICKED IN THE GODDAMNED TACO.

That is all.

This much I know to be true:

A scalding hot bath — and AWESOME SHAMPOO ANTLERS — can solve any problem, soothe any hurt, and once again fill the world with awe, wonder…and love.

Speaking of interesting lives — I never, ever, ever seem to get tired of watching this AWESOME video…filmed BEFORE things became what they eventually did. The band is brilliant, yes. The roughness and DIY feel of the thing is completely charming, yes. The small glimpse into a very particular place and time that would very soon be changed forever is thrilling, yes.

But the VERY BEST PART? The ADORABLE young, curly-haired boy in the hat leaning over the sound board talking to That Blonde Kid at 1:40: THE LOVE OF MY EVERLOVIN’ LIFE. He’s a BABY!

Yup. That’s me on the right. An Old Fresno Hooker…back when she was still a Young Fresno Hooker — and deep into her delusion that she was a member of The Go Gos — just before she packed it in, called HORSESHIT on high school, and went to the library to spend her days reading about Emma Goldman, Anne Sexton, Judy Garland, Coco Chanel, TS Eliot, Elizabeth Cady Stanton, and The Algonquin Round Table.

After all, what the fuck else does a girl really need to know?

To say that technology has changed our lives is an understatement. A majority of the most important, profound, cherished relationships I have would not be but for this magical screen in front of me.

With that said…technology does have its drawbacks; some things have definitely been lost. It just hit me this morning — because every single one of us has on their person, at any given time, verily hundreds — sometimes even thousands — of dollars worth of technological devices…the days of pushing a motherfucker into the pool at random ARE TOTALLY OVER.

Or rather, they will be…just as soon as ol’ Edie Sedgwick pries Andy Warhol’s effete meathooks off this railing:

I am accepting of everyone’s personal belief system — whatever gets you through the night, baby. Whatever helps you to survive what you gotta survive. But as I was driving on the freeway this morning, blasting Veruca Salt, it occurred to me that my religion is Art. Music. Literature. Humor. Kindness. Generosity. Communion. Love. I simply don’t require the structure of conventional organized religion to help me a better person. I don’t require the impetus, the refuge, the rules, or the faith. I place my faith in The Human Spirit, in the strength, goodness, achievement, dreams, and POWER that lies in each and every one of us. By my way of thinking, WE ARE ALL GODS WALKING THE EARTH — starting with THESE FIERCE BROADS RIGHT FUCKING HERE:

Listen to me. Pinterest is devouring me WHOLE.

I. AM. OBSESSED.

I cannot stop pinning everything in my path. Do you understand what I am telling you? NOTHING IS REAL UNTIL I FUCKING PIN IT TO MY WALL.

NOTHING ELSE MATTERS.