muffy bolding

Along with unparalleled love, friendship, belly laughter, Fag Haggery, and FUN, one of the many delightful benefits of being Mary’d to the generous and multi-talented Miss Jackie Beat:

A FRESNO COUNTY FAIR CARTOON CARICATURE QUICKLY ETCHED ON THE PLACEMAT OF A SODOMITE MEXICAN RESTAURANT IN SILVER LAKE! ALL FREE TODAY!

And even though my oddly misshapen, screw-jiggy skull looks a little like either a Picasso painting or Miss Shannen Doherty…I love this SOOOOOOOOOOO fucking much that I’m having it framed so I can hang it in a place of great honor in my home. Thank you, Jinxie Beat! I love you!

I was asked on a date recently by the notorious and delightful Mario Diaz — and as if that alone wasn’t enough of a thrill for a fat girl from Fresno…the date was to see a show performed by his old New York City comrade in song and sin, Mx. Justin Vivian Bond. Mario and Jackie Beat have always gone on and on about their old friend, and I was always like, “Yeah, yeah, yeah…I get it. She’s brilliant.”

That night, sitting in my seat in the dark, tightly holding Mario’s hand, the tears started pouring out of me from the very first note out of Mx. Bond’s smoky throat — and never stopped. I have never been so moved by a live performance in all my life. I still can’t speak of it without weeping.

The next time some queen shakes his head, shrugs his shoulders, sighs from his soul, and says to you in a voice filled with longing, “Yeah, [Insert name of magnificent chanteuse from the past]…they don’t make broads like that anymore.” — I am telling you right now, my friend, THAT THEY DO.

Speaking now as a writer, a performer, a creatress, a whore, a feminist, an activist, a fomenteur, a shitkicker, a ballbuster, a mother, a broad, a fatass, and simply a woman…may I say that this piece by Roseanne Barr could very well be the single most important, inspiring essay I have ever read; it is certainly the most fearless and unrepentant.

This brilliant, ferocious, extraordinary She-Wolf takes my fucking breath away…and I wanna be her when I grow up.

Oh, my. If I and all my brilliant, degenerate, scandalous friends had been alive in Paris at the turn of the last century — and, god knows, WE SHOULDA BEEN — this place SO would’ve been OUR HANG.

Brimstone martini, anyone?

Over the past few years, yet another completely original art-form has arisen from African-American culture. Just like gospel, blues, jazz, rock n’ roll, rap, hip-hop, breakdancing, Vogueing, and so much more before it, Footwork — originating straight outta the corners, clubs, and community centers of the south side of Chicago — is poised to shake the world, and is starting to show up in discotheques in London, Paris, and Sydney.

A completely new, original, and electrifying art-form — organically created by the most unemployed, underserved, marginalized, demonized, victimized, incarcerated, forgotten, and reviled amongst us. The world will, of course, co-opt their art, absorb it, dilute it, sanitize it, and exploit the shit out of it for profit. Isn’t that just how it always is? When we see the artificially sassy, wholesome, wide-eyed, button-nosed white kids doing it on the latest Disney Channel original series, the theft will be complete. But for now? THE MOTHERFUCKER IS STILL ALL THEIRS.

These kids are GODS DANCING THE EARTH.

Gosh, yesterday was so relaxing — just hanging out at home with my One True Love and all the babies, drinking coffee, knitting, and reading to my heart’s content. Then, last night, a delicious Kimchi orgy of EPIC proportions at my favorite Korean restaurant with both my beloved husband, Gregory, and my beloved gusband (GAY husband), Jackie Beat. It was everything a Mama could want. But you see, no matter how wonderful yesterday was, I had already gotten the very best Mother’s Day present Thursday night — and it was the one for which, in all of my years as a parent, I am most profoundly thankful.

The Baby Goat and her roommate were having a small Cinco de Mayo get-together at their adorable little apartment in Pasadena Thursday evening — nothing loud or rowdy, just a flock of delightful 19 and 20 year old college students drinking cold Coronas, watching Will Farrell movies, and reveling in the awesome state of just being YOUNG.

At about 9:30, there was a knock on the door and TBG bounded over to answer it (yes, she bounds, and occasionally even frolics!). She opened it, cheerily stuck her head out to greet what she assumed was a late-arriving guest — and when she did, she heard the words, “Party’s over” hissed at her in a voice directly out of a nightmare. She then felt a sensation that I pray none of your own children will ever know: The business end of a shotgun being placed against her forehead.

Let me take a moment to reiterate that for you: A COMPLETE STRANGER WAS HOLDING A SHOTGUN DIRECTLY AGAINST THE FOREHEAD OF MY BEAUTIFUL CHILD.

The person outside the door then pointed the gun at a young man who was a guest…and actually cocked it. I cannot even imagine their terror.

Needless to say, both are fine today — but it was a truly harrowing few moments. Apparently, the COMPLETELY BATSHIT, BAGGIED-OUT, 70ish, GRANNY FUCKING CLAMPETT who lives across the courtyard from them in their charming little complex doesn’t approve of parties, or Cinco de Mayo, or Will Farrell movies, or friends, or young people, or exuberance or happiness of any kind. Fortunately, I don’t expect she’ll have to worry about dealing with too much of that where she’s going. Two counts of assault with a deadly weapon and a $200,000 bail suggests that the courts and law enforcement here don’t take too kindly to some lunatic fucking seahag pointing a gun at an innocent young woman’s head — although, trust me…whatever rat cage that sorry bitch ends up in would be FAR preferable to being locked in a room with me, my Louisville Slugger, and AC/DC’s Back in Black cranked to 11 for about half an hour. FUCK HER.

At any rate, our darling girl is now safely staying with us until this entire travesty has been sorted. She was definitely shaken by the experience, but lemme tell you, that is one FIERCE, HILARIOUS Baby Goat. Her Tweet the next day? “I call SHOTGUN!” Not only will she be fine, she will be better than fine. She (along with her brother and sister) is one third of My Entire Reason for Living — and I could not be any prouder, nor more in awe of her if I tried. I am so thankful that she’s still here with us. She’s SOME BROAD.

Happy Mother’s Day to me, indeed.

“The Breakfast Club really bothered me. This is, like, an iconic movie, and the coolest character, Ally Sheedy, goes from being this interesting, quirky girl to being made ‘hot’ so she can make out with frickin’ Emilio Estevez? Give me a break.” — Ellen Page

When this film was released in 1985, Ally Sheedy’s character in The Breakfast Club literally changed the face, dress, and attitude of teenage girldom overnight — and that character, everything about her, still resonates with “fringey” girls today…even those of us in our frickin’ 40s. The first time I heard Sheedy utter that now iconic and infamous line — “When you grow up, your heart dies.” — it took my breath away, and I so distinctly remember whispering to myself out loud in the middle of that darkened theatre:

“NOT MINE.”

And to this day, whenever someone marvels at my comically overflowing purse and asks, “Do you always carry this much shit in your bag?”, I still give the same response:

“Yeah…I always carry this much shit in my bag. You never know when you may have to jam…”

And, you don’t.

Pearlie Mae the Stowaway. Love of my life, sunshine of my very existence. My 4 pound reason for living. Someday, her ashes, along with Gregory’s and Frances’, will mingle with my own — and all of us will reside on an IKEA shelving unit in my future great-great grandson’s dorm room at UCLA…in an urn that is lovingly engraved, “Granny Muffy, Grandpa Gregory, Frankie Jean, and Pearlie Mae: KISS OUR FAT ASHES.”

So, FUCK ALL Y’ALL. — those are my wishes. Shantih, Shantih, Shantih…and amen.

A most heartfelt, post-assassination message to the bastard naysayers on both the Right AND the Left:

Calm down, Mary — one thing at a time. The fucking government issue assault rifles are still smokin’ and the hammerhead sharks are just now gettin’ to the tasty nuts of Osama Bin Laden. Our president is FINALLY startin’ to get his groove on. GIVE THE MOTHERFUCKER A MINUTE TO BASK IN IT, wouldja?

That is all.