breathe in the good, breathe out the bad

If my scandalous ass is ever lucky enough to pass through The Pearly Gates (which, believe you me, is highly unlikely), I will not be surprised at all to find that heaven smells exactly like a cup of coffee in France, a used-book store, my Grandma Mary’s handmade tortillas, the top of my son’s skull, my precious compost bin, my darling husband’s soy sauce hands, “Gee, Your Hair Smells Terrific” shampoo in 1978, fresh cut cilantro, Gain fabric detergent, handmade incense from “The Brass Unicorn” in Fresno, my signature vanilla hand lotion, The Pirates of the Caribbean ride at Disneyland, MAC lipstick, and the holy, holy toes of chihuahuas.

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hey, kids! LET’S PUT ON A SHOW!

I had the most amazing and hilarious dream last night — you know, the kind of wonderful dream that just seems to last forever and you hope will never end. The entire thing was about, “Hey, Kids! Let’s put on a campy, scandalous, ancient-teenagers version of ‘Grease’!” with Mario Diaz as Danny, Jonona Ivon Amor as Sandy, Me as Rizzo, Julien Nitzberg as Kenickie, Sam Pancake as Sonny, Senor Amor as Doody, Selene Luna as Frenchy, Calpernia Addams as Marty Maraschino, Nadya Ginsburg as ChaCha DiGregorio, Travis Walck as The Teen Angel, Drew Droege as Blanche (the Dody Goodman character — HA!), and our own illustrious drag mother, Miss Jackie Beat, as Principal McGee. Lemme tell you something…that brilliant bitch OUT-EVE-ARDENED even Eve Arden. SO GOOD.

And, yes, goddamnit, I am fully aware that my subconscious shrewdly and shamelessly cast myself as Betty Rizzo and the delightful Mr. Nitzberg as Kenickie BECAUSE HE IS MY SECRET CRUSH (so, for chrissake, DON’T TELL ANYONE.) Good lord, even in my sleep I’M A DIRTY WHORE.

Anyway, so very brill it was, that when I woke up this morning, my stomach muscles were actually THROBBING from all the DEAD-ASLEEP BELLY LAUGHING that I apparently did all night long.

We’ll always…be together.

We’ll always…be together.

We’ll always…be together.

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let the sun shine in!

My old friend, Billy Butler, and I used this shit SO RELIGIOUSLY the summer after we graduated from high school…that by Fall, our hair was SO damaged, orangey-red, and yarn-like, that we looked like a fucking chubby, drunken, BELLY LAUGHING Raggedy Anne and Andy staggering the streets of the Tower District in Fresno, California — with a 40 of Olde English 800 in one hand and a bottle of black shoe polish in the other.

YES, that’s right. WE DID IT, BITCHES.

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don’t forget to check the expiration date on those eggs, sister

Congratulations to Miss Mary Stuart Masterson on the news that she is expecting twins. Just think of it — a completely unexpected pregnancy and twins at age 44! Well, surely the propensity for multiples must run in her family — just like they do, according to each respective mama, in the family of Julia Roberts.

And Mariah Carey.

And Marcia Cross.

And Angelina Jolie.

And Celine Dion.

And Anna Paquin.

And Sarah Jessica Parker.

And Rebecca Romijn.

And Jennifer Lopez.

And Julie Bowen.

And Lisa Marie Presley.

And Diana Krall.

And Angela Bassett.

And Geena Davis.

And Marcia Gay Harden.

And Nancy Grace.

Oh, and of course, Charlie Sheen.

Surprising, miraculous, against-all-odds, late-in-life, naturally occurring multiple births everywhere, and not a drop to drink! YEAH FUCKING RIGHT.

And I just LOVE IT when they giddily announce the pregnancy to the press and then always have the shameless, self-deluded audacity to add, “Yes, and twins run in my family!” Umm…seriously? GO FUCK YOURSELF, honey. Yeah, it couldn’t possibly be because you want to pop out a coupla pups with the husband from whom you will undoubtedly be divorced in 18 months, but also don’t really want to sully your nuts, ruin your body, and take yourself off the movie market for more than one human gestation period by actually going through the requisite number of pregnancies required, now would it?

I’d be willing to bet that in this bidness, in this city, that NOT A SINGLE ONE OF THESE multiples is naturally occurring. I don’t know how it is in other parts of the country, but here in L.A., twins are a WILDLY THRIVING cottage market — stores, boutiques, shops, membership discounts, clubs, publications, and on and on and on cater to them. The bottom line is that women here are obsessed with their looks, their weight, their fuckability, their castability, and their film and television availability — ABOVE ALL ELSE. Yes, of course, they want a brood of babies — because babies are, after all, the ULTIMATE FASHION ACCESSORY — but they want to actually go through the required pregnancy as few times as possible, hence the loading of the eggs.

Now, keep in mind, I’m not saying there’s a GOTTDAMNED thing wrong with this twinsy trend — but if you’re not going to be truthful and honestly reveal how and why it came to pass (and you are certainly not obligated to do so), AT LEAST KEEP THAT BOTOXED HOLE IN YOUR FACE FROM SPEWING FORTH THE HORSESHIT LIE THAT IT’S BECAUSE THEY “RUN IN YOUR FAMILY”, is all I’m sayin’. Everyone knows you’re full of shit. So, just climb up on the table, put your feet in the stirrups, scooch your ass all the way down to the end, let your knees fall to the sides, meditate on the cheerful, colorful photograph of the little kitten gamboling through a field of wildflowers that is taped to the ceiling above your head…AND SHUT THE FUCK UP.

Perhaps I am just in a bitter, extra-pissy mood today to hear that yet another broad my age is HAVING BABIES — when I am mere hours from losing all my gottdamned lady-bits to the skilled hand of a gynecological oncologist. Verily against my will, may I remind you.

Yes, I may be acting like a vicious, hateful cunt today — but at least I’m being honest with people about the shortcomings of my undercarriage. Because you know what, ladies? When you lie about your vagina — YOU MURDER SOME PART OF THE WORLD.

Best wishes on your new additions, bitches!

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dog days are over

Greater love hath NO Jackal: I just found out that because I will be losing my toomer and girlie-bits to the skilled hand of the best gynecological oncology surgeon in the land on Friday morning, my treasured friend and fellow Jackal, Doug Prochilo, is having his gorgeous baby, Shanti, spayed in my honor the very same day. Thank you from the bottom of my wicked, soon-to-be Eunuch heart, Douglas — I don’t feel so godawful alone now. Looks like it’s just you and me, Miss Shanti.

As they say in my glorious hometown of Fresno: They’re takin’ the crib, and leavin’ the playpen.

ONWARD.


Enzo and Miss Shanti — two of my most favorite little creatures on the planet.

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stay gold, miss jimmy

And speaking of my great friend, Miss Jimmy James — his latest show, Impressionism, is positively awe-inspiring. Between the songs and the glamour and the love and the belly laughs, it is a MASTERPIECE by a performer at the very top of his game. If you ever hear about him coming to your city, I BEG OF YOU…GO.

And, even though he is a hilarious writer and a brilliant, versatile performance artist — famous for expertly belting the songs of all the world’s FIERCEST divas — there was a time when he was universally recognized as the greatest impersonator of the greatest of them all. Not bad for a beautiful little boy from San Antonio with big dreams, a big voice, and an even bigger heart.

Watch this video…and prepare to be ASTONISHED.

I love you, Miss Jimmy!

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mighty forces

Mama needs recommendations/suggestions for books and/or sites and/or first-person experiential advice that might prove helpful for a willowy, youthful, insolent ingenue being kicked and dragged by hideous, sinister circumstances, against her will, and FAR, FAR BEFORE HER TIME into SURGICAL FUCKING MENOPAUSE.

Bring it. BRING IT ALL. BURN THE CORPSES…WE SHALL FIGHT BY FIRELIGHT!

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i need to remember

I woke up this morning with a profound inability to GIVE A FUCK. I mean, you cannot fathom the immensity of the fuck I do not give.

But then I remembered: I give a fuck about this. Actually, to be honest, I AM OBSESSED WITH THIS. There comes a time, thief, when the jewels cease to sparkle, when the gold loses its luster, when the throne room becomes a prison…and all that is left is an old hooker’s love for this video.

Ovaries, toomers, cooters, lady-bits, and lost youth can FUCK OFF. This is what sustains me now:

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“but it’s no use going back to yesterday, because I was a different person then.”

Creepy, yet enormously beguiling.

Yes, please.

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“shift yer cargo, dearie — show ’em your larboard side!”

Huh. I guess the impending surgical doom is making me feel remarkably indecisive today because I cannot accurately gauge whether this kid’s outrageous, extravagant pirate bedroom is making me want to bow down and worship his generous, imaginative parents — OR INSERT MY BE-BUCKLED, BLACK-LEATHER, THIGH-HIGH SHIP-KICKERS DIRECTLY INTO THEIR OVERINDULGENT UGLY-AMERICAN BOOTIES.

I shall let you decide.

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