muffy bolding

Riches. Power. Fame. Beauty. None of it matters in the least.

In the end, time will devour us all.

The single phrase that keeps repeating over and over again in my head as I shamelessly and exuberantly traverse, sashay, adventure, and insinuate myself in and throughout this most amazing place known as NYC: “Okay…NOW, THIS IS A FUCKING CITY.”

Last year for Halloween, I donned one of my 400 black dresses, a pair of oversized black Swifty Lazar spectacles, and slapped a “Hello” nametag on the front of me that read: “HELLO. My name is Elaine Kaufman. Now GO FUCK YOURSELF.” Needless to say, it was a SMASH HIT with the decadent crowd with which I run.

Follow the link below to read a piece I wrote about Miss Elaine Kaufman shortly thereafter, a woman who has mightily inspired me in both my personal and professional lives. No, wait…strike that. Roll it back. Elaine Kaufman was no woman. Elaine Kaufman was a FUCKING BROAD.

I say “was” because that awesome, rollicking, profane provocateur/restaurateur left this world today at the age of 81, after nearly five decades of nourishing both the successful AND not-so-successful members of the New York literati…in every way that one person CAN nourish another. She fed them when they were hungry, cheered them when they were lauded, knocked them down a few pegs when they got too goddamned big for their britches, and mourned them with all her heart when they died. She was a force of nature who took no fucking prisoners and lived life on her own terms. She also counted some of the greatest minds of our generation amongst her closest friends. It would not be overstating it in the least to say that the end of her time here is also the end of an era. Kaufman was a walking, talking, cursing, belly laughing institution all her own — and in 2003, was, in fact, named a New York “Living Landmark” by the New York Landmarks Conservancy.

When they handed her the prestigious award…I imagine that she probably told them all to go fuck themselves.

Go get ’em, Miss Elaine.

Elaine Kaufman, 1929 — 2010

Today…I took a scalding hot bath, finally got that Mexi-Melt, ruthlessly tore out a partially-knit scarf with which I was displeased, watched the natty Basil Rathbone as Sherlock Holmes, writhed in pain for five hours, begged off a trip to the hospital, guzzled Tejava, sniffed sweet stinky chihuahua feet, and was most affectionately referred to as, “A Steamy Venus of Willendorf.”

All things considered, I’d call that a pretty goddamned good day.

A very proud and public response to my great friend — the delightful writer, rambler, and raconteur, Miss Ayun Halliday — who has asked if I will accompany her to The Russian Turkish Baths in the East Village next week:

Okay, Miss Halliday…just so there is no misunderstanding: Are you asking my genteel self to remove one of my 400 black dresses so that I might lie majestically naked beside you in a steamy, sweltering room dotted with legions of other delightfully hirsute Hebrews and frill-free Cyrillic hieroglyphics? Because if that is, in fact, what you are asking…the answer is oh, HELL, YES! And to brekkie, as well! Wednesday, it is! Oh, and bring your own Oak Leaf beater broom and particle board 2 by 4, mein Lovely Hoosier Brute — after all, what trashy Sicilian girl worth her weight in filthy lucre doesn’t JUST LOVE a boot to the throat and an undoubtedly much-deserved whoop to the hot, hot heinie? BRING IT!

When I stepped out into the bright sunlight from the darkness of the movie house, I had just two things on my mind: Anne Sexton and Mexi-Melts.

You KNOW you’re fucking ancient when every single time you get together for an afternoon of writing, the first 15 minutes are spent enthusiastically discussing either thwarted, elusive bowel movements or gastrointestinal distress. Black Friday dumps are legendary — EVEN IN HELL.

I am eternally thankful for…my 3 delightful babies; my 1 extraordinary husband; my 2 precious chihuahuas; all of my unique, entertaining, priceless friends; my hilarious, felonious family; knitting; books; travel; movies; Antiques Roadshow; ebay; an iphone on which I can not only order Chinese take-out, but even write when necessary; the incomparable Los Angeles; New York; Paris; Rome; Fresno; my shiny red Crazy Rodent Vehicle (CRV); my very own in-house washer and dryer; access to really good health insurance and the miracle medicine that makes it ALL possible; all the food we can eat (I’LL SAY!); electricity by which to eat it; the continuing good health and safety of all those whom I love and adore; the freedom to write and say whatever I want; AMAZING writing partners to do it with; the luxury of sleeping completely surrounded by a king’s ransom in down pillows every night; black cashmere sweaters; red lipstick; vintage Schiaparelli jewelry; a plain gold band that means everything to me; the rare privilege of doing what I love for a living; being a difficult woman; living in interesting times.

Endlessly thankful for all of my talented, titillating, treasured friends, whom I love with all my heart. For me, they are someone to dance with, belly laugh with, belly cry with, travel with, celebrate with, mourn with, eat with, knit with, make movies with, make memories with, write television pilots with, write books with, talk shit with, worship dogs with, and TAKE OVER THE WORLD WITH…BECAUSE IT’S ALL OURS.

God bless us, EVERY ONE!

On this day of great celebration, gratitude, and joy — when we all gather together ’round the table with our loved ones to give thanks for our many blessings in life — I would just like to say that I am thankful for FIERCE BITCHES LIKE THIS WHO WILL FLAT BREAK IT DOWN FOR A MOTHERFUCKER WHO DARES TO PULL HIS WORMDICK OUT ON A CROWDED SUBWAY CAR AND PRESS IT UP AGAINST HER.

Yeah. THIS IS HOW IT’S DONE, LADIES.

God bless us, EVERY ONE!