muffy bolding

A few potentially psychotic and disdain-inducing health-related questions for my clever, clever friends:

1) Alright…so tell me true: Is the flu utter and complete horseshit — or does it truly exist?

2) What the fuck IS the flu? What are its symptoms and have you ever had it? How bad was it? How bad can it actually be?

3) How do you get the flu, prevent the flu, and are there, in fact, different strains and strengths of the flu — as in, “Oh, maybe you’ve just got a little flu virus?” Is it even possible to have a “LITTLE flu virus”?

4) When all these people say they have the flu — do they really and truly have the flu or are they just confused and/or misinformed and/or overreacting and/or full of shit and/or just trying to get out of work so they can stay home in their jammies, eat Pop Tarts, watch The Banana Splits, play World of Warcraft, and jerk off?

5) Did all those goddamned people really and truly die in 1918 from something that I scarcely believe even exists? Is it really that fucking bad? And further, with all the advancements in medicine and technology, and all the hygiene standards and practices we have in place today, could a flu epidemic of that magnitude still really happen in 2010?

This might all sound completely insane, so I am imploring you to please remember that it is coming from a place of delirious illness, ignorance, impatience, idiocy, intolerance, ire, AND frustration, mein poppets. I am one of those people who just simply does NOT get sick — or to be more specific, who does not get sick with the flu or common cold. It just doesn’t happen — and yet, here I sit, mired in my very own fever, chills, malaise, and tummy trauma. OFF TRACK.

You see, when I get sick, it tends to be a major, chronic, rare, incurable, debilitating, life-altering piece-of-shit sort of disease that involves daily needles, high profile medical specialists, and Vocal Reverberation Under Spinal Pressure (you know, V.R.U.S.P?) It is simply incomprehensible to me that I might be felled by something as ordinary as the fucking flu; I am used to much fiercer, more formidable opponents than this, goddamnit.

So, yes, this little tantrum I’m throwing could very well be yet another manifestation of my self-delusional and perpetually Magical Thinking, but I find myself just utterly gobsmacked to be taken down by something as…common…as a common cold or flu — because although I feel like complete feces at the moment, the gods usually kick my fatass FAR harder and WAY farther across the Universe than this.

Whatever.

BRING IT.

“My, my, my…isn’t THIS a festive table?” — RIP Nancy Miller, a long-time director at the dinner theatre back home where we all got our start, all those many years ago in Fresno. The wry, talented, and quite formidable Miss Miller forced us all to BUTCH IT THE FUCK UP, just to survive that felonious city — and for that, I thank her from the bottom of my wicked heart.

Long may your Carlton cig and cabbie hat wave, Nana Miller!

Judging by the legions of friends posting of their undying affection for the tenth month in their Facebook status updates today, apparently I am not alone in my rapture and exaltation at the arrival of October, the most magnificent month of them all.

With October comes the beginning of the cold, the grey, the wind, the mysteries, the spirits, the shadows, the spectres…the dark. This is the time of year when we latch the shutters and light the fires. It is the time when we turn inward, dig deep, re-evaluate our lives, and celebrate the lives of those who have preceded us into history.

For me, it is a month to honor my feminine ancestors and to acknowledge all that has been passed to me and through me. A lot of ballsy broads had to risk an AWFUL LOT all so that I might live deliberately, fully, and with no fear…in complete control of my own destiny and free from the subjugation of ANY MAN. This is the time of year when I light candles to those women, thank them with all my heart, and promise them that I, too, will be mindful and vigilant of the young women and girls who will come after me. This time of year I like to rededicate myself to the feminine moon who is always there to light my way through the dark, should I ever call upon her to do so.

But, come every October, most importantly of all (well, according to an adorable, scratchy-voiced three year old Baby Goat, anyway), “I LIKE TO KEEP IT REAL SPOOKY.”

So, kill the lights, bitches — and BRING ON THE DARKNESS.

Yep. The “Sweet Spot” at the intersection of T.S. Eliot, Sophie Tucker, and Junior Samples.

That’d be me.

Someone wrote and asked me for my top ten favorite television characters of all time — and you know me, goddamnit…I aim to please, live to knit, and love to schtupp — though, what that has to do with beloved tv characters in ANY WAY is beyond me. Better push on.

At any rate, here they are…in no particular order:

Titus Pullo from HBO’s Rome

Andy Botwin from Weeds

Gomez Addams from The Addams Family

Beavis from Beavis and Butthead

Uncle Arthur from Bewitched

Jane Tennison from Prime Suspect

Neil Pye from The Young Ones

Atia of The Julii from HBO’s Rome

Maggie Jacobs from Extras

Eric Cartman from South Park

And speaking about My Beloveds…you need to read this fabulous interview with one of my bestest girlfriends and Souplantation scarfing partners…Drag Superstar, Writer, and Dog Lover, Miss Jackie Beat, who, trust me, is every bit as beautiful inside as she is out. She’s also a complete cunt, but of that, I shall speak no more…today.

Love you, Miss Jackie!

For a trashy, working class girl from Fresno, there is NOTHING better than scarfing a mustard-slathered corndog, knitting up a storm, and enjoying an AWESOME evening of demolition derby with your beloved friends — C.J. Arabia and Mather Zickel…and your beloved, Gregory Babior — at The MIGHTY Los Angeles County Fair…which is precisely where my fatass is headed.

ALL HAIL THE MALACHI CRUNCH, bitches!

Just got axed, “What’s your Dream Job?”: I have two! Tweedy, eccentric professor of European History at some awesome Medieval university located someplace cold, blustery, rainy, and grey…OR, one of those tour girls on the Storybook Land Canal Boats at Disneyland who wear rick-racky lederhosen jumpers and knee socks, and always sound like they have a stuffy nose as they tell you all about the London park where Peter Pan taught Wendy, Michael, and John to fly!

The gorgeous writer, rocker, and raconteur, Miss Vicki Abelson, hosts (quite LITERALLY hosts…as in “in her GOTTDAMNED LIVING ROOM”) the hottest monthly literary salon in Los Angeles, and my fatass is lucky enough to have wrangled a highly-prized invite for today’s mighty assemblage. I am a HUGE fan of Miss Vicki — she is one amazing broad — and she inspires me NO END with her unfailing support of West Coast writers. I am putting on scarlet lipstick, bringing along a huge, heapin’ helpin’ of my infamous Aztec Salad for treats, and might even pluck my chin beforehand in a feckless attempt to impress her. Fancy!

23 Things That Changed My Life: Knitting, Gay Men, Coco Chanel, My Babies, Anne Sexton, What’s Up, Doc?, William Butler, The Cedars-Sinai Rheumatology Dept., Fresno, Miss Bonnie Hearn, Valley of the Dolls, Los Angeles, Phyllis Diller, Dogs, 100% Cotton Granny Panties, My sister Jennifer, Baby Wipes, Judy Garland, Breast Reduction Surgery, Madeline Kahn, My One True Love Gregory, Red MAC Lipstick, The Wife of Bath.