Muffy Bolding Chola Moment of the Day: Today at Target, I actually got into a FULL ON girl skirmish/bitch fisticuff with Miss Jackie Beat…OVER A DRESS WE BOTH WANTED. Shit, Homes…I took off my hoops, put the baby in the stroller, handed my Bud Light to Junior and Lil’ Tiger, and proceeded to rechristen that pinche puta as Jackie BeatDOWN. I got a fistful of that bitch’s tired weave…and she got the dress. GOOD TRADE.
A meaningful little message to all the tiresome, uninteresting misanthropes, pricks, and infernal whiners in the world: “Why don’t you knock it off with them negative waves? Why don’t you dig how beautiful it is out here? Why don’t you say something righteous and hopeful for a change?” — The Righteous, Hopeful, and COMPLETELY ON TRACK Oddball, Kelly’s Heroes, 1970
Today, a friend gave me a lovely and most unexpected compliment about the luminosity of my skin — and asked me to give up my beauty secrets as to how I maintain its peachy, healthy glow. Well, Miss Holly, here is my special, medical-grade, triple-top-secret skincare regime:
1) I wash my face with whatever fucking bar soap happens to be in the shower — Ivory, Dove, Coast, Trader Joe’s honey/oatmeal…whatever. Anything and everything except, of course, Dial…which, as every self-respecting woman knows, gives you The Tuna Rot something fierce.
2) Other than my single tube of red MAC lipstick (literally, the ONLY item of makeup I own or ever buy), I ONLY wear makeup if I am being paid to do so. I fucking LOATHE the feel of it on my skin.
3) I drink as much hot coffee and iced tea as humanly possible, also enjoying the occasional cigarette and tight whack of Thorazine in my ass, as needed.
4) As the light is much better there, I regularly sit out in the car and pluck the hairs from my chinny-chin-chin — a small price to pay, as far as I am concerned, for the AWESOMENESS that is being of Sicilian criminal trash descent.
5) I am not wholly adverse to taking a well-placed, authoritative load to the face on birthdays, anniversaries, or the Jewish High Holy Days. Shana Tova!
“I’m too fat to live in a castle.” — In 2009, I breathlessly and shamelessly announced this to an entire room of film colleagues and friends, after walking up a particularly lengthy and steep set of stairs in the STUNNING 900 year old Italian castle of awesome movie producer Charles Band. After just three days of this cold, stone conditioning, I no longer struggled…and my GUNT was visibly smaller.
ALL HAIL, CASTLE GIOVE!
Last week was blustery, cold, and delightfully grey — and I was BESIDE MYSELF with glee. I was writing and knitting like a madwoman and reveling in both my element and the earth’s eternal promise of the chill, dark days to come. Today, as I sit here watching the temperature inexplicably rise ever closer to the century mark…it is literally making me SUICIDAL. Nature? She is a whore — but then again, WHO ISN’T AFTER A FEW DRINKS?
“A person who is nice to you, but rude to the waiter, is not a nice person.” — Dave Barry
(By the way…if you ever want to see my fatass UNLEASH THE FUCKING KRAKEN — just treat a wait person poorly or with disdain in front of me to make yourself look like a hotshot…and see what fucking happens, my friend. MAMA DON’T PLAY.)
“It’s only with great vulgarity that you can achieve real refinement, only out of bawdry that you can get tenderness.” — Lawrence Durrell
Muffy’s Scandalous Science Sunday: According to rigorous experimentation using the Scientific Method, these two facts we know to be empirically and categorically true: 1) One cannot possibly sneeze with one’s eyes open…and 2) One cannot possibly floss one’s teeth without smelling the floss. Shantih, Shantih, Shantih…and Amen.
From Miss Jackie Beat: Post 7 completely random, unrelated things that you LOVE!
Here are mine: Roman Centurion Titus Pullo of the MIGHTY XXIV; Noro Japanese yarn; “The Wife of Bath”; the Frito smell of my chihuahuas’ paws; the soy sauce smell of my husband’s paws; the shimmery, silvery sound of George Harrison’s Rickenbacker guitar on the first breathtaking, earthshattering chord of “A Hard Day’s Night”; the superlative poetry of Miss Anne Sexton.
muffy bolding 