muffy bolding

Yesterday, my friend, Miss Jackie Beat, posted the following query on my wall — ” I need to know, WHO PISSED YOU OFF!?”

Here is my response:

Phyllis Schlafly.

ANYONE, ANYWHERE who harms a child or an animal.

The angry, vengeful god of the Old Testament.

NO-talent meathooks who, without invitation to do so, correct everyone’s grammar and punctuation, whilst producing nothing of worth themselves.

Mrs. Kravitz.

My older brother, the undignified miser.

That Bosnian piece of shit who threw those puppies into the river.

Those who attempt to hinder and dissuade others from achieving their dreams because of their own self-loathing, small thinking, and petty jealousies.

The old woman my father was doing a job for who wouldn’t let my siblings and I use her bathroom when I was a kid, because we were “brown and dirty.”

The heartless prick who got rid of the original FEN-PHEN recipe.

TOT MOM.

Those guinea bastards who shot Sonny on the causeway. Goddamnit, I love me some Sonny.

YOU GOTTA BE FUCKING KIDDING ME WITH THIS. I already have an inexplicable, scorching case of diarrhea — and now I unexpectedly start my period, as well? This is a GODDAMNED OUTRAGE, I tell you. Now I know what a torture chamber must smell like.

That is all.

An open letter to all you ANNOYING Self-Appointed Language Police Pricks out there. Here’s my heartfelt message to you: GO FUCK YOURSELF. The language? She is MINE…to do with as I please. I wake up with copies of Strunk and White in my stool, bitches. If you don’t like or approve of how I use the language, DON’T READ MY SHIT — as, trust me, it’s not written for someone as pathetic and uninteresting as yourself anyway.

Now, FUCK OFF, LADY.

I was recently informed that I look like a vintage Cold War Russian spy in my picture with the faux fur coat and ancient black spectacles so, in celebration, I have adopted an appropriate top secret moniker…but SHHHHHH! Don’t tell anybody, for chrissake. It’s secret.

From now on…call me Muffalinka Squatenkoff, dahlink.

“At a certain age, everyone finally admits to loving babies, puppies and California.” — Miss Jackie Beat (Goddamn, I LOVE my brilliant friends!)

This morning as I was taking my son, Otis, to school, I was thinking about how very lucky I am to be married to My One True Love — which then led to thoughts of what exactly makes a good marriage? Aside from all of the usual criteria we include when compiling a list of what constitutes an exceptional matrimonial match — i.e., affection, communication, compatibility, kindness, likemindedness, trust, lust, etc. — it occurred to me that much of what makes a really good marriage can’t really be quantified. IT JUST IS.

Driving along seemingly endless verdant boulevards lined with ancient Live Oak trees, this realization made me ponder the people in my life who have the very best marriages, the marriages where, even after years and years together, the two of them still take absolute delight in each other’s ideas, company, and accomplishments. Marriages where, even through the most difficult times imaginable, they are still hopelessly devoted to each other and — most importantly — THEY STILL HAVE FUN.

And of all the friends I have and have known, I came up with three couples who are also lucky enough to be married to Their One True Loves, and obviously have a damned marvelous time in the process. These kids are examples to the rest of us as to HOW IT’S DONE, BABY.

I stand in utter amazement, admiration, and joy at the longtime, exuberant unions of my friends Bryan Lee and Cathy Lee; Charles Angyal and Yvonne Angyal; and Paul Stolp and Susan Presley. May you all have many lifetimes together, kids — because, if you’re anything like me and my Cute Jew Boy, you realize that there will NEVER be enough time together in just this one. Mazel Tov!

“There are two novels that can change a bookish fourteen-year old’s life: The Lord of the Rings and Atlas Shrugged. One is a childish fantasy that often engenders a lifelong obsession with its unbelievable heroes, leading to an emotionally stunted, socially crippled adulthood, unable to deal with the real world. The other, of course, involves orcs. ” — John Rogers on Kung Fu Monkey

I have made an executive decision: Up ’til now, so much of my story has been about what I have survived or overcome. Henceforth, it will be about me SPLINTERING INTO A MILLION TINY PIECES the souls and bones of those people and things — both real and imagined — that would DARE attempt to subdue me. Then again, I might just drink a brew and fuck my husband. Ah, sweet mystery of life, at last I’ve found you!

And speaking about my friends treating my fatass to AWESOME KNITTING ACCOUTREMENT…while we were shooting our most recent movie, I posted a picture that captured my on-set knit shit, and my friend, Jennifer Irwin, noticed that — like the Fresno piece-o’-shit that I am — I was transporting my precious NORO in a (gasp…!) ziplock bag. BAD HOOKER!

Horrified, she immediately sprang into action and sent me one of the adorable mini-knitting totes she makes — and you CANNOT BELIEVE HOW COMPLETELY ON TRACK THIS BASTARD IS. Aside from being the perfect size to drag along with me everywhere (oh, and trust me, I DO), it is sooooo cute…and inside it has what I consider to be its very best feature: a little “snap-loop” through which you feed your yarn and it keeps your ball or skein from pulling out of the tote when you yank more slack. BRILLIANT!

Thank you SO MUCH, Miss Jennifer! I love this bag more than I love Taco Bell, Clive Owen, Granny Panties, OR my Hitachi Magic Wand — and trust me, that’s sayin’ something.

Sew Bendy

The 11th Commandment: DO NOT COVET THY MUFFSTER’S SNAP-LOOP, MOTHERFUCKERS.

This is the VERY ESSENCE of ON TRACK.